love is blind, but it sees all. although satoru should know better, love becomes a lunacy he clings to until he can’t anymore.
🏹 f!reader ⊹ semi-curse, mythology au ⊹ angst/tragedy. semi-fluff. soft smut. strangers to lovers ⇝ lovers to exes ⊹ dc. semi-yandere!satoru; he follows reader around a lot lol ⊹ 18+ heavy making out. soft sexual language. body worship. whiny!satoru for the agenda ⊹ satoru is eros + ares, love/war god. blends aspects of cupid x psyche lore + jjk cts concept. some religious undertones? i kinda stitched different myths together like a quilt ⊹ reader is a museum curator/director ⊹ 15.5k ⊹ footnote. wow can’t believe i finished this after sitting on this idea for like half a year. we ball! ෆ header. ෆ playlist.
꒰ 𝐌𝐃𝐍𝐈 ! ꒱
ACT I. UNDER THE GAZE OF LUDUS, BY SONG OF ITS LAUGHTER.
love is blind, but it sees all; love is fickle, love is knowing. it lives and dies a thrilling spectacle.
SATORU.
the delirium bred from gentleness.
it inspires, emboldens, and molds the fiery depths of passion in its hands. but love is a screeching sticky thing, all madness and frenzy nonetheless, coated in complicated and bittersweet nectar that clings to whatever it dares to touch.
love is satoru.
of course, satoru knows of love, embodies everything it both is and has the potential to become if made free and not contained within the divinity of his spirit.
he knows that love is saccharine sweet and he knows the grip it leaves behind in flesh is bloodied, a talon embedded impossibly deep. it’s not the type of thing that breathes or expands in languid pulsations; it grasps and digs and pours, flooding you with its delusion.
but a mouthpiece for mania.
love is the world satoru sees through his six eyes, all contained and divided in his left eye and right — his eros, one called ardor ꒰with its three eyes: mania, pragma, and ludus ꒱, and ares ꒰with its three eyes: alecto, tisiphone, and megaera ꒱.
love is the thick, enchanted fabric that serves as a holding for them both.
cupid’s quiver, that’s what the other gods taunt — but still, their breaths catch in their throats if he motions to pull off the sheath, to unleash the world he sees on all of the others in quick and inescapable shots, the tips of blue and red eros mingling and devouring until the world is made hollow by an incendiary purple.
of course, he stops himself and forbids such an outcome.
after all, love is patient; love is kind.
but of course, he rivals with the temptation of it, too.
after all, love is greedy; love is evil.
as long as he loves, there will always exist a degree of love that is something akin to hatred.
truth be told, more than anything, satoru hates the gods and wishes he could leave them all to crumble under the weight of his influence, but he doesn’t want to be stuck with managing the chaos he would create with his otherwise innocent glances. and the old gods would surely try to punish him even more.
he can’t find the adoration in dancing around destruction. there’s no delight in dysfunction. as such, he can’t bring himself to fold in a despicable and foolish fashion.
instead, he both hides and dwells in a comfort zone — a place that’s more a margin between worlds, crafted just for him by kenjaku the phanes himself, a limbo of sorts he can stretch at will. he calls it his infinity, an endless space where he chooses to gaze upon both the mortal world and the divine. it keeps him out of harm’s way, keeps him from being made into a weapon, and keeps him from making grave mistakes like falling prey to the devastation of his own curses again.
he’s not immune to a desire and need for love. he tries to satisfy his urges by living vicariously through others and satiates his impulses of distaste through semi-harmless trickery.
sometimes, he tugs the left side of his quiver and lets out a soft call to signal his favorite eros, ardor.
꒰ when there’s no will, which of its eyes will peek falls to the whims of the eros. ꒱
“red,” he’ll breathe it quietly, eyes locked on a target.
he’ll feel the pressure building in the center of his eye for only a moment before a shining strip of red gleams across the space between him and his target, his eros piercing through time and space to reach its mark. when it hits — depending on the strength of his eros and which of its eyes he wills to gaze — it gives the mark a burst of affection, a rush of hormones, a flutter in their chest that explodes into unyielding devotion, or perhaps, it merely sows the seeds for love to flourish and ferment — ardor does have a bias for yearning.
other times, he calls himself distributing “fair misfortune” by finding individuals undeserving of ardor’s loving embrace and instead making them familiar with its cold shadow, his other eros, ares.
“blue,” he’ll whisper as if afraid to be heard in the cube of his eternal silence.
he’ll carefully lift the fabric over his right eye, the building of the same pressure but thicker, and he’ll watch his spiteful eros seethe and slice through anything to reach its mark. it offers only distaste on the tip of the tongue of your desired, a petulant weapon that embodies all of existence with the smallest degree of love.
all that remains is anger and confusion, disgust and despair, revulsion and repulsion.
neither of his eros ever misses a shot, but these are delights he’s only supposed to indulge in sparingly, and harmlessly.
that is, until right now, as he stands in front of yuki the aphrodite, staring at her beautifully crude expression with disdain. he tries to process her odd request.
“you want me to do what now?” satoru asks again, face bunching in perplexity.
yuki sighs, evidently agitated by satoru’s response and demeanor. she’s always been a peculiar goddess to him, always adored and admired but never understood. no one could ever make sense of her motives, and for being the embodiment of beauty and pleasure, satoru has never seen her act in light of a beautiful spirit or intent.
her poise gleams with a chimerical radiance but satoru knows her heart is a shadowless void.
in front of him, she lies prettily across pearly marble, draped in robes threaded by the shimmer of stars the astraeus personally plucked from the cosmos for her. yuki’s light-colored hair flows in fluffy waves that sink to the floor, a perfect golden river to watch flow down.
“you heard me. find the mortal girl choso dares to claim’s beauty can rival mine and shoot her with one of your little eros, make her fall in love with a pig or something — nothing cute, either, something ugly and brutish, one that smells of grime — and return to me so i can see for myself.”
the aphrodite is ruled by her pride, by her demand to be revered and highly regarded, acknowledged for power with only insidiousness to show for it.
satoru believes gods that practice no restraint and show no mercy exemplify the very things he detests about his precious blue eros, his ares. at least ares is contained, albeit forcibly. satoru’s eyes are glistening, crystalline prisons each of his eros lives behind.
“i see you’ve lost your mind to vanity entirely.” satoru grumbles. “i won’t be doing that.”
“what?” yuki sneers, nose squishing in irritation.
with a sympathetic hum, satoru shakes his head. “i won’t be doing that and i’m insulted you’d think to even ask me — or rather, demand of me. i’m not one of your little things, yuki.”
satoru stands upright, shoulders squared as he sees yuki clearly through the fabric covering his eyes. he’s immune to her wiles with his quiver, he’s found.
but still, she makes him unbearably nervous.
“satoru, do you forget who you speak to? i am beauty and pleasure embodied! you would really think to reject my request?”
he looks around for a moment. “uh…yes. do you forget who you speak to? if you’re beauty and all the subsequent notions, why do you even care how a mortal girl’s prettiness measures?”
“well,” she huffs, sitting upright, a perfect pout on her lips that any other man would become a pool of liquid over. “choso believes such a thing. choso.”
confused, satoru just stares. “and that’s negating your divinely bestowed perfection how?”
yuki’s frustration erupts and a cloudy fluff comes flying at his head. satoru doesn’t flinch and doesn’t move as the object hits the barrier of his infinity, and then the floor, in a soundless heap.
“if you, a literal love god, can’t fathom why i don’t want choso’s eyes to stray from me, then you’re no god but a pitiful fool!” she wails.
satoru sighs. “i have more important things to do in that realm than help you bully mortal girls at your discretion for taking one of your many lovers’ attention away from you without knowing you exist.”
yuki clicks her tongue and rolls her eyes. “you do nothing there worth mentioning. you merely fooled kenjaku the phanes into making you a precious domain to dwell in. you’re perfectly protected from everything while nothing is protected from you, if you don’t want them to be. don’t mock me when you’re a coward fashioned as a god.”
satoru didn’t fool kenjaku, per se, but he certainly exploited his favor by exaggerating the peril associated with his capacity, so much so that kenjaku the phanes gave him a prison realm to lock himself in or free himself from at will. he goes into it habitually with a thick will but seldom contains the will to be released.
it is for his safety; it is for the safety of others. but it’s more a place he can breathe freely without the fear and disdain others regularly teem with when near him.
he can feel all of it, and does.
being a god does not make him indestructible to the irrational whims of emotion. in fact, satoru would argue that being a creature of love’s spectrum means he is the irrational whims of emotions.
꒰ he can never teeter too far in either direction, lest kenjaku take the privilege of his will from infinity; then, he’ll only have endless imprisonment. of course, satoru can never let the other gods know of this clause, as he’s certain they’ll betray him before geto the helios’s sun sets across the pillowy skies. ꒱
the other gods are bitter, but satoru’s unusual manifestation of his divine might is deeply concerning.
꒰ when he was born, gods gouged out their eyes to be free of his gaze, to be liberated from the understanding that whether his eros of madness or bliss would strike is unknown, but the degree of its damage is devastation and ruin. brilliance followed by a rapid decay. he only controls them with his quiver. should it be taken, it would set all of chaos free in every blink. ꒱
so, what yuki says isn’t false, but it isn’t true, either.
any other time, satoru would have left the vain aphrodite unfulfilled and physically shaking with the pain of his rejection, but today, satoru’s interest is admittedly piqued.
what mortal could possibly surpass beauty and grace itself?
“i’ll go see this girl, and if she’s of threat, i’ll indulge your dreadful desires, but if she’s nothing short of a mortal girl who commits no crime against humanity nor divinity by challenging your appearance — which i’m certain of — then…i’ll simply leave you to suffer the same fate as toji the apollo for wasting my time.”
her eyes go wide at the sight of his nonchalant shrug and she gasps. “you! you beast of a man! honestly! you preach and prattle about this and that only to threaten to use your eros to make my lover despise me and repel my presence after making me lovesick for them? i can be no worse than you.”
“objectively false, you can. and are. but it’s irrelevant to argue.” he grouses with a deep sigh. “i regretfully ask…what do you know of her?”
satoru’s sickened by both the perfection and menace in her grin, but yuki lulls her head back to bask in the warmth of geto the helios’ sun.
the first time he sees you, it feels a little jarring.
guided by the hands of geto’s sun, satoru finds you quickly. his awe ricochets around his spirit, bouncy and delighted, but his gaze on you — everything about you is pristine, vivid and vibrant. it stirs something in him, makes his chest erupt with fluttering feelings and feathery tickles.
for a being born of the flawed, you’re too close to perfect. you’re the furthest from aphrodite and yet, your own charms are whimsical and songlike, your aura chiming around you in a sweet symphony that falls upon his spirit and strikes him with wonder.
inside of a large building where the art of painters and sculptors alike are displayed, an ode to the apollo no doubt, you wander tirelessly with a chipper smile on your face and a skip in your step.
your joy never falters and neither do you.
your eyes are twinkling like you woke and strung the flickers of dying stars inside them for good measure. giddy, cheeks full with elation like you’re gluttonous for it.
you smile and smile, and everyone smiles with you, for you, because of you. admirably charming, hands sweep around you in a flurry while your mouth makes shapes and babbles out words he can’t make out. satoru gauges your context through rigourous observation: the motions of your arms, the twitch of your smile, the little spark of curiosity in your eyes or the determination that combusts there, too.
for a blink, satoru understands yuki’s frustrations with your existence.
he stands there, a dreadful stirring in his heart, emotions twisting and knotting until they squeeze tight in his gut and make his right eye thrum.
all of these people get to speak to you. their ears get to taste the drizzling honey of your voice. they get to receive the unfurling tenderness in their hearts from direct eye contact with you. it makes him feel ill, disgustingly ill.
right away, he hates it. he becomes the pinnacle of what it means to detest.
he does understand that such feelings are unreasonable, but neither love nor war is a source of reason, only madness.
so of course, in self-interest and personal eccentricities ꒰ with a pinch of spite toward yuki the aphrodite to sate the crueller parts of him ꒱, he decides to watch you, to observe you closely and with great focus. for a moment, he becomes your adoring shadow, hiding within infinity’s soundless clutch where you can’t hear or see him and he’s only able to capture faint murmurs of you.
he’s grateful he can see you, that no matter where you go, he can simply follow.
with his limits, of course.
꒰ he’s no sukuna the zeus and certainly no yuki the aphrodite. ꒱
satoru can still admire you like this, enamored and elusive.
well, until he’s standing next to you, glancing over your shoulder to read the same words you do and imagining the embosoming sound of your voice as you read them, when you turn to face him.
you jolt and jump, a feathery yelp, then immediately look up at him with a soft smile, blinking to reclaim the loss in your composure. your lips are misshapen by the fright you swallow down as you take notice of him.
“oh goodness! you scared me. d-do you need help with anything?”
satoru stands there, dazed and stupefied for a few reasons:
one. you can see him, which means he let his will to keep his infinity standing tall waver.
two. your voice is drenched in silky allure, a touch of benevolence over a thick layer of compassion.
three. you’re utterly bewitching, a spellbinding loveliness that lingers.
four. he can sense your saffron ghost seeping into spaces it shouldn’t; he knows the scent of you will be what haunts him.
a small gasp, your words threaded by worry as you cautiously place a hand on his arm. “sir, do you have a visual impairment? did you lose your aid?”
“no, no,” satoru breathes. “i see quite clearly. my eyes…they’re…sensitive.”
you blink, riddled with confusion. “sensitive?”
taking in his words, you hurriedly take a step back from him, a flimsy infinity of your own to keep him out. he’s no sukuna, so he’ll respect the obvious boundary you’re placing.
“then…” your voice trails, quieter now, a lullaby’s endeavor, cautious but calculating as you observe him. “is there something you’re looking for?”
and satoru isn’t entirely certain why, but he feels bashful, embarrassed, and ashamed.
the tint of roseate spills across his face, filling the point of his nose and cheeks. then, in an instant, he’s gone from your vision, safely tucked behind a thick wall of space and time, watching your eyes go round with astonishment, paralyzed and unable to speak.
he watches you blink at the spot he stood for a few minutes before you slowly reach your hand out and run it through the space. satoru, amused but still flustered, can’t fight the breathy chuckle that tumbles out of him.
he watches the alarm contort your face, finding your deep state of confusion adorable by every perceivable measure.
a beauty that rivals that of the aphrodite? no, one that surpasses it.
ACT II. A GARDEN IN WHICH ONLY MANIA BLOOMS.
love is blind but it sees all; love is protection, love is obsession. it snarls as much as it sings. it bares teeth to smile and to bite down.
love is blind, but it sees all; love is an open palm, love is a tight fist. it clings to only notions that mean it will persist.
SATORU.
satoru feels that keeping his closeness is inevitable.
his presence becomes more like a game he plays with you. you wander around and he matches your every step, a lingering thing that follows you pathetically and waits for you to look for him, waits for your inquisitive, questioning eyes to sweep the span of the room in knowing suspicion, remembering him and his interesting marvels.
his disappearing acts.
aside from that, he can feel the way your heart yearns for an explanation, as desire is a direct line to he and the favor of ardor.
his heart thumps each time he’s flooded with the feeling of your meek tug on him. the warmth of you is always everywhere then, filling and shaping around his bones.
he likes to appear before you when he catches you ruminating about him, when you wrestle with your notions in your lonesome as if to breed the thought that he was summoned by you rather than obsessively taking every step with you.
he only does it when you’re at this place where your labor is kindness and assistance, watching you relentlessly. only when you’re here, only when you come to this altar where toji the apollo himself would weep at the worship mortals have made of his artistic devotions. only when you willfully become part of this public spectacle. it feels fair and respectfully intrusive.
since we’re all here to observe you.
that’s his discipline with himself, how he stops his heart from rotting from the pleasures of luxuriating in the sight of you, how he stops ardor or ares from making a mess of his divinity entirely, both monsters but harmless so long as he maintains his sanity.
a smirk as his infinity dissolves. “are you thinking about me again?”
satoru never tires of the way you squeak when he casually unveils himself. only fondness ferments in his chest when your eyes widen and your hands fly over your mouth to conceal the sound of sharp surprise. you always stare at him in awe for a moment.
“you,” you murmur, your hand pointing right at him.
satoru sighs with a smile. “me,”
he watches you go through the motions of disbelief — slapping your own face and pinching your cheeks to test the limits of your dreams.
“why do you keep doing this?” you inquire in distress, brows furrowed as you clutch your head in your hands. “are you a ghost?”
satoru can’t fight the way his lips curl into a smile as he cracks a heart-shimmering laugh. “you think i’m an apparition?”
“i don’t know what i think!” you whisper harshly, eyes pointing around the perimeter as you fear being heard talking to yourself. again. “okay? but there’s no way you’re real. i’m losing it.”
“real or false, you worry about the wrong things, i fear.” he informs you as he rests in a seat. “i keep telling you exactly who i am.”
you give him a hard look, one that he adores as much as the smile you reserve for your patrons, and you snort. “as if i believe you’re the love god, cupid.”
“cupid is such a weak-willed name you mortals have plagued me with. even the other gods spite me over it. it’s nowhere near as bolstering as satoru the eros, love and war’s divine archer.” he announces himself in a wistful voice that makes the corner of your mouth subtly twitch.
your face painted in feigned surprise, you ask, “you? a divine archer?”
“yes, me. a divine archer. is that amusing?” his head leans to the side as he notes your biting smile.
“no, no,” you shake your head. “it’s just…you don’t seem like the kind with good aim? you know, perpetual blindfold and all.”
satoru huffs a laugh. “looks are as deceiving as love and war.”
“hm…” you look him over critically, a finger resting against your chin before you motion at his body. “if you’re cupid and an archer, where’s your bow? and your arrows? wings? why aren’t you more cherub-like?”
satoru’s lips curl and curve in disgust of your notion. “cherub-like? i’d rather die. i don’t need your useless, manmade tools. my eyes are my bow; the eyes of my eyes are my arrows. this perpetual blindfold is a quiver that holds them, lest i douse the world in the devoted delusions of love in its totality and leave it bleeding out war, an endless wound that cannot dissolve until nothing is left. you would never want to see my wings. it would mean the aforementioned.”
baffled and mortified, that’s how his tactless remarks leave you. you awkwardly squeak and clamp your lips shut tight, looking down as your eyes squint in confusion.
