Gojo Satoru Fanfiction - Tumblr Posts

TASTES SWEETER ON YOUR LIPS - SATORU GOJO

✴︎ summary: on a rare day off, you decide to take care of the strongest sorcerer -- with something very sweet. ✴︎ contents: pure domestic fluff, based on that clip of gojo freaking out over pancakes in the phantom parade game, taking care of gojo the way he deserves - with sweets and yourself :), implied smut, some food play, mostly implied, ✴︎ wc: 754

It was a rare day off for Satoru Gojo. 

No missions — overseas or otherwise. No training to deal with for his students. No annoying higher ups to deal with. 

Just the two of you in bed. Satoru was sound asleep, curled up beside you, pretty long white eyelashes and pink lips parted. How was it possible to look perfect while sleeping? Everything about your husband was truly unfair. 

But considering everything he did — you ran your fingers through his snowy locks — he deserved it. He worked so hard, always with a smile, barely with a complaint — you had to badger out of him half of the time, except about the higher ups — and always did his best for everyone around him. 

And the opportunity to spoil him became rare, especially with how busy everything had been with Itadori, the special grades, and everything else he had on his plate. So why not today? 

You sneak out of bed, being as quiet as possible as you head to the kitchen. You had found a recipe for soufflé pancakes with a chocolate and butter pecan sauce. Satoru had been complaining that he hadn’t had time to try the new trend recently — finding the perfect cafe for the two of you in Kyoto, but hadn’t had the time to get out there. But you thought why not beat him to the punch? 

Anything to make him happy. 

Satoru’s eyes fluttered open, the sunlight falling across his eyelids as he stirred, reaching for you, only to find an empty bed. He sighed, eyes opening and he could sense you in the kitchen, and you were — cooking?

He sits up. 

What was that scent? It’s so sweet. 

He’s wandering into the kitchen, yawning, as he wraps his arms around you, pulling you flush against him as he buries his head in the nape of your neck sleepily. 

“What are you doing?” It’s half a question, half a whine, “why’re you up so early—“ and then he spots the two plates in front of you, and he gasp, “what—“ 

“Surprise,” you giggle at his wide eyed gaze, “your six eyes are gonna pop out if you look any harder, baby,” 

“Where did you—“ 

“I made them. I found a recipe and I had most of the ingredients on hand anyway,” you turn to face him, cupping his cheeks, “I know how hard you’ve been working, Toru, and I just wanted you to know I see it — and I’m here to take care of you sometimes,” you lean up and kiss his cheek. 

And his lips curl into a wide grin, and he’s greedy, as he’s tugging you back, “you missed, sweetheart,” and he’s kissing your lips, and somehow you’re the best and the sweetest thing he’s ever tasted, “I love you,” he murmurs, “how’d I get so lucky?” 

“Keep asking yourself that,” and he’s picking you up and spinning you, as you gasp and giggle, holding onto him, “Toru—“ 

“Yes, my lovely wife?” You lean down and kiss his goofy grin off his lips. 

“Let’s have some pancakes, ok?” And he only smiled wider, a mischievous glint in his eyes. 

“Only if I can have you afterwards,” and you laugh. 

“Deal,”

“Satoru, that is your third plate of—“ 

“These pancakes are so good! They’re so fluffy and warm and perfect—I’ve never had such a fluffy pancake!“ and he’s taking another large bite, “and the sauce? What the hell is in that sauce?” 

“Toru—“ and he’s pressing his lips to yours, and you can taste the sweet syrup sauce on his lips, “what—“ 

“I think this sauce tastes sweeter on your lips,” he’s licking his lips clean, pressing a kiss to your neck, his cerulean eyes colored with lust, “do you have more?” And his eyes drift to the bowl of sauce on the counter, his fingers dipping in the sauce, before dragging it along your lips and then your jaw. 

And your breath catches, as he leans over, his lips and tongue dragging along the same path he left, sucking at the sauce and your skin, before he reaches your lips. And his tongue darts out and tastes the sauce, before kissing you, sweet tongue slipping into your mouth, drawing a moan from your lips. 

He draws back, spit clinging to the corner of his mouth, a grin on his lips, as you pant, eyes drifting to the sauce and back to him. 

“…let’s go back to bed.” 

And Satoru Gojo certainly had a very sweet day off with you. 

✴︎ a/n: what is this? i have no idea. i actually really wanna try those fluffy pancakes they sound really good. but also gojo's too cute.

✴︎ taglist: @capitana18girl, @1cadence, @madam-milf, @ceceher, @forest-fruits-jam, @black-nirvanna, @naanamikentoo

tags: crack, fluff, pregnancy, gojo pulling a bad TikTok trend prank, swearing, crying,

Why did Gojo ever think this was a good idea?

He knew you were high on pregnancy hormones. the emotions had run every which way — from crying to laughing to anger (which usually resulted in a sharp whack to his shoulder for getting you pregnant in the first place).

So he didn’t know why he had convinced himself this prank was a good idea. especially when he would have to be the one to clean up his mess.

Phone in hand and recording, he headed downstairs to find you cooking, a myriad of cheeses laid down, and carefully picked bread slices from the loaf you had baked earlier (Nanami’s recipe of course). You were humming to yourself, baby bump round and preciously framed by your apron. and he wanted nothing more than to turn off the stove and kiss you until you knew nothing more than his name—

But that wasn’t the plan (not yet at least).

“Toru, that you?” you threw him a smile over your shoulder, and he felt regret bubble up, but he couldn’t stop himself.

“Yeah bitch, what’s for dinner?” he forces out the words as naturally as possible — guilt gnawing at the pit of his stomach, but lips forced into a smile — maybe you’d find it funny. maybe you’d laugh.

And your sudden pause, as you slowly turn to face him, tears welling up in your pretty eyes make him wish he could hollow purple himself in that moment.

“G-grilled cheese?” your words were shaky, as your bottom lip quivered, and he was done for. he tossed his phone aside, as he scooped you into his arms, before cupping your cheek.

“If you ever let me talk to you like that again, you better smack the shit out of me,” your brow furrowed in confusion so cutely, he can’t help but kiss you softly, murmuring apologies, “if I ever talk to you like that again, you understand, sweetheart?” he repeats, as you nod, eyes still watery.

You sniff, “Yeah,”

“Yeah?” Satoru murmurs, pulling you into a tight hug, “should have never did this stupid trend in the first place,” and he feels you pause again, leaning back in his arms.

“What trend?” the high strung emotions ebbing away, leaving logic in its place, “why did you say that anyway?”

“The important thing is that I’ll never ever something like that again—“ and you smack his head, a tight frown on your lips, “I love you?”

You’re pouting now, pulling away, “you can love the couch tonight.”

And after many kisses, flowers, mochi, and promises to never do something like that again, you let him back in bed.

❝ 𝐁𝐄𝐀𝐓 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐓 ! ❞

❝ SATORU GOJO KNOWS JUST HOW TO KEEP YOU COOL DURING A HEATWAVE - WITH HIS D!CK !! ❞

✧ pairing: satoru gojo x reader

✧ summary: it’s a heatwave in tokyo and who better to spend it with than satoru, who has an interesting idea of how to pass the time — fucking the heat away.

✧ warnings: 18+, nsfw, smut, porn some plot, best friends to lovers, tiny bit of angst about suguru, inappropriate uses of popsicles, fucking in the heat, ice play, sex (p in v), oral (f!receiving), fingering (f! receiving), cum eating, cum fucking, pussy drunk satoru, implied multiple rounds, fanart by @ / umbra3terna on twt / tumblr (pls go follow htem, they are so talented)

✧ w/c: 7,161

“It’s so fucking hot,”

“Then let’s fuck to cool off.”

What? 

You stared at the strongest sorcerer, his face flushed red, heat clinging to his cheeks, white locks blowing in the cool breeze of the fan, his shirt lifted up to cool him or maybe to tempt you, his melting popsicle dripping onto his burning skin — and your eyes flicked to the blue liquid slipping down his abs, then back to his face. 

The low buzz of the fan filled the silence between the two of you as you stared at him, “what?” The question slipping from your mind out your lips. 

Satoru Gojo had far too many outrageous things leave his mouth — he was insolent, arrogant, and even mildly violent (mostly towards Ijichi) — but you didn’t know if it was him or the heat — but you were considering it. 

What the fuck was wrong with you? 

(Him. It was him that was wrong with you.)

It was a heatwave in Tokyo. The one rare time you hadn’t been sent away on a mission, and you couldn’t even leave your apartment with the heat warning issued. Not to mention your central air breaks down, with a repairman nowhere in sight. 

It was just your luck. 

You rub at your eyes — and you weren’t sure if they were burning from your sweat or your lack of sleep last night. You’re blasting your fans around your apartment, stripped down to your shortest shorts and lightest tank top. You’re walking around your kitchen, using a takeout menu to fan yourself as you watch your order drive towards your place. There was no fucking way you were cooking in this weather. 

And you see a phone call come through — Gojo Satoru’s name flashing across the top of the screen. You sigh, contemplating ignoring the phone call, but you know he would only call a million times more, and you pick up. 

“Why did it take you so long to pick up my phone call?” and you shake your head, placing the call on speaker as you watch your takeout arrive at your place. 

“It literally rang twice,” Satoru’s patience had not changed since your time Jujutsu Tech — as you glance at your contact photo, a picture of him dressed in Shoko’s skirt from your school days, with Geto snickering in the background — though a lot of things had. 

“Two times too many,” you knew he was pouting. 

“Satoru, unless the next words out of your mouth is an offer is to fly me to a place where the weather is better, I’m gonna hang up on you,” you sigh, making your way to the door, opening the door to find Satoru standing there, looking far too stylish in a white t-shirt, his blue shorts hanging low on his waist, and sunglasses perched precariously on his head, your takeout in hand, “what are you doing here?” 

“Well I thought you wouldn’t  want to take a beach day with me unless I showed up to your place. Ta-da!” he lifts up a duffel bag, seemingly stuffed to the brim. 

“Satoru, there’s a weather advisory out. I’m pretty sure all the beaches are closed, and even if you’re immune to heatstroke, I’m not,” you step aside to pull him inside, the humidity sucking the little cool air you have in your apartment, “why did you think going to the beach in this heat was a good idea?” 

He shrugs, “An excuse to get out of the house, plus, my apartment’s cooling is out—“ 

“So you thought even if you couldn’t go to the beach, you could steal my A.C.?” you sigh, collapsing on the couch, “well too bad because mine’s busted too,” you glance over, but your gaze doesn’t find Satoru, seeing his paintbrush head stuck in your freezer, “you’re going to melt—“ he turns around to have a blue popsicle stuck in his mouth and you almost snort at the sight, “bring me one too.” 

“What should we do?” you murmur, sticking the popsicle in your mouth, as you laid back on the couch, sucking on the end of it, “watch a movie?” 

“It feels too hot to do anything but lay here,” Satoru sighed, the crinkle of his second popsicle white noise as you scroll through possible movie options on your phone, until you toss it away, metal overheating just as you were. 

“Well, we have to fucking do something other than just burn,” and you glance over, his white tee rolled up to expose his stomach as he ate his popsicle, and you raise an eyebrow, “what the hell are you doing?” 

“What’s it look like? Enjoying my popsicle,” he half mumbles as he continues to suck on the colored ice, “it’s better than it getting on my shirt,” You watch the popsicle drip onto his exposed abs, liquid pooling in the crevices of his toned muscles, you lick at your own popsicle, catching the drops off the melting ice with your tongue, wondering how much sweeter it would taste to lick it off his abs, “see something you like sweetheart?” 

His teasing words and wide grin pry you from your reverie with the subtlety of a crowbar, and your cheeks burn, as you roll your eyes, “You’re a dumbass,” you mutter, and he snickers at you, as you avert your gaze from him, and go back to eating your popsicle. 

You don’t miss the way his eyes linger on you as you slide the popsicle into your mouth, and you definitely don’t miss the way he eyes you as you suck at the fruity ice, before letting it slip from your lips, leaving only the tip of it pressed against your lips. 

“See something you like, Satoru?” and he has no reaction, shamelessly staring still, as he tilts his head. 

“I do,” he says without missing a beat, lifting his gaze to meet your own, “are you offering?” and you blink, before looking away — why was everything with Satoru a game of chicken? A bull’s rush to the line the two of you refused to cross, but did everything to pull the other over it. But neither of you had faltered, not in all these years. 

Not since the very last summer just like this. 

The sun had sunk past the horizon line, the summer night only predicated by the harmony of cicadas and the humidity that still stubbornly clung to the air, despite the sun being long gone. And that’s when Satoru had knocked on your door to tell you — tell you what had happened with Geto. 

He was gone. He had left. And he wasn’t coming back. 

And why was it that the signs were all there, laid out before you like directions to where he was going — and you didn’t see them, obscured by his empty reassurances and your own selfishness. 

You didn’t blame Suguru. Not after everything that had happened with Riko, Haibara, and everything else. But when you saw Satoru before you, despondent and broken — not a single inch of his usual flippant humor present, not a bit of his joy that he always had. But a part of you wanted to blame him — blame him for hurting Satoru, for hurting you, so prolifically. 

But you couldn’t blame him all the same. 

Satoru had spent the next few nights in your place, even sharing your bed at time, waking up with his long limbs tangled with your own, his face often buried in the crook of your neck, and you could see the evidence of dried tears on his face, despite his best efforts to cover his own tear tracks. 

“Do you think I could have stopped him?” he had asked you that night, his head laid in your lap as you flipped through the channels of the shitty TV you had brought from home and refused to replace, “do you think he would have listened?” 

“I think Suguru is even more stubborn as you are — because you were stubborn enough not to listen to your best friends,” your fingers cupped the bottom of his chin, “there wasn’t anything you could do — you can’t help someone who wasn’t willing to accept it,” 

“I could have made him,” and his skies contained in his eyes were infinite — just as he thought of himself — but he wasn’t. Because unlike the sky, he was human. 

“No, you couldn’t have,” you flick his forehead, and he pouts up at you, “and sitting here and wondering what ifs will do nothing for you — except drive you and your very excellent best friend crazy,” 

“Lucky for me she loves me even when I drive her crazy,” and you roll your eyes, a smile pulling on your lips, as he stares up at you, your fingers mindlessly tracing the length of his jaw, feeling the quake of his body as he shivered under your touch. 

“Very lucky,” and you could feel the pull between your bodies, the ever so slight way you leaned, willing for once to cross that line for him, for you — but he turned on his side, facing the TV instead of you. 

“What should we watch?” 

And you had promised yourself that night, you wouldn’t let your feelings get in the way of your friendship, you wouldn’t do that to him — because you knew he had already lost too much. 

But now—he was the one trying to cross the line. 

You stared at him, before scoffing, “Shut up,” but you were too afraid to let him. Your eyes drift back to the TV, leaning back against the couch — it was for the best this way, “think the heat’s getting to you more than you admit,” 

“Maybe,” he hums, as you finish your popsicle and sigh, leaning back on the couch again, with a groan. 

“It’s so fucking hot,” you sighed, leaning back on the couch, head hanging over the armrest. 

And you could feel his gaze on you, undeterred from before, “Then let’s fuck to cool off.” 

You almost think you heard him wrong, as you slowly lift your head to look at him. You must have heard him wrong. Satoru was known to make bad jokes or say ridiculous things — but not like this. And you find a smirk across his lips, but the heat in his gaze had not a hint of humor in it — burning hotter than the sun taunting all of Tokyo. 

“What?” You don’t know what you want him to say — say that it was a joke, say that you heard him wrong, or just say it again. But your eyes can’t pull away from his, the blue of his eyes pulling you close instead of pushing you away unlike his technique by the same name. 

“You heard me, sweetheart,” he tilts his head, biting into his popsicle, letting the tip slip into his mouth, “we could fuck the heat away,” the idea slips so casually from his lips, as if he was recommending a movie or a book, and not fucking you here and now. 

“Satoru—“ your voice is chiding, you’re shaking your head, but the couch creaks as he leans forward, the remnants of his popsicle slipping down his abs and through his happy trail and seeping into his shorts, “don’t fuck around—“ 

“Do you think I’d say that to you of all people just to fuck around?” he raises his eyebrows, and your words flee your mind just as you wish to, but you sit, wondering if this is a literal fever dream from the heat, “you don’t have to think about it so much,” 

“Don’t I?” you scoff, shaking your head, as you get to your feet, wiping the sweat from your forehead, “Satoru, why—“ 

And he’s getting to his feet, wiping the melted popsicle on his stomach with his white shirt, no longer caring as much as he said he did. And you can feel the heat radiate from his body, all consuming just as this heatwave was — clinging to you even as you tried to keep cool, sweat dripping off your flesh like the pleas that left your lips. 

“I’ve thought about this for too long, too many times,” he murmurs, fingers brushing against your cheek, featherlight as if you’d break apart under his touch, “we’re sitting in your place — it’s just you and me. You’re asking why, and I’m asking why not?”’

“I don’t want to sleep with you just like that, I can’t. I want it—“ you cut off, but he doesn’t let you turn your head, hand cupping your cheek now. 

“You want what, sweetheart?” Your mouth was impossibly dry, the words unable to force their way from your throat, “tell me, please,” and the pleading in his voice breaks you. 

“I want it to mean something,” and his gaze softens, as your eyes meet his again, a ghost of a chuckle on his lips, “it’s not funny—“ and he’s daring even closer, a hand sliding down your side. 

“It’s funny because you could think I would ever want anything that’s to do with you to be only meaningless,” he murmurs, words fanning your skin, and god it was so fucking hot. Between the temperature, his closeness, and his words, you were sure you’d pass out, “do you know how many times I wanted to do this? So many times during the days and nights we’d spent together, I wanted to just reach over and pull you into a kiss,” 

“Then why didn’t you?” your brow furrows, “and why now?” 

“Because I’m tired of waiting for a sign, for something in my head to tell me it’s safe, that you won’t disappear,” his thumb rubs back and forth, “just like every good thing in my life,” 

“I’m pretty sure you’re stuck with me at this point,” and his lips curl, a breath away, “Toru—“ 

“Can I kiss you?” and you almost laugh at the absurdity of the situation, but you can’t, the heat so thick it feels as if every molecule of your body was on fire, and the only thing that could quench the flames was his lips. So you just nod wordlessly. 

His lips find yours. It was chaste, a brush of his lips against yours, the lingering sweetness of the popsicle dancing on your tongue. It’s too soon that he’s pulling away, your lips mourning the absence of his touch already. 

“Feeling cooler?” his words warm your lips, but even so you’re pulling him back into another kiss, lips sliding against his firmly, his fingers tangling in his hair, wanting nothing more than to melt into his grasp.

And you part your lips from his for a moment,” Not at all,” and your eyes flicker to your refrigerator, “but maybe we can cool down.” 

“Fuck,” Satoru shivered, and he wasn’t sure if it was your lips against his pulse, or from the drag of the quickly melting popsicle against his burning skin. But neither of those compared to the soft groan ripped from his lips as your tongue dragged up his side, following the sticky, sweet trail of melted ice, mixing with his sweat, “well, am I sweeter than ice cream?” 

He’s too sweet. 

He’s certainly sweet like this, laid out on your bed for you, his shirt long discarded, his shorts about to join them. Soft pants made his chest rise and fall, slowing and quickening with your touch — his pulse thrumming under your touch. 

But he’s also sweet with the way he looks up at you, soft eyes to match his smile, as if he was made to look at you like this. And a part of you wanted to believe he was — even if most of you couldn’t quite believe it. 

Your lips curl, humming as you press a wet kiss to his sticky skin, “i don’t know, I need more time to make my final decision,” you lick up the length of the rapidly melting sweet, droplets of sweet sugar water dissolving on your tongue, but you knew it really was nothing compared to the taste of his lips. 

But you weren’t going to tell him that. 

You take a bite of the popsicle, before leaning down to kiss him, letting the ice melt between your tongues, as his fingers tangled in your locks, and soon enough he’s rolling you onto your back, fingers digging into the soft flesh of your thighs. 

And he leans forward, eating the last bit of the popsicle from the stick, “Well it’s my turn to taste now,” 

“You can’t even wait your turn for this, huh—“ the last word is a squeal as his fingers slide into the waistband of your shorts, snapping it against your heated skin, flames licking everywhere he touches. 

The melted popsicle runs down his muscles, rivulets running down the contours of his body, before dripping onto your burning skin, nipples pulling taut from the sticky sugar. He leans down to tease one nipple, sucking the melted liquid off, before doing the same to the other. 

“I’ve waited long enough, sweetheart,” and he’s dragging your shorts off, thighs crying out in relief as the cool air of the fan did it’s job to ebb away the heat ever so slightly, drying the layer of sweat, “I don’t want to wait another minute,” 

“So impatient,” you chide teasingly, voice lilting and yet he looks at you with a half lidded gaze, sending a wave of heat right to your core. And the way your thighs press together doesn’t go unnoticed, fingers splayed against the plushness of your thighs, forcing them gently apart. Your cheeks burned, and this time not from the weather, “Toru—“ 

His cerulean eyes find the wet patch of your panties, a smirk pulling at the corners of his pretty lips, “Don’t think this is sweat, baby,” he teases, fingers skimming over the damp spot, “or should I make sure?” 

“Satoru—“ and your chiding is cut off by the sinful press of his fingers to your clothed cunt, his dark eyes lidded as they watch your slick soak through the ruined panties already. And you can’t help the way your hips buck against his hand, “you motherfucker—“

“Funny coming from the one humping my hand,” he grins, and his thumb grinds down against your clit, his other slipping under your ass to knead the soft flesh, “maybe it is sweat and I should just leave you to cool off,” his fingers slipping away, delicious friction that your cunt was already spread open, wet, and willing for— 

A whine leaves your throat, an all too pretty noise, “Toru, please, I—“ and his fingers are hooking in the fabric of your panties before ripping them off, quite literally, the sound of tearing fabric making you gape at him, “what the fuck—“ 

“It’s too hot for these anyway,” Satoru pockets the panties in his shorts, “look at this, you’re burning up,” he stares at your leaking pussy shamelessly — because shame was a word that Satoru Gojo did not know, “and I think I know just what to do to cool you down,” his head leans down, blowing softly at your inner thighs, over the sweat mixed your pre that coated your skin, your folds twitching, just as the corners his lips did, “so needy,” 

“You’re the fucking worst,” your words a mutter unfolding into a gasp as he drags a single finger up your leaking folds, gathering your slick on the tip of his index, and then he’s tracing a slow circle around your clit, “Toru,” your words are half pleading, half pouting. It’s so hot, his touch only serving to make you sweat — literally and metaphorically. You were sure your sheets would be ruined after this — and not just from your sweat. 

“Lemme savor this, you kept me waiting so long, Princess,” his reverent words pressed against your inner thigh, teasing butterfly kisses that make you squirm, a flick of his sharp tongue that tastes the sweat against your skin, “how’re you this sweet? S’perfect,” his words are seemingly more for him than you, pussy drunk without even taking a single sip. 

But not for long. 

His nose bumps against your clit, tongue flicking against the seam of your messy cunt, eager fingers pulling the sticky, sweaty skin apart, and your cheeks burn with how exposed you feel—and how self conscious you were. 

“M-maybe this isn’t a good idea. I’m really sweaty—“ and the flat of his tongue drags up your sopping pussy, and fuck, good wasn’t enough to describe it. 

