whoreash

[whoreash]

champagne problems ⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖ ࣪

╰┈➤ˎˊ˗ chapter one of evermore

synopsis: The heart-breaking truth hits you in an instant— Shoko Ieiri denied Suguru Getou's proposal. With a whirlwind of emotions and anger, there is only one thing that can save, such melancholy times: a new guest in Highbury.

➺inspired by emma (2020) directed by autumne de wilde

➺victorian era!au

➺pairings : gentleman!gojosatoru x afab!reader

➺ tropes : golden retriever!gojo x black cat!reader // first love // sunshine and grumpy // sworn off love

“You did what?”

“I rejected Mr. Getou’s proposal.”

The morning was bright and carefree, and I didn’t know it then, but the summer was a complete juxtaposition of the day.

I spent the morning in the conservatory with Nancy, my lady-in-waiting. The conservatory was one of my favourite places, especially when the flowers flourished and filled the space with colours that I couldn’t see anywhere else. It has gotten so warm that I’ve had to take both my bonnet and umbrella for the small distance of a few steps. Nevertheless, the sun rays shined radiantly through the open windows, so I could fully bathe in the light while eating breakfast— the chef outdid himself this morning, the weather, probably, upped his mood, so he served homemade croissants with various fruits.

And the best of all, that morning I didn’t see Gojo Satoru once. Realistically, I couldn’t care less where he was, and I took advantage of his unknown presence by embroidering, something I haven’t picked up on in a while.

By the time Ieiri came over, it was time for tea, which was exactly how I was spending it.

“Lady, Miss Shoko is here to see you.” Nancy entered the living room, precisely when I was thinking about said subject. How delightful.

My head raises, the rim of the teacup covering my face, as I nod in approval. Nothing seems out of place to me. Ieiri would usually come over at this time and spend the rest of the day with me—painting, walking, talking—anything to get the day over with. And I was extremely excited to find out any updates about her soon-to-be husband.

“Let her in, then.”

However, the moment she walks through the door, I notice an odd energy projecting from her. While Shoko isn’t the loudest or most elated person ever, her steps were slow and her eyes never met mine; rather, she looked as if she was too intrigued by the carpet to look at me. Seemingly, trying to avoid the inevitable.

“So, any news for me, regarding—” I put the teacup down onto the table, ready to gossip, or I hoped to, anyway.

“I rejected him.” My eyes practically flew to Ieiri’s figure.

“You did what?”

“I rejected Mr. Getou’s proposal.”

I couldn’t comprehend it at all. My mind searched and searched for what seemed like hours. But nothing came to save me, or Ieiri, from destruction. She had her doubts, sure, but denying a marriage— that’s nothing short of a scandal.

Not only will her reputation be ruined for leading the priest on, because everyone knew everything in the small town of Highbury, but I’d be seen as a complete liar who carried this on for weeks, after all, I started this relationship, if you could even call it that anymore.

It was uncanny how unwavering her voice was and how sure she seemed of this decision. Surely, she couldn’t be— as I’ve said, thousands of times, Mr. Getou was perfect for her.

“Why—”

“I don’t love him,” She interrupted me, which made the situation even worse and irked me even more. Shoko Ieiri interrupted me and is burning my legacy to the ground with her idiotic hope.

“But, Shoko, that doesn’t matter— you have to understand,”

The dam broke after that sentence.

“No, you don’t understand. You get to live in this beautiful home with beautiful dresses and a loving father, and I have to end up in a loveless marriage? And then what?”

I couldn’t say anything back for a while. She was right, to some extent, but I only wanted what was right for her, so she could have the best life possible. She deserved it, after everything. I never realised how my attempts affected her.

No, I did realise— I just didn’t want to accept it. Maybe, some part of me wanted to be a saviour. Considering all of that, I was too stubborn to let my efforts go to waste. So, I did the closest thing I could to beg.

“You could have all of that, too. If you married him.”

“I don’t love him.” She repeated herself. My stubbornness was a firefly compared to Shoko’s galaxy of dreams, “I love Iori.”

What?

How?

Why?

All these questions flung into my head, but the most apparent feeling was hurt. Shoko never told me about her real, true emotions. No matter if I agreed with them or not, she never told me. Was I too excited about Getou to see the obvious truth?

“Miss Utahime? The farmer’s daughter? Shoko, please—”

Before I could fully present my point across— the fact that Miss Utahime wasn’t as lucky in the wealth area as Mr. Getou and Ieiri wouldn’t have what she needed— Satoru Gojo slammed the door open, which was already bad, but what sent me spiralling was the man behind him.

Suguru Getou, in all his Holy glory.

The room was speechless— and so were the four people standing in it. Mr. Getou and Shoko only stared at each other, he with an indescribable, but agitated face, and the latter replying with a remorseful expression.

I, ever so slowly, shuffled over to Gojo, my face burning with distress.

“Why would you let him in here? Oh my god.” My whispers seemed like a roar, as I squinted at the illusion of sound.

Mr. Gojo, simply, lowers his head, his eyes not leaving the forsaken couple, muttering something so stupid, which made the situation worse.

“He looked, pretty, damn desperate. You know I can’t say no to desperate people,” he muttered, so casually it made me question his whole character. This is happening because Gojo Satoru can’t say no?

Before I could break the ice-cold tension that was eating at my very own dignity, the denied man shares his thoughts.

“Why would you do that?” Suguru Getou’s voice boomed through the room, and, honestly, his response sounded a little too hurt— considering Shoko never promised anything about a proposal.

Matter-of-factly, the resentful pout and tears that threatened to spill from his eyes shocked both me and Mr. Gojo, as he whispered a small ‘what is going on?’ He was, truly, taking it a little too much to heart, scarily so.

It seemed Ieiri, either, didn’t get the same message, or decided to ignore it as her words were only a frail attempt to keep him at bay and apologise in the correct manner, which Mr. Getou came across as someone who wouldn’t accept the confession.

“Mr. Getou, I didn’t mean for this to happen, believe me.” With her hand on her heart and a trembling lip, her words seemed less powerful than intended.

“I want to talk to you. Alone.”

Both my and Mr. Gojo’s eyes drifted to Shoko— surely she won’t agree. She has no obligation to, and he’s clearly out of his mind, and she doesn’t need to tell him anything— well, maybe she does. I still feel the impending doom of discontent as I look at her delicate form, which should be engaged by now.

Our shock is, physically, apparent when all Ieiri does is nod, not even look at us. Just a nod.