“i…forget i asked.” you jostle your head as if to shake away the memory of his admission. “even if you actually are cupid, your true title’s too long. carving it in stone and etching it in gold would’ve been a big hassle for such a morbid freak.”
satoru’s eyes narrow, masked by his quiver. “are you mocking me, pretty thing?”
“considering i think i’ve lost my mind, i’m mocking myself.” you grumble and grip your head. “how do i make you go away? how do i get you out of my mind?”
he hums, a finger tapping on his chin before he shrugs and chirps, “you don’t.”
you pause, cocking your head to the side. “what do you mean?”
“i mean…” he stands and stretches to his full height. “i’ve taken an interest in you, and i don’t see myself growing apathetic anytime soon. the scandal of it all is thrilling enough; everyone in the olympus murmurs about the mortal girl that supposedly rivals even aphrodite’s beauty, but only myself and two others have actually seen you. i can’t say i’ve had my fill of being greedy with you.”
for a moment you’re quiet, staring at him as you take in his words. then, you clutch your gut as you begin bellowing. you laugh so loudly it startles him. it sends him into the center of a blossoming, though, an abrupt descent. the sound of it makes his heart burst with a fondness so sweet, his head feels airy and light. if you could see his eyes, you would witness the moment he falls into a pool of ensnared devotion and drowns.
instead, you hear him huff as his palms curl into tender fists.
“now i know you’re lying.” you say through giggles. “is this an elaborate pick-up scheme? me, a rival of aphrodite’s beauty? who says that?”
even his irritation is polluted by admiration and passion. “it’s only the truth. you caught the eye of choso the aether. that’s one of the gods the aphrodite enjoys tinkering with so it’s left her feeling embarrassed and looked down on. she wants me to have a look at you…and humble you.”
“h-humble me?” you sputter nervously, every spark of humor dying on your breath.
it doesn’t take an oracle to determine the conclusion you arrive at.
satoru shakes his head, stepping closer out of instinct. of course, you aren’t aware of how grossly comfortable he’s become ingulding in your proximity.
he rests a palm on your head, the weight of it making you groan. “your pretty head is full of useless worries. i’ll never harm you in any way.”
it’s the first time satoru truly touches you.
everything sings; everything shines. all of it shimmers.
your brows bunch and your nose wrinkles, an adorable habit he stores away. “then…are you really just here to watch me?”
“eh, no,” he shakes his head, grinning. “i’m intended to make you fall in love with something as hideous and unsightly as yuki’s bruised perception wishes you were, but i’ve decided i won’t indulge her antics of vanity this time.”
he pats your head and withdraws, afraid to take too much too soon, afraid for his already consuming desire to become so willfully edacious.
you give him a pointed look but your eyes never leave him. “but you’ll indulge yourself?”
satoru grins and gives a simple response, one he stuffs to its brim with rhapsody and playfulness as it slips from his lips. “without hesitation. i didn’t find you first but i’ll be the one to keep you.”
“who knew a love god would be so shameless.”
his response is a recital, an avowal memorized in its every angle by his tongue, without falter, something embedded he exhumes just to dedicate to you.
large hands cradle your face, his voice a poem unraveling, “love is blind but it sees all; love is pride, love is humility. it stands, stretched to the full height of its glory, and it kneels, sinking into the depths of its reverence.”
satoru watches your moony expression form and his lips curve.
“you don’t even know me.” you murmur, wispy and uncertain but still coated in captivation.
quipped from a clever god, “then tell me what you want me to know. i’ll master you — mind, body, and spirit. whatever you wish.”
you stare, concern filling your every breath, tainting every second you spend peering into him. blinking, you watch him before your eyes flicker down. “this…this isn’t real. it can’t be.”
“so you circle back to doubt?” satoru snickers, pulling away from you as he observes you with a cocked head. “have i truly not convinced you of my existence? surely you don’t believe if i were an apparition that you, in all your naivety and mortality, would even have the means to perceive me.”
your face drops, possibly insulted by truth. “are you calling me weak and stupid?”
“weak? yes. although, you really can’t help it. you mortals are born a frail people. stupid? i wouldn’t assign such an attribute to you, no.”
you huff, indignant, and look off to the side. “whatever you’re implying, i resent it.”
“you’re merely human. you have shortcomings you can’t help and sight in which you lack. not to ring the horn of hubris, but should you not show gratitude to a god that chooses you to gaze upon him?”
you stare at him blankly before asking — no, sneering, “should i have to show gratitude for being followed home and watched?”
a foolish grin. “i’ve never followed you home. rest assured, i keep a tight grip on my own vices. i try to behave from time to time.”
“is that so?” you grumble, disbelieving.
“it is so.” satoru sighs, his tone resolute and carved out of his disgust. “i’m a god of love, not of perversities. i’m no sukuna the zeus. i would rather you think me an apparition, a falsehood, than be thrown into a cast of similarities with him.”
there’s traces of a laugh bubbling up, but you cough it away, much to satoru’s amusement. “is…zeus as awful as the myths say?”
“it depends on what they say, but he’s likely worse.” satoru grouses in disdain.
sukuna the zeus is not one with an ounce of good or mercy in his heart. born a monster of a god with a taste for man, sukuna has shown he only wishes to watch all the realms move to the tune of his malevolent volatility.
you take a breath and plop down to rest in your chair at the small personal table. “i can’t believe this is my life. sitting in my office talking to a love god about the sincere realities of mythology and deities.”
he hums, perching himself on the corner of the table. “does this not make you blessed?”
“being followed around sounds closer to a curse.”
he lies, because love is honest but love is deceiving. “i have important duties to tend to, i’ll have you know. i don’t waste all my spare time observing your precious whims.”
it’s a blatant, seething lie, a vibrant and colorful one he’ll parade as the truth to preserve his pride.
he does waste all his spare time observing your every whim.
he’s honest in his commutes, not ever following you home outside the walls of this dimly-lit den. although, the desire to eats away at him. ares howls frequently in the night.
there’s force in the pull your passing thoughts have on him, but he can never tell you how you leave indents in his spirit whenever you think of him, whenever you ruminate on your musings of his eyes, your irrepressible thirst to see them and name their pigment, when you’re lost in your wonderings of him, when you yearn for his peculiar presence.
all of it makes him putty. all of it squeezes and stretches him. all of it changes his shape.
“w-well, if you’re going to keep this up, i obviously can’t stop you. i ask that you maintain respectful boundaries, including not appearing so abruptly before me.”
satoru merely smiles down at you —smitten— absolutely adoring you in every way. “i will…abide by whatever words you wish to use as chains to keep me here.”
emboldened by your charm and indulging a bit too much in his own ardor’s blissful blood, satoru grabs your hands, cradles them in his own as he peers into your glittering eyes.
it’s then that he notices the way you look back at him as if you can see right through every barrier he’s made, every one that was forced on him, every one he hid behind. right to the core of him.
it feels like although he controls the war brewing in his irises by tucking his weapons behind a sheath, he doesn’t have to hide.
not from you.
he conceals his eyes but you look at him as if they gaze bare.
satoru brings your soft fingers to his lips, supple flesh tingling against your hands with the soothing vibrations of the cosmos.
“i will…” he breathes. “…adore you, if you allow me. protect you with my life. make your heart as immortal as mine in the way i only speak eternal devotion over you.”
enchanted, your lips part and he feels the way yearning passes through first in a soft pant. he feels you pulling on him, tugging on his heartstrings. making his eros tremble. ardor’s will to pledge fealty to the flutter of your lashes as you wake; ares’ promise to ravage all that oppose or threaten you.
instead of accepting his declaration, you ask, “w-what’s so special about me? what do you do that’s so uninteresting that you would…adore me, of all things. of all people.”
what does he do in the time he’s away?
a sleepless god, he waits until you leave for rest to find other things to do. he goes where love calls him, where it pulls him closer and begs for his embrace.
“i love, of course. i do my best to keep war from erupting as a result of it by helping others love in doses. i watch, mostly. sometimes i play.”
you ask, with an airy tone of confusion, “play?”
he nods.
“as i’m a war god, i have to release my inevitable frustrations somewhere. gently, of course. i wouldn’t want to leave the world in ruin…again.” satoru chuckles, soft lips leaving feathery kisses all along your fingers.
one. two. three blinks. a frantic whisper. “leave…the world in ruin? again?”
suddenly, you pull your hands from his grasp and he lets them slip through. he isn’t surprised by your reaction. in retrospect, perhaps he should have eased you into that fact. you seem to be in disbelief over his identity already.
“well, yes. there was a time when i was a young god that traipsed the heavens and below causing all the trouble i could with my eros. i’ve matured so don’t concern yourself with my past.”
it’s then that the door swings open to your office. as fast as they push through, satoru’s infinite prison is up. the sudden streams of voices become muffled, dull and blurry.
he watches you, a look of deep contempt taking his expression as you keep glancing right where he stands — when you could see him before these new mortals came to interrupt — before they bulldozed through to steal your eyes and attention away from him again.
gritted teeth and a clenched fist, this is how he’s left to stand.
ares simmers at the slight of it all, the derogative undertones in satoru not having you to himself when he wants and having to accept such a condition without qualms.
satoru adores you, thinks the words you speak make you shine brighter than geto’s sun. he thinks the way you smile would make yuki the aphrodite vengeful. but he hates being at the mercy of you and your fragille, mortal dealings. he wants you back right now.
ardor soothes him, reminds him of his commandments while he waits and watches you tensely. like a mantra, he hears it over and over until his breathing steadies.
love is blind but it sees all; love is tender smiles and loosened flesh, love is temperance and tolerance. it is the willingness we make labors of.
it doesn’t take much time before satoru becomes visibly perturbed by the constant intrusions and obligations that stand in the way of the words he wants to hear flutter from your lips, velvet petals of sweet sentiment falling softly over him.
instead, his efforts are often interrupted, often put on hold or silenced to tend to the incompetence of your underlings.
it’s becoming tiresome; he makes no move to hide his grievance.
he tells himself to breathe. he can feel something monstrous and thick filling his gut. a sludge of an emotion, weighing on all of him, stickiness slinking up the cavity of his torso, caching all of him.
it takes every modicum of his will not to be petulant and do the same with you, pull you into the walls of his infinity, an extension of the lover’s prison, so only he has the privilege of gazing over the object of his affection and obsession.
you — the one who inspires the poetry in his blood to boil.
ares hums within him, makes his right eye feel heavy, delighted by the envious rush and what it makes satoru envision.
she’ll never have the time i deserve with her, that belongs to me. it would be an easy problem to solve.
she’ll hate me of my own accord.
of course, ardor reminds him of love’s addictive embrace, to loosen his grip to maintain his strong footing. acts of war are easy, but acts of love feel better.
he prefers it.
he prefers you. to all others. he knows what it means to have you and the sacrifice that comes with keeping you. a pretty and sparkling treasure, laden with novelty for him to marvel at and little mechanisms that make him feel content. together.
he takes a deep breath, and finds himself unclenching his hands as he sits, stretching his fingers to loosen the tension. satoru closes his eyes; he meditates on ardor’s fervent whispers which usually he subdues to know mental clarity and peace.
love is patient; love is kind. love holds the weight of its temptations.
in contrast, ares seethes.
love is imposing; love is momentum. love holds the weight of its triumphance. it never cowers in the face of restraint.
satoru sighs and drowns out their never-ending bickering.
satoru watches how time trudges on, and stretches itself thin between the two of you. he remains ardent and attached, endlessly and proudly devoted to you.
the sticky feeling comes back one late afternoon when satoru dutifully follows you into the elevator, unseen and unheard. as he does each day to bid you a silent goodbye, squeezing out every second of your presence he can.
all things follow their natural rhythm — until, the presence of another lingers for no reason. he smiles too endearingly at you, and touches your shoulder too casually.
satoru can feel it rolling off this man, obviously an underling, but has no boundaries in how he approaches you. clearly above him in every facet, satoru’s distaste and resentment bubble to life, face scrunching up in disgust.
the man reeks of it, his fondness for you. his longing.
in his infinity, he dwells in swelling silence, his insides in tightly-wound knots. satoru’s chest rises and falls — his stiffened shoulders, too. ares bursts to life when he sneers, angry eyes zoned in on the wretched man.
the audacity to desire her so openly while being so weak and undeserving.
for a moment, satoru’s fingers twitch. he shouldn’t do it. he told himself that he wouldn’t with you, never with you.
and yet, satoru can’t help the way he reaches up and pinches the top half of his quiver, the barrier that holds in the rapture his gaze would cause to dawn on all that exists. he does his best to keep the effects small, hardly noticeable but effective. peeling down the cover of his quiver, calling on ares eye of megaera, his eros of disgust, satoru watches a blue stripe swipe across the air, penetrate through all it must, and catch you on the left side of your neck.
you don’t wince, but when it hits you, your eyes blink rapidly, as if just given some injection that you feel shooting into your veins.
as you stand before him, satoru watches with satisfaction as your eyes — once alight with delight and trading even the faintest drop of desire — go dark and dull. your facial expression falls, your smile fading and emptiness taking its place. a grin spreads across his face, pleased now.
he isn’t sure what you say but he watches the man’s eyes widen slightly before his brows crinkle in confusion and you offer him a professional salutation, your body language straight and alert, then you walk right around the underling, continuing on with a slight roll of your shoulders, shaking off ares’ excess, he’s sure.
what is one more secret?
and yes, satoru will tuck it away with him, another truth he hides under the pink of his tongue with glee.
love is honest, love is true; love has no need to tremble behind the cowardice of manipulation.
and for a moment, satoru does feel guilty.
but when you exit the building, he waits for a moment and appears right next to you, his infinity down. he doesn’t usually try to pass the boundaries but as you walk away, his feet continue to follow, as if their departure is beyond his will.
“if you’re thinking of following me home, don’t.” you grumble sharply, picking up the speed in your steps. “the nerve,”
satoru’s head tilts to the side in wonder.
are you aware?
“i’ll stay here, if you wish.” satoru says, stopping just at the edge of the property. “i’ll be here when you return tomorrow.”
when you hear his voice, you pause and turn to face him. you seem shocked to see him, perhaps regarding his presence as the underling he handcrafted your fresh disgust toward.
you blink, the edge on your voice dissipating as you reply. “i…i didn’t think i’d see you again today.”
satoru takes a careful step forward. “i didn’t know you wished to. i only planned to watch you leave, but you seemed particularly…upset.”
for a moment, you just stand there. satoru takes your contemplation and tilts his head back, basking in the warmth of the helios’ vibrant sun and grins to himself, feeling his insides ablaze with his admittedly orchestrated glory. he can feel you tugging on his heartstrings, of course he can. especially when it’s all for him.
“don’t want me too much or i might start getting the wrong idea, pretty thing.”
bashful, you shy away, tilting your face with the softest sigh. he doesn’t mean to make you nervous but he’s had enough of playing coy and never fully defining the lines of which your boundaries are drawn or willing to stretch.
cautiously, his hands clutch your shoulders, nearly breathless from the warmth in his belly, nearly dizzy from feeling himself grant your desires and resolve your yearning.
you want him to touch you; you want daring fingers to ghost along your skin.
but his touches now are more innocent in fashion, fond at best.
“tell me what you want, pretty.” he murmurs, his hidden eyes gazing over the features of your face, a thick thumb brushing over your plump lip. “i’ve chosen to adore you, so naturally i’ll give you anything of which you desire and derive pleasure.”
you don’t notice when his infinity reaches out to hold you, to cradle your frame. you don’t notice that the sounds of the world around you muffle and go numb, sucked into his embrace that stretched on through eternity.
soft and feathery, your response flutters, “you can walk home with me, but i…i won’t let you inside.”
ardor’s spirit blazes within him — emboldened and vivacious, ready to relish in new proximity.
a chuckle rumbles in his chest; a sly grin spreads across his lips. “any time spent in the presence of my beloved is time i deeply cherish.”
you’re flustered — hot face and wet lips, side-swiped eyes and a wary glance. but still, you walk alongside him, snug in his infinity, step by step.
ACT III. THE DILIGENCE OF PRAGMA’S EMBRACE.
love is blind, but it sees all; love is expansive, love is all-consuming. it takes even the shape of nothingness, clings to its empty form, and stretches it further.
love is blind, but it sees all; love is faith, love is lingering. it would wait an eternity at an entrance it knows with unearned certainty will open.
SATORU.
time flows on, and satoru weaves himself around adoration with ease, your name a flowering breath on his lips whenever the time permits.
you entertain his senseless notions. you wait for him, more voracious and fervid as days move along, as if it’s all you ever have to do. your melodic laughter travels down the beautiful marble-plated halls, the waves of its sound etched into the ridges of intricate designs that decorate the ceiling and line the floors.
he tunes his infinity to your perception, stretching it around the whole of you, making it wider to mold around the specificities of your shape, around the breathiness of your voice.
an endless indention in himself just for you.
all so the symphonic outburst of your elation is only his to hear, his joy to cultivate and claim. all naturally, too. he thinks he adores that most about you.
loving you is a natural reaction to mingling with your existence.
the fondness and affection that seeps out of you when he lets himself freely feel your call remains untouched by his divine eyes. he keeps them securely imprisoned behind his quiver. he swears he’ll never let them touch you again since his last provocation.
he doesn’t need to anymore. he has so much of your attention that he no longer reasons the necessities of envy, jealousy, or spite of all things.
but still, indulgent as ever, he’ll always take as much of you as you’re willing to give.
gluttony is as fair as war in love, to him.
“are you nearly ready to go?” satoru grumbles, watching as you make furious clacking noises at your desk. “all this dreadful noise. what are you doing?”
you snort. “i’m typing. i’m a museum director. i both receive and deliver emails.”
“your typing is tedious and the sound is awful. does it not annoy you in the slightest?”
shrugging, your eyes never leave your screen. “it’s just what i’m used to. you should be used to the sound by now, considering you never go away while i’m working.”
“false,” he protests with a pout. “i make myself scarce for your little…conclaves.”
your typing pauses and your eyes dart up to stare at him for a moment. “my meetings are fundamental to my position here which, again, is funda—”
“fundamental to your livelihood…yes, yes, i know. we all know as you only force this mantra on us every chance that presents itself. you’re worse than ardor. are you not tired?”
“of you? sometimes. of my job? yes.” a short response as your typing resumes, tormenting him with enforced patience.
he shifts, sitting up in the tufted chair he always drags next to you and sinks down into to sulk about waiting for your attention.
