synopsis: it was just supposed to be a routine mission. but when things start to go wrong and time starts slipping through his fingers, gojo realizes a little too late he might lose you too.
pairing: astronaut!gojo x f!reader x teacher!choso
wc: 14.8k
content: mdni. HEAVY ANGST. smut. character death. inspired by interstellar, time dilation, sad ending, hurt no comfort, unprotected piv sex, teasing, kissing, gojo is so incredibly in love and obsessed with reader, accidental pregnancy, twins, pining, yearning, complicated emotions, misunderstandings, choso is also a lovesick puppy dog, video messages, gojo cries and throws up, moving on, absolutely sadness and despair
art is by @to00fu !! div by @tsumiinum !! this was an incredible commission to write for @dayanim <333
“You’re literally the prettiest girl on the planet.”
You giggled, your mouth curving up into a painfully cute smile as his palms spread your soft thighs further apart. Perfect face tilting to the side as you arched an eyebrow, “Just this planet?”
“All of them,” he easily chuckled, pressing a peck to the inside of your exposed thigh, admiring the expanse of your bare skin, completely naked in his sheets. Sprawled out like his favorite feast, waiting for him to devour.
If he could, he’d swallow you whole and take you with him to space.
Pack you up and bring you with him.
But unfortunately, NASA probably wouldn’t approve of him stowing you away on his final official mission before he moved to a different position.
“I don’t want you to go,” you pouted at him, running your fingers through your hair as he returned to dotting more kisses up to your hips, down to just below your belly button, trying to memorize the way your skin felt on his lips.
“I know,” he sighed, struggling to justify why he was going to you when he could hardly convince himself these days. “It’s just six months.”
A routine mission.
It was far from his first. He knew how it would play out. Shoko and Suguru would join him on the crew, so at least the time wouldn’t totally drag by. He hadn’t planned to join, but with what they promised to pay for it, it was sorta hard to refuse. Especially when he was still saving for a wedding and a house down payment.
Still, considering the fact that he’d only just gotten back from one less than a year ago, he knew that it wasn’t just him it was hard on.
“It feels like forever,” you complained, a crease between your brow as your hand shifted to cup his cheek, lift his face up to look at you. The cool band of your engagement ring resting on his skin reminding him of the promise he made to you when he popped the question. That he’d give up exploring the reset of the universe if you’d be his wife. “I’m so tired of missing you.”
“Baby,” he frowned, heart slamming into his rib cage at the disappointment he detected in the lines of your face.
He didn’t want to do this to you. Didn’t want to be the guy that wasn’t there for you.
But this was all just temporary. Soon he’d have secured a future where you could both permanently settle in a beautiful little house with a big yard for mini-yous and mini-hims to run and play.
Climbing back on top of you properly as you huffed at him, caging you in underneath his muscled arms, not stopping until your bodies were connected, skin-on-skin, his forehead resting on yours as your eyes met his.
“Don’t baby me,” you defensively murmured.
“But you’re my baby,” he pouted back at you. Your body shivered a little, thighs pressing together before he used his knee to nudge them further apart. “And you’re gonna be my wife when I get back.”
He liked the ring of it.
His wife.
All his.
He proposed to you the day he got back from his last mission. Maybe he should make it a tradition and marry you the day he returned this time.
Skip the whole big wedding he talked you into the past few months in favor of a courthouse ceremony. Maybe drag Suguru back after the landing to be the witness.
You made a face, nose scrunching up and lips parting like there was something you wanted to say, but you stopped yourself.
“This is my last mission,” he reminded you, a weak attempt at reassurance as his thick cock rubbed against your clit. Your breath hitched, getting caught in your throat as he dragged it over the sensitive bud.
“You said that about the last one,” you reminded him, and he didn’t have an argument to counter it.
“Well, I mean it this time,” he muttered softly. He wasn’t particularly good at being soothing. Spectacularly bad, sometimes, actually. But you still stayed.
Still smiled at him when he sucked at being what you needed.
The moon hung heavy outside the window, a thick crack running across the glass pane as the night sky filtered through it and bathed the room in soft light. The apartment you shared wasn’t much, pretty shitty honestly, but it was just a stepping stone. A way to save money for when you’d really need it.
Soon, you’d have the best.
“Besides, I can’t leave again once you start having my babies,” he teased, moving a hand down to your stomach, feeling your soft skin. Dreaming of a future where you’d be waddling around his kitchen pregnant, trying to decide if he’d prefer a boy or a girl – only to land on wanting both.
“So you’ll be here for them and not for me?” You huffed.
“I just want to make sure I make a good life for all of you,” he replied, struggling to sound confident when you were looking at him with a faint hint of hurt shining in your eyes.
You wanted to believe him.
“Uh-huh,” you exhaled.
He supposed he’d just have to remind you another way that you had his heart. That even if he left the planet for a few months, he’d always have to return back to you.
His home.
Your thighs opened up for him, letting him shut up all those awful thoughts with a kiss as he pushed the first few inches inside your pretty pussy. Felt you sucking him in, losing himself in your warmth as he pushed past that first ring of resistance. Filling you up until you were stuffed full, your head tilting back, lips parting in his favorite moan — his name falling from them in broken little gasps.
“Satoru,” you whined, wiggling under his weight as he leaned down to start trailing kisses across your jaw. Down the delicate skin of your throat, sucking greedily just to see what other sounds he could draw from you.
“Mhm, sweetheart?” He hummed, pausing to drag his tongue over all the sore spots he’d left, tempted to sink his teeth back over them, to leave little bruises just so you’d have to keep thinking about him even when he was planets away.
“I don’t want you to go,” you huffed, forcing the words out between little whimpers, your body shivering as his cock slowly thrusted in and out, deliberately taking his time to stretch you out. He hesitated mid-pump, lips still pressed just above your collarbone as he tried to come up with something that would make it better.
“I don’t want to either,” Gojo softly admitted, kissing you again as if it would cure the ache in his heart or the one in yours.
There was a moment of silence, seconds slipping by with tension that wouldn’t dissolve, and he wasn’t sure if he should keep thrusting or pull out.
But then your hips shifted, and his cock twitched, and he was already readjusting, palms moving to push your soft thighs against your chest with his cock still keeping you plugged up.
And really, you couldn’t blame him for how pretty you looked in a mating press.
Fucking you faster, the wooden bed frame creaking and bumping into the wall with every rough thrust, each harsh snap of his hips against your skin as he plunged his cock in and out, in and out.
Watching your face screw up in pleasure, lashes fluttering and nails scrambling for purchase in the sheets as his thumbs dug into your thighs. Holding onto you, keeping you firmly pinned between him and the bed, like he could imprint every ridge and vein inside you, supposing he’d just have to be satisfied with leaving the shape of both of you on the mattress.
“I love you so goddamn much,” he murmured, chest constricting, heart racing as the pressure built and mounted in the pit of his stomach. Some invisible thread being pulled tighter, or maybe it was just himself, wrapped around your finger without you even realizing it.
Ready to break just thinking about not getting to hear your voice every day, not getting to touch your skin, like he wasn’t still buried inside you.
“I love you too,” you whispered back, your voice quivering as you looked up at him with glossy eyes.
He kissed you hard, teeth nearly bumping into each other as his tongue slipped past your lips. Tracing over your canines, tasting the hint of toothpaste on your tongue. The remnants of the candy-flavored lip gloss you’d been wearing earlier too.
You were returning his fervor, squeezing down on his cock like you were trying to suck him dry like he wasn’t already struggling not to cum.
He had to hurry to shift his hand, fingers rushing to find your clit, rubbing rough circles over it just to swallow every cute moan of yours that tried to escape. Cock twitching and aching for relief that he refused to give it, keeping an iron grip on his restraint as he waited for that familiar tremble, for you to really clamp down on him as shudders wracked through your body.
Until you were crying his name in his mouth, whimpers muffled as he soothed you through your climax, rolling that sensitive bud between his thick fingers, only breaking the kiss to purr in your ears that it was all going to be okay.
“That’s it, baby. Just cum for me, okay? It’s gonna be fine,” he promised, his voice cracking on the final word as he came with you. Finishing with warm spurts of cum filling you up, each thrust pumping more into you as he groaned your name, head collapsing into the crook of your collarbone.
Sweat making your skin stick to his, your breathing mixing together as you both came back down to earth from your high.
“Fuck,” you murmured, trying to shift underneath him, roll out from his heavy body.
But he refused to budge, burying his face deeper into your neck just to smell your soap and shampoo, nuzzling his nose against your neck.
He didn’t want to let go.
And for a second, part of him considered cancelling. Backing out of the mission, coming up with an excuse or calling out sick. They had back up astronauts.
They had a few people, perhaps not as qualified as him, but still acceptable, on standby that could take his spot.
He might get fired. Shoved back to some bottom-tier desk position.
But he’d get to stay with you.
Would get to spend the next six months sleeping like this instead of alone in a spaceship compartment.
“Satoru,” you softly said his name, shifting as he finally released your thighs, letting you lay them back down more comfortably – but still kept you caged in.
“Can’t I just lay here for a while longer?” He groaned, jaw tightening at the idea that this was the last night he’d get this. You.
Cock still twitching as the last of his cum leaked out, some of it starting to spill down your thighs as he refused to take it out.
You ran your fingers through his hair, scratching a spot behind his ears, sifting through the silky strands with a long sigh. “Sure.”
That was just who you were.
What you’d do.
You gave him what he wanted.
Even when you didn’t like what he asked for.
“I’m sorry,” he muttered.
“Don’t be sorry,” you replied gently. “Just be sure you’re coming home.”
“The stars can’t keep me from you,” he promised, moving to leave another kiss on the tip of your nose as you rolled your eyes at him.
But you giggled, and that was good enough.
“Let’s get married when I get back,” he suggested.
“We already-”
“Like, the same day, sweetheart,” he insisted, lips curling up in a smile as he snagged your left hand, bringing it to his lips so he could press a kiss to your engagement ring. The big diamond glittering in the moonlight, accented with small gemstones that same shade as his eyes set in a white-gold band. One you picked out with him once upon a time.
“You’re ridiculous,” you laughed, shaking your head like you weren’t grinning at the idea too. “Didn’t you want, like, the whole huge wedding?”
“I just want you.”
Gojo could make it six months if it meant you’d be waiting there for him when he got back.
He just didn’t think everything would go to fucking shit in sixteen weeks.
Clinging to the same dream of you, the same memory his brain had chosen for comfort as he opened his eyes for another difficult day in a long line of them.
Waking up to a window that only overlooked the cold, dark expanse of space instead of the familiar city. Missing your warmth in bed – trading it for a sleeping bag and a stiff compartment that they somehow still hadn’t figured out a better alternative for despite how advanced their rocketships had become.
Sure, they could figure out how to simulate gravity inside the living areas now. But no, getting a good night’s rest was still impossible.
They were only supposed to be running a supply drop off. Sending equipment to a planet a few other astronauts were previously sent to, one they’d recently started establishing a settlement on. Shoko was planning on staying behind there to be their medic – but he was supposed to return with Suguru.
It wasn’t the only habitable planet that had been discovered. There were a few, all being explored, data being collected and catalogued by various astronauts like themselves, sent back periodically and retrieved by relief missions like the one they were on.
All just a galaxy away.
It meant going through a wormhole to get to them, but according to all the calculations and the previous voyages, it was safe.
Risky, sure, but it’d been done before.
And to be fair, getting through it hadn’t been the problem.
The problem was they were just outside the orbit of the wrong fucking planet.
Whether one of them had bumped into the navigation system, inputted the wrong thing at the wrong time, or maybe some internal error was to blame, it didn’t matter.
No, a more pressing issue had presented itself.
A distress signal was being sent up.
Someone was below – and begging to be rescued.
“I have a bad feeling about it,” Suguru murmured, scowling at the screen as if he could make the message go away just by glaring at it.
“You always have a bad feeling,” Shoko hummed, dark circles under his eyes as she scanned the data on her screen.
“I think we should just continue to the correct planet. It’ll be a waste of fuel and time,” Suguru scoffed, ignoring her as his fingers flew across the keyboard, inputting either calculations or coordinates.
Satoru reclined back in his seat, fiddling with a pencil as his friend glanced up at him like he was looking for support here.
“Aren’t you supposed to be the one who wants to save people?” He asked, cocking his head to the side just to get a scoff. He’d known Suguru most of his life. Went to school together, graduated from the same program just to end up colleagues too. Between both of them, Suguru was always the altruistic one. The guy who thought of everyone else before himself – even if he was looking down at them from his moral high ground half the time.
“Not if it means putting our mission at risk,” he argued, lips pressed together in a thin line. “Or us.”
“The last reported conditions there seem fine,” Shoko shrugged as she directed their attention back to what little data had been collected so far.
Most of the planet was made of water, a massive sea dotted with a handful of islands, some mountain ranges that rivaled the highest peaks back on Earth. Two fellow astronauts were supposed to have been there for the last nine months.
“You really want to just leave them?” Gojo asked, not sure how exactly to feel about it himself. Not wanting to totally throw away Suguru’s hesitation – but reluctant to just leave another astronaut stranded.
“There are other people counting on us,” Suguru insisted, and Satoru knew he was right. Knew that you were counting on him to come back in one piece. “We can just send a message back to Earth and let them decide.”
Suguru knew as well as he did that doing that would most likely mean death to whoever was sending the distress signal.
It would probably be months before they sent another ship up.
And given that they didn’t have the data to know how fast or slow time passed below. No way to know when the signal they were receiving had started.
There was a heavy pause, all three of them weighing whether or not to take the gamble — and imagining what it’d feel like to be the one stuck on the planet praying for someone to come save them.
“I think we should check it out,” Satoru eventually spoke up, although he wasn’t exactly excited about it.
He just wasn’t sure he could stomach the alternative. If he could handle coming back home to you and telling you the truth.
Risk you leaving him like they were about to leave the stranded astronauts.
“The extra data they have would be useful,” Shoko pointed out, tilting her head appraisingly. “If we needed to, we could bring them back to the other settlement.”
“Two minutes,” Suguru begrudgingly gave in, irritation pricking in his voice as he stood up, rubbing his temple. “We shouldn’t spend more than ten on the surface when we don’t know how much time we could lose. Get there, see what’s salvage, get the fuck out.”
Whether it was data or people, they’d just take what they could and leave.
There was a chance that the relative time on the planet was off. That even just an hour on the planet could be the equivalent to a year back on Earth.
“Yeah, agreed,” Satoru waved him off, watching him walk off, probably to start preparations for landing.
He told himself it was the right thing to do.
That it was what you would expect from him.
He stood up too, walking around to one of the communication terminals they set up – where they could send and receive messages.
You’d sent a couple videos, unofficial ones, of course, something he arranged in advance when he agreed to join the mission – that he’d be able to contact you and you’d be able to do the same. They were short, just a few minutes of you updating him on life back on Earth. How you were doing, how wedding planning was going, murmuring that you missed him in a soft voice before leaning in to kiss the camera.
But a new one was waiting for him as he popped his headphones in to listen, leg bouncing nervously as it loaded, automatically smiling when your face popped up.
“Hi, Satoru,” you greeted, but then you awkwardly looked down, fiddling with your fingers out of frame like you were shy all of a sudden. Biting your bottom lip, the skin there already broken like you’d been busy chewing it.
He wanted to touch the screen.
Caress your cheek and ask you what was wrong.
“I, um, was gonna wait until you came back. But, uh, I don’t think I can keep it a secret that long,” you breathed, eyes glancing up at the camera like you were imagining him on the other side of it.
And then you were picking something up, holding it out in front of you as the camera refocused and-
Holy shit.
“Surprise,” you excitedly called out from behind the tiny onesie in your hand. “You’re going to be a father.”
A baby.
He was going to be a father.
His brain stopped working. Shock freezing him in place as you peeked out from behind the onesie like you could see his reaction. Pride glimmered in your eyes as you grinned, his entire world sitting in front of him a galaxy away. His future wife and child just waiting for him to return.
“I wanted it to be a surprise, but it’s been so hard holding it in,” you continued, and he craved you even more than he had in the past few months combined. Dying to pick you up and press kiss after kiss to your lips, your cheeks, your stomach.
Aching to wrap his arms around you and start talking about baby names and nurseries, to take you out shopping for baby furniture and be there for your appointments.
“There’s something else,” you said, reluctance creeping in. Glancing down at your lap again before pulling up a second onesie.
No. You surely didn’t mean…?
“I’m having twins,” you announced, a little awkward like you started second guessing how he’d take it. “Are you surprised?”
It didn’t take his brain long to calculate the fucking odds of that, but his mind had a hard time accepting it, discomfort coiling in and mixing with the exhilaration in his stomach at the idea of you back in bed, carrying his babies, while he was up in fucking space.
Unable to be there for you. To rub the lotion on your stomach, to sing terrible impressions of lullabies to them, to drive you to the doctor and hold your hand throughout all of it.
You didn’t seem too bothered, or maybe just too excited to show it, holding up the ultrasounds next, proudly showing him baby A and baby B, talking about how you should find out their genders in just a couple weeks.
“You better be back before I have these two,” you murmured into the camera, fixing him in a serious stare, your eyes shining in the fading daylight drifting in through your window. “Don’t make me go to the hospital alone.”
Never.
He’d fucking be there.
“I love you, Toru,” you spoke softer, hesitating over actually hitting the button to stop recording. “Please don’t do anything stupid.”
He’d already done something stupid by saying yes to coming here, hadn’t he?
Still, he plastered on his best smile, sitting awkwardly in front of his own camera, recording you a message back. Making you a million promises, telling you how proud he was of you, how thrilled he was to be a dad. Selling you dreams of a life he was desperately trying to buy for your future family of four.
“We’re, uh, about to go down to a planet to check out a distress signal, but, it’ll be fine, baby,” he informed you, hearing how stiff the words came out as he forced his palm to press down on his thigh to stop his leg from bouncing. “It’ll just be a quick pitstop before the supply drop, promise.”
He paused, having to clear his throat, his tongue suddenly dry as he made himself look directly into the camera.
“I’ll come back for you.”
Gojo didn’t want to admit Suguru might be right when he had to sit with the heavy feeling in his stomach after he shut the camera off and sent the message back – knowing it would probably be a couple days before you saw it.
But it would be fine, wouldn’t it?
In a year, he’d be waking up in bed with you, laughing about how worried he’d been while you each held one of your babies. This would just be a memory.
He wasn’t sure how long he sat there. Staring at the screen long after it shut off, replaying your voice in his head, itching to really hear it, to feel it on his skin, to touch you instead of just clinging to a digital copy of you.
“You ready?” Suguru’s voice called out to him, and he snapped out of his daze.
Found his mouth opening, about to say no.
Tell him he changed his mind. Say he was wrong and that they should just save their fuel.
But if you knew, if they knew, that he’d left someone to die just to come home to them sooner, would they look at him the same way?
Would he be able to look his children in the eyes?
He swallowed hard as he glanced towards the doorframe Suguru was standing in, slowly nodding instead of saying what he really wanted to. “Yeah.”
Gojo wanted to believe that between their three-person crew, they’d be able to handle it.
He just hadn’t realized that only two of them would make it back to the ship.
𖥔 ݁ ˖
“You should move on.”
It didn’t matter how many people said it. How many times your therapist pleaded with you to put the past behind you.
You couldn’t let go of him.
Six months turned into six years without Satoru.
The one thing you were terrified of had come true.
You lost him.
Didn’t even have the fucking confirmation of his death. Just a gravestone with an empty casket, a plot picked out for you next to it — even if you’d never get to be buried by him.
Wasn’t that the funny thing about taking risks?
You always know what could happen. You just never think it will happen to you.
It’s always someone else.
Until it’s not.
Until you’re the one waiting for a phone call you’ll never get or a knock on the door that will never come.
“It’s not exactly like men are lining up to date me,” you muttered into the phone, tucking it between your ear and shoulder as you frowned at your reflection in the mirror, reaching up to fix a stray hair just for your still-shiny engagement ring to shimmer in the sunlight. Swallowing the lump in your throat before you turned away, nearly tripping on a toy. “With the twins-”
“Guys like MILFs,” your friend teased in your ear, and you had to stop yourself from rolling your eyes as you bent over to pick up the stuffed bunny and toss it in an overflowing toy basket.
