gia

she/her ; i b writing lowkey, 20 MDNI

[ghostly526]

˖°🦇ִ ࣪𖤐 Split - Heian Sukuna x reader ˖°🦇ִ ࣪𖤐

(WIP, daily updates!)

first time posting on tumblr kinda nervous…

Summary:

Your life has been split in two, the life you were born in, and the mission you were sent on. You were not born in the heian era, but in order to save jujutsu society from Ryomen Sukuna they needed someone who could travel back in time to eliminate his threat to humankind.

The golden age of jujutsu isnt kind, monsters of all kind are on the prowl, and the identity you assumed when you arrived? The betrothed woman to the king of curses.

Tropes: forced marriage, time travel, enemies to lovers, slowburn, vampirism!sukuna, eventual smut, graphic depictions of violence.

CHAPTERS:

Chapter one - Split in two

Chapter two - the shrine

Chapter three - till death part us

Chapter four - thirst

Chapter five - can you keep a secret?

Chapter six - dreamers

Chapter seven - the seer and her knight

Chapter eight - beyond time

Chapter nine - beyond creation

Chapter ten - let me taste you, sweet violence

Chapter eleven - Azula

Chapter twelve - the crushing silence

Chapter thirteen - in your very soul.

Chapter fourteen - push harder

[ghostly526]

࣪ ִֶָ☾.݁ᛪ༙Split - a heian sukuna x reader long fic ࣪ ִֶָ☾.݁ᛪ༙

─── ⋆⋅ ♱ ⋅⋆ ───

chapter thirteen:

in your very soul

⁺‧₊˚ ཐི⋆♱⋆ཋྀ ˚₊‧⁺

In the courtyard built at the center of the castle, a full garden with the roof carved out to let in sunlight was still dark; the sun had only risen slightly.

You sat crisscrossed on the floor, Sukuna across from you in the same position; he stared at you.

His stormy onyx haze over his mind was like a sludge; you could slice through it easily because it was not a wall. You fell through it again, and his eyes furrowed as you did.

You're half there and half in his mind: “You’re not doing it right.”

His eye half-twitches and growls, “Explain it then, witch.”

You scoot forward slightly, hovering your hand around him, not touching, but enough that you could feel the heat from his blood, the thrum of his cursed energy, and the bounds of his mind surrounding him.

“Do you feel the heat from my skin?” He didn't nod or show any signs of acknowledgment.

You kept your hand hovering over his chest now, “You know it's there, you sense it's there, but it's not touching you or inside of you, but you know it's there. find my mind, like searching for heat.”

Slowly, like condensation, he seeped towards you. High tide rising through the day. The borders of his mind found yours slowly; his mental touch wasn’t rough, but it was firm. It rippled across your mind, water being disturbed.

You pull your hand away and stare at him, half him, the giant of a man with inky tattoos covering his body, handsome, and half the shadowy oil slick mind spirit that stared across you on the mental plane of your minds.

“Checkmate, husband. What now?”

He only touched the walls of your mind. When he tried to push, he found he couldn't. It buzzed across your senses as he tried harder.

Mentally, you pushed back, and Sukuna twitched.

His gruff voice was clipped, “What the hell was that?”

You shrug, “I didn't want you in there. Now try to keep me out.”

You slide through his mental barriers and into the outermost ring of his mind; this place holds only his current thoughts. Annoyance, wonder, and frustration laced there.

He felt like he was being thrown into a wave pool, pressure and intensity vibrating through him. You reach out mentally, calming the brimming energy from him, you curl up against the outermost part of his mind, and he wraps around you. Untrained and boundless, he couldn't help but fold his mind to yours. You maintained your space because you could, but he couldn't control this.

His physical body relaxed and settled slightly; he closed his eyes involuntarily.

“What do you feel?” you ask mentally, echoing across that plane. He was darkness and loud patterns and colors but still vaguely looked like him; you were wispy and starlight, paleness of the moon and glimmering.

The anticipation was eating at you both. His mind pushed around yours more, trying to make you leave, but it was no use. You might as well have been rooted there.

“Y/n,” he said, almost breathless. This was the first time he’d said your name, ever. Your breath paused and resumed; he was so full of curiosity and completely at your mercy.

He searched and scanned over your mental form; you obliged his curiosity and let a small window into your mind open, the overwhelming feeling of you washing over him as he’d washed over you.

His fists clenched as he tried to keep his focus steady.

“You’re supposed to be kicking me out, husband,” you remind him, but he doesn't try; instead, you settle with one another.

mixing and knowing and finding.

“You’re tired,” he says, which is what he’d found through that small window in your mind.

“You haven't been sleeping,” he says mentally now. He reached out, and that pressure became unbearable; you needed him to touch you physically, not just mentally.

It was torture. He was torturous, haunting you.

Your hand found his knee; something warm stirred in the mental plane.

One of his hands found your inner thigh, and his mind twined with yours further, making your breathing labor slightly. You felt warm at your core, needing already.

He said your name again, mentally, like a prayer. You felt it vibrate through you.

Then, footsteps echo through the courtyard, closing in on the two of you.

Crushing pressure pushed against you, so suddenly you flinched. He shoved you out of his mind and retracted his hand from your inner thigh like your skin was burning him.

It was a servant who let him know the Inumaki clan would be arriving in two hours. He offered you a hand; you took it gently. When you rose to your feet, those crimson eyes searched yours for something, and his intense energy brushed against your mind again, like a kiss.

Then you were both taken away by your attendants to get dressed for the day, his lingering feeling still on your mind.

⁺‧₊˚ ཐི⋆♱⋆ཋྀ ˚₊‧⁺

By the time Aoi and Tsumigi were finished dressing you, you had become a devastating empress of flame and shadow. You were in the highest of regalia the shrine had to offer, red and black, Sukuna’s colors.

You wore the necklace of interlocking rings, as you always did, but Aoi removed your wedding band; the blue sapphire did not match the colors for today.

As they finished and walked out, you looked at yourself in the mirror. You stood with your head high, a diadem of silver and crystal. Your hair was braided intricately. There were pearls and hair jewelry that made your head feel heavy, but not anything too uncomfortable. The doors opened. Sukuna stood; he was your matching set.

Both of you look formidable, daring, and like ash and embers.

He didn't say hello or ask how you were. His mind brushed against yours again, and your body betrayed you by warming, feeling seduced already.

He stepped closer and pushed mentally, more confident this time. You let him in as he stood hardly a breath from you. he settled into you fiercely, and you could hardly focus, but you had to.

You look at him, curiosity flaring in you, and you could feel him take note.

You could also feel the rising heat within him; your throat tightened slightly, desire blooming.

He took your hand and slipped on something cold. You looked down, and he exited your mind with hesitation and lingered just slightly before he was fully out.

There was a silver ring, just as intricate as the last, but without a crystal. It felt more like you than in your mind you felt him. Instinctively, your hand shot to his, turning it up to look at it; a matching band was there.

His mind left yours, but one of his hands found your cheek, intensity flooding you.

He only said one thing, one thing before taking your hand and leading you out to the throne room.

“You’re poison, wife.”

He almost sounded disgusted, but his mind was still purposefully gliding across your mental barriers, making you shiver.

⁺‧₊˚ ཐི⋆♱⋆ཋྀ ˚₊‧⁺

Sukuna entered first, then you, and Choso a half pace behind you. When your vision steadied on the bright light falling through the throne room, you settled on something new: next to Sukuna, smaller to match your frame, a matching throne.

No concubines lounged on the dais and stairs today.

He stared at you with a hunger only you would recognize.

Sometimes you didn’t know if he wanted to consume you or worship you until you were left crying.

Perhaps those were the same thing.

You sat next to him, his mind found yours, and you reached out, finding a solid wall of black adamant there.

A flicker of pride flowed through you.

Time passed quickly; you had heard the Inumakai’s introductions, and honestly, you stopped paying attention about twenty minutes ago because in those minutes Sukuna had been tracing your wedding band with one of his fingertips. He seemed focused, but you weren’t.

You scanned the crowd for the undead man, the body stealer, but he wasn’t one of these people. His magical signature wasn’t detectable either.

Soon, you were all led outdoors to a feast with music and dancing. You sat at a high table with Sukuna; still, he traced your fingers.

Uraume played with the young children of the Inumaki clan, and Choso sat beside you, sipping wine silently.

You couldn't play with his mind again, not really, not now. You were tired, but mostly your skin hadn't stopped thrumming with desire since this morning.

All day he pushed at your walls; it didn't take effort to keep them up, but eventually he found a spot that was… sensitive.

That spot on you made the nerves in your body glimmer and sing. You were surely soaked in your underclothes. You were flushed, and your palms sweat, and his fucking fingers kept tracing that gods-forsaken ring.

You tore your hand away, you got up to walk away, giving Choso a glare that made him keep a twenty-pace distance. You walked away from the celebration and to a library. quiet and peaceful, but the thrumming of him returned to you, beating, and when the doors of the library opened, you whined at the flooding of him again.

“Go away,” you said breathlessly. Your thighs squeezed shut, and you almost wanted to cry from how good he felt, and he wasn't even touching you.

You approached, no longer afraid to close the distance between you two.

He made you look at him as he touched that part of your mind's bounds again.

“Stop,” you beg him in a whisper. Please, you beg mentally.

His thumb brushed and soothed your cheek. “What is it, sweet wife?”

Oh, fuck off, you thought to yourself.

You tear your eyes from him and groan, “You- you're torturous, and you know what you’re doing.”

He didn't brush against your mind again, but your back found a shelf and one of his knees slid between your legs.

“You’re the mindreader, violence.” his fingers laced through your hair, and he made you find his gaze again. Then he pushes harder on that spot in your mind. Your lips tremble as a quiet whine escapes you. “I didn’t know you were so sensitive, sweetness. If you let me know, I could’ve helped you.”

You were growing frustrated, “You never help me, you're never nice.”

He only responded by pulling the hems of your dress up, fingers tugging your underwear to the side, and immediately inserted one of his fingers in you. You cursed and threw your head back, but one of his hands blocked your head from banging against the hard shelves.

His pace started slow, and he whispered and kissed that place in your mind, then sped up, lewd wet sounds filling the library. tears filled your eyes from how good he felt. “We are missing a celebration of violence, you're being rude, and here I am coaxing pleasure from you. Tell me im not kind again.”

You whimpered as a second finger joined the movements, plunging in and out. You were loud, and you didn't care. It was all too much; he pushed and covered you, and you cursed his name over and over.

The coil in your lower belly coiled tighter; you couldn't breathe.

“I hate you,” you breathed, and he just leaned in to bite your neck, then kiss the ache he left.

“I know violence.” You start to shake, and his speed only becomes more punishing.

Your orgasm vibrates through you, and real tears fall from how great it felt. But he didn't stop; he kept plunging in and out, your arousal coating his fingers deliciously.

“Just one more violence,” he said, and somehow, on that sensitive spot in your mind, he seeped through, through your barrier which had weakened to his touch. Only a whisper of him, but he could taste your desire, and he knew exactly what you needed now to come again.

a third finger and you were torn apart, whining and crying, cursing over and over. You told him you hated him, and he swallowed every word you said.

He chased you down that high, and when he was done, he knelt, nudging your legs apart further. You almost barked at him to stop; you were so sensitive.

But he grumbled, his breath tickling your sensitive bud, “Just a taste of violence I can't leave you a mess.”

His tongue was soft, swallowing, and earth-shatteringly perfect.

Your hand found his, and your other his hair. He wasn't in your mind anymore, but you could feel him through that thin barrier.

“Sukuna I’m-” you whisper as a gentler orgasm finds you. In his mind, you hear him say, “I know, sweet wife.”

When he was done, he licked his fingers clean, then used one of the many layered fabrics of his kimono to wipe your tears.

He towered over you, and stared at you, into you, and through you.

You both were silent as you returned to the festivities, and at the end you and he shared one dance; you only knew the moves because you’d seen people do so all night.

It was a dance of dragons and flames. You were in a beautiful post orgasmic bliss, your mind so clear, all there was was him.

He didn’t look at the concubines who approached him tonight nor pay any mind to the lords and men who tried to get his attention. Only you existed for him. He was already consuming you. tearing you apart like a pomegranate, and he kept close like a horrible secret.

You didn’t love him; you had a mission, but you danced so dangerously on that line that you were forgetting who you were, and you loved what you were becoming.

When the dance finished, you slept alone that night.

You fell into a nightmare as soon as your e/c eyes shut.

⁺‧₊˚ ཐི⋆♱⋆ཋྀ ˚₊‧⁺

Darkness, shadowy rooms, you traveled through them as they repeated over and over, you were yanked back, stilled.

In the room, there's a podium, something dark sitting there.

Closer, your mind urged. Your feet were ice against the floor; you traveled carefully.

A book sat there. For some reason, it was familiar.

It flared with something dark and old.

You opened it to a random page, and there was a sketch of a woman, words you couldn't read blurred in your mind.

Whispers and cries and screams roar in your ears, your hands find your ears, and you try to block out the noise.

They were saying something over and over.

beyond.

time.

creation.

witch.

The words began to form a sentence.

The witch beyond time is a creation.

The minute the sentence became clear, your eyes opened, shadowy magic coating your chambers, leaking from you.

─── ⋆⋅ ♱ ⋅⋆ ───

[ghostly526]

Im trying to read fire and blood cause i miss rhaenyra targ but this book is so insanely lore filled my head hurts

[ghostly526]

⁺‧₊˚ ཐི⋆⚰︎⋆ཋྀ ˚₊‧Split- a heian sukuna x reader long fic ⁺‧₊˚ ཐི⋆⚰︎⋆ཋྀ ˚₊‧

⛧☾༺♰༻☽⛧

Chapter twelve:

The crushing silence

Time was so relative here. You sat awake after Sukuna left; sleep didn’t find you. For the next three nights, you slept for an hour or two before waking again. You’d grown to fear sleep, not because of Sukuna, but because you didn't want to see the body-stealer again. There was something utterly horrifying about him. he was uncanny and deadly and would peel the skin off your bones if he met you. That's what you assumed, at least.

You didn’t want to dream of him ever again.

You’d also noticed your mind traveled to nostalgic places, but you couldn't picture faces. You had students, but you didn't remember what you taught. You knew there were three of them, the way a person vaguely remembers a distant family member they never see. You couldn't picture them clearly. You began to write in your journal the things you knew, you tried to find their names, but every day you grew further from the proper sounds and consonants.

You prayed less; you suspected you were forgetting tengen. Maybe it was because that was before- before you’d come here. You prayed often before; your internal schedule took you to the shrine in your home twice a day, every day.

Lately, you’d dreamt so much and so often that you had time for nothing but mental exercises and meditation.

Even if you tried praying, Tengen wouldn't answer. You’d call them out over and over, to no avail.

The sun had been up for some time now when Aoi entered your room; she’d mentioned something about being needed in a chamber for breakfast. You were so tired you just let her dress you, then walk you to a room filled with the sun’s light. You quickly realized it was a dining room, mostly because your knight, your husband, and Uraume were already there sipping tea.

You took your seat, the silence unbearable.

Choso poured your tea just the way you liked it. “Good morning, your grace.” his morning voice was deep and rough; his eye bags weren’t as noticeable today.

Uraume wiggled in their chair as they stared at you, “Good Morning, I- I apologize for my absence; I have not been feeling well.” You think the stress of your first two months here stalled your period, so today was the fourth day of your cycle, and it lightened slightly, but today you were brought pain that the other days didn’t supply. You were miserable.

Sukuna sipped on some sort of hot drink; when his lips pulled back, they were stained red, so your curiosity was answered.

Uraume scooted their chair closer to yours. “Will you teach me to use a sword?” they whispered- the whispers did nothing because they echoed through the room loudly.

They smile, “I found your sword; it's beautiful. Have you named it?”

Your brow quirked. “I never thought of naming it,” you admit.

Uraume smiles, “In the story im reading, they name their swords, like Oathkeeper or Dark Sister.”

You nod and roll the thought over. Sukuna’s voice interrupts your thought: “When have you ever been good with a blade?” he leveled a look at Uraume, and the child frowned in defiance.

“Hey, Choso said im doing great for my age!” they whine. Choso looks away as if trying to deny the falsehood he told the child.

You sip your tea. “I will teach you, Uraume; it seems this shrine lacks good swordsmanship.”

Uraume laughs, and Choso chokes on his drink, lips curving slightly. Sukuna stared at you.

He leaned forward slightly, and your breath hitched, “Is that a challenge, sweet wife?”

You didn't falter or break the stare. “No husband, it can be if you so wish.”

Challenge danced between you two; his crimson eyes stayed locked upon you, but in the end, he broke away first.

“In three days, the Inumaki clan will be arriving for negotiations on land and army capabilities. We will hold court with them for one day, one day only,” he stated, not looking at anyone in particular, before he stood. His broad frame seemed impossible; sometimes you forgot he wasn’t a myth like he’d seemed before you arrived.

He exited the room, and you shot a glance towards Choso. He’d gotten used to your incessant curiosity, so didn't need to be verbally prompted before saying, “Master visited the Inumaki clan’s lands while he was away. They fought until they couldn’t. Not many villages were burned before they laid down their weapons and best curse users.”

Choso pauses to look towards the door, his eyes squinting, as if trying to make sure no more prying ears were outside before saying, “The Inumaki clan is such a large group; Master Sukuna needs to promise them court and a proper negotiation to ensure peace. They're traditional and extremely specific, but if he’s going to win over Middle Country, he needs them. Smaller houses and clans will fall in line after they do, officially, in front of the new empire.”

You didn't roll over that thought for long before you say, “I don't understand; he’s the king of curses. Why doesn't he just- take it?”

Both of your breakfast companions stared at you, like you were missing some sort of base-level intelligence to understand what they’d meant.

Choso gently said as he stood, offering you a hand, “Ruling over a kingdom of ash is ruling over no kingdom at all, my lady.”

⁺‧₊˚ ཐི⋆♱⋆ཋྀ ˚₊‧⁺

Over the next few days, your mind lingered on Choso’s words.

You’d known the rumbles and fears expressed in jujutsu society long before coming here; they’d made it seem so different, like he ravaged Japan until the land was barren and the people starved, but that wasn’t what you saw at the village both times you’d gone. You heard children sleeping peacefully in bed, no starving tummies or thieving happening in the night. There was peace.

Ryomen Sukuna was the strongest. You wondered if he wanted Japan because he was the strongest or because he felt he was the only one strong enough to do it. Maybe both.

You thought of him in that barn, such a small, innocent child; you remembered the way they spoke of him, like they’d drown him in a lake as if he were the runt of the litter.

Your studies of socerer history told you Sukuna killed and cannibalized because he could, not that he wasn’t now, but there seemed to be a weird code he traveled under.

What you could gather was that if they bent the knee, he wouldn’t do them harm. If they bent the knee and betrayed him or committed crimes, there would be no mercy. If they refused, he would leave bones and ashes in the air as he did to the Kamo clan's village. Eventually, they bowed, but you could only wonder how many of Choso’s people died to make that happen.

You lay in a garden's lounge area while Choso eyed the edge of the garden; lavender and mint covered the outside scent, and spring was in full bloom.

You closed your eyes and breathed.

Be with me, you thought.

Tell me what’s next.

The silence that met you again couldn’t break your heart anymore. Your heart lingered as you meditated. You didn't like crying, but every time Tengen didn't answer, your mind reeled in on itself, building those walls within you higher.

Your life wasn’t impressive before, but it was yours. You knew it’d only been three months, but you couldn't remember much. scents and voices, but you didn't even know if you lived in an apartment or a house anymore. You couldn't remember your favorite color.

Here, you’d found it had become black. black reminded you of Choso and the quiet comfort he’d always given you. It was what greeted you when you closed your eyes, the simple peace you found so briefly before your mind stole that from you too.

stolen.

All of it.

You had to remind yourself that time wasn't linear; this was your fate; there was no continuing in your old life; you were stripped of all your lasts. Your heart ached slightly as you tried to find what you'd missed from your old life, but you came up with nothing. The feeling was there, like a rope floating in space, no end. Slowly, the atmosphere was pulling that rope further and further out into space. You wondered what you’d become when you didn’t know you were sent here anymore.

Your breath stilled as images floated to you. There was a darkened corridor; there were your footsteps as Choso escorted you back to your room for the day. You disappeared behind your door, and then there were quick, precise footsteps.

A woman, tanned and with a long braid in her hair, walked to Sukuna’s room, knocked once, twice; he opened the door, and suddenly they were exchanging words you couldn’t hear.

You tried to walk closer, but you couldn't; you were sinking into the floor. The vision became torn and seemed to melt away. Based on her clothes, the woman was likely a concubine. She stepped into Sukuna’s room silently, almost pushing past him.

Your breath leaving you was enough to bring you back to the gardens; your mind settled. You didn't see how that glimpse possibly could’ve been of any importance, but you chose to ignore it.

Tomorrow there would be a hearing, then a feast, entertainment, and music. The sun was already cresting the sky. You and Choso spoke about the schedule for a little while; he promised he would only ever be a breath away from you. You smiled that someone was anxious for your well-being for Inumaki’s visit, though you supposed it was only natural; this was his job. You liked to think somewhere in his heart he had a soft spot for you, as you’d grown one for him.

[On your walk back to your chambers, like a whisper in your ear, you were suddenly aware of a mind's attention focused on you. You looked to your right instinctively, and there she stood.\

Her eyes were cat-like, her body slender and tall, that tanned skin you remembered. She bowed when you saw her, jewelry clinking loudly as she did. Her mind was loud, erratic, and fixed on Sukuna.

You weren’t an idiot; you knew there were concubines before you, and if there were concubines before you, surely there would be concubines long after you.

She was tanned, hair long and unbound, unlike most of the servants and noble ladies of the province.

concubine, you thought, one you didn’t recognize. Her mind wasn't singing with the uncertainty of a new place, so she must’ve been here long, but you’d never noticed her.

It was the woman from your dream.

Choso shut your door gently, murmuring that if you’d needed anything, he would wake up to come see you.

You stared at the door, closed your eyes, and let your mind snake along the floor to the end of the hall. Sure enough, the concubine was there. Sukuna opened the door, and she pushed past him. You followed her mind, trying to see things through her eyes, but you hit a wall.

You could vaguely tell Sukuna’s mind was focused on your door. You ressed forward again, but you were stopped once more.

You reached out and found a wall of onyx adamant around Sukuna’s mind. Non-intentional, but whatever was about to happen with the concubine, he really didn't want you to know.

Sometimes, with mind-reading people, keep things so hidden from themselves you couldn't pry it out of them unless you entered their minds to tear and ruin and steal their memories, thoughts, and secrets.

You could’ve pressed further; you wanted to. You mentally stroked the shadowy protectant along his mind, and something within him almost focused on it, grazing your spirit back. Instead, the door shut, and you were locked out.

⁺‧₊˚ ཐི⋆♱⋆ཋྀ ˚₊‧⁺

You’d tried sleeping, but you hated not knowing what the hell was happening.