“do you prefer me over this place?” is all satoru hears in your sometimes and inquires about. “what do you like most about me?”
you laugh. “like about you? nothing at all.”
there’s a quiver in your words; you lie. of course you do, love is pride, after all.
satoru takes your hand, ever brave, ever dauntless. he brings your curved knuckles to his lips. any other time you would shake off his affectionate pestering, but your desire sings as you feel his lips graze over the ridges and dips of your fingers.
“well, my most beloved, i like everything about you.”
your body shifts and your head snaps in his direction, eyes lingering on him, curious and probing.
“is that so?”
a terse nod. “it is so. i adore you. i love you. i’ll linger here for as long as you do.”
today, he hears something new. it’s something small and playful, uttered under a meek tone and a thick blanket of apprehension, but he hears it ring true above it all — the love.
“you did swear to protect me, after all.”
satoru smiles, strengthened by all the ways in which you make his heart weak. “of course, i’ll commit to my devotions.”
wispily. fluttering. adoringly you sigh, “as you should.”
ardor and ares both coat his tone. “for you, i’ll do anything.”
these days satoru walks you home; these days satoru slips inside quietly after you, your hand laced obligingly in his — tugging and pulling, all pining and impatience.
closer. you always want him closer.
his hands are always greedy and grabby, taking what he wants in the name of pleasure, but they become gluttonous monsters when the door closes.
your hips are taut to his as he presses you to the wall, your cheek cold against the dull-toned paint and drywall, his warm tongue licking stripes from your collarbone up to your ear.
his pants huff into your ears, steamy and thick; your wet whimpers graze against the wall, all of it enticing him, making him grip you even harder — one hand with fingers digging into your hips, one gripping your jaw to prep your lips for an engrossing kiss.
it’s not enough but he can’t wait on enough.
satoru tugs you along to your bedroom, his muscles flexing and twitching with need. it’s taking everything not to spread you wide on the hallway floor. once your bed is in sight, you’re pushed onto your back, your hands gripping the fabrics of his finely stitched robes to pull him down with you.
the thickness of satoru’s knee is a median between your legs to keep them pried apart while his large body hovers. one arm above your head, the other gripping your hand and knotting your fingers in his.
“do you know what you’ve done to me?” he breathes shakily, lips still pillowing over yours as he leans his forehead against your own. “do you know how hard it was to resist you today?”
“no, i don’t. tell me.” playful words woven between passionate kisses.
his lips latch to your neck, grunting as he loses his silent battle with his urge to bite and pinch your skin. “near impossible. you mortals are different. everything clings to you so perfectly. and all day. all day. all i could think of was getting my hands on you, caressing your curves, kissing every inch of you.”
satoru wants to love you like this — obsessively, indulgent to the point of painful, unbridled with need forged from greed. he laps at your neck, impish whines elicited from you with every motion.
“you controlled yourself well. good boy.” amusement and arousal blend together on your tongue; he wants to know the taste of it.
“don’t patronize me like an animal.” satoru grits, untangling your hands to hike up the fabric of your skirt and part your thighs. “i’m a god, not your plaything, not your little pet.”
wit unrelenting, he can hear the smirk on your lips. “well…you do follow me around like a lost puppy.”
“if i went anywhere else, my love would surely have a fit.” he muses, nipping at your neck with playful force, making you yelp underneath him.
lips trail down with ease and your fingers slide into thick, pearly tufts. “this is true. maybe i should get you a leash.”
“hush,” he growls, biting you in spite.
you tug his hair, pulling the god by his nape, granting you a lewd sound, a mewl so slick and pathetic it wets the air. his mouth collides with yours in a sloppy kiss, tongues lapping over the other, a whimpering mess as he tears away at the intricately woven robes that always drown him. it reveals all of him to you: every curve of his build, the long and toned limbs, broad-shouldered and big, every inch of thickness in his muscles, the glaze of lust that glistens in the way all of him flexes with every staggered breath.
you get all of him. leaking length and all.
the fabric of your skirt bundled up the top of your thighs, your legs parted before him — his hands can’t help but wander in curiosity and delight. ardor compels him to hold you close, to keep your skin flush against his, a warmth he can sigh into. ares compels him to grab and grip and claw the pleasure right out of your body to claim for himself, doomed to the brutality and ferocity of need.
“i don’t mean to be impatient, but i don’t want to wait anymore. i can’t.” he rasps and whines. “i can’t wait. i need to feel you around me.”
that’s as much forewarning as he can give before he yanks down your panties and pushes his way between slick folds, a relieved moan as he buries himself inside and grips your thigh for steadiness, releasing it once he establishes a slow but thorough rhythm. each time his thrusts carry him back into you, your moans fill the air and your hands travel needily down his back.
“my love,” he breathes shakily.
satoru nuzzles his face into your neck, panting heavily as he moves his hips slowly, enjoying the tepid feeling of your walls and the pleasure of tight embrace. he bites down, needy teeth seeking grounding, and grunts from the feeling of unyielding bliss blossoming in his gut.
a soft mewl, tender and hesitant. “s-satoru,”
“perfect.” he sighs, his hips melting into yours. “let me hear you.”
and you do. only a language of urgency spoken between your bodies, the bed a culture of devotion and cacoethes. your hands, ever-enthused maunderers, travel through ivory tussocks and tug, oh so innocently, on the knot of fabric tied around the middle of his head.
he stiffens. his movements still but he breathes heavily. “don’t.”
he moves his palm from grasping and clutching the meat of your thigh, now reaching to wrangle in the explorations of one of your trespassing hands. he locks his fingers around yours, hips rocking while he brings them to his lips, kitten licks accompanied by a chorus of both your whines.
“what? you never remove it. i want to see your eyes. you’re my lover.” your voice is enchanted by love and inspired.
in love with him. truly and genuinely in love.
he can feel it fluxing and flowing throughout him, starting from his sternum, lotus-like and flowering, each time he pushes in, feeling your yearning explode inside him while you pulse around him.
the taste of adoration is sweet when he kisses you, too.
“i know.” a tender mumble. “but my eyes are unlike yours. i can stay by your side for all of time. i can make it so eternity never separates us, but you can never look into my eyes, okay?”
your fingers squeeze his tight, but your voice is soft and shaky, trembling as you take his slow grinding. “is this…a god’s problem?”
satoru’s kisses are erratic and consuming—mixtures of plump pecks, a lapping tongue, and gentle tugs on your lips. the only constant is the ferocity of his panting: in your mouth, on your skin, in the dips and crevices of flesh he finds.
he nods as he keens and whispers, a twinge in his heart, “this god’s curse.”
“okay.” your free hand still clutching his hair, you grip and tug until he lifts his head to face you, all to leave a gentle kiss on his lips. “i love you. as long as i can have you by my side, i don’t have to see anything you don’t want me to see. i’ll be curious, but i won’t peek.”
there’s a swelling in his chest that makes him think he may just burst, a rupture of exaltation and honor. full and clinging to new feelings of closeness. satoru chuckles and pecks your lips again and again, more pressure applied with each kiss to ensure his devotions are sealed by another.
“are you becoming sweet for me?”
“i’d rather die.” the sneer in your voice becomes a sigh sung to the tune of ecstasy.
a giddy smile. another nip at your bruising flesh, a rush of love in the quickening pace of his hips.
“you know…i’ll never let that happen.”
he feels it first in the dead of night, sukuna the zeus and his incessantly demanding calls, but he doesn’t leave right away. he can’t. you’re wrapped around him, limbs entangled with his as usual. you’re resting peacefully. your heart is calm.
he can’t ruin that. he won’t.
your arms are locked around his frame, clutching him with all the strength you can. your breathing is steady and relaxed, head tucked under his chin. you’ve been sleeping more, sleeping better, since he started staying. you’re more refreshed upon waking. your smile, already knee-weakening and dazzling in its composite to satoru, is even more brilliant, more authentic.
and truthfully, he isn’t ready to leave your grasp.
your hands are the only things that know how to hold him well.
they’re calling and calling, reaching and reaching — all the gods. he can feel the irritation of their desire to see him unfurling throughout his body, tainting the time he wants to spend being foolishly in love with you, and he subdues it.
he’s not hiding out so much as he’s settling in and making a home.
infinity is only fair if it includes you, too; reality is only full if it includes him. satoru spends a lot of time finding a fair balance between both.
sometimes he gets to hold you in the comfort of your room, his infinity a blanket over you both, spending the night staring into an ether and relishing in the pinnacle of safety he feels while you sleep. ardor fills him with hymns of new avowals, each like a little burst of accomplished joy, in marvel at its new, unique discoveries.
love is security. love is sanctuary. love is an idle season. love is stillness. love is ease. love is rest. love is staying even longer. love is waiting for tomorrow. love is hold me. love is let me.
when your eyes flutter awake, the sorrow cascades and drenches him.
it’s harder for him to leave when you’re so committed to doing the things he adores, such as gracing the dawn of day with your waking breath and sleepy eyes, your languid movements, the way you tangle yourself more intricately with him.
“pretty thing,” he dotes fondly.
satoru leaves a soft kiss on your forehead first. he drinks up your sigh, gentle and drowsy, then presses his next kiss to the tip of your nose. your morning eyes peer; he kisses both cheeks in tender succession.
you hum happily. “g’morning.”
“mine,” hushed and sweet as he finally kisses your lips, lingering. “a g’morning indeed.”
you pout and narrow your eyes. “are you making fun of me? i’ll kick you out.”
“i would never.” he mumbles in amusement. “i have to leave regardless. so take my love while you have the chance. don’t waste time being bratty about it.”
he says it casually, the privilege of an immortal god’s tongue at the prospect of time passing. but you freeze and stare with suddenly widened eyes.
“lea…ving?” you murmur, head tilted as if confused by the word, as if averse to the feeling of it on your tongue. you sit up abruptly, looking at him in shock. “are you leaving me?”
satoru could have cried from the fear in your voice. the slight quiver, the heightened pitch, and all the anguish swimming around your eyes in anticipation.
they glisten and all of him crumbles to dust.
“not forever,” he assures you and rises to embrace you. “i’ll be back, but i do have to go and it might be for a while.”
“what? satoru, what are you talking about? you never said anything about leaving.” your voice is pained and ringing with betrayal. “so you’re just leaving?”
he sighs deeply, keeping you up against his chest. “i’ve been bothered for weeks now by other gods and now the zeus is involved. i can’t exactly ignore him despite wanting to.”
“you said you would stay by my side.”
when satoru hears you sniffle, he tries to make sense of the shame he feels unravelling in his gut. he tries to understand how this might feel for you, insecurely attached to his presence but loving him this much despite it only to be told at random you’re being left for an unforeseeable amount of time.
he finds himself pleading because right now it feels like love is humility and love is kneeling.
“please,” he murmurs. “i’ll be back. no matter what, i’ll be back. don’t be angry with me. i love you so much. please.”
somehow, it only makes the soft crying become longer and louder. “i’m not crying because i’m angry at you! i’m crying because i wasn’t expecting it and i’ll miss you.”
it takes him one hour to tell you he’ll miss you, too, without words and emotion betraying him. it takes two for him to be willing to peel himself away from you long enough to say goodbye.
he wonders if he’ll recover from the feeling of you yearning for his return before he even fully departs.
ACT IV. BITE MARKS IN THE SHAPE OF MAGAERA’S DISGUST.
love is blind but it sees all; love is clarity, love is contradiction. it blurs the lines of lunacy and devoutness with intent — lucid and deliberate — all to live there.
YOU.
from the dawn of the week, everything is unusual.
first, satoru is called away to the olympus out of the blue and can’t fully disclose why. now gone for the third day with no contact, your anxiety is heightened and lengthened, wondering if it was all an elaborate dream bred of illness. then, your work days are full of random hiccups and hang-ups. all the odds are seemingly against you.
the only thing championing this experience is your ability to long for him.
now, as you arrive home, you’re met with the most peculiar sight.
a tall, paler woman, sparkling with beauty in the glimmer of the sun, with long and flowing locks of gold that reach the ground; the tresses gleam, too. she stands as still as a statue and as beautiful as any artwork, her every feature chiselled to perfection. as you walk up to your door, her eyes catch you and a slow smile stretches across supple lips.
captivating but daunting.
you notice her clothing, light and twisted white fabrics, the familiar and cosmic-looking twinkles woven into the seams. you’re instantly reminded of those intricate twists you watch satoru perform dutifully. you wonder, for a moment, if this is someone satoru knows — a goddess, perhaps.
“uh…hello,” you chirp sweetly, smiling just as prettily. you watch the woman’s face go blank in an instant. all expression vanishes, her star-like eyes flittering with something you can’t quite name. awkwardly, your gaze darts before looking at her once more. “are you looking for someone?”
for a moment, she merely observes you with a blank expression. but then, a soft tenderness tugs at her features, tugs at your heart to bear witness, and she smiles.
“you must be the mortal thing that’s kept him hidden all this time.” her voice is a song, sweet and melodic. so soothing you miss the way she sharply eyes you up and down, sneering. “this is all?”
she sounds confused in her asking, quiet for a moment, and then holding her curved waist tightly while her laughter becomes a symphony in the air around you. your heart dives into your gut, enamored by her presence and natural grace.
“here i was thinking his extended absence was a witness of my disgrace but they were all useless worries. of course! i knew they would be. they must! yuki the aphrodite, the divine vessel of beauty and desire, could never truly be bested by the blemishes of mortality’s weakness to time.”
you don’t know it right then, but the day you meet this goddess, yuki the aphrodite, the divine vessel of beauty and desire, your life is doomed to descend into a flurry of utter chaos.
“i—sorry, who are you?” you ask, trying to shake away the foginess of your mental state. “are you…is it satoru you’re looking for?”
she sighs, mumbling to herself. “i suppose i shouldn’t waste the efforts of my venture.”
“what was that?” you ask, struggling to make sense of her words. your thoughts are muddled by her pristine presence.
“no,” she finally replies, roseate eyes twinkling and capturing all your wonder. “i’m here for you, mortal girl. i have something of great importance to discuss. take me in and prepare your offerings for me.”
you don’t believe her; you trust him — you don’t want to believe her; you want to trust him.
doubt creeps in slowly in the dead quiet of the night, a languid steep when you’re sleeping and you can’t go with him, when you realize you can never go with him.
'mortals don’t set foot in the divine realm the same way the living don’t set foot in the underworld.'
he’s vague in the details of his disclosure. before, satoru used to be so honest, he became tactless and blunt. now, he’s perceivably more calculated.
you notice. it riddles you.
why the abrupt movements and obvious secrecy if he isn’t lying to you about it all, about why he showed up in front of you, why he courted you, who he was supposedly answering to?
in your frantic mind, you continue to hear yuki the aphrodite’s song of a voice.
'it’s the weight of his consequences; he’s cursed to unending solitude.'
'gods don’t love mortals; we use them for fodder.'
satoru says he loves all but he’s never been in love, that he’s always been alone until you, that he’d been certain his immortal life would be doomed to that notion perpetually, but claiming you and making you the center of his devotions made a new god of him.
'he lies. he kills. he unleashed war on all the world in a blink for sport shortly after being born. he’s no man. he’s a monster that’s supposed to be imprisoned to loneliness. of course, he would not tell the mortal he manipulates he’ll squash them in his palm to sate the old gods and lift his curse.'
you remember what he said near the beginning of this unorthodox love: well, as i’m a war god, i have to release my inevitable frustrations somewhere. gently, of course. i wouldn’t want to leave the world in ruin…again.
your lips purse together.
you want so badly to trust him, to be in his corner without hesitation, but aphrodite pointed out inconsistencies you now question and they can’t all be a result of coincidence.
'his eyes hold the truth, all of it; it is why he wills your ignorance.'
'satoru can’t be trusted, but he’ll know i plan to turn him in to the zeus if i attempt to get closer.'
he made you swear that you would never remove his quiver, never look into his eyes but the why of his boundary confuses and frightens you. if he only plans to use your love for him to sacrifice you to the old gods in exchange for true freedom from his infinity, you can’t stay here in a doomed paradise with him, biding your time in feigned bliss and counting down your days.
if satoru is deceiving you, using you to hide from the zeus and plot the initiations of war, then continuing to love him is a willful act of brutality against man.
but if the aphrodite is lying to you, deceiving you, then whatever makes satoru fear your gazes meeting will come true. such odds are poor but you’ve made your choice.
the sacrifice for solving must be the comfort of ignorance.
'use this, if you wish to see the truth of him in his eyes. force sleep on him. remove his quiver. wait until he wakes. you will know then, the moment you look into his eyes, all that he’s done and will do.'
so when satoru comes home from whatever god-bearing duties of the zeus he claims, you decide to brew him tea.
it takes you a long time to let him go when he first arrives home, a long time to relinquish your hold on unblemished intimacy, but he doesn’t mind and even welcomes it. you do your best to disregard the ardent tone in his greetings, in his soft laments of yearning and claims of the weight of your absence being heavy in his chest.
you do your best to ignore the way he tugs your hand, how he wraps his arms around your waist, how he clings close to you.
it almost makes you hesitant to lead him to your dining table. almost.
he sighs upon sitting, stress heavy in his voice. guilt screams within you. you shouldn’t steep his tea with the scentless liquid, but curiosity drags delicate fingers over the open vial and tips it over the rim of a glass, listening to the soft pour of your coming betrayal.
with a loving kiss to the head, you offer him the wretched tea, and he drinks it without thought — gripping his cup with trusting fingers — sealing your fate and his.
“it’s good.” he hums. comfortable. safe. unsuspecting. “thank you, my love.”
unable to stay and watch the next few minutes unfurl, you spare a soft smile and soundless nod before retreating into your shared bedroom, waiting on bated breath until you hear the abrupt thump of a body slumping onto the table, the shattering sound of a glass breaking as it falls to its death, the patter of laced brew pouring what’s left ot itself from the surface of the table onto tiled floor.
it’s ironic that your next step is merely to wait but your impatience is what makes you cling to such drastic methods. pupils blown from aphrodite’s influence, heart shaking in fear as it anticipates the coming consequences of your doubt in him, you return to the table.
he’s out cold, a sight you’ve never seen. although aphrodite assures you he’ll feel nothing during his sleeping state, you still unknot the tie of his quiver with careful fingers. the texture is soft on the surface but stiff in structure. you clutch the enchanted fabric in trembling fingers.
you notice the bundle of snowy lashes that line the seam of his eyes.
like angel wings.
you always imagined they’d be beautiful.
now you sit in front of him, diligent and dutiful, muttering useless apologies to the air he can’t hear, cursing yourself for your weak will. but you wait, eyes wide and alert, prepared to peer. you swallow down the thrill of your curiosity’s coming satiation, the joy of knowing you’ll know the sight of your lover in full. you remind yourself that you’re undeserving of deriving pleasure from this.
this is truth you choose to take with no remorse for the destruction of his established limits.
it’s only because i love him; it’s only because i don’t want to die.