“Then I better clean my nasty girl up, right?” he cools your sticky skin with another soft puff of air blown between lips glossy with your precum, making you whimper as he pulls away, “one sec, sweetheart, think I need reinforcements,” 

The creak of the bed as he scurried off for a moment making you lift your head, an embarrassingly strong ache between your legs making you whine, legs closing, as you bit your lip, “Toru, what the fuck—“ 

And he’s back, but not empty handed — a glass filled to the brim with ice, a grin on his lips, “ready to cool off, Princess?” 

~~~ 

“A-ah, too cold,” you whine, and Satoru can’t help but disagree it’s far too hot — and it wasn’t the weather. It was you. 

You were always hot. You always had been — otherwise how else did you melt his icy demeanor from the moment you met? Too big of a chip on his shoulder from all those years spent at the lonely top of his clan, and you had no problem keeping company up there while kicking off his pedestal. 

Fuck, you’re so pretty like this. Gasps pulled from spit soaked lips, chest rising up and down, and your legs spread open just for him. You shivered as he dragged a half melted ice cube along your collarbone, water trailing behind that he was more than dragging his tongue along, the sweetness of your skin mixed with the tang of your sticky sweat. 

How had he resisted for so long? 

It had been years and years of pining. Of late night spent watching movies, of days spent fighting alongside each other, and even more days spent trying to get home to the other. And all that time, he still had stayed at the same distance. 

Because it was safer. It was easier. But he wasn’t know what it was — the heat, patience wearing thin, the fucking sight of your smile even in this fucked world — but he couldn’t stand it anymore. 

Not without you by his side. 

“Think the ice would beg to differ, sweetheart,” he hums, as he presses a kiss over the pooling ice as it melts right above the swell of your breast, “I’d say it’s much too hot,” your nipples grow hard under his treatment, a hiss leaving your lips, as he sucks the ice water from one nipple while rolling the other between his thumb and forefinger. 

“Toru, fuck, please—“ your words cut off with another gasp as he buries his face in the swell of your breasts, licking up the valley, before his lips find your pert nipples, lips closing around, sucking and licking, before nibbling at the skin. 

“You always this needy, pretty? Or is it just for me?” his words are said teasingly, but his eyes are just as desperate as yours, fingers dragging down your sides now, “better be just for me,” he mutters more to himself than you, as you gasp, ice cold fingers prying your thighs apart, “heh, what a mess you’ve made,” his fingers skim your dripping cunt, and he lifts his fingers to spread them in front of your face, your pre strung like spider webs between them, “don’t think sweat’s does this, does it?” 

And he turns his head, pressing kisses to your thighs, a glorified slip and slide from your sweat and pre alike, but how was it that you still tasted so sweet? A whimper escapes your bitten lips, his breath warming your pussy, a puff of air blowing over your twitching entrance, eyes sliding to the glass of melting ice. 

“You put a fucking ice cube in me and I’ll—“ he snorts, but grabs an ice cube all the same. 

“Only I belong inside you, baby, nothing else,” and he presses the ice cube to his lips, your eyes hypnotized as you watch him drag it back and forth, until he lets it slip into his lips, melting as he leans down, “now let me cool you off,” he presses his lips to your clit, a short kiss that has him melting all the same. 

You jerk. Cold. His lips tingled as his lips enveloped your clit, and his tongue was no better. Fucking freezing, a yelp that he rips from your body, as you can’t help but squirm. But he doesn’t let you get away that easily. Because nothing about the two of you was ever easy. 

His fingers press into your hips, arms pinning your body to the mussed sheets of your bed, as his tongue circles your clit, cold ebbing away with each stroke, until he’s lost in the warmth of your pussy. 

And Satoru only could wish he set up a camera — so he can watch you again and again with your gaze hazy with lust, tears welling like the condensation on the glass on making your eyes just as glassy, but you stared at him all the same. 

So he might as well give you a show.

“Fuck, could live in this tight cunt, you’re gonna be the only sweet thing I drink all summer,” the only summer drink he will settle for — the only thing sweeter than sugar itself — and he only one he wants. His tongue parts your folds, sinking deeper past your entrance, until he’s practically tongue fucking you, face buried in your cunt.

“T-Toru, ngh, too much,” and it was all too much for him — your soft moans, the lewd squelch of your pussy, the tremble of your thighs as he ate you out, and his tongue pulls back a moment, choosing to focus on your clit, as he sinks a cold finger inside, “fuck!” 

“Now you’re getting it, Princess,” he coos, and your scowl only lasts a second as his thick finger fucks you open, “gotta make sure I fit don’t I?” 

“You’re so fucking full of it—how about less talk and more—“ and he presses his erection against your leg, letting you feel how hard you’ve gotten him, and how fucking much he could cum in his boxers here and now. And you whimper, pussy clenching at the sight of him, “Toru, how will you—how—“ 

He’s so fucking big. 

“Don’t worry about that, sweetheart,” and he’s slipping in a second finger, as his tongue laps at your clit, “I’ll make myself fit,” and he would be the only one who would fit, the only one that could fuck your cunt, have his fingers curling deep, the only one making your head loll back against the pillow, “she’ll let me in, fuck you right, make sure I can carve out a nice place for myself — when I fuck every inch of her,” 

And his fingers piston into you, surely pruning with how your pre slips down his wrists and the wet sounds of your sloppy cunt grow louder, almost louder than the moans you make. 

Almost. 

“Said I’m the fucking worst, but it sounds like I’m the best, huh?” and you’re too far lost in the pleasure, nodding your head, as he’s fucked all the logic from your mind — leaving only want behind. And it seems like you both were on the same page now. 

It was nasty, the way his tongue took turns lapping at your walls, before teasing them open with his fingers. The way his sweat dripped down his face and mixed with your pre as he glued himself to your pretty pussy — and he was sure he could die of heatstroke with how fucking warm your pussy was. 

And he would die happy. 

But he knew you were close — with the way your hips were nearly grinding against his face and fingers, spit mixing with pre as he pulled away a moment, continuing to hit every spot that drove you to the edge closer and closer, “G’nna cum already, baby?” His taunting lilt makes you scowl, even with how far gone you were,  “s’cute, is it that easy?” 

“T-toru, I swear—“ and his lips latch to your clit, sucking hard, right as his fingers find that spot—and he swears your soul leaves your body, your body tenses under his touch, lovely lips falling open with his name on it as you cum. 

Well, more like squirt, your release making even more of a mess of yourself, the sheets, and him. It splatters across his face and hands, and he’s groaning, vibrating against your cunt, as he fucks you through your orgasm, sucking and slurping every drop you gave him. And it’s a feat as you absolutely drench his mouth, slick, sweat, and spit, dripping down his jaw. 

And he’s a fucking vision, once you get it back, far gone in the pleasure, as he continued to lap at you, until he finally pulls his fingers from you, and your eyes flutter open, chest rising and falling as you watch him lick each one of his digits clean, sliding him into his mouth, “what? Y’know i love my sweets,” his tongue then darts out to clean your slick from his face, before wiping the rest off. 

You’re reaching for him, eager fingers finding his shoulder, as you tug him on top of you, before flipping him with ease, so his back hits the mattress. He stares up at you — and god, did he always look at you like this? And how did you never see it — and how would you ever stop? 

“Princess—” but you don’t let him protest, lips meeting his, a soft groan as you taste yourself on his lips, palms sliding down his sticky chest, and your lips journey downwards, ghosting down his body. Your lips linger over his raised nipples, tonguing and teasing them, a hint of sweetness that lingers from his popsicle undoubtedly. 

“And you said I was sweet, you’re the one covered in melted popsicle,” you mumble, and he smirks, but his reply melts into a groan as the tip of your tongue traces the ridges of his abs, “can’t take it, Toru?” 

“F-fuck, can you blame me, sweetheart? Been thinking about this for too long. Wanted nothing more, nothing more than you,”  and your lips graze down his happy trail, a sharp inhale as he shudders as your fingers dip into the elastic of his boxers, tugging it down.

He’s perfect — just like every part of him, almost annoyingly so, if you weren’t too busy drooling over it. Swollen tip flushed a deep red, while the rest was a perfect blush pink that you wanted to paint your cheeks with, glossy with precum and sweat, begging to be touched. 

And you were more than happy to oblige. 

He nearly cums then and there when his cock grazes your cheek, smearing his pearly precum across your face. You turn your head, letting his tip drag over your lips, painting your lips with his pre. 

“Shit—“ he sucks air between his teeth, fingers digging into the sheets of the mattress, “not gonna last long at this rate—“ 

“I’ve barely started, surprised the honored one hasn’t cummed in his boxers yet,” he pouts, before he’s hissing as your lips press teasing kisses to your inner thighs, “can’t handle the heat?” And the tip of your tongue licks at the pubes above his cock, the melted sugar water clinging to the skin there, leaning down to kiss the tip of his cock— “then maybe you shouldn’t have started this—-“ 

And his fingers sink into your flesh, and now you’re on your back, sweat making you nearly stick to the sheets but you could care less with the sight above you. His cheeks flushed as he looks at down at you, but his lips curled in the same grin he always had, “oh, I’m going to be the one end it,” 

“End it? Don’t tell me this is the last I’m seeing of you,” vulnerability creeps back in a moment, and his fingers traces the curve of your cheek and down to your lips — “didn’t take you the type to hit it and quit it,” 

And he snorts, “I didn’t take you as the type to know what that means,” but his thumb rubs back and forth across your bottom lip, “but do you think after all this time I could ever quit you?” 

His fingers grasp at the base of his weeping cock, groaning as he teases your entrance with his tip, marking you with his precum, your gasp making his dick twitch, as if it’s begging to be inside you. “All of this is for you,” he grunts, guiding your hand to his chest, feeling his heart thus underneath your palm, “it’s always been for you,” 

“I’m starting to think you didn’t wanna just fuck the heat away,” and he laughs, his tip kissing your entrance, just as he brushed his lips against yours. 

“Well, who said that was the only reason?” And he’s sinking inside you, inch by inch. And there far too many fucking inches. He groans at the sight of your folds, swallowing his cock whole, walls stretching around his length, “look how good you take me — this perfect pussy was made for me, isn’t that right?” and you’re nodding wordlessly, lips parted in a silent moan, as your walls pulled him deeper and deeper, “not g’nna be able to control myself, shit, feels too good, princess,” 

“Feels too good to be like this,” you’re panting as the words leave your lips, your eyes glassy with lust — Satoru swears you could look at him, and it would be enough for him to fuck you all over again, “too big, Toru — you gonna fuck me stupid,” and you can feel his dick grow, pushing against your walls as he bottoms out, and you whine in return, “hngh, I wasn’t being serious—” 

“So tight,” An almost guttural hiss pulled from the back of his throat, and he’s smug as he looks down at you, mouth fallen open, “I’m always serious about fucking you stupid, sweetheart,” as he lifts your legs, pressing them to your chest, your ankles dangling next to his head, as he kisses the soft skin there, a wicked grin, despite the sweat trickling down his face, “it’s the one time I can be smarter than you,” 

He’s torturing you. Torturing you as he grinds his hips roughly against you, the lewd noises of your sloppy cunt and the sticky perspiration between your bodies deafening, yet still won’t give you what you want. More than that, the heat between your bodies was too much — flames engulfed every muscle with every brush of his body against yours, every twitch of his dick inside you, and veins full of fire rather than blood. And you were sure you’d spontaneously combust in this heat, and he’d still fuck you all the same — letting himself be swallowed up by the fire just as well. 

Your moan was almost unrecognizable to you, the pleading in your voice bone deep, just as the heat was, “Please, Toru, move,” and he’s grunting, and you know he wants you — has wanted you all these years, and he only smiles at your words, a short laugh on his lips. 

“Anything for you, sweetheart,” and his fingers dig into your hips as he begins to fuck you, hard and fast. His balls slap against your skin, the noise ringing in your ears, and your cunt resists every time he pulls out — as if you never want him to go. And he never will. He can’t stand the thought of anyone else seeing you like this — see the way your lips part in moans; the way your eyes glaze over in pleasure; the way sweat drips down your face, running down into the divot between your tits; the way your tight cunt bulges at the sides as you take his dick so well — no, this is a sight just for him, “s’pretty, and all for me,” 

You’re already s’close after all the teasing all night, the sounds of his grunts and groans doing nothing to help as his tip rams against your cervix, and you’re sure his dick is fucking places you only dreamed of reaching, but still you can’t help but want more—so much so that the word slips from your mouth. 

He laughs, fingers pushing on the slight bulge in your stomach making you gasp, the sweat of his palm mixing with your own that gathered on your stomach, “Even when you’re getting your guts fucked, you want more, sweetheart?” and his fingers rub meanly at your clit, pinching and pulling at the sensitive spot as his tip hits that spot that has your vision blurring again and again, “I’ll give you anything you want, because you’re mine,” 

And you’re surprised the bed frame doesn’t break as he begins to slam into you, but it does creak, begging for a break, just as you had begged for this dick. Your eyes water as he rams into you, rutting like a dog in heat, and maybe he was — maybe you both were. 

“Toru, Toru, I’m close, s’close, I can’t—“ and you’re so cute, like this, whining and begging for him, for the thing only he can give you — and he’s twitching inside you, and he knows he’s not far behind. 

“Cum for me,” he nearly orders, and his words are the thing that makes the ribbon of heat in your cunt snap. Your toes curl, as you cum hard around his cock, walls squeezing and shuddering around him as he only pistons into you harder and deeper, intent on making you feel pleasure in every inch of your body, and he’s shifting your legs, hands helping you wrap them around his waist, as he ruts into you, chasing his own high. 

You’re boneless and long gone, as your chest bumps against his as he fucks you, but you still manage to find words to push him over the edge, goad him as you always did, because you know right where to touch (especially now). 

“G’nna cum inside me, Toru? Fill me up with your release?” and he swore he lost the ability to breathe, heat and your words stealing the breath from his lungs, as he ruts into you, mix of sweat and sex making his head spin, but not as much as your sweet cunt does. 

He’s close, he knows he is, especially when he looks to see the ring of cum and sweat around the base of his cock, and when your fingers thread through his white locks, thumb rubbing against his undercut, to pull him back into a bruising kiss, right as his cock hits your deepest part again—

“Cum for me, Toru,” and he does, uncoiling at your command, spurting thick ropes of cum inside your walls, painting your insides, as he fucks it deeper into you with every roll of his hips. Debauched groans leaving his lips as he murmurs how perfect you are, because you are — even more than he could have ever imagined. His thrusts slow, the sticky sweat and cum drenching both of you and the sheets alike. He pulls himself gently from inside, groaning at the loss of your warmth, but also wondering if your cunt doubled as an oven — the cool air of the fan sliding over his bare skin a relief. 

He eases onto your side, pressing sweet kisses all over your face, before you bury it in the crook of his neck for a moment, before pulling away, “You’re all sticky,” you wrinkle your nose, with a whine, and he laughs, a shit eating grin on his lips — more euphoric than sarcastic. 

“Well, who’s fault is that?” and you’re pouting, brow furrowed. 

“The same guy’s bright idea it was to fuck in the middle of a fucking heatwave,” and he props himself up, the sheets nearly glued to him as he took in the damage, mussed and ruined with the mess of cum, sweat, and spit all over, “you’re buying me new sheets,” and he chuckles, leaning over to peck your lips. 

“I’ll buy you a new bed if you ever let me do that again,” and you shake your head, eyes fluttering open and then closed, as he nosed as the column of your neck, completely fascinated with the way your skin was glowing still after all of that, “you just gonna doze off after all of that? Such a nasty girl, we gotta clean up after all that, don’t we?” 

“Don’t wanna get up,” and he chuckles, pressing a sweet kiss to the top of your head, but the touch seems to make you whine, “fuck, but its so hot,” 

“And yet I didn’t hear you complaining when I was fucking you,” he tilts your chin up, glazed over eyes fluttering open to meet his, and how was it that your gaze alone was enough to want him to pin you down and fuck you all over again? “Told ya it was a good idea to fuck the heat away,” 

“Except when it ends up like this,” and he sighs, the creak of the mattress underneath, as he gets to his feet, “what are you—ah!” he’s lifted you into his arms, sweat soaked bodies sticking together nearly as he carries you through the living room, making a small pit stop to grab two ice cold water bottles, sounds of the TV still floating through the apartment, towards your shower. 

“Who said this heatwave was over yet?” 

A weather report was playing, a snippet Satoru caught before he shut the door. Reports say the heatwave is going to continue for the rest of the week. Residents are advised to stay inside until things finally cool down!  

“You hear that, sweetheart?” as he sets you down, turning on the water of the shower, letting the cold water soak you both, as he loomed over you, pinning you against the shower wall, “guess it’s just you and me for a week,” and he opens the water bottle, taking a sip before pressing his lips to yours, forcing you swallow the water, tongue seeking after it. 

His fingers rest below your chin, as his lips ghost over the curve of your jaw and the slope of your neck, before his teeth graze the hollow of your throat, as his fingers sneak down to tease at your aching cunt, sinking in to stuff his cum dripping down your thighs back inside, “lucky I know just how to keep you cool, right?” 

✧ a/n: its been super hot here where i live and i'm dying so i want gojo to come fuck the heat away.

✧ taglist: @mysticaltigersorceress, @kentocalls, @biblioth-que, @dreamtardisspace, @augustwinesworld, @totallytatum, @hanxyy, @sxnkuna, @spindyl, @rosiesroseas, @kxouri, @elisaj313-blog, @theelegantpotato, @peppertoastuniverse, @alwaysfreakingout, @being-me-is-not-a-sin, @pompompurin-rambles, @catsgomurp, @admirxation, @ninikrumbs, @equanimoushuman, @mysticaltigersorceress, @eightantseatingapplesss, @notgoodforlife, @satowooo, @gojo-gets-me-wetter, @ivypinsss, @fayyyrieee, @hcn-eyes, @designerpvssy, @mua-for-now, @sukunabish, @fushitoru, @spider-fan72, @suguwife, @forest-fruits-jam, @pinkyvomit, @ranatherealestsigma, @gojosbrat, @megumibrainrot, @pxppygirl

cw: 18+, smut, sex (p in v), cream pie, bed breaking sex (literally), based off a post in a Reddit thread

“Toru, ngh, please, please—“

“Please what, sweets? You’re going to have to use your words if you want something,” Satoru’s hips roll into you at an agonizingly slow pace, every thrust made you cling to him harder, your nails digging into his back.

“Please, harder, i need to go harder—“

“Heh, so greedy, my girl’s a needy one isn’t she?” And you know he’s not talking about you but your cunt, your dripping wet entrance currently filled up by his dick at the moment, “but I can’t refuse my Princess when you asked so sweetly, can I?”

And he begins to rut into you, fucking you into the mattress as you body wrapped around his for dear life. Fuck, he was so long, the curve of his length reaching every spot that had you nearly seeing white.

“Still s’fucking tight for me, huh?” Your bed frame begins to creak underneath you, as he rails into you, thick cock fucking you open, as the frame rattles against your floor, “that’s it, fuck, s’ perfect for me, good girl,”

And the praise sends a ripple of pleasure up your spine, as his tip begins to hit your cervix, “Toru, s’big, ngh,” and that only seems to make him grow bigger inside you, your warm heat pulling him in deeper. He fucks you even harder, the sounds of skin slapping together ringing in your ears.

He leans back to see where your bodies meet, “Taking me so well, like you were made for me, pretty, hah,” grunts escape his lips, “never gonna let you go, Princess. This pussy, these noises, you — all just for me,”

You moan, nodding, “just for you, Toru. Only ever for you,” and that makes him pull out to the tip only to thrust back in hard.

…maybe a little too hard.

SNAP!

You yelp and he grunts as the bed frame under you both breaks to bits, mattress still in tact as you hold onto him. And you both stare at each other for a moment, a small giggle overcome by the look in his eyes — want.

He pulls out of you, a small whimper at his absence, and he’s yanking the mattress off the wreckage that was formerly your bed frame.

He’s back on top of you in a moment, sinking into you with one thrust, continuing to fuck you hard and fast.

Fuck, that was so fucking hot. You’re close, you can feel the coil of heat in your stomach grow tighter as your hips meet every rough thrust he gives.

“Toru, ‘m close—“ and his fingers reach between your bodies to rub at your clit.

“Cum f’me, cum on my cock, sweetheart,” and you do, walls squeezing his cock, as he fucks you through your orgasm, the creak of the floorboards making you wonder if he’ll fuck you through the floor too. Your toes curl, as you drench his cock with your juices and it’s too much for him

His hips begin to stutter, a low moan leaving his lips, “I’m—“

“Cum inside me, Toru,” and he groans your name, before cumming, warm, thick seed spilling inside you, the sloppy thrusts growing louder as he fucked it deeper inside. And finally he stills, lying beside you, as he eases his cock from inside you, a soft moan at the sight of his seed spilling from your cunt.

Pants fill the silence of the room, eyes shut, until both of your gazes flutter open to glance at the broken bed frame.

“You owe me a new bed frame,” you grumble.

“I’ll buy you a new one every time if we do that again,” and you snort, your eye catching his, until both of you dissolve into laughter.

“You’re a dumbass, Satoru,” and he’s grinning, wrapping his arms around you.

“But I’m your dumbass,” and you roll your eyes, “you’re the one who begged me to fuck you harder,”

“‘Begged?’” You scoffed, “you’re the one who practically seduced me tonight,”

“And you weren’t asking me to by wearing that dress?”

“No, I just—“ and he’s got you pinned under him again in an instant, “Toru—“

“I think we can use our mouths for something much more productive,” he leans down, to meet your lips in a languid kiss, his cock already growing hard against your thigh as a thought occurs to him.

“Is your couch any sturdier than your bed frame?”

(He ends up buying you s lot of new furniture the next day).

soft dom gojo 💔

Sypnosis - Gojo being a soft dom, that's it, that's the tweet.

Warning(s) - suggestive themes, foul language, THIS PIECE IS LITERALLY ABOUT GOJO BEING A SOFT DOM EXPECT ANYTHING AND EVERYTHING

A/N - Thank you Anon...as if I don't already think about this man an unhealthy amount.

Read the Aggressive Dom version here!

! PIECE BEGINS UNDERNEATH THE CUT !

!Soft Dom Gojo, who treats you with so much respect. He treats you as if you’re the woman who hung the moon and the stars, as if you’re the woman responsible for all of creation. To him, you are absolutely everything, and he is definitely not afraid to voice any of that. 

!Soft Dom Gojo, who worships your body like a sacred temple. He’ll lay you down and place little kisses against any bit of skin that he can reach. Typically, he starts at your head, then he peppers your face in those featherlight kisses that bring butterflies to your stomach. Slowly, they get lower and lower, his lips brushing against your chest, then your stomach, and of course, between your legs — where he will stay until you’re whining and begging him to get off. 

!Soft Dom Gojo, who won’t hold back his praise when he fucks you. His hands will be grasping your hips firmly, eyes fixated on the ripple of your hips when his snap to make contact. Your eyes are screwed shut, moans falling from your parted lips at just how deep he goes with every thrust. His lips are right beside your ear, whispering “good girl”’s and “you’re doing so well”’s like they’re his own personal mantras.  

!Soft Dom Gojo, who always puts your pleasure over his own. To him, getting you off also gets him off. Hearing your little whimpers and moans when he’s nestled between your legs has his cock straining in his pants — that which leads to him grinding against the bed while his tongue flicks at your clit.  

!Soft Dom Gojo, who can and will overstimulate you while uttering the sweetest and softest praises. His fingers are pumping in and out of you at a borderline unbearable pace while his tongue flicks at your swollen clit. You had orgasmed — what — three or four times? You honestly didn’t know, you had lost count after orgasm number two. Your hands are tangled in his hair, little gasps and broken moans falling from your lips. A thin line of drool trickles down your chin — the sight of you so fucked out almost has Gojo cumming on the spot.  

!Soft Dom Gojo, who never skips aftercare. The minute that your body relaxes against the sheets, Gojo stands from the bed and moves towards the bathroom. There he runs a hot bath and grabs one of the small hand towels folded on the side of the sink. He returns to your side, running the towel over you, smiling slightly to himself as you shiver from the sensitivity. He shushes you, hooking his arms around you and lifting you. You both share a bath, your back to his chest as he softly washes your hair and body, being careful to not accidentally brush over any part of you that may be too sensitive.  

We <3 !Soft Dom Gojo in this house.  

Hiiii i really like reading some angst stuffs so heres my idea loll!

What about reader never felt like they were ever loved romantically and has been quite the loner for a while. So, to have Gojo confess to the reader has reader confused, but quite happy, but will soon find out that its a dare and Gojo only has the end of the year to make reader date him! (Just say the current month is near december loll)

But as time goes by, Gojo starts to actually have feelings for reader and suddenly reader overheard their convo of Gojo with his friends about the dare...

(PLS IM SORRY IF THIS IS TOO SPECIFIC THISIS ONE OF MY FIRST TIMES REQUESTING SMTHHH. BTW YOU CAN CHANGE THE GOJO TO ANYONE ELSE :3AND ALSO YOU CAN CHOOSE WETHER TO HAVE COMFORT OR NAH. AND THANKS FOR GIVING YOUR TIME TO READ THIS HAVE A NICE DAYY)

-🍰

Sypnosis - Gojo was already known to be a heartbreaker, but you didn't stop to think for a second that maybe -- just maybe -- he was trying to break your heart too.

Warning(s) - mature themes, foul language, Gojo is a MAJOR dick in this one, angst

Word Count - 3.1k

A/N - Hi Anon! (STOP IM CRYING I LOVE EMOJI ANONS SO MUCH) So you made the mistake of giving me an angst prompt while also saying that I could maybe add comfort. I will be doing no such thing. Kisses!

! PIECE BEGINS UNDERNEATH THE CUT !

Satoru Gojo was, by every single standard, a lady’s man.  

And you, by every single standard, were the complete opposite of every man’s “ideal type”. 

How you managed to find yourself in a situation where you told others, “I’m dating Satoru Gojo,” felt like a fever dream constructed by the hardest drug.  

The way in which he asked you out was — well — Satoru Gojo. A grand white banner with your name scrawled into it, underneath it the words: Go out with me?  

Of course you accepted, though you were thoroughly confused. You had always been an observer from the shadows, not emerging unless it was absolutely necessary.  

To have the Satoru Gojo ask you out in front of a gaggle of people was off putting — and certainly not anything that you had expected.  

But none of that stopped you from saying yes, which made the snowy-haired male’s smile widen three times in size — if that was even possible.  

“C’mon Satoru, it’s an easy 2,500 Yen,” Geto says, a sly smirk curling the corner of his mouth upward as he leans over the back of the couch. 

Gojo sighs, jutting out his bottom lip as one of his hands busies itself with running through his hair. It wasn’t a terrible bet — even though the payoff didn’t exactly feel worth it.  

“2,500 Yen to ask her out?” Gojo confirms, turning his head and glancing over the rims of his glasses. Geto smirks again, turning his phone and flashing a picture of you at Gojo, just to make sure that he would be asking out the right person. 

“2,500 Yen,” Geto nods. Gojo sighs, his body slumping forward dramatically. Geto grins again, watching his best friend crack down — no way was he turning down a bet that he could easily secure. 

“Fine, you have a deal,” Gojo holds his hand out, failing to hold back the smirk that curls his mouth upward as Geto slaps his hand against Gojo’s. 

The two shake on it, and the bet is made. 