You doubted they’d like one still in love with their babies’ father.
Still holding out hope he’d show up with that stupid smile and wrap you in a crushing hug.
Even if the rest of the world thought he was dead.
When the government had declared his ship missing and him deceased. Cut you a check for it even though you weren’t technically Satoru’s spouse yet since you had his babies. A little boy that could be his clone and a girl that looked a little too much like you.
Their check had been enough to get you out of your crummy apartment, to move the three of you in a small house in a quiet neighborhood.
Suguru’s mother had ended up moving next door, offering to babysit and watch them during the day so you didn’t have to send them to daycare. Helping you raise your children while her child was still out there in space somewhere.
She didn’t talk about Suguru with you. And you never spoke of Satoru.
But you knew she understood anyway. Coped with it the same way you did. Skirting around their existence like it would lessen the hurt.
“I know a guy who-” Your friend started, and your stomach lurched at the thought of being set up with someone who couldn’t come close to the man you were supposed to marry.
“Look, I’ve, uh, gotta go get the kids. Their teacher wanted to discuss Apollo’s behavior. I guess he bit someone,” you muttered, heels clicking as you slung your purse over your shoulder and snagged your keys.
She was disappointed, mumbling a goodbye that you tuned out, hitting end and dropping your phone in your bag with a sigh.
You wondered what Satoru would’ve thought of it.
If he would’ve laughed at his son picking fights at school or if there was a stern side to him buried somewhere beneath his goofy grins and cheesy jokes.
You tried to pick out names he’d like. Even if sometimes it stung a little to think about.
Apollo and Artemis.
After the space missions. He’d think it was cute. Probably dress them up like little astronauts and kiss their foreheads, promising that he loved them way more than just to the moon and back. Paint stars on their ceiling and hang planets up on strings in their nursery.
To be fair, you had done it in his place.
Worn one of his old t-shirts as you bit your lip and bent over your swollen belly to get all the corners, carefully standing on a ladder to hang everything on the ceiling, standing in a nursery full of furniture you built yourself a month after his return date came and went.
The last thing you heard from him was a video message where he promised he’d come back. If you shut your eyes, you could still see that look on his face, the flicker of nervousness that flashed across it as his mouth curled down into a frown before he admitted that they were about to go check out a distress call.
And then nothing.
NASA never told you if they had any additional information on it. But the conclusion they came to was obvious.
Their mission was a failure. And your husband was forever missing.
Somewhere you’d never be able to reach.
You snapped on the twins' first birthday. You hadn’t even managed to bring yourself to throw them a party when Satoru wasn’t there to take the photos, to pick them up and blow out the candles for them.
Carrying them next door to Suguru’s mom’s place, asking for her to watch them for a few hours just to come back home and rip down every stupid space-themed piece of decor you’d once painstakingly picked out. Throwing them all in a big, black trash bag before running out to the store to grab tarps and more paint.
You didn’t stop until the entire room was drenched in shades of blue and green, alien toys traded in for sea animals.
At least the ocean was on Earth.
It wasn’t like they were old enough to understand.
But you couldn’t fucking stand the idea of losing them too.
You had kept both their convertible cribs in your room since the day you brought them home from the hospital, unable to sleep without them in the same room. The crippling fear that you’d some intruder would sneak in and snatch them if you weren’t right there to stop it didn’t actually go away until they were big enough to toddle and talk.
Now they were old enough to be in school, no longer babies, no longer toddlers, big enough to ramble on about what they learned every day, bicker over their toys and pick them back up before they went to bed.
And Satoru had missed all of it.
Every first they experienced tainted by the never-ending reminder that he wasn’t fucking here to see a single one.
And like an idiot, you just kept recording message after message, setting up a camera and trying not to cry as you recorded yourself talking about the twins, showing them off to someone who should’ve been by your side every step of the way. You still had a few contacts with his old colleague, one who promised he’d send them all up anyway.
Just in case Satoru was still out there in space. Still trying to come home to you.
There wasn’t a single day that passed yet where you didn’t think about it.
Him.
But it appeared your attempts to keep him alive, to teach your kids about their dad, weren’t going so well when you replayed the voicemail you’d been left an hour earlier requesting you come in for a meeting after school was over when you picked up the kids.
The soft voice on the other end apologetically explaining that Apollo had gotten in an argument with another kid to defend his sister, that no action was being taken, but that he’d still like to speak with you in person over it.
You stared at the brick building of the elementary school, readjusting your purse as you swiped away another message from your friend sending you contact details of a man you certainly were not going to contact, steeling yourself for an uncomfortable conversation as you walked through the door and went into the office to get a visitor’s pass before you started navigating through the halls to look for the twins’ class.
Suguru’s mom handled most of the pick ups for you, kept them at her place until you got back home from work in the evenings.
Your boss had been annoyed that you’d taken off early, but you had to put them first. You were the only parent they had.
You heard Artemis first. Her soft giggle twinkling as your steps picked up, her brother’s grumpy voice scolding her as you stopped just outside an open classroom door, pausing as you looked inside and saw sitting cross-legged on the floor with another boy who looked a couple years older, a bunch of toys dumped out between them on a carpet with the alphabet on it.
“Are you their sister? I thought their mom-” A low voice spoke up, your head snapping over to see a dark-haired man stepping out from behind a desk. Warm brown eyes scanning your face as you stiffly shook your head.
“I’m their mom,” you interrupted him, swallowing hard as you pushed your sunglasses back up in your hair before holding your hand out to shake.
His hand was surprisingly soft when he took it, gently shaking it a few seconds too long before awkwardly letting go.
“I’m Choso, their teacher,” he said, and you forced a small smile.
“I, uh, know,” you muttered, averting your stare back to where they were playing.
“Yuji’s my little brother,” he added, pointing out the boy playing with yours, plucking out a toy from the pile and handing it over.
You wondered if it would be awful to just ask him to go ahead and skip all the polite niceties, that you didn’t need them.
“Sorry for making assumptions,” he awkwardly apologized, his dark eyes dragging over you again. “You just looked like you’re around my age, and I guess I forget sometimes that it’s normal for us to have kids of our own now.”
You blinked at him, trying to decide what to make of his slightly nervous rambling just for his mouth to open again.
“I wasn’t trying to comment on your appearance or anything, I mean, you’re beautiful-” His lips abruptly shut, cheek flushing pink in a painfully familiar way.
Your chest hurt.
Ached at the thought that Satoru was no longer the last person to call you beautiful.
“Um, thanks,” you murmured, looking at your outfit a little self-consciously. Wondering if he was just saying that to make you feel better or if he really meant it. You didn’t think you looked terrible. But without Satoru around, you’d sorta forgotten what it felt like to look in the mirror and see something pretty when you were struggling to survive most days.
“I’m sorry,” he apologized, glancing down to the ring on your finger. Your throat started to close, palms getting clammy as he ran his fingers through his hair. “I didn’t realize you were married.”
“I’m not,” you answered, a little too quickly as you folded your arms across your chest. Putting your left hand underneath your other arm as if it would make you stop thinking about it. Him.
“Oh, um-”
“I was engaged to the twins’ dad,” you explained, watching them giggle and pretend to eat the plastic food with their new pink-haired friend. “But, uh, he passed before they were born.”
People usually asked too many questions if you told them the whole story.
“I’m sorry for your loss,” he apologized, face falling the way everyone else’s always did. Regret etched into the soft lines of his face, nose scrunching up as the tattoo across his nose crinkled. “I had no-”
“It’s fine,” you lied, waving it off like Satoru didn’t still cast shadows across your thoughts. “So, um, what happened with Apollo? Is he in trouble?”
“No, no, one of the other kids tried to take a toy from Artemis, and he stepped in to stop it. I actually wanted to speak to you about him having a hard time making friends outside of her,” Choso spoke softly, obviously trying hard to pick his words carefully. “I was thinking of recommending they get put in different classes next year to help them socialize.”
You bit the inside of your cheek.
Torn between immediately shutting the idea down and trying to argue against it before second guessing whether or not your parenting was actually just fostering codependence.
Satoru would know what to do.
But he wasn’t here.
And all the decisions were yours to make.
Artemis was the outgoing one, inherited her father’s personality even if she pretty much got your face. Bright and brilliant, easy charisma that shined even at her small size. Apollo was reserved. Serious.
Scowling if he wasn’t with his sister, grumbling at the world like he already realized how it screwed them over.
“They’re just five,” you muttered, glancing over at where they were still distracted with his brother.
“Well, I guess we can see if there are any changes throughout the rest of the school year. I, uh, coach a boys soccer team on the weekends. He’s welcome to join, if you’re interested,” he said, running his fingers through the ends of his hair.
You guessed if it meant your twins wouldn’t be split up in school, you’d sit on the sidelines to watch little kids try and fail to kick a ball across a field.
Not that he was that happy about it when you told him he’d have to spend his Saturday morning in a soccer uniform with kids he barely spoke to before instead of playing with his toys at home.
Choso grinned when you first showed up, one of those crooked ones that gave away his surprise when he saw you setting up fold-out chairs for you and Artemis. Even jogging over to tell you he was happy you came, squatting down to get on Apollo’s level to ask him if he knew how to play.
He didn’t.
To be fair, after watching a single game, it was clear none of the other kids did either.
Still, you left it with a schedule of practices and games stuffed in your purse, a couple of them circled and marked for your days to bring snacks and juice boxes for the team.
You told yourself that you were being an active parent.
Showing up to every single school event. Refusing to miss a single soccer game even when Apollo spent half of it plucking weeds from the field to give to you afterwards.
Taking him to play dates with his new soccer friends before taking Artemis to sleepover with her school friends, juggling their new social lives with your own work.
And somewhere along the way, you supposed you’d made a new friend in their teacher too.
He went out of his way to talk to you at every game, greeting you at their school stuff with a shy smile and considerate questions while he updated you on how they were doing.
The kids loved him, coming home chattering about what he planned and taught them during the day, complaining whenever he was out sick and they got stuck with a substitute.
Wasn’t it normal to like someone if they made your children happy?
Smile back when they spoke to you?
Find your thoughts lingering a little on their dark-haired teacher when your son excitedly exclaimed that Choso promised to be his soccer coach next year too, your stupid heart stalling for a second when Artemis casually dropped that he helped her make a mother’s day card for you as she stuck it to the fridge with a magnet.
You definitely didn’t pick them up from school yourself more often, swearing to Suguru’s mother that you were just trying to spend more time with them.
But eventually, the school year wrapped up.
You couldn’t really comprehend why some sliver of you was disappointed by that.
Still, you suspected that it wasn’t just because Satoru wasn’t here to see it.
A strange flutter in your stomach stirring watching Choso pass out printed graduation certificates to the class, plastering on a bright smile as Artemis proudly bounded over to show you hers. Toothily grinning as you sat and clapped for her in a cramped chair, a paper plate with a tiny slice of pizza in front of you as the other parents tried wrangling their own kids.
Apollo was half-sitting on your lap, sneakily stealing your pizza after he polished off his own plate, enjoying their classroom party just to start bickering over which mini cupcakes they each wanted, eyeing the boxes Choso hadn’t given out.
“Are you excited for next year?” You asked, barely able to stop yourself from rolling your eyes at their arguing.
“No,” Artemis smiled immediately flipped into a frown as she flopped in her seat, folding her arms across her chest. “We’ll have to get a new teacher.”
“Don’t be a baby,” Apollo huffed at her.
“S’not fair, he’s still your coach,” she whined back, right in time for him to show up, holding out a plastic container with cupcakes to let them choose.
They were quick to snatch them, thank yous muffled when they stuffed their mouths the next second, but to your surprise, he held out the box for you to pick too.
“I, um, got enough for the parents too,” he awkwardly said, eyes hesitantly flicking up to meet yours as you chewed the inside of your cheek before accepting.
“Thanks,” you murmured softly, selecting one with purple frosting as he smiled softly at you.
It was nice of him.
This was nice, actually.
A classroom of sugar-fueled kids and hastily strung up party streamers wasn’t exactly where you pictured you’d be spending your afternoon a decade ago. Being a single mom had never been a part of your plans.
But it wasn’t terrible.
You loved your children. Loved being their mom.
Maybe you could learn to love your life too.
You stayed behind once the party wrapped up to help clean the classroom with a few of the other parents, stuffing greasy and frosting splattered plates into trash bags while the twins excitedly caught up with Yuji after his teacher dropped him off after the bell rang.
“Hey,” a quiet voice startled you, your head snapping back to see Choso stiffly standing next to you, nervously raking his fingers through his hair.
“Hi,” you breathed back, just as awkward. “The party was great. I think the twins will miss you next year.”
You didn’t want to consider if you would.
“They’re great kids. I know they’re gonna succeed some day,” he earnestly said, your mouth curling up as you nodded.
You didn’t really mind if they succeeded or not. Wouldn’t hold them to the same standards their dad once held himself to.
All you really wanted was for them to be happy.
“Thanks, um, seriously,” you swallowed hard, throat constricting as you thought about how much Apollo had started to come out of his shell thanks to him.
Choso’s intense stare swept over your face, scanning over your features like he was searching for something there.
His eyes were dark.
Not blue. They didn’t shimmer, didn’t sparkle when the sun hit them.
But they were deep. Warm.
“I’m glad I got to meet you,” he started, speaking slowly like he wasn’t sure if he should even say it. “Getting to know you, um, it’s been great.”
“Yeah, it has,” you agreed, actually meaning it too.
He stepped a little closer, taking a deep breath as his gaze settled on your face. “You can like, slap me if I’m out of line here-”
“I’m not going to slap you,” you intercut, biting back a laugh as his brows knitted together seriously.
“Would it be totally inappropriate to ask you on a date?”
𖥔 ݁ ˖
Their mission was fucked.
Suguru was dead.
Body stuck on a planet of water and waves, left behind with the other astronauts that had died long before they even received their distress call.
Swept under a fucking tsunami, unable to make it back on the ship on time in an attempt to save a stupid fucking data recorder.
Now they had neither.
The ship had been damaged in the process too, fuel wasted and plans derailed as they barely managed to get it off the planet before all three of them ended up as corpses. Water corrupting important systems as Gojo slammed his fists against the hard metal frame of a door, throwing off his helmet as Shoko said something his brain refused to process.
Grabbing his arm to pull it back before he could fuck up his suit. Telling him to just take it off and cool down before he damned both of them too.
Like his best friend wasn’t gone.
He’d never get him back.
No one would.
Gojo just had to leave his body there for the tides to take. What the hell was he even going to say to his mom? How was he supposed to tell her that her son wasn’t coming home?
He barely managed to get his suit off, stripping down and throwing it on the ground without giving a shit about proper protocol, storming off to his private compartment to stop himself from losing it in front of the only other person up here now. Shoko said something about getting everything back on course, but he wasn’t listening as he turned his back from her.
God, he felt like he was going to fucking hurl.
The edges of his vision kept blurring, going in-and-out of darkness as he forced himself to change clothes, sitting hunched over the edge of his bed and burying his face in his hands, replaying the look on Suguru’s face when he realized he wasn’t going to make it.
Rewinding and searching for some other way to change the past as he screwed his eyes shut.
But he couldn’t save him then and there was no way to save him now.
He wished you were here.
Wished you’d wrap your arms around him and run your fingers through his hair and promise him that it would still be okay. That Suguru wouldn’t blame him.
That his best friend was somewhere better.
Even if everything scientific in his body swore that there was no better place waiting for him.
Gojo pushed himself back up to his feet, jaw locked tight as he walked back over to the one piece of you he still had access too, tapping away at the controls to see if you sent any videos while he was out there making the worse fucking mistake of his life.
Foot impatiently tapping against the floor as he reclined his head back against the floor, wishing that he’d never even come on this mission in the first place – if he hadn’t, Suguru wouldn’t have even answered the distress call, would he?
He’d still be alive, and Gojo would be with-
The computer let out a beep, interrupting his thoughts as the screen came to life, loading everything up as he sighed with relief.
Seeing your smile, hearing your soft words might not heal him, but it was the only thing he could think of to help the raw wound of loss ripping through his chest.
Until the automated computer voice made an announcement right as he popped his headphones in.
Loading messages from the past eleven years.
No. No no no no no.
It was wrong.
It had to be fucking wrong.
The computer had to be fried. Some water must have somehow gotten in it and fucked with the wiring and-
Before he could even hit a single button, try to troubleshoot, there you were in front of him, your hand on your swollen stomach, scowling in the camera as you asked where the hell he was. Fear creeping in your pretty voice that no one had heard anything from any of them – reminding him that he promised to come back.
He did. He would.
The small lump in his throat getting bigger and bigger as the video auto-played into the next one, where you were obviously about to pop, filming in a space-themed nursery, your anger twisted into worry, telling him that you didn’t want to do this alone.
Begging him to not make you.
Gojo froze.
Shoulders stiff as he saw the tears rolling down your cheeks, stunned as his own brain short-circuited, the guilt swimming in his stomach threatening to drown him as you ended the message.
Part of him wanted to hit stop.
Like if he paused it now, he would be able to freeze time and somehow make it back to Earth in time to not miss any more of it.
But his fingers weren’t fast enough.
And the next frame came with the audio of a baby crying.
Two babies. One swaddled in blue and the other in pink. Their names on knitted hats he already knew Suguru’s mom must’ve made, a strangled sob escaping him before he even realized he was crying.
The twins. His twins.
Sleepily yawning and opening their eyes just a peek, enough for him to see his son had the misfortune of inheriting his looks while his daughter came out like a miniature you. Someone else was recording you in the hospital bed, but you were talking to the camera like it was him, face soft as you giggled that he would probably bawling harder than the babies when he realized he missed this.
Suguru’s mom laughed behind the camera.
He was.
Tears falling freely as the videos just kept playing. One after another.
His children were growing up without him.
From tiny and fragile bundles to bumbling toddlers to fuck, full-sized little kids.
In what? Fifty minutes?
Five entire years of their life, condensed down to a handful of clips. The first steps he missed, the birthdays and holidays and father’s day he’d never get back.
They didn’t even look at the camera half the time. Too busy playing and giggling and laughing while you did your best not to cry in front of them. They didn’t know him.
Their father was barely more than a fucking video camera being pointed at them.
And you, god, his pretty, perfect you.
Still sending him these even when you had to think he was fucking dead.
Dark circles under your eyes and a hollowness to your face that only got worse over the years. Exhaustion in your expressions as you spoke to him like you didn’t think he was listening.
You mostly updated them on the kids' life. Skimmed over the details of a job you obviously didn’t like. Told him how Suguru’s mom had basically become their grandma. Sometimes Artemis would be on your lap, squinting at a book or playing with a toy while you talked.
His girls a wormhole away.
Gojo wanted to scream. Shout at the world to stop fucking spinning for a while so he could make it back to you.
But five years turned into six, and six turned into seven, and he watched in horror as it started to set in that he was losing you too.
What if it was too late?
What if you moved on? What if your life had no room left in it for him by the time he made it back to Earth?
The twins were already in school and playing sports and clearly didn’t miss the man they’d never met.
Would you stop missing him too?
He didn’t know how many videos he watched. Guessing the time jump between each one based on how much the twins had grown in the background.
You looked more mature now too. More put together, hair styled differently, no longer bare-faced when you turned the camera on, in a different room that obviously belonged to a house that wasn’t his home.
Toys weren’t scattered around everywhere in the background anymore. But sometimes the twins would run through with one of their friends, some pink-haired kid that seemed to come over often judging by the way you barely blinked when they passed behind you.
Gojo felt like a stranger.
Some creep looking in the window of a happy family and thinking it should be his.
“Mom,” Apollo whined, trying to tug on your sleeve as his shaggy white hair hung around his shoulders, attempting to drag you away while you were in mid-sentence. “Me and Cho made a cake. Come try it.”
“Sure, honey,” you softly said, cringing a little before glancing back at the camera apologetically before signing off.
Was Cho one of his friends? One of yours?
He didn’t actually want an answer.
But the next video seemed to clue him in on one anyway.
You were wearing a shirt that was too big for you. The collar of it stretched out, your hair mused and down as you softly spoke, like you were trying not to wake someone up.
