Synopsis~ Satoru Gojo never noticed you. You were just the ugly duckling cousin of the prettiest girl in the neighborhood, maybe even the entire city. But the Gojo that returns from war is different. Eyes to bright, smile too tight. This Gojo finds you fascinating.
Tropes~ One Sided Love, she fell first, he fell harder. Forced relationship?
Tw/Cw~ WW2, mentions of war, dark themes. Sexisim (not from Gojo)
Author's Note~ I just realized how writing a Japanese character during WW2 may be perceived. I do not intend to minimize or change history. My great grandfather died because injuries he got fighting in the pacific. Gojo plays the part of a Japanese American soldier, which did exists though they are often looked over. I would never write anything supporting the Japanese empire, Gojo will be fighting for the allies.
Divider by @/saradika-graphics
Some people are born with everything. Brains, looks, money. You were one of the poor souls who hadn’t been born with any of those. But you did have family. An aunt who hosted socials and whose lipstick was never smudged. An uncle who spent his mornings at the bank and his weekends at the country club golfing with his bosses. A cousin who was the prettiest girl in the whole neighborhood, maybe even the city. Mable was the type of pretty that made men stop and stare from across the street. She was popular too; she was in every club and committee back in high school.
You leaned against the bannister. At least you had family. You weren’t entirely sure what you were going to do now that you were out of high school. You had always figured you would be married by now or at least have a beaux and a prospect of marriage and security. You were pretty sure your aunt and uncle didn’t know what to do with you either. You could find a job, but you wouldn’t earn enough to support yourself. Maybe I can meet someone at a job. You could imagine him, tall with light hair and blue eyes. He should have blue eyes. He would be a regular at the soda shop you worked at (because of course you would work at a soda shop!) He would have an un-godly amount of sugar, and you would shake your head, while he grinned at you over the counter. Eventually he’d take you out, and treat you like a lady. Then you’d marry him and live in a nice house, not too big like your aunt’s, or so old where you could feel the ghosts watching you.
A car pulled in, you could hear it from the rumble of the motor. You straightened up and stood as quick as you could. You rushed up the stairs. You could hear your aunt calling to Mable, telling her she’d greet Satoru while Mable freshened up.
You made it to your room. Quickly, you slapped yourself across both cheeks to bring out some color. You opened your music box and pulled out the blackberry you’d hidden that morning from breakfast. You let some juice colour your lips, staring at your reflection in the mirror. You knew better. Aunt liked fresh faced girls, and she’d tell you she’d never seen Mable doing such a thing. Well, you didn’t have Mable’s looks.
You walked calmly down the stairs, your heart thudding in your chest.
Your aunt said your name. “Go help Amelia get the table set.” Amelia was your aunt’s maid. She was nice enough, but you had thought that you might get to entertain Satoru with the rest of the family before supper.
“Yes ma’am,” you said, nodding.
“Oh, and wash that off your mouth, dear. I didn’t raise no hussy.”
Shame curdles your excitement. You help Amelia silently while she chatters about how her beaux is getting shipped out to the Pacific in a week or two. She didn’t know because his letters were full of marks where the army had blotted out stuff she wasn’t supposed to know. Eventually you join the family at the table. Only your aunt acknowledges you, her eyes darting to your lips to make sure you had done as she said. Your uncle is staring down at his salad, probably thinking about shares and stocks, or whatever bankers think about. Satoru is staring into Mable’s pretty brown eyes.
They look good together, brown curls and chocolaty brown eyes, against snow white hair and eyes bluer than blue. They're in love. The realization seeps into your skin like the summer sun. Satoru is going to marry Mable. And you’ll be there, Mable will probably ask you to be one of her bridesmaids even though you aren’t that close. Satoru will be wearing his uniform, because all the fellows have signed up by now. Even Satoru, he’d signed up to fly planes, you’d overheard him bragging to some of his followers.
The realization follows you the entire evening. But when the night closes and Mable and Satoru are standing at the front door, you remember. You rush upstairs and open the little music box on your nightstand. You pull out the little paper and hold it tight. You went out the back door and around the yard to the front yard. Mable’s already gone back in. You know she’ll be in the sitting room on the telephone telling her best friend about everything that happened that night.
He’s walking to his car when you catch up to him.
“Satoru, wait,” you huff, reaching out,
He turns, brows furrowed. He looks at you for a second like he doesn’t recognize you. Then he smiles. The one people give to a kid they want to go away. Satoru sticks his hands in his pockets, peering down at you.
“I know you’re shipping out soon, so I wanted to give you this.” You rush out saying. You extend your hand, the paper clasped between the tips of your fingers.
“What is it?” He asks, his hands still in his pockets.
“I painted the stars. I know the stars are different out there,” You look up at him. “I wanted to give you a piece of home - I heard you tell that Nanami boy that you want to study physics - so I -”
He cuts you off. “Physics isn’t astronomy, idiot,” his lips curl and though he doesn’t say anything else, his face practically screams “look at the idiot kid who doesn’t know anything.”
You feel like an idiot. You should be anywhere but here. You don’t say anything else, the silence just sort of sits in the air.
Satoru frowns. “Hey, don’t look like that - I’ll take it,” he says. He reaches and grabs the paper, shoving it into his pocket.
Your heart soars. He took it! His hands touched something your own hands had made. You beam at him.
“Be safe I - we’ll be waiting for you.”
You turn and flee like a child. Your cheeks are hot, from the exhilaration, the humiliation, and maybe even the thrill of being acknowledged.
If you’d turned back, you would have even his form illuminated in the street lamps. Watching you, his face unreadable, hands tucked in his pockets. After a minute, he turns and walks to his car, his hands still in his pockets.
You lay awake that night, curled up and giddy. For a few hours you felt like the hussy your aunt thought you were. You had promised yourself to never look at Satoru that way again, he was Mable’s fellow - her future husband. Then the next few hours, you giggled to yourself and imagined yourself as the one Satoru would come home to after the war.
Contrary to popular belief, Satoru doesn’t marry Mable before he ships out, he doesn’t even propose to her or make her any promises he can’t keep. He kisses and promises her he’ll write. You knew that because you overheard her telling her best friend.
The years pass, Mable gets even prettier, you get a job. You work at a factory, you wouldn't have been allowed to before the war, but every woman must do her part. Satoru Gojo slips from your mind, and Mable’s she meets a navy officer on medical leave. Before he ships back out they marry. You’re her bridesmaid of course.
Life moves on. When Mable mentions one day offhandedly that the fellow she used to see, Satoru, you remember him? He had been missing and assumed dead, shot down somewhere over the pacific.
You set your fork down. You close your eyes and say a little prayer. Memories of him come flooding back, it's been three years though. You have put away the dreams of little girls, but still, no one wants the fairytale prince of their dreams dead. Either eaten by sharks, or dead on impact, or worse a prisoner of war. You’ve heard the rumours, seen the articles about what they do to pows on the pacific front. He’d be better off dead then in one of those camps.
Please come home, Satoru. Come see our stars again.
A man looks up, his hollow face glares up at the stars. Starvation has made him see and hear things before, but he thinks he really did see her. She was eating king cake, grinning at him. “Come on, come home to me.” He stands wincing, the scars in his back have grown infected, and any movement sends pain shooting across his body.
He’ll go home. He has to. And when he does, he’ll take what should be his by right.
Tropes~ One sided love, she fell first, he fell harder, forced relationship?
Synopsis~ The Honoured One crashes into the Pacific, Satoru is captured. Day and night he is tormented. The line between reality is blurred as he dreams of a girl and the stars of home. As the War ends he is sent back but home isn't quite home anymore. But there is you.
Previous Part
Tw/Cw~ War, WW2, period typical attitudes, dark themes, death, Pow camp, sexism, internalized misogyny.
Author's Note~ Gojo fights for the allies.