So, like the obedient followers we were— me and Gojo leave, begrudgingly, but we do leave. And stay right behind the door, just in case things got out of hand and because we’re both extremely nosy.

With our ears and gaze pressed against the door, it was eerily silent, none of us having the courage to take a breath that could break our focus and miss a crucial piece of information.

“I told you so.” Okay, I guess not all of us got the message that silence is the best weapon.

The menacing glare I give to Mr. Gojo doesn’t seem to bother him, rather, he smiles like an innocent puppy that isn’t getting on my, absolute, nerves.

“Can you be quiet? I’m trying to listen.” My eyes stayed on Gojo longer than anticipated; he was at arm's length, and I’m sure if he carried on, I wouldn’t think twice about punching him.

“But, I was right.”

I reply with a simple roll of my eyes, because, well, he was right. My ego stopped me from admitting so, verbally, but it was true.

“You know I was right.” Teasing, mocking and entirely insulting. I wasn’t going to let it get to me.

But Gojo Satoru is a man of great stubbornness. And, he won’t stop until I do break.

“Why don’t you just accept it?”

He does, finally, catch my attention, but not because of his words, but his proximity. Mr. Gojo was dangerously close to my face, ew ew ew ew.

It’s odd how my mind doesn’t immediately go into fight or flight mode. Instead, I stay in my position, our noses practically touching— so close I could see the freckle in his left iris, something imperfect in such a flawless person.

That very freckle would be, naturally, camouflaged by all the other ideal features of Gojo— but I could see it as clear as day, that micro-sized pigment spot that moves when his eyes do. It was the only thing I could focus on, weirdly enough.

Before the thrust of the door, it pushes us both apart as we clumsily reach for some balance.

My eyes drift over Suguru Getou’s figure, leaving the estate with such a vigorous walk that I frown in disappointment— there was a sort of feeling of embarrassment that I saw from him, Mr. Getou’s head being tilted downwards and avoiding everyone’s gaze. The conversation didn’t last long— rather, a few points were probably made, but the priest was done with the conversation as soon as Shoko rejected him. I, truly, think he only wanted to confirm the letter.

Was he ashamed that Shoko rejected him? That would make sense, of course, but it was deeper than that, something I couldn’t quite place my finger on.

No matter, my main priority is someone else, someone who was standing in the living room, her teeth biting the dead skin on her lip as she stared at where Getou Suguru was a mere second ago. I went up to her, cautiously and hesitantly, my fingers fiddling together, as if she were an injured cat that would run away if I came too close.#

What I, surely, didn’t expect was her careless glance moving to mine when my hand reached for her shoulder. In that moment, I couldn’t help the displeased expression that painted my face, it was irresistible. After all, I tried so hard, for so many months, for this proposal, and she goes against my every word, just when it was about to happen?

Expectedly, Shoko caught onto that, instantly, her brows crunching in frustration and a huff leaving her lips as she walked out of the estate, taking the same path as Mr. Getou did.

That all happened yesterday, and yet I’m still in my room— rejecting every offer to go on walks or have tea, even after Nancy’s endless attempts. All I wanted to do was sit in my room and read books. It was the only way I could escape from the continuous thoughts that plagued my mind. The only way to escape the humiliation and shame.

Shoko hasn’t visited me since it happened. It was past tea time, and I was still waiting as Nancy was arranging my hair, it wasn’t like I was doing anything. I’m pretty sure she just wanted to get me out of the comfort of my bed. Anyway, I haven’t seen anyone since yesterday. Not Gojo or Shoko, who were the only people I saw daily, but I digress.

Father did come to see me once in the morning. I told him I was feeling sick. I was not. He accepted my blatant lie and carried on with his day, alone, but I couldn’t get myself to converse with him. He, surely, knew of what had happened and due to that, my embarrassment was too high to speak any honest words.

“Do you remember Duke Nanami, Miss?” Nancy asked, with a smile, that she try to network with me— it didn’t work, but her attempt created a warmth in my heart

I answer with a monotone nod, my eyes gazing up at her through the mirror, as I forget the hair clips I was playing with before she asked me the question.

Indeed, I remember Duke Nanami quite clearly. He was an impressionable person— the type of man with a clear schedule and clear responsibilities that he took care of, instantly. A perfect duke. I often thought of him as the opposite of Gojo Satoru’s character, though just as handsome, with his chiselled jaw and blonde hair that was kept tidy at all times (unlike Mr. Gojo’s chaotic curls).

”Well, supposedly, he’s revisiting Highbury,”

I tilt my head to the side in curiosity, and back to its normal position so as not to distract Nancy. Duke Nanami coming to Highbury? Last time he was here, which was last summer, I didn’t have the chance to get to know him as well as I wanted to because of my mother's death. But now, I have no one to talk to and no one to entertain. It was perfect timing for him to come into the picture.

“You should invite him for a picnic, the weather’s gorgeous.” It seems Nancy had the same idea as me, her eyes fixated on my hair, “Why don’t you invite Miss Shoko and Miss Mei, she can come with her husband,” Nancy carried on, a little further off topic than I would like, “Some company would be good for you.”

While that is true, inviting Shoko was a little too much out of my comfort zone. But when Nancy left, I dived deep into my thoughts, which I decided to ignore before she confronted me with them. At some point, I will have to come to terms with what happened with Shoko, and it might as well be on a nice picnic. I would invite Utahime, too. Shoko seems to like her, and I want to see if this… farmer's daughter will make Shoko, at least, happy. Even if it’s without security.

note : yay!! chapter two how exciting and yes nanami will be second lead sorry i love you and yes i did add utahime and shoko ship because it's my fanfic and i can do it!!! off topic but i have an english lit exam tomorrow so lets hope it goes well!!

[whoreash]

marjorie ⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖ ࣪

╰┈➤ˎˊ˗ chapter one of evermore

synopsis: Gojo Satoru comes back, surely, to irritate you even more, after weeks of not being home, but you have other plans— coupling up, the local priest, Getou Suguru, and, your best friend, Shoko Ieiri!! After all, summer has blossomed and you need a new wedding to attend to.

➺inspired by emma (2020) directed by autumne de wilde

➺victorian era!au

➺pairings : gentleman!gojosatoru x afab!reader

➺ tropes : golden retriever!gojo x black cat!reader // first love // sunshine and grumpy // sworn off love

“It seems summer has bloomed,” my father said, before a loud clinking of a spoon against a teacup interrupted him, “if she were still here, you’d be making those daisy crowns.”