It wasn’t Gojo’s shirt.
An awful feeling settled in his bones. One that etched deeper with every little off detail he noticed.
A pair of men’s shoes in the background. A watch left on your desk, barely in frame. The Cho the twins occasionally chattered about affectionately.
Who apparently was taking them to soccer games and science museums like he should be doing right now if he heard them correctly.
Gojo didn’t want to believe that you were dating again. Even if he knew that it would be the normal thing to do.
Completely reasonable for you to move on after not hearing a word from him in nearly a decade.
But the idea of you loving another man, letting him into your life, letting him take his space-
He puked.
Head between his knees as he got sick on the floor, throwing up a mixture of salt water he swallowed earlier and the freeze dried breakfast he had this morning. Funny, wasn’t it? He’d lost over ten years with you and his best friends in just a day.
An hour on that horrible planet had cost him a decade.
Body wracking with shudders as he coughed and spit, wiping the back of his mouth just in time to look up at you while those pretty lips of yours pressed in a thin line. Sadness shining in your eyes, frustration and disappointment you rarely let show evident in your trembling frame.
“It’s hard to keep hoping for you,” you admitted, reaching out to shut off the camera, and he desperately wanted to scream for you to not give up, to just fucking wait.
But then the computer chimed in that there was one video left the second the screen went black after you ended it.
His hand reached out, desperate to touch you, desperate to stop you, but your world was spinning faster than his was.
And your face was back on screen, something inside him wilting and withering at the realization that another year had probably passed for you, maybe even two, more that he would never be able to get back.
A few more faint lines were etched by your eyes, subtle creases left as a sign of all the time he missed with you. But you looked healthier. Happier.
His beautiful girl sitting there and smiling at him instead of screaming like you should’ve been. Cursing his name for not coming home sooner, scolding him for being a piece of shit that should’ve stayed on Earth.
“Hi, Satoru,” you spoke softly, fiddling with your hands. “Been a while since I’ve made one of these.”
He was terrified to know how long.
“The twins are good. They’re gonna be ten next month,” you continued, not looking directly at the camera as you talked. “They’re both smart, like you. Apollo’s been more into soccer than school these days though.”
He wanted to see him. See both of them.
Hold them too, know his children outside of the information you would tell some distant relative, even if that was all he felt like right now.
“Artemis wants to be a scientist when she grows up. She sits on the sidelines of his games with her nose buried in books,” you told him, a little smile reflexively curling up on your lips just from talking about them. “I wish you could see them. Wish you were here.”
His chest hurt.
Gojo didn’t know he stopped breathing until his body forced him to suck in a breath, lungs screaming for air as he stared at the woman he was supposed to marry.
This wasn’t how it was supposed to happen.
The mission should’ve been routine. Simple.
Suguru should be setting up the navigation. He should be begrudgingly agreeing to being his best man and coming to the courthouse to witness the rushed ceremony.
“Sometimes,” you started, swallowing hard as your gorgeous eyes welled up with tears that threatened to spill out. “I dream of you. Us. Back in our old apartment in the creaky bed and the broken window. I wake up thinking I’m still there.”
The hard lump lodged in his throat was threatening to choke him entirely, the taste of bile still on his tongue as his nails digging crescent moons into his palms as he watched your mouth quiver.
“The government declared you dead a few years ago. One of your old colleagues came by one day, said that no one really knew for sure what happened, just that you missed the supply drop. Used a bunch of big words like I was too stupid to understand that the bottom line was that you weren’t coming home. Tried to make me feel better about it too,” you bitterly scoffed at the memory, resting your chin on your knees as you exhaled. On the brink of crumbling just recalling it, “Told me that you might’ve settled on a colony on a different planet or got stuck in some fucked-up time dilation. That you might still be alive out there somewhere.”
If his throat wasn’t already raw, he would’ve screamed at the screen that he was.
Wanted to beg you not to fucking believe whatever bullshit everyone else was feeding you and believe in him.
“You don’t feel dead,” you added. Sniffling a little, using the back of your hand to rub underneath your eyes. “Maybe it’d be easier to move on if you did.”
Even his relief was tainted by guilt, ruined with his own worry that he was ruining your future by wishing you’d be stuck on him forever.
“My therapist thinks I’m wasting my life waiting on someone who’s never coming back,” you murmured, speaking to him more like you were talking to your diary than truly believing he was going to hear any of it. “But how am I supposed to tell her I’m scared that some day you will, and I won’t be here?”
Everything hurt.
His body, his heart, his soul.
Aching for everything he’d lost. Everything you lost because of him. His own kids growing up without a fucking father because he was an idiot who put a career before his family.
The life he’d spent years carefully building towards lost because he miscalculated.
“I know it’s not fair, but fuck, thinking about you moving on with another girl, or fucking starting some colony up in space and having kids with someone else, makes me wanna throw up,” you admitted, clueless that he had just puked at the idea of someone else being the stepfather to his twins.
You hadn’t even confirmed-
“I’m being a hypocrite,” you muttered, burying your face in your hands to hide the fact you were crying — and that’s when it hit him.
The engagement ring on your finger wasn’t his.
Smaller. More subtle. A different cut and style.
No. You couldn’t-
“I’ve, um, been dating a guy for a few years. He’s sweet. Everyone loves to tell me how much you would’ve liked him,” you admitted, twisting the ring around your finger anxiously like you were confessing a sin. He didn’t like him. Already hated whatever bastard had snuck in and swept you off your feet. “They keep saying that you’d want me to move on.”
What a load of fucking shit.
The last goddamn thing he wanted was for you to move on. The idea of you marrying another man was enough for him to gag again, bile rising from his stomach as he struggled to stop it.
“I still love you,” you shrugged a little, guilt of your own etched in your face as his eyes stung with more tears. “I just love him too.”
Gojo would take getting stabbed over hearing those words from your lips again.
“Choso said maybe it’d make me feel better to make another video for you, y’know, get everything off my chest,” you exhaled. “I’m just so tired, Satoru.”
Okay, well, that kind of felt like being stabbed.
Knowing that this was all his fault and you were the one bearing so much of the burden.
“I know you’re probably never going to see this, but you’d want me to be happy, wouldn’t you?” You asked, eyes big and wavering as you struggled not to sob, reaching up to play with the silver chain of your necklace tucked under your shirt. “Would you hate me for choosing someone who cares about me and our kids?”
He could never hate you.
Even if you married ten other men while he was gone.
He would just always hate the man who got to call you their wife. Jealous of whichever one got to take family photos with you and take you on vacation and sleep next to you every night.
Gojo wanted to be that guy. Wanted to get down on his knees next to you now and dry your cheeks, kiss your mouth and murmur anything you wanted to hear just to make you feel better.
“I’m getting married in four months,” you murmured, wiping the tears away from underneath your eyes, mascara smearing on the back of your hand as you sniffled. “At that chapel we picked out. The one with the pretty hydrangeas out front.”
No no no.
He could still make it.
Couldn’t he?
If they skipped the supply drop entirely and went straight back through the wormhole?
Hadn’t he lost enough?
Gojo refused to let you slip through his fingers a second time. No matter how fast the hourglass was running out of sand.
You stood up, walking out of frame for a few seconds as he heard the sound of something unzipping. And then you came back, holding out something white and-
A wedding dress.
“You never got to see me in one, so I thought-” You didn’t finish your sentence, just swallowing hard as you draped it back down on furniture just out of sight.
The camera barely focused on your body as you peeled your clothes off, his breath hitching at the intimate sight of you slipping the dress on, struggling to zip the back by yourself before walking closer.
You looked like an angel.
And Gojo sorta wished he was dead.
Stuck in the stunned shell of his body as he watched the way the dress clung to your chest and flowed to the ground, his heart thrumming loud enough he was sure it was about to break through his ribcage.
And then a noise in the background startled you.
The thud of a door shutting. The excited clamoring of children, a girl giggling as a man said something he couldn’t quite make out.
Your face scrunched up, a million different emotions flashing across it as you both heard it at the same time. “We’re back, baby.”
Another man was calling you baby.
Footsteps echoing down a hallway he’d never gotten to walk down, your own body rushing over to block the door before it could open.
“I’m trying my wedding dress on, Cho,” you called out, lips pressing together in a pretty pout. “It’s bad luck if you see.”
“Yeah? We brought back your favorite takeout, want me to put it in the fridge or-” he started asking, his voice deep, gravelly.
“You can leave it out,” you replied, your voice softening as you spoke to him. “I’ll be out in a minute.”
You glanced back at the camera, guilt returning the second your stare hovered over at it.
And before Gojo could even really appreciate what a beautiful bride you made, you were rushing to get out of it, biting your lips before stuffing it back into a garment bag, putting your clothes back and returning to your seat.
“I’m sorry,” you said, fingers trembling as your hand reflexively reached for your necklace again. “I wish things were different.”
It could be.
It would be.
Even if a little voice in the back of his head suggested that you might not leave your current fiancé for him if he made it back in time.
That you might choose the man that had actually been there for you all this time.
Behind you, there was a knock on the door.
“Can I come in now?”
No.
This was supposed to be private, a one-sided conversation that was for his ears only, but you were glancing back over your shoulder.
“Yeah,” you quietly answered.
Gojo almost wished your fiancé was ugly. That it would make it easy for you to pick him instead.
But of course, he had to be annoyingly attractive, dark hair hanging around his shoulders and bangs that reminded him of the best friend he just damned as he casually walked over to you, concern etched into his sharp face as he leaned in to press a kiss on the top of your forehead.
“Everything okay?” He asked, but then his eyes shifted and he noticed what you were filming. “Oh, baby.”
The sound of someone who knew you were hurting. Who cared.
“I’m okay, really, I’m just saying goodbye,” you murmured, like they both couldn’t tell how close you were to breaking down.
“I’ll give you a few minutes,” he spoke gently, his touch lingering on your skin like it really was his now. “Apollo and Yuji want to go spend the night with one of their friends.”
Gojo wanted to strangle him.
Fly through the space and stars just to give him a black eye for just how casually he spoke about his son.
Although some sliver of him was well fucking aware that Choso had probably been more of a dad to Apollo than he’d ever gotten to be.
“That’s fine,” you shrugged, nodding a little as your body relaxed, tension lifting from your shoulders the longer you looked at him.
Gojo hated that he could see that you really did love him in your eyes.
See that familiar glimmer shining in them as you looked up at a stranger instead of him.
Choso left the room, but his presence didn’t.
You stared at the door for a few moments after it shut, but you didn’t say whatever you were thinking. Kept it bottled up before you eventually looked back at Satoru.
Not that you could even see him.
You thought you were talking to a ghost.
That’s all he’d become to you. To his children. A phantom haunting rooms he’d never entered. Lingering in empty spaces he should’ve been. A spectre living in the shadows of your heads.
“I miss you,” you murmured, reaching for the button one last time to shut it off. “I don’t think that will change. But I can’t keep believing you’re coming home.”
No. Please no.
He was.
“I love you, Satoru,” you half-whispered, choking the words out. “Goodbye.”
The screen went dark.
His reflection staring back at him. Cheeks wet with tears that wouldn’t stop, breaking down as he fell apart, nausea swirling as he forced himself to stand and step around where he’d thrown up, pacing the floor as his brain struggled to work through a problem he didn’t know how to solve.
He went back to the console, frowning when he tried to start recording to send a message back out to you, to beg you to just give him a little more time, but nothing happened.
Body and brain barely working together to frantically tap buttons, staring at what data was available to see if he could find when the transmission was received.
A faint flicker of hope stirring when he realized it had only been two days ago.
You weren’t married yet.
Maybe there was time.
And even if there wasn’t, he’d do his damndest to get there and wreck your marriage if it meant winning you back.
He was a wreck, stumbling out of the room to rush to find Shoko, nearly tripping on his own feet as he found her by the controls, her neat brunette brows scrunching together in disgust when she saw the state he was in.
“What the hell-”
Gojo wasn’t sure he was even speaking in full sentences when he started rambling about time dilation, about how they already missed a goddamn decade, her mouth curling down into a tight frown as he got into the details of how they needed to go home now.
“We don’t have the fuel,” she deadpanned, drawing his attention to the data on screen. “We can make it to our supply drop, but unless they have some there, we’ll probably be stuck on their settlement until another crew comes along.”
That wasn’t a fucking option.
They had to make it.
But even when he spent the next forty-eight hours crunching the numbers and calculating different ways to return, he still came to the same conclusion – Shoko was right.
And still said ‘I told you so’ when he said fine to going to the planet for the supply drop, figuring that at least if the load was lighter, he might be able to make what they had left stretch.
He was barely showering.
Barely eating.
Manic energy getting him through the long days and longer nights to avoid the dreams that would only mock him for all his failures.
They were just filled with your face, with Suguru’s, of children that called another man dad.
Filling his notebooks with different calculations he was desperate to get right this time.
Skin crawling with the fear that he’d fuck this up and lose you forever.
He didn’t get to mourn Suguru. Couldn’t mourn the years he missed.
Not if he didn’t want to miss the rest of them.
By the time they made it to the next planet, he was a wreck. Practically shoved in the shower by Shoko to get cleaned up before they landed, feeling ill when he was forced to get his suit back on, praying to whatever higher power might be out there to let there be fuel. Let him go home to his family.
This planet wasn’t full of water. Wasn’t one big ocean.
Landing in a lush green field, not far from real buildings, actual structures erected, fellow scientists rushing out to greet them as Shoko worked fast to unload the supplies with their help.
Gojo knew he probably sounded like a lunatic rushing to get his request for fuel out as soon as possible, counting the seconds in his head as he hoped that they weren’t months passing for you back home.
“I need to get back to my fiancée, my kids, please," he begged, pleading without caring how pathetic it came out when everyone here had given up their lives on Earth in the name of science and research.
“I’m sorry,” their de facto leader apologized, an astronaut he once grew up looking up to frowning at him as he glanced around at their simple setup to search for anything that could help him. “We don’t have any. There’s going to be another supply drop in a month, more people coming to live here. You could probably go back with them if-”
“No,” he accidentally interrupted, the word ripped from the back of his chest as he recoiled.
It couldn’t end like this.
He’d be too late if he stayed.
“Satoru,” Shoko hissed, pulling him back as his breathing got ragged, on the verge of a panic attack.
“Shoko, they don’t-”
“I know,” she cut him off, swallowing hard as she fixed him with her steady stare. “Look, I’ll stay here. You take the lander back. Without me and all this stuff, the fuel should last.”
“You want me to leave you?” He asked, automatically shaking his head no at the absurd suggestion.
“I don’t have anyone waiting for me back on Earth anyway,” she shrugged.
He didn’t have the seconds to debate it.
“Are you sure?” He asked, his chest already aching at the idea of being alone on the ship.
“Go get your wife back,” she huffed. “Name one of your next kids after me.”
“Deal,” he breathed, throwing her arms around her in a rushed hug before he had to sprint back to the lander.
Both his best friends left behind on planets he knew he’d never get back to.
And still, he wasn’t sure if he’d even be able to make it back to the one they came from.
He wasn’t even meant to be the navigator.
Wasn’t supposed to be the one frantically typing in coordinates and rushing through checklists to get back home.
Struggling and squinting at the consoles, breathing heavy when everything was inputted, running the numbers again and again.
He should make it.
Although, his current path put him at landing in some random field in the middle of nowhere, NASA would probably be rushing to get there once they realized it was one of their landers.
If only he could send out a fucking transmission.
He tried to figure out why it wouldn’t work, fiddling with it almost every day in failed attempts to fix it and rewatching your videos when his energy threatened to run out.
Gojo hadn’t cut his hair in months. That was something Suguru usually helped him with. It was nearly touching his shoulders, looking like a stranger in his reflection in the fogged-up mirror on the occasions he’d make himself shower and scrub his skin until it was practically red.
But maybe you liked men with longer hair now. Wouldn’t mind the fact that he changed too.
When he slept, he made it to the chapel just in time, rushing through the double doors right when the officiant asked if anyone objected.
He would whisk you away, dip you down and kiss you, fingers sinking into the silk of your wedding dress as he begged you to still be his.
Some part of him felt like it was all light years away.
Up until Earth was outside his window, his heart thrumming at the thought of you down there, sharing a bed with someone else while he was fighting so hard to come back to you. Did he fuck you as good?
Make sure you finished every single time? Dot your face with kisses and carry you into the bathroom? Make all your favorite foods and worship the ground you walked on every day?
Gojo didn’t know if he’d be able to handle knowing.
But fuck, if it meant he’d still get to have you, he’d share you with that asshole.
Gojo still couldn’t send a transmission, had no way of actually notifying anyone when he got in the lander, flipping switches and changing settings as he got behind the controls.
Shutting his eyes for a few seconds as he set the coordinates, palms sweating as he clutched the controls. If his math was right, today would be the day you were supposed to be standing at the altar.
He could do this.
Failing wasn’t an option.
Not after everything that had brought him here.
“I’m coming home, sweetheart,” he murmured, a little aware that he had probably lost it if he was talking to himself up here.
But he hoped you could feel him.
That even if you were wearing your wedding dress right now, you would be able to sense him somehow. Clinging to the hope that yours hadn’t completely faded yet.
The landing fucking sucked.
Hitting the ground too hard, his head snapping forward fast enough he was pretty sure he had a concussion or whiplash, body bracing for the impact as it skidded to a stop in a corn field an hour from that chapel he just toured with you last year. Even if it’d been more like twelve to you.
It still didn’t stop him from rushing to get out, nearly kissing the ground as he stumbled out. Sucking in the fresh air as he glanced around, his legs trembling as he forced himself to keep moving, well aware he definitely looked like shit even if he tried to clean himself up before his, ah, crash landing.
“Are you okay? What the fuck is-”
Gojo grimaced as he glanced up to find someone who pulled over on the side of the road, a stranger squinting at him and the wrecked lander in disbelief.
“Uh, could you give me a ride?”
Maybe the universe had decided to cut him some slack. Give him a helping hand as he sat in the passenger seat of a beat-up truck, rubbing the exhaustion from his eyes as he noticed the new phone in the cupholder.
“Do, uh, you mind if I make a couple calls?” He asked, the distant sound of sirens echoing as they put mile after mile away from the lander – and inched closer and closer to you.
“Sure,” his new friend shrugged, using his face to unlock his phone at the next stoplight and passing it over.
Gojo still had your number memorized.
Even if you didn’t pick up the phone for him.
No voicemail box set up either, just the generic ‘please leave a message at the beep’ he didn’t have it in him to oblige. He hurried to dial one of his old contacts from NASA he remembered, not sure if Ijichi would pick up either.
But they did.
“Hello?” Ijichi croaked, almost sounding like he just woke up, or maybe was sick.
“Hey, it’s, uh, me,” he said, tapping his fingers on the side of the window. “I sorta crash landed. You guys are gonna want to send someone out to take care of clean up.”
“Satoru?”
“Yeah, it’s, um, been a bit, hasn’t it?” He awkwardly chuckled, rambling off the coordinates twice, sure that Ijichi was scrambling to get them down before he exhaled. “Look, I’ve got a wedding to crash. I’ll check in later.”
Gojo hung up before he could get caught up in any more stupid space bullshit.
He was finished.
Ready to spend the rest of his years devoted solely to you and his twins.
Would you be happy to see him?
Let him pick you up and press kiss after kiss to your mouth and promise that you missed him?
He’d spent so long daydreaming about it that he didn’t really know what to do when the truck pulled into the very much empty parking lot of the chapel.
Was he too early?
Too late?
Walking up to the double doors and pulling them open to find barren pews illuminated by stained glass windows. He walked around like an idiot, something pricking at the back of his brain that he wouldn’t listen to as he looked outside at the cemetery next to it.
He didn’t have a real reason for going back out there.
Just some invisible string tugging him there as he held his breath, searching for proof in the last place he wanted to find it.
And there it was.
Sitting underneath a willow tree waiting for him.
He stared at the gravestone. Your name etched into the stone – with another man’s last name attached to it.
His knees gave out. Collapsed underneath him as a broken sob racked through his body, hitting the hard ground as his body surrendered to the pain. Fat tears rolling down his cheeks, sucking in shallow breaths as he cried for the life you had.
The one he hadn’t been there to give you.