But, of course, you were oblivious to all of that. You believed that, for the very first time, someone looked at you in a way that wasn’t strictly platonic. Someone loved you — really, truly loved you. 

And what an extravagant partner Gojo was, buying you small trinkets that he believed you would like, taking you to restaurants that you had looked at on the street for a moment too long — he had even forced himself to learn how to ice skate because you mentioned offhandedly that it would be nice to skate with someone.  

For the first time in a very long time, you felt connected to someone. Conversations flowed so easily between you both, never forced or uncomfortable. It was as if you had known each other your entire lives.  

Gojo knew that it was fake — you thought it was truly real.  

< … > 

“(Y/N)! There you are!” Gojo calls out with a flashy wave of his arm. Once you’re in reach of him, he latches onto you, nose nuzzling into your hair. 

You let out a startled squeak at the force of his body against yours, but immediately loosen up and return his embrace, snuggling as deeply as you can into his arms.  

“Satoru!” you laugh out breathlessly, squeezing his shoulders as he lifts you from the ground, easily spinning the both of you in a circle. “You act like you haven’t seen me in years.” 

Gojo rolls his eyes dramatically, setting you down but keeping his arms locked around your waist. He gaze meets yours through the darkened lenses of his glasses, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips.  

“Oh god, I know that look,” you mutter teasingly, which earns you an affectionate pinch to your side — one that you swat him away for.  

“You wound me,” Gojo sasses back, releasing you only to place a hand flat against his chest as if he had been stabbed. You roll your eyes, laughing breathily at his antics.  

“What do you want to do tonight? It’s date night,” you remind him, watching as his face breaks into a bright smile. He reaches for you again, lifting your hand and twirling you around before he tugs you to his chest. 

“I was thinking-“ he begins in a sing-song tone. You raise an eyebrow at him, which he quickly leans in to peck. “-we go to the movies, get some cheap froyo, and crash in your dorm.” 

You smile at him, eyes crinkling adorably at the corners as you throw your arms around his neck, squeezing him. 

“Yes please!” 

< … > 

“The movies? Froyo? God, if I didn’t know any better I’d say you’re falling for her,” Geto mocks the motion of throwing up, earning a laugh from the snowy-haired boy that stands next to him.  

Gojo rolls his eyes, catching the basketball that Geto throws at his chest. He bounces it once against the ground before taking a shot, smirking as it swishes inaudibly into the basket.  

“I want her to at least believe it,” Gojo responds with an indifferent shrug of his shoulders. Geto rolls his eyes, biting back the chuckle that rises in his throat. “What? I’m not lying.” 

“No, I know you’re not lying,” Geto bends to pick up the abandoned basketball, bouncing it against the ground and taking a shot of his own — which misses. 

“So then why the sudden comment?” 

“Because of the look in your eyes whenever someone mentions her or whenever you see her,” Geto says plainly, turning to cross his arms at Gojo.  

He purses his lips together, eyebrows pinching in confusion as he silently urges Geto to continue. How he looks at you? 

Geto sighs through his nose, then lifting his fingers to pinch at its bridge. The basketball is long abandoned now, rolling into the center of the gym and remaining there.  

“Every time she calls out to you with that — stupid nickname, you brighten up like a dog who’s seeing his owner,” Geto points out. Gojo can feel the tips of his ears burn red at that — because even he knew that it was true. 

“Toru! There you are!” you call out affectionately, crossing the training fields and practically jumping into Gojo’s awaiting arms. 

He smiles warmly as your face nestles into the junction between his neck and shoulder, breathing in the familiarity of your scent and holding you close to him. 

“That isn’t true,” he murmurs, scratching at the back of his neck. Geto stands still for a moment, staring at Gojo with a look that could easily slaughter an entire town.  

“No? How about when she made you lunch that one time?” Geto raises his eyebrow — his eyes visually calling bullshit as Gojo’s cheeks burn the same shade of red as his ears.  

“Ta-da!” you smile widely as you present Gojo with the intricately put-together bento box. He takes it from your hands, allowing his fingers to brush against your own for a moment too long — an action that brought a light blush to your cheeks.  

He smiles down at the bento you had prepared for him, feeling his heart swell at the idea that someone cared enough about him to sit down and put so much thought into preparing him a lunch. Gojo is quick to then lean in, pecking your cheek and smiling widely at the dark red hue that coats your face. 

“That’s…different,” Gojo tries to argue, but Geto is quick to call out his bluff, laughing loudly in his friend’s face and striding towards the center of the gym to retrieve the abandoned basketball. He bends, scooping it into his palms and bouncing it twice against the ground.  

“Oh, I’m sure that it is,” Geto rolls his eyes, twisting his body and shooting the basketball — already displaying annoyance when it misses yet again.  

Gojo sighs, the puff of air he releases blowing his bangs from his face. He watches as Geto goes to retrieve the basketball, bouncing it once before roughly checking it to Gojo.  

“Careful Satoru, I wouldn’t want you to fall for her,” Geto teases, feeling himself smirk as Gojo’s hands catch the basketball. The snowy-haired male rolls his eyes in response, bouncing the ball. 

“That won’t happen, trust me,” Gojo bites back, not failing to notice the knowing glint in Geto’s eyes.  

“Sure it won’t.” 

< … > 

Hey! I’m at the theatre, where are you? 

READ 

Satoru? 

READ 

I’m just assuming you’re running late, just text me when you’re here! 

DELIVERED 

Puffing out the air that you held in your cheeks, you stow your phone away into your pocket, eyes silently scanning the front entrance of the theatre. Maybe you missed him? No, there was no tuft of snowy-white hair anywhere in the crowd — surely he was just running late.  

You shuffle on your feet, adjusting the small bag that you had brought with you. The interior is stuffed with snacks that both you and Gojo enjoyed — including his favorite from the local convenience store. You smile to yourself, already picturing the wide smile that would cross his face when you presented him with the snacks.  

Your phone buzzes in your pocket, which you all but dive for with a speed that feels almost inhuman. You stare down at the illuminated screen, heart deflating as you realize it’s only a message from your mother, checking in and asking you how your date with Gojo was going.  

Lifting a shaky hand to your eyes, you wipe away the tears that cling to your bottom lash line. You text your mother back, lying to her about the state of the date and pushing your phone back into your pockets. You glance back down at your open purse, blinking back your tears at the sight of the snacks — what a waste. 

< … >  

“Sato—“ 

You pause just outside of the classroom doors, resting your palms against the sliding door and peering curiously inside. Your eyebrows pinch together, eyes narrowing as you listen intently to the conversation shared between Gojo and Geto, both of whom seemed to be in the middle of — maybe — arguing with one another.  

“How much longer am I keeping this up for?” Gojo all but whines, leaning back in the seat that he was occupying, his feet propped up on the desk as he releases an annoyed huff.  

Geto chuckles, rubbing a hand over his face as he sits on the desk directly in front of Gojo, folding his legs over one another and smirking down at his best friend. Gojo sighs, blowing his bangs out of his face as he leans forward, his sunglasses slightly slipping down the bridge of his nose.  

“Why? Getting bored?” Geto raises an eyebrow at Gojo, lifting his arms to cross them firmly over his chest. Gojo rolls his eyes yet again, releasing a deepened sigh that only has Geto releasing the chuckle that he had been holding in.  

“I’m getting tired,” Gojo mocks a dramatic yawn, throwing his arms into the air and leaning back in his chair. Geto raises an eyebrow at the answer, curious now. 

“Tired?” 

“Exhausted. I don’t think you understand Suguru, she’s so desperately clingy and just — I can’t keep up with it,” Gojo explains in exasperation, rubbing his hands over his face and digging his fingers into the skin of this temples, rubbing them in slow circles.  

You feel your heart crack the more that Gojo speaks — listening quietly as he lists off all of the things that he seemingly hates about you. Your eyes burn with tears, and suddenly every ounce of love that you ever felt for Gojo seep out of you in waves. 

Had he felt that way about you the whole time? 

“Hey, you were the one that said yes. You could’ve dropped the bet,” Geto shrugs his shoulders, an action that earns him an annoyed kick from Gojo.  

“It’s 2,500 Yen. I’m not saying no to that,” Gojo reminds his friend, waving a finger in his face. Geto chuckles breathily, but pauses at an unfamiliar sound — a choked cry. His head whips around in an attempt to locate the source of the sound, feeling his heart drop to the deepest depths of his stomach at the sight of a retreating figure by the classroom's doors.  

Gojo follows Geto's wandering gaze, eyebrows knitting together in confusion at the sudden change in his friend's facial expression. "Shit." Is all that Geto says before he moves to the door, peering out of it just in time to see your figure turn the farthest corner of the hallway – then vanishing.  

Geto's eyes flicker to meet Gojo's as the latter leans his chin onto Geto's shoulder, staring at the spot that you had just disappeared from.  

"What happened?" Gojo inquires curiously, not failing to notice the way that Geto's spine stands as stiff as cardboard. The dark-haired male swallows the lump in his throat – they were both royally fucked.  

"We're fucked." 

< ... >  

"There, there, c'mon (Y/N), don't let this--" 

"He lied to me!" You rub your hands roughly over your tear-filled eyes, feeling your chest tighten as you look away from Utahime's concerned gaze. Her eyebrows furrow together in worry, eyes silently taking you in as you curl into yourself.  

She would be lying if she said that she wasn't downright pissed at what Gojo had done to you. After listening to your tearful ramble about what you heard, any and all respect that she had for her snowy-haired classmate went completely out of the window. 

Not that there was much respect there in the first place.  

"So how much of what he said did he actually mean?" Your voice is a broken cry, trembling in a way that has Utahime reaching out to comfortingly lace her fingers with your own.  

"I don't know," she whispers in response, not knowing how to help you. You turn your head away from her, sniffing and wiping your nose with the cloth of your sleeve. "I'm sorry (Y/N)." 

You shake your head, breath trembling as you grip at your knees. You screw your eyes shut, still seeing his affectionate smile behind your eyelids – you wish that you could forget it completely. You can still feel him too; you can feel his arms wrapped around you and his lips as they press affectionately to your cheek.  

You begin to wonder how much effort he actually put into your dates, you begin to wonder if his affectionate touches were genuine, you begin to wonder if it was him writing his text messages out or if it was someone else entirely. Did he ever care about you? 

"Hey." 

You glance up at Utahime, sniffling quietly as she reaches a hand out, laying her palm against your cheek and thumbing away the stray tears that roll down your cheeks. Her heart breaks at the sight of you – but her heart also yells angrily at the idea that Gojo would toy with you for a measly 2,500 Yen.  

She knew that he was an asshole – everyone did. But she didn't think he was that big of an asshole.  

"How about me and you go out? I'll even text Mei Mei and Shoko," Utahime offers, smiling again at you. You sniffle, cheeks reddened by your tears. Your eyes are puffy, lashes still wet with tears that take their sweet time in dripping down your face.  

"Can we stay in instead?"  

Utahime nods, smiling again at you. Her arms extend, wrapping around you and tugging you into her chest, squeezing affectionately at you. You sink into her embrace, face pressed comfortably into her shoulder.  

"Yeah, of course we can." 

< ... >  

"You're such a dick!" Utahime yells in a fit of rage, shoving her hands against Gojo's chest and glaring daggers at him as he stumbles backwards. He stares at her incredulously, eyebrows raised to a point that his forehead is wrinkled five times over.  

He hadn't expected this behavior from the usually calm and collected girl – but the way that she had stormed at him screaming her head off told him that he had royally screwed up.  

Over his shoulder, Geto watches knowingly. He knows that he'll likely be yelled at too, so in mental preparation, he remains completely silent, not wanting Utahime to turn her rage on him prematurely.  

"What is this about?" Gojo asks genuinely, his eyes narrowed in confusion as Utahime angrily takes a step back from him, restraining herself from actively strangling him.  

"What is this – so you just have no idea what you did to (Y/N)? God, you're dense!" Utahime all but screams, throwing her hands up in a fit of rage. 

Gojo narrows his eyes, then they widen – shit. How the fuck did you find out? 

"What do you mean?" He pauses for a moment, his tongue darting out to wet his lips. "What about (Y/N)?" 

"Oh, don't act so clueless! You know exactly what I'm talking about!" Utahime jabs a finger at Gojo's chest, her eyes burning with a rage that he had genuinely never seen in her before. She takes a brave step towards him – in return, he takes a step back.  

"I don't--" 

"Does 2,500 Yen sound familiar to you?" Utahime raises an eyebrow at him. He deadpans, swallowing the growing lump in his throat and feeling his heart sink.  

His silence tells her everything that she needs to know. She straightens, shooting a pointed glare to Geto as well – resulting in him looking anywhere but her direction, gaze flickering around wildly.  

She turns her attention back to Gojo, looking him up and down with an expression of nothing but pure disgust. He winces at the glint in her eyes – God, he had really screwed up.  

"You're both disgusting," Utahime spits venomously, then turning on her heel and promptly striding away from both males. Gojo turns, exchanging a worried yet remorseful glance in Geto's direction. His friend only swallows, they had both royally screwed up. 

< ... >  

Gojo suffered with the aftermath of you hearing his conversation – you avoided him like he had been infected with some kind of infectious disease. Any room he entered, you exited. Any time he called out your name with a polite wave, you turned your nose up and continued walking.  

In a way, you pretended that he simply didn't exist – that the person waving to you or trying to interact with you was nothing but a phantom, one that you ignored as if it was the only thing that you knew how to do.  

"(Y/N)! Hey, can we--" 

You stride past him, shoulder knocking against his own as you exit the classroom. He stands silently at its center, lowering his hand back to his side – he had wanted to reach out for you, but something inside of him told him to simply leave you be.  

And the day that he saw you happily hanging off of Nanami's arm was the day that he realized – loving someone from afar was the worst pain of all.  

Just thinking about tracing Satoru's scar.

Just lying in silence tangled in the sheets of your shared bed; your head is tucked underneath Satoru's chin, legs tangled with his own with the side of your body pressed against his own. One of your arms is tucked underneath his body while your other lays flat over his stomach.

One of his arms is wound around your waist, the other buried in your hair with his fingers running through the strands. His chest rises and falls against your cheek, his heartbeat thumping rhythmically against you – that little reminder that you needed to know that he was alive and breathing.

Your eyes flicker down to the hand that lays against Satoru, your fingers absentmindedly tracing the raised skin that circles his waist. You can feel him shudder at the simple movement, his breath catching in his throat as his tired eyes flicker down to watch your movements.

"What're you doin' pretty girl?" Satoru asks, though you don't fail to notice the slight waver of his voice.

That singular scar had become his biggest insecurity in record time, and even though you understood just why he looked at his body with disgust if he happened to catch a glimpse of it in the mirror, he was still your Satoru.

"Jus' admiring you," you answer honestly, half-lidded eyes flickering up to glance at him as you crane your neck to press a kiss to the underside of his jaw. He hums, arms tightening around you as he adjusts you against his chest. He kisses the top of your head, smiling against your hair.

His breath hitches again as your thumb swipes against the scar on his body, fingertip leaving behind a searing sensation.

The backs of his eyes burn with tears, unseen by you but there nonetheless. He inhales, his breath shuddered as he buries his nose into your hair.

You crane your neck again, kissing his chin before settling back in his arms. “You’re so pretty ‘Toru.”

Satoru closes his eyes, holding you just a bit tighter — not that you notice.

“I love you angel.”

Everything was perfect. 

"You may kiss the bride." 

Your rosy lips turn upward in a lovesick smile, arms lifting to wrap around Gojo's neck and bring his face closer to yours, the tips of your noses brushing against one another as his arms loop around your waist. With one hand, he holds your waist, and with the other, he slowly begins to lift your leg, hooking it over his hip and dipping you down.  

You let out a tearful giggle, the sound mixing with Gojo's chuckle as he slots his lips against yours, pouring years of love and adoration into a singular kiss. You squeeze your arms around him to steady yourself, smiling against his lips as they move against your own.  

You pull back from him just as his tongue swipes against your bottom lip, no doubt wanting to shamelessly make out with you in front of an audience. But with your family sitting somewhere in the crowd, one of you had to demonstrate self-control.  

"It's nice to meet you Mrs. Gojo," Gojo whispers, his breath fanning over your lips as he continues to hold you close. You dive forward, pecking his lips again. He smiles at you, tearful aquamarine eyes crinkling at the corners as he stares down at you; his little wife. 

Everything was perfect. 

"I'm home!" Gojo announces as he kicks his shoes off, turning his body halfway to close the front door and peering around the dim-lighted living room. His eyebrows furrow, arms slapping against his sides as he realizes that you're not running to him to embrace him.  

Slowly, he walks further into the house, curiously peering into the kitchen only to be met with the sight of nothing. Worry sinks into his chest, but he doesn't allow himself to get worked up just yet.  

"Honey?" Gojo's voice is a quiet whisper as he enters the living room, eyes met with a heartwarming sight; you're sat in the center of the couch, arms wound around a sleeping Megumi. The boy leans impossibly further into your side, his head tucked comfortably into the crook of your neck with his body splayed over your own like a weighted blanket.  

His lips turn upward in a soft smile, hand reaching for his phone to photograph the moment and commit it to memory. But just as his fingers brush his phone, something tells him to instead live in the moment as opposed to capturing it.  

Gojo moves to kneel silently beside the couch, reaching out his index finger and lovingly stroking it against your cheek, smiling to himself as your nose scrunches up and you stir slightly. Those eyes that he could spend hours gazing into flutter open, a sleepy smile curling the corners of your lips upward.  

"Hi 'Toru," you whisper, yawning.  

"Hi pretty girl." 

Everything was perfect. 

"Satoru Gojo!" 

Gojo pauses, every bone in his body stilling as he slowly turns to look over his shoulder, swallowing his pride (and dignity) as you stomp over, Megumi not far behind. Gojo glances quickly at Yuuji and Nobara, silently asking them for help – but immediately the two first-years look around, not wanting to stand in the way of your wrath.  

"Hey honey," Gojo says with a smile, already feeling sweat build up against his forehead as you grow closer, eyes flaring with an anger that he had only ever seen once before – and honestly, he had no idea how he had even survived. "What's – uh – what's going on?" 

"What's going on?! You mean to tell me that you're going to stand there and act like nothing is wrong?" Your voice raises an octave or two in volume, making Gojo cringe and shrink in on himself. It was almost entertaining, really. Watching the 6'3 Special Grade Sorcerer be reduced to a shaking mess at the sight of his angered wife.  

Gojo remains silent, not wanting to respond in the fear that you would bite his head off.  

The staring contest between yourself and Gojo is tense, only made worse by the other pairs of eyes that watch quietly from the sidelines.  

Yuuji shifts closer to Megumi, craning his neck just low enough to whisper into his ear, "What's going on?" 

Megumi only smirks, lifting his arms to cross them over his chest. "He ate her leftovers last night." 

Everything was perfect... 

"I understand that your work is important, but you're barely home anymore," you say desperately, closing Megumi's bedroom door and turning on your heel to glance at Gojo. He rubs his hands against his face, skin catching the groan that falls from his lips. 

"I can't just say no to what the higher-ups want me to do, honey. You know that," Gojo responds, not failing to notice how your teeth catch your bottom lip, roughly biting down into the supple skin.  

"You have a family here 'Toru. Your missions are getting more and more dangerous and I – I don't want to be sitting on the couch one day and you just," you pause to swallow the growing lump in your throat, "don't come home." 

Gojo softens, his heart hammering in his chest as he stares silently down at you. Your eyes shine with tears, tears that he desperately wants to reach out and brush away – but something inside of him tells him not to.  

"Megumi needs you here. Hell, I need you here," you say desperately, laying a palm flat against your chest as you step forward to close the distance between yourself and Gojo.  

Something inside you damn near breaks as your husband takes a step back from you.  

"I know. Trust me I know. But there's only so much I can do. They need me (Y/N)," Gojo says. Immediately – the moment that those words fall from his lips – he wishes that he could fucking swallow them.  

You freeze, body standing rigid as your eyes blankly stare at him. Any ounce of emotion, anything that might have made you human is suddenly gone, replaced instead by a robotic stare that chills Gojo down to his very core. 

Silently, you brush past him, shoulder knocking against his chest as you walk down the hallway and vanish into the living room. Gojo stares after you, turning his head towards Megumi's door and screwing his eyes shut – fuck.  

Everything was perfect...? 

"Megumi! Have you seen your mother?" Gojo asks, waving his hand wildly in the air as the raven-haired teenager turns to glance at him, raising an eyebrow in both annoyance and curiosity.  

"She just went out on a field mission, why?" 

Gojo's heart sinks, body deflating as he pockets the necklace that he had planned to give you; a heart locket with a picture from your wedding day inside of it. Megumi watches his adoptive father's shaking hands, and a pang of curiosity flows through his body, but he makes no mention of it.  

"Oh, no reason. I just wanted to give her something," Gojo answers dismissively, waving his hand at Megumi before he lets out a disappointed sigh.  

Everything was perfect? 

"I understand, I'll tell Shoko to prepare a bed now," Ichiji says with a swift nod, though it doesn't go unnoticed how he swallows the lump in his throat. He removes the phone from his ear, pressing down on its red "hang-up" button and stowing the device away in his pocket.  

Curiously, Gojo peers at the assistant manager through his blindfold, tilting his head curiously as the younger man stands from his seat, beelining for the door and disappearing into the hallway.  

The snowy-haired male stands, following closely behind Ichiji and watching as the man's back tenses, his hands curling into white-knuckled fists. What the fuck was going on? 

His breath catches in his throat as he enters the infirmary. One of the tables is occupied, the body covered by a thin white tarp that's stained with the blood of whoever lies underneath.  

Ichiji glances at Shoko, who only stares down at the stained tarp with a numb glint to her eyes. Her hand extends, fingers wrapping over the top of the tarp and lowering it to reveal who lies beneath.  

Gojo's stomach turns.  

Was everything perfect? 

❬ 002 ❭ through my fault ⸝⸝ hence, mother knows best

synopsis. desperate to find you a suitor to expand the kingdom, your mother finds ways to ensure that you rule in her image; even if that means breaking your relationship with your future husband.

genre. arranged marriage, royalty au, slow burn, +18

warnings. politics, undertones of manipulation

wc. 7.4K — a 20-30 minute read

↳ playlist ➙ series masterlist ➙ next chapter

`"I wonder what the prince is up to?"

Far from the gelid lands of Arcadia, a Silvern prince; a frail prince, lived within the walls of this castle. There are rumours surrounding the man, for as one speaks of him, the whispers of falsity and concern came upon with his name.

Satoru Gojo, who was the lonesome Prince of Myriad.

"Why, princely duties, of course!"

The diminutive land belonging to the Gojos fell in symphonies of shock and interest as the words of messengers, noble people, and commoners spoke of the prevailing announcement that King [F/N] of Arcadia is bedridden and the backbone of the kingdom is collapsing. Surprisingly so, their decision is dependent on their so-called Cursed Princess' choice. A marriage unifying two kingdoms. It was a wise decision for most, but many came to despise Arcadia as a forsaken land for even the stupidest people know not to depend on broken rulers.

So they thought, of course. What do such commonfolk know about ruling a kingdom, anyway? Was it the gold embroidered around thrones; to flaunt such luxury? Was it the absolute monarchy over the people? Was it the aristocratic linkage that held kingdoms together? Or was it the pressure of keeping ongoing lineage— to breed, to raise, to marry, to rule? Was ruling a cycle for such royals or is there a deeper meaning behind holding ascendancy over their land?

What do they really know?

In a county surrounded by small commoners, a royal crier held up a scroll in front of him with one hand. His mustache is sleek and pointing outwards as he scrunches his nose to prepare for his following announcement. This royal crier, to which the young Satoru Gojo, recognized as one of his mother's servants, finally cleared his throat — quite obnoxiously — to gather the attention of the people.

"Hear Ye! Hear Ye!" The crier had called for the attention of the people. "On this day, two weeks hence, in the Palace of Arcadia there will be held a Royal Ball! At said ball, in accordance to ancient custom: Princess of Arcadia, Her Highness [Y/N], shall choose a spouse. Furthermore! At the behest of the Princess, it is hereby declared that every maiden and man in the kingdom, be them noble or commoner, is invited to attend. Such is the command of our most noble Queen Aia."

This would be the third time that week that the young man would have heard that announcement. For as he hid within the crowd of commoners, with his hood lifted over his handsome face, he could see everything just as well as he could hear everything. Whispers among young women arose within every corner of where he walked, he was very much entertained by such a commotion— it was merely just a ball! What's so special about one ball?

Ah, of course. How could the young prince forget? This ball was hosted by a—

"...cursed princes, that's what she is! Or so I've heard." A young peasant girl had squealed.

Her acquaintance hummed, "but what of the king; won't he have a funeral?"

"I wouldn't be surprised if he was murdered," said another unnamed maiden, "there's a lot going on in that forsaken kingdom... best we think naught of it."

There were a few things that many of the commoners forget about the announcement with the king. They only spoke of him as bedridden: nothing more. So nobody truly knows if he was dead or not, and even if he was at this fine moment, nobody would know of it until weeks after. As much as nobles loved to flaunt, royal families are quite exclusive about news such as that. And when it came to Arcadia, Satoru was indifferent about the tales within those castles; if he knew any better he wouldn't so much as think about what goes on in that kingdom.

But of course, this is Satoru Gojo: and he didn't know any better— or at least, he chooses not to.

"Excuse me, ladies, but if you don't mind me asking—" Satoru approaches the bickering maidens— "would you point me to where the Kugisaki seamstresses are?"

His voice came forth like silk among linen, easily swooning the women as their attention shifted toward the young Gojo. The white-haired man flashes a pearly smile, only barely visible under the silhouette of his hood. On of the two, fights the urge to fan her heating face when Satoru shifts his auric gaze toward her.

"Right up north, sir," clad in pink, she points in the direction. Her hair was fixed upwards in pigtail curls, lips masked with this rufescent tint. 

The second one, a little shorter than she was, then adds, "to your left will be their wooden sign!"

"Many thanks, my ladies." Satoru flashes an amorous smile. "Have a good morning."

Inside the Kugisaki Shoppe, two noble ladies clean up after themselves. An abundance of weapons laid out in one corner as a young Zenin lady cleaned up after herself, while on the other side of said boutique, a young Kugisaki girl organized orders upon orders of suits, dresses, and uniforms. This was a shop in which many royals, nobles, and commoners alike came to find attire with the best of quality.