An apologetic smile leaves me, something that I can’t help with when talking to my father about his deceased lover, and my mother. Even though there was nothing I could change regarding the natural cycle of life, the inkling in the back of my mind can’t help but feel extremely sympathetic for him, especially at his old age, where, without me, he spends most of his time alone.

“Yes, well, the weather is not just perfect for daisy crowns, but tea too.” I answer, my eyes betraying the fabricated smile as I pass the teacup to my father, who takes it begrudgingly, as if he wasn’t the one calling the maids for it, “Wouldn’t you agree, father?”

He only hums, the disagreeing hum that I so often roll my eyes at. As father sips his tea in usual silence, I go to sit back down on the couch, hand already moving to the book that I set down earlier.

Unfortunately, it seems father’s memory jolts back, instantly.

“Ah, yes— Mr. Gojo is coming back again today. Isn’t he, William?” he turns his head, curiously, to the side, where William stands— father's servant that’s been with our family since he was a little child. He was my father's closest thing to a friend— a friend whom he pays, but a friend, nonetheless.

William answers with a nod, he wasn’t the most conversational.

My face scrunches, behind my book, in displeasure.

Just when summer began and my days were planned to be filled with picnics and dinners and afternoon teas, Gojo Satoru had to return. While he didn’t, directly, interrupt my schedule, he made it more difficult to achieve with all his endless complaints and attempts to argue with me, which I did, very often, entertain. It was in my character to do so.

But, he did give company to my father and inform us of all the news with my sister and her husband— the couple that refuses to send letters. Mr. Gojo says it’s because they’re so in love, I think it’s due to their honeymoon month extending.

Nevertheless, I could only hope Satoru Gojo has matured in the two months he’s been away.

I didn’t realise it until midday, but father was right— summer has bloomed in Hartfield.

Sitting on the windowsill, my eyes gaped at the fields that surrounded the estate. The flowers and vines that came to life, only reminded me of my mother— it seemed my mind couldn’t stop from thinking about her during this season, it was her favourite time of the year, after all. She always said ‘when the flowers come alive, so do I’, and yet, this summer, her words have become untrue.

Before I could fully comprehend the tears that welled, something caught my eye.

Next to the willow tree— the one with draping curtains that protected the flowers and various animals from predators— Gojo Satoru exited the dangling leaves.

Anyone could tell it was him from the striking white hair that would, usually, camouflage itself during the winter, but now became a clear contrast against the greens and yellows. I would never admit it, but Mr. Gojo was… the most attractive man I’ve ever seen— it may be due to his white hair or cerulean eyes, or maybe it was just him.

That feeling became more prominent when, during these hot seasons, he decided to wear his blouse with loosened straps, in a way where everyone could see his toned skin. His very good-looking skin, that twinkled with sweat under the sun.

The word ‘slut’ leaves my lips, quicker than my brain could comprehend it— eyes glancing around the corridor, hoping no one heard. No one but the higher beings did, thankfully.

My eyes travelled his figure, face knitting in disgust at how perfect he looked. How could someone so infuriating, be so stunning? It’s a shame his personality is so horrid, or I’d definitely indulge in him. Nothing serious, of course.

Out of pure curiosity, I close my book and leave the peaceful scenery to greet someone not-so-peaceful.

The sole of my shoes collided with the plush carpet as I walked down the stairs, one hand on the railing and the other holding onto my book. The ridges of the railway introduced a certain sense of knowing to me, that, instantly, brought a smile to my face.

It reminded me of those last days when mother would insist walking by herself, with no help, whatsoever. During those days, this railing was her best friend and she clung onto it as if it was the last thing keeping her afoot, which was, probably, true.

That smile was broken in seconds.

“Good morning, princess,” just when I stepped down, he entered through the door, with the brightest smile ever, and a nickname that left a sour taste in my mouth.

I wished for a world, where Satoru Gojo’s mouth is zipped shut and I could, simply, admire him. Silently.

“It’s the afternoon,” I answer, deadpan and already tired of him, “How’s Isabella?” Truly, the question only leaves me due to the hopes of a baby— they’ve been married for four months, already, and I was getting impatient.

“Hm—? oh, no pregnancy yet, my apologies,” I roll my eyes at the pretentious answer, “but what about you?”

I, subconsciously, lift my head to face him, brows furrowed in confusion.

“What about me?”

Satoru only plays with one of the loose laces of his blouse and puts a pout on his face, as if prolonging the question to make it seem all the more exciting. How annoying.

“Do you not have any plans of marriage, princess?” he locks his eyes with me, at that very last word, head tilting and face looking as innocent as it could.

“You know I don’t,” I reply, shaking my head in annoyance, before taking the lead to the living room, “but I have plans of coupling up, Mr. Getou and Shoko.”

Yes, my matchmaking legacy continues. After bringing my sister to Satoru Gojo’s brother (which may have been a mistake, as now he is a more apparent figure in my life), and my old lady-in-waiting with a rich lord, my confidence in it couldn’t be higher. I take pride in my ability to matchmake.

“Ew.”

My head turns around faster than light, with an apparent scrunch in my face— what did he mean ew? The pair could be perfect together, they simply haven’t had the chance to start it off. Before I gave them that push, obviously.

Mr. Gojo avoids my gaze— he knows I’m right. Or maybe he’s scared.

“What?”

“Miss Ieiri is too good for Suguru,” he finally responds to my gaze, a nonchalant expression adorning his face, “you don’t know him like I do, princess, Suguru won’t be a good husband for her, especially.”

I scoff at his utter confidence to go against my skills. I might not know Mr. Getou as much as he does, but I know a man who’s good for Shoko when I see one. That man is and will be Suguru Getou.

“Ah, Satoru!!” an excited voice interrupts us— my father. It was the most genuine smile I’ve seen from him since… well, since two months ago, when Mr. Gojo was standing in the same place.

“Sir, it’s been a long time.” Gojo takes his usual seat, the one next to father— something about the fact that he had his seat irked me.

“A very long time, indeed—too long,” Father’s mind seemed to whir with thoughts as he conversed with Mr. Gojo, “Why don’t you just stay with us, forever, son?”

Oh, that’s not happening.

I glare at the gentleman, sitting in a chair, that shouldn’t be his— surely, he wouldn’t say yes. Before answering, his eyes meet mine with a sly smirk embellishing his already perfect features. Why must he be so frustrating and patient with his answers?

“I’m afraid some people wouldn’t be fond of that, sir.” his gaze doesn’t leave mine— rather, he becomes emboldened and tilts his head to the side, mockingly.