You couldn’t be-
Someone tapped on his back.
He turned fast, shaking as his eyes landed on your face. His pretty girl, probably a good twenty years older than him, aged like a fine wine as your mouth fell open in a surprised gasp. He reached out, fingers trembling as he nearly touched your cheek from his position on the ground, but you froze.
“Dad?”
It wasn’t you.
Artemis tried helping him up, tears springing up in her eyes as she immediately hugged him, his brain fractured as he realized that his daughter was here. His daughter was older than him. How much time had passed? How fucking off was he?
“Oh my god, it’s actually you, when I got the call, I didn’t think-”
“Artemis?” He breathed her name, wishing he’d gotten the opportunity to say it to her a million more times. “You’re-”
“Holy shit, I have to call everyone,” she grinned, her smile hurting his chest when it looked so much like yours. “Apollo isn’t gonna believe it. You know, you’re already, like, a great grandpa thanks to him, by the way.”
Every word was a fresh punch to the gut.
A great grandfather.
He never even got to be a father.
Missed his kids growing up, getting married, having kids of their own, and even them having kids.
“How long has it been?” He asked, his voice raw, broken chords of disbelief as Artemis' face twisted up, looking behind him as it struck her that he hadn’t known any of it.
“Since you left?” She awkwardly spoke, tilting her head as she scratched the back of her neck. There was a wedding band on her finger. Did your husband walk her down the aisle? “Um, about fifty years?”
Four months had been forty years.
Gojo couldn’t stop himself from crying again, wiping away his cheeks faster, ashamed of what he’d done.
A fool masquerading as a man.
Artemis awkwardly wrapped an arm around him, trying to soothe him as she used her free hand to send texts like he couldn’t see through the tears.
Sobs wracking through him as the dam inside him broke, reduced to rubble as he fell apart. Painfully aware that he was only inches away from you, and still no closer at all.
He’d never hold you again. Never touch you again.
Wouldn’t get to see your smile or hear your laugh, feel the warmth of your affection.
His children wouldn’t need him.
For a while, his daughter just sat there with him. Let him cry until he managed to halfway collect himself, his eyes swollen and sore as he struggled to breathe, body aching and stomach starving despite how sick he felt every time he looked up and saw your grave.
“She passed away last year,” Artemis muttered. “She’d been sick for a while.”
God, he felt like he was going to die right now.
Figured it would hurt less than hearing about everything he missed.
“She talked about you a lot. Made you out to be a big hero,” his daughter smiled softly, obviously trying to make him feel better. You should’ve turned him into the bad guy. “I actually work at NASA. God, she was pretty pissed at me when she found out I even applied, but I promised that I wouldn’t go to space so, uh-”
It seemed like she inherited his ability to shove his foot in his mouth, her lips clamping shut as she realized that maybe this wasn’t the time.
“Apollo’s a teacher now,” she abruptly changed the subject, and he didn’t know what to say.
Just staring at her in shock, unable to form proper sentences when he thought he was coming home to a preteen – not a fully grown woman who looked so much like you it hurt to breathe. “Oh, there he is.”
He looked over to see his son was walking down the path with an old man, talking between each other with furrowed expressions.
Watched the shock register on their faces when they saw Gojo there.
He didn’t know what to say when they finally approached, the thick silence and tension simmering in the air as he stared at Apollo.
Strands of silver in his white hair, blue eyes burning with emotions he didn’t blame him for. Resentment. Reproach.
“You’re-”
“I’m sorry it took me so long,” he heard himself say, voice cracking painfully.
“Yeah,” his son huffed, arms folding across his broad chest. “Us too.”
“Apollo,” the older man next to him scolded, giving him a fatherly look that seemed so natural on his face before throwing Gojo a look that was almost like ‘kids, right?’ “It’s nice to finally meet you. I’m Choso.”
And despite the fact he had to be in his seventies now, Gojo still sort of wanted to hit him.
Rip the golden band off his finger and start a fight over the fact he’d gotten to spend decades with the love of his life.
“Was she happy?” He asked instead, hollowed out, no strength left in him to stand.
“She was,” Artemis softly confirmed, patting his shoulder like he was a child. And he wondered if she had kids too, or if even his son’s children were older than him now.
“She missed you,” Choso added, more mature than Gojo suspected he would ever be.
Because right now, he was filled with hate.
Anger and rage boiling and burning under the surface at the injustice of all of it. At everything he missed. Everything that should’ve been his that ended up in the hands of someone else because he was too stupid to hold onto you tight enough.
He hated Choso. Hated space. Hated the universe.
Mostly though, he hated himself.
“We should go get some food,” Artemis artfully pivoted away, trying to tug him upright. “You’re probably starving, right?”
Gojo thought he nodded, not that he was totally in tune with his body, dazed as he tried to sort through the thousand thoughts flooding through his mind.
Numbness creeping in now that he knew it had all been for nothing.
“Before I forget,” she murmured, taking off a necklace he hadn’t noticed her wearing. The thin silver chain weighed down by two rings dangling at the end. The engagement ring he once gave you – and a plain band of white-gold. “Mom always wore it. She told me she bought the band for you before you were supposed to come back and could never bring herself to put either of them away.”
She dropped it in his palm, his pulse pounding in his ears at the proof you never fully gave up on him. One last thread of you in his hands as he automatically unlocked the clasp and put it on himself, the weight of it sitting over his chest and tethering him back to reality.
To the two children he made with you standing in front of him now he was still lucky enough to meet.
Artemis interlocked her arm with her brother, laughing at something he said before immediately beginning to bicker about where to eat at, who to call next.
Giggling about their sister, his throat closing at the confirmation you had another baby after him. That you lived a full life he’d only get to see second-hand. Through photos and stories instead of in person.
Apollo grumbled something under his breath, throwing a glare back at Gojo, still protective over you after you passed. Artemis just elbowed her brother though, tossing the hair back over her other shoulder that reminded him of you.
And some depressing part of him wondered if that’s what you and him would’ve looked like together one day if he stayed.
He would never get to know.
His eyes drifted back to your grave. And then the one next to it.
His name etched next to yours. A plot you must have purchased for him back when you thought you’d never get his body back.
A loving fiancé and father.
Gojo was grateful he would at least get to be buried next to you one day.
summary: sukuna has loved you since you were in high school, and when he finally gets his chance with you, four years after graduation, he's the perfect boyfriend.
he treats you like you're worth more than the entire world, devoted solely to you, committed to keeping you healthy and happy in his arms for all eternity.
if only he wasn't killing people behind your back.
word count: 8.3k
content: 18+ mdni, smut, dub-con in the later chapters, dark content, rough sex, yandere sukuna, obsession, stalking, murder, blood, gore, manipulation, deception, unhealthy dynamics, jealousy, cheating (reader cheats on her bf with sukuna), sukuna is awful in this but he's good to reader exclusively, fic takes place in the early 2000s, more tags to be added on a chapter by chapter basis!
a/n: I've been sitting on the plan for this for a while and I'm so excited to get into it! Hope you enjoy!
masterlist | ao3 | next chapter (coming soon!)
During your final year of high school, your boyfriend died at a party.
They never caught the guy who did it - he was long gone by the time Ryu’s body was discovered, mutilated in the garage of the poor party host.
He’d been practically ripped apart, torn to pieces by someone with deeply malicious intent. There was no explanation for the act, no note, no leads. Just the assumption, that either your boyfriend was caught up with something nasty that he’d never thought to divulge or, there was someone immensely sick living in your little town.
It haunted you for a long time afterwards.
You’d been the one to discover him - you and one other party-goer. The vision of him, his guts strewn about the place, ribs pulled out one by one, was something that would never leave your mind. Even now, four years later, you’d still occasionally see the image when you closed your eyes.
An unshifting feeling of guilt had followed you ever since that night, deep sorrow for the acts that you’d committed. You could never quite forgive yourself for the fact that, instead of being at his side throughout that party, you’d been holed up in the bathroom, letting another man fuck you over the sink.
If you’d been faithful, maybe he’d still be alive.
There’d been plenty of effort on your part to bury that thought via various different methods. You’d gone off to university, where you’d partied, gotten insanely drunk and fucked your fair share of guys in an attempt to drown your sorrows through hedonism. When that only seemed to make things worse, you’d isolated yourself from your peers, turned to support groups and therapy, hoping that you could let the whole thing go.
And to be fair to the tenacity of your therapist, while your guilt hadn’t disappeared, it had shrivelled up considerably in that time.
Enough that your heart no longer palpitated whenever you were back in your hometown - a blessing, considering that it looked like you’d be staying there for the foreseeable future.
You’d tried to get a job out in the city, but with the dire state of the employment market, you found yourself coming up empty handed. You couldn’t afford to stay in the little apartment that you’d rented out throughout university, leaving you no choice but to return to your childhood home.
There, at least you could be employed and earn a little bit of money for your future. Your father owned a construction business, and with various expansion efforts taking place on the outskirts of town, his company had been growing in size significantly. It meant that he was keen to have someone manage the more admin heavy tasks that he was struggling to keep up with.
While it wasn’t your calling, it sounded like fairly easy work and it would keep your dad happy. Besides, there was a part of you that was excited to move back to your hometown. Most of the people you’d known from school were still around, either in a similar situation to you, or having never attempted to leave in the first place.
Considering that you’d never really clicked with anyone at university, bar one guy that you were currently engaged in some sort of situationship with, you were excited to be back with people that you’d known for years.
Perhaps that would dispel some of the loneliness you’d been feeling. After years of guilt and isolation, it was time to start moving on.
“Everything going okay, sweetie? Need anything?” Your dad popped his head around the door of the trailer that served as his office. You’d been rapping your fingers on the wooden desk, staring blankly at the computer before you, waiting patiently for excel to start up. The machine looked like it had been made in the 80s, and it certainly operated like it.
“I’ll be all good once this thing cooperates.” You responded with a smile.
“Be nice to it and it’ll be nice to you!” He chuckled, as if the ancient technology was sentient in any manner. You nodded along all the same, knowing that he was being genuine. He wasn’t the most tech literate man, and honestly believed that these things could smell your fear.
A ridiculous, but endearing quality of his.
“I showed you how to make an accident report, right?” He continued, expression turning a little more serious. “One of my guys has hurt his hand. Nothing serious but we gotta write it up - think you can handle that, sweetie?”
You shrugged. How hard could it really be? All you had to do was open up a word template and fill out the questions accordingly before filing it away - any seven year old with two IT lessons under their belt could figure it out.
“Sure. What was the accident?”
“I’ll just send him in to explain, he should really be off the clock for today anyway.” Your father gave you a thankful smile before heading back out the door. It swung shut with a heavy creak, and you fidgeted with a pen for a few moments, staring at the digital clock on the desk as you waited for the worker to arrive.
You hoped that they were a quick talker - it was already 4pm, and you were meant to clock out at 5. Ideally you didn’t want to be here any later than absolutely necessary.
The door creaked open once more, and you barely raised your head. You didn’t have much interest in your father’s employees, most of them were on the older side, and had been working for your dad since you were a little girl. There was a limited amount of good work in town, and your dad offered one of the few places where a man could find steady employment.
Naively, you’d assumed that it would be one of those men entering the office. A pleasant old guy who had worked here long enough to remember you coming along for ‘bring your daughter to work’ days.
Nothing could’ve prepared you for the deep, familiar voice that sent tingles crawling up your spine.
“Well, well. Isn’t this a nice surprise.”
You blinked a couple of times as you looked up, voice failing you at the sight of the man towering over your desk. He’d grown even taller since the last time you’d seen him, if that was even possible. His pink hair was a little longer, still pushed back from his forehead as it always was. More tattoos had appeared on his tanned skin, the ones lining his face just as striking as ever.
The soft, involuntary gasp that fell from your lips was a little embarrassing, especially considering the way that his grin widened at the sound, sharp canines on display. His red eyes were alight with that same intensity that had always burned within them, that alluring gaze that always felt like it was stripping you down to nothing.
“Should’ve told me you were back in town,” he said, eyes dragging slowly up your figure, as if assessing all manner of ways you’d changed in the years since he’d last seen you.
“I- I’ve only just got back, a few days ago.”
It wasn’t a lie, you really only had been there a couple of days. That wasn’t exactly the reason that you hadn’t reached out though. You’d been avoiding him ever since the murder four years ago, guilt curling in your stomach at the mere thought of him. He’d been the one with you in the bathroom at that party, hands gripping your hips, buried to the hilt inside you.
While your poor boyfriend bled out in the garage below, Sukuna had been whispering filthy things in your ear, holding you like you belonged to him.
It was a mistake that you could never take back - a moment of lust, of frustration with your boyfriend, clouding your judgement into a single, awful decision.
“You working here now?” He asked with a tilt of his head, pulling out the chair opposite the desk and sitting down. His tongue swiped across his lip for a moment, the silver of his piercing glinting in the golden light streaming through the window.
You could still recall the feeling of that little metal ball against your pussy, sobbing softly as he teased it against your clit, fingers digging hard into your thighs, holding you still for him. You hated to admit that for every night you’d spent picturing your ex-boyfriend’s lifeless body, there was a night spent replaying that evening with Sukuna.
How pathetic.
“Something like that, yeah.” Your tone was cautious, not sure what to make of all this. You hadn’t expected Sukuna to be working for your dad, had almost expected him to have gotten out of town by now. Despite appearances, he was a smart guy - it wasn’t like some construction job in a dead end town was all he was capable of.
“Guess we’ll be seeing a lot of each other then.”
The statement hung heavy in the air, his eyes fixed on yours. It felt like a test, to see if you’d squirm beneath his statement that almost certainly held double meaning. This was how he’d spoken to you back in high school, greeting you with teasing lines that would never fail to make your heart race, to further your attraction for him.
He knew exactly what he was doing.
Even now, your cheeks reddened ever so slightly, gaze dropping down to the desk in an attempt to escape the intensity of his eye contact.
“I guess so.”
You fell silent, not sure how to continue. It felt awkward, almost scary to be in his proximity again. There was still so much tension between the two of you, things left unsaid after that evening together. You’d slipped from his grip, lost in a sea of guilt, unwilling to face that night. The few times that Sukuna had reached out via text, you’d ghosted him.
He was a reminder of your sin, one that you wanted to wash away, no matter how much you ached for a repeat of how it felt to have his body pressed against yours.
It seemed like he was finding your reaction amusing, elation drawn across his handsome face. With the silence stretching on, he leant forward, planting his elbows on the desk. Your skin prickled as he drew closer, almost able to feel the warmth of his breath as he spoke. “So, aren’t you meant to be writing an injury report for me or something, sweetheart?”
Your mouth opened and then closed again, unsure as to whether you should object to the nickname. One one hand you were currently in some sort of relationship, even if it was a little fraught, and therefore shouldn’t abide by men calling you sweet names. On the other hand, you couldn’t deny the way that it built pressure in your gut, to hear the word drawled out in his deep voice.
“Oh, uh- yeah, one sec.”
You scrambled to pull up the report, goosebumps rising on your skin at the acute awareness of how closely he was watching you, a soft little smile curving his lips. The air in the room felt too close, charged by his presence. Trying your best to ignore it, you focussed on the document, filling in the parts that you already knew - the basic things like his name and date of birth.
It was only then that you turned back to him, heart stuttering at the sight of his smug expression. “What- what’s the nature of your injury?” You asked, after clearing your throat, reading the question word for word off the document.
Slowly, he turned his hand over, revealing his palm to you. You flinched back in surprise at the sight of a deep cut ravaging his tanned skin, blood still trickling from the open wound. He didn’t seem bothered by it, more amused by your shocked reaction.
“Fuck. my dad said it was nothing, that’s deep!”
Sukuna pursed his lips before shrugging. “There’s been worse. Some old dude’s arm got chopped off two weeks ago.”
“Still, we need to clean that up.” You urged, the tense atmosphere lightening a little now that you’d broken the initial barrier of awkwardness. Report forgotten for the moment, you rummaged around in the desk drawers until you found what you were looking for, pulling out a first aid kit.
He sat still, watching you eagerly as you looked through the kit, pulling out cleansing wipes and a roll of bandages. You didn’t hesitate to reach for his hand, his fingers warm beneath yours while you held him still. You made quick work of wiping up the blood, before wrapping a bandage firmly around his damaged palm.
You’d have to lecture your father later about taking better care of his employees. If you hadn’t been there what would’ve happened to Sukuna? Would he have just gone back to work as normal?
What happened to the guy who lost his arm?
“How did this even happen?” You asked, exasperated.
“Aw, you worried about me?” His palm was still outstretched on the table, even though you’d long since retracted your own hand.
“I’m worried about everyone working here if this kind of thing is normal.”
His grin didn’t waver, telling you that in his mind, it was the former. Regardless, he offered you the answer you’d been seeking. “Just some glass buried in the dirt, I didn’t see it before I was sticking my hand in there.”
Your gaze flicked back down to his hand, brow a little furrowed. You weren’t sure why he’d be doing that in the first place, and his hands were miraculously clean for someone who had been digging around in the mud, but you figured it was best not to pick him up on it. It wasn’t like you really understood the processes surrounding what went on around the worksite.
“You should be more careful.”
“When I’ve got a nice little angel in here ready to patch me up when things go wrong? Nah, I think I’ll be more reckless.” He sported a boyish grin, one that you were all too familiar with. It had been reflected in the mirror the last time you’d seen him, when he’d been all up in your guts.
You rolled your eyes, trying to hide the way his smile made your heart pound. It was wrong - you didn't deserve anything with Sukuna - that was your atonement for the cheating, for the betrayal of your boyfriend all those years ago.
Moving back to the computer, you typed out a quick description of the wound, followed by Sukuna’s short explanation of how it had happened. You then detailed the first aid that had been administered, before sending the document over to the printer to create two copies. Sukuna stayed silent through all of it, crimson eyes just watching as you headed over to collect the freshly printed reports.
You could feel the way that his eyes lingered on your ass as you walked, making little effort to hide his continuing desire for you. It was as though you hadn’t been gone for four years, like Sukuna had been keeping you in the front of his mind this whole time.
It was embarrassing how giddy the idea made you feel.
“Toji’s having a party at his place tonight, you should come,” Sukuna said.
Biting down on your lip, you hesitated. Partying had stopped being your scene a long time ago - after your first year at university you’d mostly just stayed holed up in your room. Parties came with too many reminders of what had happened to Ryu all those years ago, and you found that it was easier to avoid them altogether.
Besides, you weren’t sure that hanging around with Sukuna was the best course of action for you. Your history considered.
Sensing your hesitation, he continued. “It would be nice to catch up under better circumstances. Y’know, when I’m not bleeding out and all.” He held up his hand with a charming smile, and you couldn’t help but giggle.
“I think you’ll be fine,” you said. “I’m a great doctor.”
“You are.” He agreed. “I think a really great doctor would come and check up on their patient later, to make sure the wound hasn’t reopened.”
It was a smooth line, that had always been the way that he operated. You were well aware of what he was doing - wise to the gentle, enticing, flirting that was so characteristically him. But it would be wrong to give in, even if you wanted to. Anything between you and Sukuna would always be marred by that fateful night.
Besides, you had your situationship to consider - even if Kashimo wasn’t technically your boyfriend, he still deserved some level of respect.
The rejection, the lie about being busy, had been sitting on the tip of your tongue when the creaky door to the trailer opened. Your dad stepped in with a kind smile, glancing between the two of you. “Everything all good in here?”
“Y-yep!” You stuttered over your words, cursing yourself. You hadn’t wanted your dad to sense any tension between the two of you, but the way that you fumbled as you handed Sukuna his copy of the accident report had your dad frowning.
You weren’t generally a flustered girl, usually very calm and collected. The flush that decorated your cheeks paired with Sukuna’s amused gaze clearly had some cogs turning in his head.
“Oh, do you guys know each other? You must be around the same age.”
“We went to school together,” Sukuna said, easily. “It’s nice to see each other actually, we haven't had the chance in the last few years.”
You nodded along, hoping that Sukuna wouldn’t divulge any further information than that. Your dad certainly didn’t need to know the intimacy with which you’d known each other. In fact, you were rather confident that your dad would hate the idea of you bringing home a guy like Sukuna. He’d always been eager for you to find a nice man with a good job.