"The princess must be quite desperate if they're repeating announcements upon announcements upon announcements!" Nobara dragged her words with a dramatic gesture, her hands shooting upwards as she slumped.

Maki acknowledged her with a hum, "uh-huh."

"So lucky that lady is, to have so many men, women— kings and queens!— at her feet." Nobara continues to speak about the most recent and popular invitation. "She even invited the commoners! What kind of sane— or absurdly kind— princess would do that? Even I wouldn't bat an eye toward the peasants!"

“Uh-huh.”

Nobara rolls her eyes, "give me a little praise, will you? I'm just saying, Princess [Y/N] is just so... so unpredictable! She's incredibly wealthy, incredibly beautiful— from so I've heard— and so incredibly cursed. And despite that, so many men wish to marry her. Do you think that Prince Satoru would consider it?"

"That's nonsense, Nobara. What sane man would want to marry a cursed princess?" Maki retorts in a matter-of-fact tone.

In response to the previous' girl's words, Maki stood firmly with her statement as she continued to clean the abundance of spears before her. The brunette frowns at that, standing over the woman in spectacles as she crosses her arms over her chest. "But of course, there would be a solution to every curse! A lovely prince to break it~" Sang Nobara and Maki rolls her eyes at the hopeless romantic, pursing her lips together.

"Do you even know what the curse is?" Maki asks incredulously, while skillfully holding the spear in one hand to play with.

"Keep that thing away from me, Maki! You might ruin my dress!" Nobara shrieks at the woman's movements, briefly scolding her. Then subsequent to a suspire, the girl shakes her head obliviously. "And no, I'm not very sure of what her curse is... a lot of people have mixed feelings about it, you know? Like—" Nobara gestures with her hands— "perhaps she can turn into a monster at night, or that she has the ability to steal your soul... witchassery kind of stuff..."

Maki ignores the girl's crude language, "everything there is to know about her are nothing but a bunch of fables and tales." Nobara listened in interest and Maki's words came as followed: "Nobody truly knows what her curse is. No one but her family, I presume, which is why many are afraid of her."

Right, because what you don't know or understand is what you're most afraid of.

Maki fixed the weapons into a large bag, effortlessly carrying it on her back. The dark-haired girl, unlike other women of noble standing, wore around her waist a shorter skirt that flowed easily whenever she walked. She was dressed in attire with the intent to fight and not look pretty; quite the opposite of the brown-haired girl. Maki had been serving in the Gojo Castle as a lady-in-waiting alongside Nobara, and despite this frail position she found solace in training with the prince on his free time.

"Well, what about you, Maki?" Nobara asks. "Are you afraid of her?"

The dark-haired girl had run away from her family's clutches at the age of 15, running into the Gojo Clan upon trying to steal from one of their servants. Instead of being punished by the family, however, the current Regent Queen of the Gojo family had taken Maki in. It was no secret that she was a Zenin girl, for what distinguishes a woman who was raised in the Zenin household and a woman from any other family would be the mark on their backs that resembled their family crest.

Maki shakes her head, smiling idly. "What's there to be afraid of? She's merely just be a princess, Nobara. Rumours are bound."

Before the younger girl had the opportunity to speak, the two ladies were greeted by the uninvited presence of the prince who nonchalantly waltzed around town in a less than believable disguise. The door to the shop opened with the shrill harmony of bells, Satoru's long legs striding inside as he set down his hood to reveal his youthful face.

"Maki, Nobara!~ How are you, ladies?" He smiled widely while offering the dark-haired girl a hand with the abundance of weapons sitting on her back. Much to the Gojo's amusement, Maki declined his help.

"We were just talking about the recent announcement from Arcadia." Nobara shrugs. Unaffected by the flippancy of the brunette's tone, Satoru continued to listen to the young lady speak. Commonly, a woman would greet the prince or princess of the palace with a bow or courtesy, but with Satoru he saw past such traditional roles and behaviour as he taught his younger acquaintances not to treat him like so. For he was more than this prince that many seemed to look up to with immeasurable expectancy. "At first we were speaking about the bad omens surrounding the poor lady, but until you came, I was about to bring up the topic of who is willing to marry that princess..."

Nobara glances at the dark-haired girl.

In distinction to the way that both ladies stood, they could catch the way the light-haired man's irises beamed in curiosity. From the way the older prince absorbed the information— as well as the unmistakable simper that marked its way on his handsome face— Maki's lips gaped open as she scoffed in disbelief. "Oh no. No, no, no, you're not actually considering—"

Satoru blows a raspberry, crossing his arms over his chest and almost immediately he responded, "I was only thinking about it." He scratches his cheek sheepishly, though his words said one thing his countenance expressed a whole different implication. "Besides, it would be about the right time for me to take over the throne one day, you know? Mother isn't exactly in the brightest position as we speak..."

Maki rolls her eyes, "and what makes you think that you're in any position to make such drastic commitments?"

What came out as a harsh question was taken as a sermon, for to Satoru, the idea of taking the crown for himself was nothing short of bliss. He had been concealed in this castle for too long, the protectiveness of his mother was not something he despised as he knew well of the weight that a crown may carry. But as a new arrival of suitors, queens, and princesses presented themselves to him; Satoru can only advocate the idea that—

"—I'm ready," was the silvern man's response, "and I'm bored."

That's a lie, Maki thought, who would do this out of boredom?

When Satoru looks down, he could already see how the way her honey-coloured eyes are tempered with the impassion of a thousand suns, for not even Icarus dared to meet her fiery gaze, "and you came to this decision because you were 'bored'?" It would seem that she completely disregarded his first statement, but Satoru did not see to it to bring it up once more. This was a picky topic for Maki— just as it was for him, but he did not treat it like so. "And Arcadia, of all kingdoms, why would you choose Arcadia?"

In addition to Maki's words, Nobara continues, "with all due respect, my Prince, but isn't that a little careless?"

The white-haired man shrugs, "I'd like to do something of my own accord for once. I'm sure my mother wouldn't mind that." And before Maki could retort with her own personal declarations, Satoru faces the younger girl with an all-too radiant smile. "Don't worry, Maki. I wouldn't dare do anything that you would dislike. Be grateful that I am not explicitly considering the Zenin's— I never did, anyway."

He had attempted to make the final sentence come out as a joke, but Maki's feelings came out within one distant suspire; "You're an idiot, Satoru." She had spoken the first name of her teacher for the first time that day, so casually, so venomously; for a moment Satoru felt uneasy because of her following words. "The people of Arcadia are in alliance with the Zenin's, don't you know?"

Of course Satoru knew, but he thought nothing of it because he knew that Maki was not worried about the idea that Zen'ins might just grow in power with the company of the Gojos; she was disturbed about the idea of having to see them again.

"The [L/N]'s and Zenin's are two different families, Maki." Unaffected by her words, Satoru remains apathetic with the way she clenched her fist beside the skirt of her dress. "Just because one is affiliated with the other, does not remotely mean that they are the same kind. You should know that much about us by now."

'Us,' that is what Satoru referred to his kin as a part of a royal family as well as a part of the kingdoms that sought dominion along with these Earthly lands. Many would see such as indifferent from each other; for every kingdom had their own kings and queens, dukes and duchesses; these domains possessing such prowess and authority. They were no different from each other, for every Royal was the same— that is what people often assumed, that is what Maki assumed.

Not once has Maki doubted Satoru, he, the Prince that had oh-so mercilessly taken under his wing despite belonging to a family that despised him. Maki had little respect for him as a man of his own characteristics, but as a Prince, who was soon to be King, Maki knows that in her own head, Satoru Gojo was in a league of his own as a ruler. He was special, that is what she believed, he was special and extremely unpredictable; so is it right for her to judge his choices?

"How can you be so sure that this is the right decision?" Maki finally spoke in question.

A smile makes its way onto his handsome face and the man lifts his blindfold to meet the younger girl's determined irises. "I know." His voice laced with confidence and he pats both girls on their heads, having no regard for the way Nobara shoots him a scowl. "I suppose it's alright to trust your gut sometimes. But I'll let you know that if I end up disliking my decision, I'll allow you to say 'I told you so.'" He chuckled. "If the time comes, of course. But when is that ever the case?"

"Does this mean your mother doesn't know?" Nobara finally speaks up in question. "Yet, at least... it has been a while since we have gone out of the palace for such an event, from what I've recalled. I'm afraid it might startle her, even." Nobara was an easily-concerned girl, though she hid it behind the face of materialism and boldness, she knew the Queen like the back of her hand. Having been raised to serve her as a handmaid at one point, it only came naturally that the young girl would think about the older lady's wellbeing.

"She'll know when I return to the castle." Satoru pats her head, grinning at her perturb. "And besides, I was prepared for this moment. I know I'm ready, so there is no need to worry." His expression was enough to convince both girls as they bow their heads politely at the Prince. In that moment of silence, Maki couldn't help but feel uneasy about his decision. But alas, this was the Satoru Gojo that she had learned to acknowledge. He was unpredictable and she knew that sometimes, it is better not to know what is truly going on in his head. "Now, onto the purpose of my visitation!"

Maki's thoughts are ripped from the space of her head as she unamusingly faces the loud Prince. "Right, of course," said Maki in a murmur.

"The ball is in two weeks and I'd like you to tailor for me the finest suit." Satoru holds up a finger as he speaks, Nobara hums slowly as she listens to the Prince. Much to her relief, Maki took out some ink and paper so that she could write down his request. "As for my mother, She would like for her gown to be turquoise; made from the finest silk, of course, and I promise to pay you accordingly."

Nobara hums, crossing her arms over her chest. "Yeah? How much?"

"Depends on the finished product," the prince responds suggestively.

"Is that a joke or a challenge?" Nobara raises her brows.

Maki sighs, "you say that about everything, Nobara."

"300,000 yen. Take it or leave it." Gojo grins. "I'm sure that is—"

"—more than enough!" Nobara clasps her hands together, her cheeks flaming with delight as her response seemed to please the young Gojo. "It shall be done by then, your highness!" Nobara had spoken out in glee and with that.

Venturing back to his home, embracing the dominating gigantism it radiated, Satoru could not help but feel... embarrassed. It had been a long time since he had brought up the idea of responsibility to his mother. He was always one who liked to do things on his own; no assistance, only guidance. Sure, he has had a fair share of lectures from his mother— a prince does not speak with his mouth full! or a prince is always mindful of his subjects. Never has his mother addressed him as a future heir to the throne. Was it because she believed he was not ready? What was she afraid of?

The Silvern prince was also embarrassed because he felt... nervous. Pride and confidence came naturally to him. In essence, he had always been a hard-headed boy, often regarding his own curiousities and ponderations more than he regarded his place as a noble. He barely asked for help, for he was always the one offering that helping hand. Satoru was a kind prince, a curious one. This trait allowed commoners and other neighbouring countries to perceive him as frail.

Upon greeting his mother's ladies-in-waiting with a kind smile, he approaches his mother's meditation room with a mindful guard. She was a very spiritual woman, having the highest remarks about the importance of her peace and mind. The woman had attempted to pass this mindset of hers to her son, but Satoru— choosing not to know any better— was an explosive universe of cerebrations. He did not want to limit himself, because he wanted to live his life with infinite ambitions.

The young prince could recall his mothers words for him when he was a young teenager; that as a prince, decision making would mean that he dies at every exhale, and comes back to life with every inhale. She said that, when he is holding a sword in front of an enemy, every movement can be his last; every attack his downfall. There is no right or wrong; no fast or slow, there is only him.

Him, and the thin line that separates one eternal exhale from other countless ones.

Perhaps that's the reason the Gojo's were presented as the most notorious. After all: his energy, his unshakable confidence and prideful nature; but also the experience and wisdom only the merciless could provide. Satoru had the eyes of a hunter, the reflexes of a feline; a heart that burned in passion and a lively soul that saw no evil — but also knew how to defeat it, if told to do so.

Lord Satoru, Prince of Myriad — as he was known around the kingdom — was the perfect Prince. He had the obedience, but he also had the individuality. Had the muscles, but also the intelligence. He was quiet and then loud, patient and then immediatist. He was fluid as a river, laughing at the face of entropy and surprising his enemies at every new battle. He was inconstant, he was unpredictable. He was feared. Respected. 

But that, of course, was merely the image commoners and fellow knights and nobles among kingdoms had of him. To only a few, Satoru was far more complex — much more damaged — than that. Beyond the spark of innocence within his eyes, there was the lost, lonely soul of a forgotten child; of a boy who had to fight to survive, who found himself holding the sword he once ran from. The image of the Gojo was forged in the fear he now cultivated in the hearts of his enemies — and that was the reason why he despised such presumptuous title.

"Frail Prince" some would claim him to be, for he barely went out of his castle unless it was a noble event. "A would-be Strong Ruler" was what others would say, as he was raised and fabricated under his father's strong ideals and his mother's incomparable grace; and he saw himself as such. He wasn't just a prince within this realm of Myriad, no, for the stars have foretold his destiny as a ruler: King Satoru Gojo of Myriad. And the truth behind that prophecy, began with you.

"I want to marry the Princess of Arcadia."

Satoru's mother, an elegant woman who was much more shorter than her son, was clad in a beautiful turquoise gown that dragged behind her as she walked. Her platinum locks contrasted Satoru's white own, making her appear younger than she originally was. But it was the wise crow's feet that kissed on the corners of her eyes and the smiling lines on her cheeks, that exhibited her years of ruling and years of sapient knowledge that she had come to acquire. The woman, Saeko Gojo, raised a thin brow at her son's statement, facing the young boy as he strides toward her.

"Did I hear that correctly, son?" She inquired, approaching the man as she rests her aging fingers against his cheek. "Surely, I must be hearing things. You want to do what, Satoru?"

Saeko was an intelligent, graceful, and incredibly kind woman. But she was also easily startled. She often overthinked, and was quite overprotective over those around her; from her ladies-in-waiting, the handmaid's that have served her, to her son— the Prince.

"Well, mother..." Satoru cleared his throat, feeling himself stiffen as he struggled to formulate his following words. "I have heard various announcements about the Princess of Arcadia, Lady [Y/N], and her most recent aspirations... she is searching for a suitor and, well, I believe that this is an opportunity for me to find my place as a King."

His mother remained silent, curling her hands to her side in thought. "That princess... Arcadia, you say? Why not elsewhere?"

"Pardon me?" Satoru blinked a few times.

His mother did not seem against the idea of a marriage, was what Satoru thought, but what did people have against Arcadia?

Saeko purses her scarlet-painted lips together before releasing a sigh. "Satoru, that Princess in Arcadia is accursed. You cannot be betrothed to a woman who lives with a horrible omen!" The lady fans her face dramatically and Satoru forces himself not to sigh loudly when she continues to speak. "She is cursed, my boy. Why would you consider her as a candidate to rule Myriad as Queen?"

This is exactly what he had overheard Maki and Nobara say. Why do they speak so illy of the kingdom?

"Arcadia is also in need of a King, mother," Satoru attempts to counter, "we are just has helpless as they are. We are strong, yes, but many might take advantage of our vulnerable situation—"

"—that girl is damned." Saeko repeats sternly. "God help her soul, but we shall not get involved with such a impuissant family."

Satoru crosses his arms imprudently, raising the question that has lingered within the depths of his trepidations upon the very first time that he has heard of your existence as "The Cursed Princess of Arcadia." Satoru speaks out loud, leaning against one of the pillars with a narrowed look. "Cursed... cursed... how so?"

His mother's heels click as she paces around the room, seemingly thinki carefully about her following words. "Ah!" As if a lightbulb had presumptuously lit up above her head, she pointed a matter-of-factory finger up toward her son. "Well, there was a village eradicated under her rule—"

"That was 43 years ago, mother," Satoru interrupts, "way before she and I were even born. And the patriarch would never allow for an unmarried woman of royalty to rule over such vast lands... that is simply... unacceptable to the church."

And as absurd as that speculation was, it was true; Satoru knew better than many that women are frowned upon on the seat of the throne— this such includes his mother who has been ruling in her husband's light for many years since his death.

Satoru was well aware of his books. Often clinging onto such knowledge like a mantra. It was what his father would have wanted after all. He had the privilege of higher education, he had access to books, scrolls, and writings dating back to the very first monarch. The Gojo's were strong, but they were not terrible: for knowledge had always been their greatest ally. And so, king upon king; legacy upon legacy; Satoru wanted to follow the tradition of education within the dynasty, and that began with his wit with his books. The young prince may have had the grace that his mother so easily embraced, but he also possessed the heart of a formidable ruler— a trait he had thanks to his great father.

His mother, however, saw past such writings as she was concerned for the conservation of their lineage. She was ecstatic that her son wished to consider marrying for his rightful title as King, but she was also anxious about the ominous myths and whispers regarding the Kingdom of Arcadia.

"And what about that great famine that fell upon their kingdom...?" His mother was restless as she was looking for excuses at this point. "Their rise in taxes! The demand for crops..?"

Satoru was amused by his mothers claims and he further entertained her ideas with a minuscule smile. "Again, mother, was under King [F/N]'s rule and his wife, Queen Aia." The white-haired man watches the way his mother's expression morphs into one of defeat. Satoru continues to speak. "If anything, her parents are perceived as tyrants, but I do believe not her."

"The witch! Oh, the wicked witch, Satoru. she had conspired with the child on her sixth birthday I heard! What else could that possibly mean?" His mother seemed insufferable in the eyes of others, but to Satoru she were merely porotective. What else could he do other than to accept that she was so stubborn?

"She was just a child," the prince immediately counters, "if I were, say, visited by a witch or a warlock or a sorcerer as a child, would you accuse me of being so damned?"

"Of course not, you are my son—"

"Then what difference could that possibly make for Princess [Y/N]?" Satoru then responded, choosing not to point out the sudden shift on the atmosphere. He noticed melancholy clawing its ways through his mother's thoughts. But Satoru continued to insist, stepping toward his mother with long strides. "Allow me to visit her kingdom at the ball, hosted two weeks from today. If I do not like her, I shall listen to your advices and give you the pleasure of choosing my partner for me."

"But my boy, you are frail—"

Satoru was aware that his mother immersed herself in royal gossip that roamed within the walls of his own home. From the lowest of maidens to the highest of priests— sometimes, even the archbishop! The boy knew, there was always something buzzing about within his kingdom of Myriad.

It was profoundly irritating how flawlessly his mind recalled the vexious timbre of those lower class servants, echoing those sentences at the back of his mind — as much as he was truly grateful for their loyalty and assistance, the constant bickering could be extremely invasive to endure, "The gods continuously play games with my patience," he took a deep breath, pretending to be more bothered than he actually felt. "How could you use that against me?" He almost whined and his mother frowns at that. "Frail, is not what I am," responded the man, "the only reason people perceive me for such a thing is because I hide behind the shadow of a Queen waiting to be removed— you, mother. when I am married, king, emperor of this barren kingdom; I shall be and by will, become the strongest ruler. Not for you, not for father, but for my people; and if not, myself." 

His mother knew that none of this was fun and games for her son. He was serious about this, about the kingdom that would soon be his; about you, no matter how cursed or ill-thought of as you were around the lands. She let out a small sigh and briefly the woman swooned at her own son who seemed to grow out of this skin that always hid behind her.

"Alas spoken like a true King." Saeko rests both her hands against his cheeks, admiring her grown boy. Then she adds, "praise be."

"It's what you raised me to do, mother," Satoru smiled wryly, "mother knows best."

Everything in this castle, no matter how long you have spent roaming these walls have always been, for the lack of a better term, blurry. Between the images you contemplated and the light and shadow that built them together, lived a myriad of shapes and glows that you could never quite characterize, but accompanied you regardless of your approval. It was as if different tenses coexisted at the very same instant, actions sometimes delayed by mere seconds, but when placed on top of one another, turned into a kaleidoscopic progression of phantasmagoric forms. It was both dream-like and nightmarish; comforting and threatening. Hallucinatory, even.

Among the endless shelves of the Library, your eyes trained toward those white steps that were dangerously similar to a creature's teeth, the waltz of coordinated books appeared to be a tongue moving in its interior. There was something about those endless stairs drowning in penumbra that felt like a forewarning to you, the image of the consequences you could face if you were not careful enough.

"[Y/N]? How does this look?"

Your eyes flickered over toward the inky paper that Kara held up. Her fingers trembling as she held firmly a feather on her left hand and on her right, she held up a sheet that so messily had the writings of her soon-to-be surname: Geto. You had almost forgotten that you were helping your best friend practice scripting her further name, as you found yourself immersed by the countless mysteries of this castle.

You haven't been yourself since the announcement of the ball, that was for sure.

"I think you're getting better." You point out gracefully. You bring a finger toward her letter 'r' and add, "that looks like an 'n' so you should fix that as well." You help the dark-haired woman, taking her hand to assist her. It was quite difficult teaching her, as she was dominantly left-handed, but you attempted to help her albeit this situation. You are her friend and it was the least that you could do.

Her mouth gaped at that, eyes gazing at the stygian letters that ornamented the sheet's surface, "must scripting be so difficult?" She wails silently — considering you both were in the library — and she puckers her lips in a slight huff. "You have to do this everyday, right? Don't your wrists get exhausted, princess?"

"They do, but it is my duty to keep moving forward," a small laugh escapes your lips.

"Duty this, duty that—" Kara's tongue swept through the surface of her lips briefly as she continued to speak, unaware of the presence that approached the both of you— "you should give yourself more credit, [Y/N]. Stop boring yourself with these duties and live a little."

You shrug, "I will," but then as your words flow out of your mouth, your chest tightens, "after I've accomplished what needs to be done, Kara. That is the story of my life, after all."

Before Kara could further counter your claims, you could hear the clicks of heels within your proximity and your head moves upwards as you are greeted by the face of your—

"Mother?" you called out, surprised. Mindlessly, your fingers held the thin feather with more force than necessary, eyes falling to the unbelonging turquoise-covered book in her hands. "What are you doing here?"

The Queen raised her eyebrows at your flippant tone, gaze traveling gradually to your direction. As she saw you, a faint smile effloresced upon her features, causing for wrinkles to accumulate on the sides her tired eyelids, "This is a lovely environment to think, I suppose that is why you come here so often," she answered with simplicity, closing the object in her hands with a muffled sound. "I am glad I could find you today, though, we need to start thinking about your wedding arrangements."

You were taken aback by her sudden sentence, but immediately you acknowledge her claims with a slight nod. "O-Of course..." You set down the feather, glancing at Kara briefly. Followed by a suspire, the both of you are also startled by the presence of Suguru making his way in your direction.

Upon seeing her fiancé's figure approaching her, Kara yelps and the small container of ink falls on her dress. Her clumsy nature was something you'd never underestimate, but her timing has always been horrible. Your mother watches with a raised brow, the dress that has been gifted to her was soiled and the Queen's unreadable expression only made you feel more the worst. You feel yourself tense at her behaviour, almost praying to whatever Gods above to help her poor soul.

If any shadows of horror were casted over her features, your best friend managed to disguise them well. "Oh dear...!" She tried scrubbing the ink of her dress with her hands, only it spread further. What was she doing?! You almost wailed.

Much to your distress, Suguru came to her rescue as he came by her side. "This is quite a familiar sight, love," chuckled the man, "allow me to take my fiancé to her chambers to clean up, while I leave both Her Highnesses to it." He bows respectfully, taking Kara's inky hands without hesitation, and leaving the library.

You heave out a long sigh.

"I apologize for that disorderly commotion, mother," you apologize on behalf of your friend, "about the wedding preparations... would you like to speak at the—"

Sculpted by the evening lights that came from the window, her features were immersed in scalding hues, burning in amber and gold, "the library is inhabited, my dear, so we can stay here." She had gestured for you to take a seat on the spot where Kara was before. "The ball is coming to a close, I'm afraid, and we still haven't thought about the dress you'd be wearing."

"We've got plenty of time—" you tried to speak but once more you were interrupted by your mother's words.

"—I'm not talking about time, [Y/N], I'm talking about quality. There will be many suitors coming after all," she nodded, and you heard something other than calmness in her tone. There was a hidden prospect in her stance, a mysterious reason for her presence in such place, "thus I've developed a schedule for you. That way you don't have to waste your time here—" she gestured with her hands, clearly referring to your time spent with Kara— "and that way, we may do things more efficiently. I've also bought products from opposing kingdoms that will definately suit this occasion..." Oblivious to your own actions, you stood in place, rigid. She began to ramble with no regard of this buzz in your head. "Perhaps you'd like white lilies to match the fabric? They would look marvelous decorating your hair, and I do believe they are in season! And your skin, oh, we must fix that immediately as no man wants a prickled face!"

As she kept talking, filling your head with future preparations and repetitive requests, the confusion and averse thoughts you had endured for so long bubbled fervently inside of your stomach. Before you could censor yourself, all that exploded on your lips in the form of a simple question: "mother, what if... I'm not ready...?"

Your mother blinked, shaking her head slightly at the disruption. "I'm sorry, love?"

"What if I don't feel ready?" You clarified. "I know, I've been studying this my whole life, but with father's decline I wish to spend more time with him and not on... this." You choose your following words cautiously, knowing one wrong thought might disappoint the Queen.