“Nonsense, there is not one soul in Highbury that opposes you.”

“Maybe not in Highbury, sir, but definitely in Hartfield,”

Of course, the indirect complaint flies right past my father, who is oblivious to Gojo Satoru’s cruelty. His eyes leave mine before I could answer back, leaning back against the chair, mansplaining (ugh), and their conversation carries on, while my book seems to be growing in interest. Men’s conversations are extremely boring.

While Shoko would, customarily, join me for tea, the weather encouraged me to take a stroll to her house. Knowing the English weather, it’d be raining and storming in two days.

It was a shame that she wasn’t coming to my house as I bought a new honey pot— straight from London. It was my new obsession, and tea, truly, felt miserable without it. Fortunately, I remembered the Chinese tea, that William brought not too long ago, so it won’t be too bad.

Although when Shoko does marry Mr. Getou, she’ll be able to get all the finest honey in the world, because, well… I haven’t talked about this yet, but Suguru Geto is loaded.

You would think a priest would never be rich, and yet he, surely, is. Supposedly, his late great-uncle died with no relatives, and he inherited a ton of money.

Of course, his money isn’t the only positive; however, it is a huge pro, especially for Shoko.

Due to my continuous humming, I arrived at her home quicker than expected, knocking six times and becoming more worried when no one answered.

Finally, Shoko flung the door open— hair a mess and dress messily covering her body. I, unintentionally, eye her with disgust, and the mess of a woman rolls her eyes back at me, in a way that suggests I was the crazy one.

“I thought you were Mr. Getou,” she answers, as if that explains anything, while letting me into her home.

“And that’s how you’d greet him?”

“Hey,” Shoko turns her head in anger, a scowl embellishing her face, “you were the one who gave me this dress, for when he does propose.” Her huff is an apparent, childish, groan that leaves her as she plops onto a chair.

My eyebrows raise in shock, the words leaving my mouth agape.

“You think he’s planning to…?”

“He’s sent me three letters in the last week,” she replies, highlighting the number with her fingers, a smug grin on her face, which leads me to mouth a silent ��oh my god’, as I take a seat in the chair next to her.

After mere seconds of expecting Shoko to say something else— anything— her smile flares, as if realising the importance and greatness of a proposal. The greatness of marriage. Of having children and being a wife.

Shoko’s young mind won’t understand now, but these days will be her last days of freedom. And I couldn’t change that. Someone of Shoko’s status and gender must marry. I could only pray that her cage would be filled with flowers and nice dresses.

“Well, tell me— how do you feel?” a feeble attempt to make those last few days seem enjoyable, even if it was by daydreaming.

“Fine,”

“That’s it?”

“I’m worried that he’s not the one for me.”

She has the pre-wedding nerves, or rather pre-proposal nerves— whatever it is, it makes me utterly confused. Shoko has gotten everything she needed from him: flowers, letters, smiles and greetings. And yet, she is unsure? Sure, she can realise that her life will be different, constrained, but Suguru Getou isn’t a man she should worry about.

At any rate, the idea of someone being ‘the one’ was always so idiotic to me. Shoko seems to be more hopeful than I am, in that department, but I always questioned these things, like soulmates and other halves. Why could I not be complete without a man? Is my whole life’s purpose to find someone who could fill me (metaphorically and not)? It was a false hope that only made women want more when, in reality, we couldn’t have more.

“Believe me—he is,”

With her eyes looking down at her lap, she doesn’t answer— what is it with everyone avoiding my gaze? Shoko stays silent, as if that can help her problem of not wanting to marry the perfect man. I sigh in disbelief, and a small hint of anger.

“Shoko, Mr. Getou is who you need. You’re lucky that you’re able to marry someone you know. And a priest, at that.” I encourage her, my hand catching hers under the table— she finally looks up, meeting my gaze with glazed eyes, “We don’t usually get this lucky.”

She nods, exactly, three, slow times.

“You’re right, I’m sorry. I’ll make you tea?” she answers with a hesitant response, one that she does not fully accept but has to.

I don’t mean to be so forward and… motherly to Shoko, however, her aunt isn’t the best alternative for a motherly figure, always working at the food court. Which, of course, she had to do… but, at this moment in time, Shoko desperately needed someone to aid her.

“That’d be perfect.”

I shut the door as quietly as i could behind me, not wanting to wake my father from the midst of his sleep. In satisfaction that no one heard me, I let out a quiet sigh, back leaning against the door and hands crossed over my chest— the visit I had planned to last only three hours may have been prolonged. To the point, it was already pitch dark outside, the only sound being a rustle of leaves.

“You’re home late.”

My eyes darted up, alarmed and warned. They rolled in revulsion when I was met with the sight of Satoru Gojo, still in the estate and with a glass of, what I could only assume was, wine.

“Why are you still here?”

He sighs, an exaggerated and completely faux sigh that causes my brows to knit in frustration and fatigue and exhaustion— walking from Shoko’s was a mistake. I should’ve taken the carriage. I can’t even handle Mr. Gojo’s antics— well, I usually can’t, but regardless of that.

“Your father told me to stay,” planting his hands on his hips with a huff, as if my father shackled him to the chair, “Believe me, this wasn’t my choice.”

“Oh, so now you’re having sleepovers?”

My eyes only squint in confusion and intrigue. Mr. Gojo’s hands raise in surrender, moving back two steps in defence, like I’m going to hurt him.

“Hey, I didn’t invite myself— just, would’ve been rude to refuse.”

Whatever, it’s not like I have any power to kick him out. And, truly, I wouldn’t. All things considered, he is my brother-in-law, and Isabella would kill me if I did anything of that sort. I shake my head in surrender, making my way up the stairs.

Before I take another step, I look to the side to face him, one hand on the railing. My head tilts down as he looks up at me. I could trace out a scowl, the one that Satoru Gojo, so often, graces me with. The one with those endearing puppy eyes and a need to look, as though he’s searching for something in my expression, but he, himself, doesn’t know what.

I ignore that look, just like I do every time and move to the topic of conversation I originally planned to tell him about.

“They’re getting married— soon. Very soon.”

“Hm.” His eyes move to the ceiling and back to me, head tilting to the side, “All this matchmaking, but you’re not finding anyone. Shouldn’t you find someone for yourself, princess?”