“I was just inviting her along to a party actually. Loads of people she knew from school will be around, I bet they’d love to see her.”
Sukuna smirked at you as he spoke, like he’d picked up on your hesitation and had known exactly how to counter your uncertainty. To an outsider it all looked so innocent, just an old friend looking to encourage you to reconnect. To your father, there would be no hidden intentions behind the invite, no history to consider.
“Oh isn’t that nice!” Your father exclaimed with a bright smile, taking Sukuna’s bait easily. “You should definitely go, sweetie.”
He’d been worried about your apparent isolation throughout most of your university years, and didn’t want you moping around in your room now that you were back in town. To him, this probably sounded like the perfect opportunity to reconnect.
And you supposed it probably was.
You just needed to make sure that you didn’t do something you’d regret.
—
Toji lived in a nice house in the suburbs.
It didn’t really surprise you since his family had always been wealthy. They ran some sort of agriculture related business and had made millions from it. All of the Zenin kids went on to work there, no need to worry about university or getting their foot in the door somewhere - Naobito would take care of them all.
It had been Naobito’s house that Ryu’s murder had taken place in all those years ago, during a party that Naoya had been throwing. Apparently they’d sold up after that, moving into a new place across town. Naobito had been very publicly enraged about how the murder had damaged the value of their old house - a place that, for all intents and purposes, had previously been a lovely place to live.
Toji’s house was smaller than either of the Zenin mansions were, but still larger than most houses in town. The sound of music was blaring from within, a handful of people hanging around on the lawn, smoking and chatting. You didn’t recognise any of them, but Toji was a few years older than you, so you wouldn’t be surprised if they were classmates from his own school year.
Taking a deep breath, you made your way up the fancy driveway and through the front door, trying not to think too much about the last time you’d attended a party just like this one. It wasn’t like the same thing would happen again, it was narcissistic to believe that the murder had anything to do with you in the first place.
Even if your guilt wanted you to believe it.
Inside, you discovered a scene that wasn’t too unlike the parties you’d attended in high school - although, there was a lot less hiding where drinking alcohol was concerned. Some terrible skater anthems were blasting, seemingly courtesy of Toji’s buddy Choso, who had a DJ rig set up in one corner. Everyone was dancing and mingling, and you felt a mild panic wash through your body at the overwhelming number of people.
Especially because most faces seemed unfamiliar to you.
The fear dissipated at the sound of a familiar voice, a gleeful shriek of your name followed by the weight of being tackled into a bearhug. “I can’t believe you’re actually back!” Your senses were overwhelmed by the smell of some rosy smelling perfume and the light blonde hair of your attacker falling in the way of your eyes.
Yuki felt like she was squeezing the life out of you, making up for years of limited contact with a single hug that had you gasping by the time she finally released you. “Hey,” you said with a smile, eyeing her up. She looked gorgeous in a halterneck burgundy dress, her hair flowing freely around her shoulders.
She’d been one of your best friends in high school. The two of you had always been joined at the hip, along with Shoko, who was currently catching up to Yuki, trying not to spill her drink as she hurried over to you. “Hey girl!!” She was much more careful with the hug that followed, only wrapping one arm around you, aware that her plastic cup was too full to take the risk of hugging you properly.
“Didn’t think we’d be seeing you until Saturday!” Yuki said with a smile.
She and Shoko were the two people that you’d actively told about your return to town. While you’d drifted apart over the last four years, all off at your respective universities, you’d still called them every now and then to catch up, keeping each other updated with important life matters with regular texts.
Yuki had moved back to town permanently after university. She’d landed one of those cushy corporate jobs that lets you work from home four days a week, in which your main job is responding to emails for an obscene amount of money. She could certainly afford to live in the city, but she and Choso had been dating for about a year now, and he had no interest in leaving town.
Shoko was still going through medical school, attending a university a mere ten miles from your little town. Her mother had been sick when she was first going through the application process, and had therefore opted to select a school nearby. It meant that she could live at home, be with her mom, and save a load of money in the process.
It would be nice to have your little group back together, and you’d all planned to go and get your nails done together on Saturday, treat yourselves to a nice girl’s day out. You were certainly long overdue one - there was so much that you needed to bring them up to speed on.
“Yeah, I thought you weren’t big on parties these days?” Shoko enquired.
“I’m not, but I figured it would be nice to pop along and see some familiar faces.”
You really hoped they didn’t ask you who had actually invited you to the party. They both knew what had happened with Sukuna four years ago. They were part of an elite, private group that was aware of the truth. That group consisted only of the two of them, and your therapist. And, you supposed, anyone Sukuna might have told.
In their eyes Sukuna was bad news - they believed he’d manipulated you into sleeping with him and cheating on Ryu when you were in an emotionally volatile state. They weren’t technically wrong, but it didn’t account for how badly you’d also wanted Sukuna, how little he’d actually had to try to get you bent over in that bathroom.
You’d fantasized about Sukuna long before that night.
Either way, like true friends, they never accepted that any of the blame lay with you, and piled everything on Sukuna - and partially on Ryu for the part that he played in the situation, since he’d cheated on you first. Although blaming the latter was harder to justify considering the depressing end that he’d met.
It was easiest to just blame Sukuna. And for that reason, they’d been on Sukuna watch for a long time, ensuring that the two of you wouldn’t cross paths, warning you not to respond to him when you’d tell them about texts he’d sent to your phone.
They’d definitely be angry if they knew you’d come here because of him.
“Let me get you a drink,” Shoko said, “I’m pretty good at cocktails, you used to like mojitos right? I can make you one.”
“Oh, it’s fine, I can-”
“No, no, you guys head out to the garden, I’ll do it!”
Shoko scuttled off in the direction of the kitchen, leaving her drink in your hands while she went to make you a fresh one. You stared after her, a little perplexed by her insistence since you weren’t sure she’d ever gone to get a drink for you at a party before. For one panicked moment you wondered if the two of them thought you needed babysitting for your first home town party in years.
Yuki caught your confusion before your theories could evolve any further. “Utahime is in the kitchen, Shoko is down bad for her. She’s just looking for an excuse to go back in there.”
“Oh right!” You giggled softly. Shoko generally kept things like crushes close to her chest, and was likely doing everything she could to deny having any feelings towards your former classmate, but Yuki had always been far too astute to have such secrets kept from her.
“Anyway, most of the people we know are out in the garden.” Yuki grabbed your hand and pulled you through the crowd of bodies in the direction of the patio doors at the back of the house. “No idea who most of the people at this party are though! I think they work for Toji or something.”
Making your way outside, you were greeted with a beautifully manicured garden, set up with a lovely firepit in the middle, surrounded by an array of benches, crates and camping chairs for people to sit on. You couldn’t picture Toji labouring away outside, so you could only imagine that he had a gardener to keep things in such pristine shape.
Yuki led you over to the firepit, waving at various people that you’d known from school, parading you around like a trophy. You supposed that your presence was a novelty, since you’d been absent from any such gathering for a long time.
As she brought you around to the far side of the pit, you caught the eye of Sukuna, sitting in between Toji and Gojo. His gaze locked onto you immediately, a small smirk playing on his lips as he gave you a nod, raising his beer ever so slightly in greeting. Yuki gave you no window to respond, her grip on your hand firm as she ushered you past the man.
She didn’t want you to acknowledge his presence.
Even as Gojo stopped you with a bright smile, gushing over how long it had been, Yuki inserted herself in front of Sukuna, effectively shutting down any chance at conversation, giving you a few minutes to fill in Gojo on the last few years of your life before interrupting and dragging you away, claiming that she “deserved more of your time than any stupid boy.”
The two of you eventually found a seat on a crate a little further around the circle to where Sukuna was situated, next to Mei and Manami, who both seemed thrilled to see you. They hadn’t been your closest friends by any stretch of the imagination, but they’d both been in lots of your classes, and had shown plenty of support when Ryu died.
As such, you found yourself getting caught up in conversation with them for a while, attention only waning when Yuki started gossiping to Mei about some guy that they worked with, your mind starting to tune out the conversation, eyes drifting in the direction that you knew they shouldn’t.
Sukuna was already staring at you when you looked over at him, red eyes lighting up in amusement at your lack of resistance to his presence. Unnerved by being caught, you were quick to glance away, reminding yourself that your current kind of boyfriend, kind of friends-with-benefits, probably wouldn’t approve of you looking at or thinking about Sukuna in the way that you did.
You’d made the mistake with Ryu, you wouldn’t make it with Kashimo.
In a bid to avoid Sukuna’s gaze, your eyes drifted over to his left, where Toji was spread out on a camping chair, lounging in it like it was a throne. He’d always been the type of person that commanded a heavy atmosphere, confident in himself despite all his failings. He and Sukuna had much in common on that front, though you’d always found Sukuna much more palatable.
There was an intelligence to Sukuna that you couldn’t really see in Toji. You were certain that he was street smart, but his conversations tended to hold little weight. If you weren’t interested in discussing gambling or sex, he wasn’t interested in you.
Sitting pretty on his lap was Takako Uro, twirling her vibrant pink hair and slapping his shoulder as she giggled at some joke. The sound might as well have been nails dragging down a chalkboard as far as you were concerned, for she was decidedly not your favourite person.
She and her best friend, Yorozu, hadn’t been all that nice to you during high school, deciding for some reason that you were a decent target of ridicule. You were aware that jealousy had a big part to play in that, since Yorozu had always been down bad for Sukuna, who would never care to spare her a glance but seemed to have all the time in the world for you.
It led to plenty of instances of bullying - spreading rumors about you, leaving nasty notes in your locker, hiding your normal clothes after gym. For the most part you ignored it, rose above it even. You had good friends, and you knew that Uro and Yorozu would never take it too far for fear of how Yuki would deal with them if you were to tell your friend about their actions.
That didn’t stop Yorozu from sleeping from Ryu though, bragging about how he’d had her over the desk in an empty classroom, while you were still dating him. She’d said it loud enough for you to hear, turning to grin at you as she smashed your first relationship to pieces. Revenge for garnering interest from a man who wanted nothing to do with her.
That incident was why you’d been so angry at Ryu that night that he’d died, why you’d been so pliable to Sukuna’s advances in a manner that you wouldn’t usually be.
You supposed that in a way, you got the better of Yorozu in the end. She might’ve fucked your boyfriend, but all it did was drive you into the arms of the true object of her affection. Not very clever of her really.
“Ugh, gross,” Yuki said, wrinkling her nose as she followed your gaze, just in time to catch Toji sticking his tongue down Uro’s throat. “Thought she’d be less insufferable without her other half but somehow she’s worse now.”
Your brows furrowed in confusion and you glanced up at her. “Without her other half?”
“Yorozu.”
You shot her a blank look that told her you understood who she’d meant, but lacked the context to understand Yorozu’s absence.
“Oh you don’t know?” Yuki asked, a little surprised, as if you were missing out on common knowledge. “She skipped town after high school. Ran away in the middle of the night, just left some dumb note for her parents about how she was gonna go be a star. No one’s heard from her since.”
“Oh.”
You weren’t sure what else to say, mainly because you were trying to stop a massive grin from creeping across your face.
“Uro was devastated, all this crying and screaming about how Yorozu wouldn’t just ditch her like that. Doesn’t seem all that surprising to me though,” she said with a shrug. “Yorozu’s always been a bitch.”
You laughed softly, trying not to look too overjoyed that you wouldn’t have to worry about running into her ever again. It was a little spiteful, but a big part of you hoped that she never managed to become a star. In your mind she’d ended up in some nasty crack den somewhere before she even made it halfway to Hollywood.
Although, considering how panicky most people in the town had been following Ryu’s death, you were surprised that a simple note had been a valid enough explanation. “Did her parents not search for her?”
“Nah, Uro kicked up a whole fuss reporting her as a missing person and the police got involved, but Yorozu’s parents basically shot it all down. Apparently, she’d spouted off about this plan non-stop, so they told Uro to just let it go. Police didn’t find any signs of foul play.”
You hummed, eyes flicking back over to Sukuna for a moment, breath knocked from your lungs at the intensity with which his red eyes were fixed on you, crimson irises glowing in the light of the fire. You wondered if he was relieved that Yorozu was gone - she’d always stuck to him like glue no matter how hard he pushed her away.
The ugly thought jumped into your mind that you’d actually be happy if Yorozu had met the same fate as Ryu. She wasn’t the worst person to be wiped from the world. Not that you’d ever say such a thing aloud.
Considering some of the things Sukuna had said to her, you wouldn’t be surprised if he felt the same.
“Anyway, good riddance. Things have been nicer without her around,” Yuki said easily, taking a long sip of her drink.
“Yeah.” Your response was absent-minded, thoughts already drifting back to Sukuna - transfixed by the way that his thighs were spread so easily on the bench that he occupied, tattooed biceps on display in that blank tank that clung to him so perfectly. You should really stop staring, stop inviting any opportunity for interaction, but your body had always been a traitor when it came to him.
You’d hoped that your friends would draw your attention back to them. Shoko and Utahime had joined you, sitting together on their own bench and giggling away at something that Mei had said. Surrounded by people, it was harder to get caught up in that magnetic pull that Sukuna seemed to command over you.
And yet, as there was a call to play Spin the Bottle inside, one that your friends all jumped at, you found yourself declining. You had a boyfriend - that was the excuse that you gave, claiming that he wouldn’t like you kissing some other guy, and you’d rather stay out here in the fresh air anyway.
They’d tried to convince you for a few minutes before conceding, leaving you sitting on the crate, drink in hand, left practically alone. Almost everyone that had been sitting around the fire had gone inside, leaving only a handful of people dotted around. Most of them were strangers to you.
Except for one.
He wasted no time sidling up to you, taking a seat next to you on your little crate without so much as asking if it was okay.
“Looking kinda lonely over here.” His voice was deep, sending a shiver down your spine. His hand came to rest on the crate behind you, no doubt under the guise of maintaining balance, but you could feel the slight brush of his skin against your back.
You shrugged as nonchalantly as you could, pretending your heart wasn’t racing. “I’m doing just fine.”
“Yeah? It's funny, the way you were looking at me made it seem like you wanted me to come over.”
You opened your mouth to bite back, to say that you wanted no such thing, but it would be a lie. You did want him to come over, you wanted him next to you, craved his attention. Even though you knew you shouldn’t, knew that anything with him would be built on bloodied foundations, it didn’t stop the desire.
If you were more religious, you might’ve considered Sukuna to be the devil himself - a manifestation of all your deepest temptations, built solely from sin. As such, you really shouldn’t keep giving into him.
And you were trying your best, really.
“You look good.” The compliment was easy, straightforward. It shouldn’t have made you flush as deeply as you did.
For a second, you almost forgot yourself, the response of so do you lingering on the tip of your tongue, only for you to force it back down your throat.
Instead, you did the responsible thing. “I- uh- have a boyfriend.”
The glimmer in his eyes dulled a little, smile faltering for such a miniscule second that you weren’t even sure it had happened at all. “A boyfriend?”
Boyfriend wasn’t really the right word, not from your side of things at least, but you were certain that if you referred to Kashimo as a situationship, Sukuna would disregard it as a whole. As far as he was concerned, if there was no actual relationship then you were fair game. In the case of Ryu, even that hadn’t stopped his advances.
Though he’d at least been more subtle, more careful, waiting for the perfect moment.
“Yeah, a boyfriend,” the words felt foreign in your mouth, too heavy, your heart unmoving for Kashimo in the way that it should be. Half of you even considered calling the whole thing quits and crawling onto Sukuna’s lap there and then.
But that wouldn’t be fair - not when Kashimo had been there for you unwaveringly. He was a good guy, the type of guy who’d take you out on cute little dates, supported you when your anxiety popped up from time to time, understood your trauma from Ryu’s death. He’d been patient around stuff like sex, taking things slow, always listening to whatever you wanted.
He was a good guy.
You knew that he wanted to be your boyfriend. You were the one standing in the way of any serious commitment. That had been the case with any man you’d met in the last four years, and you’d convinced yourself that it was a trauma response, that you were afraid of what had happened to Ryu happening to any other boyfriend you had.
In the depth of your soul you knew that wasn’t really the case.
The reality was, you compared every man that you met to Sukuna, and always found that they came up short. They didn’t ignite that fiery lust within your chest, didn’t fuck you like he did, didn’t make you feel giddy like he did.
“You sound enthralled by him.” Sukuna said, sarcasm heavy in his tone.
“I- it's steady.” The defence was pathetic and you both knew it.
It was steady, it was nice, safe. He was the type of guy who had a good job, who you could bring home to meet your parents without fear of what they might think.
Even if Sukuna did work for your dad, if you were to bring him home, you were certain your parents would hate it. They didn’t want you with someone like him, someone tough and volatile, someone who pushed you to cheat on your boyfriend.
They wanted you to be with someone like Kashimo. He was the exact type of guy that you should’ve wanted for yourself.
And yet there you were, right at Sukuna’s side, not quite shutting him down despite having plenty of reasons to.
“Sounds like he isn’t keeping you interested. I’m sure you wouldn’t run into that problem if you were with me,” Sukuna purred, a confident grin stretching across his handsome face.
Your eyes widened at how straightforward he was with his words, willing to lay out his intentions on the line. It was as though he’d spent a great deal of time considering what he’d missed out on all those years ago, and didn’t want to lose it again.
And you had to fight the impulse to nod your head and agree, because you were certain that you wouldn’t run into that problem if you were with him. But unfortunately that wasn’t all that dictated a relationship. And what kept you from Sukuna wasn’t really Kashimo - you were just using your current situationship as a convenient excuse.
“No.” You said with a shake of the head, turning him down despite the way your heart was hammering in your chest. “We killed someone, Sukuna. We don’t get to be together.”
He rolled his eyes, clearly displeased by your dramatic wording. “We didn’t kill anyone. Ryu would’ve died whether we were fucking in that bathroom or not. Trust me.”
It was probably true, you’d always known in your heart that it was probably true. Your therapist had made it abundantly clear to you that you should not be held responsible for his death. You’d already punished yourself plenty, that was what she’d said, at some point you had to forgive yourself.
And yet it felt impossible to fully push that feeling off your chest.
“I betrayed his trust. I don’t get to ride off into the sunset with the man I was cheating with while he’s laying six feet underground. That’s my punishment.”
Sukuna was staring at you like you were stupid, red eyes narrowed in disappointment. “Punishment from who? At this point you’re just punishing yourself, and me.” The hand he had positioned behind you moved, wrapping around your waist carefully. It was a test, to see if you’d push him away.
You didn’t.
“He was a piece of shit, he cheated on you, baby. Gonna live in regret because of a guy like that? Not sure why you were even dating him. You could’ve been with me the whole time.”
You nibbled on your lip, unhappy to hear such words coming from his mouth, trying to break down your walls. He said it like it had ever been that simple. You hadn’t understood the depth of Sukuna’s feelings before you’d gotten together with Ryu, and had assumed that all he’d really wanted was to play with you like he played with other girls.
What Ryu had shown you was something real, tangible. He’d been straight forward in his affection, asked you to be his girlfriend without any doubt surrounding where you stood with him. It wasn’t the confusion that you felt with Sukuna, never quite sure if you were the object of his affection or his prey.
“Maybe you should’ve learned how to use your words back then.”
He grinned at you. “I really think that would’ve taken away some of the fun.”
You rolled your eyes in disbelief. You certainly didn’t consider what had gone down between the two of you fun. You’d spent plenty of high school wondering, fantasising about Sukuna, wondering if his flirting was something legitimate. It had stressed you out to the point where your heart would go into overdrive whenever you’d see him, never quite sure where you stood.
When Ryu had asked you out, after experiencing nothing but vague flirting from Sukuna, you’d figured you’d take the opportunity. Everyone else you knew had done stuff with guys and you didn’t want to be left behind, didn’t want to be played with by a guy who wasn’t really interested.
Even having sex in the bathroom of that party wasn’t really fun, no matter how good it had felt. It was too corrupted by feelings of guilt for you to look back upon it fondly. Because even with your continuing lust for Sukuna, the emotion was never simple, always caught up with this big ball of insecurity and shame.