Ever since you'd gotten here, there were few secrets that escaped you. There were internal mysteries in everyone’s minds, but those you left where they were. Things said and done would find their way to you if you wanted to know about them. It was different if you didn't actively know two people were meeting; then you wouldn't know to spread your energy to know what was going on.

Nothingness sung back to you all night. The silence was killing you.

Your feet moved, the stone was cold beneath you, and your skirts whispered under the stones.

Normally, you would submerge yourself in your onsen, letting the warm water settle you, but you knew tonight that wouldn’t work.

You needed to hear or see something, but simply checking on Choso or waking up Uraume wouldn’t suffice.

You trudged through the clear lake, waves rough and washing over you.

You weren’t moving with thought; you needed to glimpse something, future or past. You hated that your mind wandered to Sukuna; you hated the silence that echoed back. You found yourself checking the link between you two.

You suspected you were the only one who knew of it or knew how to access it. His end was shadowy and bottomless, nothing.

The silence hurt your ears and made you feel like something was wrong. In three months, it had never been like that between you two. You couldn’t always feel his emotions; sometimes he felt like rushing water or roaring winds on his ends, powerful and brutal but there. Sometimes, when you meditated or dreamt, it was enough to pull you from nightmares or horrifying premonitions.

nothing.

nothing.

nothing.

You let yourself sink beneath the waves, and you closed your eyes, flattened your body, and let yourself sink.

The currents pulled and threw you; you felt drawn to something in your mindscape as you sank deeper.

It was the shrine, perhaps a different time or maybe a different perspective. You walked in someone else’s body.

You traveled through the woods, heavy footsteps determined; this mind had a destination. Worry and anxiety didn’t fill this mind but anticipation, exhaustion, and a deep, unnerving approval.

sound of water trickling through the forest met your ears; you knew that sound.

You were crouched by the water, eyes weary, tired, but when you turned to greet the body, you looked pretty. prettier than you felt you saw yourself in the mirror most days.

The longer you looked, the more you’d realize you didn’t look real; you looked like some sort of magical haze covered you, making your features glow or shimmer a bit. Not much, but noticeable. It folded over you like a spring breeze, starlight illuminating the sky or perhaps like the sun falling through windows, making the room feel golden.

This was the cursed energy you’d realized, and you were seeing it through the eyes of someone so familiar with magic in general, the king of curses.

The moment the thought hit you, you felt your body choke, like inhaling air wrong.

No, not air.

Your eyes snapped open, and the serene expanse greeted you. The currents only got rougher; they pulled you to the bottom of the lake. Your lungs burned as your body took another involuntary gasp of water.

You swam, tried to at least, the currents picked up, and your vision darkened. Your hand almost reached the surface, but it felt like rocks were tied to your feet.

⁺‧₊˚ ཐི⋆♱⋆ཋྀ ˚₊‧⁺

Sukuna groaned when he reached the shore. He laid your body down and pressed his lips to yours, giving you air. When he did, his end of the bond was open again; that racing feeling made you lurch, coughing up water.

He brushed your hair away from your face as seemingly half of the lake left your lungs.

“I want to ask, but I don't know where to begin, sweet wife,” he says with zero amusement in his voice.

His crimson eyes danced over your figure; you wondered how you looked to him now beneath the moonlight.

When you looked, you focused your senses and warmed at the vision of the smoky red haze that flowed around him.

“I was meditating,” you admit, and the look he shot you almost made you laugh, maybe even smile if you hadn't just drowned.

Ancient confusion screamed at his features as he glared at you.

“It's a tairo practice to meditate underwater; the current took me out too far.”

“You have an onsen.”

You meet his argument with, “I didn’t want to go to the onsen.”

He grumbled, “You are unreasonably difficult for someone who nearly drowned, Violence.”

You get up from the grass, feeling cold now from the night breeze. “Fate is fate, husband, if the current takes me, so be it.”

He followed you back to the castle half a step behind you.

“How often do you read my mind, violence?” You almost stopped walking but decided against it.

You look forward as you say, “I don't know what you’re talking about.”

A hand finds your arm and another your waist, stilling you both in the center of the corridor that leads to your respective rooms.

“You see, sweetness, I think you do know. " I think I know more than you give me credit for.” This was probably the first time in a long time that the genuine fear raked through you.

“How do you do it?” he commands more than asks. He required you to answer; the only sound filling the hallway was the sound of both of you dripping water all over the floor.

Your mind slithered forward, and you took a step towards him; he took a step back.

Your mind snapped like a whip through his mind, but you still denied, “I don't know what you’re talking about.”

Your mind washed over his, and he tried, and failed, to stop you.

His back went flush with his door, and your piercing gaze was all he could focus on.

Somehow, even though you had the upper hand, his towering presence and cursed energy dominated both of you. “Violence, im not asking.”

You argue with yourself as you pull your mind away from his.

You needed to get close to him.

You needed to know how and when he met the body-stealer.

You needed to matter to him enough that he wouldn’t choose power over you.

Or you needed to kill him.

Or exorcise the body stealer.

Dawn was approaching, and neither of you had slept, but both minds were roaring awake.

With the tentative touch of his hand to yours, his mind slowly crept towards yours, untrained and naive, but a start.

Don't teach him, you thought. Don't.

The only way to teach a mind reader is to let them into your mind. The secret of your purpose here was locked away; you could let him learn, but you didn't have to tell him how to get beyond a mind's deepest barriers.

“When?” you growled, annoyance and distaste for him roiling through you.

A wicked smile, those sharp canines glimmered, you didn't let yourself think of where they were when you two found yourselves alone.

“Now.”

⁺‧₊˚ ཐི⋆♱⋆ཋྀ ˚₊‧⁺

[ghostly526]

My fuckass typos in my works that i dont catch when i reread- guys im literate i fucking swear

[ghostly526]

Split - 𓆩♱𓆪a heian sukuna x reader long fic 𓆩♱𓆪

Chapter eleven:

Azula

The next day, you explored the libraries, spoke with Choso about random topics, and spent time with Uraume. Somewhere in the day, Choso mentioned Sukuna would be leaving again, this time for a while.

After learning that you spend the days in a constant loop, dreams, nightmares, you had found an armory and used a longsword to spar with Choso. It took much convincing, but eventually he gave in. For hours, you clashed sword to sword, every day for weeks.

Spring rains covered the sky constantly, so you either sparred in the rain or you sparred in some empty room.

It was lonely, at times. You’d found that Sukuna’s presence took up a certain volume in your life; when it was gone, the shrine stopped feeling full? You couldn’t place the word.

One night, you sparred alone. Choso had left to sleep for the night, and you’d snuck away to an empty garden in front of the estate. You practiced movements and strikes you found in a book; you were lethal. In school, it was common for sorcerers to learn some weapons, if not many, you liked swords and the long bow.

This night wasn’t clear; a storm was brewing, thunder sounded through the trees, and lightning kept the sky lit just enough for you to continue. Your sword froze mid-swing, the hair on the back of your neck prickled, and something prowled near the front gates. You were barefoot and in simple clothes that were easy to move around in. You instantly began to creep to where you felt the disturbance. You reached out with your mind, following the trail of rotting energy to the entrance of the shrine. The energy rolled off the individual with calculated confidence; it felt like poison or maybe ice in your veins, acidic.

You peered behind a hedge, about fifty feet away. There was a woman’s back; she stood clad in black, no armor but you doubted she would need any; she seemed powerful. You reached out with your mind, and you immediately felt her vile mind waiting, looking, and daring. A thought was brought forth: the longer you looked at her, Choso had mentioned that every couple of months, some would-be curse user would try to challenge Sukuna; they always lost, but they tried anyway. She was silent, as if you didn't look for her or actively try to feel her cursed energy, you might’ve missed it. You pushed deeper, trying to see what her technique was, but the woman went rigid as you did; her head snapped in your direction.

Hiding was no use to you stepped out of the shadows, not timid or simpering, your chin held high, and you met her glare.

She turned to fully face you, a saccharine smirk painting her red. She was slightly taller than you, her hair pinned high; she stood with a confidence that mirrored yours.

She sketched a dramatic bow, “Empress, it is my honor to meet your acquaintance. “She exited the bow, and her face turned, “Where is that husband of yours?”

Lethal intent followed her gaze as you stepped closer, “You should leave.”

Her eye twitched. “Your grace, you have me confused. I only want to speak with the king of curses… Where is he?” she asked more seriously this time; predatory intent lit up those dark eyes.

Her cursed energy readied, you could feel it in the air and her mind, something like pure energy, you could see green in your mind.

“Last chance, leave,” you offered, readying yourself for what you were sure to come next.

She sighed, “It’s a shame; I might’ve liked you.” Her hands engulfed in green energy as she surged forward, aiming to punch you, but with a swift strike of your blade, she now had a vertical cut going down her face.

The woman brought her hand to her face, blood pooling there. She hummed, psychotic delight dancing in her eyes, “You should know, woman, my name is Azula.”

She conjured a blade of her own, imbued with cursed energy. “Tell me yours.”

You refused; instead, you made the first strike, then the second, then the third. She was just as well trained as you were.

She lunged and nicked your shoulder; you tried not to whine as she did.

You speared into her mind, cutting, bruising, drowning her with your cursed energy.

“That's not fair-” she crooned and slashed again. “Tell me, mind reader, what do you see?” She kicked you back. You recovered quickly. You both circled each other. The storm raged around you.

Her mind was filled with carnage; she had something to prove, exactly what you weren't sure. She ate her enemies; she must’ve been a cursed child too.

“Why come here?” you spat. That cut on Azula’s face would scar; the blood painted her features; in any other light, she might’ve been devastatingly beautiful.

She laughed, “Killing your husband for starters, but maybe I'll settle on you. I think I might’ve met my match in this world, empress.” You’d gotten used to Azula’s style now. She was brutal, struck first, and she didn't guard her left side. You dodged her blow and swiftly cut at her side.

You almost felt bad. almost.

Azula staggered back, the cut ran deep, and this fight would end sooner or later. Her features became annoyed, possessive, and then rageful.

“im done playing empress; I'll butcher you and skin alive that little brat that's watching.” Your eyes widen; you turn. Uraume stood at the entrance of the shrine. You almost shouted for Uraume to run, but you heard something solid fall to the ground; then Azula’s fist collided with your jaw. Your vision cut for a moment, but she already had you on the ground, tearing and punching. She summoned a dagger, and you mustered enough focus to tear into her mind. “Stop,” you spat, blood filling your mouth. The blade stopped an inch above your heart. You couldn't hold it long; you snatched the knife and stabbed it straight through her throat.

Her body went limp, her eyes filling with tears as she struggled for air. You tore the blade out, staring at her fallen body.

“Y/n,” you say. Her blood made a pool at your feet. You gasped for air as you bled. “My name.”

Azula’s life left her eyes before she could say anything else.

You wordlessly dragged her body to the woods, gathered wood and dry plants, then watched her body burn. You toyed with the blade, still covered in hers and your blood.

It felt good to be tested; it had been so long since you last had a real fight.

You wondered if Azula thought killing Sukuna would dull her taste for violence and carnage; you guessed no.

Many curses and cursed users were like that.

They always had something they believed would settle them; in reality, it was typically the worst outcome for them.

Hours passed into morning, and Choso approached behind you; all that was left of Azula was ash.

“My Lady,” Choso started but lost his words halfway through. You only stood and handed him the small blade Azula fought with. You kept walking, and you simply said, “Give that to my husband whenever he chooses to return.”

‿̩͙⊱༒︎༻♱༺༒︎⊰‿̩͙

You sat near a stream in the forest. You told Choso to stand outside the forest to protect your privacy. You had never killed anyone before.

Well, at least not in the way you’d felt and seen it. The older village couple you’d ravaged was different, you’d carry their deaths like a wound for the rest of your life. You exercised curses and crazed curse users, but they didn't look human; they were hardly human. You fought and subdued and exorcised curses, but the feel of a blade crunching through flesh would probably always echo through your mind. Days have passed since you killed her, and you haven't seen or sought out Urame.

Looking at the child was a reminder of the death you now bore.

Not because it was sad or you hated it, but because you had not a single regret, you’d kill again to protect them or Choso.

That horrified you more than the ashes that disappeared in the wind until nothing was left of Azula.

You weren’t here to defend children or have your most cherished friend be your knight, and certainly not end up in your husband's bed twice now.

Then there was that. You kept calling him husband, this killer who would bring such misfortune to your world, you kept calling him husband and thinking of him that way.

You couldn’t see the future anymore; something had changed, even if it was just ever so slightly. enough that the timeline was unsettled, the chaos of choices blurred the events that would or wouldn't ensue,

You were kneeling, feeling the stream's cold water on your fingers. Leaves and twigs crunched under heavy feet. You didn't turn.

“Choso sent me a raven,” Your husband starts, his voice neutral and deep; it made your nervous system flicker with light.

Then there was that. You couldn't think about him long before you needed to find release.

“Violence,” he starts, wanting your attention to be fixed on him. When you didn't turn, he walked closer and sat on a rock next to you, staring through your very soul.

You didn't meet his eyes. “Did you come back because of his message?”

Sukuna’s expression didn't change. “I was already coming back.”

Cool indifference.

You finally meet his gaze, “So what then, husband? Have you come to tell me how stupid I was?”

You were prepared for it. Jujutsu society was unforgiving to women most of the time. All the top worshipped sorcerers were men. Women weren’t trained the same. The men maybe didn't see it, but the women could. In jujutsu society, you must take on the role of a woman, or they will let you fail.

His brow furrowed at you. “Wife, I won't yell at you for defending yourself.” he cocks his head and corrects, “You could've done it for fun, and I couldn’t care less.”

When you say nothing, he pulls out a wooden box; you weren’t paying attention os he must’ve carried it over here.

He slides it to you with ease.

“Next time, use this.” Then he stands, gives you one last look, and he walks away.

You stare at the box. Your hand wasn’t shaking as you lifted the lid.

The most beautiful sword you’d ever seen lay in a velvet blanket inside.

It was a longsword, silver and leather-hilted, with designs and engravings of solar and lunar cycles; they traveled down the blade to the tip, and eclipse. It felt like it was out of a storybook, the kind of sword that simply didn't exist in reality, but there it was, and it was yours.

‿̩͙⊱༒︎༻♱༺༒︎⊰‿̩͙

That night you’d fallen asleep quickly.

Sounds of fighting and blood woke you, though. In your bones, you felt and realized this was a premonition, not a past memory.

You recognized the six-eyed symbol on a banner in the village you stood in. You walked where you heard most of the commotion coming from.

If you were in the gojo lands, this event definitely hadn’t happened yet. Sukuna was performing a slow claim on the south; he now presided over a little under half of Japan, but the Gojo clan lived at the northern tip.

When you found the village center, Sukuna stood, bloodied and beautiful, but someone else was there.

undead.

wrong. wrong. wrong.

The body stealer stood before him. They were saying things to each other you couldn’t hear. His stitches seemed mostly healed; he was speaking wildly to Sukuna, and for some reason, he was listening.

The sight of him made your skin crawl.

The two men shook hands, and the dream began to slip away from you, as if you were being carried away by the wind. The undead man found your eyes again, though. He began his prowl towards you. You tried to scramble back, but you couldn’t. He would get you if you didn't wake up.

‿̩͙⊱༒︎༻♱༺༒︎⊰‿̩͙

You lurch upwards as you wake. It's the middle of the night. you pull the blanket off to see blood. Your cycles had come on time, as you realized a cramp squeezed at your insides.

That was the event, you thought. [The event you needed to avoid. The event Sukuna needed to avoid. Meeting the body stealer would kill you and the future.

You didn't have time to ponder more about it because your door silently swung open, and a figure stepped inside. It didn't wait in the shadows, though; rather, he didn't wait in the shadows.

Sukuna prowled to the edge of your bed. You tried to cover your blood-stained sheets, but it was unfortunately too late. His large hand grabbed one of your ankles and tugged you to the edge of your bed.

“Husband-” you were cut off by his hands tearing at the fabric of your lower underclothes. You tried to shut your legs, but his lower set of hands just spread you open. You could feel when the scent of blood got acquainted with his senses.

“Violence, you woke me up,” he said, lowering himself to his knees.

“How did I?” you choke out as one of his fingers slips inside of you. It explored softly, then curled to tease the spot inside of you that made you shiver.

“I could only see you in this bed; you seemed horrified.” Another finger slipped in. He didn't care you had a bad dream, not when those fingers pumped faster. “I thought we agreed to leave my dreams alone, violence, or do you like being punished?”

He began to kiss your stomach, then your thighs as he continued to lower himself. You tried to stop him. “im bleeding,” you start, but he doesn't let you finish. His mouth latched onto your clit feverishly. Two seconds in, and he was flicking, sucking and kissing every inch of you.

The taste made him grow and scratched the thirst he’d grown from the last time he had seen you. Your head threw back against your sheets as he placed your legs over his shoulders. His fingers dug into your thighs, and your blood spread on his chin and cheeks.

He was messy about it but oddly calculated, as he had thought of exactly what he wanted to do to you and how he wanted you to sound.

The whines that escaped you were pathetic; your first orgasm rushed through you quickly, and he held you down and only ate you with a higher intensity. He didn't stop despite you trying to shove him away from your sensitive skin.

He stopped briefly, but two fingers dipped in and out of you at a punishing pace. Blood glistened; only the moonlight lit his face. He was so beautiful in this light; in any light, he was haunting.

“Tell me, violence, how does it feel?” You shudder and cry as a third finger enters you. You tried to back away, but he only held your thighs down and pinched your nipple, rolling the bud between his fingers. Your second orgasm came as you threw your head back.

His pacing slowed, and he continued to stare, still pumping in and out. You were shaking at this point.

“Violence,” he started. You met his eyes again.

“What?” you ask with a sigh. What more could he take from you? Two orgasms were testing things; three would ruin you.

A simple grin found his lips, “Tired already, sweetness? Don't give up yet, you owe me one more.”

You started shaking your head, “No, no, no, I can't- I, I can't anymore.” he only exited you briefly to sit on the bed, pulling your body against him, your back flush with his stomach. The same fingers from before slid through your folds like silk. You threw your head back, Sukuna watching you. Tears came to you e/c eyes.

He crooned, “Shh, don't cry violence, I’ve got you.” he didn’t have you; the bastard only entered you harder than before. You weren’t saying anything that made sense, and he drank up everything you gave him. he leaned down; you hadn’t kissed since the last time you saw him. He didn't claim you with his mouth as roughly as he did your pussy. Those fingers slammed their way home over and over, making your legs clench together- as if that could keep him out.

A kiss pressed to your lips and for a brief moment, “one more violence, I'll leave you alone after one more.” You shook your head again, but your final orgasm was building. It felt so good it hurt. The lewd sounds echoing through your room felt illegal.

One hand stroked your hair as he said, “Look at how beautiful you are.” That hand in your hair tightened and forced you to look at his thick fingers assaulting your insides. You didn't mean to, you didn't even try, but you were falling before you even felt it. You came so hard that the only thing you could feel and sense was him. Everything else fell away. He slowed and eventually slid his fingers out of you.

You had no words; you could only catch your breath. he left from under you, and you collapsed back. He didn't check on you or offer anything kind. Silence was the only thing left when he left your room.

[moninils]

And all of this at once.

[ghostly526]

Split - ˚₊‧⁺⋆♱heian sukuna x reader long fic ˚₊‧⁺⋆♱

chapter ten:

Let me taste you, sweet violence.

It was morning already, but you hadn’t stirred; you twitched in your sleep. Somewhere, more north of here, there was a dark castle covered in snow. The winter in the south was kinder, [simple snows that melted when the sun came out, but this was different; it was violent and murderous. Something was wrong with this place. Something prowled through the castle.

You blinked, and then you saw him. You were now inside the castle. There were no servants. No living guests. Bodies.

bodies.

bodies.

bodies.

rotting and others just simply bones and a man at the center of it all. He was a decent height, but his skin and eyes looked wrong. decay. This castle wasn’t his; he ravaged it and stood among the carnage. You stared at him. He had shorter, cropped black hair. He looked somewhat like Megumi, so he must have been Zenin. He looked at you, not past you or through you, but those dead eyes looked into yours with understanding, like he knew you were there.

A sick smile painted his sadistic face. undead. The body that stood before you, your mind urged you to run, to find a way out, to get away from him. You were frozen, in deep fear. Before you stood a sorcerer of shadows and death, he yearned for nothing, he loved nothing, he killed with ease, not passion. He wanted one thing; it swirled in his mind, and you could taste it on your tongue before anything else did, more. He wanted more.

Exactly what you couldn't place, near the top of his head, something like blood trickled from his scalp. No, it was blood. Your breathing became labored, you wanted to scream, his hand touched your scalp and ripped the skin back.

You staggered back and slammed your eyes shut, but mentally you could see, feel, and see the vile, cursed energy leaking from you. It tasted you, found you, saw you, and it crept over you like oil in water. Your heart thundered with pure terror as you dared open your eyes again. His brain, pinkish-grey and utterly wrong, poked out of his head; it smiled at you. This wasn’t a person at all, but a body-stealing curse. He put the scalp back onto his head and began to stitch it shut, his dead eyes marked you, a promise.

No, you thought.

-

Your eyes open wildly, there was a figure above you, pale, pale like the man in your dreams-

You didn't think before your fist slammed its way to his jaw, and you scrambled out of bed, bringing cursed energy to your hands, focusing your mind-

“Empress, what the hell-” The man on the floor was your sworn sword, Choso Kamo.

You paled and scrambled to him, “Choso, I apologize- I didn't know it was you.”

You looked at his jaw, which was now bruising. You hit him hard. You didn't go to jujutsu school for nothing. You were a fighter, could easily hold your own. You offered him a hand to help him up.

He takes it and looks at you with a humorous hint in his eyes. “My lady im unsure why you even need me. I don't think I've been laid out like that in ages.”

You almost smile to yourself but then remember, “Wait, why were you in here?” suspicion lacing your tone.

Choso opens the chamber doors to let Aoi in. She dresses you for the day, and Choso turns around. “You were crying in your sleep, loudly. I came to check on you.”

Aoi had finished dressing you. The end of winter was coming, and for the south, that meant it was growing ever so slightly warm. Your outfit was flowing, and today you wore your house's colors. Some control is needed after last night. You weren’t a virgin nor a prude, but you didn't let people just wash over you like that. Sukuna’s fingers felt like they were claiming you. [He must've healed your neck at some point because his sharp teeth left no marks, but it was sore, lingering on you.

The dark blue cloak you wore comfortably, and a simple diadem was woven into your hair as Aoi laid braids and twists, pinning all the hair back. Choso turned around as she did.

You sighed, “Only a nightmare.”

Choso’s face didn't change, but his tone did: “Only?” his eyes danced over to the book with a single eye decorating the front.