This again? Gods, I understand I’m getting older, but Mr. Gojo’s not getting any younger, either. I catch the inside of my cheek with my teeth, biting the words that I, truly, want to say— how men are, utterly, disgraceful and annoying and idiotic and have the highest ego's but the smallest minds, how I, naturally, tended to be prejudice towards them because I have never met a man that has been worthy of a woman, other than my father, but it still took him years to get to the point of acceptance.

“I’ll never marry a man.” The response I mutter is a half-truth, although I wish it were genuine, I couldn’t live off father’s money forever. As of right now, however, my point stayed valid and sincere to my views.

Gojo Satoru replies with a smirk, that very same mocking smirk as before.

“No?”

“No.”

“We’ll see about that.”

With that, he walks back to the living room, to do God knows what, and I’m left with a frown and confusing thoughts, that only make me want to roll my eyes, forever.

Since Gojo Satoru wants it to happen...

There is no chance I’m getting married. And I’ll prove to him that I can live without a man.

note : first chapter is here!!! yay!! i love a man-hating woman so you knowwww i had to add it,,, also working on chapter two rn but this was probably the worst time to start this cuz i have exams starting tomorrow.... thankfully i have the weekends so lets hope i'll update regularly ദ്ദി(˵ •̀ ᴗ - ˵ ) ✧

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[whoreash]

evermore ⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖ ࣪

╰┈➤ˎˊ- chapters masterlist

synopsis : A headstrong, overconfident and spoiled young lady is confronted with, brother-in-law and asshole, Satoru Gojo. Will her stubborn and confined personality fall for Mr. Gojo, in the end? Definitely. But there will be tons of yearning and misunderstandings and character development, along the way.

➺inspired by emma (2020) directed by autumne de wilde

➺victorian era!au

➺pairings : gentleman!gojosatoru x afab!reader

➺ tropes : golden retriever!gojo x black cat!reader // first love // sunshine and grumpy // sworn off love

chapters :

¹marjorie

²champagne problems

³gold rush

⁴'tis the damn season

⁵evermore

⁶cowboy like me

⁷ivy

⁸willow

⁹long story short

gojo fanart by scarlettismm on twitter

spotify playlist ⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖ ࣪

note : something is brewingggggg and i'm very scared but so excited to share this with everyone!! also i'm no.1 emma fan so you know i had to do this for my victorian era obsessed girls!!

[whoreash]

hustle that cat ──★ ˙🍓 ̟

boyfriend!rin who gets sucked into the drag race universe thanks to you!!

it started by accident, during the first few months of your relationship.

you started watching the new season of drag race, just like you always do. since rin joins you every evening, to usually watch something stupid like gossip girl, he was obviously surprised when he saw drag queens.

rin knew the overall idea of drag queens… he thought. whatever he thought before was, completely, wrong. by the end of the first episode, it’s safe to say rin was gagged by the absolute competitiveness of the show.

and these drag queens, surely, knew no mercy. to rin’s shock, they were ruthless with their ‘reads’ —that’s what they call confronting someone, he’s pretty sure. anyway, there’s no way he’s going back to, petty, rich kids fighting over boyfriends ever again.

this was what he wanted to see on tv.

now, he doesn’t let you know how much he likes it, but every friday he’s sure to be planted next to you— intently judging every outfit in his head. and when you disagree with rin's thoughts, just know you’re getting a lecture about said outfit.

when the season does end, rin’s yearning for more. thankfully, there’s seventeen seasons of drag race and four seasons of drag race all stars!!

wait until he finds out about all the content trixie mattel has for him.

note: rin would soooooo be into drag race and no one can change my mind. like the rivalry in it is like perfect for him- thank you for coming to my ted talk!!

[whoreash]

main thing ──★ ˙🍓 ̟

“ugh— stop moving.” furrowed brows and an aggravated look leads to cupping itoshi sae’s cheeks as he lays on your lap.

you had a deal. he’ll allow you to do his makeup and you’ll stop nagging him about not making you coffee in the mornings.

and, yes, the deal was completely unjust— you’ll definitely still get angry at him for not making coffee, especially when he’s so good at it. nonetheless, sae agreed after what felt like months of begging.

but there was never a deal that he’ll be compliant.

so, with every brush and blend, sae’s head, ever so slightly, moved away from you— not enough to completely miss his face but enough to make the makeup all patchy and uneven, which only infuriated you more than it should.

“i don’t like this,”

“you agreed to it.”

“i was forced.”

that’s a lie. sae cannot be forced to do anything— it’s why he’s so insufferable to so many people. maybe there was a small part of him that did want to have you look down at him, face scrunched up in concentration and complaints slipping from your mouth at how gorgeous his skin is.

but, at the choking smell of powder that hit his nose, if he could go back in time he, most surely, would choose to not do this. the problem is, he can’t.

what he did like the most about this process, and what will probably lead him to having more of these sessions, was the fact that he could just look up at you for no apparent reason. for hours. normally, you’d get embarrassed at his constant gaze, getting irritated and flustered from his stare. but your focus on the eyeliner that you’re applying, stops you from that. it leads to sae’s silent analysation of your puffed-out cheeks and squinting eyes— as it was, obviously, harder for you to do this when he was upside down.

although, it was sae’s term and condition that he’ll only let you apply makeup on him, if he’s laying on your lap. he, really, is to blame for all your problems.

sae doesn’t care about the makeup, though. he doesn’t care about the coffee, either. he does care about your smile when you, finally, finish.

[whoreash]

daydreaming ──★ ˙🍓 ̟

“have you noticed, you hum when you cook,”

eyes, immediately, darted to the person sitting on a stool in front of you— itoshi sae, in nothing but pyjama pants and phone in hand, scrolling nonchalantly as if he hasn’t just, practically, told you he loves you.

well, maybe that was an exaggeration. but noticing something so small must be a synonym of 'i love you'.

“i do?” you ask, curiousity piqued as you try to catch the hum, while cooking eggs— sae’s usual for breakfast.

“mhm, and you scrunch up your nose when you think,” your boyfriend replies, still scrolling on his phone, “and you bite the inside of your cheek when you’re angry.”

you eat his words, digest them for seconds, throw them up, eat them again and store them in your heart— what the fuck. how does he even know that? you, always, though that sae just wasn’t a perceptive person in relationships, as his mind was occupied by soccer. but, now everything just became foggy in your head. sae knows you.

“how— how do you know that?” you stutter, out of pure shock, and intimacy, completely forgetting the egg that’s quietly simmering.

sae looks up now, surprised at your words— as if, anyone whose ever met you knows those things. they don’t. and sae never realises how important this is to you, not when it seems so natural to notice these things, about you.