SATORU.
satoru wakes in a groggy stupor.
when his eyes slowly open, confusion befalls him. has he slept? the first thing he notices is how bright the light pouring in through the window is, how it makes his eyes ache.
the next thing he sees is you…staring at him with wide eyes, freshly-blown pupils and parted lips. a thickened black fabric is held tightly in clenched fists. it takes him too long to realize it’s his quiver. the fear that stirs in his chest is immediate as he realizes your awe is from the sight of his eyes. he clasps them shut tight, but deep down he knows it’s for nought.
dreamily, you sigh his name. “s-satoru,”
“NO!” his hands reach out in front of him wildly, until he feels you, until he snatches his quiver from you with frantic, terrified breaths. “what have you done?!”
he doesn’t mean to shout out at you, doesn’t mean for his initial reaction to be rage and fear alone. he stands to his feet, panting wildly as his fingers fumble to retie the knot. fear eats him alive where he stands. agony in full force can take the strength from a god’s knees. he stumbles clumsily until his back hits the wall with force. his head hangs while cold thoughts blow into his mind with brute force, a blizzard of sorrow and sorry and spurn and spite.
you speak but you tremble. it seems your mistake dawns on you, lays thick on your brittle voice. nearly a whisper, but still holding all your achings for penance, your yearning for atonement. “satoru…i’m…i’m sorry.”
he’s sure your regret must be sour the way your face scrunches; vinegary. bitter. hard to taste but impossible to avoid.
treason tastes the same.
satoru’s bleeding heart spirals. he laments in anguish, “why? you betray me? me? what have i done to make you want to be rid of me?”
you carve a hole out of his chest. you don’t know it but you’ll leave with it, likely die with it clutched in mad hands. so this is what it means to be truly abandoned, to be loved and willingly left.
none of it makes sense to him, how you've changed your mind and turned your back on your own vows to him. you said as long as he would stay by your side, you wouldn't peek. a dark thing lurches in his gut; heartache grips him and makes him feel sick. but love still wails and sings and bellows with jubilance at the sight of you. it overwhelms him. it plucks the bones out of his ribs, one by one.
"you said you loved me. you swore you wouldn't look." perplexed and disbelieving. "why...would you? do you not —"
do you not want to love me anymore? is that why you want me to leave?
unable to move, unwilling to even speak it, the dark thing rolls over in his body. he bites his lip to stop the way it shakes, but he feels warm liquid start to gather.
“rid of you? no, satoru. never.”
a desperate cry. “then why?!”
“i just…i just wanted to know the truth about you. aphrodite said…”
his breath hitches when yuki’s honorific comes softly spilling from your lips. immediately, his lips flatten into a thin line. ares swells, a vengeful beast drawing life from the strength of its loathing.
“the aphrodite was here?” his blank tone followed by your careful nod. “and she spoke to you?”
satoru watches as your body goes shy; you hold your own fingers and look at your feet in shame. when you start to speak, your voice is timid. “yes…she…told me about your past. that you plan to…to sacrifice me to the old gods. she said…if i looked into your eyes…i would see it all…and know the truth.”
an abysmal sigh. robbed of the mundanity he’s grown accustomed to and normalcy he adores, all because of the aphrodite. aphrodite and likely the zeus, too.
satoru realizes he's been bested, that this is his punishment for experiencing joy without their consent. after he's so capable of taking everything away, what does he deserve aside nothing? they use his own eros against him. the lover he so desperately desires will grow to look upon him with disgust and seething hatred. just as he did to the apollo, just as he'd done to realms above and below.
alone. because he himself is love but he doesn't deserve it.
crestfallen, he croaks, “did you find what you were looking for?”
“no…” you whisper it regretfully as you fall prey to weakness and sink into your chair, shrouded in defeat. “there was nothing. it was for nothing. i’m such an idiot. i was…i should have trusted you. i’m sorry.”
you don’t know yuki. you couldn’t have. i’m a fool, too. loving so freely. tying my hands in devotion. making you a target to them.
his heavy feet drag across the floor until he stands in front of you, a mountain made of his woes with isolation at its peak.
and satoru, poor satoru, drowning in dolor and resentment and love, falls to his knees and wails.
“satoru, please. i’m sorry, love. i didn’t…i shouldn’t have been…” tears sputter out of your eyes uselessly. “i was fooled…”
the truth comes out, sniveling and whimpering. “we won’t last much longer.”
he cries quietly, teeming and oozing morose notions. sunk to his knees, he lays his head on your lap, eyes safely guarded again. satoru surrenders to this new, crippling grief he finds. his limbs wobble from the weakness. even his arms shake with the weight of his sobs.
“what do you mean, my love? i’m right here. i’m fine. nothing happened when i saw your eyes.” he notes the wispiness in your voice, the almost dreamlike murmur when you mention the sight of his eyes. your dagger of betrayal shoves in deeper. “they were beautiful. so…blue. like the sky. like the sea. like love as it wades.”
like love as it weeps?
your words, dazed and dulcet, are so far away as you speak them. your rakes through his hair, once soothing, now cease as you fall into silence. a moment passes. your loving sigh fills the air.
“like angel wings,” you murmur.
satoru’s eyes squeeze shut, fat tears spilling from the sides. within him, both his eros grieve. they sing with remorse, apologetic for what they’ve done, for your misfortunate fate they didn’t mean to seal.
ACT V. ALECTO THE UNENDING, ETERNITY'S TORTURE.
love is blind, but it sees all; love is forgiveness, love is resentment. it lingers in fragility and cradles its weaknesses, drenching them in immunity.
love is blind, but it sees all; love is languid, love is impetuous. it exists as an avalanche — slow and foreboding, and as a volcano — abrupt and erupting.
SATORU.
day one.
the morning after betrayal finally comes.
he spends the whole night in obsessive cycles of thought about how this will end, how he can stop it once it begins, how he can forgive you for the heartache you’ll leave him to cradle, how to love you as he’s always done, how to find gratitude somewhere in the trauma, how to spend the last of his time with you in bliss.
you sleep the night away, calm, curled up to his body, because he’s angry but at least he’s home. time drags him through its thick currents of night and he ruminates on his losses while he wades.
when you wake, the first thing satoru does is smush your cheeks between his palms and carefully examine your eyes for any sign of distress, any evidence of deterioration.
“what are you doing?” you ask softly, careful not to show him your frustration. “i have to go to work.”
nothing. not a trace. maybe there wasn’t enough time. maybe it trickles. maybe the sight of their eyes won’t touch you, after all.
satoru huffs defiantly, letting go of your face. “i’m coming with you.”
“don’t you always?” a soft giggle. your warm smile.
ardor surges throughout him, an ichor-warming excavation to remind him he knows you. he loves you. he doesn’t have to fear you. quietly, satoru clings to the delusions of his hope that maybe…maybe. but…he doesn’t dare speak them aloud.
the gods are always listening somehow.
day two.
no changes in your eyes.
no slight detuning of your laughter.
no crooked, misplaced smiles.
nothing.
you kiss him with the same tender lips; you hold his hand just as tightly. nothing changes as you both fall back into the comforts of your habitual movements. satoru keeps his sorrow in a crevice within himself and you…now free of aphrodite’s wicked touch, he supposes…have seemingly forgotten any of it ever occurred.
or perhaps, the feigning is how you hold your grief, too.
the one thing that does change is the extension of his infinity. he keeps it stretched to hold you at all times, especially as you walk around so freely. you talk to him as you always have on your way to your work and home. he notices you always meander around most in the daylight.
you love spending time in the sun.
he listens to the bright bumble of your words; his head tilts up towards the sky, stone-faced. geto’s sun has always had its eyes on you, hasn’t it?
geto the helios, even you betray me? my oldest friend.
nothing changes in you, but his heart knows more grief than it can take. ardor closes its eyes in rest, unable to endure the daily exertion of mourning. but ares is fueled by its need for retribution.
day three.
when you leave for work that morning, nothing changes. he just can’t be by your side.
you sometimes have tiresome, elongated meetings that carry on, weaving in and out of an entire day. as much as satoru loves to linger, the waiting while watching them relish in your attention instead of him maddens him. it’s best if he stays home where your scent douses everything and he knows for certain you’ll return to him with all of your adoration just for him.
each day begins the same: you wake up, he cradles your cheeks, he observes your eyes for even the slightest hint of dilation, he kisses your forehead, he murmurs his devotions over you — much closer to wrapping someone in prayer, and finally allows you to fully rise.
you leave as you always do but satoru is admittedly uncertain of what to do with himself when matching your steps isn’t the entirety of his day. so he lies in your bed, wrapped inside a chrysalis of saffron and silk, and shrouds himself in the blissful feeling of you yearning for him the moment you leave him. it mollifies ardor for a time.
but.
approximately one hour passes before you come stumbling back in through the front door, kicking your shoes off at the entrance while you call for him.
although confused, he still appears and greets you with an adoring smile. “returning already, pretty thing?”
you nod, opening your arms to him. “mhm, i got there and…the idea of going the entire morning and afternoon without you made me want to die...so i came back home.”
“how dramatic. you just couldn’t stand it, huh?” he murmurs, wrapping you in his arms, lips against your temple. “pretty thing needs her satoru. i don’t blame you. i wouldn’t want to leave me either.”
of course, he jests and expects your snippy response in reply but instead, he feels your yearning for him explode in his chest. he feels the way you push closer, clutch tighter; he hears the edge of a whine in your voice as you speak.
simpering, you cling to the fabric of his robes. “yes, all of that. i can’t stand the thought of being without you.”
he doesn’t let you go but he stills and whispers, “my love, look at me.”
the request comes soft and you do look as you’re told, abstracted eyes and a foolish smile. satoru’s palms cup your cheeks for the second time that day. he stares intently, observing the shape, noting a new wobble in the roundness, something slightly misshapen and enlarging.
satoru whimpers at the sight.
worry fills him as he stares and stares, praying for his discovery to come out false, just a mirage made of his anxiety. he can’t let you go when he still wants you for longer.
for the second time, satoru hears you ask him, “are you leaving me?”
and he still says no, but he omits the dreadful thing to protect you from fear.
you’re leaving me.
day six.
satoru feels sickened by himself for enjoying your clinginess.
his heart can’t help it, to chase even falsified bliss. to be filled with the aching of knowing you’re gone but still warm-blooded and yearning in his arms — how unfair. how cruel. he has no choice but to hold you in the arms of questions that feel more like pleas.
why can’t i have you? why can’t i keep you? you’re mine but why can’t you be mine? why can’t you stay? just a little longer.
the lunacy spreads in the dead of night; you wake up stranger than the days passed. he knows it won’t last but he relishes in it despite it. you haven’t left in days. a bed is a home you don’t abandon. you leave behind your responsibilities and he leaves the remnants of his hope. you take a seat on his lap and the only thing you move is your hips.
driven to an obsessive need for pleasure. hot with it, a sheen of sweat as you dig your nails in deeper. shaking in the night and longing for him; his body, his length, his murmurs in your ear, his warm tears falling on your back.
he closes his eyes, lets the pleasure he feels shamelessly consume him. you’re on your way to a steep decline. he’ll steal these intimate moments for himself. as many as he can.
little somethings to remember you by.
something to remind him, for a time, your mouth tasted like everything love should be.
just in case when the time comes and the sight of your lips curving into disgust starts to make him forget. just in case he can’t remember what it’s like to be loved by you.
ACT VI. A SMALL CACOPHONY OF WRATH, TISIPHONE’S ORCHESTRA.
love is blind, but it sees all; love is acceptance, love is denial. it is all screeches of dissonance and a looming madness contained in a warm embrace.
love is blind, but it sees all; love is gluttonous, love is self-serving. it doesn’t savor, only swallows; it never nibbles, it always devours.
SATORU.
day thirteen.
satoru won’t say it aloud, but he’s scared. of so many things. mourning and loving and being alone. his broken heart and the wrath it’ll undoubtedly unleash.
ares says everything’s days are numbered if yours are.
every hope he has that he may not lose you, in the end, is squandered by the rapid shift in your behavior over the last weeks. he sees it clearly, the pupils in your eyes growing larger by the day. filling your eyes, filling your mind with delusions, filling your speech with nonsensical strings.
it was a soft cling at first, tender fingertips holding lightly to the flesh, but it’s slowly becoming your nails digging into an open wound you made.
you won’t let him leave your side anymore.
your eyes are wild, blazing with disdain as you grip his arm. “where are you going? are you leaving me?”
“my love, please,” satoru murmurs, trying to subdue your suspicions of his attempt to leave. “i’m not leaving you. i’m not.”
always frantic. always afraid. satoru knows you can’t help it, knows you don’t mean to, knows he can’t stop your spirals once you’re triggered. hands up in surrender, he sits right back down in your bed and looks at you with wounded eyes you can't see, another wrench in his gut you’ll never know of. you settle into his lap, less loving and more possessive.
“i wasn’t leaving. i’d never leave you.” satoru coos, his weakening attempts to make you docile, still true to his tongue. “i love you. you’re my pretty thing. i’ll never go anywhere.”
your head shakes, tears pouring and lips sputtering words in a frenzy. “you can’t just get up and try to go somewhere without telling me! i don’t know what’s happening! i don’t know what’s happening and you can’t leave me! you can’t leave my side or i’ll die! if you walk away, you’ll leave me here to die and why would you leave me? you said you love me. don’t you love me, satoru?”
“of course i do. i love you so much.”
satoru listens to your whirlwind of teary rambles, watches your sanity dissolve. he holds you in love while you sob in confusion and the overstimulation of sensation makes you shiver.
he glances over the scars littering different parts of your body, mauling yourself to be free of all the feeling that fills you at all times.
all the feelings that say you’ll die if you’re not by his side. you’ll die if he doesn’t love you back. you’ll die if he leaves you. they all burst to life and leave you a wailing mess in his arms. imprisoned by every sliver of love and unable to escape its chaotic swarms. a war in your lungs. a war in your belly. a war on your flesh. all you do is scream.
he doesn’t know how much longer until they tell you that you’ll die if you can’t get away from him. you’ll die if you don’t kill him first.
day twenty-one.
a blood-curdling scream. the incessant rattle of metal chains.
“EVIL ASSHOLE! I KNEW YOU’D TRY TO KILL ME! I KNEW YOU NEVER LOVED ME! I’LL KILL YOU! I’LL KILL YOU! I HOPE YOU DIE, YOU PIECE OF SHIT I HATE YOU!”
since day sixteen, the god has lost all semblance of peace.
“SATORU!” shrieking and sobbing his name descending to loving pleas. “please, satoru. i love you. i won’t hurt you. satoru! SATORU! STOP IGNORING ME! SATORU, ANSWER ME. ANSWER ME. TELL ME YOU LOVE ME, SATORU! PLEASE!”
ares and the strength of its rage is the only thing keeping satoru’s body standing. as time passes, ardor accepts the coming days will be your last. whenever satoru has the strength to make a decision that leaves him fractured in every way.
his heart breaks. all of him weeps until what’s left of love is defeat.
you’re no longer yourself. a stranger takes space in your body and all it does is scream. in satoru’s mind, you’ve already died. you’ve already left him. what he’s holding is the sight of a person he wants to see, wants to be able to remember and remind himself of in the luxury of passing glances.
he thinks he didn’t love those things enough.
you’re a screeching mess he keeps his infinity perpetually stretched around, whose arms he keeps chained to a wall to stop you from hurting yourself, to stop you from hurting him. he hasn’t seen you smile for some time. all you do is wail and cry and make yourself bleed. a monster made of your own temptation. he still loves you, still adores you in every way. even like this.
for all of time, he will.
love is blind but it sees all; love is eternal, love is unconditional. it is the only thing that owes nothing to space or time.
but he knows this is only torture for you.
satoru has three options:
one. let you kill yourself in a fit of murderous delirium — both in an effort to escape him and an inability to kill him.
two. let you die trying uselessly to kill him.
three. kill you himself — quickly. devoutly. with honor and in love. pour enough of how much he adores you over your bones to fill an eternity, someone worthy of ceremony.
you’re still someone who laughs and fills a room with delight.
tears stream freely underneath his quiver when he enters the room he’s now holding you prisoner in, a sad fact that makes him hate not only himself but all of them even more. when he enters, you go wild, writhing and pulling at the restraints he keeps you attached to.
“LOOK AT ME, YOU ASSHOLE. LOOK AT WHAT YOU DID TO ME! I HATE YOU! I HATE YOU! DIE! I HOPE YOU DIE! YOU DISGUST ME! I SHOULD HAVE NEVER TRUSTED YOU!”
unable to take it anymore, unable to hear you in pain like this, hysteric and senseless, unable to endure the loss of his only home and the betrayal from all sides, he unties the knot of his quiver. he lets it fall to the ground the same way he falls to his knees, and stares at you.
because love is standing but love is kneeling, too.
he hears you go silent as you stare at him in his full glory, watches your body go calm as you see crystals stream down his cheeks, surely shimmering as they fall. your screaming finally ceases, replaced by awe swimming around your crying eyes.
your soft smile; it must be your parting gift to him.
“like angel wings,” adoration on your dying breath. “satoru,”
all that’s left is your sigh faded into demise, satoru’s amethyst tears, and both ardor and ares filling his vision with a loving lilac. so lovely, so alluring and sweet, so undoubtedly yours, you don’t even feel the crack of your neck in his hands.
painless. you fade with pleasure in your sights, with a moment of remembrance. you fade not knowing you’ve dissipated into nothing, not knowing you’re cradled lovingly in his arms, not knowing how he cries for you, not knowing how he hurts, not knowing the depths of his adoration for you.
only satoru has to live with the sacrifices of knowing.
but he loves you, so he will live with the sacrifices while the realms live with the consequences of crossing him. any cost of loving you, he’ll gladly pay. over and over, until death manages to capture him and take him to meet the hades himself.
when he finally has the strength to leave your side, ardor goes cold within him, paralyzed by grief. one eye blinks in darkness. nothing shown. nothing felt. nothing seen.
but ares is alive with the light of a promise. ardor rests and ares makes satoru keep its word. thus, he finds a way to adore devastation. only when it’s dedicated to you.
he burns the quiver to dust, his first declaration of war on all, both above and below.
pairing: poly!geto suguru x fem!reader x gojo satoru [jjk au]
warnings: jjk au! geto doesn't defect and everything is happy :)) cursing, periods, severe cramps, painkillers and mentions of taking more than you're supposed to (three instead of two), lots of talk of pain, mentions of vomiting, passing out, panic, mentions of death, mentions of burning yourself, probably ooc megumi but he's a kid here (probably gojo too but I can't not write him soft), family au!, megumi tsumiki and the twins are here!, probably taking liberties on how gojo's technique works but oops, this is for the girlies with severe period symptoms :'), major hurt/comfort
word count: 12.5k
a/n: drops this and yells "scatter!" and disappears back into seclusion. I did not proofread this :)
Gojo Satoru has never woken up so terrified in his life.