"It was your father's request, my dear," she tried to sound punctual with her sentences— she did not want to appear as the bad guy, as she understood your circumstances. But if it were her decision, you'd be married without this long waiting period; if she could, she would have chosen a suitor for you already.

You shake your head slightly, your fingers falling on top of each other as you fidget. "We both know that, once father meets the Gods, you could be the Regent Queen for as long as Arcadia were to need." You tried to reason. "You're much better at this than I ever will be— the people, they trust in you more than they do in me." You were looking for excuses at this point.

Even if you managed to mask your nervousness well, you were terrified. You've heard plenty of stories from your ladies-in-waiting about how they are treated by their husbands. Some don't come home at all, some are treated to harshly, and most only regard your ladies as baby-rearing machines— it was a disgusting thought, but it was a reality for most women. And when you thought about your mother, you often wondered, is this how she felt when her family offered her to your father?

"Arcadia does not need me," your mother smiled, placing her hands in front of her scarlet dress — deep as blood. "They need you, love. They want hope, not the same old—"

"—Mother, stop," deep inside your mind, you could not believe that you were talking back to your family member like that, interrupting the Queen like she was nothing above a irritating maid. "Can't I wait a little longer? Let me convince father that it is too soon."

You could see as her superior posture slowly broke underneath the harshness of your gaze. The Queen, facing your moral judgment, saw in your eyes that you understood more than the untruths dripping from her mouth — she had raised you for that, after all. You would be a marvelous ruler one day, "Dear, your..." she started, taking that battle as lost. "Your father is fragile, I am fragile. I may hold an equal respect as he does, but that is because I earned it; you must win these peoples hearts and that begins with a reliable man."

Your thoughts move back toward Kara. She was to be married soon as well and as happy as you were for her, you were envious that she had one thing that you did not: time. She had so much time. With her fiancé, her family, and herself. You pondered, did she have to think about the satisfaction of her significant other when she heard that she would be wedded to him? Did she feel just as anxious as you did?

"How long do I have after the ball until the wedding ceremony?" You mustered up, feeling your fingers grow numb at this thought of burden falling on your shoulders. Truthfully, you believed that you weren't ready— you never could be ready.

She traced her fingers over one of the golden letters embedded against a book, humming to herself. "I am speculating little less than three months. Plenty of time to get familiar with your future husband." The final sentence seemed to be more of a forewarning than one of comfort.

"I see, mother," your eyes snapped back to her face in a quiet prayer that she did not notice the way you had spaced out too long, your expression surfacing into one of of apathy; to which masked your fear of the future, fear for what's to come. "Thank you for... your time and assistance."

She faked a smirk, ignoring the clear sarcasm in your tone — no amount of petulance from your part could cover up the fact that she had, as desired, reached her primordial goal: you would choose a prince then get married, and your people would be saved. Alongside with her reputation, that was, "No problem, my dear, your mother knows what's best, after all!" She sang, seeming to quickly be reminded of something else, "And, oh!" your mother exclaimed, "tell your dear lady, Kara, congratulations on her engagement with Geto. She chose a very fine man… it's a shame you didn't get to him first." She murmurs the final part.

But you heard that.

"Pardon me?" You wanted her to repeat her claims, feeling your own ears were deceiving you.

"Nothing my dear, just relay her congratulations," you let out a sigh of relief when she repeats her words. "I will be retiring to my chambers now. Don't forget to pray about your future, the archbishop recommends it." She eyes your direction and you nod slowly, bowing your head in respect. "And don't over think it—" you wanted her to comfort you, and you expected her to do so, but instead her words came as followed: "the wrinkles would look horrible at your age."

You took a deep breath. Your internal battle had been lost before it even started. "I understand it is for the best," you were lying to yourself— to her. Were these dishonest claims all a product of your anxiety toward what's to come with your future husband?

The Queen chuckled, entertained, "I know you do," with a last caress on your shoulder, she started to walk towards the dark passageway, every step sending shivers down your spine. You stood there, motionless, as the sounds of her departure seemed to echo inside your mind. Behind you, her timbre sliced the air one last time. "Have a lovely evening, sweetheart. I will start looking for white lilies for your dress today."

Her heels clicked as she walked away.

With that, the door clicked shut.

You knew that in the following mornings, more and more expectations would bear against your shoulders. And as a princess, it was inevitable for you to follow such duties; to please your mother.

You felt certain after all, she was there to guide you because she knew what was best for you.

Hence, mother knows best.

taglist: @cookielovesbook-akie @vlbi

if you would like to be added to my taglist, don’t be afraid to shoot me an ask!!

adorahub © 2023, pls do not modify, copy, or repost— live laugh like && reblog if you enjoyed reading this

i’m creating a tmf taglist, so pls submit an ask/comment if you want to be added!! thank you guys for ur kind words and reblogs ><

should i establish a weekly/bi-weekly schedule for this fic? i’ve been posting randomly, but let me know ur thoughts!

through my fault ⸝⸝ s. gojo

you commited no crime, but shall pay the sins of your parents.

synopsis. desperate to find you a suitor to expand the kingdom, your mother finds ways to ensure that you rule in her image; even if that means breaking your relationship with your future husband.

genre. fem!reader, arranged marriage, royalty au, slow burn, +18

filed under. villainous protagonists and heroic antagonists, explicit descriptions of murder, death, blood, mentions of pregnancy, politics, heavy use of religious imagery, mild mentions of misogyny, emotional trauma and abuse, undertones of manipulation, explicit smut

through my fault ⸝⸝ chapter index

001 ﹔ 002 ﹔ 003 ﹔ 004 ﹔ 005 ﹔ 006 ﹔ 007 ﹔ 008﹔ 009 ﹔ 010 ﹔ 011 ﹔ 012 ﹔ 013 ﹔ 014 ﹔ 015 ﹔ 016 ﹔ 017 ﹔ 018 ﹔ 019 ﹔ 020

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. adorahub © 2023 ⸝⸝ do not translate, plagiarize or remake any of my work! reposting my work is allowed - likes, reblogs && comments are appreciated.

❬ 003 ❭ through my fault ⸝⸝ a good feeling

synopsis. desperate to find you a suitor to expand the kingdom, your mother finds ways to ensure that you rule in her image; even if that means breaking your relationship with your future husband.

genre. arranged marriage, royalty au, slow burn, +18

warnings. mentions of politics

wc. 8.9K — a 40-45 minute read

authors note. this was a longer one to write... but I enjoyed the process so i hope you guys enjoy reading it too >:))

↳ playlist ➙ series masterlist ➙ next chapter

Hyperborean winds caressed the fluctuating curtains of your chambers after night had fully arrived, whispering over auric tapestry and caressing the silky sheets of your bed. Through your window passed silvery strings of moonlight, which immersed the ambient in a cadaveric, almost unrealistic glow. With your hands placed upon your knees, you absentmindedly accompanied the swinging of the fine fabric as it traced circular forms in the air. Sitting on the corner of your large bed, you were surrounded by small mountains of roseate sheets, appearing to be a forgotten element amongst that unbothered universe. Inside your mind, however, your contemplations ran by in mercurial velocity.  

Even if you had been immersed in your duties, you could not help but notice the way that your best friend escaped the few instances you shared throughout the day. She was out wine-tasting with her fiancé and she did not cross you in the halls of your stone-made home. It was a busy day for Kara, to say the least, and it was quite lonely without her— had you always depended on her to help you feel entertained throughout the day? 

Two days until the ball and still you were timid about what might come for you. 

You were still looking out your window when a knock resonated in your obscure chambers. At the intermission, you became startled, hugging your nightgown against your chest in a natural move to cover yourself up — what the court teaches you about female decency never truly leaves your mind. It was a huge shame for someone to see the princess so ridiculously exposed, "Who is it?" You reluctantly questioned, slowly getting to your feet and walking towards the door. Behind you, the night stretched out above the village, bringing along the vague scent of the sea; underneath your feet, the stone was as cold as the water that crashed underneath the docks.

Your head peeks out of the entrance of your bedroom, locking eyes with your best friend. She greets you with a tired smile, "let's sneak out," she started, "your mother is asleep and it's the perfect night for stargazing." 

"This late?" You inquire. 

The younger girl nods. "When has that ever stopped you, princess?" She counters. "Come, grab a blanket and let's go!" She whispers enthusiastically. Quickly, you grab a light blanket from underneath your bedside table, wrapping it around your shoulders before allowing the dark-haired girl to grab your wrist as she silently leads you to the back of the castle. 

Where the trees seem to surround the hill that both you and your best friend lay on, the constellations cascade through the evening sky. You could see the outline of the lake from where the both of you stood, with the blankets wrapped around your bodies, the wind fell swoop. In Kara's hands, she held a book; one she has been reading to you for quite a while now. 

"We're in the final chapter," said Kara as she flipped to the page bookmarked with a red string, "the female lead is about to face her parents... this has gotten quite intense, hasn't it?" Kara giggles to herself, immersed in the novel's plot. 

You hum at her comments, hugging the blanket tightly as you sit cross-legged next to her. "If my mother found out I was reading something that isn't as educational, she would scold me." You joke while facing the dark-haired girl. 

"What she won't know, won't hurt," Kara giggles, "now, page three-seventy..." 

As a child, you had always been trapped within the suffocating walls of your cadaverous home. The idea of allowing you to venture the world outside of the castle was something that your mother deeply resented; the woman was well aware of the amount of hate and horrors that the people were capable of — toward the royal family, at that. Many still do not like the idea of the monarch even after your father's reign. 

Some of you had hoped that that would not happen once you took over. There will always be individuals who won't support you, it simply cannot be helped. With your father, he was merciless when it came to those people, often resorting to punishment, devastating compensation, or violence. As you think about your future circumstances with your future spouse, your future King, you will soon come to terms with the fact that— 

"'I am not my father's daughter.'" Kara had read aloud as you both sat in silence. The book in her hands looked ancient beneath the starless blanket that cascaded the sleeping sky. She continued to read the book like she had done to you since you were younger, reading it so slowly and so precisely. It was a skill that Kara had developed as she grew up by your side, to be able to read to you. This was something none of your other ladies-in-waiting could do. "'...assertive was she, as the lady spoke those words. Not a moment of weakness was present on her countenance, then—'" 

You interrupt Kara with a tilt of your head, "Is this the part when the knight kisses her?" You question, leaning forward eagerly as a small smile makes its way to your lips. Kara nods and you whisper to yourself, "I love this part."

There were moments in your life when you yearned for a love that you never specifically received from your parents. This kind of love felt so sacred, so ethereal; a love that only you could find within the constructions of novels and deep plots. This love, which you saw in both Kara and her fiancé. You wished for this feeling and you hoped that your future partner would exhibit such toward you in ways only your own fantasies could comprehend. 

When Kara finally completes the final chapter — concluding the end of this book — she lays her head next to yours as passive irises wander along the sky's endlessness. It had been a quiet few seconds as the breeze swept by, and Kara's hands found themselves playing restlessly with the strings of her dress. She was deep in thought, you could tell. 

"Don't you feel lonely sometimes, princess?" Kara had finally spoken up. You blink in her direction, confusion overshadowed the stillness of your countenance. Followed by a hum, Kara rolls on her stomach and rests her chin against her palm while facing you. "You're always stuck within this castle. Only Kento and I accompany you and— to be honest— I cannot help but feel hollow for you."

With a raised brow, you respond with a muse, "Do I bore you, Kara?" 

"Of course not! No, no, you're absolutely not boring!" Kara immediately shakes her head and you laugh at her sudden outburst. "I was only saying— I—" she lets out a heavy sigh and she dramatically drops her shoulders— "I'm only looking out for you, you know?" 

"I know," you smile, "I was joking. But don't worry, I don't feel lonely. That is especially thanks to you and Kento." You shrug your shoulders, eyes following the line of constellations that sparked above the both of you. "However..." you felt the need to drag your words. 

It was not in your nature to think so deeply about certain things, but the idea of a man in your life who was not your father put you in a temporary state of distress. You could not help but feel intimidated by the idea of a man marrying into your family. As mere strangers for the matter! Your mother, on one hand, saw nothing wrong about this ordeal. It had always been the church and kingdom that she thought of above all. It was constant, her rules, as she has once said that ‘a lady cannot afford to pour her feelings above duty.’

You knew that your mother was not a heartless queen. She was kind, considerate, humble. However, it felt sacrilegious to even consider that this positive quality could not outweigh the encumbrance that, perhaps, she was a heartless mother.  

"...I can't blame my mother for the suddenness of this occasion, Kara." You say almost forcefully. But the bitter part of your conscious knew better than to point fingers— that was simply not how you were raised to deal with things. "If the worst-case scenario becomes reality, and if that ever involved my future husband, I'm certain that I have you and Sir Nanami to depend on." 

"Is that all?" Kara leans forward to meet your eyes. "You will simply let it go on? Princess, do you not have an opinion on all of this? You are unhappy—"

"You're mistaken, Kara," you interrupt her with an exasperated sigh, "I'm not unhappy because my mother expects me to marry so soon. I'm unhappy because—" you pause, thinking your next words carefully as if the Gods were specifically listening to your words to spill— "I'm unhappy... because... because I can't see my father for advice..." you finally confess. 

This has not been a thought that occurred to you until this very moment. It hurt deeply that you did not acknowledge that your father was dying. Your chest tightens and with an exhale you finally face Kara. She smiles softly at you. Though she finds it difficult to understand your position, she has always had an empathetic personality. Which was enough to make you feel safer than at home. 

"I'm sure you can still see him," Kara says albeit unsure, "once you've chosen a suitor, perhaps your mother will finally give you permission to see him?" She questions out loud, "It wouldn't make sense for her to keep your father from seeing his daughter one last time." 

When your eyes meet the sky you are greeted by a family of stars. At that very moment, you are reminded that your father soon will be looking down on you from above, brimming with the expectation that you will encompass his throne as he once has. "Thanks, Kara." You whisper to yourself, finally moving your head so that you can meet her vibrant hazel eyes. "I can always count on you, you know?" 

“You can always count on me,” was Kara’s response. 

That evening, you can only delve into your vast imaginations regarding the future of your kingdom. It was an event that seemed so close, yet so far away. Kara was right, you thought, about you being unhappy in general. There has not been a moment in life where you have felt accomplished without the approval of your mother. You could not embark in the romantic genre without your mother’s criticism or hour-long lectures. You could not do anything within the enclosure of your castle, without hearing of your mother’s opinions or motherly amendments. 

This did not mean you felt trapped, no. For she has shaped the woman that you are today. 

However, was it wrong for you to feel that a part of you was missing within your being because of the limits of your own home? 

You could only ponder because you knew nobody would be able to respond to this unanswered question. Expressing yourself to your mother was out of line, as she taught you that emotions were what made a ruler weak. Kara, while observant, is not the best at giving advice, but she is a fantastic listener. Her strength was in empathy, her weakness will always be her words. As emotionally intelligent as our best friend was, she always had trouble formulating her thoughts and with that, she struggled to verbalize them. She has always been one to encourage you to “follow your heart” which is something that you appreciated the most about her. That phrase was a component in your life which your mother always denied. Kara’s emotional advice has always been unmatched. But at this time, you did not need your emotions to help you, you needed the stoic guidance of an individual capable of formulating both a logical and emotional response to your duty-driven situation. 

There was only one person capable of doing that. 

The following morning you had awoken to a gentle shake belonging to your personal maid. She was an aging lady, serving your father when he was your age and continuing to serve as this kingdom approaches your rule. She greeted you with a kind, motherly smile, gesturing to her side as she never once had to verbalize your awakening. 

She was not a woman of many words, but through her you learned that actions meant just as much. 

“Good morning, Mrs. Carline,” you bring the back of your hand over your mouth as you simultaneously stretch your limbs and yawn, “is mother waiting for me?”

She shook her head, before gesturing to your night stand. There, a piece of paper written in familiar script belonging to none other than your mother. At her behest, she had given you an orderly agenda to complete before she returned from her ‘personal affairs,’ whatever that meant, and beneath her finely inked writing was a list of things for you to do. You wanted to let out a dreadful sigh at the words “there are 24 dresses that you will be able to choose from for tomorrow’s event. Choose wisely.” 

You knew you would dread this day before you had even started it. 

Mrs. Carline noticed the look of disdain on your face, speaking softly, “you know you do not have to fit all 24 of the dresses she bought for you.” 

If your mother was here, Mrs. Carline would have been punished with verbal assaults, but because it was only you, most attendants and peasants that served your home knew that the apple fell too far from the tree; as you were not your mother, rest assured, they were safe as long as you were around. 

“I will try 12 of what I like, it’s the least I can do,” you put down letter, “besides, it would kill time trying on those dresses and I would prefer to do that than attend my prayers at the church.” 

The rest of your morning was spent in routine. You had bathed and instead of dressing into your morning gowns, you were led into the dressing room where you were presented with all 24 dresses fitted on mannequins meant to replicate your body. Creepily, the measurements have always been accurate, despite only ever being measured by a seamstress three times in your entire life. Once at your 8th birthday, another time being your 15th birthday, and the most recent being the day before you turned 18. 

“Princess, you can decide which one to begin with,” Mrs. Carline gestured. 

To your right were three other maids dressed in the same uniform, standing with their hands folded in front of them, and their heads bowing down. One of them appeared quite young, the youngest being sixteen, you thought, while the oldest being Mrs. Carline’s age. The left side of the room was a spacious area with a foding screen where you would fit these dresses.

The silence was the most dreadful part of the experience. You were already aware that Mrs. Carline was a lady with little to say. But the other maidens, being just as quiet, gave you an overwhelming feeling of restlessness. The procedure went as followed: Mrs. Carline would assist you with going into the dress, and while she fixed your front with all kinds of ties, laces, and buttons, another maiden would appear behind you to tighten your corset, and the other two, you would assume, fix the previous dress onto the mannequin. The only words you ever heard were "Just one more..." or "Suck it in for me, will you?" Notice of an accent not of this land, a thick rhotic-like sound would come out as her words rolled off her tongue. 

For each dress you tried, the decision became increasingly complex. Some gowns seemed too flashy, adorned with intricate designs and shimmering gems that, while undoubtedly elegant, felt a tad excessive for the event's decorum. Others appeared too dull, lacking the necessary vibrance to complement your radiant complexion. The room was filled with an array of colors and fabrics, all carefully curated by your mother in her quest to find the perfect gown. It was a challenge, as the ladies in attendance were present not as critics but as dutiful companions, offering little more than polite nods and quiet sighs.

You couldn't help but long for Kara, your closest friend and confidante. Her sharp eye for fashion and candid feedback would have been invaluable in this moment of indecision. However, she was absent, absorbed in lessons with Sir Geto at the library, and you were left to navigate the daunting array of dresses on your own.

By the time you had reached your twelfth dress, your patience had dwindled, and you were on the verge of feeling overwhelmed by the choices before you. As you stood before the full-length mirror, a gasp escaped your lips. The moment was captivating, as the dress flowed around the silhouette of your body with an indescribable grace. The gown was a symphony of elegance, its intricate design and timeless appeal becoming apparent as you turned, its fabric rustling softly with your every movement.

You couldn't put into words the emotions it evoked in you. The mirror reflected a vision of beauty and sophistication, a perfect harmony with your individual charm. The air seemed to crackle with a sense of wonder, and the hushed whispers of the attending maidens, distinct in their awe, only reaffirmed the allure of the dress.

You knew, without a doubt, that this was the gown for tomorrow's ball. Its subtle opulence, complemented by the intricate details and the way it graced your form, made it clear that it would make a memorable impression at the grand event. 

"Mrs. Carline," you said, turning to face the older lady, your gloved hands resting delicately on the gown's fluffy skirt. "I don't think I need to try on any more dresses." The certainty in your voice reflected the newfound confidence that this dress had bestowed upon you.

Mrs. Carline noticed your contented expression and smiled warmly. She gestured to the maidens, dismissing their presence from the room, leaving you alone with the older lady. Before she could propose to help you out of the dress, you spoke up, "No need, Mrs. Carline,” you bring your hand up in a gentle defiance, giving her a look of wistfulness as you continue your sentence, “I… I would like to be left alone for a moment, please.”

She did not argue with you. 

As the maidens left, and you stood in solitude with the dress, a wave of conflicting emotions washed over you. You were suddenly reminded of the immense duties bestowed upon you for tomorrow: representing your family with grace, fear of disappointing your mother, and most of all, the fear of choosing the wrong suitor amidst the crowd of eligible noble men, princes, kings.

Despite the temporary joy that this dress offered you, you couldn't escape the looming weight of responsibility. Tomorrow's ball was not just a grand social event; it was a pivotal moment in your life that would determine your future. The gown hung before you, a vision of ethereal beauty, but it served as a stark contrast to the uncertainty and apprehension that lay ahead. You couldn't help but wonder if its enchantment could carry you through the challenges of the night.

As you stood there, contemplating the intricate lacework and delicate embroidery, you let out a deep sigh. The room felt hushed, as if even the walls were holding their breath in anticipation of the coming evening. The doors to the chambers gently opened, and in walked Sir Nanami, a figure of poise and grace. He had been a constant presence in your life, a confidant, and perhaps more, but tonight, there was an air of hesitation in his step.

His eyes met yours, and he hesitated to greet you for a moment. The unspoken words hung in the air like a fragile promise, foreshadowing the uncertain future that loomed before you. Finally, he broke the silence, his voice warm and filled with admiration, "You look stunning in that dress."

You managed a smile, appreciating the compliment, but you couldn't conceal the concerns that weighed heavily on your mind. Sir Nanami noticed the worry in your eyes and asked, "What's troubling you? You seem preoccupied, my lady."

You met his gaze, finding comfort in his familiar presence. "It's not the dress that's troubling me, if that’s what you’re thinking," you confessed, "it's… tomorrow... It's all so overwhelming. If I told mother that I don’t feel confident about this, I feel like that would be the greatest disappointment to her."

Nanami's expression softened as he listened intently. You continued, your voice a mixture of determination and vulnerability, "It's not the question of whether I am ready or not. I am ready. I know I am ready. After all, I was born for this.” You study his expression, only now did you realize the dark circles that sit under his eyes and the way his jaw clenched tightly as he listened to your words. “I'm just... afraid of failing. My father wants this but refuses to see me, my mother would only speak to me if it is about this occasion and now, with the weight of an entire kingdom's expectations on my shoulders, the fear of making a misstep is almost unbearable."

Nanami's eyes reflected a depth of understanding, and he reached out to gently place a reassuring hand on your shoulder. "You are not alone in this, my lady," he said, his voice unwavering. "I have every confidence in your strength and grace. You are destined for greatness, and besides, who cares what your parents think?" You look at him in confusion, a foreign feeling crept up your chest as he continued his words. He was not one to look down on the superior figures in your life like that, but knowing he had the strength to do that gave you a sense of comfort. “I am not saying this as a Knight of Arcadia, but as your friend, [Y/N]. You’re afraid of not being able to make decisions like your mother does, but what if that was for the best? They may only see you as an object that may solve this kingdom’s endless issues, through marriage of another rich king or prince, but what I see is a woman destined to be one of the greatest rulers Arcadia will ever have. You are more than what is expected from you.”

His words offered you some solace, but the weight of responsibility still lingered. As you stood there in that exquisite gown, with the future of your kingdom resting on your shoulders, you couldn't help but wonder if you possessed the resilience and wisdom to face the challenges that lay ahead.

You are more than what is expected from you.

Suddenly, the confidence you did not have before, reappeared before you and the knight. 

You could never be more thankful for his presence. 

“Alas, spoken like a true knight.” You chuckle and rest a hand over the one that sits on your shoulder. Your lips simmer upwards momentarily. “You only say what my mother never will. Thank you, Nanami.” 

“I can only say what I truly believe, princess.”

This time, he offered you a lasting smile.

The early morning sunlight streamed through the ornate windows of Satoru's chamber, casting a warm, golden glow upon the room. The day of the grand ball in the Kingdom of Arcadia had finally arrived. With just six hours left to prepare, the anticipation was mounting, but for Satoru, it was not a feeling of excitement that coursed through him; it was pure, unadulterated nervousness.

His room had become a whirlwind of activity. The room had a certain serenity, but it was juxtaposed with Satoru's restless energy. He paced back and forth, his steps purposeful and precise, a reflection of his perfectionism. The air was filled with the rustling of fabrics as he meticulously reviewed the various outfits he had laid out for the evening. The gowns and uniforms, each tailored with the utmost attention to detail, represented the choices he had before him, like pieces of a puzzle he couldn't quite fit together.

It was in this room, filled with history and familial significance, that Satoru's mother approached him. Her presence, a vision of grace and wisdom, was a stark contrast to the whirlwind of his preparations. She recognized the deep-seated anxiety in her son's eyes and knew that this visit to the Kingdom of Arcadia held more significance than a mere diplomatic mission. It was an alliance fraught with skepticism, and she understood the weight of the expectations placed on his shoulders.