“i dunno, just think about it, sometimes.” he thought about it all the time, he thought about you all the time. all the small habits and shy gestures and unconscious actions— he’s engraved them all in his memory.

at least, next time he sees you biting your cheek, he’ll know to stay clear.

note : i can feel harry styles summer in my veins,, new album drop soon plzzzz!!! (๑'ᵕ'๑)⸝*

[whoreash]

the alchemy ──★ ˙🍓 ̟

patiently waiting, patiently waiting, patiently waiting. of course, the patience was a false pretence that you had to lead by— only because last time you were impatient and ran to the locker rooms, you were met with a, not so endearing sight, of oliver aiku’s naked form.

ew, ew, ew. you shake the thought out of your head, both metaphorically and not. thankfully, you didn’t have to wait much longer, not when rin itoshi appeared in front of you in mere minutes.

sure, he could be celebrating with his teammates, however he didn’t really care about them much. not in the way he cared about you. rin would never tell you— yet he ditched his team the second he entered the locker’s room. probably not the best show of partnership, but he couldn’t care less.

“hi.” the nonchalance was a weak excuse for rin’s absolute beaming energy, that you could feel from miles away.

and his eyes on you, definitely, didn’t go unnoticed— the most emotional and lovestruck appearance you’ve ever seen him express. to anyone else, he’d look like the same person as on the field, but the small flush of his ears and widened eyes were a, clear, hint of his emotions.

“how are you feeling?”

“… good.” right, not the best with his words, either. that’s okay, you really don’t need him to say anything not when his body language is so obvious.

truly, rin felt better than good. much better. his heart swelled and raced, in pure anticipation to see you. eyes averting over to your lips every time words escaped your lips, as if he’s never seen a being such perfect as you.

even though, the moment the referee’s whistle went off, and it was clear who won, rin’s first movement was to look at you. in the vip seat, so close to the field he could run over to you. he wish he did, now.

because, yes, rin just won his most important match to date, but, fuck, was he so much happier with his arms around you.

so, with the usual, abrupt step, he did what he has wanted to do for the last 90 minutes— hugged you, almost killing you in the process.

you let him; it was the most you could do after his victory. although at some point, you couldn’t help tapping his shoulder in protest, which led to rin loosening his grap but not leaving.

“well done, rin,” you whisper, against his neck, the small breath causing goosebumps to appear on his flushed skin, “you should be proud of yourself.”

you’re right. he should be proud of himself. after all, he won you and, just to let you know, rin’s never letting go of that trophy.

[whoreash]

freakum dress ──★ ˙🍓 ̟

“satoru— get off me!” while your words sounded endangered, you were anything but that, your laugh being a clear indicator of that as you tried to wiggle out of your husbands grasp.

and satoru gojo, usually, is a king at listening and obeying your every word— other than when he’s extra needy, like right now— but how could he respect your wishes when you had that, fucking, dress on?

it drove him, absolutely, insane. the moment he saw you in the bedroom, his grabby hands were all over you, eyes grazing over every small curve and dip like a man dying of thirst.

“but, baby, you’re wearing the dress. the dress.” he replies, almost breathlessly, forcing you to turn around for him as if in a fashion show— you couldn’t, possibly stop the giggles from slipping at his lovestruck expression. “don’t act as if you didn’t know this was going to happen,” satoru’s gaze never leaves your body, but you could smell his, sudden, deadpan expression.

so, yes, maybe you were at fault. but how could anyone blame you? the event you were going to with the higher-ups was, undoubtedly, boring. and you were, so, very horny— especially after seeing satoru in a suit. it, naturally, made your mind fuzzy and cunt wet.

“we’re not going anywhere,” satoru said that with such a serious tone, it made you shiver. your husband was a childish, unmature man but, god, did you bring out his dangerous side when he got desperate.

you couldn’t stop the smile that, now, painted your face; not only because you weren’t going but because of the effect you had on satoru. you had him on his knees, helpless and vulnerable all due to a dress?

“you shouldn’t be smiling at that,”

and, satoru was, fucking, right because by the end of the night you were wrecked.

note : this is in honour of cowboy carter tour starting and me seeing her in a month hahsjdlfiosjijoidsvjd beyonce we love you

[whoreash]

“slut!” ──★ ˙🍓 ̟

it was disgusting, absolutely, disgusting how rin itoshi felt about you.

all warm and fuzzy and peaceful; ugh, it filled him with pure dread, thinking back to it. so tender and vulnerable under your gaze, mind flustered and woozy from your continuous giggles and twiddling fingers and anxious glances— as if you were scared of him.

really, he’s more scared of you. like a spider, caught between a screaming child— with no escape and a simple groan of weary resignation to utter death. however, unlike the spiders, he wasn’t going to give up. not without a fight against your stupid flushed cheeks that made rin’s stomach flutter. he needed to throw up, of course.

it was so much worse because you were such good friends— childhood friends, at that. so it wasn’t as simple as just ignoring you, his mother wouldn’t allow that. rin would rather die than go against his mother.

“do i have something on my face?” okay, so yes, his only way to fight was a “try not to blink” game with an, oblivious, you— except it was, really, just him staring at you, menacingly. and, yes, it was at a social gathering, in public, with other people all around you. all to intimidate you, obviously.

“what— no.” unbelievable, he thought. you weren’t even going to try and hide your defeat. how could he expect anything more from someone so lukewarm.

“why are you looking at me like that, then?” you ask, head tilting to the side in genuine confusion, a drink in your hand that was long forgotten when you started your conversation with rin.

“we’re fighting.”

“we are?”

“yes.”

used to his antics, you simply nod, taking a sip of your glass of wine— eyes never leaving his. oh, so now you’re joining in? this was totally unfair, rin thought, you had a clear advantage with that gaze of yours. making him sick to his stomach, but unable to look anywhere else. at this point, he’s losing.

“why are we fighting, may i ask?”

“need to prove something.”

“to who?”

“myself.”

so, you stand there. under his watchful gaze, that’s only, really, focusing on your face. it was odd how, completely, unawkward you were, letting him analyse you. catching his gaze, you notice a pattern in his looks; going from your hair, trailing down to your left eye, then the other one, landing on your lips and nose and cheeks— and every small characteristic on your face. you, only, just realised how close he was— your neck having to crane up to look at him, which immediately creates a flush onto your ears.

with that, your looker nods to himself, slowly moving his gaze to the food on the bar. and, that was it.

but, as rin walked to the food, everyone else noticed the blush adorning his cheeks. this was bad.