Divider by @/saradika-graphics
Mable’s officer died in the last few months of the war. It made her a widow, giving her a natural respect. In stores her purchases are already paid for, mysteriously, by the time she makes it to the counter. Old men and little boys' trip over themselves to open doors for her. They had done it before, but now they did it with a frantic zeal. It’s disgusting really, what has Mable done but sit prettily at home?
For years you have worked in a factory but what credit do you - You stopped yourself. There was no use going down that route. You owed everything to Mable’s family.
Your aunt said your name, her accent dripping with honey. “Mable isn’t feeling well. Could you make her some chicken and dumplings?” Her cherry red lips were stretched into a smile that didn’t touch her eyes. You gave her the little girl smile she liked you to wear, all gums and wide eyes. And you nodded saying, “Yes ma’am.”
You had been at the factory since four in the morning, you got off at six, took the bus and walked part of the way, only to get home at six-forty. But Mable, beautiful Mable came first. The chicken and dumplings would just be for her. Your aunt’s supper consisted of a bowl of broth and a cigarette unless there was company. There rarely was since Mable’s husband’s death. Heavy black drapery covered the windows and the furniture in the company parlor. You made your way to the kitchen, every step heavier than the last.
You made the dough for the dumplings first, rolling it out, and cutting it in thick strips. Then you made the broth. There was no actual chicken left, but you did have some bones and canned stock. You chopped celery, each movement of the knife landing with a satisfying thwack. Your feet ached and you longed for a bath. To sink into the hot water, to wash away the grime and sweat of the day.
When it was done, you put it in a bowl on a tray to carry up to Mable. Your knees ached as you went up the winding staircase to Mable’s room on the second floor. You found her curled up in bed. She sat up when you reached the edge of her bed. She blinked, the whites of her eyes were a horrible reddish colour.
“Just set it on the vanity,” she drawled out, her voice slightly hoarse.
“Alright.” You didn’t look at her. You saw the perfume bottles and makeup canisters lined up on her vanity, the vases overflowing with flowers. If I sat home all day and entertained bored soldiers, I’d have that too. But you had never been called beautiful, or graceful, or stunning, like Mable had been since girlhood. Only pretty. Pretty is common, slightly above average, comfortable. Pretty isn’t the face men think of before they die or go off to war. Pretty is the girl men marry when they can’t achieve beautiful. Pretty is in the eyes of the beholder, while beautiful will always be universal.
She says your name. Something about the way she says your name feels like boney white hands around your neck. “Why do you hate me?”
You stopped, the tray clenched in your fingers. “Why would you say that?” You don’t recognize the voice leaving your body.
She laughs, false and beautiful. “The way you look at me.” She pauses and you can hear her shifting in the sheets. “Like you want to wear my skin.”
“Not everything is about you, Mable.”
You placed the tray on the vanity with a heavy thud. You walked to the door, still not looking at perfect Mable.
That night you sank into a bath that you had made, Amelia, the maid, had already gone home, so you had to pump the water and carry it upstairs yourself. You had rinsed and wiped off the visible dirt downstairs, so the bath would just clean what that hadn’t gotten. The water was warm. It would have been wise to use cold water, but you have never been able to do that. The day the city finally got air conditioning would be a relief. But the war had paused the manufacturing of air conditioners.
The water felt good. The soap you had made a few months before scented the air like magnolias. Combined with the scent of the old house and the damp city air, it brought you back to your younger days. You could remember being a teenager, in Mable’s hand me downs, following just outside the group while Mable and Satoru Gojo mesmerized the group of teenagers.
Satoru Gojo. You thought of him, his shockingly white hair, as white as snow. You had only seen snow once, when your uncle took the family skiing up North. Eyes as blue as a clear sky. He lived in your memory like a wintery northern god. You hoped he was still alive. But if he had been captured, you hoped he had died quickly. You had heard what they had done to those captured pilots. You winced. You couldn’t believe that he was alive. He burned too brightly to live a long life. Surely Satoru Gojo was dead at the bottom of the ocean.
A few months before, somewhere in the Pacific.
It had been a day like any other, the day Satoru Gojo crashed. He had been briefed with the other pilots and he was ready to engage the enemy. He remembered Gunny, his air gunner, a buck-toothed kid from the footheels of the Tennessee mountains, swaggering over to him. “You ready to take our lady dancing?” He said grinning. His accent always reminded Satoru of peanut brittle, sweet, bumpy, with a touch of coarseness.
“She’s been getting a lot of dancing,” Gojo responds, glancing up at his girl. The Honoured One, in all her caustic beauty glared down at him. God, she was beautiful. Painted on her side was a leggy woman sitting seductively. The woman looked suspiciously like the female version of Gojo. When the ground crew showed him the painting, grinning and snickering, he had laughed. He rather liked the rendition of himself on The Honoured One.
They take flight and he can feel his blood pumping. Earth passes away as he enters the heavens. He always feels alone until they fulfill the mission, even though he knows his crew is around him. Alone on earth, alone in the sky. But when has he not been alone? Even since he was a child, he has known he was different, that he wasn’t like the others. That heaven had mandated him a separate path.
It doesn’t take long before the enemy swarms upon him. Then the first engine goes out, then his tail is shot off. He can hear Gunny, he can hear the cussing, the roar of his engine. Then he is falling and all he can think about is Lucifer falling from Heaven. How did it go? Like lightning from heaven? Why couldn’t he remember it? Why did it matter? He was going to die - he was going to die?
The water cuts into his bones. He hears screaming - no, he is screaming. Something is wrong, his legs he thinks, they must be broken. Artillery hits the water. The bastards are still shooting at them, he realizes. A few minutes later, the shooting stops. The other airmen must have chased away the enemy fighter pilots. But then water is on fire - no, it's the spilled engine oil. And he hears more screaming, except this time it's not coming from him.
Only three of them are alive. Gunny died. Gunny is dead, he thinks numbly. The kid was heading back home in June. Happy goodnatured Gunny is dead. Gunny who had never looked at him differently because of his race. Gunny who had looked up to him. Three out of ten men are alive.
The inflatable boat they rest on does little to keep the water out. But it’s better than being in the water. They can see the sharks circling, feasting on their dead crewmates. They blister in the sun, dying of thirst. Hakari breaks down sobbing and drinks the salt water, Satoru and Whit try to stop him. He died two days later. Then it was only Whit and Satoru.
He does not remember what happened in the ensuing days. Maybe he cannot or will not face it. But he does remember her - the girl who gave him the stars. She sits at the edge of the boat too, so really there is three of them still.
When the enemy navy picks them up, it almost seems like heaven had sent them. It hadn't.
For a year he is formed again. His captors molding and breaking parts of Satoru he didn’t know existed. They were going to kill him two days after the war ended for an escape attempt. But by grace he is saved by the war ending.
It takes a few months for him to get home. He is about to leave the bus, when the driver, an older soldier (probably reserves) stops him. He stands ramrod straight, raising his hand in a sharp salute. Gojo copies his motion and salutes.
The old soldier breathes in smiling. “Welcome home, airman,” he says.
Something wet presses at the corner of Gojo's eyes. He nods. The lump in his throat won't allow him to speak.
He walks the streets, passing reuniting couples and families. The city is celebrating together. He distantly thinks of his great uncle. But he moves through the city alone. He stops at a few bars, his drinks are paid for, girls grin up at him. But he doesn't care. Nothing matters. Even if Star Girl herself walked up to him he wouldn't care.
Star Girl. That was her. He recognized her moving through the crowd. He pushes through the bodies until he reaches her.
He grins down at her. He couldn't let her see the man he's become. He has to be the hero she expects him to be.
“Long time no see.”
She gapes up at him. Good. He sees it now. He won’t be alone. He’ll have her. Satoru doesn’t care if she’s married or doesn’t remember him. She’s his.
The air smells like victory or piss and heady perfume the day you see Satoru Gojo alive. You had crept out of the house alone. Your aunt was too busy consoling Mable, and Mable was too grief stricken to join the city's celebration, and your uncle was all the way up North on a business trip. So you stand alone as you face him.He’s thinner but just as handsome as he had been before.