You glared at him. You wouldn't have this conversation in front of Aoi. She left swiftly and without a word when she finished, and Choso fell more into the comfortable persona he had when you two were privately together. “Breakfast is waiting in the gardens. Do I need to order all servants away for a few hours?”

He always offered you privacy and a listening ear. You knew he kept your secrets, and you knew Sukuna prodded. He didn't keep anything from you, not really. You nodded and arrived in the gardens. Once the servants left, you leveled him a glare.

“Other than Sukuna, what higher-profile curse users are currently in Japan?”

Choso didn't freeze as he popped a piece of meat into his mouth; he swallowed. “There’s Yami Akuma; she is clanless and performs serial killings across the country. Rumors of a pirate from across the world haven’t truly been confirmed; they’re calling him stalking death. There are big names in the clans simply because they're Gojo or Zenin. Then there are curses in general on the prowl,” he says with no worry in his voice.

He wants to ask why, but he doesn't.

None of those names sounded like they belonged to the curse in your dreams. Body stealer, you thought. Was it real then, or maybe a premonition of the future? He was far, which was good, but you wondered how big a threat they might’ve been if they came closer to the south.

But Choso didn’t know who he was, so that meant Sukuna wouldn’t either- good, for now. If you were shown this person, there was a strong possibility that they’d make their way here at some point.

-

Two weeks later, little had been accomplished. You didn't see Sukuna very much; he was busy with war planning, or so Choso had informed you. The spring equinox was tonight; the village was throwing a celebration. It was late; Choso was off duty now, but the party must’ve been just starting. You decided to attend in the plainest clothes you could find. Everyone wore masks or creative makeup, but you decided that obscuring your face from onlookers' gazes was the best approach; you would be able to release your cursed energy for the first time in a while.

The festival was wonderful; it was dark out, only fire lit the stalls and stages, and fireworks painted the skies.

You walked to a darker area, looked through shops, and turned away from hagglers trying to sell you magic crystals. You felt him before you saw him.

You didn't need to look, and you wouldn’t. Let him stalk you. You purchased fruit and a toy for Uraume. When you had gotten to the path that went through the woods, you could feel his cursed energy on you again.

You don't stop walking. “Why do you hide, husband?” you asked, but no answer came. You rounded a tree, and there he was, tall and strong and gazing down at you with a flat expression on your face.

“You defy me, wife,” he growled, eyes zeroing in on you. You brush past him, continuing down the dark forest's path. “im not sure what you mean.”

He falls in step with you. “Who gave you permission to leave?” he asks, testing.

You stop and glare at him, “No one permits me anything. I wanted to leave, so I left.”

Crimson eyes studied you.

“And that’s all?”

You were confused. “What are you trying to ask me?”

His jaw clicked, and his hand found your lower back, guiding you back to the shrine.

“What did you need from the village that the shrine didn’t have?”

The forest swayed around you two, stopping to gaze and listen.

“I left for excitement, husband; does that trouble you?”

His fingers dug into your back slightly, then scooped to take your arm instead. “Wife, you trouble me on most days and most nights.”

You hand gripped his bicep as the night grew colder, “Then why ask?”

Then something rumbled through him, his mind, something… sultry. Then the vermilion haze of envious violence.

You spoke as soon as you felt it: “If you’re wondering if I fell into another’s bed, husband, I have not.”

He doesn't say anything, but his eyes do find yours.

“How did you know I was out here?” you ask, keeping his gaze. The shrine gates passed you two, and then you were walking towards the corridors that held your rooms. He stops you in the middle of the hallway, his back to his room, your back to yours.

He was so intense, it smothered you, but you let yourself explore him too, you cursed energy carressed and touched, you hated yourself for it, but you couldn't stop.

“I dreamt you were there; I was curious as to why the person meant to accompany you everywhere was there.”

You quirked a brow. “So I'm not allowed to dream of you, but you can find me in yours with no punishment?”

One of his hands moved a strand of hair from your face, fingertips grazing your cheek, shivers flushed through you. “And how would you punish me, wife? You already do it so beautifully.”

You chose to ignore that comment and whatever the hell that meant.

“You haven't spoken to me or even really looked at me all this time; what changed?”

He didn't respond, but the hand traveled to your neck, feeling your pulse. You could feel him; you knew he could feel the blood rushing to your cheeks and pulsing between your thighs. You could feel his mind bloom as he remembered your taste.

So you speak again, “If I were to punish you, husband, I would make you know what that feels like.” Your hand betrayed you; it traveled to the lapel of his kimono, where his bear skin peeked at you from underneath. Your fingertip grazed that spot on his abdomen.

Fire danced in his eyes, and from what you could tell, underneath his skin too.

That broad hand slid to your cheek, making you look up at him higher, rough, so rough and so warm.

“Show me.”

You didn't know what the fuck you were doing. In a split second, you were in his room. You pushed him onto the bed, and he fucking let you.

He sat as you stepped closer, one of his hands finding the back of your thigh. Your hand tangled in his hair; you wanted to kiss him, taste him, make him want.

The top set of his hands began to slowly take off your kimono, fingers dancing across the fabric covering your skin.

You captured his mouth in one fell swoop, soft at first. But a groan rumbled through him when you bit his lip; you couldn't help it. Internally, he was so thirsty for your blood that it made you a little violent too. A breath passes between you as blood trickles from his lips.

Your kimono fell to the floor, and only your undergarments remained; they were white today.

“Violence,” he growled, more a nickname than a statement. Had you projected that into his mind? You didn't care; you pushed him onto the bed, his back flush with the furs and blankets; you straddled his leg and kissed him again, tasting the blood there.

Your hand traveled; as soon as it did, so did his. One hand in your hair, the other playing with the waistband of your bottoms. You didn't wait; you couldn't. You felt the surge of power, having him want you like this, need you. Your hand didn't pause as you touched his waistband, and it didn't falter when you grabbed his cock, well, the first one at least.

He groaned some sort of flurry of curses as you stroked him; he slid off the pants and didn't stop you. Precum painted his tip, and you knew it was sensitive when he shuddered a bit as you gave it more focus. His other cock twitched near your leg.

You let your hand squeeze and stroke his tip, his hand gripped your hips surely to bruise.

“Is this revenge for our last encounter violence?” he said as he forced you back to look at him. His eyes were blown wide and twitched slightly as you continued your assault on his cock, “Torture me as I tortured you?”

A wicked smile played at your lips. “Is that what you want this to be?” You let your hand stop and let go of his cock, and his eyes furrowed. “You viperous thing.” He found your hair with his hands and tugged your head down. You knew what he wanted, but you didn't leave his gaze. Slowly, without losing eye contact, you knelt on the bed and took his cock into your mouth, then jerked the other one off.

His head fell back onto his mattress; he was loud, and he didn't care.

“Oh, you sweet thing,” he said as his hands found your ass; one crack sounded in the air, and you lurched forward, taking his cock deeper into your mouth. His breaths sped up, various insults and praises came from his mouth as he drew closer, harder in your mouth.

You grew tired and immediately noticed. “No, sweet wife. dont give out just yet, let me help you.” his hands traveled through your hair as he thrust up, you hand no choice but to take it, tears welling in your wide eyes, when his come painted your throat he gave you a moment to swallow before pulling you back up, he almost made you sit on the other cock, wanting you to ride him through the night but you stopped him.

“torture for torture husband, we are even,” you stand from the bed, content to leave him there, there thirst echoing in his mind made you want to turn back to him, you threw your kimono back on and he watched you from his bed, utterly naked and not a care in the world, he waited, waited for you to come back, but your hand reached the door. He was on you in a second.

“fine,” he he caged you against the door, he leaned down to your throat, “just one taste though, sweet violence, only for a moment,” his warm breath danced across your skin, then those sharp teeth pierced skin, you didnt know why, but when he did it pain didnt reach you, maybe you sense just tangled with his too deeply, but it felt satisfying, maybe it was just because you could feel a thirst being satisfied in his body.

You didn't know. Your feelings were his, and his were yours; it was all too intense.

His hand found your hip; warmth bloomed between your legs. You think he maybe knew that because something scarily close to a whine left his throat, he pulled back. Blood- your blood dripping down his lips now; his fingers rubbed circles on your hip, but not moving closer. He looked at you, not daring to look away.

“Goodnight, violence.” he backed off from the door and turned around. You slipped out of the room before you could do something you would regret.

[ghostly526]

Im afraid aerion targaryen is all i think about now its sickening - also there is no good fanfics like long ones so i think i needa take matters into my own hands

[ghostly526]

First time writing smut baddies WONT BE THE LASTTT

[ghostly526]

⁺‧₊˚ ཐི⋆♱⋆ཋྀ ˚₊‧⁺ Split - a heian sukuna x reader longfic ⁺‧₊˚ ཐི⋆♱⋆ཋྀ ˚₊‧⁺

Authors note- LADIES IM SORRRYYYY ill be better at updating forgive me pls, my computer is being weird so if there typos im SORRY

Chapter nine:

Beyond creation

You were dozing in the garden, Uraume was playing with your hair, and Choso was humming a song. You were in the sweet spot between asleep and awake. You were vaguely aware of the two next to you, and your heartbeat was lulling you to a dreamy calm. The thudding seemed to beat in time with the trees, moving in tune with the tempo of your heart.

Under your cheek, there was a faint rumbling in the ground. So slight you almost didn’t think it was anything more than the thudding in your chest.

Then it got louder. and louder.

Your eyes peeked open, and there was no visible reaction on your counterparts' faces.

You stood, claiming you were going to walk around the garden, and left the two in the secluded sitting area.

It was after sunset. The three of you had dinner in the castle, then watched the sunset and drank tea. It was now the post-sunset hour, when the sky was a twilight blue.

Your feet carried you quickly away from Choso and Uraume through the castle, and eventually you recognized that you were approaching one of the shrine's entrances, the doors wide open.

The beating stopped, then you felt it behind you, blood throbbing in your ears.

You whip around and find him standing there, Sukuna.

“Did you miss me, wife? " I’ve only just returned.” A coy smile played at his lips.

“I didn’t know you would be back so soon; the shrine began to feel… different when you arrived.”

“So you thought you would investigate the threat?” he laughed. You fought against rolling your eyes.

You wouldn’t take his bait, though. “Well, I should retire for sleep, welcome home, my lord.” You said awkwardly.

When you walked away, though, he was following you.

You stop and turn to him, eyes questioning.

He speaks before you can. “When did you master mind reading?”

You were speechless.

He laughed at your wide eyes.

“Give me more credit, wife. I know much about your clan, and I feel the irritating abundance of your cursed energy.”

Between the two of you, he seemed to try to exaggerate this thought by letting the reins loose of his cursed energy, as it brushed against you like soft waves on the beach.

You shudder a bit and say, “I have been talented in the arts since I was a toddler; I have had nothing but time to refine it.”

He begins to walk forward, and you follow him. He leads you through the halls as he reads his next words. “So much restraint in you, seems like a pathetic waste of your abilities.”

Your voice is stern when you reply, “I have a moral compass. It feels like an assault to purposefully invade someone's thoughts. Not everyone is decent these days.” You throw him a look, and all of the smiles he had for you today were suddenly gone.

“You’re right, there's not,” he cruelly remarked, and then his pace picked up, and you watched him walk away.

-

The next morning, Yoru came early to inform you that there would be an event today that you were expected to attend. It had been called a tithe. The entire village would be taxed in various ways, and then criminals would await punishment from Sukuna.

You were only expected to attend, so Yoru tried to make it fun by letting you choose how to dress today. You looked between a blue-and-silver kimono and a red-and-black one; you felt a deep draw to the latter.

You were constantly running through your choices when it came to changing the impending future. One common fact was that the more you interacted with Sukuna, the more premonitions you had. You needed to keep having them so you could find at least one event to change so Sukuna was never reincarnated. You needed to get close with him, so when you donned his house colors and your eyes were lined with black paint, you looked like the spitting image of your title. The wife of the king of curses, the empress of his new empire.

You looked so ornate, so haunting. Yoru could only sigh at your beauty as she added more jewelry and touched up your hair. You didn’t really wear makeup, but the paint flattered your eyes, and for this occasion you didn't mind it so much.

You were led to closed doors to the throne room. Sukuna, you could tell, was already inside. His presence made your chest hurt, and your lower abdomen grow warm. Your throat felt tight, but you only swallowed and held your head high.

Choso opened the doors and took your hand. A hundred faces turned towards you, and they offered deep bows. The only one who did not bow was Sukuna. he had his head resting on his fist, and a cruel smirk lined his lips. He sat on a dais, in the largest throne you’d seen. A concubine curled at his feet. You knew the concubine; you’d dreamt of her.

When your eyes meet Sukuna’s again, you can feel the anticipation rolling off of him. He wondered what you would do with her there.

Choso helped you up the stairs, and you e/c eyes slowly met the concubines.

Your moral compass could go fuck itself. Her prideful smile as she stroked his legs and looked at you made you feel irritated.

You speared through her mind, cutting and slicing and pressing deep, “Move,” you had said. You could feel her emotions change into deep horror. When she didn't move immediately, you tested the waters of your abilities and, in her mind, pictured pain.

If any of this would work, you would need to show him you weren't some simpering fool; you needed to be strong, viperous, and intense if you wanted to somehow change him. You needed him to need you, to want you, to not burn down the world for you if you asked.

You sent her hot, searing pain; you made her feel like you were already slicing her open. She climbed her feet, offered a deep bow, and with tear-strewn eyes, she practically ran off the dais. Then you looked at Sukuna, something unlike complete distaste shown there. He held one of his four hands out to you, helping you up the last little step, and he pressed a soft kiss to your hand, performative, to be sure, but Warmth still exploded in you. When he let you go, you clapped your hands together in front of you. There was no matching throne, so you would have to stand.

“Begin,” Sukuna growled. He looked thoroughly bored as the first person walked in. It was a farmer; they were provided fifteen percent of their livestock for this quarter. Then the next man entered; he was a farmer, and he provided a bounty of vegetables and fruits. It went on and on.

Then a man dressed as if he belonged at the royal court walked in; he was flanked by two concubines, who were hardly covered; one wrong breeze and everyone would know them intimately. They were pretty, thin, and brimming with intense desire, or rather, what they were trying to play off. There was a weird middle ground; they all thought Sukuna was intimidating and beautiful, but fear leaked from their minds, all of their minds. It tasted like bile in your mouth.

“My King, I give you my best concubines from the pleasure house, and the agreed fifteen percent of my earnings last quarter.” He gave a deep bow, then the concubines joined the other three at the bottom of the dais, lounging. You tried not to let your- whatever this was. Emotion? jealousy? No, surely not jealousy. You wouldn't let it consume you.

Choso’s voice echoed through the chamber. “Bring the petitioners.” You searched Choso’s immediate thoughts; these people would come with problems to present to Sukuna- maybe he would fix them, maybe not.

Murmurs flow through the chamber as a man approaches. He was cleaner than most of the commoners but disheveled compared to the fegalia you bore. He bowed deeply, then met your eyes; they lingered a second too long.

“My Lord, from the mountain villages of Fukouka, I present you with a gift for your wife- a token of our appreciation for the tairo people.” The man had dark circles under his eyes, as sleep hadn't found him. He was allowed to approach the dais and presented Choso with a golden box. He then handed it to me after inspecting it. You opened it and found a bracelet within. Choso helped you put it on. Sukuna said nothing to the man; he motioned his finger for the next petitioner to come forward.

The man was halfway to the exit now, and a plump woman took his place, speaking of curses attacking farms on the northern reach of the kingdom.

Your wrist started to tingle, then it burned, you twitched, and looked at the bracelet. The man was almost to the exit. Your entire body burned wildly, and an involuntary shriek left your lips, and your knees buckled as you clutched at your wrist. Your skin near the bracelet was burning, peeling, and melting off. Choso rushed to you and ripped it off with inhumane strength. The man at the end of the hallway was frozen. Your wide eyes looked to your husband. A single hand held up made the stranger's body go still.

Blood sung in the air as you breathed through the stinging pain. Sukuna stood as two guards brought the man back; the whole hall seemed to freeze.

“Now why did you have to do that?” Sukuna asked as the guards made the man kneel. There were no words, and there were no threats, just the sound of cutting flesh, blood splattered across your face, and the stranger's body fell to the ground.

When he fell, a necklace fell out of his shirt, bearing the Zenin sigil. An assassin had come; the bracelet glowed slightly on the floor. It was not a curse, not that you could tell. But it must've been some sort of object that had been imbued with cursed energy.

His blood was so warm across your face. You froze; your eyelids twitched at the sensation, blood falling and falling down your neck, to your breasts, and then soaking your gown. Sukuna’s feet approached you; a hand hovered over your wrist, skin remade and flesh born again. It stung as badly as the bracelet did, but you only watched his four eyes and tried not to scream.

When he was done, he walked out without another word. All the village people were ushered out, and Choso helped you up. When you started walking, you walked ahead of him, slamming your chamber doors shut and began breathing hard. You snuck out of your window and to the nearest pond. You cupped the water and washed the blood from your face, breathing labored and whiny. The water turned pink. Your heart thundered; you were somewhere between rage and fear. disgusted that you searched you body for the pull tot he blood but found non. You expected it to happen; you were shocked that you didn't drink the would-be assassin alive as you did the innocent couple in the village.

The reminder of the carnage made your eyes slam shut.

Light steps were behind you, an older female voice accompanied the hand on your back. “deep breaths my Lady, it wont be the first or last time. Let us get you settled.” You let her lead you back to your room, you werent seeing anything, only his eyes boring into yours, he cursed enegry washing over you and soothing the wound on your arm. Remnants still lived in your skin; maybe it always would.

you spent the rest of the day in a daze, staring off into the darkest part of your room, until sleep eventually found you.

-

the moon painted the castle like a dream, ryomen sukuna walked the gardens with something tugging at him, night blossoms glowed faintly, animals chittered and roared in the forest.at the eastern reach of the castle the moon bounced off of a crystal clear lake, perhaps a swim would still your husbands mind, when he reached the shore his eyes locked onto a figure, your figure. Your hair was unfurled, and you stood in a long sleeping gown, the water lapping at your hips.

“Woman,” he called. You didn't move. Beyond his understanding, he stepped into the water too. It was freezing, colder than he thought it'd be. When he approached you, he grabbed your shoulder, but your eyes were an opaque white; you were mumbling to yourself.

You tried to submerge yourself further, but Sukuna stopped you, sleeping or no, he would not let the centerpiece of his plans drown or- do whatever it was this other you was trying to do. A wave hit your back, soaking a good portion of your hair. In this light, you were a wraith of magic and dreams. Sukuna nudged you, testing. Your body kept tugging to the water. He let you go, and you only went a few feet deeper until the waves pushed against your breasts.

“Wife.” His voice echoed through your mind, the fog left your e/c eyes, and your body surrendered to sleep. You fell slow enough for Sukuna to catch you.

-

The sound of water hitting cement made your eyes peek open, warmth crowded you, solid warmth, then you realized you were being carried, your eyes snap up, you blink away the drowsiness.

“H-husband?” He didn't answer; he only placed you onto the stone edge of an onsen tub, but not yours. You didn't recognize this room. He walked away; the sound of fabric falling to the floor made you freeze. Then he entered the water behind you. You turned to the pool. The water covered his mid-abdomen, and down, he watched you intently.

Your dress had become almost transparent from the water; you instinctively covered yourself.

He growled, “Save the theatrics, little witch; get in or get out.”

Your mind urged you to leave, to not stay in the room a minute longer than needed. But you were what stood between the death of millions and eternal peace for the jujutsu world; you stood and let your dress fall to the floor. You didn't rush or do anything rash; you just kept his star as you entered the deliciously warm tub. It was huge; 10 people could fit in here with room to swim. On one end was you, directly across was him.

“Do you sleepwalk into lakes often, dear wife? Or was tonight special?” Two of his four arms held his weight as he lounged back onto the edge of the tub.

You kept your guard up.

“I think you know the answer to that,” you answered. You didn't know how much he knew, but you knew he wasn't stupid.

He cocked his head to the side slowly, a wicked smirk on those lips. “Yes, I suppose I do.”

When he stood, it was a miracle the water only ended at his hips, a slow stalk forward until he was gazing down at you, the water lapped at your breasts, and then he leaned down with predatory ease.

“Tell me, little witch, how much do you love torturing me? You called me tonight, like you pulled my soul to yours.” He smelled like black tea and something sweeter; his breath scatted over your ears as he leaned in, goosebumps conjuring over your skin.

You turned your head, your face dangerously close to his.

a drug, your own personal dose of the most addictive substance. Your body wanted to be closer, your mind wanted to explore his, and your cursed energy purred against his.

“I don't-” you started, but his nose was brushing yours, and a ghost touch of a finger skated over your thigh.

Another hand breezed over your neck; it took everything in you not to tremble beneath him. “Oh, but I think you are.” That hand near your thigh began drawing circles, and it didn't stop when he knelt down into the water. Your head adjusted now that his head was closer to your level.

“What are you doing?” you asked him, but not a thing about the way you asked made him stop. Though fingers grazed higher.

One finger traced your neck, feeling the blood rushing; thirst rose to his throat, so naturally moments later it mirrored in yours. “Some nights ago you interrupted a very needed moment of release for me. Dreaming or not, I felt you wash over me when I took care of my need alone, and in my dream,I saw you. mewling and whining with those cursed hands between these thighs,”

The hand didn't wait; it shoved between your thighs, separated your folds thoughtfully, and a cry left your lips.

“I guess that's my answer then, little witch.” His fingers swirled at your pooling desire, then one finger plunged inside of you. One of your hands came up to grip his forearm, the other his shoulder.

Those fingers dove in and out, at his punshingly slow pace. He didn't take his eyes off you, then he sped up only slightly, sending a breathy moan falling out of you.

One of his hands came to your breast, pinching your nipple. “This is what it feels like, wife, to have you in my dreams every night.” his pace slowed, and you looked at him, confused. “Punishing, isn't it? to have something so controlled by someone else.”

He leaned down and let those sharp teeth graze your neck; he bit you, not hard enough to draw blood but hard enough for the pleasure that shot through you to make your legs clench shut. Sukuna still worked, though, adding another finger, stretching you deliciously.

“Every night, my sleeping mind is at your mercy. victim to your hunt.” This time, when he bit skin, it broke only slightly, and he drank in the blood that trickled out. His hardened cock pressed against your thigh.

“But instead of sleeping elsewhere or sending you away, I retire to my room every night.” his thumb finds your clit, and you shake as his pace becomes brutal. Your stomach burns with desire, and you're so close to the edge.

“And instead of walking out of this room, you're letting me defile you and drink your sweetness.” his fingers grip your hair as he looks at you, your orgasm a whisper away-

When it crashes into you, he doesn't stop that pace; his cock throbs on your leg, and then another harder twin throbs beneath it. You shuddered through the orgasm that seemed never-ending when he gripped your hair harder, forcing you to look at “Invade my dreams again, witch, and I will be back to torture you over and over. Next time, I won't give you the satisfaction of release.” his fingers were torn out of you. He stepped out of the water, and then he was gone.