It’s a horrifying thing; to wake up lurching from your sheets as the love of your life cries out in panic just a few hours past midnight. For a moment, Satoru thinks he’s dying – or that he should be – because as he rips his sheets away from his legs, racing to his feet with his pulse already roaring in his eardrums, he turns to find Geto Suguru crumbling to his knees. The dark-haired man is the one who shouted, his hands fumbling to grasp another figure, their body limp and hanging useless in Suguru’s arms.
It’s your frame, clutched tight in Suguru’s big hands, that steals the breath from Satoru’s lungs. Ripping any semblance of oxygen right from his chest, the Six Eyes user is left stumbling on his feet to reach his spouses as they crumble to the floor – you limp in Suguru’s grip as you fall unconscious.
Suguru shouts, a desperate cry of your name as he finally sinks to the bathroom floor, urgently scrambling to cradle your weight against him and support your figure. When he’s settled on the ground, a hand carefully cradling your face, Suguru looks up at Satoru, panic in his features and his heart in his throat. For a tense second, neither man speaks, too terrified to properly ascertain the situation. Then, Satoru chokes out a desperate question as he stumbles into the doorframe, clutching the wood until he swears it could splinter beneath his hands.
“What happened?”
But let’s rewind a moment, shall we?
It starts two hours after midnight – well, it starts long before that, but it’s that moment you finally decide to pull yourself from the sheets and stumble into the bathroom. That moment, the one of shortened breaths and a weak whimper, is the one to incite the inferno that will wake Gojo Satoru in an hour or so.
You’ve been awake for hours. Sleep was a stubborn thing; an obstinate, pig-headed bastard that wouldn’t allow you the mercy of relief even hours after you’ve been awake clutching your stomach and trying desperately not to cry.
It’s agony. Beginning in your left side and rippling through the entirety of your stomach and down your legs, the cramping sensation seizes you with another tight fist and squeezes. It’s agony, and it’s been keeping you awake for hours.
Your period is merciless.
You’ve always had terrible cramps. That was a notion you had grown used to when you were young. Painkillers could only do so much, and you hated to have to take as many as you did just to function near normally. The first day of shark week was always terrible, but this? This was pure agony, and you were nearing your breaking point.
It festered for hours in your stomach, sending cramps through your form in catastrophic waves and pushing against your belly until you thought you were truly going to die. The urge to use the restroom is horrible, but each time you drag yourself to the ensuite bathroom, you sit there as another wave of agony nearly pulls you to your knees. You’re sweaty and tired, figure quivering as another rippling cramp seizes your legs, and you’ve never wanted anything more than the sweet relief of slumber.
Nothing seems to help.
A hot water bottle is pressed against your stomach, the liquid inside near boiling as you clutch it against your bare skin – a bad idea, you know, but the sensation of the burn is nowhere near as terrible as the cramps. You’ve downed three painkillers a few hours ago, probably another bad idea, but you’re desperate now.
You don’t want to wake Suguru or Satoru. It’s a Sunday night, and you know they both have work early tomorrow morning. They have to get the kids to school too. The four of your children always pile into one of your husband’s nice cars just a few hours past dawn. The kids get dropped off at primary school on their way to work, since it’s just around the corner from Jujutsu High.
You can’t tear their few precious hours of sleep away from them.
Not for this.
There’s nothing they can do – nothing you can do but sit and try to ride out the waves of crippling agony until they finally stop.
You’ve done this before. These cramps aren’t new. You can deal with them on your own.
Can’t you?
But as you repress a broken sob, pulling yourself away from the silk of your sheets and into the bathroom once more, you’re not quite sure.
When you reach the ensuite bathroom, another cramp surges through you and the tears you’ve been desperately withholding finally burst forth. Pressing your weight into the wall as the door slides shut, you click the lock and finally allow yourself to crumple. Your head pushes into your knees as you sob, trying to keep your cries quiet and muffled against your hand as the other clutches the hot water bottle against the throb of your stomach.
You’re tired. You’re tired and you’re in so much pain that your fingers tremble and your legs shake. It’s awful, and you just want to sleep.
But your uterus must hate you, because your stomach lurches and you scramble to lean over the toilet as you dry heave. You’ve never vomited on your period, but it sure does feel like you will.
Your skin itches. From the sweat or the general grime, you don’t know, but you hate it. Your chest shakes with another sob and your fists squeeze tight as you whine out a horrible sound of agony. It’s too much and you wish it would just stop. Leaning back against the wall, you sigh out a choked sound as you curl into yourself.
“Stop,” you whine brokenly, too defeated to even understand who you’re pleading to. “Please stop.”
Geto Suguru wakes up a few moments later.
He doesn’t know what pulls him from slumber at first. His brow furrows as consciousness returns, a deep breath leaving his nose as he sighs and takes in the feeling of body weight pressed into his chest. It’s a muscular figure, long and tall, so it must be Satoru. He’s pressed into Suguru’s stomach, body curled small in a near comical way as he attempts to tuck himself beneath Suguru’s chin. The long-haired man nearly huffs a chuckle as he pries open his tired eyes to see his partner.
Suguru runs a loving hand over the mess of pale white strands that fall into Satoru’s eyes, his lips quirking upwards softly as he smiles. Satoru nuzzles closer in his sleep, letting out a happy sigh as Suguru runs his nails through the other’s undercut. Then Suguru shifts, turning over his shoulder slowly to find you as his hand reaches out to pull you closer.
But you’re not there.
Suguru startles. Jolting silently as his heart skips a frightened beat, the sorcerer’s eyes rip open as they dilate. His hand finds an empty bed, the sheets cold and the imprint of your figure long lost. Suguru carefully untangles himself from his lover’s long limbs, his long, dark hair falling into his eyes as he sits upright.
“Baby?” his deep, tired voice rumbles in question. Where are you? He nearly asks, heart pounding in his chest. Are the kids okay?
Suguru knew it was weird you had chosen to sleep on the edge of the bed tonight. You’re usually more than happy to bury yourself in between them, cuddling close and nuzzling into their chests as you try to pull yourself even tighter into their embrace.
But last night, you gently pushed Suguru into your place, offering him a wave of your hand and a lame excuse as to why you wanted to sleep on the outside. Something about not wanting to sleep yet, he remembers.
He waits a moment, hoping you’ve just gotten up to use the restroom and you’ll return to them soon. The sound of Satoru’s quiet breaths echo through the space, and has to fill the long seconds by tracing his fingers over his lover’s back. Tracing gentle lines over the defined muscles, Suguru sighs softly and tries to calm his racing pulse.
A minute passes. Then another. And one more – until Suguru isn’t sure how long he’s been waiting.
Then Suguru cannot resist the swell of panic that ripples through his stomach.
His heart lurches in his chest as he swings his legs over the side of the bed, too panicked to offer Satoru more than a hushed sound and a stroke over his back when he tiredly mumbles in protest.
“‘M just gettin’ up for a sec,’” he mumbles quietly, swallowing back the lump in his throat when he sees the light in the bathroom on. “I’ll be back, love.”
Satoru grumbles something else, but is soothed when Suguru presses a gentle kiss to his brow.
“M’kay,” Satoru sighs, easily falling back asleep as he snuggles into the warmth Suguru left behind on the bed. If he wasn’t so worried, Suguru would smile, his heart clenching tight in his chest as he watches Satoru curl into his spot with a soft sound.
When Suguru stands, adjusting his sweats as he quietly makes his way to the bathroom, he pulls his hair from his eyes. Brushing the strands over his bare shoulder, he sighs as he fiddles for a hair tie in his pocket. He doesn't find one, so he simply pushes the dark strands back from his brow, letting them fall behind him and settle against his bare back.
You’ve always liked it when his hair is loose anyway.
Suguru knocks on the bathroom door first. It’s quiet, but you should be able to hear it. When you don’t respond, Suguru frowns and tries again. Knocking gently once more, he swallows as another wave of panic curls in his stomach.
“Sweetheart?” he tries quietly, voice still rumbling deeply from the slumber he was pulled from. “You’ve been in there a while, honey. Are you alright?”
Still, you don’t respond.
You want to. Of course you want to. It’s Suguru, and you don’t want to worry him.
But the waves of agonizing cramps have stolen your voice. All you can do is sit still and breathe. You feel utterly useless. There’s nothing you can do but control the slow pace of your breaths in a desperate attempt to distract yourself from the crippling sensation radiating from your stomach.
You want to respond – tell him you’re alright, tell him something, but the agony seals your lips shut. It’s horrible and another wave of tears spill from your tired eyes. You hate it. You wish you would stop crying; it’s not helping and it only makes you feel weak.
“Baby? I’m gettin’ worried.”
All you can manage is a sad, weak sound in response. It leaves your lips in more a sob than a hum, and you muffle the tears that shiver through you after.
“Honey!” Suguru murmurs worriedly, trying to twist the handle of the door, only to curse when he discovers it’s locked. “What’s going on? Are you okay?”
He shifts on his feet, lifting a hand to pull on the strands on his hair to soothe some of his panic. The sound you manage in response is another broken hum, and it only worsens the thundering pulse of Suguru’s heart. His gut twists as he tries the knob again, as if a few seconds will have changed the status of the lock.
You whine and Suguru swears his heart cracks. His head presses against the door as his eyes squeeze shut, fist still closed around the handle.
“Can you open the door f’me, sweetheart?” he murmurs desperately. “‘M really worried about you.”
Your eyes close, the watery burn rendering them useless as you sniffle. You huff around another breath of pain, pushing your head further into your knees. Trembling softly as your skin flushes, you battle against the waves of agony and the flash of heat that makes you feel sickly. Another wave of nausea ripples in your gut, and you remember how awful you must look.
Your hair is plastered against your head and your neck and you must look a mess. Wearing a pair of oversized sweats and one of Suguru’s shirts, you feel utterly gross. More than anything you want to open the door and let Suguru take you in his arms. Cuddling into his firm chest and feeling his big arms wrap around you would probably feel nice, but you’re all too aware of how sickly you must look.
You don’t want him to see you like this: sweaty, messy and sick as you curl in on yourself as you weep through another terrible cramp. You just want to sleep – you want it to stop, everything needs to stop.
Suguru hums out another question, but you don’t really hear it. It’s not until you hear the lilt of panic in his voice and his voice fiddling with the handle of the door do you manage to find your voice.
“Sugu…”
He startles. Head darting up to the door in front of him, Suguru breathes a sigh of relief and chokes out your name.
“Open the door, darling,” he whispers softly. “Please…”
You shake your head even though you know he can’t see it. Frowning as you sniffle, you lick your lips to taste salt and the disgusting hint of snot. You’re a mess, and you don’t want him to see you.
“No, Sugu,” you manage to mutter, head knocking back to rest against the wall as you continue to focus on breathing through your mouth. You visibly shiver through another cramp, this time seizing and whining as it echoes through your legs.
Suguru bites down on his lip, feeling another sliver of his heart crack at the broken sound of your voice. It pains him, your defeated sigh. He desperately wants to comfort you, to bring you into his chest and kiss your tears away. His hands ache to touch your skin, to feel the warmth he knows by heart. Closing his eyes as he rests his forehead against the wood of the door, Suguru sighs and swallows as he speaks again.
“Why not?” he murmurs worriedly, voice clipping words from fatigue pulling at his figure. “I need t’know you’re alright, my love.”
“Don’t wan’ you t’see me.”
Suguru’s head tilts and the lump in his throat swells. Heart clenching sadly, one of his hands lifts to rest on the door, as if he can reach you on the other side if he tries hard enough. He knows he can get through this door if he really wanted. It would be too easy for him to splinter the frame with his strength alone, and he has more than one curse at his disposal that could pick a lock smoothly.
It’s the sound of your voice that holds him back.
You’re so… tired. You’re broken whisper echoes through the wooden door with a sad coo, and it makes Suguru’s chest ache.
“My sweet girl…” Suguru whispers, fingers trailing across the wood like they’re desperate to stroke across your cheek. “Why don’t you want me to see you?”
You frustratedly sigh, cursing the tears that continue to track down your cheeks. No matter what you do, they keep dripping over your skin in tiny rivulets, staining your face with tracks of dried salt. You wipe them away but they’re quickly replaced by another stream.
You just want to sleep.
“I don’t feel good, Sugu,” you sigh tiredly, voice quivering around tears. It’s pathetic – how watery you sound. You wish you were stronger. “I look bad and I don’t want wan’ t’keep you an’ Toru awake.”
You don’t feel good? He nearly questions. Why didn’t you wake me?
But all he does is sigh softly, fists clenching against the door. For a moment he contemplates waking Satoru, knowing you probably won’t be able to resist them both. Though, when he turns over his shoulder, Suguru sees the bags beneath his lover’s eyes and the tired slump of his form in their sheets.
Satoru needs his sleep. It’s difficult enough for him to find slumber when the Six Eyes strains him dry.
Suguru lets him rest.
He murmurs your name again, his eyes closing as he continues to rest against the door.
“I’m in love with you, you know?” Suguru sighs sweetly, his lips lifting slightly to reveal a fond smile. “You could never ‘look bad’ to me, my darling.”
Shifting on his feet and looking up at the ceiling, his shoulders sag as he worries. What if you don’t open the door? He’s considering settling on the floor with his back against the door when he whispers again.
“And you don’t need t’worry about keepin’ me awake, alright? I want you t’come to me when you’re not feeling good.”
He pauses once, dropping his hand from the knob as he breathes.
“I worry about you, honey,” he finishes. “I just need to know you’re okay.”
You sniffle, feeling the cramp finally seep away to nothing. They’re not over, you can feel another wave rising from beneath the last, but at least they offer you a single moment to reach up and twist the lock.
It’s too much for you to handle alone.
You want to bury yourself in Suguru’s strong arms and weep as the pain shivers through you. If there’s nothing you can do to soothe the agony, then at least you won’t be alone.
“Okay.”
Suguru hears the lock click.
Gasping softly, he pulls himself upright and reaches down to grip the handle of the door with a skip of his heart. He was pondering waiting outside the door in the fading light of the moon when you whispered the tired word. His chest aches when he twists the knob, pulling the door open to reveal your figure.
You’re curled on the floor, calves crossed and legs pulled into your chest as you bury your head into your knees. Your arms wrap around yourself, one hand clutching the hot water bottle pressed tightly to your stomach.
Suguru frowns, his heart thumping sadly as you weep out another broken sound. His entire body aches in a way he cannot describe, physically pained at the choked sounds of agony leaving your lips. He’s already on his knees at your side when you lift your head, looking up at him through your tears and your lip quivering in a way he knows you cannot control.
He’s never seen you look so hurt.
“Oh, sweetheart…” he coos quietly, putting the pieces together as you shiver through another wave of crippling cramps, hand squeezing tight around your leg – your period. “You’re not alright.”
“No,” you weep, shaking your head with watery eyes leaking salty droplets down your cheeks, and you suck in a shaking breath as your fists clench. Your brow furrows as your eyelids squeeze shut, unable to mask the pain as it ripples through you. Suguru’s face softens into an expression of pain, frowning sadly. You have a high pain tolerance for your period cramps – he knows that. You’ve had painful periods your whole life, and he and Satoru have seen you conceal the agony in your features for years.
This is a knife to his heart.
You can’t conceal the sweat on your brow, nor the tremble of your fingers and the painful gasp of breath you suck in when the pain returns tenfold.
“It hurts, Sugu…”
“I know, I’m sorry,” he whispers sadly, desperately wishing there’s something he can do to stall the agony. “C’mere, honey.”
Suguru’s mouth twists into an expression of pain, and he carefully wraps an arm around your shoulders. Pulling you away from the wall, the dark-haired man maneuvers you into his chest as he sits onto the floor. You twist into his embrace, wrapping your arms around his frame as you weep softly into his bare chest, caring little for the tears that stain his skin. Suguru could care less. He’s far too worried about the expression plastered onto your features and the shiver that trembles through you.
“How long have you been up?” he whispers as he cradles you in his lap, hand stroking over your hair and strong arm wrapping around you.
You shake your head and Suguru’s frown deepens – if it’s even possible.
“Haven’t slept yet.”
Suguru’s hair falls into his eyes as he leans down to press a gentle kiss between your brows. He stays there, breathing through his noses as he continues to lay tiny kisses to your forehead. His eyes screw shut, hand stroking over your cheek as you bury yourself deeper into his embrace.
Your skin is warm, flushed with heat and your hair sticks to your forehead in a way Suguru knows must make you feel sickly. He carefully strokes the strands away and kisses the skin beneath with a soft sigh.
“Have you been awake all night?” he finally whispers, voice deep and quietly sad. “With cramps like this?”
You nod into his chest, wincing again and closing your eyes as you sob through another agonizing cramp. Your legs shake as you tuck them into yourself together, trying desperately to push the hot water bottle deeper into your skin.
“Oh, baby…” he sighs, leaning back to rest against the wall and pull you back into him. He strokes another hand across your face, thumbing the space between your brows when he sees the way they’re scrunched. “Why didn’t you wake me?”
You sigh and breathe a few times to steady yourself, slowly loosening your fists when Suguru pries your fingers open to intertwine his own around yours. He pulls your hands into his chest, tucking them by his heart so you can feel the pulse of his heart. He hopes you don’t notice how quick it’s beating. He’s still worried. Suguru cannot help the way his heart lurches when you wince. As if each throb of agony is his own, Suguru buries his face closer to your own, clutching onto your hand and not faltering when you tighten your grip to counter the waves of pain echoing through you.
“You’ve got work in the morning,” you pant quietly, voice still watery and weak. “And you an’ Toru gotta’ take the kids.”
“Honey…” he sighs sweetly. “You’re in pain… I want you t’wake me if you’re in pain, sweetheart. No amount of sleep could soothe me if you’re hurt and alone.”