[whoreash]

BTW I LOVEEE the oneshots pop music inspired, the bed chem and obvious one are my two favs 😛 (idk what it is for my thing for white haired boys)

can i request to do a juno oneshot by sabrina carpenter with rin?? or js any sabrina song, the bed chem one was actually so fricking good but i’d really appreciate it if u would make a juno oneshot! thank u

juno ──★ ˙🍓 ̟

note: thank you so much for the request!! ( ˶ˆᗜˆ˵ ) it means a lot to me and i hope you like this!! <3 first time writing rin and it's nerve-wracking

rin itoshi didn’t know how to ask the question. it was so intimate, too intimate— and you, surely, weren’t going to ask him first. it didn’t seem that way anyway.

he tried to give you a hint in any way he could.

rin started hanging out with your younger cousins more often, and, genuinely, took care of them whenever he could. he started sending you those cute baby tiktoks you like— the ones that start with ‘what my baby eats in a day’. he, even, went as far as lingering, longer than necessary, at the baby clothes when both of you went shopping.

but even after everything rin, so obviously, did— you never noticed.

the last thing he could do was ask you, straight up. and, even though, you’ve been married for years, rin still became flustered at, even, the idea of doing so. out of timidity, he let the question sit at the back of his mind, always humming but never singing.

until, that one morning.

you were awake, rin could tell from your fluttering lashes and frown that reacted to the sunlight blaring into the bedroom. your hand, naturally, trailed to his, finding it on top of the covers. during the summer, rin tended to move away from you in bed— for your sake. you, once, told him that you hated the feeling of sweaty skin, and from that day on he stirred away from you whenever it got hot. so when you finally did awake, he was the first thing you looked for.

“let’s have a baby.”

the words spilled from his mouth quicker than his thoughts. he couldn’t help it. you looked so calm and tranquil and he’s wanted it for so long and you made his mind all foggy and jumbled up.

rin started panicking at your silence— his palms became sweaty, which he knows you, immediately, noticed, and he couldn’t move his gaze away from you. your eyes were still closed, but at rin’s words there was the smallest hint of a smile. rin hoped— no, prayed it was the good kind of smile.

“you want a baby, with me?” did you think he was joking? your tone of voice sounded like you did.

“i’m being serious.” his frown deepened, trying to figure out what you were thinking, “i want a baby with you,” your eyes peeled open at that seal of affirmation, looking up at rin, who was already gazing at you, pleadingly.

too shocked to say anything, you simply nodded. rin, on the other hand, had the slightest trace of a smile on his face.

you only find out years later, but that’s the happiest rin’s ever felt.

[whoreash]

seoul city ──★ ˙🍓 ̟

if satoru gojo was to choose who would kill him— it’d be you.

not because you were enemies, more like fuckbuddies, but because he would let you. he would let you do anything to him. and when satoru says something, he means it.

the words slip from his lips one night. the words of complete mercy and surrender to you. it’s the truth he’s been hiding from. and it wasn’t like satoru was embarrassed of how he acted for you, he was, simply, waiting to give you free rein over him. you know your power over him, now— a silent plea for you to use satoru, in any way you wish.

at that, you giggle. a predatory, dangerous laugh that shakes satoru to his core, only dragging him down even more into your arms.

“i’m not a monster, ‘toru.” oh, but you were, to him, at least. the worst of monsters— the ones that he actually falls for, the ones that are able to seduce him. “but, i’ll, definitely, keep that in mind,”

your reply was, truly, devastating to satoru. you didn’t understand. you didn’t understand him and his downright obsession with you; how every morning he wakes up to dreams of you, how he doesn’t wash the shirts of his you wore, just because they smell like you, how he steals your panties from the laundry basket every now and again— shamefully (or not).

and if you didn’t take him seriously, he will show you. he’ll show you the only way he can— with his tongue.

“fuckkk— satoru—” guttural whines and moans fill the room, your heavy breaths sounding like pure melodies to satoru’s ears.

of course, he was the reasons for your moans— well, his tongue was, circling your clit in the slowest motions he could muster. which was reasonably fast because, poor, satoru was too hungry. he was a man starved and your squirming didn’t help, either, trying to stop his meal, to the point his hands left bruises on your thighs from having to hold you so tight.

“hey, hey” satoru’s muffled voice speaks out from below— vibrating against your core and only making you wetter, “don’t run away from me now, princess,”

that doesn’t help. at all— only making you louder and more overstimulated. satoru goes back to his mission, giving up any hope that he can calm you down. theoretically, he could calm you down— by stopping. but what would that prove?

so, his assault continues, in small kitten licks— the ones that he knows make you crazy. they’re too small to leap you over the edge, but big enough to make you a drooling mess, begging for more. and satoru cannot help but wish that he was inside you, but this wasn’t about him. this was about you, so in both yearning and lust, he focuses on the pulse of your clit and the flutter of your pussy.

satoru goes as far as biting your clit— it’s small, barely a faint whisper, yet you feel it instantly. the shock and desire pulsating throughout your whole body, travelling from the knot in your stomach to your toes, curling them in pure sensory overload.

and he can feel it— you’re close. so, so close he could smell it. your moans drown him and fuel his actions, speeding up his tongue and the rut of his hips onto the mattress. he doesn’t waste time now— his impatience catching quicker than he would wish— as satoru’s fingers find your clit while his tongue licks the rest of your dribbling cunt.

naturally, his half-lidded eyes look up at you as you cum— in love with the way your hair sticks to your forehead from sweat, and the way your eyes roll to the back of your head.

satoru’s, surely, proven himself this time. especially, when he cleans you up with his mouth, so nicely.

[whoreash]

obvious ──★ ˙🍓 ̟

satoru gojo wakes up with a smile on his face every single day. why? because you’re next to him. because he can hear your heartbeat, feel the warmth of your skin, touch your loose hair.

he was so, obviously, in love with you.

and, every morning, he adjusted to you and your needs. because as the sunrays shined through the curtains, satoru changed his position— only slightly — so that you didn’t wake up to the light. you were always groggy in the mornings, after all— preferring the calm nights to the loud, bustling days.

shame that your nights haven’t been as peaceful since satoru entered your life, but that’s a conversation for another time.

for, genuine, hours, satoru traced every detail of your face— engraving it into his mind. the shadow that draped your face, thanks to him, made you look like an angel. the beam of light around you comparing to a halo, of some sort. that’s what satoru thought, anyway.

satoru didn't look at anyone else like this. he was unable to, due to his six eyes technique. for some reason, that fact, made it so much more intimate.

his defences were down around you. he was careless and serene and tranquil. the complete opposite of his usual, hidden, character. maybe his mind was, just, fogged by you and unable to think straight. or, maybe, you were his soulmate.

he decided to believe the latter, for some reason— although not being into such things prior to you.