[ghostly526]

Guys i havent updated and im evil for it im so sorry #genuinely went crazy and then i went to okinawa so ive been stressed and busy- new chapter tn baddies

[indiewritesxoxo]

TELL ME I'M YOUR NATIONAL ANTHEM!

...PAGING MR. PRESIDENT!

synopsis: when you first became mrs. gojo, you never fucking imagined you'd end up as the first lady. or that the golden boy you fell in love with and carved your whole world around could fucking cheat on you. and that somewhere along the fallout, after scandals and sleeping with his best friend back, you'd end up sitting by his beside after a failed assassination attempt. can you still salvage your marriage? or will it be burned in the wreckage of what's left of your life and his political career?

pairing: president!gojo x first lady!reader x vice president!geto

wc: 20.5k (my longest oneshot ever i think lol)

content: mdni!!! angst and smut!!! so much emotional hurt, eventual comfort, cheating, reverse cheating, complicated relationships, gojo being sleazy, but he does love reader okay!!, so much regret, pining, heartache, reader and gojo are in their late thirties/early forties but not specified, geto is down bad but gojo is down even badder, mentions of gun violence/blood (attempted assassination), taking care of injuries, slow reconciliation, messy emotions, scheming, breakups/makeups, kissing, unprotected piv sex, desperation, denying feelings, manipulation, fingering, gojo being desperate, light choking, multiple povs

a/n: this was commission for the lovely @dayanim !! gojo art is also by @/kassandraws !! <3

Once upon a time, a very successful girl met a very handsome guy. 

You both had potential. A pretty word constantly applied and purred in your ears as if it didn't actually mean privilege. Like you weren't just lucky. Bright and beautiful. Ivy League educated. Wealth most people would wish for. 

Living in a daydream before you even knew each other. 

You juggled internships and classes, sucked up to all the right people to make connections, itching to get hired at some prestigious place in a high-paying position – prove your worth when your family saw you as an investment. 

Satoru Gojo was the heir to his father's company. A genius who slid into the seat next to yours a few months before graduation and asked if you wanted to grab dinner after class, hands clasped together like he was begging, his pretty pink bottom lip jutted out for dramatic effect. Adding a soft please as if you were ever going to be stupid enough to tell him no. 

As if anyone had ever told him no. 

The beginning was practically storybook. The whole whirlwind romance of expensive dates and heated sex, shrouded in an almost electric air of excitement. Falling fast and hard, exchanging love confessions like they were candy, something sweet to devour instead of cherish. Everyone called you the ‘It’ couple. 

A fairytale wedding came next. A couple years of career building and travelling – fancy vacations and sports cars and more sex in hotel rooms or on the beach. You passed the bar exam. Put in long hours while he continued building on the legacy his family had left for him. Clinging on his muscled arm when people started recognizing him in public, taking photos of the man who might rule the world someday at this rate. Proud to be the one he came home to. The one who got to have his last name and his ring on your finger. 

The kids were after that, another one of those deliberate decisions you made purely because you thought that was what you were supposed to do. You loved him. Planned your world around what would make him happy, tried to check off every box on his list of his life goals. Even when it meant putting your own career on hold for a while for maternity leave. Satoru tried to say you should just stay at home after your first was born, but you scoffed, insisted on hiring a nanny so you could return to work once your time off was up. 

He had his goals. 

You didn't want to totally let go of yours. 

So when he started spending less evenings having dinners with  hedge fund managers and business partners and decided to start going golfing on the weekends with politicians, you said nothing. Kissed him on the cheek and told him to call you later while you chased after the kids or left them with the nanny to take your own time with friends. 

It wasn't really a surprise when he decided to run for a seat in Congress, openly supporting him every step there until it was his. 

He had a knack for getting what he wanted. 

Satoru was just never satisfied with what he had. 

Confiding in you after sex, when you were curled up on his side while he traced tiny stars over your bare hip, little laughter lines etched by his lips as they slowly parted and said the words you still hadn't forgotten, “I want more than this.”

You had sat up, tilting your head to the side as you tried to resist the urge to tell him you had everything already. The happy marriage. The healthy kids. A future filled with sunny vacations and steamy nights. Sure, you were both starting to get a little older, but your thirties had been kind to both of you, especially when you had access to plenty of resources to stall aging. Push it back as much as you could, pretending the inevitable wouldn’t come. 

“Satoru,” you murmured his name, but then he said something that changed the plot you’d been so preoccupied planning out. 

“What do you think about me running for president?” 

What you thought hadn’t mattered after all – not when he ended up winning by a landslide anyway. 

The youngest president ever inaugurated. His cheeky smile plastered on every TV, your portraits printed on magazines, interview after interview taken, a country waiting to know who the First Lady was while you watched your husband become a political figure for the history books. 

Four years. Maybe eight. 

You told yourself you could keep it up that long. Be the perfect wife he wanted to parade on. You’d do anything for him, after all. Smile at all the cameras and take on whatever workload was required to fulfill your own role while he checked off another dream.

There was no big, bag dragon waiting to destroy your castle. 

No, it was just your husband's inability to keep his dick in his pants. 

Your prince charming had started fucking pretty models on his those pesky political trips. And you were the fool that only found out when someone sent you an anonymous photo of him in some foreign country with his hand up another girl’s dress. Lipstick stains on his collar. That stupid smirk on his face while she leaned close like she was going to kiss him. 

And yet, instead of leaving him, you were still stuck. 

Trapped in the marriage. Unable to do anything when your union was the fucking country’s business instead of something solely for you and him. 

You forgave him at first, even when you felt like a fool for doing it when he confessed and apologized, begging you to believe it wouldn’t happen again - until, of course, it did. But eventually you had to cave in, convince yourself that maybe an open relationship would work. 

Only, where he was drowning in options, you were left with just one man who wasn’t scared of having sex with the First Lady without risking your husband’s wrath. 

So you fucked his best friend – and vice president – in your own lewd affair. 

Was it right? Mature? Responsible? 

None of the above. 

But Suguru made you happy. Reminded you that your future was bigger than just Satoru Gojo or his stupid dreams. 

You told yourself that you and Satoru would separate eventually, that there was no fucking way you’d stay with him after all of it, especially when what was left of your relationship imploded when you both finally had to face the fact you were fucking other people. Surviving the scrutiny of the public when it became obvious the two of you weren't on good terms was hard – but it had been bearable with Suguru by your side for most of it. 

The mess that had been made still seemed like one you could clean up. Until you let some of Satoru’s dirty little secrets slip to Suguru and he subsequently leaked it to the press. 

He’d been pissed. Public perception of him had tanked. People throwing around impeachment. Pitchforks being raised as newspapers printed headlines about him taking bribes, his shady dealings being put in spreads while you watched the bright, shiny, boy you once knew get burned up by his greed, becoming a man you no longer recognized. 

A big fight had followed, pointing fingers and shifting blame just to end up back under his thumb, both of you promising to stop sleeping around, to pull it together and try to make your marriage work. You stopped seeing Suguru, and your husband swore that he hadn’t so much as glanced at another woman. 

But the fear lingered. 

Your heart racing when you saw him shake someone’s hands, or brush arms against them, throat constricting when a pretty girl would come up to speak to him, stars glittering in her eyes as he nodded along to whatever she was saying. 

It didn’t last. 

You told yourself that public separation was for the best, a press conference to address the fact you and your husband weren’t exactly together. There was no fucking way you could just stay with him after all of it, especially when what was left of your relationship imploded when you both finally had to face the fact that it just wasn’t working when the old wounds had left such deep scars. Surviving the scrutiny of the public when it became obvious the two of you weren't on good terms was hard. But it had been bearable with Suguru by your side for most of it, restarting your relationship in spite of Satoru’s…disapproval. 

Your kids didn’t take it well. Getting in fights at school. Expelled. Acting out because you and Satoru couldn’t get your shit together. Let alone an entire country. 

Another scandal. Another screw-up. Another nail driven into a coffin you called a marriage. 

Life had a funny way of never fucking working out how you thought it would. You had sobbed to Suguru a thousand times, balled your fists up and wished your husband would just fucking drop dead when you were going through the worst of it.

You never actually meant it. 

Satoru getting shot wasn't supposed to be part of your happily ever after. 

You hadn’t even wanted to be there. Only begrudgingly attending the rally, sitting at the front row with your best smile plastered on, pretending to listen to your husband campaigning for reelection - as if he wasn’t loathed by literally half the nation. 

Leg bouncing up-and-down, anxious to leave, to go back to bed, to take a nice bath with Suguru and get some fucking sleep after an exhausting week of press and planning. 

“I am devoted to this country, and to my-” 

Crack. 

You felt the whizz first, then heard the screams. You blinked, and figured out why they were screaming only as everyone behind the podium started to hit the floor. But then another crack rang out, and you saw red. 

Everything was a blur, people grabbing you, secret service agents moving fast, pulling you away as your brain finally caught up to processing the horror of what was happening. 

Someone just shot your husband. 

Tried to fucking assassinate him in the middle of his speech. 

You were pretty sure you screamed then, desperate to look, desperate to see if they succeeded, shouting Satoru’s name, begging the universe to let him reply, to hear his voice back. 

Because despite everything, all the history and the heartbreak, he was still your husband. Still the father of your children. 

The love of your life.

You couldn’t see him anymore. 

Completely covered up by his team as you were being moved. 

To a safe place, someone said.  

As if anywhere could be safe when you were still begging for someone to find out how Satoru was. If he was still alive. 

You were crying by the time they got you in a car, the bulletproof glass doing fucking nothing to make you feel any better as your leg bounced up and down, body curling up as small as possible as your brain stuttered and stalled attempting to piece together the fractured moments you just witnessed.

“He’s being taken to the hospital,” someone said, and the panic already bubbling up inside you just compounded, a desperate sob escaping as you struggled to stop hyperventilating. 

A small voice in your head was shouting that he was fine, that he had to be fine, rationality slipping away the harder you tried to hold onto it.

“The kids-” You started, another strangled sound cutting you off before a firm voice tried to reassure you. 

“We’ll have someone pull them out of school immediately and take them to a safehouse.” 

You nodded, sucking in a ragged inhale, far from polished or presentable but as close as you could get. 

“I need to be there,” you heard yourself say, voice cracking as your bottom lip quivered. “I have to see him.” 

Everyone else might hate him. 

You did sometimes. 

 But he was still yours even when you didn’t want him to be. 

The drive there was torture. 

But when you were led in the private wing, ushered in a back entrance and led up to an empty waiting area where you were informed he was in surgery, that they didn’t think his injuries were life-threatening, you still couldn’t find a single second of relief. Not until they wheeled him out, took both of you to a heavily guarded hospital room. 

White walls and blinking screens. Beeping. Sterile sheets and tiled floors. 

And in the middle of it all, your husband’s unconscious body, streaks of red in his pretty white hair, long lashes fluttering softly as you stared at the bandages on him. 

He was lucky, the doctor informed you. The first bullet only nicked across his shoulder. The second went through his left calf. Clean entry and exit. Missed all the important stuff. They tried talking about the importance of physical therapy, that they were optimistic he’d make a full recovery. But you could barely focus on what they were saying when your eyes were glued to the man you were being reminded was a mortal instead of a god. 

Satoru was still flesh and blood. 

Could still break. 

Your chair was dragged up to his bedside, holding onto his hand, fingers tightly gripping onto his cold ones, desperately willing him to wake up and give you that stupid smile you had been swearing you couldn’t stand for months now. 

All those complicated feelings you’d been stewing over ever since he’d taken a strange clarity at the thought you almost lost him.

When the last doctor left, the secret service detail standing outside the door and leaving you alone with your husband, you were still trying to remind yourself of all the bad times. Make yourself remember who he actually was. 

How it felt when you first found out he was still fucking around when he had promised he stopped. He had just hid it better. Made sure no one was around to witness it – although you still found out when his chief of staff tried to dissuade you from surprising him at his hotel when he was a couple hours away attending some stupid conference.

Satoru hadn't seen you, but you saw him when you showed up. Leading a pretty woman in a red dress into an elevator, his hand on her ass while half his security detail followed in after him. You guessed the rest were waiting on his private floor. Paid to pretend they didn't see half the things they did. 

You went back to the White House to sleep in a bed that had never really been yours. 

Denial wasn't something you could live in anymore. 

The anger came next.  

Nanami had been sitting there on the couch in the Oval office the next morning like he was waiting for you, reading a fucking newspaper and not even bothering to peek over it to spare you a glance. 

“I want a fucking divorce,” you spat out, seething and barely able to catch your breath as you glared at the seat your husband was supposed to be sitting in. So much for a fucking pillar of justice, a man of morality. 

His blond chief of staff just turned the page, unamused as he sighed. 

“I don't believe I'm the man you should be asking,” he dryly replied. 

“Well, you see the cheating bastard more than I do these days,” you snapped back, indignation blooming under your flushed cheeks as you said it out loud. Admitted that what you suspected had been true for weeks. Satoru had started cheating on you again. 

The same guy who begged you to marry him, swore that he'd make you the happiest woman alive, who used to wake you up by kissing your forehead and sleepily murmuring sweet things in your ear. 

Nanami sat the newspaper down.

Huffed as he sat up straighter, adjusting the thin reading glasses on the bridge of his nose before he looked directly at you. 

“Listen,” he started, and you already knew the rest would be bullshit when he was speaking to you like an adult about to let a child down. “We both know he will never let you get a divorce while he's in office.” 

He was right. 

And really, the idea of getting a divorce, of the whole world knowing you weren't enough for Satoru Gojo was terrifying. 

So you made a stupid bargain. 

Knees pressed to your chest, perched on the edge of the bed you were meant to share as the door creaked open. 

Satoru stepped into the room, running his fingers through his hair, and you hated the way his ring caught the light, like his vows still meant a thing to him. 

“You lied,” you murmured, wiping your exhausted eyes. Makeup smeared on your hands. Probably on your cheeks too. A mess he made. 

“I-” He started, as if you wanted to hear it. 

“I just, I thought you-” You stopped yourself, choking on a hard lump in your throat. “Do you not want this? Us?” 

Was your marriage worth so little to him he couldn’t keep his hands off someone else? 

He just had to fuck other women? 

“I do,” he breathed, getting down on his knees in front of you, and all you could think of then was the moment he proposed to you, how you had whispered yes and he slipped the ring on your finger before he picked you up and twirled you around. Wondering where you’d be if you said no, if you hadn’t been blinded by how much you adored him. “I love you.” 

You didn’t feel loved. 

“Then why-” 

“I don’t know what’s wrong with me,” he murmured, all emotional, blue eyes all big and wide, as if it could make up for what he’d done. What he kept doing. 

Looking back, the whole thing had become tainted. Your own feelings tangled and twisted and so flipped around you couldn’t make sense of the memory anymore. Maybe that was just the regret though. Wishing you could rewind time and do something differently. 

All you wanted was to save your relationship.

For him to stay. 

“Maybe we should just open up our marriage then,” you suggested, sniffling and swallowing hard. Hoping he’d say no. Hoping he’d swear that he would stop, that all he needed was you. 

But he didn’t. 

Begrudging, his teeth gritted and jaw clenched tight as he said fine, probably only allowing it then because he thought you wouldn’t be able to find people to fuck the same way he could. Making a deal of no feelings being involved, promising that he’d be up front from now on, both of you struggling to stomach the idea that you’d both be sleeping with other people. It was still easier for him than it was for you. 

Suguru had found you crying in some study that was hardly ever used a couple weeks later, curled up on a couch, tissues strewn across the table as he stopped in the doorway, staring at your crumpled form. 

You waited for him to lie. 

To come up with an excuse. Defend his best friend. Pretend to feel sorry for you. 

“I heard what he did,” he spoke softly. 

Another broken sob escaped you – and he shut the door behind him. 

“I wanted to kill him when Nanami told me,” he breathed. 

You almost laughed, blowing your nose in a tissue, your wedding ring taunting you, white gold and diamonds that meant nothing now. 

“Thanks,” you bitterly mumbled, sitting up and meeting his sober stare. 

“You deserve better than him.” 

You weren't sure where the lines got blurred. When wanting his comfort turned into wanting him. 

But you could still recall the first time you kissed him, how your heart pounded against your rib cage, holding your breath as you leaned up to kiss him, lacing your wrists around his neck and shutting your eyes as you gingerly pressed your lips to his. 

The sex was usually soft and slow. His pretty purr in your ears and his warmth covering your body, skin on skin as his mouth left marks all over your breasts, your stomach, the inside of your thighs. Wherever was hidden with clothes was fair game. 

It wasn’t like Satoru would see them when you hardly spoke to him. 

What was Suguru doing now? 

Probably pacing the floor, worrying about you somewhere, being informed of Satoru’s condition. Relieved that he wouldn’t have to fill his shoes and take over the presidency? 

Even if things were tense, terrible between the two of them since you started sleeping with him, he wouldn’t want him dead. 

In some fucked-up way, it sorta felt like your fault, that if you had said something else, made a different decision somewhere along the way, that you wouldn’t be here right now. 

You didn’t mean to doze off, dragged into more dreams, but you guessed the morning’s stress coupled with long nights of little sleep and longer days of being drained from meetings and benefits and responsibilities you never asked for was too much for your exhausted body.

It could’ve been two minutes or two hours. 

Someone was stroking your hair, familiar fingers stirring you awake as you sat up, wiping away the dampness from your face as your eyes hazily focused on the only blue in the room. 

“Sweetheart,” your husband croaked, voice raw and rough as his big hand cupped your cheek. He winced when he went to move closer to you, your breath catching as your mouth fell open. “Don't cry.”

“Satoru, you were just shot,” you hissed at him, already standing up to tuck him back under the thin blankets. Wiping your face with the back of your hand, as if it would erase the evidence of tears you hadn’t meant to let fall for him again. “You shouldn't be-” 

“I survived,” he grinned. 

Your mouth parted, trying to think of an argument he wouldn't immediately ignore. Those were in almost as short of supply as your sensibility. Reason and rationality slipping further out of reach the longer you looked at him. 

His face had pale after the surgery, but pink had started to return to his cheeks, life in his eyes that you were worried you’d never see again. Some piece of you still had a hard time accepting it. Whispering that you might be in a morgue right now if the shooter just had better aim. 

What were you supposed to feel? 

Happy your husband was still alive? Grateful?

So why the hell were you so torn? Ripped between the past and the present, all the different versions of Satoru you’d known and loved and hated floating in front of you so you didn’t have to deal with the one here right now. 

The one who managed to cheat death too. 

You guessed a doctor or a nurse had come in, a fresh glass of water by his bedside and a clipboard with notes left next to it. You started to stand to go look at it, but he made a pained or panicked groan like he wanted you to stay. 

“Don’t get up,” he pleaded, and you paused. 

“I won’t if you won’t,” you reluctantly muttered, sitting back down in the uncomfortable plastic. The last time you’d been in a hospital room with him had been when your youngest son was born. You were the one in the bed – but he climbed in next to you, crammed in and grinning as he cradled your baby boy in his arms between the two of you, thanking you for giving him the greatest gift of his life. 

You hated how much every memory of him had been tainted. 

That one of the best moments of both of your lives had been recolored now, rotted and turned sour with time. 

He relented once you smoothed your skirt down, relaxing back into the bed – but not before stealing your hand, sliding his fingers through yours with an almost content sigh. As if he hadn't just been shot a handful of fucking hours ago. 

“I'm happy you're here,” Satoru softly spoke. You couldn’t remember the last time the two of you had talked like this. Alone. In quiet tones instead of shouting. 

“I'm your wife,” you answered, an uncomfortable ache carved into your heart as you heard the hollowness in it. You were doing your duty. 

That was what your relationship had boiled down to after he'd given up love and loyalty for this dream. 

He squeezed your hand, trying to pull your attention back to him. Unable to survive without someone to stare at him, probably. 

“I saw you,” Satoru spoke softly, and you did turn, head tilting up of its own volition. “Just for a second, right before the bullet went into my leg.” 

You stiffened, almost flinching at the sound of that awful crack still echoing in your ears. 

“And all I could fucking think was I couldn't die yet. Couldn't leave things like this,” he continued, his mouth quivering. 

God, it felt like you were being gutted. Ripped apart when you knew you were the only person who would stitch yourself back together. 

“Satoru, what are you trying to say?” You attempted to sound level-headed. Unaffected. 

You didn’t want him to know you were already falling apart at the seams. 

“I couldn't leave you,” he firmly said. “I can't.”

“You’ve left me plenty of times,” you retorted, sucking in your bottom lip to stop yourself from saying something really stupid. 

Satoru cringed, and you know it hit a sore point. “I know, I-”

“You know,” you repeated, shaking your head as the bile crawled up your throat. 

“I’m sorry, I-” 

You weren’t listening anymore. You heard his apologies before. 

At least he didn’t get to make it much further, two sharp knocks on the door outside interrupting him mid-spiel. Nanami stepped in like he already knew he wouldn’t be walking in on anything intimate. 

“You’re alive,” he dryly started, and you pulled your hand away from Satoru’s to the edge of the bed. 

“Don’t sound so disappointed, Nanamin,” Satoru teased, but his leg twitched, another distinct flash of pain flitting across his face at the small movement. 

“We need to discuss our next steps,” he flat out ignored his president, fixing his tie as his stare shifted towards you. All serious and strained, the crease between his brows deep, years of stress etched into his chiseled face. 

“Which are?” You asked, swallowing hard as you started to regret not asking to be taken to the same safe house as your children were. You were sure they were fine, that someone had told them by now that Satoru was okay, that you would both be back with them as soon as you could. 

“I don't care if you can barely stand to look at each other,” Nanami sternly scoffed, glancing between both of you as he stood stiffly by the door. “But until you make a complete recovery, you are a united front. The last thing this country needs right now is-”

“We get it,” Satoru groaned, waving his hand dismissively and wincing as he propped himself up with some pillow. 

“No, I don't think you do,” Nanami snidely shot back, fixing his glasses to glare at his boss. You wondered how much he had to do in the hours since everything went wrong. How many fires he had to put out, how he was managing to quell the panic that was probably popping up across the nation when the president had been attacked on live TV. 

“What do you want us to do?” You asked, pretending you didn't feel it when Satoru's other hand slid back on top of yours on the bed. 

“Tell everyone you're back together,” Nanami scoffed, as if it was obvious. “Hold hands, say it made you realize the importance of family, I don’t really care as long as it’s believable.” 

Believable. 

You almost laughed. You reflexively turned to your husband, waiting for him to automatically agree, or say that it wouldn’t be a problem. Make the decision for you. 

He had suggested it before, tried to convince you to get back together, but you’d denied him back them, insisted that the media would chew you up and spit you out. But the circumstances were different now, you supposed considering he’d been shot. 

“What do you think?” He asked instead, your face scrunching up in surprise before you forced yourself to look back towards Nanami, masking your feelings with practiced nonchalance. 

“If that’s what the nation needs,” you muttered. 