He was staring at you, pressing on when you offered no response, not even a hint of a smile at his comment. “I’m using my words now,” he said with a sigh. “I missed you, I want you. Is that straightforward enough for you?”
He leaned in closer to you, breath warm against your face. His arm tightened around your waist, and you could feel heat building between your thighs, memories of the feeling of his big hands gripping your hips all those years ago flooding your mind.
“We can go inside and I can show you just how much I missed you, make you forget about all of that Ryu shit - help you remember that before that fucker died, you were thinking about breaking up with him and dating me.”
That was true. You’d told him that the first time you’d fucked. Your fingers had been white with how tightly you were gripping the sink, breaths coming out in ragged gasps as you whined Sukuna’s name. Between thrusts you’d mumbled about how good he made you feel, how much bigger he was than Ryu, how you wished he was your boyfriend instead.
Of course, with the discovery that followed, your priorities had changed - you’d grown too disgusted with yourself to follow through on any of that, keeping yourself as far away from Sukuna as you could to stop yourself from facing how awful you were.
You still felt awful. But it was harder to shut him down when he was right next to you, his scent heavy in your nostrils. It was unfair how good he always smelt, how familiar. It had the power to draw you closer to him, eager to be wrapped in his scent.
He must’ve felt you lean into him ever so slightly, because he took it as permission, free hand moving to your chin and tilting it up ever so slightly. Your skin tingled under his fingers, eyes widening as you met his gaze.
“Such a pretty girl.”
He leaned in, and for a moment you let him, his lips grazing yours before you found the sense to push him away. You weren’t sure if it was your ongoing guilt from the situation with Ryu or if it was out of loyalty to Kashimo, but you knew that doing anything with Sukuna wasn’t right.
Not right now.
“I have a boyfriend.” You reminded him finally, shuffling away from his arm. His face fell at being thwarted by that line for the second time that night.
“Its not like that stopped you before.”
Your mouth opened in shock, staring at him in disbelief. Even if he was right, the audacity to state that so plainly made you feel sick. How could he not feel bad about what had transpired? Could he not see how guilt-ridden you were over that one mistake?
“That was the worst thing I’ve ever done,” you said, bitterly. “If I could go back and undo it, I would.”
You didn’t divulge the fact that you might’ve done some other things differently too - might’ve chosen Sukuna over your boyfriend in the first place, broken up with the guy when you first felt things getting stale. You’d strung him along because you were too scared to hurt his feelings, fucked Sukuna because you’d wanted him for months and couldn’t ignore you impulses any longer.
It wasn’t surprising that Ryu had fucked Yorozu when you’d been so distant with him ahead of the incident, your mind too fixed on someone else.
Because you were awful.
Every choice you’d chosen had been the wrong one, and you weren’t going to let history repeat itself. Any chance for love with Sukuna had been thoroughly fucked up by the events of that fateful night, it would always be corrupted by it.
If you chose him, you’d be living with your sin, affirming it to be correct. That just wasn’t possible.
“Yeah?” He asked with a purr, seemingly unphased. “Because you’re looking at me like you’d crumble and let me fuck you in the bathroom again if I so much as touched you.”
Your mouth opened to reject his words, to tell him that he was dead wrong. But that flutter of butterflies made itself known in your stomach and you knew that you were about thirty seconds of convincing away from folding.
It was pathetic, you were so pathetic.
You needed to leave.
“Fuck you,” you just about managed to hiss, the weight of your words completely lost. You both knew there was no spite behind it, both knew that he was right. He hadn’t gotten what he’d wanted in high school, hadn’t had the chance to pull you into his grip.
He wasn’t the type of man to fail twice.
It was just a matter of time.
a/n: hope you enjoyed this first chapter! this one is very much a set up for the juicy stuff that's coming, I can't wait to share the next few chapters with you all because sukuna is both needy and unhinged (and you'll be getting his pov next chapter!)
thank you for the support, comments and reblogs are appreciated as always! <3
summary: you and neteyam navigate distance and unspoken feelings as his responsibilities as future olo'eyktan grow. one quiet night in the forest, with a bit of teasing, and honest conversation, finally brings you together, proving your connection was always meant to be.
warnings: literally a dollop of angst lol, other wise super cute and fluffy. a tad bit spicy I suppose?
The forest was quiet except for the soft rustle of leaves and the hum of distant creatures. You’re perched on a low-hanging branch, sharpening the tip of your knife. As you run the fine-grained rock along the blade's edge with carefully forged precision, your mind wanders astray. When you had befriended the young warrior you were well aware of his destined path as future olo'eyktan, yet the innocence of your blossoming friendship could not have foretold the future challenges the title would hold. You couldn't be upset, not really. Never have you met a boy so gentle and kind.
The arrows he shoots are clean and merciful, crafted with the promise of being wielded by a mighty tsamsiyu. He is dutiful, following his fathers orders with a precision and care that you admire greatly. The love he holds for his family is evident, shining through whenever he burdens the blame for Lo'ak's youthful antics, or when he promises to help Tuk with finding materials for her crafts, despite not really having the time. He is what you could call the clans golden boy and his family's pride and joy, yet he does not wear the attention like a badge.
Maybe it was only inevitable that you would fall for him.
Each time his calloused yet gentle fingers graze yours as he quietly lifts a woven basket of fresh herbs from your hands, insisting on carrying it himself, butterflies bloom in your stomach. A soft violet warmth colours your cheeks when his touch lingers at the small of your back, guiding you carefully through the crowd, or when his features soften and golden eyes find yours across the firelight during a shared meal. The elders called you kindred spirits; you insisted he was far too good for you, yet you could never deny that you were cut from the same cloth, two halves of a single whole. Still, the suggestion makes your heart flutter.
So his confusion at your recent hesitance was understandable: a carefully planned retreat here, a practiced indifference there. Even you could admit you had grown distant. Yet as his responsibilities mounted, his absence cut deeper than you expected. Caught between his fleeting touches and a silence you had not yet learned to endure, it became impossible to quiet the relentless thoughts gnawing at your mind.
The snap of a twig pulls you from your trance. You glance up as Neteyam approaches, his face lit with a mix of curiosity and concern.
“You’ve been avoiding me,” he states simply, moving to settle beside you.
You give him a quick glance, eyes shying away with a soft huff before returning to your task at hand.
“I’m not avoiding you,” you whisper after a moment, the tension tightening the air between you. He raises a brow at that. You feel his eyes linger, cautious and searching, as though he is trying to unravel what has driven your behaviour these past few weeks. Neteyam turns his body towards you, shifting his weight, and studies you silently. You can practically feel the thoughts swirling through his brain as he processes your words.
After what feels like an eternity, he lets out a breath, the sound a mixture of frustration and resignation. "You think I wouldn't notice?" He asks, the tone of his voice gruff yet somehow tender.
You let his words settle into the silence, accompanied by the cooling breeze of the nearing eclipse. Because of course you knew he’d notice. He always did.
You notice his movements as he leans back against the tree, the muscles in his arms flexing lightly. He's quiet, watching you, reading your every move like an open book.
After a moment, he lets out a sigh, his golden eyes never leaving your face. "Why are you pulling away like this, huh? Talk to me, paskalin."
You sigh softly, mentally debating how to tell him that you really weren't avoiding him, that instead you were trying to reason with your feelings and his absence.
He notices your sigh, the way your shoulders slump slightly. It's clear something is on your mind but he remains quiet, letting you find the right words. His gaze never wavers from you however, his expression a mix of concern and anticipation. He's waiting for you to talk, to explain why the distance between you feels more like a chasm.
Slowly, you still the motion of your sharpening knife and set it carefully against the lush floor of the canopy. You will yourself to look at his worried expression, feeling a deep pang in your heart for causing his distress.
"Really 'Teyam, I haven't been avoiding you on purpose. I've just needed some time."
His expression softens at your words, the concern creasing his brow smoothing out slightly. He shifts a little closer, his eyes now studying your face intently. "Time? You've never needed time before," he points out gently, his voice low and soft. "Did I do something to upset you?"
He looks genuinely confused and hurt, the thought that he might have inadvertently done something to drive you away clearly troubling him. Your heart stirs.
"No, of course not Tey," you smile at him, tilting your head in adoration. He looks like a lost puppy without having you by his side. Cute, you think. "I guess it's just hard to explain. But you've been so busy with your Olo'eyktan training, when could you have possibly had the time to upset me?" you ponder with a light giggle, bringing your hand to delicately rest upon his bicep.
He visibly relaxes at the sound of your soft laugh, the corners of his mouth lifting into a faint smile. The simple touch of your hand against his arm is more than enough reassurance that you're not as upset as he feared.
"You have a point there," he concedes with a nod, the tension in his shoulders loosening. His fingers instinctively find yours, gently intertwining them before he continues.
"Then why the distance, yawne? Something's bothering you, I can tell."
You look at him with a small pout, unwilling to bare your affections to your long-time best friend. Still, you can’t ignore his quiet patience – or the warmth of his hand in yours, his thumb now brushing slow, reassuring circles over your knuckles.
"It's not that easy Tay," you frown.
He catches your frown and his brow furrows in response, his thumb still continuing its comforting motion over your knuckles. He squeezes your hand softly in reassurance as his gaze locks on yours.
"Try me. Maybe I can understand more than you think." His tone is gentle, almost pleading for you to share whatever burden you've been carrying. He can see the doubt in your eyes, the hesitation, and it's torture.
You giggle at his pushiness, finding it comically endearing. "Hmm, soon," you promise. "But I'm hungry, and I know you are too olo'eyktan-in-waiting," you tease the unofficial title, standing from your spot beneath the cloud pine tree while feebly pulling on his arm.
He rolls his eyes at your playful banter, a smirk tugging at his lips. "Oh, very witty," he remarks, his words dripping with sarcasm. He allows you to pull him to his feet, standing to his full height beside you with a bemused look on his face.
As you start walking back towards the village, he slings his arm around your shoulders, pulling you close against his side. "You think you're real cute, huh?" he teases, his voice holding a hint of affectionate annoyance. You blush at his remark, head bowing low; his arm perched casually on your shoulder sending a tingling sensation through your body.
⊹₊┈ㆍ┈ㆍ┈ㆍ✿ㆍ┈ㆍ┈ㆍ┈₊⊹
The sun has dipped below the horizon, casting the forest in a beautiful array of orange and purple as the evening slowly creeps closer. You and Kiri are currently engrossed in an animated conversation, deep into a topic that you don't quite remember how you arrived at.
As you talk, you catch sight of Neteyam in the distance, engaged in a game with his younger brother and a few of their friends. The warm light of the setting sun dances across his face, highlighting his sharp features and making him look regal and handsome.
"I thought it was really fascinating but- hey!" Kiri snaps her fingers breaking your trance "Are you listening to me?" She questions with a knowing smirk on her face.
"Yes, sorry! I'm just a bit... distracted" Your sentence trailing off as you peer over to him once more.
"Yeah, distracted for sure. That or you're ogling at my brother." She remarks, raising her eyebrow with feigned annoyance.
"Kiri!" You squeal, blushing shyly at the insinuation. Kiri laughs at your reaction, finding your embarrassed response quite amusing. She pokes your shoulder playfully, her tone slightly teasing.
"Oh come on, you make it so obvious." She grins, her eyes flickering over to her brother who's still immersed in his game with Lo'ak.
"I can see the way you look at him all the time. You've got it bad." She continues, her smirk widening as she enjoys your bashfulness.
“Is it really that bad?” you ask, nerves creeping into your voice as you suddenly become far too invested in the bowl of Kxan’epe resting in your hands. Kiri watches you for a moment, her smirk softening into a knowing smile. She leans in slightly, lowering her voice as if sharing a secret.
“Honestly? It’s kind of sweet,” she admits. “And between you and me… I think he looks at you the same way when he thinks no one’s watching.”
Your head snaps up, eyes wide with surprise – but before you can respond, Neteyam appears beside the fire, wiping sweat from his brow after the game. His golden gaze lands right on you, lingering just a second too long before he smirks and reaches for his food.
Dinner crackles with quiet tension – and unspoken feelings hanging thick in the air like smoke from the flames.
Kiri catches the exchange and gives you a sly wink before scooting away with a quiet laugh, leaving you very much on your own.
Neteyam settles down beside you, close enough that his thigh brushes yours. He grabs a piece of roasted teylu from the fire pit with practiced ease.
“You two look real cozy over here,” he says lowly, voice laced with playful suspicion as he eyes your flushed face. “What were you talking about so secretly?”
You swallow hard, suddenly hyper-aware of every point where your bodies touch.
“N-Nothing important,” you stammer slightly; bad move.
He turns his full attention to you now, one eyebrow arched in that infuriatingly attractive way. “Hmm. You only stutter like that when you’re lying… or nervous.” His voice drops an octave. “Which is it, yawne?”
A soft breeze rustles through the leaves above as everyone else laughs and sings around the fire; but in this moment, it feels like it’s just the two of you beneath a sky beginning to sparkle with stars.
And then… he leans in just slightly closer.
You force a shrug, lips tugging into a nervous smile as you mumble, “Just Kiri teasing me – she likes stirring trouble more than the stew.”
He freezes for half a heartbeat, just long enough for you to realize you’ve said it out loud.
Then that slow, dangerous smile spreads across his face; the kind that makes your stomach flip and your pulse jump. He turns fully toward you, one arm now draping over your shoulder like he owns it.
"Baby," he murmurs, voice velvet and warm as firelight, "you don't gotta whisper things like that to yourself."
Your breath catches.
His thumb strokes the edge of your jaw as his golden eyes lock onto yours. "Say it again."
You can't move. Can't speak. All you do is stare up at him, heart hammering under the weight of his gaze... and suddenly all the pretending feels stupid.
Kiri was right.
You've got it so bad.
And worse?
He knows.
Mustering the last of your courage, you hum softly, letting your gaze meet his through fluttering eyelashes. Okay, I'll bite, you think. "I said," you begin, your hand drifting up to rest lightly on the arm draped over your shoulder, "It's hard not to look when you look like that”
The smile on his face changes from something teasing into something almost... soft. Warm. Possessive. He shifts again and then... he's suddenly right against you, thigh brushing yours, his thumb still tracing gentle circles along your jawline.
"That right? You like me all sweaty and out of breath?" he purrs, a hint of self-satisfaction in his voice. "Like seeing me playing with the boys like that? Working up a sweat and showing off… does it make you feel all hot and bothered, baby?"
"Mhm" you nod, suddenly at a loss for words.
He lets out a low, satisfied hum, almost like a growl, deep in his chest. The sound alone makes your spine tingle.
“Then why’ve you been running?” he murmurs, lips close to your ear again. His breath is warm, sending shivers down your neck. “You think I haven’t noticed? Every time I get close… you flinch. You look away.”
His hand slides from your shoulder down to your waist, pulling you just a fraction closer, enough that you can feel the heat of him through the thin fabric of your clothes.
“You’re not the only one who feels it,” he whispers, voice rough now with something raw and real. “I lie awake at night thinking about how soft you are… how sweet you taste when I kiss ya in my dreams.”
Your breath hitches.
He whispers your name so tenderly this time it almost hurts "you don’t gotta hide from me."
A beat of silence.
Then.
“You want me?”
He doesn’t need an answer, he already knows. He waits anyway.
“Of course I want you- how could I not?” you admit softly. “It’s just been hard, with all the weight of your new responsibilities.”
"I never see you anymore" you frown.
His expression softens, the teasing falling away to a look of understanding. One corner of his mouth twitches up into a wry smile. "You think I like it any more?" he asks, fingers toying with the soft fabric at your waist. "Being the future olo'eyktan... It's been nonstop training. And don't even get me started on dad's expectations."
He lets out an exasperated sigh, frustration clear in his voice. "I'm lucky if I get a couple hours of sleep each night, and even then dad has me working again in the morning."
“And I appreciate that - truly. I can’t imagine how heavy that expectation must be,” you say, pausing before adding more quietly, “I only meant that I miss you.”
His whole body stills at your words.
Then, slowly, he turns to face you fully, his hand sliding from your waist to cradle your jaw, calloused thumb brushing over the curve of your cheekbone like he’s memorizing it.
“Miss me?” he murmurs, voice thick with emotion. “You think I don’t miss you, baby?” A low chuckle escapes him – warm but laced with pain. “I dream about you every night and wake up aching.”
He leans in until his forehead rests gently against yours, breath mingling in the small space between.
“You’re not just some girl I flirt with,” he whispers fiercely. “You’re my paskalin… my heart.” He pauses. "And I hate that duty keeps stealing me from you."
A beat.
Then, with a smirk tugging at his lips, “So maybe… we stop letting it.”
You close your eyes, heart fluttering at the weight of his words. “Yeah? You mean it?” you ask, voice laced with hope. His thumb drifts from your jaw to skim across your parted lips, his gaze locked onto the spot in a possessive way that makes your knees weak. He leans in closer still, closing what little distance was left.
"Oh Paskalin," he murmurs huskily, lips practically brushing yours now.
"I do."
The intensity in his eyes, the rough quality of his voice, it's overwhelming. The only thing keeping you from sinking into a puddle is his firm grip on your hip.
"You're mine," he says, low and possessive. "And I'm yours."
His words linger.
“Okay, can you two get a room? Ew.” Kiri’s voice cuts through the moment, making both of you jump apart, hands still brushing. Her tone of mock disgust doesn’t match the cunning smirk and mischievous twinkle in her eye as she flicks her gaze between you and Neteyam. Neteyam lets out a low curse, his grip on you tightening instinctively.
"Damn it, Kiri," he mutters, shooting a glare at his sister, his face dusted a light shade of purple. "Can't even get one moment without you interrupting."
He's clearly irked, but there's a hint of amusement in his voice too. He knows Kiri's been playing matchmaker for years.
Kiri simply laughs, her hands thrown up in mock surrender. "Hey, don't get mad at me for speaking the truth."
Neteyam shoots a final, half-hearted scowling stare at his sister before heaving a sigh of resignation. He's about to say something when Lo'ak saunters up, an amused grin plastered across his face.
"So... you guys finally pull your heads outta your asses?" he quips, glancing back and forth between you and Neteyam.
Kiri lets out a laugh, leaning against her brother with a knowing smirk. "About damn time, huh?"
Lo'ak chuckles heartily, his eyes dancing with amusement. "Damn straight. I was tired of Neteyam moaning every day about how he 'pined for his sweet berry,'" he mimics in a high-pitched voice.
Neteyam shoots him a scathing look, clearly mortified at the revelation that he actually was that obvious. "Oh, shut up Lo'ak. Like you'd know anything about relationships."
You giggle at the sight of the two brothers bickering, but beneath the amusement, a quiet thread of contempt stirs in your chest. You and Neteyam – this night, this near kiss – it really had always felt inevitable.
Neteyam turns back to you, his expression softening instantly. He takes your hand in his, lacing your fingers together.
"Yeah," he says simply, voice low and sure. "We were just gonna go get a room."
Kiri raises an eyebrow. "Oh really?"
"Mmhm," Neteyam smirks, standing and pulling you up with him, smooth as ever. "Gotta make up for lost time... baby."
You flush hard at the word, heart skipping, and before anyone can say another joke or tease, he leads you away from the firelight, toward the quiet path that winds through the trees.
Behind you, Lo'ak mutters, "Fucking finally."
And Kiri whispers with a grin, "Took them long enough."
But you don’t look back.
Because for the first time in weeks… maybe months… there’s no distance between you at all.
Just warmth.
And promise.
And him.