He couldn't help but feel that something was missing, something crucial to make this evening extraordinary.

Satoru's mother, observing her son's frenetic preparations, sat in a corner of the room. She watched as he meticulously went through various outfits, discarding them one after the other, despite Nobara having already come prepared with his personally tailored uniform. The presence of the royal seamstress, normally a calming influence, did nothing to assuage Satoru's unease.

Satoru's mother, a woman of grace and wisdom, understood her son's apprehension. She approached him, her gentle eyes filled with maternal concern. "Satoru, my dear," she said, "I can see that you're anxious. Remember, this visit to the Kingdom of Arcadia is not just a diplomatic mission. You are there to meet the cursed princess, and I know it's a tremendous responsibility."

Satoru nodded, his brow furrowed with worry. "I know, Mother. But it's not just that. I want to make a lasting impression, to show them who I am."

His mother, still doubtful about her son's decision to visit the Kingdom of Arcadia for the cursed princess, offered her best sentiments to comfort him. She knew that Satoru's heart was set on this alliance, despite the many skeptics in the court.

"I have something that might help," she said, her voice soft and filled with reassurance. Guiding her son to her own chambers, she allowed him a glimpse of her inner sanctum, a place of comfort and solace. There, an old, ornate 32-inch box took center stage. Its rich, dark wood gleamed in the soft morning light that filtered through the chamber's windows.

With great reverence, she opened the box, revealing a beautifully crafted sword. Its blade glistened with a mesmerizing play of light, and the intricate hilt was adorned with symbols and designs of a bygone era. The sword's presence was commanding, and its historical significance was undeniable. As Satoru reached out to touch the blade, his fingers traced the etched designs, each marking a chapter in his family's history. It was as if he held a piece of the past, a link to the generations that had come before him. The weight of the sword in his hand was a tangible connection to his lineage, and it filled him with a sense of awe. 

“This… this belonged to father…” it was not question. He was certain it did.

Satoru's mother, her voice soft and filled with emotion, spoke of the sword's legacy. "Indeed it did, Satoru," she said. "It has been passed down through generations of our family, from one ruler to the next. It is said to be a blade fit to be held by only the greatest king to rule Yukinia."

The room seemed to hold its breath as the significance of the moment settled in. Satoru felt a profound sense of honor and responsibility. "I'm truly honored, Mother," he whispered, his eyes never leaving the sword. "But I could never carry such a sword. I am not yet a king."

His mother's eyes sparkled with a mix of pride and warmth. "Oh, my dear, this is no ordinary sword. Legends say it carries a touch of magic. Perhaps it will grant you the strength and wisdom needed to become the ruler you aspire to be."

Satoru wasn't sure if his mother's words were a jest or if there was an element of truth to them. But in that moment, as he held the sword, he felt a deep sense of calm wash over him. The nervousness that had been gnawing at him earlier seemed to dissipate, replaced by a newfound determination.

With the sword in his possession, he looked at his mother, gratitude filling his heart. "Thank you, Mother."

His mother's smile was radiant, and she embraced her son with a motherly embrace, filled with love and pride. "I have no doubt that you will, Satoru. Now, we will go to the Kingdom of Arcadia with your head held high, and I pray that the magic of this sword guide you in all your endeavors."

With the sword securely fastened at his side, Satoru left his mother's chambers, each step he took echoing softly in the hallowed halls of the palace. The room, rich in history and adorned with familial treasures, held the echoes of countless memories that spanned generations. Its walls had borne witness to joyous celebrations and solemn decrees, while its treasures had been passed down through the annals of time.

The hilt of the sword pressed gently against his side as he moved, its weight a reminder of the destiny he carried on his shoulders. It was more than a mere weapon; it was a symbol of his heritage and the responsibilities that came with it. The blade, etched with intricate designs and steeped in history, gleamed with a profound sense of purpose. With each stride he took, it became a source of inspiration, a constant reminder of the strength and courage he possessed, and the journey that lay ahead.

As Satoru ventured from his mother's chambers, he soon found himself reunited with Nobara. Her attire was a masterpiece of the royal seamstress's craft, and her poise exuded confidence.

And then, an unexpected sight greeted him. Maki, stood beside Nobara, her typically no-nonsense demeanor replaced by something unexpected. Maki wore a dress, a rare sight that nearly prompted a chuckle from Satoru. The dark-haired girl, known for her pragmatic sensibilities, seemed out of her element in such attire, and the irony of the situation was not lost on Satoru.

However, Nobara wasted no time in scolding him, her voice carrying a mix of annoyance and affection. "Satoru, you've made a stupid mess of your preparations," she chided, her tone teasingly stern.

Maki, despite her unusual choice of attire, voiced her concerns, her eyes filled with a hint of worry. "I don't think you're thinking clearly about all this, Satoru. It's a significant decision, and the implications are far-reaching."

Nobara, ever the playful and fiercely loyal friend, couldn't resist intervening. She gave Maki a playful shove, earning a raised eyebrow from the dark-haired girl. "Maki, he's perfectly capable of making his own decisions. We're here to support him, no matter what."

Satoru, in the midst of the girls’ banter, couldn't help but smile. In the midst of his anxiety and the grandeur of the upcoming ball, the presence of his students was a grounding force. Their lighthearted interactions, their unwavering support, and their teasing camaraderie reminded him that he was not alone on this journey. 

"I told you before, Maki, just trust me on this one," Satoru said, his voice resonating with a quiet yet firm determination. He looked at Maki, his eyes conveying a sense of purpose. "I have a good feeling about this."

Maki couldn't help but bite back a wry comment. She had heard those words from Satoru before, often right before he embarked on an audacious plan or a daring endeavor. 'It always starts with a good feeling,' she thought, but her years of experience had taught her to temper her skepticism. She knew better than to let her emotions get the best of her, especially when it came to her headstrong friend.

Satoru, who typically exuded an unbearable amount of confidence, appeared different today. His usual swagger was replaced with a restless energy, as he paced back and forth. Nobara, keenly observant of Satoru's behavior, recognized that something more profound was at play. It was not merely a "good feeling" or a decision made on a whim; there was a hidden layer to Satoru's motivations that he wasn't ready to reveal.

Nobara's intuition told her that Satoru was wrestling with more than just the desire to become a king. She knew him well enough to sense when something was amiss, and she couldn't shake the feeling that beneath his external composure, he carried a weighty secret or a deeper purpose.

However, she also knew that jumping to conclusions was unwise, especially without concrete evidence. Nobara opted to dismiss her initial thoughts, giving Satoru the benefit of the doubt. After all, she trusted him implicitly and was prepared to support his endeavors, even if they were shrouded in mystery.

"What's your plan, then?" Nobara inquired, her voice laced with a mixture of curiosity and a touch of impatience. She chose to focus on the practical aspects of the situation, ignoring Maki's more somber disposition.

Satoru hesitated, his brows furrowing as he grappled with the complexity of the task at hand. He had believed that his endeavors were relatively straightforward: attend the ball, meet the cursed princess, and let fate guide him. Yet, with Nobara's pointed question, he couldn't help but question whether he was overlooking some hidden intricacy of the royal court.

Nobara, always one to tease and provoke thought, couldn't resist a hearty chuckle at his apparent confusion. "Satoru, you make it sound so simple. But remember, there will be countless other princes, kings, and suitors vying for the princess's hand. You can't just walk in with a 'good feeling' and expect everything to fall into place."

Satoru found himself caught between his unwavering self-assuredness and the stark reality of the challenges that lay ahead. The wisdom and teasing camaraderie of his friends offered a necessary grounding force, reminding him that he was not alone on this uncertain journey. As he faced the intricate dance of politics and diplomacy that awaited him, he was determined to navigate it with his characteristic confidence, even if it meant confronting hidden layers of complexity that his "good feeling" couldn't entirely prepare him for.

As evening descended over the royal palace, the time had come for Satoru to embark on his journey to Arcadia. The carriage, arranged by his mother with meticulous care, was a symbol of the kingdom's commitment to the alliance he sought. It awaited him in the palace courtyard, glistening in the soft, fading light of the day. The scene that greeted Satoru as he stepped into the waiting carriage was nothing short of enchanting. The sun dipped below the horizon, casting the world in shades of lavender and coral. The palace gardens, now illuminated by delicate lanterns, were a tapestry of vibrant colors and intoxicating scents. Nightingales sang from the branches, serenading the departing prince with their melodic songs.

Satoru, dressed in regal attire and with his family's sword secured at his side, exuded an unwavering confidence that this plan might indeed work. His resolve was unshaken, and he saw the journey ahead as a step towards his destiny. The promise of forging a vital alliance with the Kingdom of Arcadia, and perhaps even winning the heart of the cursed princess, was a vision that fueled his determination.

Beside him, Maki's demeanor contrasted sharply with Satoru's unwavering confidence. As the carriage began its journey, her expression was one of quiet contemplation. She couldn't help but feel a gnawing sense of doubt, an unwavering feeling that perhaps this was not the right way to go. The uncertainty of the path they were on weighed heavily on her.

The landscape beyond the carriage window began to change as they left the palace grounds. Rolling hills and lush forests passed by, painted in shades of deep green under the silvery light of the moon. The road stretched out before them, an unknown path that held both promise and peril.

Satoru, however, was undeterred by the unknown. He leaned back in his seat, a half-smile playing on his lips as he gazed at the passing scenery. The evening air was filled with the fragrances of the countryside, and the soft hum of the carriage wheels on the road provided a soothing backdrop to his thoughts.

Maki, on the other hand, could not shake the feeling of foreboding that lingered in her heart. She glanced out the window, her eyes fixed on the ever-changing landscape. Her thoughts were a storm of conflicting emotions, and she couldn't help but wonder if their journey would lead them to the outcome Satoru so fervently desired or if it would unravel into a tale of unforeseen consequences.

As the carriage continued its two-hour journey to Arcadia, the weight of their decisions and the destiny that awaited them loomed overhead, leaving Satoru with his unyielding confidence and Maki with her lingering doubts. 

Nobara, ever the spirited and outgoing friend, decided to make an effort to lighten the atmosphere within the carriage. Satoru's unwavering confidence and Maki's palpable doubts created a sense of tension, and Nobara was determined to break through it. She shifted her attention to Satoru's mother, who sat beside her, and offered a warm smile.

"Your Highness," Nobara began, her voice filled with enthusiasm, "I must say, I'm truly excited about the ball. The prospect of meeting the people of Arcadia and experiencing their culture is quite thrilling. I've heard the kingdom is known for its grandeur and its rich traditions. It's an honor to be part of such an important event."

Satoru's mother, who had been quietly observing the interaction among her son and his friends, welcomed the opportunity to engage in a lighter conversation. She returned Nobara's smile and replied, "Indeed, the ball promises to be a remarkable occasion. The Kingdom of Arcadia is known for its captivating customs and the enchanting atmosphere they create during their events. I hope you all enjoy the experience and make cherished memories."

Nobara continued the conversation, asking about the customs and traditions of the upcoming ball, hoping to draw out anecdotes and stories from Satoru's mother. As they delved into discussions of what to expect and the cultural exchange that awaited them, the atmosphere within the carriage began to shift. The tension eased, and a sense of anticipation replaced it. Nobara's efforts to lighten the mood and engage in a more positive conversation were met with gratitude by all, including Satoru, whose earlier doubts seemed to be momentarily overshadowed by the prospect of the ball and the journey ahead.

As the carriage continued on its journey, the light and lively conversation between Nobara and Satoru's mother had managed to ease the tension that had hung in the air. The anticipation of the upcoming ball and the cultural exchange ahead began to replace the earlier doubts and worries.

However, just when it seemed that the atmosphere inside the carriage was finally lightening, a sudden jolt and a loud ruckus outside disrupted the tranquility. The carriage hit a rough bump in the road, causing it to sway and the passengers to jostle inside.

Satoru, his curiosity piqued, quickly decided to investigate the commotion. He leaned forward, reaching for the carriage door, and pulled it open. The evening air rushed in, carrying with it the sounds of confusion and clamor from outside.

The sight that met his eyes was unexpected. A group of villagers had gathered around the carriage, looking concerned and agitated. It appeared that a section of the road had been damaged by the recent rains, causing the bump that had jolted the carriage.

He stepped out of the carriage, his demeanor a mix of curiosity and a desire to ensure that everything was resolved smoothly. Satoru's strong presence and innate charisma immediately drew the attention of the villagers, and he began to engage in a conversation with them, assuring them that the necessary repairs would be made and that any inconvenience would be addressed.

Inside the carriage, Nobara, Maki, and Satoru's mother watched as the determined prince worked to resolve the situation, his confidence and leadership skills shining through even in unexpected circumstances. While the journey to Arcadia had experienced a minor hiccup, it was clear that Satoru was prepared to face any challenges that came their way as he continued on his quest to secure the alliance and fulfill his destiny. As the journey continued and the conversation within the carriage flowed, the group believed that the minor road bump had been the only hiccup on their path. Satoru, Nobara, Maki, and his mother had resumed their discussion, their voices mingling in animated chatter. The atmosphere had once again grown relaxed and jovial, with the anticipation of the upcoming ball filling the carriage.

However, the tranquility was short-lived. Satoru, as he glanced around the carriage, suddenly noticed a presence that hadn't been there before. His eyes widened in surprise when he spotted a pink-haired boy sitting next to Maki, who had her dagger cautiously pressed against the intruder's throat.

Satoru's voice was steady but laced with a hint of astonishment as he asked, "Maki, who is our unexpected guest?"

Maki, her eyes sharp and her stance defensive, replied, "I'm not sure, but he somehow managed to sneak into the carriage. I couldn't take any chances."

The pink-haired boy, who appeared no older than his late teens, was a picture of nonchalance despite the dagger at his throat. He met Satoru's gaze with an amused, almost mischievous smile and said, "Hey, you guys have a real tight security system here. I just wanted to see what all the fuss was about with the journey to Arcadia."

Satoru, his curiosity piqued, leaned in a little closer to the boy and asked, "And who might you be?"

The boy, Yuji Itadori, continued to smile, seemingly untroubled by the dagger pressed against his throat. "Name's Yuji Itadori," he introduced himself, "I promise I'm not here to cause any trouble." He attempted to raise his hands in a gesture of defense, though Maki's tight grip still held him.

Maki, cautious but willing to give him the benefit of the doubt, slowly lowered her dagger. Meanwhile, Nobara couldn't help but be intrigued by the boy's audacity and flashed him a cheeky grin.

Nobara, with her usual curiosity, inquired, "So, Yuji, what brought you to sneak into our carriage, anyway?"

Yuji's expression grew more serious as he explained his reason. "I'm looking for my friend, Megumi. He was a knight in Arcadia, and when I heard this carriage was going straight there I had to sneak in... We got separated, and I've been searching for him ever since."

Upon hearing the name ‘Megumi,’ Satoru's eyes sparkled with recognition. It was a name from the past, a name he had not heard in years. Megumi was a young boy he had trained many years ago, a talented and promising knight-in-training. However, circumstances had led to their paths diverging, and he had lost contact with the boy. Satoru's mind began to race with memories and questions, but he had not yet voiced his thoughts.

Satoru's mother, keenly observant of her son's expression and the direction of the conversation, recognized the glimmer of recognition in his eyes. She knew that this revelation was tugging at his heart, stirring up memories from his past. However, she quickly interjected with a gentle but firm tone, "Satoru, we must remember our purpose for this journey. We are here to seek an alliance with the Princess of Arcadia, nothing more."

The reminder served to refocus the group on the mission they had embarked upon, even as they grappled with the unexpected reunion and the mysteries of their pasts. The journey to Arcadia had become more complex and emotionally charged, with a sense of shared history and unspoken questions hanging in the air.

The Castle of Arcadia stood as a true masterpiece of architecture and design. Its grandeur was beyond compare, with towering spires that seemed to reach for the heavens. The stonework of the castle was ornate and meticulously crafted, adorned with intricate carvings and motifs that spoke of the kingdom's rich history and traditions. As they approached the castle gates, the sheer scale of the edifice was staggering. The courtyard, illuminated by a sea of lanterns, was transformed into a magical realm. Each lantern cast a warm, golden light that created an ethereal, dreamlike atmosphere. The moon, riding high in the night sky, added to the enchantment, casting its silvery glow upon the scene.

The courtyard was a visual feast for the senses. The nobility and courtiers present were a vivid tapestry of colors and cultures. Kings and rulers from distant realms donned their regal robes, the emblems of their kingdoms displayed proudly. Princes, adorned in luxurious garments, moved through the crowd with a sense of ambition and regal pride, each vying for the favor of the Arcadian princess.

Nobara couldn't contain her excitement as she reveled in the grandeur of the event. Her eyes sparkled as she took in the diverse and resplendent attire of the attendees. The variety of gowns, each more opulent than the last, was a sight to behold. Jewels sparkled like stars in the night sky, and the entire courtyard was alive with a kaleidoscope of colors.

Maki, in her customary composed manner, took in the grandeur with a more reserved perspective. Her discerning gaze swept across the scene, her thoughts focused on staying close to the Queen as she still served as her ‘unofficial security guard.’ 

Yuji, a stranger in this new realm, couldn't help but feel a glimmer of excitement. The grandeur and diversity of the gathering held the promise of new possibilities, the hope of reuniting with his friend Megumi.

Amidst the awe-inspiring surroundings, Satoru's earlier nervousness began to resurface. The sheer magnitude of the event and the expectations heaped upon him were daunting. His mother  provided a reassuring presence, linking her arm with his. With her support, Satoru faced the complexities of the royal court with renewed determination and resolve. The castle was a place of dreams and aspirations, but it was also a place of challenges and decisions that would shape the destiny of the kingdom. As they stepped through the grand entrance of the Castle of Arcadia, they found themselves in a vast and magnificent grand hall. The sheer size of the hall was awe-inspiring, its dimensions seeming to stretch to infinity. The high vaulted ceiling soared above, adorned with intricate frescoes that depicted the kingdom's storied history and the legends of the Arcadian royal line.

The grand hall had been transformed into a breathtaking stage for the event. The walls were adorned with opulent tapestries that depicted scenes of grandeur and romance. Massive chandeliers, resplendent with a multitude of crystals, hung from the ceiling, casting a brilliant and warm glow upon the scene below. The shimmering light illuminated the hall's polished marble floors, making them appear as if they were made of precious gems.

The hall had been arranged to accommodate the diverse and regal attendees. Long banquet tables, draped in luxurious fabrics, stretched across the length of the room, each laden with a sumptuous feast of dishes that showcased the culinary excellence of the kingdom. Guests mingled, sampling delicacies from various lands, and the air was filled with the rich scents of exotic spices and flavors.

The grand hall of the Castle of Arcadia was not only a place of regal splendor but also a stage for the art of dance. Alongside the towering grand staircase and the awaiting princess's platform, a spacious area was left open, designed for the elegant and graceful art of dancing. The hall was adorned with opulent crystal chandeliers, which cast their radiant light upon the polished marble floor below. This expanse was left clear, allowing guests to waltz, twirl, and move with grace and poise. The atmosphere was filled with the enchanting strains of a live orchestra, their instruments playing in harmony, creating a symphony of melodies that echoed through the hall.

Couples, nobles and royals alike, took to the floor, dressed in resplendent attire, and moved with the effortless grace of the waltz. The gowns of the queens and princesses swirled around them, the jewels in their hair and on their dresses sparkling like constellations in the night sky.

At the far end of the hall, a grand dais had been erected, where a magnificent throne awaited. This was the focal point of the event, the place where the Arcadian princess would make her choice. The throne was adorned with regal decorations and was surrounded by a profusion of blossoms, creating a breathtaking backdrop for the impending decision. To the left of the throne there stood a massive, grand staircase that led to an elevated platform. This was the focal point of the event, and it was where one could only assume the princess would make her entrance. The staircase was adorned with rich, deep-red carpeting, and ornate balustrades that were intricately carved with symbols of the kingdom.

The platform at the top of the staircase was surrounded by lush, cascading floral arrangements, their vibrant colors adding to the splendor of the scene. A large, ornate throne awaited the princess at the center of the platform, draped in sumptuous fabrics and decorated with glistening gemstones.

The grand hall was filled with a sense of anticipation and excitement. Attendees conversed, their voices mingling with the music of musicians who played exquisite melodies on harps and flutes. The atmosphere was charged with a heady mix of ambition and regal pride, and the hall felt like a stage for dreams and aspirations.

The hall buzzed with an air of anticipation. The guests, nobles, and royalty from distant lands, all turned their attention toward the elevated platform, where Suguru Geto, the head of the Arcadian court, stood with an air of authority and dignity. His presence commanded respect, and his role as the herald of the evening's climax was evident to all.

Suguru Geto was an old friend of Satoru and upon meeting his gaze, they both exchanged a nod of respect. 

The orchestra's melodies gradually faded into a hushed silence as Suguru Geto cleared his throat. His voice, rich and resonant, filled the hall as he announced, "Ladies and gentlemen, esteemed guests from realms near and far, the moment we have all been waiting for has arrived.”

The grand hall of the Castle of Arcadia was a breathtaking sight to behold. The expanse seemed to stretch into infinity, its high, vaulted ceiling creating a sense of vastness that was only accentuated by the grandeur of the event. Massive crystal chandeliers hung from above, casting a gentle, golden light that illuminated the polished marble floor below.

“It is my honour to announce the arrival of Princess [Y/N] of Arcadia.”

As you descended the grand staircase, every detail of your gown came to life in the soft, ambient light. The off-shoulder, sweetheart neckline accentuated the graceful curve of your neck and shoulders, adding an air of timeless elegance to your presence. The overskirt, embroidered with white roses, embedded as a symbol of purity and grace, standing out among the other dresses with their gem-adorned opulence. It was a choice that spoke to your individuality and the uniqueness of your role as the Arcadian princess. The corset, with its intricate designs, seemed to whisper tales of the kingdom's history and craftsmanship. Each stitch and pattern held its own secret, adding to the mystique of your attire. The gown, with its understated yet regal charm, exemplified the strength and beauty that many assumed defined you.

As you descended, your gown flowed with each step, creating a mesmerizing dance of fabric and grace. The elegance and poise with which you carried yourself marked this moment as one of significance and beauty. The combination of your gown, your presence, and your role as the princess of Arcadia created a scene of breathtaking grandeur.

Sir Nanami, clad in his military uniform adorned with golden pads and badges, walked a few steps ahead of you, his posture exuding strength and dignity. Your hand was on top of his as he supported each step.

The guests in the hall were spellbound, their eyes fixed on you as you descended. The destiny of the evening and the fate of two kingdoms were intricately woven into this breathtaking moment, a culmination of elegance, tradition, and the weight of your choice as the Arcadian princess.

Much faster than Satoru was able to follow, the abyss of your pupils caged him in a gaze drowning in tenebrosity. Even so poorly enlightened by the prismatic phosphorescence of the room, your stare felt as if it was bottomless, presenting him to a persona he could not quite comprehend, "Mother… is that the Princess?" Satoru had whispered, slightly stunned by your auric gaze. When he spoke, he was forcing himself to find an escape from the magnetizing pulls of your aura. His mother nods in response, finding herself occupied with her two ladies— Maki and Nobara— who fix her hair as she removes her magnificent hat. 

Satoru's earlier uncertainty and nervousness melted away in that shared glance. He knew, without a doubt, that this pivotal moment was meant to be, and the weight of the decision he was about to make felt somehow lighter in the radiance of your presence.

Satoru final words catches the attention of all three women and Yuji equally. 

“She’s beautiful.”

taglist: @cookielovesbook-akie @vlbi @purpleguk

if you would like to be on my tag list, don’t be afraid to send me an ask!!

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. adorahub © 2023 ⸝⸝ do not translate, plagiarize or remake any of my work! reposting my work is allowed - likes, reblogs && comments are appreciated.

❬ 004 ❭ through my fault ⸝⸝ stories to be told

synopsis. desperate to find you a suitor to expand the kingdom, your mother finds ways to ensure that you rule in her image; even if that means breaking your relationship with your future husband.

genre. arranged marriage, royalty au, slow burn, +18

warnings. naoya zen'in

wc. 6.4K — a 30 minute read

↳ playlist ➙ series masterlist ➙ next chapter

In the land of Colchis, where might and ambition reigned supreme, a new chapter in the kingdom's history was unfolding. The Zen’ins possessed a maritime realm known for its vast conquests and formidable armies, and they had set its sights on a coveted prize: the mystical and enigmatic Enchanted Forest, nestled between the boundaries of Colchis and Arcadia. The allure of this mystical forest, with its secrets and untold power, had stirred the hearts of Colchis’ rulers.

The pursuit of this treasured domain commenced with a grand vision — a vision that involved forging an alliance with the kingdom of Arcadia. By uniting these two mighty kingdoms, they would harness their collective strength and make a forceful claim on The Enchanted Forest. It was a bold and audacious plan, driven by a relentless determination to seize the forest and unlock its hidden potential.

At the center of this unfolding saga was Naoya Zen’in, a man whose ambition knew no bounds. His fervour for the beautiful princess of Arcadia burned brighter than any fire, so much so that he was willing to go to any lengths, even if it meant employing force, to win her hand. With alliances forming and ambitions soaring, the stage was set for a tale of power, desire, and the quest for the extraordinary.

As you present yourself in the grand hall, a wave of people surrounds you. The air is alive with the hum of conversations and the clinking of crystal glasses. It's an overwhelming sight, with guests elegantly dressed and mingling in small clusters. Your heart races with a mix of anticipation and trepidation, but at that moment, Nanami steps up beside you, his presence a reassuring anchor in the midst of the crowd. He leans in, his voice calm and steady, "Don’t worry, I’m here." The warmth in his eyes and the confidence in his tone ease your nerves.