“i can feel you staring at me,” satoru’s smile widened at your voice, pure honey travelling through his ears.

“hm? no you can’t” teasing, taunting— a usual reply from him. which you answer with a simple sigh.

“i can’t. but i know you are,”

“wow,” a brief pause for dramatic effect, “you’re so amazing,” and, it was genuine. it was genuine adoration and love and awe that satoru felt.

because how could something so normal cause so many blurring and drowning emotions in him? he couldn’t understand. and he never will.

so, in, complete, confusion and love he pecked your nose with the brightest gleam in his eyes and you groaned in fatigue.

[whoreash]

be with you ──★ ˙🍓 ̟

you realised, very early on into your relationship, that nagi seishiro’s love language was physical touch.

every chance he had, to, even slightly, trace over your skin— he took it. there were only a few instances were you two were together and seishiro wasn’t touching you. those were, usually, when you were angry at him, so he attempted to stay clear.

naturally, then, nagi’s favourite moments with you were when your bodies were connected— intertwined and, practically, merged.

which is why you and him lounged onto the sofa, every single evening, while doing your respective things. him playing a mobile game and you watching that same show you binge over and over.

since seishiro was sprawled onto the couch, his limbs taking up the whole space, you couldn’t help but marvel at his physique. of course, you see it everyday, but there was something about being on top of his strong, sturdy body that made you want to eat him— as that was, indeed, illegal, you did the next big thing.

as nonchalantly and casually as you could, your fingers travelled under seishiro’s shirt. he didn’t notice, at first, but your small touches onto the ridges of his abs, ultimately, gave it away. leading to him, ever so quickly, glance down at you, and, surprisedly, not be reciprocated with a gaze back.

“are you trying to start something, angel?” seishiro muttered, eyes going back to whatever game he was playing.

“no,” you answer, with a small shake of your head “i just… like feeling your abs” it was embarrassing, yet true.

there was nothing that pleased you more than feeling how well-built seishiro was. it filled you with some sort of confidence and pride that your boyfriend is so powerful and amazing and beautiful. because he didn't act or look like it, but seishiro had crazy abs. you fingers wandered over his stomach, continuously, touching every curve and dip— memorising it into your brain for future reference.

next time, you’ll be sure to lick instead of touch.

[whoreash]

bambi ──★ ˙🍓 ̟

“do you have to go?” a plead from satoru— the most needy, clingy and over-the-top man you’ve ever met. and also you’re fiancée.

he, of course, was greatly reluctant to let you out onto the battlefield and not see you for years to come, as you fought for your life, before the government finally decides to discharge you after a great victory (you were seeing your friends for approximately 3 hours).

but it wasn’t so simple for satoru. he would have to stay home alone? with just a blanket that smelt of you? for 3 hours? you were, practically, torturing him.

“no, not necessarily,” a hopeful glint in satoru’s eyes appeared, “but i am.”

you were a cruel woman and satoru was a fool, following your every step. he watched you, pleadingly, as you put your heels on— tasting the revulsion in his mouth because you looked absolutely outstanding. you even wore that dress he loved on you. and it wasn’t for him. it was for your friends? please as if they stood a chance (they didn’t).

“please, don’t go.” it was like a prayer the way those words escape satoru’s lips. like the last mutter before he died— as if his soul will get sucked when you do leave.

“i’ll be home by 11,” you reply, ignoring his usual antics and kissing his cheek, “bye, ‘toru”

that’s when satoru used his last resort— to kiss you. it was out of, true, desperation and because he wanted to kiss you.

you obliged, lips slotting against his in a simple, sloppy kiss. when your hand wrapped around satoru’s nape, you could feel his smile against your lips.

as you leaned away from him, there was a gleam of faith painted onto satoru’s expression, which was reciprocated with a stoic one. he, so, failed.

with that, you left and satoru was left with himself and a puddle of pure misery.

[whoreash]

right side of my neck ──★ ˙🍓 ̟

itoshi sae was avoiding your house like the plague. ever since you started dated, he just couldn’t take himself to enter the door of your home— too embarrassed to face your family and their, probably, millions of questions. he would never tell anyone but sae was scared of your family.

it was… weird not having him in your room at all times. because he, usually, is. sae’s body, naturally, moved to your home after practice as if it was his own. he felt more welcome there, simply, because you were there.

but when he was forced in by your own mother, he couldn’t just say no. it would be rude to do so, especially because your families were so close. he could imagine the rant he would get from his own mother if he made an excuse.

so that’s how he ended up in your bed with his stomach full of food and butterflies, that he just couldn’t escape from whenever you were around. both of your bodies were facing the ceiling, laying on your bed as if you were in literal graves. it was unnatural and awkward and sae knows you’ll be laughing about this, together, in two weeks.

nonetheless, his heart skips a beat when you look over at him. even though he’s avoiding your gaze at all costs, the thought of you inspecting his face makes him crumble in a hundred pieces— he doesn’t show it, of course. sae keeps his nonchalant expression at all times, duh.

well, maybe he’ll let it slip. like right now, your hand moving to his hair as it’s becoming dishevelled through the countless hours of school and laughs with your family. he knew you loved when his bangs draped over his eyes— said it looked like rin’s, which, ultimately, pissed him off, but regardless, whenever you did compliment him, sae would, specifically, leave it like that the next day.

he hates loves how much he conforms for you.

“should i cut it?” the question escapes him faster than he can think— because, really, he should have his own opinion on when to cut his hair. but what if you like it this way? what if you like it longer? or shorter? oh my god, he’s hooked onto you.

you shake your head letting out a small ‘i like it this way’ before moving your gaze from his hair down to sae’s eyes, which he finally reciprocates. and you laugh, the most golden, melodic laugh he has ever heard.

and as you calm down from your sudden feeling of joy, that sae is, absolutely, encapsulated in, your head falls into the crook of his neck. and it feels natural and common and familiar.

“that was so stupid.” you mutter, inhaling sae’s scent, as if he just came back from the military after two years.

indeed, it was stupid. sae hums in agreement because, truly, you’ve been cuddling in bed since you were babies, so this is nothing.

other than the fact, that sae holds it closer to his heart.