It's been so long! with the release of the new avatar movie and the influx of fics, i felt compelled to write a little something. hopefully I'll be sticking around a bit longer this time!
synopsis: after a few drinks at the gala, damian wayne is unusually clingy and needy, refusing to stop showering you with affection
a/n: i love this idea sm TUMBLR DIDN’T SAVE MY INITIAL DRAFT LUCKILY I WAS MOTIVATED otherwise i would’ve just deleted this app. please enjoy!!
damian wayne rarely attended his father’s galas. moreover, he rarely ever drank at them.
today, he had done both.
the moment damian had turned eighteen, a plethora of expectations had been thrust upon him in preparation of if he were to ever take upon the mantle of his father, bruce wayne.
thus, he was expected to ‘behave’ at tonight’s gala, forced to host alongside his father; especially ever since he had been ‘allowed’ to be in a relationship, (an affiliation bruce— ironic, isn’t it?— believes to occasionally be a distraction from one’s duties), there were certain roles he had to work extra hard to fulfil.
tonight, he was expected to socialise. his least favourite activity as his main duty.
but alas, damian always strived to prove his worth to his father, even if the means to do so often clashed with his own areas of interest, and so he was behaving.
he made sure his ironed tailored suit did not have a single crinkle. he begrudgingly engaged in fruitless conversations and nodded along to business endeavours he knew nothing about from adults he knew nothing about, with proposals going in one ear and straight out the other, regardless of how important they might’ve been. caring was bruce’s job. he was only to maintain appearance. he even trained his perpetually creased eyebrows into a faux display of amusement— slightly raised instead— for the entire night to disguise his signature scowl.
it had been exhausting: pretending to entertain the socialite life— pretending to respect entitled adults who were all hypocritically pretending to enjoy one another’s company. sure, damian himself was often entitled too, a quality he was working on improving, but at least he never pretended to regard others simply for ‘networking’. these people seemed to know nothing about the real streets of gotham.
damian had been trying to placate his point blank boredom by really attempting, at random times, to care, when truly, he just really despised each fragile counterfeit interaction; every pathetic comment neatly packaged in the ruse of ‘fraternisation’. instead, he continuously found himself returning to any one of his brothers sides to complain about his apathy. god, he needed to get out of here before he lost it, yet he knew that wasn’t possible.
but there was one thing keeping him sane.
you.
but bruce had not been lenient— you had a task too. if you were to be damian’s partner, you had to play your respective part, and in your own opinion.. you were smashing it.
charmingly wide toothy smile, managing the drinks being served, participating in conversations about topics you had spent the prior day studying so you could speak on them. you had been exceptional. on top of your mannerisms, you were glowing, your energy attracting all the right people and creating just the perfect ambiance of hospitality for the night.
damian is enamoured watching you in action. his eyes are sharp and glued to you when he gets a break from lousily intermingling, a drink seamlessly plucked from a butler with a tray. he brings the glass to his lips, the alcohol stinging the back of his throat, burning away the desire that blossoms at the sight of you. the elegance of your dress. the poise of your stature. the shine of your teeth when you grin at guests. the crinkle of your sparkling eyes. the curve of your shoulders. the dip of your waist.
the colour of your lipstick.
what does a guy have to do to get a kiss from you around here?
damian doesn’t even realise he’s downed the entire glass of alcohol until he plants it on the table. he doesn’t realise when he approaches other guests to converse that he’s picked up another glass, his eyes continually glancing over at the mesmerising sight of your radiating charm.
this continues throughout the night. he has possibly drank four champaign glasses, which is four over his limit since he never drinks, and he’s feeling increasingly loopy as the gala comes to an end.
damian tries to convince himself he’s fine.
as the people disperse over time, the last few enjoin into a large group discussion until everyone decides to shuffle out, the manor beginning to look spacious again. when it’s completely emptied out leaving just the batfamily for a post-gala debriefing, damian barely lets you contribute before he walks up to you, hooking his arm with yours— not caring to wish his brothers or father goodnight— dragging you back up to his room.
your eyebrows raise as he walks you upstairs, simpering in confusion.
“damian,” you breathe, following helplessly. “everything alright?” you tilt your head, eyebrows tilting upwards.
damian doesn’t respond. you notice he looks a little buzzed, and your eyebrows shoot up in amusement.
“no way. did you drink?” you question as he approaches his bedroom door, lazily drawing it open.
that’s when he finally turns to you.
damian’s usually sharp emerald eyes are lazy and barely open, his lips pressed into a flat line, bottom lip slightly jutted out. he lets out a deep breath, running a hand over his face and through his neatly made hair, ruffling it up.
“yes,” he rasps out, throat burning. “i drank.”
you snort. “wow,” you grin in amusement. “you never do. what happened?”
damian grumbles, and that’s when he takes a stumbling step forward, his head plummeting onto your shoulder. an enlightened smile crawls onto your lips and your hand moves up to his lower back, carefully holding him for support.
“everything was so excruciatingly boring,” he mumbles against your shoulder, voice muffled against your bare skin. his voice is slightly slurred, something you wouldn’t have noticed if you hadn’t known he was drunk. “had to distract myself.”
damian lets out a long breath against your skin, and then almost suddenly realises that it’s your bare skin, and so immediately puckers his lips, pressing a kiss to your shoulder. goosebumps erupt on your skin.
you’re not used to damian initiating affection or being clingy. he rarely lets his guard down, and in exploitation of his weakened defences due to the alcohol in his system, you experiment.
you soothingly rub up and down his back. “aw,” you coo, holding him closer. “you must be exhausted.”
you bite back a smile at your intentionally patronising voice.
you’re babying him.
sober damian would’ve been disgusted by that.
instead, damian who is never vulnerable, never sappy, never emotional, groans in agreement against your shoulder. he drags his nose up your shoulder to your neck, burying his face in your skin. his hands lazily reach out, one at your abdomen, one sliding around your lower back.
your heart skips a beat.
damian is clinging onto you. damian. the boy who can barely ever instigate intimacy without feeling pathetic. the one who hates feeling weak.
you’re still revelling in your shock, brain thinking of a million ways to cherish this adorable version of damian when you feel the ticklish sensation of his lips moving against your neck.
“you were so perfect tonight,” damian’s voice is low and hoarse from drinking, his words sounding as if they were roughly pushed out of his dry mouth.
and then he lifts his head from your neck, staring at you for a long moment with hazy emerald eyes. he’s almost pouting, just a little, his brown cheeks decorated pink. his hair is slightly disheveled from it being the end of the night, his heart rate slow and comfortable in the embrace of his lover.
“kept looking at you..” he breathes, lips parting, and then his eyes drop down, shamelessly looking over your figure. the way your dress hugs your every curve. your cleavage. you raise an amused eyebrow, your own cheeks turning hotter.
“gorgeous,” he muses, leaning in and rubbing his nose against yours. his eyes flutter shut. meanwhile, your heart is racing, butterflies in your stomach.
damian is never like this.
you can barely keep it together when his lips graze yours.
“everyone,” his voice is a hoarse whisper as he puckers his lips against the edge of your mouth. “was talking about,” he nudges a harder kiss to your cheekbone, “how i don’t deserve you.”
he sounds petulant. sulky.
your whole body is hot.
he sighs against your lips, and then lets out a throaty whine. long and rough. he sounds exhausted and desperate all at the same time.
you can’t contain your goofy grin any longer. the smile on your face is oozing sugar with how sweet and sincere it is.
“that’s not true,” you whisper back softly. damian’s eyelids blink against your skin, his eyelashes tickling your cheekbone as his lips press a wet open-mouthed kiss to the edge of your mouth. your shiny gloss coats his mouth. he doesn’t care.
“it is,” his voice is deep and rough. his hands slide over your abdomen and your back, large and slender, framing your whole body in his palms.
“i don’t deserve you,” he whispers, another leisurely kiss pressed to the side of your nose, kissing wherever his lips can reach and touch, desperate for any form of affection.
“hayati,” he breathes, mouth just brushing your cheek, grazing your skin. “my beloved,” he murmurs, soft chants of nicknames, completely enamoured by you in his arms. “zawjati,” his voice is low, lips tickling your fuzzy skin.
(zawjati means ‘my wife’)
an uncontrollable grin is plastered on your face, cheeks crimson.
and then it gets worse.
“i adore you,” his mouth ghosts over yours with his shy whisper, and that’s when he finally presses a firm kiss to your lips. it’s pathetic and barely a kiss, his lips bumping against yours, just needing to feel you.
you’re not believing this is real. damian who never professes his love, ever. damian who responds ‘hm,’ with flushed cheeks every time you tell him you love him, until you force him to confess how he ‘possesses similar affections for you’.
you are, to say the least, pleasantly surprised by his sudden and random displays of affection. you’re melting until you can’t contain yourself anymore, wanting to practically devour your boyfriend.
you beam a soft smile, cradling his warm cheek. “so tipsy,” you tease, and he huffs against your cheek.
“can i touch you?” he whispers, completely ignoring your comment, hand moving up from your abdomen to over your chest, unabashedly trailing his palm over the curves of your chest.
wow. this man is in his own world, not realising nor paying heed to how he’s torturing you.
your breath hitches.
“i want to have you tonight,” he stumbles slightly so his body weight presses right into you, putty against you.
you blush, bright wide smile glued to your face. you scoff-chuckle. “you’re soo drunk.”
“still need you,” he breathes back, cheek pressing hard into your warm supple skin, as if trying to fuse with you, needing the contact. the proximity. “mine,” he adds, squeezing your chest.
his hand then slides down to your tummy, rubbing up and down over the fabric of your dress, just possessively feeling the softness, as if he is discovering for the first time that you are all his.
your smile softens tenfold. “baby,” your voice is low. “maybe you should get some rest. you said you were tired.”
at that, damian pulls away. his lazy eyes meet yours, and he tugs you closer with his arms around you.
his eyes shift from one of your pupils to the other, completely dazed. his lips are slightly pouted, cheeks now fully flushed. his face is centimetres from yours.
“you..” he breathes, eyes digging into your soul, slightly glossy. “are the best thing that has ever happened to me.”
your heart aches at his slurred words. your hand moves up to cradle his jaw in cuteness aggression. “damian,” you squeak, heart racing in your chest. “i’m going to eat you.”
at that, his eyes flutter shut, eyebrows crinkling upwards in amusement. there is the faintest curve of his lips, the ghost of a smile. “like a blowjob?”
you blow a raspberry, squeezing his jaw. “aaand you’ve ruined it,” you joke, but then damian’s eyes open, and he frowns.
“i always do.”
your eyes widen. drunk damian is not only clingy, but overly sensitive too. “no, baby,” you pull his face closer. “i was just kidding. you never ruin anything.” you lean closer until your lips are brushing his.
damian puckers his lips, clearly asking for a kiss. it’s so petulant you smile, attending to his wish, cutting the distance and pressing your mouth to his. the kiss is sloppy and lousy, the taste of alcohol lingering at damian’s throat when your tongue dives into his mouth. his mouth is leisurely against yours, savouring the effort you’re putting in to make out with him. he desperately bites your lower lip when you pull away, trying to keep your lips glued to his.
you grin, cheeks pink, face still close to his.
“resting time,” you hold his face, thumb caressing his jaw. “you can have me tomorrow.”
damian’s eyes are big, pupils dilated. he looks like a puppy, shimmering brown skin, tired eyes. you want to shower him with unlimited affection with how adorable he looks, and he’s drunk, so this would probably be the only time he’d let you. he nods slowly, lips slightly sulky.
you sigh dreamily. “you’re so cute i wish you were like this all the time.”
“i do love you all the time,” damian responds, voice lazy and growing quieter as the level of his exhaustion increases. his eyes are gentler and heavier. his hands casually slide up your arms to the straps of your dress, languidly tugging them down.
at first your eyes sparkle with affection, and then your lips purse at his cheeky behaviour. this boy. “that’s very sweet,” you offer a smile while your own hands reach up to hold his steady at your shoulders, softly tugging the straps of your dress back up.
damian frowns petulantly. your heart aches.
“i will—” gosh, he looks so beaten. “i will take it off. i promise. just get into bed first, okay? you’re tired.” you try to reason with puppy eyed damian.
damian sighs. and then his head falls into your neck again. “can you help me change?” he exhales, breath warm. “my head is spinning.”
your demeanour softens. “of course,” you wrap your arms around him. “come on. my turn to take care of you.”
damian hums as you guide him to stand back in front of his bed. his arms come around your waist, caressing and holding on to you for balance. “i am too lucky,” he grumbles while pressing his lips to your neck in a myriad of pecks. you smile, unbuttoning his shirt for him.
“you’re just soo sappy drunk, aren’t you? don’t give me incentive to tell bruce to host more galas,” you tease, eyes focused on your task.
“that’s cruel,” damian mumbles against your skin, eyes fluttering shut. “he’d give me all his social work and then i’d never be free,” he murmurs, his voice becoming more and more slurred as he feels sleepier.
you chuckle, pulling his shirt off for him. “and if i let you touch me after every one?”
synopsis: a life-threatening ambush mid-mission after a bad fight makes damian realise that he cannot afford to lose you
a/n: srry for posting so late and going against the poll i’ve been so busy plus this has been rotting in my drafts for ages :( however THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR BEYOND 1K FOLLOWERS that’s INSANE. i wish i could thank each and every one of you personally like i am genuinely so appreciative. all the reblogs, comments, likes, follows, dms are so fun and mean the world to me— you guys are the best. pleaaaase enjoy this dump !!
as soon as intel dropped about remnants of an old illegal group trafficking experimental waynetech weapon components through a derelict shipping yard— batman was informed.
however, batman was occupied with a more significant case in the city at that moment, and so entrusted the handling of this particular situation to his son and his patrol partner: you.
but still— the mission was meant to be primarily under damian wayne.
the entire time, damian dreads that his first solo mission, an opportunity to prove his stature, is a joint recon-op with you— not because he necessarily dislikes you, per se, but more because you are… uncontrollable.
instinctive. adaptive.
and often defy him.
that is why the pre-mission debrief at the batcave is tense and heated. the two of you don’t fight that often— it’s mostly just disagreements; but today, damian is on edge. he is less just robin, and more the determined perfectionist who firmly believes that strategically planned missions need to followed to the dot, and that emotion is weakness— training he has internalised from the league unknowingly. this damian, determined to show his father whej he truths that he is capable of fulfilling his duties, does not realise how absurdly important control is to him, and so he acts.. slightly insufferable.
“i want to make it very clear this time. batman left the mission to me.” damian’s eyebrows crease, glare sharp and directed at you, hands splayed on the console of the mission room in the batcave. gadgets and weapons are displayed on the table in front of him, a preparatory meeting in progress before the two of you actually set off on the mission.
you’re standing opposite him at the other end of the table, eyebrow raised.
damian’s control issues have always been a point of contention between the two of you, especially in leadership roles. he always expects military precision, which is why your adaptiveness is so annoying to him.
“if i must spell it out for you, that means i am the leader,” his eyes narrow. “should remind you since you have a reputation of disobeying direct orders,” damian continues, his voice sharp and unforgiving, scolding you as if you are some sort of child.
your eyebrows furrow in irritation. of course he’d bring up the last mission the two of you had collaborated on— how you’d gone against major instructions but still ended up saving the entire team; but of course, he’s still furious about it, not because you were wrong, but mostly because it worked— and that threatened his authority.
and maintaining control is very important to damian.
you roll your eyes. “just because you’re the leader, doesn’t mean i don’t have autonomy—”
damian cuts you off. “it does not override authority.”
your eyes narrow further. “the mission will never go exactly how you plan. you need to improvise. plus, last time, the team would be dead if it wasn’t for me.”
damian’s scowl is so bitter it looks like he’s fuming. “that’s not the point. you’re reckless.”
you scoff. “reckless? you can’t stand not having control, can you? what is the point, then?”
“that i can not afford diversions that jeopardise the mission!” damian’s voice raises slightly, frustration bubbling under his scorn.
you turn quiet. you glare at him for a long moment, breathing heavily, before looking away.
“fine,” your voice is low and restrained. “but prioritising the mission over your teammates will never make you a good leader. it doesn’t guarantee success either.”
you don’t wait for a response. you snatch your gadgets from the table, adjusting them into your utility belt, and walk out the batcave straight to your protocol station.
damian is left simmering, left to confront the complexity of his feelings towards your judgement of him as he grabs his own things. perhaps underneath it all is a deep rooted fear— and yet damian is wholly incapable of understanding, acknowledging, or articulating any of those thoughts.
it’s easier to discard them, especially before a high-stake mission.
at the mission site, gotham’s east end, the industrial district is half-abandoned, crawling with smuggling operations.
damian is at a running point from ground level— responsible for silent infiltration through the lower catwalks of a half-lit cargo hangar, whereas you’re positioned higher up, using optics to keep an eye out (of course, on the sidelines, as per damian’s instructions).
the atmosphere is rough and tense. there’s rusted cranes surrounding the district, the smell of oil infiltrating your senses. the whole place hums with the low electric huzz of something unstable. you search for enemy patrols or traps, but there seems to be none you can detect.
“visual on crate 13?” damian’s voice buzzes through the muffled comms, and despite the tension still being palpable from the fight, and a strong urge to ignore him, you respond.
“yeah. movement on your three,” you try to bite back attitude, but you can’t. “you’re welcome.”
damian’s voice is a rough growl from over the static. “i have it handled.”
while damian works on ground, your eyes zero in on one of the generators in the district that seems oddly suspicious, trying to analyse if it’s active or not. “hey, is there power? ‘cause i think there might be some core—” you groan, the position damian’s assigned to you miscalculated, making it difficult for you to observe clearly whatever is happening on over.
your mouth opens to complain.
you don’t get the chance to.
there’s a gunfire ricochet. then there’s the sound of one of the experimental power cores whirring to life, overloading, and then there’s a loud blast right in front of your station.
heat, light, and steel erupt in the same instant.
static.
the floor collapses. the last thing you remember is being thrown off the catwalk. smoke and fire obscure everything— your comms go dead.
damian, on ground with quick reaction time to the loud sound and a shielding suit, finds machinery to hide behind, but it’s still not enough distance to prevent the ringing in his ears and the panic that follows.
real, raw, visceral, animalistic panic fills him.
damian rarely every loses control, but when he does, nothing about it is a stable. the mask either never slips or slips completely, stripping him bare.
he splutters your codename on the comms as if it is the only word he knows. “respond,” he beckons, eyes wide and horrified, quickly scanning the high grounds, searching desperately for any sign of you.
the stupid static.
he doesn’t hear you. he can’t see you. only rubble where you were meant to be.
to damian wayne who craves control in every aspect of his life, helplessness is foreign; and often induces violent, aggressive outbursts.
but there was no room for aggression or anger right now.
there was only pure fear.
your name painfully croaks out from between his dry lips. his voice drops as his eyes trace over the damage, too low to register emotion.
he’s terrified.
and damian is never scared.
he doesn’t waste a second before he begins manually searching— he’s desperately limping, scanning, ripping open debris. the bat-drone tries to feed him visuals, but the comm blackout scrambles the feed. he cannot find you.
“stop being stubborn. i’m not leaving you here—” he mutters, more to himself than anyone else, praying you’re somewhere. praying you can hear him.
and he never feels the need to pray. he doesn’t need to ask anyone for anything— he always makes sure to get it. but now?
damian is frantic. he refuses to lose hope— it’s simply not possible. his brain replays the nastiest things that could have happened to you again and again and he continually disregards the thought by throwing it out of his head, part of him refusing to believe that losing you could even be a possibility.
when he hears the faint sound of movement through the smoke, his whole body jolts.
he can barely breathe. he’s numb all over, his hands bruised and hurt as he digs through shrapnel and concrete, eyes darting from one spot to the other, desperate to find you. begging— begging to whoever is the higher power, begging for you to be alive and not hurt. you have to be alive. there’s no choice.
when damian’s wide, frantic eyes finally find yours in between the dust and powdered cement, his heart stops beating.
he doesn’t know when or what happens. filled with adrenaline, his legs begin rushing on their own, stumbling over broken rock and flooring to reach you. his arms possessively enclose around you, eyes glossy with fear and relief. his hands are clenched into fists, arms pathetically gripping onto you as if you’d dissolve into particles from right in between his arms if he loosens his grip around you for even a second.
“you’re alive,” his voice catches in his throat like he truly cannot believe it, and then he leans back so his eyes can quickly trail all over you. “are you hurt anywhere? injured? bruises? wounds—” damian bends slightly, his hands trembling as he checks for injuries, every motion too fast and too rough. you wince, catching his wrist, grounding him.
“i’m fine,” you rasp out, leaning against his shoulder for support. he instantly melts, cupping your face with his palm, holding you up with his arm, pulling you tighter for another long embrace.
he shakes his head, chin resting on your shoulder, your face burying in his neck in return. “this is all my fault,” he breathes out, usually composed voice shattering into shaky pieces.