He says your name. “It’s me, I’m Satoru, I’ve come home.”
You give him a shy smile. What are you supposed to do? You aren’t Mable, you don’t know what to do with men. Satoru smiles back, but something in his smile makes you back away. Something in his eyes changes and you see a different man standing before you.
Tropes~ Bully love interest, childhood enemies to lovers, coerced relationship.
Synopsis~ The July Sun and anger burn. Sukuna losses the last strands of his humanity, and death marks the Itadoris. You can't take it any longer.
Tw/Cw~ Death, War, WW2, dark themes, forced relationship, bullying, killing. Read at your own discretion.
Series Masterlist
Taglist Open <3
Author's Note~ Sukuna fights for the allies in this fic.
Divider by @/saradika-graphics
It wasn’t fair. You were still alive and Jin’s Widow was dead. Leaving Mr. Itadori with a chunky baby to corral. You shake your head. There was no use thinking of what you could not control. What you could control was the group of children you were here to instruct on how to make a victory garden. Sort of.
One of the children - Joe Us, said your name. “What happens if worms eat the seeds, miss?”
You let out a sigh. “Birds aren’t going to eat the seeds Joe.”
“Worms,” he corrected you, squinting his black eyes up at you.
“Well Joe, worms don’t eat seeds.”
“How do we know that? We can’t stick our heads down there.” He said, tilting his head. A few of the other children had stopped working and were listening. Great.
“Because we do Joe.” You said, turning back to the hole you were digging. By his little huff you could tell he wasn’t satisfied with your answer. But you had already explained why the sun set, why plants didn’t grow backwards, and you had been asked if you were pregnant, and then pointedly asked if you were married. You could not take it any more. At all.
“You know Joe,” said Davy-Ray, an eight year old who had once convinced the children’s group you led that Heaven was in Canada. “A giant worm ate King Herod in the Bible,” he said amiably,“Ate him right up.” Even though your back was turned, you could picture Davy-Ray with his hands in his overalls pockets and his chubby chest puffed out.
“Naw, you must be off your gourd,” Joe said.
“Sure as the Mississippi runs,”Davy-Ray said. “Now he said he was king of the world, so God sent a giant worm to swallow him whole.” He paused for a second. “You reckon he’s gonna send one to eat Hitler?’
You closed your eyes. It was going to be a long morning.
It was Three o’clock before it was time for you to head home. Your head pounded and the July heat didn’t help. The sun beat down on you, causing sweat to run into your eyes. It had been a miserable summer, you thought irritably.
The walk from the community center to your home was awful. Your blouse was soaking wet when you reached your doorstep. You opened the door and slid your shoes off. There was no point in calling out to your mother. She was visiting Mr. Itadori and helping with baby Yuji.
On the entryway table lies a letter. Your mother must have run to the post office earlier. The sharp neat script catches your eye. Dread flips in your gut. You had heard that Violet Ivanovna’s sweetheart’s letters took months to arrive. Why was it your luck that Sukuna’s letters found you so often? You pick it up, the sweat of your palm stains it.
You walk up the stairs to your bedroom, a heavy cloud following you. Every time you see his handwriting, it’s like he’s standing there behind you, watching you. You practically can smell his after shave, the clean scent drowning in the heat of his body. The press and weight of his attention never truly leaves you. Even in sleep you feel him, sinking into you, his flesh melding with your own. His hands etching your form, then sinking in and changing what he could.
You reach the top of the stairs and turn down the hall to your bedroom. You open the door and are halfway through it, when you hear a loud creak. You pause, inching back into your room, until only your head is in the doorway. You listen, but when you hear nothing else, you close the door. On your head. Pain shoots through you. You stumble backwards, your eyes and lips pinched. Idiot, idiot, idiot. Hot tears bubble out of your eyes.
You curl up on your bed. You clutched your head. Already, you can feel a dull ache starting. Sukuna’s letter is still curled in your fingers. You sit up, ignoring the pain. You tear it open.
Dear (A brownish stain - is that blood? Covered your name),
I am starting to grow tired of your silence. Do you know how humiliating it is when all the other men get letters from their women, care packages even, but I never even get a dot of ink? They think I’m a god here, what kind of god has a woman who doesn’t show him an ounce of care? But it doesn’t say much about me. It says everything about you. Didn’t your ma raise you better than this? Isn’t that what dames learn about, taking care of their man. You obviously fail in this aspect. I love you despite this. After we are married, I expect you will shape up.
I’ve thought about it. We’ll have two girls and one boy. I don’t want any more sons, I will explain this more at a later date. We’ll move towns, I don’t want to live too close to the Old Man and I don’t want Jin poking his nose in my business. I haven’t heard from him in a few months, but I know if I was within walking distance the ugly bastard would always be up in my business. I never liked that town anyway, everyone thinks they are owed access to your life.We’ll buy a house and I’ll go to university while working in Pop’s mechanic shop to support you and the baby. After I graduate with a degree in something that’ll make us a good bit, we’ll move on last time. How does the coast sound? I’ll get you house right on the water, and you’ll be able to smell the sea salt.
But enough of this sappy shit. I’m getting sick of you acting like you don’t love me. You played hard to get right up until the end and then you practically tossed yourself into my arms. I keep getting letters that you’re letting that jody keep you warm, that you go out with him practically every night. I am going to kill him when I get home. You can tell him that.
Yours, Major Sukuna Itadori
P.S. I better get two pictures now.
You shoot out of your bed like Poseidon rising out of the deep. The crumbled letter falls on your floor as you stomp to your desk. A dull throb in your head. You grab a sheet of paper and a pen.
Sukuna,
I will. never. be. yours. I hate you. I have always hated you. Since I was five and you pushed me the first time. I have hated you. You are a disgusting pig. I knew that when you shoved Will Jones’ head in a toilet, back in high school, and when you hazed Ron Dark when he tried to join the football team so hard he moved to live with his uncle to get away from you. You are a bully that expects the entire world to submit to you. You are utterly ridiculous if you think you are a god now. Ha. You are a demon.
It is a shame that Jin is dead and you’re still alive. I prayed God would kill you, unfortunately, death mistook Jin for you and took the better twin. It should have been you. If fate was just, you would be lying dead in a trench with your head the trophy of the enemy. But you are still alive and just as wretched as the day you killed your mother being born. How does it feel to have taken two lives just to exist?
I refuse to be another casualty to keep you alive. Stop writing to me.
Never Yours,
You hurriedly shoved the letter into an envelope. Damn it, it wasn’t enough to wait for tomorrow, you would walk over to the post office today.
“Letter for Major,” Kashimo hands his superior officer the letter, his eyes gleaming. “Looks like it’s from the missus.”
“Get out,” Sukuna grunts. His blood is pumping and if Kashimo doesn’t leave him alone in the next three seconds - he’ll wind up with a kick to his nether regions. Kashimo probably knows this, so he gives Sukuna another infuriating smirk and saunters out.
He carefully opens the letter. His hands etching the paper like it is the form of his patron goddess. He frowns slightly when he doesn’t catch a whiff of her perfume. But then he figures that it probably wore off on the way across the ocean. When the first letter of her frantic script reaches his eyes he sits back.
As much as he longs to tear through the letter, his nature won’t let him. He slowly reads each poisoned jab. Sukuna only stops when he reads about Jin’s death.
Jin dead. Jin couldn’t be dead, he had always been the lucky of the two. It wasn’t possible, she had to be lying. It was just one other thing trying to hurt him. It was absurd really, Jin couldn’t be dead.
She must have deluded herself. No, he knew it wasn’t right. He couldn’t focus on her for once. Jin dead. . . no it couldn’t be. But he remembers a night a few months ago. He had been asleep and had dreamed that he was riding the train to the city. He had seen Jin, he had passed through the train compartment until he reached Sukuna’s seat. He had glanced down at Sukuna and smiled. Not the forced one, but the one that he wore when they were eight running down the street laughing. Jin had made no move to touch Sukuna like he normally would. He merely said, “I get off here.”