One of you had to consider the country. 

Do what was right.

It still felt icky when you were sitting with your fingers laced with his later the same night in front of a green screen while Satoru spoke into a microphone about his condition thankfully not being serious. Announcing he sustained relatively mild injuries, like the camera wasn’t being angled from the waist up to disguise how hurt he was. They dressed him up, passed him a speech, fed him lines to say. Probably edited the whole thing to make it look like he was back in the White House already. 

“I am incredibly fortunate that the bullets only grazed me,” he lied like it was second nature, but he was squeezing your hand tight, like he needed your strength. “And that I have this wonderful woman by my side to support me.” 

He brought your hand up to his mouth, kissing the back of it softly. A show of adoration. You smiled at him, small and relieved. It wasn’t hard to act like you’d been in hell for the last twelve hours. But it was hard to pretend like you were breathing in fresh air now. 

Feigning that you found the light after a long, dark tunnel. 

You didn’t have lines to deliver. 

Just being there was apparently enough. 

Afterwards was a blur, helping the nurse make sure he was back in his hospital bed, tucked under the blankets as you leaned uncomfortably against the cold wall. The security was tight, searches required for anyone that came in or out, the staff thoroughly being vetted, all the usual measures you took heightened times ten now. 

“Sweetheart,” Satoru called you that stupid pet name again, the knife digging back into your own open wound of a heart. 

“I’m, um, gonna go,” you breathed, voice nearly breaking as you blinked. “Stay with the kids overnight.” 

His smile faltered. New frown lines forming by his mouth. 

But he didn’t pick a fight or protest. 

“Tell them I love them,” he quietly requested, and you nodded, biting down on the inside of your cheek until you could taste the blood on your tongue. Satoru was still staring, the harsh white lights only making his eyes appear broken, only a thin sliver of blue nearly swallowed up by his pupils as his lips slowly parted again. “I love you.” 

You left.

But you always returned.

Back the next morning, kids in tow, ready to bring him back after he had been released. Instructions given on keeping his wounds clean, avoiding strenuous activities, pretty much precisely what you expected to hear. But they suggested getting crutches, or a cane when it came to walking more than just a minute or two at a time. And despite both of them probably being way too old for it, they were both hanging behind you as they saw him as something other than untouchable for the first time in their lives. Too scared to say anything, just staring at their father in a hospital gown, sitting up with his legs swung over the side of the bed, one wrapped in thick bandages. 

Someone had left one of his suits out at the end of the bed, freshly pressed, not a single wrinkle on it as he braced himself to stand on his own for the first time. 

“Dad?” Your daughter murmured, fear in her voice that Satoru tried to laugh off. Ease the tension. “Are you-” 

“I’m just fine, baby,” he grinned at her, your heart thumping a little louder as he held out his arms, more bandages peeking out underneath his gown. “Come give your old man a hug.” 

“You’re not old,” your son huffed, like he was offended at the idea he could have an aging father. 

But they both scurried out to cluster around him. One on each side. He wrapped his arms over their growing frames, tugging them in and squeezing them until they started to scoff and squeal in his grip. 

You thought you knew all the different ways your heart could hurt. 

But this was something new. Seeing your babies in the arms of your husband when a day ago, you thought he might die. Acutely aware that nothing was guaranteed anymore. 

And sure, they weren’t babies anymore. Old enough to not need either of you the way they used to. With friends and phones and lives you disrupted by dragging your relationship under public scrutiny. 

“Mom?” Your son mumbled, looking back from his father’s embrace as he jutted out his bottom lip. He took the separation the hardest. Starting fights in school. Acting out at home and out of it. He had the same eyes as Satoru, bright and bleeding with hurt, struggling to accept what was happening as they peered into the most shattered shards of you. 

“Yeah?” You asked, swallowing nervously. 

“Why aren’t you hugging him too?” His sister asked, too observant for her own good.

“I just wanted you guys to have your moment with him,” you murmured, begrudgingly walking over to where they were. Leaning down to hug Satoru over them, sandwiching both of them as your hand hesitantly patted the shoulder blades you used to rake your nails down and scratch up. 

His own huge palms ran over your back, keeping you there a few seconds longer than you planned, soft and steady in his hold. 

“We should let your dad get dressed,” you cleared your throat, pulling back. Your hands gently on their back, trying to guide them back as if they even listened these days. But you couldn’t stop your treacherous eyes from turning back to watch him stand, his features scrunched up as he strained his muscles. Popping the pain killer the doctors had left in a cup for him by the bed and washing it down with water before he turned to start taking his suit off the hanger. 

Catching a glimpse of his ass through the open flaps of the nightgown, your cheeks heating up as you reflexively glanced up – just to realize he was looking back at you, a small smirk curling up on your lips like he’d known you’d been staring. 

You thought you’d return to the White House. 

But you knew fifteen minutes in that you were being taken somewhere else. 

The kids stuffed between you in the seats, both of them eagerly chattering his ears off like he was their captive audience while he constantly readjusted, stretching his long legs out as much as he could and glancing over at you at every turn.

“Nanami found somewhere for us to stay for now,” Satoru was speaking to you, but both the kids perked up, and he pretended it was for them. “Think of it kind of like a vacation, okay?” 

Just a heavily guarded one. 

“Does it have a pool?” Your daughter beamed, and you couldn’t remember the last time you’d seen her smile so big. 

“Hopefully,” he winked, his eyes finding yours just for you to avoid his stare again. 

A few members of approved press were waiting to snap a handful of photos of you all walking back in as a family, from an angle where it should be impossible to tell where you were staying at. Another thing to show the public that he was okay. That his personal life wasn’t the total wreck most news stations and magazines were making it out to be. Satoru’s not-wounded arm casually slung over your shoulder and squeezing you close even if it dropped the moment you were back inside, a few of his most trusted staff members waiting to bombard him with updates. 

You slipped away, squirreling the kids back to where their nanny was waiting, promising that you’d be back around dinner time to check on them even though they just rolled their eyes and asked when they’d get their phones back. 

It was only then that you realized you didn’t have yours either. 

Had you left it in the car before his speech even started? In the one afterwards? Given it to one of the secret service agents to hold onto since you didn’t have any pockets? 

Fuck. 

You’d have to try to ask around – find out where it ended up. Although you were pretty good about scrubbing messages and calls from it, photos of the aftermath of your affair erased or moved somewhere no one else could reach, you still didn’t like risking someone snooping around and finding something they shouldn't if they figured out your passcode. 

Those were just excuses though. 

You just wanted to call Suguru.

He had to be far past stressed now. How long had it been since you'd gone twenty four hours without speaking? Weeks? A couple months? 

Not since you’d separated from Satoru and started sleeping with him again. 

You wanted his nose nuzzling against your neck. His scent on your skin. His soft mouth to murmur all those nice things you were craving, pretty whispers you would cling to to stop yourself from drowning.  

Was he back at the White House right now? Running the show for Satoru? 

You glanced back for a familiar face, anyone you could actually trust who might let you borrow theirs, frowning until you landed on Nanami watching the scene of Satoru being praised and peppered with question after question unfolding from a door frame nearby. 

“I don't know who has my phone. Can I borrow yours?” You asked, quiet enough to not draw any attention from your husband. 

Nanami didn't even look at you, just shook his head with that same bored expression. 

“No phones here,” he vaguely explained, irritation pricking under his skin too in this situation. “Security says it's too much of a risk.” 

Like having the some fucking press jackasses snap photos wasn't? 

But you knew better than to argue here. Or now, where Satoru was so close by. 

“Do you want me to show you around?”

The house was fairly standard. A little smaller than you expected. Hardly any windows. Crawling with agents that you supposed were there for your protection, even if their presence just felt like you were being smothered. 

Nanami took you to your room. 

Only to casually mention that you and Satoru would hopefully only be staying for a couple weeks while the FBI hunted down his assailant. You were nodding along, about to dismiss him until you noted the strained twitch of his mouth. 

“What room will Satoru be staying in?” You asked, brows scrunched together as you opened the closet just to find your own clothes already hanging inside. Next to a slew of suits you recognized. 

But Nanami’s silence had said it before you even saw them. 

Great. 

Just fucking great. 

So you were still stuck with him. 

You had insisted on at least a cot being set up by the bed, threatening to get a fucking blow-up mattress delivered id they didn't if you were being forced to share a room with him again. 

As if it wasn’t hard enough to sort out how you felt about your husband when he wasn’t around.

The rest of the day dragged on, taking care of your responsibilities, filling out statements for Nanami and debating on seeing if he’d at least deliver a letter to Suguru for you or scoff in your face. Eating dinner with your kids while you tried to ignore the fact two men in black suits were standing in the same room as you and two more were waiting on the other side of the door. Coming up with another excuse for why Satoru didn’t show up, mumbling that he was probably just busy being president. 

You tried to curl up on your side on the cot afterwards, but the sleep wouldn’t come. 

He did. Eventually. 

When the clock on the nightstand had ticked ten past eleven, the door creaking open as his voice broke through the quiet. 

“Baby?” Your body betrayed you. Heart pounding too hard in your chest as you resisted the temptation to reply. “Are you awake?” 

“Just go to sleep,” you muttered back, refusing to turn. 

“Can we talk?” He asked. Funny, when you both had failed to have a productive conversation so many times before. 

“About what?” You yawned, pressing your ear against the pillow harder like it could suffocate the effect he had on you. 

“Us,” he murmured. 

“How’s your leg?” You changed the subject, hoping it would dissuade him. But unfortunately for you, Satoru was the most persistent man you’d ever met. 

“Hurts like a bitch,” he answered, chuckling like he was exaggerating, but you could hear how strained it was. “I’m sorry I missed dinner with the-”

“Yeah,” you cut him off. 

“Are you sleepy?” He hummed, and you wondered what was the specific misstep that started this awful chain of events. What was the moment when it started? When it became too late to stop the snowball from rolling and rolling until it swallowed both of you and you were stuck making awkward conversation like you hadn’t been married for over a goddamn decade? 

“Exhausted,” you shrugged, body tensing as you listened to the shuffle of him undressing. The rustle of clothes hitting the floor, the sound of the dresser opening and shutting, the now-uneven footsteps as he struggled to get dressed. 

And then you heard the sound of a bandage being peeled off, a low grunt that made you flinch, sitting up as he flickered the lamp on. 

You should’ve laid back down. 

But all it took was a single look at his wounds and you were begrudgingly getting up, padding barefoot over to the attached bathroom where medical supplies had been stocked in advance for him. 

“What are you-” 

“Cleaning it,” you interrupted, hating yourself for being such a sucker for him even now. 

“You don’t have to,” he said, as if he didn’t secretly want you to.

“Can you move a little?” You murmured when you returned, hesitating by the bed as you watched him try to get his leg up properly. 

“You know, I think there's a doctor here I could-” 

“Do you not want me to?” You asked, brows pinched together as your fingers hesitated over the bandage you had been told to clean and replace twice a day. 

“I do,” he admitted.

You attempted to tell yourself it wasn’t his leg. Going through all the motions, following the steps clinically, your fingers skimming against his skin as you wiped it clean and rebandaged it carefully. 

But you felt the weight of him watching you until you were finished. Even after you stood up and started walking away, putting back up what you didn’t use and tossing the previous bandages, like some invisible string tied around your wedding band tugging you back to him. 

You didn't say anything. Just walked back to the cot, about to get on it before he spoke up. 

“Sleep on the bed.” Was it a request? A demand? A presidential decree? 

You couldn't tell with him. 

“It’s not like we're actually back together,” you mumbled under your breath, getting back up on it without facing him. You wouldn't look. Couldn't in case you crumbled. 

The past thirty-six hours had felt more like half a year. Wrung dry and hung up hollow. 

“You’re my wife,” he echoed your earlier statement, reminding you of vows he'd broken first. 

“Please don't act like that means something to you now,” you dismissively muttered. You could feel the tension ride, threatening to snap as the blankets behind you crinkled and the sound got closer. 

“You're my first lady,” he said, as if it was something you wanted. Something you would've chosen for yourself if it weren't for him. 

“I could've been anything,” you hissed back, fuming, furious anger ripping and shredding its way up your throat. You'd rather be in a courtroom, or hunched over a desk reviewing case notes – not thinking of how your future consisted of defending the dick you married and planning what stupid Christmas decorations to put up in a home you never wanted while pretending to give a shit. 

Not making sure his gunshot wounds from an assassination attempt weren't getting infected. 

And then he did something he'd never done before. 

De-escalated. 

“I'm sorry,” Satoru softly said, making all that rage abruptly stall just by stunning you. “I’m so fucking sorry that I can’t find the right thing to say to show you how much I hate the husband I’ve been to you.” 

You didn't know what to say. What to do when it sounded like the truth. 

“I feel like I just woke up from a really fucking bad dream, and all I want is my wife back,” he added, his words already starting to loop around in your head. 

“You shouldn't-” Your breath got caught in your throat, voice breaking off as you closed your eyes before you could start to cry. 

“I can't believe what I did to you. To us,” he added, and you loathed how eagerly part of you began to absorb his pretty words. How warm his affection felt when you'd been missing it and him for so fucking long. “I'll regret it for the rest of my life.”

You hoped he did. 

“Good night, Satoru,” you whispered, laying back down and pulling the blanket back on top of you. 

You still dreamed of him. Of the before days that had been given up for this. Where he only ever made you laugh instead of cry. Where he came home from work practically ready to worship you, picking you up and peppering your face with kisses. But just as the dream started to morph, twist into a cruel reminder of your current reality, you woke up. 

Satoru was still there for once. Sleeping on the side of the bed closest to you, messy hair strewn across the pillow, snoring softly. You frowned, hand reaching out, about to nudge his shoulder and wake him up, but you paused. Stopped yourself before your fingers could touch him again. 

He didn't need you for stuff like that. 

Not anymore. 

You thought being here would be like it'd been back at the White House. Paths that only got crossed when they had to, only catching glimpses of him when he was walking somewhere else, standing on the other side of a closed office door. 

But when it was time for lunch, when you were walking in with your daughter and listening to her complain about some idiot boy in her class, he was already there, sitting at the head of the table and taking a long sip from a glass of soda. 

“Well, as long as you don't marry him, you'll be fine,” you muttered, eyes narrowing as your husband choked on his drink, coughing and clearing his throat while your daughter made some disgusted noise. 

“How are my favorite girls doing?” Satoru tried to ask, pretending this was normal. That he hadn't been missing family meals for so long, you couldn't quite recall when it started anymore. 

But he was back for dinner. 

And the next breakfast.

Sometimes he was a few minutes late, or had to shoo away the handful of staff allowed access here away until after he ate, but he kept showing up. 

He'd taken to using a cane to get around, supporting his weight on his left leg on it, usually wincing by the time he walked in, resting the cane on the table while you all ate. But he smiled at the kids, at you, cracked jokes and asked them about their friends, their interests, trying to make up for his absence by being here now. 

His attention was enough for them. 

Honestly, you hadn't seen them this happy since the first year he'd taken office. Your son openly asking if you all would really have to leave here, white brows scrunched together in frustration when he pressed to know if this meant you two were going to finally get back together. 

You opened your mouth, ready to accept being the bad guy to them and reiterate that this was temporary, that you were waiting for the FBI to find who shot their father and that things would go back to your typical normal soon. 

But Satoru cleared his throat first, a surprisingly stern expression on his face as he looked at his youngest. 

“It's my fault your mother and I aren't together anymore,” he addressed him, your fork frozen in your hand as the lump in his throat bobbed. “I broke her trust and-” 

“Can't she just forgive you already?” Your son whined back, still childish despite his latest growth spurt. He would probably be as tall as his dad one day, but right now, he just seemed like a boy. Clueless to what a relationship was supposed to look like outside of the mess of a marriage you were doing a shitty job setting an example of. 

“She doesn't have to forgive me at all,” Satoru shut him down anyway, and your stupid heart stalled. “I messed up, okay? If you want to blame someone, blame me.” 

They would always love him though. 

Incapable of doing anything other than looking up to him.

Your feelings were…more complicated. 

Your nighttime conversations had almost become more casual. He asked about your day, tried to ask if there was anything he could request staff to pick up for you, thanked you when you helped clean his healing wounds. Constantly attempted to convince you to let him take the cot like it was the proverbial dog house. 

His offers were rejected. 

But it would be a lie to say that the hardened shell around your heart hadn’t started to form a few cracks. The glue just wouldn’t hold. 

Nanami showed up two weeks later, folders stacked in his arms as he called you both in for a meeting. Running back over things you were missing, schedules that were behind, boring business stuff. 

Laying out articles and outlining what new laws were trying to slip through to get passed without Satoru there. His reputation had surprisingly managed to improve in spite of the assassination, or maybe because of it. His name leaving people’s mouths without being accompanied by the word impeachment. 

Most of it was boring, nodding along while he and Satoru argued and bickered over little details while you itched for a chance to speak to him privately. Ask him again about how long this was meant to last. Almost sure you wouldn’t get the opportunity until he started packing his stuff up, his pen precariously left on the edge. 

You uncrossed your legs, purposely bumping into the table while Satoru brought up the status of the investigation, neither of them noticing the soft thump of it hitting the floor.

“There should be an update soon,” he vaguely replied. 

Nanami stood up, slinging his laptop bag over his shoulder, holding the folders to his chest as one of the agents opened the door for him to go. 

Your hand tightened around the pen as you bent over to pick it up from underneath the table, guilt blossoming in the pit of your stomach from a seed you'd been watering with every thought of Suguru. 

“I’ll go give it to him,” you muttered, holding it up in your palm as if your husband wouldn't know it was some flimsy excuse. 

Nanami was halfway out the front door, but you jogged to catch up, out-of-breath but not from the exertion by the time you made it to him. He stopped, turning halfway towards you, his hazel eyes raking over you like he already knew what you were doing. What you wanted from him. “When can I speak to Suguru?” You softly asked, swallowing the lump in your throat as his brows subtly arched up. 

“You do understand the security you are under is for your own safety, right?” He wryly asked, as if you hadn't heard the spiel before. 

“He's the vice president,” you said, almost immediately feeling stupid once it was out loud. Cold reality sinking in that your relationship was just asking for another major scandal, something that would strip Satoru of the last of his power if anyone else ever found out. 

“Which is precisely why he cannot be in the same location when the FBI does not have anyone in custody. Right now, the entire world is looking at you and your husband,” Nanami reminded you, your mouth closed tight as the regret coiled in your stomach. “You can speak to your boyfriend once Satoru shows the public he's completely recovered.”

You watched him in silence as he walked back out to where a blacked-out car was waiting for him. 

Only shutting the door and turning away after he got in the backseat, his last sentence lingering in your thoughts as the slam of a car door echoed between the noise of chirping birds and the soft sway of the wind. 

You were still holding his pen. 

“You could’ve asked about him in front of me,” Satoru spoke up from behind you. You looked back, but the rest of the foyer was empty. You supposed he must've ordered all his agents to wait somewhere else. He was standing maybe four feet away, but the distance felt too far for either of you to cross, unable to build a bridge when you were sure one of you would just burn it down anyway. 

“What?” You blinked. 

“Him,” he muttered, his voice dry. Hurt. It made you happier than it should. To shatter him the way he broke you so long ago. 

“What do you want from me, Satoru?” You stiffly asked, not sure if you had anything left to give him.

“I want you to miss me the way you miss him,” Satoru said, and it took all of your restraint not to respond. “I know it’s not fair, and it’s-” 

“Do you miss sleeping with other women?” You tilted your head to the side, unable to contain the tremble in the question. 

Satoru recoiled. 

“I miss when you were mine,” he muttered, shaking his head a little, regret etched into every line of his face as he took the tiniest step towards you. “Miss the man I was before I fucked everything up with us.” 

“Yeah,” you scoffed. “Me too.” 

The next few days dragged on. The hardest part was not staring at your husband. Pretending that this sad puppy version of him had no effect on you. That his long looks and pretty pout weren’t working at all, as if your body wasn’t a total traitor when you had to fall asleep listening to his breathing at night. 

Trusting him again was something only an idiot would do. 

Satoru Gojo would only let you down. 

He couldn’t help it, you supposed. It was who he was now. 

And you ended up sitting alone at the table waiting for him and his mini-mes to show up, familiar disappointment beginning to bubble in your stomach as you counted the seconds in your head. 

But before you could give up and get up, the door swung open, your kids stumbling in first with arms full of plates. Satoru close behind them, cradling a big one himself, the warm scent of food flooding in with them. 

“We made dinner,” your daughter giggled, a bright glimmer in her eyes that you missed seeing. “Your favorite.” 

“I’m a little rusty in the kitchen,” Satoru muttered as they laid out the dishes. There was no air of expectation. Running his fingers through his hair, shrugging his shoulders almost as if he was shy or nervous. Two things he’d never been in his life. “Not sure how good it’ll be.” 

“It’s nice,” you managed. And weirdly enough, you meant it. 

They made you sit there and wait for them to bring everything out, your son leaning over to pile food on your plate, picking up your fork and taking small bites just to be surprised by the taste anyway. The hint of too much salt. The familiar texture. The little details that confirmed Satoru had really been the one to make it. 

Your eyes flitted over to him, a small smile curling up on your lips when you saw he was already staring at you. Intimacy that flickered instead of burned. Like a candle on a birthday cake instead of a wildfire ready to wipe out an entire forest.

For once, you didn’t feel like your head was under water when you went to sleep that night. 

And the next morning brought the news you’d been waiting for. 

Nanami returning back up with nothing but a briefcase, adjusting his tie as his stare flickered between you and Satoru, like he could sense the tension returning – or picked up on how much less toxic it was compared to a month ago. 

“They have a suspect,” he muttered, your brows arching up as a strange feeling floated up. Discomfort? 

Whatever it was, it was strangling, your voice tight as you tried to sound not bothered, “In custody?” 

“No,” he said, but it was careful. Calculated. “Not yet.” 

You swallowed hard, cautiously glancing over to Satoru, who was listening with a distant expression, staring out one of the few windows here. Maybe disappointed that your vacation might be coming to an end sooner than he thought. “So what does that mean?” 

“You’ll be able to return to the White House today.” 

The rest was a blur. 

The few staff here had started packing up your stuff, your kids complaining when you mentioned they’d have to be returning to their classes and studies, begging to stay a few more days while you discreetly listened to Satoru and Nanami making arrangements for some gala against gun violence to make a point that Satoru was still strong enough to lead the country and take a stance when it counted.

Your mouth turned down, wondering how the hell it would work when he was still relying on a cane when he had to walk for more than a few minutes. On pain killers and sheer willpower? 

But you guessed it wasn’t your concern. 

You would just be expected to show up and be his favorite accessory. Cling to his arm and charm the old men whose favor he craved. 

Returning to the White House was practically its own event. Cameras flashing and microphones being shoved out, sure to be highly publicized as you and Satoru both sheltered your children through, throwing out small waves and practiced smiles. 