“i thought—” his throat feels dry. he can barely speak. you know exactly what he thought, and that makes you shiver. damian’s grateful you can’t see him because his eyes turn glossier just at the thought of losing you. and especially after a fight? damian’s heart is thumping so hard in his chest anyone in a five foot radius could probably hear it.
he can’t imagine ever losing you. especially when he hasn’t even spilled out his darkest truths yet. all that detachment, all that aloofness— none of it exists in front of the possibility of your absence from his life.
damian pulls away from the hug as if a sudden epiphany has hit him. fear and suppressed emotions flood through his body at the sight of your terrified eyes, face crinkled in a mix of emotions, but mostly relief. he sniffles away his own feelings, eyebrows furrowed as he stares at you. he seems dead focused and serious when he tilts his head, momentarily pausing, before pushing his mouth to yours.
your heart stops. damian doesn’t.
his lips capture your mouth in a firm, searing kiss. he’s pressing close and compact, almost to confirm that this is happening, like he is testing reality. his arms are around you, hands unclenching to slide down to your lower back.
damian kisses you like it’s the only way to prove you’re actually alive: his lips are pressed against yours hard and recklessly— it was too much, too sudden, the kind of contact that comes after fear has nowhere else to go.
when damian realises what he’s even doing, he breaks away with wide eyes. the kiss ends with a loud squelch that makes his cheeks flush even hotter, his lips parted as he breathes deeply in shock.
damian does not deal with spontaneous emotion well, and it shows.
he fumbles with his words, trying to distract himself from the sudden shyness that fills him.
“i couldn’t imagine losing you like that,” he finally regains his ability to speak, still sounding breathless. “without telling you how much i actually care. god, i’m such a fool—” his throat hurts.
his pupils are dilated, dark, paranoid emerald eyes focused on yours, eyebrows crinkled, chest heaving up and down heavily. he continues rambling before he knows it.
“i caused this,” his voice cracks, heart thumping against his chest. “it is all my fault, and you should be furious. this was very immature of me—”
you don’t let him finish his monologue. you shut him up with a rougher kiss, dusty hands on his cheeks, eyes closed. your mouth presses against his as if there is no tomorrow, an idiom very close to reality a minute ago. damian exhales into the kiss, his own eyes fluttering shut as he tugs you closer, lips moving against yours in an intense, warm rhythm.
when the two of you part, damian’s eyes don’t open. he lets his cheek rest against yours, breathing against your mouth through open lips, holding you impossibly close. he cannot believe this is happening.
“that was—” his brown skin is red hot.
“a long time coming?” you offer, voice weak and hoarse, a small chuckle against his skin.
if possible, damian flushes even pinker. “unprofessional.”
when damian’s eyes open, you offer him a small, intimate smile. he blinks rapidly, entranced.
“don’t look at me like that,” he exhales, low and ragged. he doesn’t let you respond, too overwhelmed to be able to handle any friendly banter.
“i apologise,” his voice is low. “for this entire mess. if i hadn’t been so..” damian’s voice fades out, eyes widening when your head falls to his shoulder, eyes fluttering shut.
his eyebrows furrow in worry, hand cradling the back of your head for support. he takes the hint.
“okay, apologies later,” his arm tightens around you. “let’s get you back to the batcave.”
you hum, ill against his shoulder, letting out a long exhausted sigh.
“then can we kiss some more? i’m dizzy right now.”
damian’s lips purse into a flat line, body overheating with nervousness and strangely, joy. “you—” he gulps, heart concerningly active. “you are in time out. do not speak until i get you back.”
you smile against his shoulder as he lifts you into his arms. he brings you back to the batcave where alfred assists in patching the two of you up.
despite returning to the safety of the manor, the tension between the two of you has changed— glances towards each other as the two of you get bandaged are no longer volatile, but heavy with things neither of you will name yet.
but one thing is certain— damian can never afford to lose you.
he doesn’t care to think or understand why yet. he just refuses to ever let you go, caring more about your input in missions, even ensuring your safety during them— and maybe this realisation of attachment will help damian eventually come to terms with his feelings for you.
eventually. there’s a lot of kissing that happens before that level of maturity, though.
“my boyfriend wants to show you his books, and you better say they’re cool,” you demanded while glaring at the camera. an amused jason could be seen in the back as you made way for him to take center stage. “go, babe.”
“hi,” your boyfriend awkwardly greeted before showing off the two paperback books in his hands. “so this one is ‘frankenstein’ by mary shelley. i know we all dreaded reading it in high school, but i really relate to frankenstein’s monster, and the story’s pretty good if you just give it a chance. plus, it’s a pioneer for the science-fiction genre, so that’s cool.”
you could be seen behind jason making threatening gestures with your hands, almost as if to say, ‘leave a nice comment, or you’re getting blocked!’
“and this one is ‘pride and prejudice’ by jane austen. another oldie but a classic,” jason said with a nonchalant shrug. “the writing’s beautiful, and i love elizabeth’s character because she reminds me of a certain someone. probably one of my favourite books of all time and just a really good comfort read.”
he turned to see your face quickly morph into heart-eyes and a sweet smile.
“good job, honey. that was a great presentation,” you praised before giving his cheek a loving kiss.
“oh, and i’m also part of a book club. we meet at the community center in the bowery every thursday evening. new members are always welcome,” jason off-handedly added.
“and new members are always welcome,” you sharply reiterated, glancing at the camera with a scary scowl and furrowed brows. “see you thursdays.”
gothambaddiexoxo commented: this man was written by a woman lol
singleasapringle commented: girl, where can i get myself a boyfriend like this 😭
birdzofprey0 commented: sooo does everyone in this book club look like him or?? asking for a friend
inspired by this video here. REBLOGS and COMMENTS are greatly appreciated
synopsis: your friend takes you out to a street race to meet her boyfriend and his brothers
a/n: street racing Jason Todd won't leave my brain. I'm going to do my best to keep reader as ambiguous as possible. Updates will probably be slow between work but I will also be posting this to my AO3 which i will link here. I hope you enjoy ♡
next: part 2
“I just don't see the entertainment in it, is all.” You try to explain to your friend. She had finally, finally, dragged you to one of her boyfriend's street races. You could see the appeal to them. Hot people racing dangerously and illegally in cars or on motorcycles, what's not to like? Aside from the fact that you only get to see them take off and then they're gone. A whole ten seconds of oggling.
“It's not just the race,” your friend smiles as she drags you along the sidewalk. It's dark out, almost midnight already, groups of people walking alongside you to the meet up.
“Its also the after party. You will have fun. I promise. Maybe you'll meet someone.” She shrugs, you roll your eyes. And yet you follow along like a puppy dog to humor her all the same.
It's crowded, almost overly so. Suffocating in a way. But your friend finds her boyfriend easily like she has a GPS radar on him. He's handsome, because of course he is. Dark hair and beautiful blue eyes, dark brown skin. Dick, she said his name was. This is your first official time meeting him.
He's friendly and polite and his smile was bright enough to power up Superman if he really put his mind to it. You doubt it would be hard for him. You stand off to the side a bit awkwardly as the two talk for a second, catching up. You hear him mention his brothers.
There's more of him?
You can hear your friend and Dick talking quietly to each other before you catch;
“Yeah, I mean.. Jay's here tonight. I could introduce them.” Dick mumbles with a smile and you notice him burying his face into the side of your friend's hair. Ugh.
“Jason?” A younger voice pipes up, you turn your head to take in the newcomers. “If you hate your friend you could just say that, there is no need for torture.” Dick laughs before introducing his younger brother, Damian.
He says they're adopted but you find that hard to believe when they look almost identical. Aside from the fact Damian has green eyes instead of blue. Both black hair and dark skinned. Damian speaks more properly, you notice, with a hint of an accent you can't quite place.
“I dunno man,” another speaks. Tim, you find out his name is. “Jason's been in a pissy mood all day. I wouldn't-”
“It's fine, it's fine! It'll be good for him. He needs to make new friends.” Dick insists.
They're talking about you as if you're not even there - not giving you a chance to speak for yourself on if you want to meet this Jason person or not. Your friend laughs. You glare.
Damian and Tim share a look before shaking their heads and that doesn't look promising at all. You're regretting your agreement to come along but your friend places a reassuring hand on your shoulder.
“I've met Jason before, he's nice.” But you know what her definition of “nice” is. It's far different than your own.
“Yeah, mhm.” You respond with a half hearted smile.
But the group walks further into the crowd. More cars and motorcycles come into view. You learn that Dick races with a 1979 trans am, one that he rebuilt with his brothers. The five of you walk by it and it's impressive. You find out that Tim is, apparently, still hesitant on racing while Damian claims he's too young - Dick teased him for being scared which earns him a chop to his throat.
‘If Jason is like these three then he can't be so bad.’ you think to yourself.
Until you see him. The small group stands in front of a heavily modded black and red Honda CBR600RR. It's nice. Clean. You stare at the bike until a gruff voice cuts you out of your thoughts.
“What, Dick?” Jason's expression is one of pure irritation as he tunes his bike.
He's tall and built like a brick shit house. Your mouth almost goes dry. Black hair with a white tuft in the front with a broad chest, beefy biceps, and piercing blue eyes. Oh boy.
“Just showing the angel around,” Dick slings an arm around your friend's shoulder. “And her friend.” Dick gestures to you. Tim and Damian step aside, a parting of the sea. You stand silently, almost dumbfounded, until you find your voice again.
“Uh, hey-” You try.
“No. I don't want to talk to people.” He cuts you off.
Oh.
“Told you,” Damian snickers quietly to Tim with a crooked smirk who shakes his head with a snort of laughter that he tries to cover with his hand. Your friend gives you a sympathetic look.
Great.
“C'mon, Jay. Don't be rude, I was trying to introduce- ” Dick tries again.
“Ain't got time. Race starts soon.” Jason grunts as he stands to his full height and holy shit is he intimidating. “Sorry, little birdie.” He comments as his gaze sizes you up. But he turns away before you can even get a word in.
‘Nice my ass.’ You think to yourself with an eye roll off to the side. Dick shoots you a sympathetic smile before he leads you and your friend away from Jason back towards his trans am.
“Worry not. That was him being polite.” Damian turns his smirk to you. Lovely.
It's a warm night in Gotham already and the crowd of people definitely doesn't help. “So it's always like this?” You ask your friend as you watch groups of people walk by laughing and talking. She nods in response.
“It's fun! I didn't think the racing scene in Gotham was this big but it kinda makes sense I guess.”
“I never even knew there was a ‘racing scene’.” You comment in response which gets a small laugh from Dick.
“Oh yeah, the scene’s huge here. It's fun and illegal, two things that every Gothamite loves.” He jokes.
“So, do you race for fun or.. is there a pool involved?” You ask Dick. The most knowledge you had about street racing was from the Fast and the Furious movies.
“For fun!” Dick beams. “Okay, well- winning the pot is nice, obviously. But personally? I do it for fun.” The answer makes sense to you. Dick gives off the vibes of an adrenaline junkie with the energy of a golden retriever.
“And Jason?” You ask, pretending to simply be curious. Dick stops for a second before he smiles at you. He looks at you like he knows something you don't.
“He races-...” Dick cuts himself off, his eyes roam off to the side as he chooses his words.
“Jason races to forget.” Tim finished for Dick who simply nods in response.
“Cliche.” You respond.
“Very.” Damian agrees. He looks less than impressed. “For him racing is simply a way to focus solely on the rush. Nothing else.”
HIIII, i want to reqs about jason x vigilante fem!reader where shes the leader of the outlaws and shes getting jealous and insecure because jason and artemis are getting suspiciously close but reader just suck it up cus shes a mature person. eventually reader accidentally slip up and tell jason that she's jealous and insecure which is crazy because she's literally the most beautiful charming like poetry it self stunning woman everyone ever seen.
sorry if its too long!! i think you already know me, or not...but if necessary reader code name is panther. thankyousoomuch ILYSM<334
i'm not sure if this is exactly what you were thinking of when you sent this in but the story took me on a journey lmao it was almost fun being jealous and toxic again
pairing: jason todd x f!reader
wc: 1.6k
Jealousy, Jealousy
It was fine, everything was perfectly fine, at least that’s what you had told yourself. It’s totally fine that Jason and the newbie are getting along. It’s great even! A team should get along, boosts morale or whatever shit Roy spouted before leaving the team. And it’s awesome that it took Jason .02 seconds to warm up to Artemis when it took him four months and seven life saving exchanges for him to even call you by your first name.
So why did it feel like bile was clawing at your throat to escape in a scream that could rival both Hawkgirl and Black Canary anytime you saw them together?
'Why does she laugh at his jokes so much anyway? He’s not even that funny. And why is he suddenly asking to spar with her? We used to- No. No. It’s fine. It’s good that he’s training with another person.' Your thoughts were getting way too loud and she’s only been around for a few weeks.
“I’ll be back later.” You tell the two, grabbing your coat on your way out. You assume they won’t hear you over their conversation but Jason’s voice stops you at the door.
“Where ya going?” He asks, a smile still on his face. A smile that she put there. You inhale deeply as you turn to face him, already trying to calm down that ugly feeling that makes your chest feel hot.
“Out.”
Jason’s eyebrows knit together, the gesture is so imperceptible that most people wouldn’t notice - but you do. You notice everything about him.
His smile falters, “A’right, boss. See ya later, I guess.” He shrugs, not pushing.
Part of you hates that he doesn’t push, doesn’t ask what’s wrong. But you also know it’s not his job.
“Is everything alright? It does not seem like her to leave so suddenly without explanation.” Artemis confronts Jason who simply shrugs in return.
‘Out’ really means walking the cold streets of Gotham until you find some shitty dive bar that smells like cheap alcohol and cigars. It’s dark inside with only a few patrons inside, it’s quiet aside from some old western movie playing on the small TV set up on the corner of the bar. You order your drink and take a seat at the bar, right next to an older man who’s seen better days.
You’re there for hours, drinking, complaining - you would’ve been more self conscious about how much shit you were spewing to the poor bartender and Benny, the man sitting next to you, but once the alcohol hit your system and you started talking? There was no stopping you.
“-and like, yeah, okay, so she’s pretty, gorgeous even! But seriously, what’s so special about her?” You pop another pretzel in your mouth, Benny deadpans at the bartender before sighing in resignation that this is just how his night is going to go now.
“An’ she’s strong, yeah,” your hand clenches into a fist, “but I’m strong too, ya know! Stronger than he is-” you scoff into your drink, “...Okay, maybe that’s not entirely true. But I digress! Like, if they want me off the team so they can go off and do their own thing-” you roll your eyes, “than they should just say that! Right?”
“Uh-huh…” Benny hums noncommittally.
“Whatever…” You mutter, finishing off your drink. “Not like it matters. They can go off and be best fucking friends if they want. I don’t have a claim over anyone, especially him.” You ignore the sound of the heavy front door of the bar closing.
“I’ll just keep being a piss poor excuse of a leader I guess-”
“A’right, that’s enough outta you.” You hear the familiar voice before you feel Jason’s hand on your arm, pulling you out of your bar stool. You don’t see the appreciative looks Benny and the bartender give Jason.
“Whoa- hey!” You pout, barely catching your balance as Jason starts dragging you out of the bar. Not rough, but with enough force to tell you he wasn’t playing around.
“You’ve been gone for hours, we got worried.” Jason grumbles outside. The frigid air starts sobering you up quickly.
“Oh really? And who’s ‘we’, hm? You and your new girlfriend?” You ask, exaggerated, accompanied by a dramatic eye roll that makes Jason narrow his eyes at you. He stops dead in his tracks, his hand still on your arm, making you jerk backwards when you tried to keep walking.
“Whoa, rude. I was walki-”
“What the fuck are you on about?” Jason cuts you off. The look on his face helps to sober you up. The snarky little frown on your face melts away into a look of guilt and shame.
“Nothing…” You mumble quietly, looking at the pavement like it’s the most interesting thing in the world.
“No, no, no. You don’t get to pull that bullshit now. I heard you in there.” Jason’s hand is firm on your arm, grounding and terrifying all at once.
“Oh…” Your face feels hot now and you’re pretty sure it’s not just the alcohol anymore. “How much did you hear?” And suddenly you sound like a scolded child instead of a grown adult, leader of the Outlaws.
Jason scoffs. “I heard enough.”
“Oh…”
“Yeah. Oh.”
There’s a few seconds of awkward, thick silence between the two of you.
“Is that really how you see yourself? ‘A piss poor excuse of a leader’?” He repeats what you had said about yourself and you roll your eyes softly, more so at yourself.
You don’t say anything.
“Hello? Are you going to answer me?”
“Yes! Okay? Oh my God, yes!” And, once again, it’s all spilling out. “Being the leader of this crackship team feels impossible sometimes, okay? And then Star left, and Roy and I know it wasn’t anyone’s fault but I felt like I failed when they left. And you were the only one who stayed.”
Jason remains impassive, still stoic, still holding onto you.
“And then Artemis comes along. Pretty, tall, strong, smart.” You feel awful for talking about her like any of those traits are bad. You know they’re not. You even get along with her, when Jason isn’t around. It makes you feel childish. “And you two- you just-” You groan, cutting yourself off. “Never mind. Forget it.”
Jason shakes his head, “Nah. Finish that. Me and Artemis what?”
“You get along so well! It took months for us to even start treating each other like teammates, friends, instead of awkward coworkers. But you two hit it off so fast! Like.. instant best friends! What does she have that I don’t?” You’re looking at him desperately now, eyes wet, pout on your lips. “I just don’t get it! I try and try and try and it’s like I’m invisible to you. Like I’m just there –” Jason’s laughter cuts you off. You tilt your head and look at him with a look of both confusion and irritation.
“What’s so funny?”
“Holy shit, you’re jealous.”
“I am not!” You shout, defending yourself with a scowl.
“Please. I was raised by the best detective in Gotham, you think I didn’t notice something was up with you? Besides… it’s pretty obvious.” Jason has that cocky little smirk on his face that you want to slap right off. You cross your arms, pulling away from him. He lets you.
You try to come up with some counter argument. Tell him he’s delusional, that he has no idea what he’s talking about. But before you can come up with anything remotely cohesive he’s talking again.
“Wanna know why it took me so long to get used to being around you?” He asks. You soften, just a fraction, and look at him, silently asking ‘why?’. His smirk melts into a smile, warm and so rare from him.
“Because you scared the fuck outta me. You’re one of the smartest people I know, you’re strong as hell, and you’re-” It’s his turn to stop, clearing his throat. You look at him curiously, soft and sincere. It makes him shift his weight from foot to foot.
“I’m what?” You ask quietly.
Jason hesitates before he finally exhales and answers, “Beautiful.”
Your eyes go wide and that bile of jealousy that was constantly trying to claw its way out of your throat? Gone. You blink once, and then twice, your mind blank.
“Why do you think I stayed after Kori and Roy left? I could have left, too.” He explains, taking a step closer to you. “But I trust you, and what you stand for, and the thought of leaving you ate at me.” His eyes are focused on the sidewalk. It was very interesting tonight.
“What about you and–” you swallow.
“Artemis?” He finishes for you. Then he shakes his head softly. “She clocked my feelings for you on day three.” He smiles, finally looking at you. “She’s been trying to get me to.. Ask you out, or whatever. Then she makes fun of me when I chicken out.”
“Feelings?” Leaves your mouth before you can stop yourself, wincing internally at how desperate you sound. He nods in response, laughing under his breath.
“Yeah, feelings.” He repeats, voice rough. “Didn’t expect myself to confess outside of..” He looks at the sign on the door of the bar he just dragged you out of, “Rusty’s Saloon,” he reads, scoffing in amusement. “But, yeah. I…” he takes in a deep breath, “I have feelings for you. ‘d be stupid not to.”
“I…” You start. Every word dies in your throat, every thought suddenly gone.
And then he’s putting an arm around your shoulders, pulling you into his side and he’s so warm. You’re pretty sure your stomach fell out of your ass a good five minutes ago but the pounding of your heart in your chest reminds you that this is real - that he feels the same way about you that you do about him.
“Yeah, I know… y’don’t gotta say anything.” He smiles softly. “C’mere. Let’s get you back to base.” He mumbles into your temple.
annaxmalina
jacobvanloon
janainaart
stormborns
germansingergirl