Sukuna had woken up with tears - no, he didn’t cry, Sukuna Itadori did not cry. But it had felt as though he had said goodbye to his brother. But when he wrote Pops, the old man simply told him Jin was on a ship and his wife was expecting.
He kills a boy the next day. He hadn’t been a boy when Sukuna killed him, just another enemy attempting to jump into his foxhole. When he pushed the boy's body off his own, his eyes catch the boy's eyes, open and pleading. And he sees Jin. I just killed my brother, the thought hits him like a clap of thunder. I killed my brother.
You look in the mirror and straighten your back. It lasts only a second before you are hunched over. You killed Jin Itadori. It’s your fault. You know it is.
You can’t see Alfred tonight. Maybe ever. You are a killer after all. Maybe you do deserve that demon. Maybe you were made to be his demon bride. You shudder as another sob racks your body. You just can’t take it anymore.
Tropes~ Bully love interest, childhood enemies to lovers, coerced relationship.
Synopsis~As the first letters arrive, your dread grows. But surely he can't expect you to remain faithful to him if you weren't even going steady? Right? Meanwhile, Sukuna makes your name a battle cry.
Tw/Cw~ Violence, war, ww2, Sukuna, dark themes, forced relationship, sexisim, death, threats.
Series Masterlist
Taglist Open <3
Divider by @saradika-graphics
Jody ~ a man that sleeps with a serviceman's partner while he is away.
Clarification~ Sukuna is fighting for allies not Imperial Japan.
Dear, (the script was blotted there with what looked like a food stain.)
Pops says you're volunteering at the red cross. The potty old man wrote saying that you were going house to house collecting scrap metal. Stop that. We don’t need you. Enough of us are going over that we don’t need some dame risking her life and honor. There are a bunch of creeps that will try to force you to do things. The war will be over soon.
Stay out of trouble. I don’t want to have to come back in a year or two and bust some fellow’s face in.
Yours, Sukuna Itadori
You folded the letter and then unfolded it. Idiot. Stupid idiot. Why for heaven’s sake, did the fool think he had any right to write to you? And to beat all, telling you what to do in such a manner. Well, you weren’t going to let Sukuna Itadori control your life from hundreds of miles away. You were sick of living in fear, having to plan your life around where or when you’d have to deal with him.
You tossed the letter in the trash bin. Standing, you straightened your collar. It was a shame that every fellow your age was signed up or already gone to training. It would be nice to have a date without having to worry about Sukuna. Ever since high school, anytime a fellow showed a lick of interest in you, Sukuna would have a little chat with him.
Your mother called your name from down stairs. “Coming mother,” you yelled back. You adjusted the headband holding your hair back and started down the stairs.
Jin Itadori stood at the base of the stairs, his hands in his pockets, happily chatting with your mother. Your breath caught, for a second you had thought it was him. The smile froze on your face.
“Honey,” your mother said, beaming at you. “Jin here is going to drive you to the community center. Isn’t that so sweet of him!” Sometimes you really despised having such a sweet mother, a person who only saw the good in others.
“Yes,” you said, a painted smile on your lips. Jin Itadori was nothing but his big brother’s pawn. You knew why he was here. “It sure is kind of you Jin.”
He grinned. “It is my pleasure, ladies. And I will say Mrs.,” he said your last name, grinning down at your mother. “I thought you were (Y/n) for a second, you could pass for sisters.”
You could tell your mother was flustered based on the way she tugged the strings of her apron. You almost rolled your eyes, but a guilty pang went through you. When was the last time someone told your mother she was pretty?
“Well,” Jin said, giving you his arm. “We better hurry before I make you late.”
With a wave and a grin, the two of you left your mother standing in the entryway, waving.
The engine started with a purr and Jin glanced over at you. Gone was the charm that oozed off him before, a knit brow and pursed lips had replaced it. He eased out of the driveway, his eyes focused on the figure of your mother in the doorway. For a while the drive was silent. You played with the hem of your coat. How did he know when you went to work? From when you were a little girl Jin had always been the nicer of the Itadori brothers. He had even defended you a few times when Sukuna chased you with a snake or a frog. But nice isn’t the same thing as kind, as your father liked to say.
“I’m sorry,” Jin broke the silence. You glanced over at him. His adam’s apple bobbed.
“There’s nothing I can do.”
“About what?” Your nails dug into the leather of his car’s seat.
“What Jin? About what?” You wanted him to admit it. Someone to admit it. Someone not to gush about how romantic it was. Someone not to say how they always knew it would be you and Sukuna after they watched him chase you down the street screaming. Someone not to question why you weren’t jumping at the opportunity to be on the arm of such a promising young man.
“You know,” Jin says, making a sharp left turn.
“Look I know he has some rough edges but -”
“Shut up, Jin!” Your voice rose. “Just shut up,” your voice pittered out to as soft as a sigh.
“I don’t want him. I won’t ever want him,” a shot of bravery went through you. “And you can tell him that too.”
Jin remained silent. The rest of the ride passed quickly and before you knew it you were in front of the community center.. Just when you were about to close the door of his automobile, Jin looked at you and said, “Good luck.”
“You too,” you say. And you do mean it. Jin is signed up to fight for your country. You know Jin, you know that he signed because he believes in what he is fighting for. Unlike his twin.
Nine months later, Mr. Itadori’s got a gold star in his window and Jin’s widow is waddling around with Jin’s baby. You avoid her eyes. After all, you had wished death in the Itadori family. What if death had mistaken Jin for Sukuna? They were twins after all.
Sukuna doesn’t mention Jin dying in his letter. He only complains about you not writing to him. Though towards the end, he makes an offhand remark about how Jin’s stopped writing to him. You realize that Mr. Itadori must be keeping Jin’s death from Sukuna for some reason. You burn the letter after reading it.
It’s summer when you meet Alfred. He's not as tall as Sukuna and his frame is narrow, not Sukuna’s raw brawn. Alfred is sweet though. His eyes are kind and the color of moss. And he always has a slight smile on his face. You like him. Which is why when he asks you to go out, you say yes.
When the two of you enter the diner on east seventh street, you get looks, brows are raised and you can practically feel the whispers starting. Alfred shoots you a comforting smile, his hand comfortably situated on your upper back. A gentleman, you think. Sukuna had never really touched you. But his eyes went where his hands never could. You always could feel the burn of his eyes searching you.
“Guess not all the locals are as friendly as you,” Alfred says, his eyes darting at the openly staring patrons of the diner.
“We’re just not used to strangers.” Your smile is strained. You glance down at the menu. Your stomach has gone sour and nothing sounds good. Even Marge’s World-Famous Peach Cobbler. Sukuna loved pea- No, you refused to think about Sukuna. This is your life and you’ll be damned if you let him control it even overseas.
Dear (your name was written so hard the paper was torn),
What’s this about you stepping out on me? I didn’t believe Pop’s when he told me some jody was talking to my girl. But damn it, I got other letters telling me about you playing like some painted up.
I know you. He probably told you I stopped thinking about you, that I don’t look at your picture before I get up and when I go to bed, that I don’t have your name tattooed on my heart, that I haven’t loved you since we were five and wrestling in the mud. But he’s lying. It’s you, it’s always been you. I could have any girl I want. All I have to do is look and they come to me. You better thank God every day that I chose you. Tell him to go, because if he’s there when I get back I’ll kill him.
Answer my letters. I am tired of you acting like a spoiled brat.
Yours, Major Sukuna Itadori
P.S. Got promoted send me a picture of your -
You didn’t finish the letter. You crumpled it and tossed it in the trash bin. No, you changed your mind and jerked it out. You struck a match and lit a candle. You watched the flame eat at Sukuna’s thick dark script. Something hot and wet rolls down your cheek. You know what they say about you, two timer, breaking brave Sukuna Itadori’s heart while he was out fighting for the country. You knew. You thought you didn’t care, you thought you could carry on and pretend like you were all right.