Amidst the sea of faces, you catch sight of Kara. She practically glows with excitement as she notices you. With genuine enthusiasm, she rushes over and envelops you in a warm hug. "Oh, you look absolutely stunning!" she exclaims, her eyes taking in every detail of your dress. "That gown is a work of art. Did your mother choose it?" Her delight is infectious, and you can't help but smile in return.

“Actually… I chose this myself,” you can only feel a short surge of confidence fill your body as you said that. Your lips are twitching upwards as you look at her, and clearly, nervousness has embraced your visage and Kara couldn’t help but notice it.

Kara's caring nature shines through as she leans in, her voice filled with concern. "How are you feeling? Nervous about the evening?" She checks in on you, making sure you're comfortable and at ease, and her thoughtfulness washes away any lingering worries, leaving you feeling supported and cherished on this significant occasion. “Would you like me to grab you something to drink?” She offers. 

You shake your head, “a drink is not what I need,” and you were certain that a glass of champagne or wine won't quell the growing unease inside you. Your gloved hand, adorned with delicate lace, trembles ever so slightly as you nervously survey the opulent ballroom. The ornate chandeliers cast a soft, golden glow over the sea of unfamiliar royalty, their gowns and suits shimmering like jewels in the ambient light.

You had spent weeks preparing for this moment, convincing yourself that you were ready to step into the intricate world of courtly affairs. The etiquette lessons, the practice in the mirror, the countless hours spent choosing the perfect gown – all of it had been in service of this night. But now, as the grandeur and complexity of the event unfolds before you, you realize that your earlier confidence was mere bravado.

In this lavish setting, you've come to terms with the fact that you have absolutely no idea where to start. The unspoken rules, the subtle nuances of conversation, and the intricate dance of politics and power seem like an insurmountable challenge. You find yourself longing for the one person who could offer the guidance and wisdom you so desperately need: your mother. Her experience and insight were formidable, even against your initial resistance.

You can't help but yearn for her presence and her unflinching advice in this daunting moment, knowing that her guidance would be the key to unlocking the secrets of this unfamiliar world of royalty.

“My mother… the Queen… have you seen her, Sir Nanami?” You face the knight. From the way you spoke in formalities, almost instantaneously he knew of how urgently you needed to see her.

The blond man surveys the area before he responds, neither confirming nor denying your question, “I will find her for you if that is what you wish, princess. Are you sure you are well? Perhaps Lady Kara is right for a drink—”

“No!” You feel yourself speak without thought, startling both yourself and your closest friends. “I’m sorry… no, no. A drink will not help me, in fact, it might make me feel worst…”

The whirlwind of emotions inside you intensifies as you stand on the brink of this make-believe madness, almost as if you're suspended in a surreal dream. The opulence of the ballroom, the intricate dresses, and the ornate decorations blur together in a disorienting spectacle.

Just as you feel like you might lose yourself in this spectacle, your gaze lands on your mother. She approaches with an aura of regal authority, a striking figure in her black dress with subtle red undertones in her underskirt. Her commanding presence is unmistakable as she gracefully navigates the sea of guests. 

You had expected her to offer words of reassurance, to compliment your exquisite dress, or perhaps to acknowledge the impeccable work of Mrs. Carline on your makeup and hair.

Instead, her expression is stern, and her words take a completely unexpected turn. 

“What in God’s name are you doing, [Y/N]?” Her tone itched with a combination of formality and discipline, having the intent to scold you. “You are supposed to be speaking to these esteemed guests. Finding a suitor. Not standing around with these two fools.” She regarded your friends this way despite their presence in front of her. This did not affect her speech as she continues. “You are supposed to be making a spectacle, not hiding away.” 

The lecture catches you completely off guard, and you feel a mixture of surprise, confusion, and unease. Glancing at Kara and Nanami for support, you find them equally bewildered, their expressions mirroring your own uncertainty. With an apologetic stammer, you excuse yourself from your mother's presence, announcing your intention to "socialize."

As you navigate through the crowd, your thoughts whirl in a chaotic dance. You can't help but wonder about the true motivation behind your mother's stern words. The unexpected advice and her insistent tone leave a lingering sense of disquiet and a multitude of questions in your mind, turning what was supposed to be a fairy-tale evening into a bewildering and enigmatic experience.

Making a spectacle… you thought almost bitterly, my whole life is a spectacle…

Pulling you away from your thoughts, a magnetic force seems to emanate from the man in the distance, pulling you into his orbit. Your thoughts had come into a halt as you admire his broad figure from afar, with his silvern hair and undeniably handsome expression on his face. In a room dominated by older, more formidable figures, his youthful charm and inviting presence make him a much more approachable prospect. His aura radiates comfort and ease, offering a reassuring contrast to the uncertainty that lingers in the air.

Observing how he gracefully accompanies his mother through the elegant crowd adds to your confidence in your choice. The way he navigates the social intricacies and the genuine affection he exhibits with his mother give you the sense that he would be an empathetic and understanding conversational partner. 

In that electrifying moment, as your gaze meets Satoru's across the crowded ballroom, everything else seems to dissolve into a blur of insignificance. The lively dance floor, the animated conversations, and the elegantly dressed guests all fade into the periphery, leaving just the two of you in a world of your own. The feeling in your chest is instantaneous, as if time itself has slowed down to allow this pivotal encounter to unfold. In that shared look, there's an unspoken understanding that transcends the trappings of the grand event. It's as though your hearts have found a rhythm of their own, and the rest of the world falls away as you're drawn into the magnetic pull of each other's presence.

Amidst the exquisite backdrop of the soirée, a profound acknowledgement has been established. It's a moment of quiet intensity, as if the universe itself conspired to bring you together. There's a feeling of intrigue and fascination, like the opening chapter of a captivating novel that promises an extraordinary and unforeseen journey.

Just as you muster the courage to stride purposefully toward Satoru, filled with the hope of a friendly encounter, your intentions are suddenly derailed by the arrival of an enigmatic stranger. He emerges from the shadows like a mysterious phantom, casting an aura of intrigue and uncertainty over the entire event.

Dressed in a resplendent maritime uniform, his attire is bedecked with an ostentatious display of badges and medals, each shimmering with a history known only to him. The commanding uniform demands attention, and it's impossible not to notice the weight of his accomplishments. He is undeniably handsome, but his piercing, mischievous glint in those dark eyes sends a shiver down your spine. The blond hair, streaked with highlights of black, adds to his air of intrigue, as if his very appearance is a riddle to be unraveled.

Standing tall and imposing, he towers over you, casting a shadow that seems to swallow you whole. His presence is undeniable, almost suffocating, and you can't help but feel a strange mixture of awe and apprehension. When he speaks, his words are laced with the urgency of a man on a mission. There's no trace of sincerity or charm in his tone; it's as if he's a man with a secret agenda, and the weight of his purpose hangs heavily in the air.

In this enigmatic figure's presence, you find yourself caught in a whirlwind of emotions, ranging from curiosity to unease. The encounter seems to be laden with unspoken promises and potential dangers, leaving you to navigate the unknown territory of your feelings in this unexpected and captivating twist of fate.

“You must be the esteemed lady of the night.” He spoke with so much confidence as he seemingly took a hold of your laced hand to press a slow, purposeful peck against your knuckles. With an unwavering air of confidence, Naoya addressed you, his intentions far from love but deeply rooted in duty and personal fulfillment.

Your lips, almost agape, struggled to form a coherent response, stunned by the abruptness of his presence. As you collected your thoughts, you couldn't help but succumb to the undeniable allure of his advances. "You mean 'Princess,'" you corrected him, your voice steady as you cleared your throat. "I am no mere 'Lady,' my Lord. And with that distinction in mind, who might you be?"

In that very moment, you observed the subtle yet undeniable twitch in his otherwise composed countenance. It was a rare sight, for usually, women would swoon or melt under the weight of his charm. But with you, it seemed different. He was genuinely irritated by the figurative wall you erected between yourself and him, a testament to your own strong will and determination.

Naoya recognized that "winning" your heart would be an arduous journey, a path filled with obstacles and challenges. Nevertheless, his confidence remained unshaken, fueled by the belief that he could secure the empty throne of your father. In the complex dance of royal ambition, it was a game he was determined to master.

Within the intricacies of the royal court, where desires for power reigned supreme, the Zen'ins were far from wanting. They possessed the means and influence to please the court, making the pursuit of your hand and crown a calculated and strategic endeavour.

On top of that, he was almost baffled at your question; who didn’t know who he was?

“Naoya Zen’in of Colchis.” He had briefly introduced himself and that confident smile that seemed to arduously etch its way onto his stupidly handsome face remained. You let out an exhale, knowing fully well the kingdom which he had travelled from. “And you, stunning princess, must be aware of wherefore I’ve decided to honour you with my presence.” His final statement appeared before you like a testament, almost mocking your status as the cursed princess. 

“Perhaps I do know.” Your response was slow and just as calculating as his intentions. You could now tell if he had led you to the dance floor to entertain you or dissect the thoughts which seemed to occupy your mind. “As many other men in this grand hall do.” 

The grand ballroom came alive with a symphony of hushed whispers and rustling of silks as you and Naoya Zen'in took the floor for your first dance. The gathering of nobility had become a hotbed of speculation and intrigue, the fervent gossip of the other maidens in the room swirling like a tempestuous sea. They couldn't help but notice your choice, and it was whispered with a mixture of envy, admiration, and curiosity, for Naoya Zen'in was known far and wide as a formidable suitor, a man of ambition and power.

It was clear that the gravity of the moment had not escaped the attendees, and the anticipation hung in the air, as if the very room held its breath, waiting to see what would transpire between you.

“Arcadia holds the greatest of weapons, forged by the hands of ancient practice,” Naoya spoke to you as if he had recited that information many times in his head before finally verbalizing it out loud; he knew what he was walking into the moment he took your hand, the question was, did you? “It’s a shame that the capacity of your kingdom’s tools is encumbered by the decree of a woman.” 

Your brows furrowed at his narrow comment. If he believed that women were unfit to manage the weapons of your kingdom, what more did he think of you? You shake your head, “my mother, she worked for what this kingdom has.” You felt the need to defend your mother, despite her cold rule, she was still the woman who raised you. “Everything Arcadia has now was fought for, rightfully so, and not simply passed down, Lord Naoya.” 

“That is undeniable,” he responded with a hint of spite, “but imagine what the people are currently saying now that she is a widowed queen.”

Your breath hitched at that moment. Was he toying with you?

As the waltz commenced, Naoya's confident grasp enveloped you, his strong arm guiding you gracefully across the polished marble floor. The soft strains of the orchestra's melody filled the room, casting an enchanting spell that seemed to erase all time and space. The glistening chandeliers above bathed the room in a warm, golden glow, their crystal prisms scattering the light into a thousand dazzling rainbows, mirroring the complex and colourful interplay of courtly politics.

You could not deny Naoya's skill in the art of dancing, his every step as fluid and precise as the strokes of a masterful painter's brush. His presence was commanding, and the dance itself was a flawless display of grace and control. But as the world around you seemed to blur into a hazy dream, you couldn't help but feel a disconnect between the refined exterior and the turbulent undercurrents of his desire.

The powerful rhythms of the waltz served as a backdrop to the unspoken tension that seemed to thicken the air. As he held you in his arms, his eyes burned with an eagerness that couldn't be concealed, a fervour that lay just beneath the surface of his confident facade. His grip on your waist, though elegant and practiced, betrayed a sense of urgency, a desire to possess, as if he saw this dance as more than just a ceremonial tradition

. You could sense that Naoya was a man who had long harboured ambitions, a man accustomed to commanding the world around him, and the prospect of winning the princess's hand seemed to be the grandest ambition of all. It was a goal that had been etched into his very being, a desire that consumed him, even as he tried to mask it with the veneer of composure.

The dance continued each twirl and step revealing a bit more of his true self, a man whose determination was as formidable as the kingdom he hailed from.

“My father is not dead,” you bite your tongue, you do not want to appear vulnerable before him now that he knows that where your mother stands is where your heart lies. He knew that the grandeur of this event was simply to please the woman who fought for it all. “I believe you know plenty about me already, my Lord, what about you?”

The other maidens' gossip reached your ears like distant echoes, but you remained resolute in your convictions. You had never been one to be swayed by appearances alone. A suitor must possess not only grace but also depth, not just ambition but also the capacity to understand and cherish the intricacies of your heart. You yearned for a connection that transcended the superficial, a love that would ignite the very depths of your soul.

Your mother would have turned down those ideals immediately, especially if she heard that you, her daughter, wanted to feel the desirous peonage of love. 

It was simply unacceptable.

Emotions would make you a weak queen.

Naoya’s voice rose above the soft strains of the orchestra, eager to fill the space with his ambitions. "I was always destined to rule over my brothers," he declared, a glint of certainty in his eyes. "It's only a matter of time before I ascend to the throne. That is enough you should know about me, no?"

You nodded politely, masking your growing discomfort with a smile, and sought to steer the conversation in a different direction. You were certain of his goals now. "What are your hobbies, Naoya?" you asked, hoping to discover a more well-rounded side to this man of power.

But his response left no room for deviation from his grandiose vision. "My hobbies? My dearest, conquering empires with you by my side, of course. I have no time for the trivial pastimes that amuse the imbeciles in this hall. They pale in comparison to the glory that awaits us."

As the waltz continued, he persisted in describing how you would look as "his queen" and the life you would lead at his side. It was a constant stream of grandiosity and self-assuredness, leaving you feeling increasingly suffocated by his unwavering focus on his own ambition.

Attempting to change the subject again, you inquired about his family, hoping to learn more about the man beneath the regal exterior. However, any mention of his kin only seemed to elicit a disdainful gaze.

"My family?" he scoffed. "They are beneath me, merely pawns in the grand game of destiny. I have no need for their counsel or their feeble attempts at ruling. I alone am fit to ascend the throne and lead our kingdom to unparalleled greatness."

He spoke of himself as if he had already won you over. ‘Our kingdom’? You almost jeered at his credence. Your annoyance with his self-absorption grew with each passing word, and you found yourself increasingly impatient with his arrogance. It became clear that Naoya had been indulged and coddled, living in a world where his desires were paramount and his destiny was unquestionable.

Everyone knew that the Zen’ins were in alliance with your family already. However, it wasn’t what many thought. The so-called alliance shouldn’t be synonymous with what your father considered an agreement. This agreement consisted of the exchange of Arcadian silverwork for the promise of allowing Arcadians to fish in Colchis waters. The Zen’ins were quite possessive of the land that they owned, so in sealing this deal, many assumed it was because both kingdoms were set for an alliance. 

That was not the case. Your father despised the Zen’ins. 

You already knew for sure that he was not a man you would ever consider. 

Maki and Nobara stood together on the sidelines, their sharp eyes following the unfolding scene from a distance. The grand ballroom was a spectacle of opulence and grandeur, but amidst the sea of nobility and extravagance, they couldn't help but notice the subtle discomfort that seemed to radiate from you as you engaged in conversation with Naoya Zen'in. It was clear that he was as obnoxious from afar as he had been up close, his self-absorption and ambition dominating the conversation.

Nobara leaned in closer to Maki, a mischievous glint in her eyes as she commented in a hushed tone, "Look at that, Maki. I'd say [Y/N] here is about as thrilled as a demon at a purification ceremony. This Naoya guy sure knows how to make an impression, doesn't he?"

She was holding a tall glass of champagne, something she shouldn’t be drinking yet but who would be stopping her? In her other hand, she held a plate full of delights. Scones, a piece of cake, and an Arcadian native: chocolate.

Maki, however, remained cold and distant, her eyes never leaving you. She had chosen not to give you the benefit of the doubt, perhaps because of the deep-seated skepticism that came with her upbringing in the Colchis kingdom. The Zen'ins were known for their power and ambition, but not for their treatment of women, a dark aspect of their history they had skillfully hidden in the annals of time.

The memory of serving in the Colchis kingdom and the price that came with it still haunted Maki. It was one of the reasons she had fled to Yukinia, leaving behind the oppressive past and seeking a new life where she could forge her destiny. She had seen too much suffering and too many women treated as mere pawns in the games of powerful men, and that experience had left her guarded and wary.

Nobara, ever observant, noticed the subtle shifts in your body language and sensed your discomfort. With a playful smirk, she turned to Maki and proposed, "You know, Maki, it seems like [Y/N] could use a bit of a rescue mission right about now. How about we swoop in, pretend we're her long-lost friends, and save her from the clutches of our ambitious suitor? What do you say?"

Maki hesitated, her expression remaining stoic, and her tone devoid of warmth as she responded, "Nobara, we don't know the whole story here. We should be cautious and not jump to conclusions. Besides, we don't want to create unnecessary drama in a place like this."

Nobara let out a melodramatic sigh, "Oh, Maki, always the voice of reason, aren't you? But don't you think we could at least offer some support to [Y/N] if she needs it? We could easily divert the attention away from Naoya. I mean, we don't want to see Satoru’s future wife suffer, right?"

Maki's gaze remained fixed on you, her thoughts unreadable. She couldn't deny the allure of the idea, but her past experiences had made her cautious, and she wasn't ready to act on impulse. "Let's wait a bit longer, Nobara," she finally said. "If she needs help, she has plenty of knights, ladies, and whatnot to look for. We’re strangers to her for now, we should be patient and see how this plays out."

From the corner of the dark-haired girl's eye, she caught a tantalizing glimpse of how Satoru Gojo, with his characteristic nonchalance, seemed to weave his way through the crowd, approaching you with a fluid grace that belied his casual demeanour. He moved as though the grand ballroom were his own private stage, two drinks in hand, perfectly balanced as if he had performed this maneuver countless times.

Satoru's approach was met with subtle, admiring glances from onlookers who were drawn to his magnetic presence. It was clear that he was a well-known figure in this elite social circle, and his charm had a way of enveloping those around him. With a practiced ease, he navigated the sea of guests, casting an enigmatic aura that left no room for doubt about his status and influence.

Satoru was no stranger to Naoya Zen'in; they had crossed paths on numerous occasions during other grand events and gatherings. The room became charged with unspoken hostilities as the two powerful men came face to face, their paths intersecting with the potential to shift the balance of power. As the evening unfolded, the dynamic between Satoru and Naoya added an intriguing layer of complexity to the grand ballroom, where ambition, rivalry, and desire all coexisted in a delicate dance of power and intrigue.

In the opulent grand ballroom, the air was thick with intrigue as Satoru Gojo approached you, his eyes never leaving yours. His charismatic presence drew the attention of those around him, and the subtle tension in the room seemed to escalate with every step he took. Satoru was known for his magnetic charm and confidence, qualities that had made him a prominent figure in the noble circles.

As he drew nearer, his sharp gaze wandered over Naoya Zen'in's meticulously adorned navy uniform. With a hint of mischief dancing in his eyes, Satoru couldn't resist a sly comment. "My, Naoya, you've got your navy cross on inside out. The medal's facing your chest." His tone was light, but the implication was undeniable.

Naoya's expression darkened in an instant, irritation simmering just below the surface. He had always seen Satoru as a rival, a man who threatened his ambitions and dreams. The comment hit a nerve, and he bristled with frustration. "Mind your own business, Satoru," he retorted, his voice curt. Naoya's patience was wearing thin. "Can't you see I'm having a conversation here?" he asked, his voice edged with frustration.

Satoru's grin widened as he responded, his words dripping with audacity, "More like, you're having a conversation with yourself, my friend." The room seemed to hold its breath at the boldness of his words, and your hand flew to your mouth in a mixture of surprise and amusement. Satoru was undeniably bold, and you found his audacity both entertaining and intriguing.

You, however, couldn't help but giggle at the exchange, finding Satoru's keen observation and cheeky remark entertaining. "Well, Satoru," you chimed in, your tone playful, "I have to admit, you're quite the observant one, aren't you?"

The orchestra's melodies provided a dramatic backdrop to the unfolding drama, their music shifting and evolving as the evening progressed. Suddenly, the orchestra veered into a change of course, the notes shifting to a more lively and upbeat tune. The sweet, melodious strains of Amure Waves filled the grand ballroom, causing a ripple of excitement to course through the guests.

Satoru turned to you, his gaze warm and inviting. "May I have this dance?" he asked. The mischievous glint in his eyes hinted at the playfulness of the offer.

Your heart quickened at the invitation, and you nodded eagerly. "I'd love to," you replied with a smile, your eyes alight with anticipation. The prospect of a dance with Satoru was enticing, and you couldn't resist the allure of his charm.

With a gracious nod, Satoru handed the two glasses of champagne to Naoya. His dismissal of the Zen'in was delivered with an almost victorious grin, a subtle declaration of his dominance in this particular exchange. Naoya, fuming with suppressed anger, had no choice but to accept the glasses as Satoru practically shoved them in his hands. He couldn't hide the irritation that simmered beneath the surface. As you and Satoru moved to the center of the grand ballroom, the world seemed to fade away, leaving only the two of you in a whirl of elegance and grace. The lively tune of Amure Waves enveloped you, and the dance felt like a moment frozen in time, a respite from the world of ambition and politics.

Satoru led with confidence, guiding you through the intricate steps with effortless grace. His touch was light yet sure, and every movement seemed to flow as if it were second nature. The dance was a fusion of skill and intimacy, a silent conversation between two people who had just met but felt an undeniable connection.

The tension that had filled the room earlier had transformed into a different kind of electricity, one that seemed to be born from admiration and curiosity. The boldness of Satoru's actions had injected a new element of excitement into the grand ballroom, and you couldn't help but revel in the exhilarating atmosphere.

As the enchanting melody of "Amure Waves" surrounded both of you on the dance floor, a sense of intrigue and anticipation lingered in the air. The two began their dance, and the playful banter flowed effortlessly between them.

Satoru, with a twinkle in his eye, broke the initial silence. "You know, [Y/N], this dance floor seems to come alive when you step onto it. It's like the music itself is trying to keep up with your grace."

[Y/N], caught off guard by the compliment, chuckled softly. "Flattery will get you everywhere, my Lord. But I must admit, you have a way with words. Observant about medals and now poetic about dance floors."

Satoru's grin widened. "Well, what can I say? I have a knack for spotting the extraordinary. And tonight, that's undeniably you." As the music escalated, Satoru leaned in, his voice a whisper against your ear. "You know, I've been watching you all evening. You navigate these social waters with a truly captivating grace. Tell me, Princess, what's the story behind those eyes? They seem to hold secrets and adventures waiting to be unravelled."

[Y/N], surprised by the depth of his observation, smiled knowingly. "Perhaps the story is still unfolding."

Satoru chuckled, the sound a melodic echo to the music. "Well then, [Y/N], let's make this story one worth remembering."

As the enchanting strains of the orchestra surrounded you and the silvern prince, you came to acknowledge how Satoru’s unrefined charisma became a beacon of light in the grand ballroom. His compliments were like the sparkle of stars against the night sky, and his playful banter created a sense of spontaneity amidst the rigid formality of the event. Satoru's words had a way of lifting the weight of societal expectations, allowing you to momentarily escape into the realm of carefree enjoyment.

However, even in the midst of this newfound charm, a growing unease nestled itself within the recesses of your thoughts. Like a shadow cast by the flickering candlelight, the watchful gaze of your mother lingered in the background. Her eyes, hidden in the shadows, bore into you with an intensity that felt like an unspoken force. Each step on the dance floor carried the weight of familial obligations, a reminder that, despite the enchantment of the evening, you were still tethered to the strings of her expectations.

As Satoru twirled you gracefully, your thoughts drifted to your mother. You wondered, in the quiet contents of her mind, if her thoughts were in harmony with your own. Did she appreciate the genuine connections you were forging, or did she harbour reservations about the unfolding dynamics? The dance floor became a metaphorical stage where the delicate interplay between personal desires and familial obligations played out.

You found yourself caught in a dance of conflicting emotions. The genuine enjoyment of the moment clashed with the ever-present awareness of the watchful eyes that observed your every move. The grand hall, adorned with glistening chandeliers and ornate decorations, became a battleground where the clash between individuality and tradition unfolded.

The room transformed into a kaleidoscope of emotions. Each twirl and laugh carried with it the unspoken question of whether you were living up to the role your mother had envisioned for you. The air was thick with tension, a delicate dance between personal fulfillment and the expectations that hung in the air like the fragrance of blooming flowers. In the tapestry of the grand ballroom, where the elegance of the event intertwined with the complexities of familial obligations, you yearned for a moment of clarity. 

The enchantment of the music and the charm of Satoru were juxtaposed against the weight of societal expectations, creating a nuanced landscape of emotions that painted the dance floor with shades of joy, uncertainty, and the ever-present quest for approval.

Ever perceptive, Satoru began to sense the subtle shift in your demeanor. His keen eyes, like an astute observer of emotions, caught the fleeting moments of unease that flitted across your features. With a slight tilt of his head, he gracefully steered the conversation into a more intimate space.