The sun was starting to slip lower, a million people itching to speak to Satoru, but you were searching through the crowd for a different face. Dark hair. Dark eyes. Someone who would turn all your confusion into something that made sense. 

But Suguru wasn’t there. 

Not waiting for you, or even hanging around the edges ready to offer Satoru an update on what he’d been doing in the weeks since either of you had seen him.

Your jaw clenched, barely able to conceal your reaction as you returned through halls that didn’t feel familiar anymore. You hated it here. 

Loathed every painting on the wall and the carpet on the floors and the paths you used to take. It felt like a prison. 

Did that make Satoru your warden? 

His presidency your sentence? 

At least you wouldn't have to spend so much time with him – not when you were sure things would return to the limbo you'd been living in where you rarely saw him.

Except, when you showed up for dinner, he was already there. The kids teasing him for some silvery strands that has started to pepper through the white of his hair, all of them turning to smile brightly at you as you walked through the door. An empty seat beside him, waiting for you to take it. 

Your throat was closing up as you did, smoothing out your dress as you desperately controlled your face. 

“Is this going to be like, a thing now?” You asked under your breath as you picked at your food with a fork. Wouldn't this just make it so much fucking harder for all of you once you went back to normal? What about after his term? Once he wasn't a president anymore and you filed for divorce? 

“I made a decision I should've made a long time ago,” Satoru quietly replied. “I'm putting my family first.” 

Your mouth opened, but you just took a reluctant bite of your food before you could say it was too late. 

“You're my priority,” he murmured, and a piece of you that probably lacked brain cells wished that he had this revelation years ago. “I promise.”

How much of that was actually real? 

You ended up just sitting on the edge of your old bed asking yourself questions you already knew the answers to. Wearing an old slip you found in the bottom of the drawer, something soft and lacey, but you weren't even sure who you were wearing it for. Was Suguru even staying here? Had they put him up in a safe house of his own? Or maybe let him stay in his own place with just extra security?

Satoru probably wouldn't show up. 

He basically had his own bedroom now, one on the same floor and wing since your separation started. 

Why would he-

“Hey,” his voice cut through the silence, your head snapping over to watch him limp in, cane in hand as he slowly started over. 

“I figured you would sleep in your, um, other room,” you replied. Not harsh or hateful. More of an observation, you guessed. 

“Can I still sleep here?” He asked, and you couldn’t believe the slow bob of your head up and down instead of left and right. 

He walked over to you, footsteps slow, unsure. One leg dragging a little behind the other until he stopped just in front of the bed. Slowly turning to sit next to you, hardly an inch between your thigh and his, sinking into the soft mattress. 

“What happened to us?” You whispered into the air. If the clock could turn back, would you try to save him? If you woke up tomorrow back in college, would you have scoffed and said no to that date? Reset your fate? 

Would he?

“I think about that first night sometimes,” he muttered, a sharp sting stabbing through your heart as you realized which one he was talking about. “How fucking stupid it was.” 

“Satoru,” you breathed his name, the sharp teeth of panic sinking into your heart as you started shaking your head. 

“I just, I still can’t fucking believe I did it. Me and Suguru were just drinking, taking shots at the bar and celebrating, fuck, I mean, we were talking about you, and the next thing I know, I’m waking up next to some stranger in the sheets and-” 

“Stop,” you were begging, tears trying to choke you up. What the hell was he talking about? Suguru had never once mentioned being there, acted like it was as big of a fucking surprise to him as it was to you when you found out about all the cheating. 

“I don’t know what the fuck was wrong with me. Why I kept doing it afterwards, I-I just couldn’t stop feeling so slimy, and wanted so fucking badly to forget, but all I ever seemed to do was keep sabotaging myself,” he was rambling now, inhaling hard as he buried his face in his hands. His left leg was stretched out, twitching as he talked. 

“Why are you-” You stopped yourself, clinging to all of your own jagged edges even when it hurt so much. “Why are you even saying this?” 

“It was never about you,” he murmured. “I was the one who didn’t deserve you. Who was stupid and insecure and jealous-” 

“I already know that,” you half-huffed, forcing yourself to look down at the floor before you fell apart completely. 

“And then I saw the way Suguru started staring at you, like, like he was just fucking waiting to snatch you, and I-” 

“Satoru,” you repeated, wiping away a stray tear that fell, a little broken noise escaping before he finally shut up. 

And then he was brushing away the dampness from your cheeks, flinching when you felt that first gentle graze of his fingertips. But you just sat there, let his hand cup your face, your body betraying you by slowly melting into his touch.  

You should recoil. Retreat. Remove yourself. 

Something. 

All you could do was stay wrapped in his warm cloud of comfort, his cologne clinging to your skin and your eyes on his mouth. 

“I’m sorry,” he whispered. A promise that sounded so pretty coming from his perfect lips. “I’m so sorry. I love you so much.” 

It would be the easiest thing in your life to believe him. 

Second-nature to accept what he said. 

Your mind was already savoring it, turning over every tremor, picking apart his tone. You wanted to hear it for so long. Hear him breaking and bending for you. 

“You don’t have to say it back,” he breathed, his thumb dragging over your cheekbone like he was scared you might not feel the same anymore. That he’d lost your love forever with just himself to blame for it. 

“I-” You started, not totally sure where you were going with it, too much spit pooling in your mouth to continue. You glanced down at your lap, only then realizing your thigh was pressed against his now. Did he move closer? 

Or was that one on you? 

“I miss you,” you finally admitted, but the relief was bittersweet. 

“Can I show you how much I miss you too?” He asked, and you loathed that you let him. 

His finger skimmed over your shoulder, pulling down your slip as his nose subtly brushed against yours as if he was getting ready to kiss you. 

You froze, an awful, icky feeling washing over your entire body, fingers shaking as your breath got stuck in your throat. 

“Sweetheart,” Satoru whispered, and you realized you were shaking your head now, your whole body trembling as you mechanically forced yourself away from him. A cruel thought bouncing around in your brain that you couldn't shut down. 

Did he call the other girls that? 

Whisper it in their ear like a promise? Tell them that he was leaving you soon or spin a pretty tale about your relationship being for show these days? 

“What's wrong?” He pressed, those blue eyes you had adored so much glittering in the light of the moon, but all you could fucking feel was that they didn't shine for you. 

“I thought maybe I could, but I can't,” you swallowed, stepping back from the bed, covering up your body as you bent over to rummage through your dresser for a robe. 

“Why?” Satoru inhaled, sounding almost choked up about it. “Baby, don't-”

“It disgusts me,” you admitted, the word coming out raw and wounded, ripped from some primal part of you. “When I think of you putting your fucking dick inside of someone else-”

“I-” 

“No,” you stopped him. “You don’t get it. Weren’t there to see how many nights I cried because of you.” 

“Don’t you think I would do anything I could to take it back?” He desperately begged, limping after you as you tied the robe tight around your waist. 

“I don’t know what you really think,” you dryly muttered. “What to believe from you.” 

“Believe me when I tell you that I’d do anything for you,” Satoru grabbed your hand, squeezing as half of you wanted to stay and the rest of you was screaming to run. “That I will spend my life showing you how sorry I really am.” 

“You know how hard it is to trust you when-” You couldn’t even finish the sentence, sucking in on your cheek and biting down hard as you scrunched your eyes shut. 

“How do you think it feels every time I think about Suguru?” Satoru rebutted, his voice low. Like a weak wounded animal. “Watching you fall for him, look at him the way you used to look at me.” 

“Don’t act like it’s his fault,” you defended him. “He-” 

“He was there. Always fucking there and just waiting for me to fuck up,” he argued back, and you couldn’t stand that he was starting to change your mind. Or, at least, make you see things were even more crooked than you thought they were if you were considering the chance that Suguru had something to do with Satoru cheating on you. 

“What do you want?” Your voice cracked. 

“You.” 

“No, no, you-” You were about to start crying, a thick sob building up because if you believed that, then what would be next? 

“Just stop seeing him. Please. I’ll do anything,” he was begging, fingers trying to slither into your palm so he could hold your hand. “Whatever it takes to fix us.”  

“You know I had sex with him on our bed,” you admitted, halfway hoping to hurt him, dig the knife in and create a matching wound. He used to say you were soulmates. Wouldn’t it make sense to have matching scars? “Let him bend me over right there and fuck me until I forgot your name.”

Satoru went stiff, hand rigid in yours before you ripped it away. 

And as soon as the anger was out, hanging in the air between you, you just felt like you were the one bleeding too. Sliced by your own blade of hurt and hate. 

“I should sleep in one of the guest bedrooms,” you muttered, gutted and hollow. 

It didn’t take a genius to see he didn’t want you to, mouth open like he might try to work his magic and make you stay, or maybe attempt to stand and follow you out, but you snatched his cane by the bed on your way out. 

“Are you seriously-” 

You slammed the door shut before you could keep arguing. 

The ceiling in the closest spare room wasn't so comforting either. 

Just made you think of Suguru more. Wondering where he was. If he was in his own bed thinking of you right now. 

You hated not being able to go to him right now. Completely clear the air and let him reassure you that he was the innocent one here. That Satoru was still the evil husband that was eventually going to be your ex.

You were half-tempted to sneak around the halls on the off-chance he might still be in his office here. 

God, it felt sort of disgusting for leaving him out like this, for the treacherous feelings Satoru kept stirring up when you were supposed to still be separated. 

Even if the public thought you were back together, you'd be lying to yourself if you tried to say the lines weren't starting to get blurred in private. God, you were going to sleep in the same bed as him. Nearly let him undress you with just that pout and those puppy dog eyes. 

When for all you knew, the second he started walking entirely on his own, he’d start fucking around again. 

Tossing and turning in a cold bed, biting your lip as you wrestled for any kind of rest. 

And then there was a knock. 

Just a short, somehow uncertain one. 

Your heart skipped a beat before you even considered who it could be from. 

“I can’t sleep leaving things like that,” Satoru spoke into the dark, his voice tinged with raw pain. You almost said that you had left things far fucking worse before, but what was the point of bringing up the past? 

“Why not?” You whispered, pulling the blanket around you protectively. 

“Because I want better for us.” 

He walked in, one foot dragging along the floor until the mattress shifted, dimpling under his weight as he leaned on it for support. 

“I want to be a man you can rely on, not run away from,” he breathed.

God, you were so sick of running. 

But stopping sounded even scarier. 

And still, despite the fact it felt like your heart was being torn in half, you stayed silent when you heard him get into bed next to you, just bit your cheek at his low hiss of pain after chasing you here. 

You didn’t tell him to get out or go. 

The most terrifying part was how well you slept with him there. 

Actually waking up rested for once, his strong arm wrapped around your waist that you had to slip out from, unable to stop yourself from rolling him over to stop him from snoring. Leaving the cane by his side of the bed, wrapping the robe around you tighter as you tried to sneak back to the main bedroom to get changed. 

Some invisible, intangible thing lifted off your chest now that you finally felt like you had something over Satoru. That he was, at last, the loser. 

Chasing and crying and desperate for a change. 

You still half-expected that he’d go back on his grand promises. To fall back into old patterns. 

But as the days dragged on, his presence didn’t dwindle. 

In fact, in spite of how slammed he was with far more important stuff, he found a way to show up. No longer missed meals, or made a habit of disappearing or drowning himself in paperwork and problems in the Oval Office. Finding you in whatever room or study you tried to hole up in, trying to bribe his way back into your heart with snacks and sweet gestures. 

And Suguru was nowhere to be seen. 

Heard, sure. His presence was a phantom and passed down by second or thirdhand accounts. Nanami said he was working from his own place, under his own security detail for the time being. 

Until the FBI finished had their suspect officially in custody. 

You were surprised it had taken them this long, especially when the public had shifted enough to start turning their vitriol towards their investigation. Suspicious that no arrest had been made, wild stories being spread as magazines and news stations desperately tried to request interviews with your husband for any details. 

He took a few, but insisted on you being there, his hand on your side keeping you close as you both answered questions and smiled at the cameras, reassuring the nation that he was recovering well, that your relationship was only getting stronger. 

It didn’t feel like a lie. 

And when he walked out holding your hand, you honestly forgot to drop his for longer than you’d care to admit. 

You hadn’t fought since that night. No bitter arguments or big blowouts. But the quiet wasn’t so awkward. Didn’t carry the same angry tension it had before. You hadn’t forgiven him. But you were tired of hating him.

Holding onto the hurt just felt like you were making the wound worse. 

It didn’t help your resolve when he had opened up an entirely new worry, your tedious trust in Suguru starting to fray now that you had a reason to suspect that maybe he lied to you too. 

You didn’t know when you’d be able to see him again. 

Weren’t totally sure what you would say when you did.

Things were different in a way you still couldn’t quite qualify. And you couldn’t shake the feeling you were standing at a crossroads, scared to choose the wrong path. 

You stared at your own reflection. 

Dolled up in some absurdly expensive dress, makeup done and set, hair sprayed into place as you touched the diamond necklace dangling down your collarbone. Ready to be paraded around a party while your husband charmed the crowd and reminded them why anyone voted for him in the first place. A gala against gun violence, a statement to be made. Satoru stepped up behind you, popping a couple painkillers as he tried to disguise his limp. 

He looked down at you, and your stupid heart fluttered at the sight of him.

His red tie was just a little crooked, the same as his soft smile, glancing between you and the mirror as he stood by your side, his gold wedding band gleaming in the overhead light. “You look gorgeous.” 

“You’re not terrible looking,” you begrudgingly hummed, and he grinned like it was the best compliment he ever heard. 

“Are you ready?” He asked, cocking his head to the side and jutting his thumb towards the door. 

“Hold on,” you murmured, and he paused in place. For a moment, it felt like you were five years younger, seeing him in his dark suit, hair hanging a little longer, a light in his eyes you'd almost forgotten. You couldn't remember the last time you'd seen it. 

You had to bite down on the inside of your cheek, stop yourself from telling him he really did look handsome and feeding his ego as your hands reached up to adjust his tie. 

How you used to back when things weren't so…hard.

The ride to the gala was torture. 

Trying to hold yourself together and act like you didn’t notice a thousand little details about him. The subtle bounce of his healthy leg, the way his hand kept drifting closer and closer towards yours in the backseat, how he kept trying to discreetly steal glances at you. Making small talk about the kids and the economy and what new reforms he was pushing to pass.

A far cry from the guy who’d been taking bribes a year ago and lazily slapping his signature across bills a year ago. 

He sounded like he had before he had taken the office. Almost optimistic. 

Hoping for a better world, you guessed – one he thought he could create.

But it was the bad kind of nostalgia when you made it there, the twinkling lights and the big bright room filled with people you hated. Usually, you would try to slip away, excuse yourself for a drink or the bathroom just for the chane to breathe. 

Tonight, though, Satoru’s hand refused to leave your back, his gaze constantly returning to your face no matter who he was speaking to. Your stomach was cramping though, nerves bouncing around when he had to stand up in front of all of them and give some grand speech about strength at the start of the night, fear you hadn’t expected coiling tight with the worry that someone might show up to finish what they started and you’d end up a widow instead of a divorcee.

Everything here was centered around him. Senators and congressmen, anyone with pockets they hoped he’d be filling, all came up to congratulate him, wishing him well, asking how the two of you were holding up together.

“Are you okay?” Satoru murmured as you watched one of them walk away, leaning down so his breath was warm on your skin. Reaching over to fix where your necklace had gotten crooked, moving it into the proper place as you hesitated over the answer. “You seem-”

“It’s a little claustrophobic in here,” you hummed, your dress clinging tighter than it had an hour ago, the tag scratching at your skin as you scanned the crowd, wondering if you would finally get your chance to see a certain someone. 

Was Suguru around here somewhere? Schmoozing with the dickheads and downing a champagne glass? 

“You want some fresh air?” He offered, concern flecked in the pretty colors of his eyes. 

“I think I’ll just get a drink,” you shrugged, looking back around at the number of security agents stationed at different points around the room. A lot fucking more than there had been at the last one of these dumb parties he dragged you to. But you guessed that was sorta to be expected when the president had taken two bullets at a public event. 

Someone else started walking up, another old man you could never remember the name of.

Satoru kissed the top of your forehead, lips gently pressing just above your brows as his hand slipped off of your back. “Grab me one too?” 

“I don’t think you’re supposed to mix your pain killers with alcohol," you dryly admonished him, arching a brow up with a small sigh. He had ditched the cane tonight in favor of standing in one place and sitting when he could, trying to portray an image that not even an assassination attempt would break him. 

“Fine,” he automatically gave in, leaning in to sneak another kiss on your cheek. “Whatever my wife says.” 

The title didn’t harbor as much hurt as it used to. 

And despite how much you wanted you to pretend it didn’t affect you, that he didn’t anymore, your chest felt all fuzzy and warm as you pulled away from him to start towards the open bar. 

The alcohol didn’t help. 

Sipping on a pretty glass of something strong, letting all those mixed feelings swirl around your stomach as you studied the people milling around. Your husband was already swarmed, people trying to shake his hand and clap his back while he wore a practiced smile, nose scrunching up when he laughed. It didn’t take long for him to be blocked from your sight entirely, only wisps of white and flashes of blue breaking through as you finished your drink and debated on asking for a second one. 

Cologne you hadn’t caught a whiff of in forever wrapped around you as you felt his presence before you saw him there. 

“I was worried you wouldn’t-” 

“I need to ask you something,” you preemptively cut him off, dropping your voice down to a soft whisper as you glanced back over your shoulder to make sure no one was paying attention to the Vice President sliding up to the First Lady. 

“Can it-” Suguru started, and you had to force yourself to interrupt him, to get the question out while you still had the courage. Sneaking a glance to your right to find his familiar frame standing tall, dark hair hanging loose over his broad shoulders. His features were tight as he searched your face, dark circles etched underneath his eyes as his fingers anxiously tapped the bartop. It was obvious he was stressed. Bending under the weight of the world he’d been carrying for Satoru. 

“Were you there? The night Satoru first cheated on me?” You heard yourself ask, not totally sure what you would even do with the truth. If he was there, if he knew, then what would happen next?

Suguru looked back at you, confusion and something closer to hurt scrunching up on his face before his stare swept back to the rest of the gala still going on. 

“Is that seriously what you want to know? What the hell did he say to you?” He hissed back, not looking directly at you, trying to pretend that you weren’t having anything other than a casual conversation. But that wasn’t a denial, was it? 

Wouldn’t he just scoff and say no if he wasn’t there? Insist his innocence? 

Your lips parted, but then he spotted something. 

His face fell in a single second. His jaw went slack, something dark shining in his eyes. 

You craned your neck to catch a peek, but the only thing that stood out was one of Satoru’s secret service agents cutting through the cluster of partygoers to speak to him. 

“Shit,” Suguru muttered. “I thought we had more time.” 

He grabbed your arm, fingers sinking into the soft skin as he dragged you away from the bar and through the closest hallway, digging in deeper when you tried to step back. More time? That was probably the one thing neither of you ever had enough of. 

“Suguru, please-” 

“We can’t talk here,” he hissed back, and you almost recoiled, surprised at how rough his voice suddenly sounded. His hold was possessive, pulling you further away from the party. Prying into muscles now, tight enough that you thought he might leave fingerprints. 

“You’re hurting me,” you murmured, stifling a sound as you resisted his tug. Honestly, he was scaring the shit out of you, but you were trying to trust that he had a reason. 

His grip loosened, but not enough for you to break free. 

“I’m sorry, beautiful,” he half-whispered, and you realized what it was in his growl. Panic. “But we have to go.”  

“Go where?” You asked, glancing back over your shoulder at the dimming lights of the gala. The opening to the hall shrinking with every step you took. 

Satoru would-

“There’s a car waiting to take us to a private plane, and-” 

You dug your heels in the ground, stopping in place as you took a stunned breath. 

“What are you talking about?” You gaped, unable to wrap your brain around what he was suggesting. Still thinking back to the question he hadn’t really answered, Satoru’s words echoing in your head, about Suguru waiting to snatch you, an uneasy feeling sitting heavy inside you, too deep to scoop out. “A plane?” 

“I don’t have time to explain here, baby, but we need to leave now,” he insisted, but you couldn’t just accept that. Take the jump when you were terrified to fall. 

“What about my kids?” 

“He would never let us take them,” Suguru shook his head, and you could only scoff, taken aback as you tried again to move back. But he was stronger than you. 

And the rock you were counting on him being, the net you thought was waiting for you, had abruptly moved. 

“You want me to leave them?” You asked, breath hitching as you shook your head. Fuck, they were yours, you carried them and birthed them and held their chubby fingers when they were babies and baked their birthday cakes every year. Maybe they were whiny and impulsive and stuck with the same DNA that made Satoru who he was, but you loved them. And maybe him still too. 

“If you don’t-” 

The red dot of a scope being lined up was suddenly on his chest. 

“Down on the ground,” some deep voice shouted, three more dots popping up before you had blinked. 

“Let go of the First Lady,” someone else grunted, but Suguru tried to pull you back towards a blinking EXIT sign. But you could hear the noise out there too, the loud footsteps and muffled voices screaming that he was already surrounded. 

That it was already too late. 

“What’s happening?” Your question was drowned out by the spectacle, heart straining inside your chest and threatening to break through your ribcage as you realized it was a fucking SWAT team. 

It took you a few painful seconds to figure out what this was. What you’d been caught in the middle of. They were arresting Suguru. Threatening to fucking shoot him if he didn’t release you, blow his brains out in the middle of a gala against gun violence. 

“I didn't-” Suguru started behind you, your attention flicking around too fast to focus on anyone, starting to hyperventilate as Suguru held you like he was scared of what would happen once the connection broke. As if it was the last time he'd get to touch your skin. 

“You’re being arrested in connection to the attempted murder of-” 

“Don’t trust them,” Suguru insisted in a panic, trying to pull your attention back to him, your head swiveling around to catch one more glimpse of his beautiful face. His eyes bleeding into you, the pretty slope of his nose turned up as his starry stare begged you to believe him. “I promise, I didn’t-” 

Someone else was grabbing you, pulling you back before he could finish.

“Get your hands off my fucking wife,” Satoru growled, your back pressed against his chest, an arm around your waist, each second somehow adding more distance between you and Suguru until you realized he was leading you away. Picking up pieces from the mess unfolding in front of you, snippets of the shouts, shattered still images your brain was struggling to process as Satoru let his best friend get put in cuffs for trying to murder him. 

“No, no, he couldn’t-” Your voice broke. You were pretty sure you did too. 

Watching a man you thought you might love get forced down on his knees, hands behind his head as he argued as he got arrested. 

“An agent just filled me in,” Satoru murmured in your ear, stroking your hair softly, trying to cushion the blow as he held you back. “He was seen on surveillance footage meeting with their suspect and handing him cash. They got the guy in custody yesterday. I guess he confessed to everything.” 

“Suguru's your best friend,” you gaped, grasping at straws, refusing to believe he could be capable of something like this. “He wouldn't-”

“What?” Satoru snapped. “Fuck my wife?”