You drop the letter as the last of the edges burns away. Something inside of you hardens, it steels itself. It doesn’t tell your eyes though. You burst into sobs. Somehow you end up on your bed, fists clinching the quilt your grandmother sewed for your twelfth birthday.
If they thought it was your fault now, imagine if they knew about you wishing Sukuna dead. If they knew about dead Jin Itadori and his widow and son, and how that was your fault too.
You buried your face in your pillow and sobbed harder.
Sukuna Itadori has discovered many things about himself since leaving home. He’s a natural, they said about him in bootcamp. His men think he’s a hero or he’s a kind of god of war. He isn’t, but he’ll let them think whatever helps them sleep at night. But what rots in his belly is the fact that he can’t go to sleep without thinking about her.
Her smile could turn lemons to lemonade. Sure, he had never been the direct recipient of it, but he knew one day he would be. When I get back, he promised himself. When he got back he would marry her. He’d kiss her with all he had. Have a load of brats, he knew women liked brats, and maybe it wouldn’t be too bad to have some kids that looked like him and her. He smiles up at the bunk above him, soon, when the war was over.
Tropes~ Bully love interest, childhood enemies to lovers, coerced relationship.
Synopsis~ Sukuna Itadori is the biggest bully in town. You should know - he tormented you from your childhood in the same neighborhood all the way until high-school. He became popular, the captain of the football team. When the war starts, the Itadori's invite you for dinner. There they ask you to accept Sukuna when he asks you out, this time. After all he'll be shipping out in a few weeks. What's one date?
Tw/Cw~ Sukuna is darkish in this fic. WW2, war, forced relationship?
Series Masterlist
Author's Note~ Does this count as dark? This Sukuna is lighter than canon Sukuna but he's still icky. Hope y'all like this!
Divider by @/saradika-graphics
You look down, avoiding his gaze. You could feel the weight of his reddish-brown eyes on you. And you knew what was coming. Sure enough, a second later Sukuna was at your side. You clutched your family's mail in your hand. Of all places the post office! It was bad enough when he cornered you in secluded hallways back when you were in high-school, or on the walk home after working a shift at the soda fountain. But in the post office of all places! Where a few of your neighbors and your parents' friends were.
He says your name all low and controlled, like everything about him. You look up at him for a second before your eyes flicker back down to the stack of letters in your hand. You flick through them, eyes not really reading the names and addresses. He says your name again, a slight scoff coming from him.
“Come with me to the pictures Friday night,” he demands, because Sukuna Itadori never asks.
You don’t meet his eyes.”I can't, I'm busy,” you say.
“With what?” You can hear the snarl in his voice.
Last time you told him your cousin was in town and you had to show her around, he had shown up at your house the next morning and escorted you and her around in his brand new automobile. The time before that you had told him you had to work at the soda fountain, he had spent a few hours sitting at the counter during your shift then he had insisted on walking you home. And before that at your graduation he had asked you to come to a party for him and his twin Jin, you had had to go, he hadn’t left your side once and even had slung his muscular arm over your shoulders by the end of the night.
“I’ve got to wash my hair.” You know it’s a lousy excuse the moment it leaves your lips, but it’s all you got.
“Alright,” he says, his lips pulled tight. He looks over his shoulder, the muscles in his neck tight.
“I’ll see you later,” he says.
Your shoulders sink in relief as he leaves. How could you ever start seeing the boy who used to put gum in your hair and constantly mock you? What did he expect? For you to just forgive him, to let him take you out, even marry him? You had heard from Betsy Lawrence that Pete Corners had seen Sukuna looking at rings in the jewelry store. She had said while smacking her chewing gum. Grinning at you like you should be elated. You hadn’t reacted. You knew anything you said or did would be all around town by the next morning. And he would know.
You pulled your coat around you and left the post office. While you were glad Sukuna had left you alone, a ride in his automobile would have been nice. After all, it was early December.
The attack happens on Sunday, the war starts on Monday, and two days later it is not just Japan but the entire Axis powers. Just about every fellow old enough and able has already signed up. You're one of the first to hear that Sukuna has signed up. Your mother mentions that Mr. Itadori had mentioned that Sukuna had gone to register that morning when she dropped off some cookies. “Such a good boy,” she says, eyeing you. You keep stirring the green beans.
“Mr. Itadori wants you to come to dinner at their home tomorrow night” she says. You lift your head in surprise. Sukuna was going to the city tomorrow, you knew that because of Betsy Lawrence. And Betsy was never wrong.
“Alright,” you say quietly. Mr. Itadori was a kind man. His health was bad so everyone in the neighborhood tried to do the small things he asked for. What was one dinner? Besides, Sukuna wouldn’t be there.
The dinner was quiet. Jin was interesting and kind, but he looked so much like his twin, that you had a hard time looking at him head on. But Mr. Itadori kept the conversation going, talking about how the war would change the prices of things, how he suspected Mr. Jones of taking the neighborhood stray cat in, how he Mrs. Kilmeny wouldn’t stop pestering him to join her bridge group. You had to suppress a smile at that. Everyone knew how Mrs. Kilmeny was after Mr. Itadori after her husband had passed away two years ago.
Mr. Itadori sat back in his chair, eyeing you. “Jin you can go call Kaori, if you want to.”
“Really, pops!” Jin set up, his chair scraping against the floor. He was gone from the room before his dad could get another word out.
You sat in silence. Your hands folded in your lap. Mr. Itadori looked at you hard, his brows furrowed.
“I know my boy is rough around the edges,” he says. Your throat goes dry and you wish you were anywhere but here. He sighs. “I never let him have what he wanted, he was so stubborn, it was always a fight.” You blink, squeezing your shoulders together.
“It made him better, tougher. Jin didn’t get the same, but Jin was built different than Sukuna,” he pauses, but he keeps his eyes on you. You’re reminded of Sukuna and his predator eyes. “I know he’s been after you these past few years and I understand why you wouldn’t be interested, you’re a soft thing. But he’ll be shipping out in a few weeks.”
You wish you were home. You wish you hadn’t agreed to come to dinner. You wish you had never known the Itadori’s. You wish Sukuna had kept sticking gum in your hair, rather than trying to clumsily claim you.
“Just one date. Let him take you out, the fellow will be in Paris Island in a few weeks or so.”
Why is he doing this to you?
“Just one,” he says. “Give him a memory to take with him to his training and to the war.”
“Yes, sir,” you say. If you were stronger, smarter, you would have said no. But you had been trained to obey, to submit to authority. Maybe if you had known, but how could you have known?
“Who knows," he says, “you may even start to like the bastard."
You see Sukuna the next day as you finish your shift at the soda fountain. He looks at you, his face looks harder somehow. Like he’s grown up, like he’s stopped being a boy.
“Hi Sukuna,” you say quietly.
He looks surprised that you talked to him without his prompting. But then his face settles into a mask of smug confidence. He says your name like it’s a prayer to some ancient goddess. “What have you been doing?” Sukuna asks you like he isn’t used to asking you questions. And he isn’t, you can’t remember a time when he ever asked you your feelings on anything.
You give him a small smile. “I’ve been busy getting ready for the holidays. How about you, Sukuna? What have you been doing?”
He shrugs his massive shoulders back. “Signed up for the Marines. I’m going to basic training in two weeks.”
“Oh.” What are you supposed to say? Usually you would sit in silence while he would brag about himself.
Sukuna rubs the back of his neck. He says your name again, low almost sweetly. “Would you like to go out for milkshakes tonight?” He asks.
“I’d like that,” you say, blinking as you lie.
His pupils widened. Then a slow smile pulls his lips back. You’re reminded of a dog with a dead animal in its jowls. He steps closer, you freeze. Sukuna takes your chin in his fingers. His eyes are the color of dried blood, you notice.
“I knew you -” he cuts himself off, glaring at someone over your shoulder. You hear your Boss - Gladys making a little cough.
You look at him, really look at him. You wish he was dead, dead in the war. As soon as the thought crosses your mind, you internally wince like you touched a hot coal. How could you think such an awful thing? Even about Sukuna.