You manage a hum in response, face still screwed shut and Suguru frowns when you muffle another sob as a cramp seizes you once more.
“Okay, baby… Okay,” he whispers, rocking you into him a little in an attempt to distract you. Now is not the time for a lecture, he supposes.“You’re alright, darling. You’re gonna be alright.”
He hates the sound of your tears.
When you shudder through another agonizing sound, Suguru’s face crumples. He’s never felt so useless. You’re in agony, and he can do nothing to fix it.
“You took your painkillers?”
You nod again, weeping into his chest and squeezing his hand tight.
“Three,” you mumble tiredly, focusing on the feeling of Suguru’s warm, bare chest pressed against your skin. It’s grounding and you don’t want to move. “They aren’t working.”
“How long ago?”
He doesn't want to pester you with questions, but he’s desperately pulling at strings, hoping one will grant him the solution to your pain.
“Midnight,” you manage. You wince again, and Suguru peppers kisses along your hairline, gently hushing you. You curl tighter into yourself, desperately huffing as the pain continues to swell higher. It feels like it will break at any moment, but it just… doesn’t. The agony continues to rise, as if there is no limit to its torment. The cramping sensation just comes back again and again, until you’re sure that there’s something wrong. How can a period be so painful?
“It hurts so bad, Sugu,” you cry, reaching the end of your tether. You’re desperate for the ache to stop, but it feels like there’s no point of end in sight. “I just want it to stop…”
Suguru feels his stomach twist, heart crying out in a pattern of your name. He pulls you tighter, a wave of his own tears swelling behind his eyes. Your cries chip at his heart, pieces of his soul falling apart in your agony. He wishes he could do something – use some kind of technique to null the pain, to soothe you, anything.
“I know, honey,” he soothes, cradling you closer and rubbing his finger over your cheek as he murmurs into your hairline. “I’m sorry I can’t do anything more. I’m sorry I can’t take this from you.”
You shake your head, clutching him tight as you attempt to focus on your breaths again. Hand wrapped tightly around his own, you try to use his touch as a grounding sensation. Eventually, the lulling motion of his finger over your cheek and his lips at your hairline soothe some of the tension beneath your skin. You relax into his touch despite the continuous waves of cramps still panging through your stomach.
“Just stay,” you weep, lifting your other hand from your stomach to clutch behind Suguru’s head. You hold onto his neck, burying your fingers in his soft hair and desperately inhale his familiar scent. Suguru is familiar – he’s safe. “Please…”
You don’t have to worry about anything as long as Suguru and Satoru are around.
“Always, sweetheart,” he whispers against you, dropping the hand at your cheek to press your hot water bottle into your stomach for you. “Always. You don’t have t’ask.”
His large hand keeps your bottle in place, spreading across your stomach and rubbing soothing circles into your waist with his thumb. His hand is big enough to settle on your stomach and the fabric of your hot water bottle.
Suguru hates this. He hates seeing you in pain. He hates that all he can do is sit and press delicate kisses to your hairline as you writhe in agony. It physically pains him to be unable to help – to have to watch as one of the loves of his life suffers.
Suguru buries his nose into your hair and kisses you once more, whispering sweet words of encouragement and humming in an attempt to distract you. He loves you so much, and he hopes you know that.
“You’re doing so well, my darling.”
Eventually, the wave passes, and you limply release your intense grip on his fingers and relax into his hold. It’s a slow process. Finally succumbing to some brief glimpse of exhaustion, you slip loosely into Suguru’s hold and trust him to catch you. There will be another cramp soon, but at least this one is over. You breathe out a sigh and look up at Suguru with tears on your lashes.
Strands of his dark hair fall into his eyes, and Suguru has never looked more beautiful to you. Sitting on the bathroom floor with you three hours past midnight, no shirt and a loose pair of sweats on his hips (ones he’s not sure are his own), and Suguru has never looked so endearing. The way he looks down at you, bangs dangling in front of his dark eyes and full lips leaning down to kiss your face gently; he’s princely.
Your heart finally slows to an acceptable pace as Suguru leans down, and you close your eyes as he lays a soft kiss to one of your eyelids. His full lips peck sweetly against one, then he leans away to kiss the other. Your eyes well with tears again, but this time you think they’re for a different reason.
“Hi,” he whispers sweetly, lips lifting to show you that tiny smile of his that makes your heart do funny things. You’re too tired to offer much more than a sigh and a quirk of your lips, but Suguru is grateful for the expression all the same.
“Hi, Sugu.”
“Are you feeling any better?”
You shake your head, sighing quietly as you shift.
“Not really.”
Suguru frowns again, and you’re tempted to lift your thumbs to pull his lips upwards again. Suguru looks so much prettier when he smiles.
“I’m sorry, honey,” he whispers. “Do you wanna get off the floor, at least? The bed’s much more comfortable and Toru’s gonna start worrying soon.”
You figure now is the best time to try moving, so you nod. There’s probably only a few minutes between these waves of terrible cramps, so you’ll take the moment you have to get back into bed.
“M’kay,” you sigh tiredly. Suguru's expression softens for a reason you don’t understand, but the sorcerer fondly smiles as he thinks of the same sound Satoru had made just minutes before.
“Alright, love. Let’s get you up, alright?”
You nod again, allowing Suguru to unwind his limbs from yours. He softly chuckles when you whine as his fingers unlace from your own, but readjusts his grip to carefully pull you to stand. He holds his other hand out, tenderly helping you stand.
“Careful…” he whispers. “Go slow, baby.”
Your head spins as you stand and you lift a hand to press against your temple. The rolling tide of nausea in your stomach had quelled for the time being, but the tremble of your legs is still too apparent. You step forward shakily, reaching out to grasp Suguru’s outstretched hand with a grateful smile. He returns the look with soft eyes and nods sweetly as he allows you to step out of the bathroom first.
When he’s certain you can stand on your own, Suguru turns over his shoulder to turn off the bathroom light and shut the door.
But he only gets so far.
Suddenly, you inhale sharply. Freezing in place, your body curls inwards on itself as a blinding swell of cramps overtakes your form. This one is sharp and crippling, radiating down your legs until even your calves feel weak. Your body is suddenly too hot, and the air is far too cold. Shivers trickle down your spine and you feel that all too familiar bolt of stifling panic strike through your chest. It runs through the entirety of your figure, sizzling beneath your skin and striking each nerve it passes. You feel that terrible curl of your stomach and the waves of oncoming panic filter through you.
You sway on your feet.
Something’s wrong. And it’s making you panic.
You open your mouth, lip quivering as you attempt to croak out a plea of Suguru’s name, but nothing comes. Some tired, broken whine leaves your lips instead – a desperate cry for help, for Suguru.
When Suguru turns around, head whipping over his shoulder sharply, he expects to see you headed towards his side of the bed. Instead, he’s met with your body swaying slightly as you pant and shiver. Suguru thinks his heart stops.
Then your body stills, and you crumple.
“Baby!”
Suguru throws himself forward, just managing to grab your figure as it goes limp. He sways, shifting your weight into his arms and panicking as you continue to sink into the floor. Your body is dead weight in his hands, still shivering but cold and unmoving.
He’s going to be sick.
His stomach curls as bile spills onto the back of his tongue, and Suguru can hear his heart pound in his ears. The lump is back in his throat, swelling until he can barely suck in a desperate breath to calm his panicked heart. Fuck, he’s never been so scared.
“Baby, oh fuck!” he cries, voice no longer quiet and delicate. Suguru openly shouts, desperately trying to carefully maneuver you to the floor, but his mind is screaming thousands of things at him at once. All he can hear is the roaring in his eardrums. His eyes scan over your limp figure and Suguru swears his heart cracks. He can feel it; deep within his chest, a splinter finally cleaves open.
“Oh my god, okay,” Suguru chokes out, carefully cradling you as he sinks to his knees. “You’re alright, okay? I’ve got you, honey.”
He doesn’t know what to do. His heart is pounding and his soul is openly weeping. There are tears welling in his eyes and dragging down the pristine skin of his cheeks.
Suguru doesn't know what to do.
“Okay,” he whispers frightfully. “Okay…”
You’re laying on your back, facing the ceiling, and the way your blank expression stares back at him makes him nauseous.
“Sweetheart?” he calls carefully, brushing a hand over your cheek to push hair away from your face. “Baby, c’mon…”
You don’t respond. There’s not even a twitch in your brow or a flick of your fingers. You’re unconscious. Suguru’s heart accelerates again, pounding until he thinks it might burst from his bony rib cage. He turns over his shoulder with a broken cry, calling for the one person he so urgently needs.
“Satoru!”
His voice is panicked, shouted with a guttural cry and he thinks it might echo through the house, but Suguru vaguely hopes he doesn't wake the kids.
“Satoru, wake up!”
But Satoru is already awake.
Lurching forward in the bed, the Six Eyes user is already throwing the sheets away from his legs as he scans the room. His technique is activated, and Suguru can feel the familiar curtain of Infinity wrap around his body.
“Suguru?” Satoru calls as he stands, his body tense and prepared to fight. “What happened? Are you alright?”
Suguru doesn’t have the chance to respond, because Satoru steps forward and his crystalline eyes find his lover’s hunched figure crouched in the doorway of the bathroom, bent over the body of their wife. You’re limp on the floor, hair sprawled out beneath you as Suguru cradles your head and glances up at his partner with desperate, fearful eyes.
Satoru thinks he’s dying.
It’s the only possible explanation for the lack of oxygen in his lungs and the stuttered pulse of his heart. His legs wane at his knees, nearly propelling him into the floor, but Satoru manages to keep himself upright as he throws his hands forward to brace himself on the bathroom doorway.
His Six Eyes are activated, flickering over every crevice of your form. They’re urgent, desperate to find the source of your pain. When they find nothing, Satoru swallows back a sound of desperation.
“She passed out,” Suguru whispers plainly, panic evident in the quiver of his voice. “She started her period early, Toru. She’s in so much pain…”
Satoru feels his knees wane again. His heart can’t take much more of this. She’s in pain? His soul cries.
“She’s been laying on the bathroom floor crying,” his lover mumbles, stroking a hand over your cheekbone as a tear drips into his mouth. “I shouldn’t have asked her t’get up – she was weak and I didn’t think –”
“Suguru.”
The dark-haired sorcerer stops. Lifting his head to stare up at Satoru, Suguru frowns.
“This isn’t your fault, Suguru,” Satoru whispers, trying desperately to keep himself calm. His heart is in his throat and his pulse roars, but he cannot allow himself to weaken. Suguru needs him – you need him.
“She’s not waking up…”
Satoru sucks in a breath, his hands curling into the doorframe and gripping the wood until he thinks it will splinter beneath his grip. And it might. Satoru has to be mindful of the strength he uses.
‘She’s not waking up.’ The phrase echoes through his head until it’s the only thing he can process. You’re not waking up. His wife isn’t waking up.
“Is she…” Satoru doesn't even know if he can say what he wants to know – what he needs to know. The words make him ill. “Is she breathing?”
Suguru chokes out a desperate sound. He hadn’t even considered…
And he doesn't want to.
His hand seizes one of yours, wrapping tightly around your fingers as he pulls it into his chest as he did before. He pleads for you to wake up and feel his heart pulse against your fingers again, just as you had minutes ago. He delicately thumbs over your pulse point, hand sliding down your neck where he cradles your cheek.
Suguru openly weeps when the thumping beat of your heart races beneath his fingers in greeting.
“Yeah…” he sobs out weakly, pushing his forehead into your chest. “Yeah, she’s breathing.”
Satoru sags in relief.
“Okay,” he covers his mouth with one of his palms, trying to suppress the broken sound that nearly leaves him. “Okay, that’s good.”
Before either man can ascertain what to do, there's rustling at the doorway. It’s a quiet sound, just a soft coo and the creak of the door as it slides open. Satoru’s head whips around, his fingers twitching to activate his technique when he falters.
Because seven year old Fushiguro Megumi stands in the doorway: his son.
Megumi’s clutching a plush dog, one that looks remarkably familiar to his Divine Dogs. The soft, dark fur is cradled in his hands as he hugs the stuffed animal to his chest. The plush nearly conceals him entirely, and his dark, spiky hair pokes out over the red mark on the dog’s forehead. It’s a matching toy – the dark one was a gift from Suguru while the white counterpart came from Satoru. They were presents (custom-made plushies) ordered by his fathers when Megumi successfully summoned his Divine Dogs for the first time.
Satoru still whines when Megumi prefers the dark stuffed animal to the white one. But Satoru doesn't know that Megumi snuggles the alabaster-coated dog when he’s gone on long missions. The boy barely goes anywhere without it until his father comes home.
“What’s goin’ on?” Megumi tiredly mumbles, one of his hands lifting to rub at his eyes as he yawns. His too big shirt, one of Satoru’s shirts from their youth, hangs over his frame and covers his knees. You were the one to tuck your son into bed last night, and Satoru doesn’t have the moment to fondly think of his boy asking to wear one of his dad’s shirts to bed.
Satoru sucks in a quiet breath, quickly glancing over his shoulder at Suguru. His husband is still on the bathroom floor, bent over your unconscious figure, but he looks up at Satoru with a silent nod. He’s alright. You’re alright.
Satoru sighs and turns back to Megumi, suddenly glad the ensuite bathroom is hidden from the doorway to their bedroom. He doesn't want Megumi to see his mother unconscious, or his fathers’ panic. He doesn’t want Megumi to see him scared. Satoru is his father – he needs to show his son that everything is going to be alright.
Swallowing down his tempered fear, Satoru tries to conceal the quiver of his voice when he responds to his son.
“It’s –” Satoru stops. He can’t say ‘it’s nothing.’ Because it’s not nothing; and he won’t lie to his son. “It’s alright, Megumi.”
That’s what he decides to say instead. Satoru breathes through his nose deeply as he tries not to turn back over his shoulder to check on you again.
“Mama’s just having some cramps, she’ll be okay.”
Megumi nods. He knows what Satoru means, because Geto Suguru would be damned before he raised a son that thinks menstruation was ‘gross.’ Megumi doesn’t know everything – he’s still a kid, afterall. He does know, however, that his mother is plagued with terrible pain once a month, and that it’s completely natural to talk about it.
Megumi toddles on his feet, the fatigue of the early morning hour making him uncharacteristically soft. He’s usually quite stoic for a kid, exhibiting the same, blank sort of look impassively. But no matter how quiet, you and the boys are well-adept at deciphering your kid’s feelings by now.
With sleep tugging at his eyes, Megumi paws at his tired lids and yawns sweetly. Shifting his balance again, the boy looks up at Satoru with a tiny, sweet frown.
“Mama’s hurting?” he pouts, bottom lip sticking out slightly. His fists tighten around his stuffed dog, eyes shifting around Satoru to try to get a glimpse of you. Fortunately, Suguru has already readjusted you in his arms and you’re both hidden in the ensuite bathroom.
“Yeah…” Satoru coughs to conceal the tremor of his voice. “Yeah, Mama’s hurting a little. But she’s strong, remember? She’ll be alright, her cramps will go away soon.”
He doesn’t know if his words are an attempt to convince Megumi or himself.
From behind Satoru, Suguru strokes another thumb over your cheekbone. He inhales a shaking breath as he feels the frightful warmth of your skin.
“C’mon…” he whispers in the tiny space that separates you. “Wake up, sweetheart. Let me see those pretty eyes again.”
Swallowing thickly, Suguru’s throat bobs as a tear begins to leak down his cheek.
“Please.”
He’s lost. Suguru doesn’t know what to do other than count the seconds since you’ve gone still in his arms. Each one feels longer than the last, but Suguru continues to count them. He doesn’t know why he does it. Perhaps some part of him thinks there is a certain point at which he’ll need to call for help. Is there a distinct period of time that has to pass before you need medical attention?
Suguru curses himself for not paying enough attention to Shoko’s basic first-aid lessons.
Satoru’s head flicks over his shoulder, crystalline-blue eyes finding your face as his heart clenches again. He’s conflicted. More than anything, he wants to drop to his knees at your side, just as Suguru has. He wants to clutch your remaining hand and feel the pulse of your heart as a reminder that you’re still there – still breathing. His heart hurts; torn between lingering at your side and comforting his son.
But then Satoru remembers the way you look at your kids. He recalls the fond crease of your eyes when you beam down at them, smiles shining and hands drawing them into you for an embrace. You love your kids more than anything, even though you’ve only had them for a few years now. Even though they’re not your biological kids, even though they’re not babies, and despite not even wanting children before them; they’re your pride and joy.
Satoru finds the strength within him to smile fondly. He knows you would be pushing him in Megumi’s direction if you had any semblance of consciousness right now.
Satoru tries not to frown at the reminder of your state.
Turning on his feet, Satoru steps away from the door, even as his heart cries out for him to return to your side. The remainder of his heart calls for his son – his boy, who is beginning to worry about his mother. It’s evident in the way Megumi shifts on his feet, fiddling with the soft fur of his stuffed pup.
When Satoru drops to his knees in front of Megumi, he spreads his arms wide in an invitation. He doesn’t expect Megumi to accept; he rarely does. Satoru is affectionate, it’s a sentiment clear as day, and Megumi usually prefers to avoid physical touch. He’s shy that way.
So Satoru is fondly surprised when Megumi toddles tiredly on his feet as he leans into his father’s embrace. Wrapping his arms tight around his son, Satoru stands from the floor with his heart beginning to return to a normal pace. Having Megumi in his arms is a comfort that soothes some of his rampaging nerves. The knowledge that the rest of his family is safe is a notion that eases some of the tension in his shoulders. Satoru knows he won’t find sleep for the rest of the night if he doesn’t peek into the girl’s room later to ensure they’re sleeping peacefully.
“It’s alright, Gumi,” Satoru whispers softly, stroking a hand through the spiky strands of the boy’s hair. Megumi rests his head on Satoru’s shoulder with a sigh. “Why did you wake up so early, bud?”
Megumi wraps an arm around Satoru’s neck, the other still cradling his pup between them. He closes his eyes and sighs sleepily once more as he mumbles in response.
“Heard Dad yell,” he tiredly whispers. He fiddles with a strand of Satoru’s white hair before he sheepishly continues. “I was scared…”
Satoru tries his hardest not to tease the boy. He knows it’s in his nature to make light of situations with humor, but Satoru also understands that this, perhaps, is not the time. Despite wanting to make Megumi feel better by laughing off the problem, Satoru also remembers the horrible strike of panic that had bolted through him when he heard Suguru yell.