Satoru, with a gentle twirl that seamlessly incorporated your emotions into the dance, leaned in slightly, his eyes reflecting a genuine concern that transcended the formalities of the evening. "You seem a bit distracted," he observed, his voice a low, soothing murmur that resonated with understanding. "Is there something troubling you, ?"

Caught off guard by the sincerity of his inquiry, you couldn't help but offer a soft smile. The dance floor, which moments ago had been a stage for societal expectations, transformed into a space where vulnerability could coexist with elegance. The lilting notes of the music surrounding both of you created a cocoon of melody, you felt the weight of unspoken burdens press upon your shoulders. The grand ballroom, with its opulent chandeliers casting a warm glow, seemed both a sanctuary and a confessional as Satoru Gojo's perceptive eyes delved into the depths of your emotions.

"It's just," you began, your voice carrying a delicate tremor, "I— I don’t know..." you were unsure whether it was wise for you to share the burden of your thoughts to a man you’ve only met ten minutes ago. “I could tell you every thought that I’m currently experiencing, my Lord, but our position as strangers is preventing me from doing so.”

Your words hung in the air, a delicate dance of vulnerability amidst the swirling elegance. Satoru's gaze held a quiet understanding, acknowledging the intricacies of the unspoken weight that had woven itself into the fabric of the dance.

To an extent, you were right. The dance had brought you together, but the tapestry of your lives remained largely unknown to each other. The mysterious allure of Satoru Gojo was accompanied by the shroud of unfamiliarity. You were not acquainted with the intricacies of his kingdom, nor were you privy to the aspirations that drove him. This ball, though a stage for connection, remained a realm where shadows of mystery loomed. As charming as Satoru presented himself, a flicker of doubt traversed your thoughts. The grand ballroom, adorned with splendor, seemed to whisper tales of men who wore masks of civility but concealed ambitions that echoed in the corridors of power. Your mind, caught in the dance of uncertainty, toyed with the notion that perhaps Satoru was no different from every other man in the grand hall.

This moment appeared to become a metonamy of the delicate balance between the unexplored territories of the heart and the pragmatic choices dictated by societal expectations. 

“My mother used to tell me that words come by nature, to be told in time.” Satoru began and you meet his eyes for a moment; realizing how they seem to capture you in this moment, trapping you in a situation where you are unable to look away from him. It was only you and him, caught in the middle of waltzing figures around you. 

You purse your lips in thought, formulating your following words carefully, “would it drive you away if I told you that whatever is troubling me appears most frequently in this hall?

The white-haired man’s lips curled up in a small smile, intrigued, “what makes you think that will drive me away?”

“Emotions,” you blurt out incospicuously. 

Satoru lets out a chuckle, “you think that I will run away because you are expressing your feelings, Princess?” He shakes his head. "To think that most people believe that you’re cursed…” Satoru's words created a momentary pause in the dance. The unexpected comment left you bewildered, a flicker of surprise etching across your features. You did not anticipate that anyone, let alone a prince, would bring up the undoings of your past. Speechless, you sought clarity.

“Excuse me?” you responded, the confusion evident in your voice. The dance floor, once a refuge, now seemed like a stage for the unexpected unveiling of hidden narratives. The echoes of rumors painted a canvas you had hoped to keep concealed.

“Don’t take this the wrong way, Princess, but rumors are abound, and I have heard much about you…” Satoru's tone was measured, as if carefully navigating the delicate terrain of revelation. The weight of his words settled, leaving you to grapple with the realization that the whispers outside your castle had breached the sanctuary of the dance.

“Did that change your perceptions of me? Am I… just a Cursed Princess to you?” The question slipped from your lips, accompanied by a quiver that betrayed the heaviness rising in your chest. Dread, sadness—emotions tangled in a web of uncertainty. The notion of being personified by those beyond the castle walls felt both foreign and painfully real.

“Absolutely not,” Satoru reassured, the immediacy of his response echoing with sincerity. Yet, the unease lingered, a shadow cast by the revelation. “In a matter of minutes, Princess, you have shown me that you are not unique to, or different from other princesses of this realm,” he continued, and you grappled with the ambiguous nature of his words. Was he calling you ordinary? Boring?

“You are not cursed. You are a human being, regal, may I add, but you are as you’re supposed to be.” His words, though meant to dispel the weight of the rumors, left you in a state of uncertainty. This hall, once a stage for grace and elegance, had transformed into a space where the complexities of identity were laid bare. "You may be the Cursed Princess to everyone else in this grand hall, but if you will allow me: let me know you as [Y/N]." Satoru's invitation to escape the weight of external judgments was a lifeline in the midst of uncertainty. 

The echoes of revelation lingered. His words, delivered with a sincerity that cut through the ballroom's facade, felt like a gentle breeze dispelling the stifling atmosphere. Satoru's eyes, filled with a compassionate understanding, conveyed a shared acknowledgment of the societal pressures that permeated such events. With a subtle tightening of his grip, he conveyed reassurance, a silent promise that, for the duration of this dance, you could escape the weight of those external expectations. 

For the first time you did not carry the weight of your mother’s expectations for you. You were not a princess whose purpose was duty. For the first time, Satoru has shown you that you were more than this regal title that you were born with. 

The Grand Hall, witness to the intricacies of your dance, held within its walls the untold stories that would unfold in time.

“So, let me introduce myself,” Satoru’s smile makes its way on his face; he was so kind, so charming, “my name is Satoru Gojo, Prince of Yukinia, but you can just call me Satoru.”

You were breathless.

“My name…” you tried fighting a grin. You felt so deeply, madly, undeniably infatuated by the white-haired man before you. “My name is [Y/N]. A pleasure to meet you.”

Satoru gleams, “the pleasure is all mine, [Y/N].”

taglist: @cookielovesbook-akie @vlbi @purpleguk

if you would like to be on my tag list, don’t be afraid to send me an ask!!

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. adorahub © 2023 ⸝⸝ do not translate, plagiarize or remake any of my work! reposting my work is allowed - likes, reblogs && comments are appreciated.

❬ 005 ❭ through my fault ⸝⸝ the unpredictability of the heart

synopsis. desperate to find you a suitor to expand the kingdom, your mother finds ways to ensure that you rule in her image; even if that means breaking your relationship with your future husband.

genre. arranged marriage, royalty au, slow burn, +18

warnings. naoya zen'in, some manipulation and power play

wc. 3.7K — a 20-minute read

author's note. this is so much shorter than I wanted it to be but I hope you enjoy it anyway

↳ playlist ➙ series masterlist ➙ next chapter

Regent Queen Aia stood in the opulent ballroom, her regal presence commanding attention as her discerning eyes tracked every move of her daughter on the dance floor. The grandeur of the occasion was reflected in the glittering chandeliers that hung overhead, casting a soft radiance upon the mosaic of noble attendees in resplendent attire.

As her daughter gracefully twirled in the arms of Naoya Zen'in, the woman felt a subtle satisfaction, though it wasn't derived from the man's charm or wit—qualities that, she observed, were conspicuously absent. No, it was the very name "Zen'in" that resonated with a power that transcended individual traits. It was a name steeped in the history of unyielding strength, an enduring legacy that had weathered the ebb and flow of time.

The Zen'in lineage, etched into the fabric of the kingdom's narrative, possessed an almost mythical quality. The regent Queen, a shrewd strategist, recognized the weight that came with such a name. It was a name that exuded authority and stability, qualities she deemed essential for securing not only her daughter's future but the prosperity of the realm itself. In contrast, Satoru Gojo, the white-haired enigma from the desolate kingdom of Yukinia, moved across the dance floor with an air of mystery that intrigued the regent. The tales of his family's castle, shrouded in secrets and guarded by an ancient magic, whispered promises of something beyond the tangible. Yet, the Queen couldn't overlook the fact that this power, while formidable, lacked the centuries-old foundation that the Zen'in lineage boasted.

Naoya Zen’in’s confidence radiated like a quiet storm, a force of nature that had stood unyielding for generations. The woman envisioned a union that transcended the ephemeral allure of the present, a marriage that would bind her daughter to a legacy of unassailable strength.

As the strains of the music echoed in the grand ballroom, your mother subtly orchestrated the pieces on the political chessboard. Her goal was clear—to align you with a man of unwavering power, and in her eyes, Naoya Zen'in personified that power. The intricacies of courtly maneuvering unfolded like a tapestry, each calculated step contributing to the weaving of a narrative that would shape the destiny of the kingdom.

The regent Queen Aia, in her unwavering conviction, believed that the future of her daughter was not to be decided by fleeting enchantments or superficial charm. She held fast to the belief that in the realm of politics and power, a mother's discernment surpassed all. As the dance of alliances unfolded, she stood as the orchestrator, directing the symphony of courtly intrigue towards a harmonious union—one that would stand the test of time, much like the indomitable lineage of the Zen'ins.

Amidst the grandeur of the ballroom, the air thick with unspoken tension, Regent Queen Aia found herself face to face with Queen Saeko of Yukinia. Their eyes met, and for a moment, the weight of their respective kingdoms hung in the delicate balance of diplomacy. Queen Saeko, draped in the elegance of winter's embrace, spoke first.

"Regent Queen Aia," Saeko's voice was a melodic cadence, "what a splendid affair this is. Your daughter seems to be the belle of the ball."

Aia, ever the diplomat, offered a courteous nod. "Indeed, Queen Saeko. Such gatherings provide an opportune moment for alliances to take root."

Saeko's eyes sparkled with an icy brilliance. "I couldn't agree more. Speaking of alliances, how fares your bedridden husband? I hope his health has not further declined."

Aia's expression tightened imperceptibly at the mention of her husband. She had no desire to reveal vulnerabilities to a potential adversary, even one veiled in pleasantries. "My husband's health is a private matter, Queen Saeko. I assure you, the affairs of our kingdom are well attended."

Saeko, seemingly oblivious to the subtle tension, continued with a friendly smile. "I only inquire out of genuine concern, dear Aia. Our kingdoms may have their differences, but the well-being of our rulers is a shared concern."

Aia, ever cautious, maintained her composure but chose her words with precision. "Your concern is noted, Queen Saeko. However, the affairs of Yukinia and our own kingdom are best kept separate."

Saeko's demeanor, though outwardly warm, carried a glint of curiosity. "Of course, I meant no offense. Merely extending a hand in friendship."

The grand ballroom, adorned in the soft radiance of crystal chandeliers, became a theater of nobility, where the dance of politics unfolded like a delicate tapestry. The symphony's enchanting notes swept through the air, harmonizing with the elaborate choreography of the guests in attendance.

Your mother, draped in regal attire that mirrored the opulence of her kingdom, stood as a poised figure amidst the swirling dance. Her eyes, sharp and discerning, tracked the movements of her daughter and the captivating Satoru Gojo. On the periphery, Queen Saeko, the embodiment of warmth and maternal grace, observed with an affectionate watchfulness.

As Saeko leaned in to offer her comment, her words were delivered with a genuine smile that softened the air. The ballroom, once charged with tension, now basked in the glow of contrasting energies—Aia's calculated authority and Saeko's motherly warmth.

"It seems your daughter and my son share an undeniable chemistry," Saeko remarked, her voice a gentle melody amidst the symphony. "Quite an intimate display, wouldn't you say?"

Aia, momentarily taken aback, found herself caught in the warmth of Saeko's sincerity. The tension of the dance floor seemed to dissipate as Saeko's words embraced the room like a comforting embrace.

"Oh, Queen Saeko, such matters are not for casual commentary," Aia responded, her tone carrying a regal poise, but lacking the edge of defensiveness. "The dance floor often distorts appearances."

Saeko's laughter, a melodic resonance, echoed through the grandeur of the space. "Ah, but appearances can be quite telling, don't you think? A dance such as this reveals more than words ever could."

Aia's response, though guarded, lacked the usual defensive undertones. The regent, seemingly caught in the warmth of Saeko's presence, acknowledged the complexity of the situation with a subtle nod.

"One should not presume too much from mere appearances, Queen Saeko. Decisions of the heart are complex and not easily discerned," Aia reiterated, her words carrying the weight of experience.

Saeko's gaze softened, a motherly understanding in her eyes. "Very true. Yet, sometimes, the heart knows what the mind cannot grasp."

As the music approached its zenith, Saeko, guided by a gentle insistence, proposed a meeting between the regent and her son. The ballroom, now a tableau of contrasting personalities and diplomatic nuances, bore witness to the unfolding drama.

"I insist you meet my son," Saeko said, her voice carrying a gentle authority. "A face-to-face exchange might reveal more than these dances ever could."

Aia, maintaining her regal composure, considered Saeko's proposal with a discerning gaze. The ballroom, once a stage for political machinations, now became a space where the genuine warmth of a mother's intentions met the calculated maneuvers of a regent queen. 

The grand ballroom, a resplendent tapestry of opulence, echoed with the enchanting strains of a symphony that underscored the elaborate dance of nobility. You found yourself at the center of this regal spectacle, flanked by your mother, a figure of imposing authority, and the charismatic Satoru Gojo, whose carefree demeanor seemed to defy the calculated choreography of courtly affairs.

As Queen Saeko approached, her radiance illuminated the room like a beacon of warmth. Satoru, with an irreverent grin, greeted her with a nonchalant charm that mirrored the casual sway of his movements. You, however, remained guarded, offering a fabricated simper and a nod as your mother's sharp eyes bore into your soul.

Queen Saeko, her eyes alight with a maternal affection, addressed Gojo with a compliment that echoed through the grandeur of the ballroom. "My dearest Satoru, you look splendid tonight. Such a fine dancer, just like your father."

Gojo's response was a carefree grin, his irreverent charm undiminished even in the face of such regal company. "Always the charmer, Mother. You know I get it from you."

On the other side of the dance floor, your mother scrutinized Gojo's behavior with a discerning gaze, as if dissecting the nuances of his every move. Tension lingered in the air, a silent confrontation of expectations and agendas.

"Stand up straight, dear. No slouching." Your mother uses a finger to lift your chin upwards, casting a stern expression towards you. “You are a reflection of our kingdom, and we cannot afford to appear anything less than regal.” You straightened your posture under the weight of her gaze, feeling the scrutiny not just from her but from the courtly onlookers who observed the unfolding drama. 

The ballroom, once an arena of enchanting melodies and graceful movements, now bore witness to a clash of personalities and intentions. The dialogue, though polite on the surface, crackled with an underlying tension that added an edge to the elegance of the evening. As the symphony continued its mesmerizing performance, the subtle interplay between the four figures unfolded like a complex dance. Gojo, seemingly unburdened by the weight of royal expectations, maintained his flippant demeanor. Your mother, on the other hand, watched his every move with a discerning eye, an arbiter of tradition and decorum.

A soft smile played on your lips, a genuine response to the warmth radiating from Queen Saeko. However, your mother's perusal persisted, a silent reminder that every gesture and expression carried weight in the courtly ballet.

The grand ballroom, adorned in resplendent hues and bathed in the soft glow of crystal chandeliers, became a stage for the intricate dance of royalty. The strains of the symphony painted a delicate melody, weaving through the air like a tapestry of courtly elegance. At the heart of this spectacle, you stood, caught in the interplay of familial expectations and the warmth of Queen Saeko's affections.

The atmosphere, once tense, began to shift as Queen Saeko, a beacon of maternal warmth, sought to dissolve the subtle frostiness that lingered in the air. "My dear," she addressed you with a voice as gentle as a summer breeze, "you look absolutely radiant tonight. A true jewel among the court."

A soft smile played on your lips, genuine warmth kindling in your eyes as you acknowledged her words. "Thank you, Queen Saeko. Your kindness is truly heartening."

As if to emphasize her sentiment, Queen Saeko, with a tender grace, brushed her knuckles against your cheek. The touch was light, fleeting, but it carried a warmth that seemed to penetrate the layers of courtly formality. Her praise, a balm to the lingering tension, momentarily lifted the weight that your mother's scrutiny had placed on your shoulders.

Meanwhile, your mother, a figure of regal pride, couldn't resist interjecting into the exchange. "Of course, she's a vision. I've raised her to be nothing less than the epitome of grace and beauty."

Her words, though steeped in maternal pride, carried an air of possessiveness, as if claiming credit for the masterpiece you had become. The grand hall, adorned with nobility and adorned in opulence, stood as a testament to the success of her influence, according to her.

"Indeed," your mother continued, her gaze a mix of authority and self-satisfaction, "this hall is brimming with suitors, all vying for her favor. A testament to my success in shaping her into a woman of unmatched desirability."

You remained silent, a poised figure in the midst of the exchange, glancing towards Satoru Gojo, who seemed unfazed by the unfolding dynamics. His gaze met yours, a flicker of understanding passing between you. The unspoken language exchanged was a shared acknowledgment of the intricacies that governed courtly life.

Your mother's gaze, sharp as a dagger, shifted towards you as she posed a question that cut through the diplomatic veneer. "Who do you have in mind so far?"

The weight of the question hung in the air, a challenge veiled in maternal expectation. You met her gaze with a measured composure, choosing your words with care. "The evening is still young, Mother. I haven't made any decisions yet."

Queen Saeko, sensing the delicate balance, interjected with a gentle smile. "A wise approach, my dear. The heart should not be rushed. Allow the evening to unfold at its own pace."

Her words carried a wisdom that transcended the courtly dance, a reminder that decisions of the heart were not to be made hastily. The symphony, weaving a backdrop of harmony, seemed to echo the sentiment, as if urging patience and grace in the delicate ballet of emotions.

The grand ballroom, now a stage for familial dynamics and unspoken tensions, bore witness to the delicate interplay between tradition and individual autonomy. In the midst of courtly splendor and maternal expectations, you navigated the dance with a grace that mirrored the radiance of the jewels adorning the noble attendees. The night held promises yet to be unveiled, and the decisions that loomed on the horizon would shape not only your destiny but the intricate narrative of courtly affairs.

Your mother did not appreciate Queen Saeko’s comment, but she masked this displeased facade by seizing upon the remark with an air of disdain. "Indeed, Queen Saeko," she responded with a measured tone, her eyes carrying a hint of challenge. "While I appreciate your perspective, some of us understand the urgency of such matters."

The unspoken clash of philosophies hung in the air, a clash between the warmth of Queen Saeko's maternal wisdom and the calculated determination of your mother. The symphony, though continuing its enchanting performance, seemed to underscore the discordant notes beneath the surface. You, caught between the currents of maternal expectations, observed the exchange with a quiet introspection. The grand ballroom, adorned in opulence and bathed in the soft glow of crystal chandeliers, became a silent battleground of conflicting perspectives.

As the tension lingered, your mother, unwilling to yield ground, directed her gaze back at you. "Who is a worthy suitor, [Y/N]?" she repeated, her question carrying the weight of expectation. “The Kamos, perhaps? Maybe, a Zen’in?” 

You met her gaze with a measured composure, a subtle defiance glinting in your eyes. "There are many bright—” you wouldn’t say young— “men in this grand hall, mother… which is making my decision harder to make.”

As the subtle clash between your mother and Queen Saeko lingered in the air, your mother, ever determined, turned her attention back to you. "So, my dear," she inquired with a regal poise, "what do you propose to help facilitate this process?"

Caught in the crossfire of conflicting expectations, you blurted out an idea that had been forming in your mind. "Perhaps narrowing down the options would be a prudent approach. A more intimate setting to assess compatibility."

The suggestion seemed to strike a chord with your mother, her discerning gaze contemplating the proposal. After a moment of contemplation, she decided to seize the reins of the situation. "A dinner, then. We shall invite two suitors then."

Satoru's eyes gleamed with a mixture of anticipation and hope at the prospect. His charismatic charm had danced through the evening, leaving an impression that lingered in the grand ballroom. A dinner invitation suggested a chance, an opportunity to showcase more than just a fleeting impression on the dance floor. Of course, in the midst of the courtly affairs, the question lingered in the air—would Satoru Gojo be deemed a worthy candidate? His charisma and charm, though undeniable, had yet to be tested against the stringent standards of royal compatibility.

The grand ballroom, once filled with the enchanting strains of the symphony, became a stage for the delicate dance of courtly intrigue. As your mother declared the details of the upcoming dinner, an undercurrent of anticipation swept through the gathered nobility. The courtly attendees, ever attuned to the ebb and flow of power dynamics, began to sense a pivotal moment in the air.

"How will we make the decision of who those two suitors will be?" you inquired, your gaze subtly flickering toward Satoru. The question hung in the air like a delicate note, and the courtly attendees, always hungry for the drama of noble affairs, began to shift their attention towards the unfolding conversation.

Your mother responded with a measured tone, "The decision-making process shall be one of careful consideration. I, as your mother and a steward of our lineage, shall make my choice based on what I believe is best for our kingdom." The courtly onlookers, discreetly eavesdropping on the exchange, exchanged subtle glances. Whispers of curiosity rippled through the ballroom as the nobility, like birds sensing a shift in the wind, began to circle around you. "As for you," your mother continued, acknowledging the unspoken questions in the eyes of those gathered, "you shall have the agency to make a decision as well. Consider it a testament to the changing tides of tradition. The final decision, however, shall be made over the course of the dinner."

The attendees, now drawn into the orbit of this unfolding drama, cast speculative glances at one another. The upcoming dinner, initially seen as a mere formality, had evolved into a pivotal moment where fates would be decided and alliances forged. Among the circling nobility, Naoya Zen'in seemed to glide with a predatory grace. His sharp eyes, always keenly attuned to the currents of courtly affairs, caught wind of the conversation. A subtle smirk played on his lips as he observed the dynamics at play.

As the whispers and hushed conversations intensified, the nobility seemed to close in, forming an invisible circle around you. The symphony, though still playing in the background, became a distant murmur against the rising tide of courtly speculation.

Your mother, undeterred by the growing audience, gestured toward the upcoming dinner with a graceful sweep of her hand. "It is within the confines of that intimate setting that the final decisions shall be made. As for now, let us continue on with the night.” 

The grand ballroom, awash in the soft glow of crystal chandeliers, now resembled a tapestry of swirling colours and hushed whispers. The symphony, once the guiding melody of nobility, had transformed into a distant hum against the tapestry of courtly affairs. As you stood in contemplation, your gaze drifted to Satoru engaged in conversation with the pink-haired boy, a sudden burst of laughter punctuating their discussion.

Amidst the swirl of courtly figures, Kara, your dearest friend, approached with her characteristic exuberance, linking arms with you. "Oh, princess, did you hear that grand proposal about the dinner? It's like a feast for gossip! I can already imagine the scandalous speculations echoing through these hallowed halls!"

Your lips curved into a wry smile at Kara's theatrics. "Yes, I’m awre," you replied, the weight of the impending decisions still heavy on your mind.

Kara's eyes, ever sharp, detected the undercurrent of worry. "What's brewing in that brilliant mind of yours?"

You sighed, allowing the vulnerability to surface. "I'm scared, Kara. What if I… don’t make the right decision?"

Kara's response was immediate, her hand finding its way to your shoulder. "You have always told me that the choices we make are like constellations in the vast sky.” Her head tilts to the side as she flashes you a dimpled smile. Her dark skin seemed to glimmer beneath the lights. “Each star adds to the brilliance of your journey.”

Kara’s words seemed to coax a genuine smile from you. “Like stars… have you been reading those scientific texts that Suguru owns?"

“Absolutely!” She grinned, her eyes sparkling with mischief. "Now, tell me, who's caught your eye in this sea of potential suitors? A dashing lord, perhaps? A brooding baron? Or maybe the mysterious Yukinian Prince everyone is talking about?"

You chuckled at Kara's theatrics. "I haven't decided yet, Kara. And please, no more nicknames for the suitors."

As the banter between friends continued, Kara couldn't resist delving deeper into the intrigue. "But really, are you considering Prince Satoru?"

Caught off guard by the directness of her question, you blinked in surprise. "Well, I... I don't know, Kara. I mean, he's charming and all, but..."

Kara's eyes gleamed with curiosity. "But? But what, [Y/N]?"

You hesitated, glancing toward the distant figure of Satoru engaged in lively conversation. "We had a... moment. I can't quite explain it."

Kara's eyebrows wiggled mischievously. “That's intriguing. You've got that look in your eye."

You raised an eyebrow, a playful smirk playing on your lips. "What look?"

"The look," Kara insisted, her eyes widening with mock seriousness. "You know, the one you had when we were teenagers. Every time I read to you about your favourite character, you had this ardent expression. That same look."

You blushed, memories of your teenage years flooding back. "Kara, that was different. I was a kid, and it was just a character in a book."

Her teasing grin widened. "Oh, but the heart wants what it wants. And it seems, my dear, your heart might be having a little rendezvous with Prince Satoru."

Flustered, you tried to defend yourself. "Kara, come on. It's not like that. I'm not in love with Satoru yet."

Her eyes twinkled with amusement. "Yet," she emphasized, her grin widening. "You said 'yet,' which means you're considering him."

You rolled your eyes, unable to deny Kara's observation. "Fine, maybe I'm considering him, but it's all so complicated. This isn't a storybook romance, Kara."

Kara chuckled, her voice gentle. "No, it's not. But, princess, that's what makes it all the more fascinating. The unpredictability of the heart, the dance of emotions. Embrace it."

As you stood amidst the opulence of the grand ballroom, the cascading notes of the symphony and the soft glow of crystal chandeliers painted an ethereal backdrop to the tumult within your heart. Kara's words lingered in the air, a reminder of the unpredictable dance of emotions. In that moment, as the whispers of courtly affairs swirled around you, you found solace in the unpredictability of the heart. It was as if a veil had been lifted, revealing the intricate tapestry of your own desires. The memory of the intense waltz with Prince Satoru replayed in your mind, each step a testament to the uncharted territories your heart dared to explore. 

Wordlessly, within the confines of your thoughts, you embraced the unpredictability, allowing it to shape your decision. Tomorrow's dinner, an intimate affair that promised to unveil the choices that lay ahead, would bear witness to the enigmatic dance between your heart and the elusive Prince Satoru.

taglist: @cookielovesbook-akie @vlbi @purpleguk

if you would like to be on my tag list, don’t be afraid to send me an ask!!

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. adorahub © 2023 ⸝⸝ do not translate, plagiarize or remake any of my work! reposting my work is allowed - likes, reblogs && comments are appreciated.