The date goes relatively smoothly. He picks you up in his automobile because the milkshake place is a town over. The ride is silent as you pick at a loose string in your sweater and he keeps his eyes on the road. But once you reach the ice cream parlor, still open in the dead of winter, he starts talking. He tells you about how Jin is signing up for the Navy, how Jin is planning to propose to Kaori. He pauses then and looks you over. He asks you what you think about marriage. You tell him what you think, you’d like a few years. He nods at that, like a rich man doing inventory over the things he owned.
When he takes you home, he kisses your cheek, all slow, his mouth lingers on your cheek. The heat of his lips sears your cheek. But you do nothing.
The next time you see Sukuna, he’s shipping out for basic training. You stand on a dusty platform with the rest of the residents of your town. You feel him before you see him. Sukuna Itadori looms over you, then his mouth is on yours. He dips you back in a kiss, and then he is gone.
Tropes~ She fell first, he fell harder, forced relationship?
Synopsis~ Satoru Gojo lays his net. You plot and break.
Gojo Masterlist
Tw/Cw~ Mentions of war, ww2, ptsd, sexism, internalized misogyny, dark themes, toxic family dynamics, obsessive love.
Author's Note~ Happy Fourth of July!! This is my present to y'all.
Divider by @/chrisssiren
Sweat curdles in your clenched hands. Mable sits across from you, hair glossy and thick, eyes shining like dark gems in the warm lamplight. Satoru Gojo sits beside her. Their thighs are touching, you realize with a cold clenching sensation. Thigh to thigh, they sit how your aunt arranged them, like a meal. Perfectly balanced and decorated with greenery.
Your aunt and uncle’s American style townhouse has shed its mourning. The gold star still glints in the window and Mable dresses in dark colours. But she has left black and turned to navy, dark reds, and purples. A far cry from the pastels of yester year, but it is lighter.
You look out of place in the curated perfection of your aunt’s home. But how else was one supposed to look after a day working at the factory? The factory. You would have to quite soon, but what came next? You had no husband, or anywhere to go.
You smile at them. God, you probably look awful. “How do you do, Mr. Gojo - Mable.”
He rises, lanky legs unfurling. “Aren’t we old friends? Where did Mr.Gojo come from?” He asks a light chuckle emanating from him.
“If you say so, you must be correct,” you say, tucking your hat under your arm. His smile wavers and behind it. . .
Let them be right, was something you had learned at a very young age. No one likes to be wrong, and who’s gonna take up for a girl with no momma and daddy?
Mable laughs softly. She says your name as soft as caress and as cutting as glass. “Is so funny, isn’t she Toru?” She tilts her head, letting her eyelashes cast shadows on her cheeks. “Why when we were in pinafores, we would all just laugh and laugh at the things she had to say.”
You smile and laugh. Because that is the role life has given you. To be the adoring audience of the beautiful and talented.
Satoru’s white teeth flash at Mable. “She is.” He looks at you from the corner of his eye. Blue, God, his eyes are blue. “Do you want to know what she said to me when she first saw me?”
Mable’s eyes dart to you. You feel something cold welling up in your stomach.
He chuckles, leaning back, long fingers resting on his thighs. Satoru tilts his head back like he’s reminiscing about a moment that changed his life, instead of two awkward minutes on a crowded street while music blared and the city celebrated. The cold in your stomach spreads up to your throat.
“She said,” he takes a breath, letting his silence surround the room. “I’ve been waiting for you.”
You had not said that. Why would he -
Mable laughs, throwing her head back. Somehow her hand lands on his chest. She doesn’t notice the way he tenses up and his eyes go blank for a split second, but you do. He laughs a second later. The sharp trill of a child that has won something. Then you laugh. What else can you do?
A few days later, it repeats itself. Satoru Gojo sitting beside Mable, across from your uncle, while you sit beside your aunt. Her perfume, a musky French concoction chokes you. It’s perfect really. Mable, a young war widow, will marry the returned soldier who has always loved her. She will have a second chance, marry a man that has just inherited a fortune. Really, it could have been right out of a novel. At your other side sits the man you will marry. He is alright, with softish eyes and tanned forearms. His name is Joe and he is your escape. You had been let go from the factory, with the returning men they had no use for you. You knew twenty years you owed your aunt, so you did your duty and managed to capture a man. It had taken a while, but you had been going steady with Joe for a few weeks, so you were sure he was going to pop the question at any time now.
Supper passes slowly. Between your aunt’s perfume and Joe, you feel as though you can’t take a breath. Joe senses the tension, and suggests the two of you go on a walk, while Mable, Satoru, and your aunt and uncle sit in the sitting room. You agree.
The muggy July air washes over you like a baptism. While the music of grass hoppers blares like a choir. Joe and you set off in warm twilight.
The windows you pass are bright and the city is alive. You pass along the streets. If it wasn’t for Joe’s heavy foot steps, you would almost feel like a dead spector passing through a very alive city. You are alive, aren’t you?
Joe pulls you onto a bench, slightly hidden in between two magnolia trees. You sit beside at his insistent urging. Well, it’s a hand applying pressure to your lower back. But you know what insistence feels like.
He murmurs in your ear. He says you are pretty. You hate pretty. He says he thinks it’s natural, how he believes in total liberation. How shame shouldn’t exist. Shame? How could you live without shame? Shame made you, gave you milk and rocked you to sleep. Joe's hand creeps up and down your back. You wish he would stop, but when your mouth moves the words choke and die in your throat. His lips are on your own. It is hot and wet, like a child’s sticky fingers jammed into your mouth.
His hands slip lower. You can’t do it. You can’t go through with it. Your aunt’s words well up in your head - I didn’t raise no hussy. Yes, that is what you’d be if you went through with it, wouldn’t you?
You stand up, pushing his insisting hands away. “I can’t do this - just don’t. . .”
Joe stands too, his softish eyes have turned to hate or embarrassment, you can’t tell. You don’t remember what he says, because you are running. You run, lights blurring around you.
You only stop when you reach a bus stop. You get on and off and on and off, until all you feel is the city pulsing. Shame can’t reach you if you keep moving.
It is night when you reach the Sultan’s Palace. Legend has it that the brother of the Ottoman Sultan fled to the city, bringing his haram and fortune. You remember hearing that they partied day and night, until one night the house was silent. A passerby saw the blood pouring from the house. And it was later discovered that the haram had been slaughtered while the sultan’s brother had been buried alive. You glance reflexively at the gates. No blood.
You think of the poor sultan’s brother, buried alive, just because he wanted to live. To live. To be alive. I want to live. I don’t just want a husband I tolerate. You wanted to win something - someone. You had to win.
When you get to the house, you decide to enter a side door, the one off the back porch. You hear the low rumble of voices. You hear your name in your aunt’s mouth.
“She’ll be marrying that Joe Williams boy soon, and you won’t have to think even a second about her.”
You hear Satoru Gojo’s voice and Mable’s breathy life and your uncle’s heavy breath. But none of it registers. All you see is Satoru’s bright unblinking eye through the door frame. You could almost swear that he is looking straight at you.
“I don’t know about that girl,” your aunt trails off. “Well.”
It is at that moment you decide you will have Satoru Gojo. Or if you can’t have him, Mable was not going to have him either.
A tug of war begins between you and Mable. Really you doubt Mable even registers you as a rival. But you are. You listen to him, remember things about him, you talk with him in the quiet moments when Mable leaves the room. You are losing the war. You know this. You see the pressure building between them, so you become desperate. You steal a moment with Satoru on the back porch.
Lightning bugs blink like little fairies dancing a jig. And the air smells wet and damp. Satoru gazes down at you, a smile on his pink lips. Before you can begin, Mable comes out. Maybe it is the way you are standing, maybe it is something in your eyes, but she freezes. Something ripples, but soon the beautiful mask is there like it never left. You step away from Satoru. The war is lost.
That night you hear your door creak open. You set your cream down on your vanity. You don’t bother turning around. You can see Mable standing in the doorway. Neither of you speak as she makes her away across your bedroom. Your bed barely screeches when she sits on it.