Waking up to Suguru crying out for you as you collapsed was horrifying, and Satoru can only imagine how frightening it was for Megumi.
“Oh Gumi, I’m sorry,” Satoru whispers, rocking on his feet in an attempt to comfort the boy. Even though Megumi isn’t a baby, Satoru cannot help the instinctive sway of his feet as he runs a hand through his hair. “Dad didn’t mean to shout, pup. He was just worried about Mom.”
Megumi nods softly, snuggling closer to Satoru’s chest in a way that makes the father’s heart ache.
“Can I… Can I help?” Megumi quietly questions, words spoken only for his father to hear. “Mom always makes me feel better when I’m sick.”
Megumi mumbles something else; something that sounds like ‘don’t wan’ mom t’feel bad,’ but it’s muffled into Satoru’s neck and he barely catches it.
Satoru smiles despite the panic still roaring in his chest. The way Megumi calls you ‘mom’ and Suguru ‘dad’ has always made him a little emotional. It took more than a year for Megumi to truly grow comfortable in your makeshift family, but eventually the boy’s cautious exterior melted away into what he really was: a kid looking for a home – a family. He was abandoned for God’s sake, Satoru knows the kid was guarded when he found him. And he had every right to be.
But in just a few short years, Megumi has begun to call Tsumiki and the twins his sisters and on rare occasions, he’ll call Satoru his father. However, he knows those nights will always end in Satoru smothering him with affections and playful teases so he refrains from doing it often. Satoru does not take offense; he knows Megumi is shy.
“Yeah, she takes good care of us, huh?” Satoru murmurs fondly as he rubs a hand over his son’s back.
Before Satoru can reassure Megumi further, he’s interrupted when Suguru lets out a relieved sound over his shoulder. It’s a strange sort of combination of a sob and a gasp, but Satoru hears it all the same.
“Sweetheart…?” Satoru hears Suguru call, voice brighter but still wavering through the short syllables.
There’s a muffled sound of shuffling, then a groan and a cough before Suguru is concealing his tears in your neck.
Satoru exhales with relief, shoulders sagging as his eyes slide shut. He rubs a hand over Megumi’s back in the hopes the boy doesn’t see the fear slowly seeping from his father.
Inside the bathroom, Suguru clutches your hand tight to his chest, squeezing it thankfully and burying his face in your neck as he bends over you. Blinking slowly, you huff a choked breath and shakily reach upwards to lay your palm over Suguru’s head. Tangling your fingers in the mess of loose, dark hair you sigh deeply through your mouth. It’s a relief to feel Suguru bent over you; his weight presses into your chest and grounds you as you come back to consciousness. Though you’re still dizzy and a bit panicked, the feeling is beginning to leech from your limbs like poison from a wound.
Waking up was startling, and there’s a lingering sense of fear buzzing beneath your skin. It frightens you, and you clutch tightly onto Suguru with a tremble. The pain still twists in your stomach, but it’s nothing compared to how you felt before you passed out.
“Suguru…”
His name comes out in a sort of pleading cry, not unlike a frightened child, but you cannot help the way you long for his comfort. Tears leak from your eyes, another wave of salt that you find you cannot control.
Suguru responds to your call with a sweet coo, pressing a wet kiss to the skin of your throat and rumbling deep within his chest to reassure you that he’s still there. Brushing your hair from your eyes, Suguru leans away to peck your temple and stare down at you with relief painted across his features.
“You’re alright, honey. ‘S okay,” he whispers warmly, soothing the tension in your brow and brushing your tears away. When your eyes crack open, staring up at him with waning fear and confusion, Suguru huffs a laugh and smiles widely. “Hey, pretty girl.”
Your lips quiver upwards into a sort of sad smile, but Suguru is happy to see it despite the exhaustion in your features. Squeezing his hand, you look up at the dark-haired sorcerer as his hair falls into his eyes.
“Wha’ happened?”
Suguru looks over his shoulder, mouthing something you can’t hear, but you know he must be talking to Satoru. The muffled sound of his voice barely reaches your ears as you wade through the stream of your consciousness. You fight to keep Suguru in focus, and fortunately manage to cling to the waking world as sounds finally return to your senses. Something that sounds like “she’s alright, Toru,” rings through the bathroom, and then there’s the sound of Satoru replying but you can’t hear it. Your heart calls out for your other husband, and you squeeze Suguru’s hand in question.
“You passed out, darling,” Suguru looks back down at you with a sad smile. He hushes you when you wiggle, trying to sit upright. “Careful, love, careful. You scared the shit out of me, you know?”
Shooting him a sorry glance, you allow Suguru to gently lift you to a seated position every so slowly. He leans you against him, his thick thighs on either side of your hips as he lets you rest against his chest. You nod slowly as he delicately pulls your hair from your face and wraps his arms around you.
“Sorry.”
Suguru shakes his head with a hum.
“Don’t apologize, baby,” he whispers. “I’m just glad you’re awake. Are you feeling alright? How’s the pain?”
You slouch into his chest, wrapping your arms around your waist and nodding as your eyes slide shut.
“‘S not so bad. Where’s Toru?”
Suguru’s heart clenches sweetly, feeling warmed by your desire for Satoru. He adores the two of you with his entire being, and watching both of you always strikes a fond chord within his chest.
“He’s taking care of Gumi,” Suguru murmurs, looking down at you with a lovesick expression you cannot see. When you sit up straighter, Suguru accommodates your position with a scooch of his hips and his arm falling into your lap.
“Gumi’s awake?”
“Yeah,” your husband responds quietly. “I think he heard me shout when you fell. He came in a few minutes ago, and Satoru’s comforting him.”
Suguru sounds a little guilty when he mentions his outburst. He’s not embarrassed by any means; it was a cry shouted in overwhelming fear, so he feels no bashfulness for the tone of his voice. He does, however, feel guilty that he managed to wake his son in the process.
“He’s worried about you, I think.”
We all are, he almost finishes.
You sag into Suguru’s chest, weight sinking into the warmth of his bare skin as you slide your hand over the arm that is wrapped around you. Just as you begin to speak, Satoru peeks his head through the doorway. His body is twisted, obscuring Megumi’s view inside the bathroom. When he finds your gaze, Satoru visibly softens.
“Hey, sweet girl,” Satoru rumbles, a fond smile spreading across his features. “You feeling alright?”
You nod tiredly, resting your head against Suguru’s clavicle.
“That’s good. We were really worried, honey.”
Your sigh through your nose, trying to give him an apologetic look, but the fatigue is beginning to pull your eyelids downwards. Satoru’s gaze softens even further, if at all possible, and he continues.
“Can Megumi come in? He’s worried about you,” Satoru reiterates his partner’s words, clearly holding the boy against his chest as he speaks.
You’re about to nod, more than happy to cuddle with your son, when Suguru interrupts. Stroking a hand over your hip, the long-haired sorcerer hums.
“Let us come out, love,” he responds, already beginning to shift you in his lap. “We can talk about this in bed. I think everyone’s a little tired right now.”
You nod in agreement, feeling the ache of your muscles cry out for rest. Your arm trembles weakly when you lift your hand, and you frown at the lack of strength in your limbs. Suguru hushes you sweetly as he shifts you to sit upright as he stands.
“You’re exhausted, baby. It’s normal.”
Satoru murmurs his agreement on the other side of the doorway, already beginning to step away to set Megumi in the middle of your massive bed. He ensures the boy is comfortable as he stands upright, stretching his shoulders and turning to watch as Suguru hoists you up onto his hips slowly. Satoru figured he wasn’t going to let you walk after what happened the first time you tried.
Suguru’s hand is carefully cradling your head and the other wraps beneath your hips, keeping you stable and pressed against his big frame. The sorcerer is incredibly strong from the years of exorcizing curses and teaching students, so carrying you to the bed, despite your muffled protests, is an easy venture.
Setting you on the bed gently, you shift quickly to face Megumi as you lay back against the sheets. You nestle quickly into Suguru’s previous place in bed, already reaching out for your son as he nuzzles forward to latch onto your front.
“Hey, hun,” you whisper kindly, brushing dark strands from Megumi’s eyes. “What’s going on, Gumi?”
The boy looks up at you, still clutching his Divine Dog plush, and frowns. Your head tilts in confusion, and you watch as Megumi makes himself comfortable in your arms, cuddling close to your stomach and closing his eyes. You don’t protest, heart warming sweetly as the boy snuggles close. He doesn’t usually cuddle like this, so you’ll take every opportunity to hug him as you can.
“Dad said you’re feeling bad,” he mumbles into the stuffed dog now pressed between you. “‘M gonna make you feel better. Like you do when I’m sick.”
You smile. Heart full, your eyes slide shut as you lean forward to press a gentle kiss to the tired boy’s forehead. He mumbles something else, but he’s fading fast. Soon he’s lost to slumber, and he snoozes peacefully in your embrace.
“Thank you, Megumi,” you whisper as you press another soft kiss to your son’s forehead. Looking up at Satoru with tears brimming in your eyes, you find the white-haired sorcerer is already looking at you. There’s fondness spilling from his smile and a sweet gentleness in his expression, and he looks utterly lovesick.
“Hey,” Satoru murmurs.
“Hi.”
The Six Eyes user steps away for a moment, nodding at Suguru who whispers that he’s going to step out to get you water and your medicine. Satoru knows he’s also going to check in on the girls, so he gives Suguru a smile and a peck on the cheek as he slides around the bed to your back.
When Satoru climbs into the silken sheets, he immediately presses his bare chest into your back and wraps his strong arms around you and his son. Pressing his soft lips to the nape of your neck, he pulls you and Megumi into his chest as he relaxes. You feel the familiar tingle of Infinity wrap around you and smile tiredly. Satoru is always protecting you and your family. The technique easily wraps around you and Megumi in addition to Satoru, and you know the sorcerer will easily adapt it to cover Suguru soon too.
That’s just Satoru; he’s always looking out for his family.
When you sigh deeply and snuggle back into your husband, Satoru presses another gentle kiss to your neck and you feel him shake.
“Toru?”
The man shivers again, and when you shift, turning slightly to see his face, your face crumples as you find tears leaking from Satoru’s eyes. He looks utterly relieved, but his mouth still twitches in a sad sort of way and his sky-blue eyes shimmer with salty tears. For all his silly teasing and childlike humor, Satoru rarely looks so… scared. He’s always so strong – the strongest. But there are truly rare circumstances in which Gojo Satoru is confronted with true fear.
Circumstances in which he remembers how vulnerable his family can be.
“Oh, Satoru…”
Satoru buries his face in your neck again, concealing his tears as he calms down.
“I was so worried, baby. Oh my God,” he mutters into your skin. “I woke up and you were on the floor and Sugu was crying…”
You pull his hands tighter around you, careful not to wake Megumi. Stroking gentle circles into the muscle of his forearms, you coo a soft sound to soothe him.
“‘M alright now. Just a little bit of pain, it’s mostly gone.”
Satoru nods, clinging to your back as he finally grounds himself through the gentle touch of your fingers on his skin. He pulls you closer, seeming as though he’s trying to fuse his body to yours with how tight he binds himself to you. It’s the soft contact of your skin against his that soothes the beat of his heart and loosens the tension of his muscles. The tingly feeling that lingers on his skin where you press into him leaves trails of prickled nerves in their wake, as if physical contact between your bare skin incites a biological reaction beneath his flesh.
With you in his arms, tightly wrapped in his embrace where he can feel the pulse of your heart against his chest, Satoru finds serenity.
You’re here. And you’re safe.
Satoru chews on his lip as he sighs.
“I’m sorry, baby,” he whispers, tucking his chin into your neck and dropping a hand to rub his palm over the side of your stomach. It’s uncanny, you think, that he already knows exactly where it hurts without you mentioning it. Satoru pays far more attention than people give him credit for. “I’m sorry I can’t do anything more to take it away.”
You shake your head, fatigued eyes closing as you focus on the feeling of Satoru’s big hands and the gentle circles he massages into you.
Satoru continues in a voice uncharacteristically weak for the Strongest.
“You were… alone and in pain,” he mumbles, guilt seeping into his tone as he frowns. “And I didn’t even know – we didn’t.”
Satoru carefully pulls your hair away from your neck to press a kiss to your bare shoulder and then one more against the skin of your throat. He inhales a wave of your familiar scent and flutters his eyes closed as he sinks into your back.
“I don’t want you to suffer alone, my love.”
You stroke a contemplative finger over his arm, humming quietly as you shift Megumi in your arms.
“Okay, Toru,” you whisper as you find the mirth in your exhausted figure to tease him. “You want me to wake you up at the ass crack of dawn when I’ve got cramps?”
Satoru muffles a small chuckle into your neck and you enjoy the feeling of his chest shaking with the feeling.
“Yeah, baby. Even then. Especially then.”
You huff a breath of laughter through your nose, only stopping when you swiftly inhale as another cramp seizes your abdomen. It’s strong, but nothing like the ones you were having earlier. You can manage these. Satoru leans up on his elbow when you stiffen, lifting his other hand to check the hot water bottle Suguru had returned to your stomach.
When Satoru pulls the bottle away, his brow furrows and he hisses when he finds faint hints of inflamed skin where you’ve pressed it too tight to your belly. It’s too hot and too close, he realizes. It’s burning you.
Satoru nearly sits upright quickly, his frame leaning over yours as he gasps faintly.
“Honey…” He’s on the verge of scolding you, but he sees the way you wince through another cramp and decides against it. Satoru looks back down at the hot water bottle and the way you clutch it tightly to combat the waves of throbbing in your belly.
“This is burning you,” he states it obviously.
“Hmm,” you respond in agreement. “Feels nice.”
Satory looks down at you with pain in his features, face twisted into a frown and his crystalline eyes a shade duller.
“Baby, it’s hurting you – How can…?”
Satoru trails off. He thinks about how terribly you must have been aching to continue pressing something that was burning you into your skin. How agonizing were your cramps that the pain of the burn was comforting?
Satoru lays back down, a frown on his lips as he wraps his arm back around you and lays his palm over the hot water bottle. If you’re going to keep it pressed into your skin, then he can make sure it doesn’t get too warm by leaving his hand against it.
“My god, baby… I’m so sorry,” he whispers. He can’t even comprehend how agonizing this must be for you. Satoru kisses your nape again. He apologizes again, and you almost miss the silly Satoru who would typically be teasing you right now. “I’m sorry I can’t do anything.”
You yawn, finally feeling exhaustion begin to drag you beneath the slow, rocking waves of slumber. Pushing yourself deeper into your husband’s embrace and squeezing your son tight once more, you sigh out a few more words before you finally sink into sleep’s warm hands.
“You are doing something,” you murmur, pulling his hand up to your mouth to kiss it tiredly. “You’re here, Satoru. I don’t think I can do this alone anymore.”
When Suguru climbs back into bed on Megumi’s other side, he kisses the fond smile on Satoru’s lips and teases his partner about the stars in his eyes. The crystalline-eyed sorcerer refutes Suguru’s quip by reaching out to gently slap his bicep, but it’s all in mirthful adoration. Suguru leans over to press a tender kiss to your sleeping brow and then one to his son’s, before he settles behind Megumi and sighs contentedly.
“She’s sleeping?” Suguru whispers, voice barely carried through the quiet night. He stares down at your face, the peaceful expression on your lips far more comforting than the limp, placid look of unconsciousness he remembers. Satoru watches his husband watch you, adoration swelling in his heart like an ebbing tide. Unbound by all but the moon, Satoru swears his heart only grows fonder each time he truly takes in his partners.
“She’s sleeping,” he confirms sleepily, still staring up at Suguru with warmth in his chest.
“Good.”
Suguru’s response is sighed out thankfully, his shoulders deflating with the tension easing away from his muscle. He wraps his arms around Megumi and pulls himself closer to the boy, smiling when he easily cuddles into his father. Not often does Suguru have the opportunity to snuggle his son, so he eagerly grins as Megumi’s sleeping form curls near.
“She’s early,” Satoru mentions plainly from across Suguru. “She wasn’t supposed to start until next week.”
The dark-haired sorcerer nods, recalling the date he marked in his phone. He and Satoru both kept track; it was easier that way. At this point, though, Suguru is certain he doesn't need his calendar to know these things. Your anniversary is ingrained in his memory, as is every one of your important dates. The three of you have spent more than a decade together, this kind of instinct was certain to develop at some point or another.
“Yeah,” Suguru sighs. He twists slowly to glance tiredly at the clock on his bedside. “She took some painkillers at midnight, can you write that down? If she wakes again she can take some more.”
Satoru nods, a hand already reaching for his phone on the nightstand behind him. It was second-nature to jot down the time you took medication. You always tried to keep track yourself, but sometimes noting the time slipped your mind, and you were left trying to recall the last time you took them. Satoru easily adds the time to his notes, and marks the date in his calendar to adjust your future schedule later. He checks that there’s still a bottle of your preferred painkiller in his nightstand drawer and a granola bar to eat when you take them.
When he sets the phone down, he looks back over at Suguru, who sleepily stares down at your sleeping face. Nothing seems out of the ordinary, but Satoru can see where Suguru has slid his around yours, pressing two of his fingers into the pulse point of your wrist.
He’s counting your heartbeats – making sure you’re still breathing. Because Suguru remembers the way you crumpled all too clearly.
Sighing a shaking breath as he familiarizes himself with the gentle thump of your lifeline, Satoru slides a hand around you and his son, and he lays it across his lover with a sad smile. Suguru looks up with tired eyes, the dark bags beneath his lashes barely visible in the night hour. They match the ones beneath your eyes and probably Satoru’s too.
“Hey,” Satoru mumbles. “She’s alright, Sugu.”
Suguru nods, finally sinking into the mattress and pressing a final kiss to Megumi’s hair as he makes himself comfortable. Satoru does the same, delicately squeezing the hand still wrapped around yours and cradled sweetly at your chest.
“We’re alright,” Suguru confirms, eyes finally sinking closed as he falls back asleep with part of his family in his embrace. “We’re alright.”
In the morning, you awake to two Divine Dogs guarding the foot of your bed. The white one sits with its side pressed against the dark one, and both face the bedroom door. You awake alone in bed, but you can hear distant voices quietly chatting in the hall. The little pups’ ears are perked upwards, diligently listening to the conversation outside.
When you sit up, the white one flips his head over his shoulder, happily sticking his tongue out in a joyful expression. He pants and his tail thumps against the floor as you beckon him closer.