Your lips clamped shut, but not before a tiny broken breath escaped. Tearing your stare away from the sight of Suguru being dragged out that back entrance he was about to take you through to look back at your husband, not sure what you were supposed to think or feel anymore.

Did you really not know Suguru either? Cursed to have terrible taste in men? 

“Why wouldn't he want me dead?” Your husband continued, cocking his head to the side, cold blue eyes burning with barely concealed hurt. He threw a pained look back in the direction of the guy who once grew up with, the one who’d been there before you, a tight grimace on his pretty lips before he spoke again.“He'd get what he always wanted. My presidency. My wife. My whole life.”

He turned you around so you had to face him, face this, softly rubbing over the sore spot on your arm where Suguru had grabbed you, the gesture surprisingly soothing enough that the last of your resolve dissolved. 

Satoru pulled you into his broad chest, his chin resting on top of your head as he supported you through the broken sobs racking through your body. 

“Did he do it because of me?” You asked out loud through your tears, body trembling in his arms as he held you tight. 

“No, sweetheart,” he attempted to comfort you, but in between the betrayal and the disbelief and the jagged edges of your grief, guilt was blossoming. 

The next few minutes were a blur, secret service agents surrounding both of you as they helped you cut through the confused crowd and return to where the bulletproof car was waiting outside, someone passing Satoru a thick folder on the way out – one he appeared to be expecting. 

You weren’t numb. But the whole thing felt like a dream sequence, dazed as you played your supporting role of the lady being escorted away from the scene. 

“What is that?” You asked, even though you had your suspicions. Could guess what you would find if you peeked inside. Proof.

“I skimmed over some of it right before they, well,” he cleared his throat, handing it over before leaning over to buckle your seatbelt for you. “You should see for yourself.” 

It was ironic, wasn’t it? 

Desperately craving the truth only to flinch when you found it? 

Reading through the files they compiled, the surveillance photos, the fucking lovelorn letters they found when they got a search warrant for his apartment a few hours away – the one he used to take you to, where he’d whisper into your skin and wish for a future you had told him was foolish. Where you could be his without anyone else intervening. How many times had you told yourself it was just the sex talking? That he didn’t really mean it. Lied that all you were both doing was venting frustrations and helping the other one heal. 

All you’d done was make him worse. 

Feed into some grand delusion that Satoru had stolen the life that should’ve been his – made him feel like his hand had been forced. 

Every dirty detail laid out in their plan from the confession they obtained from some creep named Mahito, your eyes dragging over the transcript while Satoru’s hand rested reassuringly on your thigh. 

Suguru had forked over a ridiculous sum for him to shoot Satoru. Got him an unregistered firearm. A security pass to blend in. All the information he needed in order to execute your husband in front of the entire country. In front of you. 

He just hadn’t picked a skilled enough shooter, you supposed. 

All in the name of your affair. 

Although, he hadn’t admitted it to his accomplice. Hadn’t told him why he wanted him to commit treason. 

No, you supposed that was a secret that was only shared between you, your husband, and the man you no longer knew if you loved or hated. 

You didn’t even realize it when you got back. 

Clutching onto the folder, Satoru supporting you even when he was struggling to keep up his own weight without his cane, surrounded by agents who led you safely back inside. For once, it was oddly quiet. Maybe it was the side entrance they ushered you through, but the halls were practically vacant, like it had been arranged for them to go work in different parts so you wouldn’t be disturbed making it back to your room. 

And for the first time in a long time, you were thankful Satoru was there as you stepped in a space that suddenly felt too small, too suffocating. 

How were you supposed to breathe when everything had fallen apart? 

“It’s my fault,” you murmured, dropping the folder down on the dresser. The picture it painted had been clear enough. 

Your assumption he wanted a more serious relationship hadn’t been all that off. But you hadn’t seen him spiralling into obsession. Never considered that maybe, he’d been looking at you far longer than you were looking at him. That maybe everything had been in motion before you were even married. 

Reevaluating every single moment of your friendship with him, from the day you met him through Satoru and he gave you that sly smirk of his while you shook his hand to how he held your fucking newborns in the hospital while Satoru went to grab you food. 

Was it real? Fake? 

Maybe Satoru was right. Maybe Suguru had been waiting to set him up from the start.

“I should’ve seen it,” Satoru murmured, leaning down to press the faintest of kisses to the tip of your shoulder. You stood still, bottom lip quivering as one of his huge hands settled on your hip. “I shouldn’t have let him-” 

“I had sex with him, and he tried to kill you,” you scoffed, a fresh tear rolling down and threatening to mess up your probably already smeared makeup. “I told him things. About us. About you.”

The sort of stuff that would sink his presidency if it came out in a confession. 

Things that probably pushed him closer and closer to the edge of a cliff until he felt like he had to make a choice for you. 

It was him or your husband. 

“I know,” Satoru murmured. “But it’s not your fault.”

You shook your head harder, his fingers dipping deeper into your hip to hold you steady. “I-” 

“If I’d taken better care of you, if I had just been there the way I should’ve been, then none of this would have happened,” he added, remorse bleeding into every wound-tight word. 

You couldn’t come up with a reasonable response.

Nothing fit right. All your feelings were too big, unraveling into one tangled ball where you couldn’t discern where the regret ended and the shame started. Unsure if the line still existed between love and loathing. 

You had sex with Suguru because you wanted to hurt Satoru. 

And now you were hurting so much you’d do anything to get it to just stop. 

“What did he say to you?” He asked, and your stomach did another somersault.

“I think he wanted me to run away with him,” you admitted. A plane to who knows where, fake passports probably made, the last step of a plan he knew was failing. His last chance to actually steal you if he couldn’t become president. 

“Oh,” Satoru exhaled. You could hear it in just a single syllable that he thought you would have accepted. Taken his offer. 

“I wasn’t going to go,” you whispered. Even if the SWAT team hadn’t showed up, you would’ve chosen him and your children. 

Satoru turned you around, readjusting his grip on your hip, his stare slicing through every shield you spent so long building. 

And then he kissed you. 

Not one of those shallow, barely-there ones saved for public appearances. But hard, hungry. Making up for lost time. His teeth bumping into yours, his tongue desperately trying to slip inside your mouth and claim it again. Wash away the fact Suguru had been the last one to do it. 

He only broke it when you needed air. 

“Satoru,” you sucked in a small breath, a hard lump forming in your throat you knew would be too tough to swallow as your nose brushed against his. “Do you seriously think there’s still a chance for us? After everything-”

“Aboslutely,” he murmured, apparently still capable of being annoyingly confident. “There’s nothing in our way now.” 

He dragged a thumb underneath your eyes, wiping away your mascara as you blinked up at him. And maybe you couldn’t say it out loud, but your hands trembled and reached up to do something you used to cherish. Slowly loosening his tie for him, tugging it out and tossing it over his head. 

Satoru smiled, and you remembered how easy it was to let your life revolve around it again.

He pulled you closer, your chest against his, his hands slowly tracing long patterns up-and-down your back, across your waist, far softer than you were used to. In the past, he’d been more like a starving dog, pawing and squeezing and ready to rut into you like an animal. 

“Everything will be perfect once my presidency is over,” he promised, craning down to allow his soft lips to skim across your throat. 

You once put your entire life in his hands. Stood in front of all your friends and family and said ‘I do’ because you were so sure that he was the one. Could you do it again? 

“I’ll buy you a new house.Wherever you want,” he hummed, punctuating every few words with more gentle pecks. “By the beach. Another country. Get a pool. The kids won’t care if we fly out their friends a few times a year.” 

“I don’t want a new house,” you murmured, rolling your eyes as he kissed. You missed your old one. Technically, you still had it, but you only really went back to it for holidays, or occasionally on birthdays. Where you had painted the rooms together and picked out furniture from catalogues and stores. Where you had taught your kids to walk and talk, their heights measured on doorframes. The place that still held all your favorite memories. 

“I’m sorry,” he placated, another affectionate brush of his mouth over your damp cheeks. “Tell me what you want.” 

“I don’t know anymore,” you whispered. 

“Do you want this?” He asked, delicately tracing over your side in your tight dress. “Me?” 

A handful of months ago you would’ve huffed at him. Said never. 

And yet, you were slowly nodding. Biting your lip as you broke, gave into the inevitable. 

It really was till death do you part, you supposed. 

“I do.” 

Satoru stripped you down until you were just wearing your jewelry. A diamond ring. The glittering necklace around your throat. The ones dangling from your ears. All signs of who you belonged to. 

Standing bare in front of him, slowly taking off his suit jacket before slowly unbuttoning his crisp white shirt, your fingers slightly shaking as you pulled off his belt and fiddled with his zipper. He had to sit down to get them off, the muscles in his legs twitching as he got them off. The puckered scar on his calf making you wince, another reminder of how fucked this all was. 

Another faint one on his arm, healed better, a different shade of white on his pale skin. 

“I-” 

His mouth was on yours before you could apologize again. 

It only took him thirty seconds to have you on the bed. 

Body pressed into the sheets, his hands spreading you open before he buried himself between your legs. 

He kissed the inside of your thighs, savoring the plush flesh, before planting himself right above your sensitive clit, aching to be touched as much as the rest of you. 

“My pretty wife,” he hummed, his breath hot as it drifted over the neglected bud. “Been missing you. This.”  

White lashes fluttering as you hesitantly took the plunge, but rather than freezing water, cold disappointment, Satoru was warm. 

The clouds were clearing so your sun could shine again. 

Sure, the sky was still stormy, scattered with dark spots, but you no longer felt like you were standing under the downpour. 

Satoru was shelter. Safety. 

You shut your eyes, letting your hands feel the scruff of his hair, the strands sifting through your fingers as his own started to slip inside you. Testing the waters himself, seeing how wet you were for him. 

And embarrassingly enough, you were already soaked. 

Thighs tense as he sank inside your heat, trembling as he tenderly began to stretch you out. He still remembered every sweet spot. Where to push, how to pull you apart, what the right amount of pressure was to have you falling apart – and for him again. 

“Just let go, baby,” he purred, tugging at some loose thread attached to your heart simply by thrusting his fingers in deeper. Asking you to let go of Suguru. Sweeping against your walls as you weakly sucked him in, scraping what was left of you back together to form something new. “Let me take care of you.” 

“S-S-” You couldn't even manage a syllable. 

Squirming as he offered comfort in the form of sex. Stopping you from sobbing or splintering by turning all your sounds into breathless moans, broken whines you couldn't hold in. Had no space left inside you anymore, nowhere for any of your feelings to go except the air when your husband had two fingers stuffed deep.

He slotted a third finger inside you, your hips wiggling as you tried to move back, but he didn't let you budge, keeping you still with his free hand pressed against your stomach just below your belly button. 

“I just want you to be all mine,” he dreamily murmured, dragging his fingers out and back in, his nose grazing against your clit before he moved his mouth just over it. Lips lingering there like he wanted you to ask for more. Resisting the urge to tease and taunt, to sink his teeth in and tear. Doing his best to be delicate. 

“W-what happens if I say I am?” You managed to ask, back arching up off the bed as his taste buds dragged over that tight bundle of nerves, sparks raking down your spine. 

“I'm never letting you go,” he whispered, wrapping his lips around your clit like he could prove it if he just made you cum. Showed you that he could fuck you better than Suguru did.

His jealousy wasn't discreet. 

It was in the way his fingers dug into your skin a little deeper, how deliberate every swirl of his thick digits inside you felt, making sure you wouldn't miss a single touch, the constant desperate glances he'd take, peering from between your thighs to watch your reactions.

In the things he didn't ask. 

Was he wondering how you had done it with his best friend? If he made you cum harder? Faster? What positions you preferred with him? 

Some sick piece of you still hoped he was thinking that. 

You didn't give him a real answer.

But you were losing the ability to think of one once he started painting practiced circles over your clit, hyper aware of how close you were to cumming as your toes curled tight. 

“Toru, it's too-” You cried out a protest, but you didn't really mean it. Didn't make it through the sentence without cumming hard on his hand, squeezing down as he coaxed you through your climax. 

“Too much, pretty?” He teased, falling back into old rhythms like it was second nature. Taking back his place in your bed, in your pussy, like both had always belonged to him. “Too little?” 

You made some strangled sound, gasping as you started coming back down only for it to turn into a desperate whine the moment he pulled his fingers back out.

“You’re too much,” you complained, but there was no more venom in your voice.

“You married me,” he wryly said, his greedy gaze soaking in the sight of your slick pussy after he played with it.

“I did,” you muttered back, swallowing your disappointment although you were sure a sliver reached the surface. 

“I really am sorry,” he apologized quietly, his stare shifting up to hold you captive. “For everything. I'll spend the rest of my life saying it if I have to.” 

It didn't make it all okay. 

Or even equal. 

But you guessed you each had your own burdens to bear. Consequences and decisions you had to live with. 

“I’m sorry too,” you whispered, unable to catch your breath as he climbed completely on top of you. One arm planted next to your head, keeping you caged in, his other hand cupping your cheek as he wiped away another tear you hadn't realized fallen. 

“Stop thinking about him,” he murmured. “It’s just us now.” 

Forever. 

For better or worse. 

And when he angled his cock at your entrance, you just wrapped your wrists behind his neck, cradling him close as he buried himself in the crook of your collarbone, you told yourself you needed him. That he could save you. Solve this. Nose nuzzling against your neck, inhaling your perfume while you toyed with his hair, glancing down to watch the first few inches slip in, the pretty pink head of his cock disappearing into your warmth.  

Reminding you of every ridge, molding you again to his size, shaping you around him once more. 

“Fuck, fuck,” your husband hissed, sucking a rough mark on the inside of your throat like he was trying to stop himself from snapping. You could feel the clench of his jaw against your skin, his nose scrunching up, the muscles in his back getting all tense as his hips kept sinking down. “Feels like heaven, angel.”

He fucked you like he was the devil. 

Dragging you under, down down down into the flames, burning desire searing through every nerve ending and rewiring your synapses until you couldn't remember how you got here. 

Okay, perhaps that wasn't totally true. 

But you could ignore it.

“Forget about everything else,” he whispered into your ear, breathing hot and heavy as he split you open, snugly grinding against your womb as your hips shifted under his weight. “Jus’ focus on me.” 

Did your focus ever really shift anywhere else? 

Had your world revolved around anything but him since the first date? The first time he kissed you and called you his? When you had sex in the back of his car and he called you the most beautiful girl he'd ever met? 

You believed every line back then. 

And here you were, about to believe him again.

Your heart throbbed. His cock did too.

Satoru lifted up your hips, readjusting to dig his knees into the mattress, to get more leverage to start pounding into you faster. It wasn't mean, or even rough. Just, calculated. Controlling the angle, the pressure, measuring what face you made when he hit those sensitive spots he previously memorized. 

“Nothing fuckin’ compares to you,” he groaned, the lump in his throat bobbing hard as he paused with his tip practically smushed against your cervix, staring down at the sight of you sweating and panting under his muscled frame. 

And not that you wanted to make your own comparisons, but you had to admit that sex with Satoru was nothing like it was with Suguru. Familiar guilt gnawing at your bones as you remembered how hard you tried to feed the awful emptiness inside yourself by letting Suguru fill you up himself. 

But it was something only Satoru could touch. 

He was leaner than before, you guessed from stress, or how ragged he’d been running himself. 

Maybe you’d need to put in a request for him to be served more food at your family meals.

You let one of your hands drift down his chest, feeling the outlines of thick muscles, the defined ridges and divots. “You’re not eating enough.” 

He grinned, abruptly dropping your hips back onto the plush mattress as he reached up to move a sweaty strand of hair out of your face. “Is my beautiful wife worrying about me?” 

“N-no,” you lied, sucking on your lower lip as you felt his cock twitch, so stuffed you didn’t think you had any more room for him.

He laughed, light, airy, one of those sounds that made the room feel brighter. 

And then he was rutting into you faster, desperation etched into every breath, every creak of the bed, felt in his fingers and his touch. 

Craving you guessed he couldn’t deny any more either. 

“Tell me you love me,” he groaned, a hand wrapped around your throat, not hard enough to hurt, applying the precise amount of pressure to make it difficult to breathe. Sucking in shallow inhales, your nails dragging down his shoulder blades as his cock throbbed inside of you. “Please, I'm begging, say you still love me.”

You wished it was just the sex that made you say it. 

But you were clutching onto him, taking every thrust as the headboard banged into the wall, nodding as much as you could with his palm pressed against your throat. 

“I do,” you whispered. “I love you.” 

It didn't matter what you wanted. How hard you fought it. 

Some things were just facts. 

“I love you so fucking much,” Satoru promised back, kissing you as his other hand drifted down to grip the underside of your thigh, pushing it up higher to get a deeper angle. 

Filthy squelches echoing in time with the bed creaking, the mattress dipping under your combined weight, in-and-out, in-and-out, your body on the brink of unravelling all over again. 

There was admittedly something filthy in the fact your husband was about to drag another orgasm out of you just from how hard he was fucking you, your thighs preemptively tensing in anticipation as he threw his head back and dug his thumb in deeper on your throat.

Dragging his cock along your walls, so full you were pretty sure he managed to lodge your heart in your lungs, unable to suck any air in when your pussy was preoccupied sucking him in. 

You didn’t know which one of you finished first. Falling apart into each other, his cock throbbing, thick, warm ropes of cum filling you up as white stars splotched your vision. And when you opened your eyes, there was just more white, his hair dangling down in your face as he let go of your throat to reach down and rub your clit instead, to help get you through your second, intense climax of the night, shuddering hard in the sheets as you clawed at his back for purchase. 

He didn’t pull out. Let you scratch his back, like he’d take any mark you left on him. 

Satoru just kissed you again, sucking softly on your bottom lip, soothing you as his hands found new positions. Caressing your cheek. Holding your waist. Your arms awkwardly settling over his shoulders, his hair tickling your face as you made some distant mental note to tell him to go get a haircut soon.

Damp cum leaking down your thighs as a sudden thought struck you about twenty minutes too late.

“Satoru,” you breathed your husband’s name, unable to sit up or squirm with his heavy weight keeping you pinned to the bed. “I’m not on birth control right now.” 

You were before, but with the assassination attempt and the safehouse, and then moving back, you’d forgotten to ask someone to pick up your prescription for you. Just slipped your mind when you were too stressed to think about having sex. 

And now here you were, stuffed with your husband’s cum, sticky and damp as his cock throbbed and leaked out the last drops, your throat threatening to close up while he shrugged his broad shoulders and snuggled up closer. 

“I’ll have someone pick up the morning after pill for you,” he murmured. “But you know, maybe, a baby wouldn’t be so bad.” 

“You’re not funny,” you mumbled, wiggling just for him to let out a low moan. You’d done the whole pregnancy and chasing after children thing in your twenties. Knew that it would be harder now, that everything was. Especially now that you had no clue how long he’d be limping for, or if he’d always need a cane now. It wasn’t that you totally hated it, no repulsion or disgust simmering under the surface, just some of your rationality finally returning. You could get like, a cat or a fish, if he wanted something new. “You could’ve died. Do you think now’s the time-” 

“Maybe not now,” he hummed. “But I’m not going to be president forever.” 

You blinked, your fingers reflexively reaching up to brush his hair back from his face. Looking into his eyes and trying to decide if this was really what he wanted. If you were. And then he was craning his neck down, capturing your mouth in a gentle kiss before breaking away. 

“I’m always going to be your husband.”

“Good morning, gorgeous.” 

Satoru didn't really want to wake you. If it was up to him, he'd spend the entire day like this. Your cheek squished on his chest, your bare body tangled in the sheets with him. Watching you start to stir, sleepily blinking up at him as your palm tried to press off his shoulder to sit up. 

But he held you down, kept you close as the morning sun streamed through the window. “We can stay in bed a little longer.” 

You were worth the risk of being late to a meeting or two. 

“Satoru,” you said his name, a hint of caution still bleeding through your tired voice. “Last night, we-” 

“We can take this slow, okay? Work on us,” he murmured, stroking your hair softly as he didn't say the last part he was thinking out loud. Without Suguru to interfere. 

He finally had his fucking life back. 

His wife. 

“Did you mean everything you said?” You yawned, letting him draw faint shapes on your skin, your eyes fluttering shut as you started to drift back into your dreams. 

“Every word,” he softly said.

His back was sore, leg already throbbing before he even moved. Throat dry from the sounds you ripped from it. But his chest felt warm, completely content for the first time in fucking years now that you were next to him again. 

You made a small sound, a little mmph, but you rolled over, off of him to squint at the time on the alarm clock, reaching out to turn it off before it could even ring. 

“I’m never letting you go,” he added quietly. Soberly. 

Not now. Not ever. 

“You should go to your morning meeting,” you mumbled, rubbing your eyes. Turning over on your side to stare at his side profile. Your finger slowly reaching out to trace over the slope of his nose, over the edges of his mouth, across his jaw. “If you promise to be back for lunch.” 

He leaned in to kiss the tip of your own nose, almost groaning at how good you smelled. How much he missed this. 

But there wouldn’t be another morning that he’d go without it. 

“Pinky promise.”

You helped him get in the shower, scrubbing the sex and sweat from his body before he awkwardly yanked his pants up and popped a pain killer. Listened to you talk about maybe taking the kids somewhere for an actual vacation after his term was up, suggesting foreign beaches and going sightseeing as he smiled and nodded along. You even let him kiss you goodbye, a silky robe tied around your waist as you leaned out the door to watch him walk down the hall.

But still, he didn’t mind doing his job.

He had a duty after all. 

Sitting in the Oval Office, reclaiming his chair as people surrounded him with problems only he could solve. 

Everyone was ignoring the elephant in the room, the absence that could be felt, or rather seen, in the newspaper on the table. The photograph of the man who was no longer vice president. 

His former best friend.

While another old one was sitting on the couch, his chief of staff just blankly waited without making any notes for once, only watching as other members flitted in-and-out. 

Nanami glared at him after everyone else left, the door thudding shut as the two of them were left alone. 

Satoru was used to it, but it still caught him off-guard when the blond spoke up, “I’m resigning.” 

“Why?” He blanched, almost laughing at the absurdity of it. 

Things had never been better. Approval ratings were through the roof. News stations were already covering the story, Suguru’s face splashed across every headline as people speculated about his plot to become president. 

“I know what you did.” 

He chuckled, leaning forward in his seat as he cocked his head to the side. “And what, exactly, did I do?” 

“You framed Suguru,” Nanami scoffed, hazel eyes squinting accusingly. “Set him up.” 

Guilty as charged. 

But then again, he’d never be charged. 

“How would I-” 

“Who do you think he came to when he started to suspect something was off about his security detail?” Nanami interrupted his poor attempt at feigning innocence, standing up and smoothing out the wrinkles in his pants. 

“Well, it's not your problem or mine, anymore,” Satoru dismissed it, waving his hand as he resisted scoffing. There was no plea deal or bargain left for Suguru to make. 

His guilt was predetermined. 

And Satoru had no plans to pardon him. 