“Why?”
“Why what?” You reply, still looking at her through the mirror.
“You have never been happy with everything my parents have done for you. What I have done for you.” She takes a breath. “And now you take my chance at happiness.”
Her face is so serene looking for the pain in her words. “When I lost John I thought I could never live again. But then Satoru came back.” Silence except for the chirping crickets outside your window. “He made me laugh . . . He made me feel as though I had another chance at bliss.”
Tears drip down her cheeks. You faintly wonder how she still looks good while crying.
“But then you - I saw how he looked at you,” she says. You move your head in surprise. How had he looked at you?
She stands. “You’ve always done this - wanted what was mine. I don’t know why I. . .”
Satoru doesn’t come back to the house. Well, he does but he isn’t entertained. You see him across the street - lingering, or cruising by in his automobile. You can feel his eyes too. They never leave you.
You also feel the pressure ramping up in the house. You know what they think of you. You know what will happen, you can feel it. So you leave, packing a small carpet bag. You have nowhere to go, but you must do it.
You walk because you are reluctant to spend any money on a bus. A storm is blowing in off of the coast, salty water and rain drops flurry around you. That is when you hear it. An automobile pulls in behind you. Satoru Gojo opens the door, his white hair blending into the storm.
“Need a ride?”
Your skirt sticks to your thighs. You shift uncomfortably on the leather seat.
“You have a place to stay?” He asks, driving slowly through the storm. You shake your head no, before remembering he can’t see you.
“I don’t.”
“I’ll put you up at a hotel tonight,” he says, turning onto a narrow street.
What about tomorrow? Wells up but you never ask it. But it does not matter. Satoru answers without you having to say a word.
“We’ll get married in the morning, and then we can drive up North. My uncle left me his house. You’ll like it, it’s huge.”
You aren't sure if you like huge. You aren’t sure about marriage. But you have no options, and it is so easy. It is so easy to have him take the lead and decide for you.
You are married in your best dress, a lilac hand me down. You are pretty, or at least that is what the court clerk says beaming at you. Satoru looks dashing. Like a hero. You are married on a misty morning. You are married.
You climb into his automobile, holding the bouquet of day lilies tight in your gloves. Satoru gets in a few moments later after shutting your door. He starts the engine and lights a cigarette.
You watch, fascinated, as the cigarette is slowly devoured by the flame. He looks at you with that empty look he gets sometimes. Then he glances out the car window as rain drops start trickling down the window.
“Storms here,” he murmurs. You wish he would close his eyes, you hate how bright they get when they are void of any emotion.
His fingers curl around your gloved hand. He looks at you, really looks at you. His eyes are full of something that looks a little like devotion.
Tropes~ He fell first, he fell harder, arranged marriage, dislike to love.
Prologue ~ Chapter One
Synopsis~ Due to your grandfather's conniving, you are betrothed to the Duke of Less. Your family is ecstatic, His Grace's money is just what your family needs to save them from ruin. Too bad he's an utter fop.
Divider by @uzmacchiato
Author's Note~ The image used does not reflect Reader's appearance I just really like the aesthetics of old romance novels. Also taglist is open. This is reupload/rewrite of a fic on my old account which was lost due to my account being deleted. I hope you enjoy <3
“But what I don’t understand is how it came to be,” you say. You set your tea cup down and gaze steadily at your mother.
She doesn’t meet your gaze. She nervously stirs sugar into her tea, staring into it like it will reveal its secrets to her. Slowly, she raises her head. “You cannot blame your father. It was entirely your grandfather,” she pauses, collecting herself. “I had just had you and I was still in confinement when he came to your father - and you know what your father is! And what your grandfather was!”
You interrupted her. You knew well enough that if she got on the topic of your father’s father, she would not stop for at least a half hour. “But why? And how? Surely, the future Duke of Less could find a better match than the impoverished daughter of an earl.”
“Well, the accounts weren’t as bad in your grandfather's day - though he was the most horrendous miser and -”
You interrupt her again. “But surely, the Duke will not hold up to an agreement made twenty five years ago?” After all it was preposterous that a man at the peak of society would wed you. In fact it was preposterous that any man would care to wed you, save perhaps a man of the cloth, but you would rather be a poor relation the rest of your life than listen to a man sermonize on the moral failings of the people of today.
“He responded to your father’s letter quite politely, he informed us that he would be arriving. . .” Your mother trails off, tilting her head up. “Tomorrow.”
“Father wrote to him about the arrangement?” Horror brings heat to your cheeks. Oh, how humiliating! That a man on par with Brummel himself would receive such a grubby letter from your father! It was beyond imagination.
“Why yes,” your mother says, blinking at you.
“I am loathe to admit it, my dear, but we are in dire straits. Your father was desperate."
“Name it,” you say. You want to know the sum at least if you are to be inspected and sold.
She says it in a low whisper, as if it won’t be real unless she says it louder. You feel the colour draining from your face. You knew that things were bad, perhaps even desperate. But that sum. . .
Your father enters the solar, glancing around before sitting on the settee next to your mother. He glances from your face to your mother’s. “Told her, ehhh?”
“Wasn’t entirely my fault, hey,” he says in his choppy manner. “I did lose a lot in speculating and White’s, but it can’t be helped, ehh, gentleman’s honour. Jones’ tells me a pestilence took the harvest, tenants haven’t got food, desperate matter.” He stares up at the fresco ceiling before glancing at you. “Wouldn’t do it unless it was so, right Old Girl?” He glances at your mother before his gaze begins to wander again.
Jones. You had long suspected your father’s agent lied to your father about the books. A suspicion your father’s secretary Nanami shared. But your father called Nanami a damned dull man and never minded him, much less you, his oldest daughter. You knew your father was a bad landlord and his tenant farmers suffered under his reliance on Jones.
“Yes, Papa,”you say, giving a tight smile. You suspect the Duke of Shrine is just coming to humiliate your family. After all, even buried in a country estate, you have heard of his famous set downs.
The Duke of Shrine arrives at three o’clock the next day, which he tells your father is a miracle of biblical proportions, after all it is well known it simply isn’t the thing to rise before noon. Your father escorts him into the receiving room, where you sit patiently, hands folded into your lap. Your father mutters something about the door being left open then he scurries off. You hear a crash and a thumping noise that sounds suspiciously like your father falling down a flight of stairs.
You look up but you don't meet the Duke’s eyes. You only see his pale pink lips quirked up into a smile. Then you see what he is wearing. The pits of fashion, britches and coat so tight they must have been sewed onto him. Your eyes widen. The word escapes your mouth before you can stop it.
“Fop.”
He smiles, flashing white teeth. He looks like a crazed Roman god, white hair messily on his forehead, burning blue eyes, face chiseled as he is stone come to life. You take an instant dislike to him.
“Lady,” he says your name like he’s pronouncing a foreign word. “I am struck by the gods upon meeting you,” he says, sitting across from you. He takes out his quizzing glass and lifts it to his eye. Your gaff from earlier keeps you silent. You already insulted the man, no matter how odious you find him, he didn’t deserve to be insulted to his face.
He studies you for a moment, then he tucks his quizzing glass away.
“Was your grace’s trip pleasant?” You ask, attempting to break the awkward silence.
“No,” he answers simply.
“Your Grace,” you say, pinching the fabric of your shawl. “I understand that this is most inconvenient, especially having to drive your curricle all the way here. So I understand if you desire to break the arrangement between our grandfathers.” You sit back.
He tilts his head, his eyes sweeping over you. “I do not believe that will be necessary Lady (Y/n),” he says. He leans forward, his blue eyes dancing with mirth. “You see, I am quite happy with our arrangement.”
You drop all semblance of propriety. “But why, your Grace?”
“Would you believe me if I said Ero’s punctured my heart the moment I laid eyes on you? That I fell instantly and maddingly in love with you,” he laces his fingers together and grins.
“No,” you say. “Speak plainly.”