“Good morning, pup,” you laugh as it wiggles excitedly when you scratch behind his ears. The dark-coated one quickly follows soon after, eagerly joining his brother for scratches. “What are you two doin’ here?”
The pups tilt their heads with that silly, tongue-out expression, as if communicating their eagerness. You stifle your laughter and carefully stand from the sheets, making your way into the kitchen with the dogs on your heels.
When you enter the living space, you find Suguru on the couch with the twins on either side of his lap. They’re eagerly leaning over one of Suguru’s books, excitedly murmuring amongst themselves as their father reads aloud. It’s one of his novels, and you chuckle knowing that the girls were probably the ones to pick it out for him to read.
Tsumiki is at the table, leaning over some kind of puzzle, and her brother is at her side. She looks up as you come in, offering you a gentle smile and a nod before she goes back to her puzzle. Megumi sits on his knees in the chair, spiky hair unkempt as always and a look of concentration on his face.
Before you can speak, Satoru is pressed against your back, greeting you with a gentle hum.
“G’morning, sweetheart,” he coos, pecking your cheek and sliding a croissant into your hands and holding a glass of water in his other. “Eat up. You can take some medicine when you’re done.”
He always makes sure you eat before you take your medicine. Your heart thumps happily beneath your ribs, and you smile in return, pressing a sweet kiss to his lips and thanking him.
“Thanks, love.”
Satoru hums and slides his free hand over your waist to squeeze your hip. He opens his mouth to say something, but the twins interrupt him. They gasp, standing from Suguru’s lap and eagerly racing over to greet you.
Suguru chuckles, but still gently chides them as they race into the kitchen.
“Careful!”
Nanako and Mimiko crash into your hips with eager sounds, each grabbing you around the waist and crying out.
“Mama!” They cry worriedly, scrambling to hug you as they bury their faces in your legs. They start pushing you towards the couch with little hands, earnestly murmuring things you cannot make out. You look up at Satoru with a confused furrow of your brow, and your husband only chuckles and holds his hands up in a gesture of ‘i’ve got nothing to do with this.’
When you reach the couch, the girls scramble to make you sit beside Suguru, who is all too eager to wrap an arm around your shoulders to accommodate your arrival.
“Good morning,” he hums as he pecks your temple.
Nanako is already sliding a blanket into your lap as Mimiko climbs onto the couch, depositing herself at your side and snuggling into you.
“Good morning,” you respond, watching with a fond smile as the girls make themselves comfortable in your lap. “What’s all this?”
Suguru chuckles, reaching out to gently ruffle Nanako’s hair as she smiles. The girl looks up at her father with a beaming grin and snuggles closer to you when you wrap an arm around her to keep her stable. Your husband leans closer with a smile, murmuring quietly for only you to hear.
“Megumi told them you were sick last night,” he fondly whispers. “I think it worried them.”
Your head tilts in an expression of tenderness, and you give Suguru a knowing look before you lean down to kiss both your girls on the forehead.
“Good morning, girls,” you rumble happily. “I’m alright, sweethearts. Megumi and your dads took very good care of me.”
Mimiko wiggles closer, snuggling into you and her sister with big, worried eyes.
“Really?” her tiny voice murmurs. “Megumi-nii said you were hurting.”
You can almost hear the pout in her voice without looking down at her. Giggling happily, you stroke a hand over her head and squeeze her close.
“He even brought out his puppies!” Nanako quickly adds, squirming as he attempts to find the two Divine Dogs. “He said we couldn’t come in to see you because you needed to rest.”
The two Shikigami have already returned to their owner, sitting on either side of Megumi’s chair with wagging tails and their tongues still sticking out. The boy is absentmindedly petting one while he focuses on the puzzle, shyly avoiding your gaze as if embarrassed.
Your heart clenches sweetly again, and you turn to look at Satoru with a knowing smile. The sorcerer returns the look as he steps into the kitchen for your painkillers, ruffling Megumi’s hair as he goes. The boy lets out a muffled sound of discontent, but he doesn’t fix his messy strands.
“Did he? That’s very sweet of him.”
You and Suguru do not mention the faint pinkness of Megumi’s round cheeks.
When you lean into Suguru’s side, the croissant in your hand warm like your lover’s body heat, you sigh happily. The cramps are a faint memory now, even though you know they’ll return soon. For now, you can savor the warmth of your family.
“You’re taking the day off then, I suppose,” you look up at Suguru with an arched brow. Suguru smiles, leaning his head into yours to rest there.
“Yeah,” he sighs, cuddling close to you and the twins. “We all are.”
You suppose you can deal with the consequences of their unscheduled departure from work and school later… You’re far too warm and content now. When Satoru returns, sliding a glass of water into your empty hand and two painkillers into your other, he patiently waits as you take the pills. Then he sets the glass on the side table beside the mug of raspberry leaf tea he brewed for your cramps, and then he eagerly dives into the limited space left on the couch.
Scrambling into the twins’ space, Nanako and Mimiko giggle happily as Satoru presses kisses over their faces and squirms onto the couch. He plops Mimiko into his lap so he can sit at your side, laughing when the girls squeal happily. As you settle, you see Megumi look up from the table, shyly glancing away from his sister. Tsumiki gives him a knowing look as she climbs from her chair and eagerly walks over to Suguru.
Suguru is too happy to allow her the tiny portion of space on his other side, and Tsumiki slides onto the couch, her side pressed tight to Suguru’s. She offers you a good morning and laughs when the twins attempt to squirm away from Satoru’s tickling fingers.
Eventually Megumi stands from his place at the table, looking over at the couch as he debates something internally. A moment later, he stands in front of Suguru, shyly shifting on his feet as he looks at the only empty space on the couch.
Megumi doesn’t need to say anything, because Suguru is already lifting the boy into his lap with a smile. Saving his son the embarrassment of shyly asking for the affection he usually avoids, Suguru chuckles as he deposits the last member of his family into his lap.
“We could all use a day off,” he murmurs into your temple as he kisses you sweetly.
You sigh happily, soaking in the warmth of the morning sun and the laughter of your family.
“Yeah, that sounds nice.”
The moment is only interrupted when Megumi’s Divine Dogs, only pups at this age, launch themselves onto the couch, eager to join the snuggles. The seven of you dissolve into laughter as you try to maneuver the excited puppies, and you can’t ask for anything else.
“Megumi!” You laugh, trying to brush white dog hair from your face. “Control your summons!”
The boy only laughs happily as the dark-coated puppy wiggles into his lap.
No, he doesn’t think he will.
bonus:
gojo, looking down at reader and geto: you're so cute and pretty
reader, sleepily: I could beat the shit out of you
geto, nodding along: she could
gojo, lovingly: I know
a/n: no I am not back to writing just yet :')) I wrote this in a pain induced haze while having some terrible cramps so if you have terrible periods like me, this one is for you! this is purely based on my experience with cramps, and everyone is different, but I just wanted to write something for me :") I've never passed out but I've felt like it and I know it's super scary so I hope this can provide some comfort for you if you need it <3
ALSO this was written as comfort for jjk 236 :'))) bc everyone in this fic deserved better and I refuse to acknowledge canon
mmmmm… clubbing with roomie!gojo on the brain again. how he adamantly rejects every advance made on him throughout the whole evening. men and women alike all want a piece of him but he’s had his eyes stuck on you the whole time, stuck on the man who slung his slimy arm across your back. how the man whispered in your ears, bought you drinks, made you laugh, held you close and flirted and danced with you, all things satoru should have been doing with you
by the time you both get home later in the night, you’re pretty drunk. satoru helps you out of your heels and you’re rambling and giggling about this dude he couldn’t give a single shit about but he lets you talk about him anyway. you stumble into satoru’s arms as you hop off the kitchen counter to go to bed, and satoru kinda.. holds u for a second there. considers dancing with u in your shared kitchen, almost like how u danced with the stranger at the club except satoru wanted it to be softer, slower
you don’t notice the longing look in his eyes because you’re passing out in his arms the very instant your face hits his warm chest. so he figured he’d help you get ready for bed, changing you out of your clothes and into pajamas, averting his gaze respectfully. wiping off your makeup and brushing your teeth and tucking you in. he didn’t mention it at all the next morning — though, there is that little note satoru left you on ur nightstand telling you that he thinks wearing snoopy underwear to the club is a silly choice
being shamed for writing fanfiction at 30 by baby adults is rly wild for me. bc who do y’all think is making all the media y’all love so much??? it’s people in their 30s and 40s!!! they’re still making things and fantasizing and sharing it with y’all at their big age n y’all gobble it up! so leave me alone.
if you have the mindset where once you hit a certain age as a young adult, you have to give up all your interests because you’re an adult and indulging in anything that makes you happy is ‘childish’… all i’ll say is you are a very miserable person 😭
today is the last day kento will be able to love you in a way you can feel.
⊹ f!reader ⊹ no curses, marriage au ⊹ angst n nothing else ⊹ major character death. no happy ending ⊹ 1.4k ⊹ footnote. from my archive. i’m sorry. with this, i become someone i hate.
you’re always telling him ‘tomorrow is tomorrow.’
if he asks what it means, you reason it means you never want him to lose hope in the present by worrying about what comes next. his feet are already planted in ‘today’ so that’s where he should set his sights.
after some time, he reasons it means you’re a fighter through and through.
“i think today…yes, today.” a gentle murmur, distant and far away, as if you’re already witnessing the end. your voice, though fragile, is resolute. but still, a soft smile tugs at your lips.
“today?” kento squeaks, fearful and unprepared. “maybe you’re just tired, angel. don’t be so morose.”
“honey,” your expression is sullen as you gift him a sympathetic smile. “i feel the weakest i’ve ever felt. i don’t want it to surprise you. i don’t want you to deny this, leave it, and regret it tomorrow. please listen. please trust me. i…don’t have any more time.”
“but…i…”
i need more time. i’m not ready.
you stop him. “i’m happy the children came to see me. all of them together…it was such a beautiful sight.”
panicky tears pricking at his eyes, he questions nervously, “do you regret it? all of this?”
“never. i’ll never regret you. you’re the love of my life. i’m honored to have spent this lifetime with you.”
your smile is full, likely the last one he’ll ever see on your beautiful face. his eyes savor the sight. no words, only staring until it fades.
your eyes look so heavy, so full of an ache for sleep.
today. yes, today. no more tomorrows.
his heart sinks into the depths of despair, evading acceptance at all costs. he’s not ready. he hasn’t loved you enough yet. it was supposed to be forever.
he only needs a little more time, but as he watches your hands tremble just to lift ever so lightly and graze over his resting fingers, he knows time is the only thing you both no longer have.
he offers one, final grand declaration of love. “i don’t regret a single moment. i love everything we experienced. i will forever. everything we built. you’re my big love of a lifetime. i’ll carry you forever. until i’m with you. i’m so happy i got to have you, to hold you, and create all of this with you. i love you. i love you. i love you. i love you. there will never be enough times i can say it for it to express how much i do. i wish i could do it all over and relive it with you one more time. i’ll miss you so, so much.”
his voice is frantic, loving words tumbling from quivering lips as if the time he has left is already withered away into nothing right before him.
“good, i’m glad this has been good for you, too. so don’t live with any regrets. promise me. you still have so much time. go enjoy life. all the things we wanted to do, please do them. go to malaysia. i’ll be with you. i’ll miss you, but i’ll never leave you. i’ll be waiting.”
“o-okay, i won’t.” defeat clings to his breath.
you push. “promise me.”
“i won’t live with regrets. i promise. i’ll still do all the things we wanted to do that we didn’t have time to. i’ll still go to malaysia.”
his eyes sparkle with tears that spill over the rims, but you fall asleep with an adoring smile and he counts the seconds between every inhale and exhale diligently, always meticulous in how he loves you.
he clings to a desperate notion.
maybe not today? tomorrow is still tomorrow, after all.
when you wake, you’re dissolving before his eyes and he can’t stop the sobs that shake his body as he watches his hope for tomorrow shatter in an instant.
just like a casual blink of an eye, death is taking you from him.
your eyes will hardly open. your touch is not so warm anymore. you try to reach for him, but you no longer have the strength to move your hands, to grasp for his own. he takes up the mantle of gathering your delicate hand and cradling it, loving you the way he always has: enough for you both.
your voice is raspy and weak, but still, you give your all to question him. “was it…enough? all of this?”
the thumps in his chest crescendo in his ears, harder to ignore. he feels sick, dizzy, on the cusp of succumbing to vertigo, but he can’t fall apart. not here. not now. not yet.
“more than, angel. it was everything and more.”
he promises you and he means it with every fiber of his existence that remains, even though the biggest piece of him is leaving now and there won’t be many fragments of him left after it.
“good. i love you, nanami kento. i do. tomorrow is tomorrow, so don’t worry much right now…but…i loved all of our yesterdays. all of them.”
“i know. i love you so much. more than anything.” he’s trying so hard to hold in his sobs, but they’re still coming out as small, squeaky wails and hard sniffles.
“i know.” your voice is so tired. tears stream from your half-lidded eyes and you make your final request. “will you keep hold of my hand?”
without hesitation, he does.
he holds your hand for hours.
until it falls limp in his own.
the day is bleak, eerily quiet. he can’t care even if he tries.
his lips no longer have a tepid cheek to kiss. his fingers no longer have eager hands to grasp. his chest no longer holds the weight of your resting head as he wakes.
there’s so much nothingness and all of it is so quiet that it’s screaming to be filled.
with what? a listless ghost, perhaps? the accumulation of memories that belong to these ever-peering walls and now-desolate halls anyway?
all he hears inside the silence is the absence of your breath, of your voice, of your movements. he always knew it was coming, but it still knocked the wind out of him and stole all the words from the base of his lungs.
in love by 21, a bright future and a happy family by 27, a lonely father by 38.
there’s still so much he wishes you could have done together, but he promised you he won’t live with regrets.
he promised you it was enough.
he got seventeen amazing years with you, nearly two decades spent in loving one another, nearly two decades worth of a life built together, handcrafted from the ground up.
it was enough. it was more than enough. it was everything to him. the home you both built. your three beautiful children who are all becoming incredible individuals deserving of the pride you hold for them, spirits as radiant and wonderful as the person who raised them.
he’s so proud of the life you lived for the sake of yourself and the life you both lived together.
so he tries to shift his thoughts to all the things you managed to do together in such a short time you were given to love each other. there’s not a single moment he would change of it. not your youth. not your children. not your dreams that shot to life or were left abandoned in the dust for the sake of this love.
all of the changes you both made, all of the sacrifices, every single second of it was worth it.
he would do it all over even with the awareness that this is how it will end. the devotion he’s so certain of, the loyalty that never dared to falter…that does make him smile.
eventually, maybe the aching in his chest will dull enough that he feels like speaking again. right now, he just wants to remember.
it feels like the first day of a much colder life, but he knows there are still so many things to do. maybe he can’t do them with you, but he’ll do them for you, because of you.
yes, this is the first day of his life without you.
and he’ll live it well enough for you both.
until he can meet you again.
but if anyone were to ask him about his time and how he felt about you until your last shaky breath, he would say it was a wonderful existence and he got his happily ever after.
i hope everyone has been well <3 last few months have been a huge struggle mentally and i felt like i was in no place to write, but i’m finally learning to use writing as an outlet again. in the process of writing a few things that i’m quite excited about!! can’t wait for you guys to read :D
the man before you only huffs in annoyance, a pout forming on his glossed lips. you stifle a laugh as he sulks, his fingers working to untie the sad excuse of a bow that held your heel in place.
"let me try again," satoru half pleads from between your legs, "i promise i'll get it right this time."
in truth, you're enjoying the view of your boyfriend kneeling at your feet while he attempts to tie your lace-up heels. your foot is strategically placed between his legs, pretty white-painted toenails on display as he tries and fails to correctly strap up your shoe.
hell, he's kneeling in a tailored suit, and it's messing with your brain.
you're going on a date tonight - it's a fancy restaurant that satoru's been dying to try out. it'd been a pain in the ass to pick out an outfit, not because you lacked clothes, your boyfriend ensured your wardrobe was always filled to the brim with the latest fashion. no, rather, it was because he insisted you wear matching outfits.
his problem, however, was your choice of shoe. your favourite pair of black lace-up heels was your pick for the evening. he'd asked to do them up for you and you thought it was going to be a 30-second thing.
you've now been sitting here for 10 minutes.
"what the fuck is this shit?" he mumbles to himself, irritated. "why is this so complicated??"
another attempt and he's given up, leaning back a fraction to critique his work. horrible, as expected.
you laugh as satoru sighs loudly, leaning his head on the exposed skin of your thigh in exasperation. his white locks tickle your flesh, and you take it upon yourself to rake your manicured nails through his hair, fingertips scratching his undercut affectionately.
you think he's adorable like this - absolute putty in your hands. he nuzzles into your skin, leaving soft kisses on the plush of your thigh as you dutifully work your fingers over his scalp.
"how about i do one, and you can watch and do the other?" you suggest.
he perks up quickly, icy blue irises sparkling. he nods, a beaming smile settling on his lips. he shifts his weight and leans back to give you space.
"so, you take these, 'round the back, and twist, then under and wrap around the ankle, twist one more time, and - boom!" you finish tying the bow on the back of your calf and smile.
satoru's eyebrow raises immediately, an expression half of disgust and half of confusion finding its place on his features. he squints at you, "you expect me to do that?"
"precisely," you respond with a smug grin.
there's a subtle challenge in your answer, and satoru drinks it like water. a challenge? he'll do it, easy. he switches your feet, sticking his tongue out as he focuses on his task.
you're watching him, amused by the way his brows furrow in concentration as he repeats the steps. around, the straps are crossed around your foot. twist, the straps are twisted. under, the straps are hooked beneath the heel. wrap, the straps are crossed and taken around your leg. twist.
he's done it. a fast learner, indeed.
you can't help the way your lips curve into a smile, applauding his efforts. his crystalline eyes are on you again - how could they not be? you're nothing short of gorgeous in that dress - pleading for some kind of praise.
"thanks, babe." you say, bending to place a kiss on his collarbone.
(he hopes to god there's a lipstick stain there so he can show everyone in that restaurant who he belongs to.)
satoru, being the most amazing boyfriend out there, helps you get on your feet, hand resting on the small of your back as he guides you from your apartment to his car.
"you look stunning tonight, love." he says while grinning like a lovestruck fool as you slip into the passenger seat.
"i know," you answer, shooting him a smile that gets him weak in the knees, "you picked the dress, after all."
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