Nanami took a few steps towards the door, and Satoru pressed his palm on his desk to brace himself to stand. His left leg was uncomfortably stiff, a dull ache radiating across the injured limb that he doubted would go away any time soon. The scar was ugly, something that admittedly pricked at him more than it should, but he supposed it was a small price to pay to have you back. 

Besides, he always liked listening to you scold him, to give you a reason to pay him a little extra attention. Peace of mind to know that while Suguru was staring at concrete walls, he got to watch you fawn over how much he ate and how he was healing. 

“What are you going to do about it?” He asked before Nanami could reach the door. 

“Nothing,” Nanami muttered, pausing to let out an exhausted exhale. “That’s why I’m quitting.” 

“You’re not even curious why?” Satoru asked, nose scrunching up. 

“I assume it was because he had sex with your wife,” Nanami dryly replied. “Although, I admit I don’t fully understand how you did it.” 

“The hardest part was finding someone who looked enough like Suguru,” Satoru snickered, running his fingers through his grown-out hair, missing the soft buzz of his undercut. But he wanted to be what you liked. Who you liked. For now, at least, until you remembered all the reasons why Satoru was superior. 

Nanami huffed, like he couldn’t believe him. 

“It’s funny how easy it is to get people to do what you want when you pay them enough,” he vaguely added, limping around to lean against his desk.

Kenjaku was a bit of an asshole, but he looked enough like Suguru that anyone watching the surveillance footage of their meeting would assume it was him especially when it was coupled with Mahito’s confession, there wasn’t much the real one could do when he didn’t have an actual alibi. No, he’d been too busy sneaking around with you, bringing you to his place that didn’t have security cameras to record your affair with his phone shut off to save himself from being framed.

He doubted that you’d remember the exact date of the last time you slept with his best friend. Wouldn’t be able to recall that you were the only person who might be capable of clearing him. 

Suguru had sealed his own fate. 

Nanami opened the door a crack, jaw clenched tight as Satoru contemplated what his price would be. 

“I'll need a new VP in the next election,” Satoru hummed, watching Nanami’s brows scrunch together before he sighed. “Position's yours if you want it.” 

“No thanks,” Nanami grimaced, but Satoru simply shrugged. He couldn't exactly blame him given what fate had befallen his former VP. Rotting in a high security prison cell for the crime of fucking his wife. “I think I'm going to move to Malaysia.” 

“Yeah?” He arched up a brow.

“You should think of moving on too,” Nanami coolly suggested, standing up and straightening his tie. “Don't run for reelection.”

“The nation needs me,” Satoru scoffed. And he'd be damned if he let his mark on history just be rumors of getting impeached and an attempted assassination attempt. 

“What about your wife?” Nanami challenged, as if he knew anything about the two of you. 

Nanami wasn't married. Didn't have a partner. 

He didn't understand. 

Marriage meant sacrifice sometimes. Support. Satoru wasn't about to make the same mistakes again. You wouldn't slip away from him this time. He would do everything right.

Suguru would be stuck with a life sentence. 

And Satoru would get everything he ever wanted. 

“She loves me.”

reblogs + comments are always greatly appreciated even when it's cringe <3

series | latest oneshots | series | patreon

[ghostly526]

Im so patriotic rn

[indiewritesxoxo]

the point of no return

scene one: think of me | previous | chapter index

can you betray the man who once inspired your voice?

synopsis: you were just a dancer with bigger dreams before he came along. the voice in the dark. the man without a face. but you may have bit off more than you could bargain for when he comes to claim who he's made you into.

pairing: phantom!Sukuna x f!reader x bsf!Gojo

content: mdni, fluff and plot, heavily inspired by phantom of the opera, but more of a modern au where we will not exactly be following the original plot so there WILL be deviations, YANDERE SUKUNA !!, childhood best friend gojo (inspired by Raoul), pining, yearning, anxious reader, gojo already wants her bad

"Did you know they say this opera house is haunted?"

Gojo rolled his eyes as he fixed his cuffs, throwing an annoyed look over at the old idiot that dragged him here. Claiming it was part of his duty as a clan heir to show support to the arts, keeping up a public image they had worked so hard to craft. When really all they cared about was lining the pockets of one of their friends.

Painting him out to be some benevolent billionaire benefactor as if he had done anything other than accept his parent's fortune after they passed.

Of course he tried to do right.

Started community service programs and donated as much as he could without drawing their attention. But most days, he quite frankly felt useless.

A boring future ahead of him filled with events like this where he could only grin and bear the pretentious conversations from people who only ever wanted something from him.

He knew he shouldn't complain.

That anyone would trade places with him in half a second.

But he couldn't stop himself from craving something bigger. From aching for more than just empty smiles and endless days that droned on.

"We're actually sitting in the opera ghost's box," someone else chuckled, and Gojo resisted the urge to scowl. To focus on the show starting, reclining back in his chair as he tuned out the snickering of his haughty guests whispering about this opera ghost.

Was this supposed to be some shitty spooky story intended to scare him?

To mock him for not knowing the history of this place after they forced him to attend?

The colorful stage ahead was well-crafted, the dancers doing some delicate choreography on stage, but he kept glancing down at his watch, checking the time and counting down the minutes until he could return home until he heard something that made his heart stutter and stall.

Snapping up to look towards the stage, spine going stiff as his shoulders tensed, a clear voice ringing out and cutting through all the idiotic chatter.

Gojo leaned forward in his chair, damn near falling out of it while his chest strained with the quick beating of his heart, his sharp stare confirming exactly what he suspected.

It was you.

Standing there in the center of the stage, holding out your hands out and dazzling in a beautiful dress - although it didn't appear to completely fit you from where he was sitting.

Gojo was fairly certain he'd never caught so much as a glimpse of someone so beautiful.

The glitter in your hair catching the light, how it reflected in your eyes, your voice making his heart soar and swing with every note. You were magic.

A wish come true.

He never thought he'd see you again. Lost to time and distance despite the resources he'd spent trying to to find you for just a few fleeting seconds of conversation.

The girl that had once held his heart in your small hands, a simple childhood crush that lived on in his memory, of a handful of summers long ago where you were playmates. Running through fields and sneaking off to play house, pretending to be husband and wife before his clan caught on to his antics and stopped letting him leave the estate unsupervised.

Still, Gojo had gotten to take you on a date. The clumsy kind where he had stolen food from the kitchen and stuffed it in a bag, setting up a picnic for you as the sun set on the horizon.

He tried to find you when he turned eighteen. Actually, pretty much the second he got a phone. But the closest he'd come was finding your family's obituary a few years ago, his heart stalling at the idea of you being on your own.

But despite his efforts, he'd never been able

And here you were. Singing on a stage in front of thousands of people.

To think he hadn't even planned on coming to this show. It was probably the first time he had to be grateful for the practically ancient clan members forcing him to fulfill his duties.

But this had to be fate.

The universe handing you back to him on a shiny silver platter.

Who was he to deny the sweetest taste he'd ever been served?

He was enraptured.

Listening to every note that left your lips, holding his breath as he shut out the whispers of the men around him who had clearly picked up at his sudden interest in the show.

But he refused to pay them any mind. Not when he finally had you in front of him after so long.

It wasn't like he hadn't met other women since you. But he hadn't felt anything with them. No spark. No connection.

No magical feeling like everything in the world suddenly made sense the second he saw them.

"What do you think?" Someone asked him, but he didn't even look over to see who it was.

Just sucking in a sharp breath as he murmured, "She's fantastic."

"She's actually the understudy, our lead-"

Gojo had already shut out his rambling, refusing to miss so much as a line from you. He didn't even bother looking down at his watch for the rest of the performance, knee bouncing up-and-down impatiently during the intermission and all the bits that you weren't in, attention solely devoted into studying this new you he couldn't wait to get to know.

God, he had no fucking clue what he'd do if you weren't single.

Wait a few more years and hope from the opera house box that you would eventually see him as someone that could be a part of your future instead of your past?

It was torture to just sit there and suffer through his brain looping through all the different ways you might react to him, terrified that he'd approach you only for you to tilt your pretty head to the side and tell him that you couldn't recall him.

Half out of his seat the second the cast started taking bows, glancing around at the men accompanying him, trying to weigh which one would be the most helpful when they were all usually useless.

"Gojo, what are you-"

"I have to speak to her," he breathed, the lump in his throat bobbing hard as he looked back down at the stage to see you taking your final bow.

"Someone has a crush," one of the men snickered behind him, but all it took was a single scowl to shut him up.

"I know her," he muttered. Knew you. "We were chidhood friends."

The same one mumbled under his breath that he didn't know he had friends, but it was the man who asked what he thought who stood up too.

He belatedly recognized him as the owner, someone whose hand he'd been instructed to shake before the show started. His initial impression that he only had dollar signs in his eyes seemed to be confirmed at how eagerly he began to gesture towards the closed curtains.

"I would love to arrange a chat for you two then," he happily insisted.

Probably already imagining how much more funding he might receive if the head of the Gojo clan was seeing one of their stars. Still, he couldn't bring himself to care when he was nervously following him through the narrow corridors and winding halls down to the backstage area, plucking a rose from a passing flower arrangement and wishing he'd brought flowers as he pictured your face receiving them.

Next time, he would be waiting for you with the biggest bouquet he could find, ready to woo and impress you with his wealth now that he was no longer a boy who stuttered over every word exchanged with you.

"How long has it been since you've seen her?" His new acquaintance inquired, and he was counting the years in his head, mourning each one he missed with you.

"Too long," he mumbled, unable to hide the nervous tone to his voice as he rounded the corner - and you were there.

In the flesh. A few feet away.

Pulling off parts of your dress, your chest heaving hard as you were followed closely by a fellow dancer and another woman, both of them trying to get you to stay, to offer congratulations that you didn't even seem to hear.

Your eyes were all hazy, a thin sheen of sweat sticking to your forehead as you hurried, but before you could slip away, flee and fizzle out into another fickle memory, Gojo was rushing over and impulsively grabbing your forearm.

He started to say your name before you had even twisted around, but the grating voice of his companion cut through all the commotion.

"Miss, one of our sponsors is here to see you, I think you may already know him," he began, and Gojo saw the confusion twisting up your face through the stage makeup they must have spent nearly an hour applying.

And then you saw him too.

Your eyes widening in an instant, eyebrows arching up as that beautiful mouth of yours parted in pure disbelief.

"I was worried you wouldn't remember me," Gojo grinned, letting go of your arm to properly present the rose he'd stolen, drinking up every detail of your face.

"I-I-" You struggled for a reply, and for some reason, he found himself almost flattered by it, his chest puffing out as he hoped you couldn't see through the persona he was putting on.

"You've grown up quite well," he complimented, as if he wasn't about to make himself cringe with how hard he was trying to impress you.

"You too," you finally said, your stunned stare finally drifting from his face to the flower in his hand. You didn't reach out to take it though, hesitating as you looked over your shoulder before he impatiently pushed the stem into your palm.

"You were brilliant out there," he added, feeling more awkward than he anticipated when your attention returned to him, all the confidence draining out of him until your lips curled up into a small smile.

"Do you really think so?" You asked, your eyeshadow glittering and catching the lights as you looked up.

"I'd like to take you out to eat after this and tell you how much I loved it," Gojo smoothly offered, feeling awfully proud of himself for putting it out there.

Your face lit up, but as fast as it happened, it faded again, anxiety gleaming in your eyes as you chewed on your lower lip.

"Could you wait for me?" You asked, glancing down at yourself as you held your breath.

"Of course," he eagerly nodded, already thinking of what was still open, where he could take you - imagining the night ending with you back in his penthouse, of you sprawled in his sheets or sleeping soundly on his couch.

"I'll be back in a few minutes," you spoke so much softer now, but he wasn't sure if you were just struggling with nerves from the show or if you were simply more shy than you used to be.

"I'll be here," Gojo promised.

He would wait as long as it took.

What was a handful more minutes after so many years?

He watched the other ensemble members scurrying around, starting to realize a lot of them were just as skittish as you seemed to be. Always looking over their shoulder and scampering around quickly, refusing to linger too long in one place.

The owner had stuck around though, taking the opportunity to try and convince him to come back for the next show, dismissively mumbling about what a mess this foolishness with the opera ghost was making. Five minutes passed. Then fifteen.

And by the time thirty minutes had gone by, Gojo found himself pulling aside the dancer he'd seen speaking to you before he interrupted, asking if she could go check on you.

You had looked a little flushed.

Perhaps you passed out? Maybe got stuck in a piece of your costume and needed assistance getting out?

He didn't expect her to come back a few minutes later, her face pale and hands trembling as she gestured wildly behind her.

"S-she's gone," she stammered, fear etched into every feature of her face. "The opera ghost took her."

a/n: did it take me a year...yes...did i finally lock in and write it...yes

div cr: @/bronzewasp

[ghostly526]

Oh computa youve outdone yourself

[indiewritesxoxo]

THE ONE THAT GOT AWAY

he loves you through wormholes and back!

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. 

“Yeah, that’s why they’re sending a distress signal,” Suguru sarcastically grimaced. 

“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. 

You spent your life missing and mourning him.

He supposed it was just his turn. 

a/n: reblogs + comments are always appreciated :3

[ghostly526]

✮⋆˙ Split - a heian sukuna x reader long fic ✮⋆˙

Chapter eight: beyond time and creation

Those duty pink eyes had a white tuft of hair peeking out from behind the vanity as well.

Slowly, the child revealed themselves and a sly smile caught their lips.

“Some people think introducing themselves is the best way to get to know someone.” You say, looking around your room to see if anything was misplaced.

With a step forward, menacing intent coating the child's mind, they said, “Father told me to leave you alone, but he’s not here today.”

father? Uraume looked only slightly older than your vision, maybe two or three years, certainly under the age of ten. Had they bonded so much that they called him father with such familiarity? not just out of fear or politeness, but because, through Uruame’s mind, thoughts glittering and constantly moving, they meant it when they said, " Father.

You knew you needed to feign innocence, so you asked, “And who is your father?”

tempting delight echoed Uraume’s thoughts. They really weren’t supposed to be here, Sukuna’s order echoing in her mind over and over, and her childish laugh left her mouth as she remembered it.

Sukuna’s rough voice did not yell at the child but firmly ordered,

“Leave her Uraume, if I find you were interacting with her, there will be consequences.”

Uraume’s head cocked to the side as they stuffed a piece of roasted fish in their mouth’s. Dinner, they were all eating dinner together. Sukuna, Choso, and Uraume.

“Father, why? Won't she be… lonely?” Uraume whined.

There hadn’t been anyone known in the shrine in years. The same help staff, the same cooks, the same gardeners, the same head of the guard, and the same man in charge of them all.

It was Choso’s turn to speak up, “She’s kind, Uraume, and very intelligent,” purely boasting that he could see you and they couldn’t

Uraume threw their chopsticks at Choso, and he dodged swiftly, a cocky smile playing at his lips that you had never seen before. playful, like an older brother toying with a younger sibling.

“That’s not fair! There hasn’t been anyone new, and im just expecting not to meet her?” They turned a glaring eye at Sukuna, who was devouring his third bowl of rice. “You married her, so she’s just here to rot away?” Uraume gestured at the pin on their kimono, three interlocked rings with a gem at the center.

“Did you even give her one of these?” Sukuna didn't look at Uraume, finding his dinner much more entertaining.

Choso leaned back on his hands and said, “An unconventional one, but I feel that’s befitting of this situation.” Inky eyes turn to Sukuna, waiting.

He stops chewing and looks at his two strays. His hands pushed himself up and glared at Uraume.

“You go poking around, I will know your name.”

And then the memory stopped playing.

“Father is not the most trusting. But Choso is an excellent judge of character.”

You smiled at the thought of Choso speaking kindly of you.

“I suppose he is. You never mentioned your name,” you reached towards the center table and poured yourself tea, and a cup for Uraume. The jasmine scent is hanging in the air. You nudged a cup closer to the chair nearest Uraume, then sat in the chair beside it.

The sound of bare feet hitting stone echoed through your room as Uraume clumsily threw themselves into a chair.

“Uraume, your grace.”

You shook your head, “You don’t need to call me that, y/n is fine.”

You sipped at the warm liquid, and it soothed your body, slowly readying you for sleep.

“So, all these weeks I have been here, and you haven’t been seen?”

“Father taught me to be unseen and unheard, he says it would be valuable in combat one day. My room isn’t far from yours and father's; they just ensure we don’t interact during the day.”

Untrusting indeed. different schedules, all just to make it feel like you never saw these people. Uraume’s words helped you fully understand why you saw only the same couple of people every day.

With absolute certainty, you knew that as it was, only the required number of staff worked in the shrine, and the people who bore the house’s sigil were Sukuna’s most trusted individuals. A doting head of staff, Yoru; the head of the shrine’s personal guard and your knight, Choso; and, lastly, a sneaky, hidden child, Uraume.

Then there was you, a weird limbo. You didn't bear the pin, as everyone else did, but you did have the necklace given to you, dark metal, no crimson gem at the center like the others. Full trust was not awarded to you. above the staff but below the inner circle.

So separate schedules, to alienate you, to keep you alone, and this way Choso could monitor you, likely reporting some things back to Sukuna and keeping the rest to himself.

Uraume finished their tea and set the glass down. “But father isn't here.” You poured them another glass, and she reached for a pastry at the center of the table.

“Well, I don't mind you visiting. Next time, knock.”

Uraume nodded, began to talk about what they’d done that week, complained about training, and then told you they were going to sleep.

They pressed a polite kiss to your cheek and skipped off to their room.

Strange, such a polite and specific child had spent the last three years being raised by someone who threatened to butcher you weeks ago.

You blew out candles and fell into a delusional sleep.

-

Firelight danced behind your eyelids. When they peeked open, a soft campfire glowed; it felt distant. Not the fire, but this place. You felt a secondary heat behind your body as you lay on the ground. You push yourself up and turn towards the radiation and almost scream at the sight.

His large, tattooed body lay flat on his back, eyes closed. He was stained with blood- not his, and his breath rose and fell softly.

In this light, he seemed to be peaceful and utterly beautiful. Your face reddens, and as it does, the fire behind you brightens.

This must have been where he was; he seemed hundreds of miles away, new provinces to take over.

You let a hand graze his face, trying to see if physical touch brings any of his memories back to you.

You hated how much being here made you cross personal boundaries, you made excuses for yourself, but it was all wrong.

Sometimes, like earlier with uraume, the thoughts were on display; it was like trying not to hear the waves when you’re standing on a beach.

This time required effort, but curiosity was torturing you. In this dream state, you could feel his warmth but not his skin.

Seeping thoughts came to you, traveling, speaking to people, and bloodshed. He was in a deep forest now, and the image of a temple came to you: a black leather-bound book with the symbol of a black star engraved on the front. The book was old, and he killed many to get it. The memories were hazy, probably because you weren't physically there.

This marriage bond bridged your minds; you wondered if he dreamt of you, too. If your sleeping figure haunted his dreams.

some nights you dreamt of him walking the halls, others you saw him sleeping, fighting, and on one strange occurrence fucking. It was the night before he left, you dreamt you were already in his room, you thought you were the one who sat on his lap, riding him, trying to draw out any sort of pleasure from him. No sounds left the king’s lips. His frustration grew, he flipped the two of you over and thrusted into the concubine, her eyes you watched from. From what you gather, he was once able to find comfort in his frustrations with this woman, but tonight was not one of them. Her mind raged with jealousy and confusion. She wondered if he found his fill elsewhere. He pumped through her with one of his two cocks, the one on top sat flaccid, showing his disinterest in this entire affair. He removed himself and practically threw the girl out of the room, grabbing her by the arm, not bothering to open the door for her. When she left, your mental spirit stayed on the bed, watching him stalk back towards the bed. You crept back, curling up against the bed frame as he threw himself back down. When his head landed on the bed, if you were truly there, your hip wouldve been inches from his lips. His eyes strained, and once more, in this dream, your energies collided. He was braced this time, knowing what was coming. He had gotten used to this sensation; you were filled with intense curiosity about whether he had, in fact, known your presence as well as you knew his. Your fingertips glided over his chest, and he shuddered. One thick emotion made the air feel as heavy as stone. Arousal. You left the room, returning to your sleeping body before he reached into his kimono and brought himself much-needed relief, basking in the remnants of your prismatic, cursed energy. When your eyes opened, it was an effort not to let your own fingers fall below your waistline, an effort not to imagine what he was doing to himself just twenty steps down the hall. When you came, the shrine seemed to shudder a bit, like a breeze falling through trees. So tonight, when you raised your hand, you were surprised when four eyes shot open, looking at you. He didn’t know you were here, surely. Your energy must have just awoken his. You began to focus on returning to the shrine where your sleeping body was waiting, but as you disappeared into the aether, five words left his mouth.

“I see you, little witch.”

-

When your shadowy figure disappeared, Sukuna was tempted to reach out to your mental spirit to make you stay. To question you now, after all his suspicions have been confirmed. Something about the wedding bonded you two. You couldn't help but dream of you, whether in the past or the present. He saw you laugh at Choso, saw you nap at noon, and saw you toss in your sleep as nightmares overtook you.

His nights were restless because you were tormenting him.

The first handful of times, he thought it was a coincidence. But then the dreams grew oddly personal; he knew what your room looked like inside without ever seeing it. Even though your body was usually cloaked by a shadowy mist, it became easier to see through it; now he always knew when he dreamt of you.

He turned over his first dream of you often; sometimes the dreams were so odd he couldn't tell if they were real. The image of you, drinking the blood of the villagers, struck him strangely. He was almost certain that it was not real. But there was still room for him to regularly question the event.

He picked up the book that was stolen from the temple he visited today. He felt you in his mind as he sifted through his memories of the day. You weren't looking for extreme detail, so you didn't notice the Tairo family crest at the entrance to the forest temple.

You didn't see the lengths your people went through to protect this book.

You didn't see that when the carnage was over, and he indulged himself in a drink from a soldier, that book stood on a podium with jujutsu protections placed all over it. Because at the center of every chapter was a cure for cursed children. To heal them from the craving for blood and flesh.

At the center of every chapter was the prophetic vision of a sorcerer who could extinguish this drive in everyone, and the head seer of the Tairo clan at the time described in grave detail how the sorcerer would do so.

And even left a sketch of the sorcerer who would be his salvation. His obsession, his life’s work, and his cure. There was a woman in those books, body cloaked with shadows and eyes bright, he body staring into the beholder of the book's soul. Staring straight into Sukuna’s spirit. Like those eyes had his mind, his dreams, and now this page. That haunting figure he had known too well.

The figure was labeled "beyond time and creation," and on his lands, his country, his shrine, he would return to you. His wife cloaked eternal darkness. His witch beyond time and creation.

[ghostly526]

I added choso to split purely bc i wanted to but also… THIS FANDOM TOLD ME HES 500 YEARS OLD SO I FUCKING ROLLED WITH IT AND TODAY I FIND OUT HES NOT???? ignore the plot hole bc hes cute as a lil knight