He sighs, a pout touching his lips. “I suppose you won’t believe, nevermind Cruel Enchantress, oh Lady of My Heart, Sweet Queen of Beauty -”
You cut him off, a thing you have become accustomed to doing. “I will not be mocked, if you have come here to -”
He cuts you off this time. “I will be a generous husband, your family will want for nothing.” His Grace leans back, crossing his legs. Is my family so obvious? He knew and you knew what would happen. You would marry him, though why he wanted to marry you was beyond you. You would give up yourself for your family.
You don’t look into his eyes, your pride won’t let you. For a bit you deserve to hold onto your pride before it begins. Before the jape starts in earnest.
Synopsis~ A tree, a cat, a duke, and a tired young woman all at the same inn. Oh dear.
Prologue ~ Next Chapter
Divider by @/strangergraphics
The road from your family's estate in the North to Town was a long one. You travelled by carriage, alone save your ladies maid Agnes, and your cousin Horatia. Cousin Horatia was a dull creature, not to mention thirty years your senior. She also did not believe in bathing, which made riding in a cramped carriage quite unpleasant. A part of you wished your sister was there, but another part of you was glad she had gone ahead before you. A cold had kept you at home.
It wasn't fair. Kitty had the weeks before the Season to grow used to town. She probably had all sorts of acquaintances and knew all her rivals. You pinched your lips up before remembering you would develop wrinkles. You blinked, attempting to relax your face.
"What's that you're doing with your face?" Cousin Horatia said, saying your name like you were a daft creature needing her advice on every matter pertaining to life.
"I was merely thinking it was about time we stopped at an inn for refreshments, Cousin Horatia." you said gazing out the window. It is about time I am rid of you and get some clean air, you did not say aloud. Not that it would have helped. It would have only offended the creature. Last summer, you and Kitty had dumped buckets of soapy water on her. As was usual you had taken the punishment even though it had been Kitty's idea. Cousin Horatia had lain abed for weeks, claiming chills and visions of death. During that time, you had to serve her hand and foot as part of your punishment.
As if prophecy, the carriage slowed and eventually stopped in the yard of an inn. You longed to slink into your seat and fully stretch your legs. But you knew you it would only invite comments from Cousin Horatia on the impropriety of it. She wouldn't say a thing if Kitty did it though. That was the way of things.
Eventually, you were shown into the dining room of the inn. Warm brandy and shortbread were placed in your hands. It would have been rather pleasant because Cousin Horatia was outside flirting with an uncomfortable looking gentleman. Except a terrifying man who sat in the corner. He was dressed like a gentleman, but he looked like a pirate or a highway man. Scars lined his face in intricate lines; his hair was short hair was slicked back. How unfashionable, you thought irritated. You had spent long hours in the carriage, holding a packet of lavender to your nose, and besides thinking of how Kitty had already gotten ahead of you. It had all boiled over and now you found the man in the corner most distasteful.
The man must have felt your gaze. His reddish-brown eyes met your own. He raised a pale brow not bothering to stop sneering. You smiled. Your experience in having a sister, was that sometimes a smile was more irritating than anything else. His sneer deepened if that was possible and he turned back to his papers.
Ass. You turned back to eating your shortbread by dipping it in your brandy. Yes, you ate it. You couldn't be bothered to nibble it in such a gentleman as the one in the corner. Ass, you thought again. You had learned such interesting words to describe people you didn't like in the stables of your estate. But you had learned not to repeat the words the grooms said, only to think them. Kitty had taught you that. After you told her she was "old hat" after had 'lost' the necklace Papa had given you before he died. Though how she knew what old hat meant. you'd never know.
When you finished at least half a pot of tea and brandy and a copious amount of shortbread, you decided to take a walk outside. Then after stretching your legs, you'd find a privy.
The January air was crisp against your skin the moment you stepped outside. It felt clean after being trapped in the carriage with Cousin Horatia and then in the smokey heat of the inn. You took a deep breath and let the brief feeling of freedom wash over you. In a few months you would secure a husband at the overripened age of twenty-one. You would be already wed, and this wouldn't be your first season if your father hadn't died when you were seventeen. Four years in mourning had passed and now you must find a husband along with your older sister.
Little cries break your reverie. You look up, and in the tall ash a kitten is stuck. It's too far up for you to reach and you couldn't climb in your dress. But you can't leave it there. You crinkle up your face. There's one option left, you have to ask for help.
You march back into the inn, clutching your reticule. You march right passed the wicked looking gentleman in the dining room. And you march right up to a serving boy.
"I need your help; there is a cat in the tree outside -" The boy looks at you. He looks friendly with a crop of reddish hair and ruddy round cheeks.
"Naw missus. My ma told me - she said now John don't go out more than you should, you see missus, she's afraid I'll get diseased and die." He says cheerfully, he - John is the very picture of health.
John bows a jaunty little bow and saunters off whistling.
You see no other men in the inn. There was the gentleman Cousin Horatia was talking to, but he looked old. There is only the gentleman in the dining room left. You sigh, he looked terrifying, but a little kitten dying in a tree isn't worth your fear.
You march back into the dining room. Your fingers are twisted taut around your reticule. He doesn't look up, now his legs are stretched out and his shiny boots rest on the table alongside his beaver hat.
You set your reticule down on the table and cough slightly. He doesn't look up; he merely turns the page of his paper. You cough again. Again, the roguish gentleman doesn't look up.
"Sir," you say.
He looks up and you gasp. His face is a puzzle of jagged scars. You collect yourself. "I need your help."
"With what?" He asks, his lips curled.
You sigh. "In a matter of great importance," you try to sound stern like your governess had.
"Very well," he says, standing. He towers over you. He rather resembles a bull; his very tight tailoring insinuates his muscular build. "Let it never be said that I never helped a begging woman." He snorts.
You almost abandon your mission. But the image of the kitten, cold and alone in the tree keeps you from it. You promise yourself to tell him exactly what you think of him, after he rescues the cat.
He follows you outside and to the base of the tree. You point up. "You need to climb up and rescue him."
"Him?" He asks.
"Well, no, at least I don't know." You say. Though you do think it looks like a boy. You aren't sure why you think that, though.
"You want me to climb a tree for a random cat?"
"No," you pause for a moment. "Mahoraga is not a random cat."
He looks at you, incredulous. "Do you own the cat or not?"
You lift up your chin. "I do not."
"Have you ever seen this cat before?" His brows are furrowed so much that they resemble storm clouds.
"That is not the matter at hand," you interject. "I'll hold your coat while you climb.
He stares at you for a moment. You stare back at him. He hands you his coat.
You watch in silence as he nimbly climbs up the tree. Mahoraga yowls when he grabs him. But he makes it back down with minimal scratches. You would never say it aloud, but you are slightly impressed.
You hand him his coat, and he hands you the kitten. Mahoraga is white and grey with the prettiest blueish eyes you've ever seen.
"Thank you," you say, not looking up from Mahoraga. You hear him snort, but you ignore it and start walking back to the inn. You can hear him behind you, pulling his boots back on and stomping behind you.
When the both of you are back in the inn, you hear it. Cousin Horatia calling shrilly for you. You shove Mahoraga in his arms and begin to dig through your reticule.
"Wha-" He begins to say. You shove your calling card into his hands.
"When you reach Town, call on me and bring Mahoraga," you say in a hurry, glancing behind you.
"I'm not taking the damn cat," he snarls.
"Shameful," you say, lifting your chin. "And yes, you are. If you let anything happen to him, I'll call the beau street runners on you."
Cousin Horatia's voice is getting louder. You glare it him one last time and then take off down the hall before your cousin discovers you alone with a man.
You wish you could take Mahoraga with you, but you know that that is out of the question. You pray the wicked looking man brings you back your cat. But you reassure yourself that with his countenance he surely has committed a crime that he doesn't want the beau street runners to know about.
The Duke of Shrine has a cat in his arms and he isn't entirely sure how that happened. But what he does know is that when he sees that minx he's going to wrap his hands around her neck and -
