#like omg

[sirshankss]

Actually been dying to draw Fern

[ronanlysnch]

Sometimes people need someone to believe in them. And then they can do amazing things.

[local-lover-boy]

I'm going to fuck that nerd

[eraserbread]

go as a dream, pt. 2 ft. ex-husband satoru gojo✧

୨୧ - ten years together, five years married -- it's a long time. too long to be running on borrowed time glued together by the past. leaving is easy, but staying away turns out to be impossible. → afab!reader, modern/no curses!au, long-established relationship, mutual pining, smoking, heavy angst, toxic relationship dynamics, mention of pregnancy/failure to conceive, rough sex, drinking, verbal outbursts, mentions of body and relationship insecurity, emotional sex, spitting, dub-con (?), masturbation, oral m!receiving, face-slapping, unhealthy possessiveness, slight sub-drop, mentions of readers relative hair length in contrast to gojo's, mentions of readers mother, nsfw → w.c. - 18.9k {1.45 hour reading time}

a/n: honestly, i don't know what to say anymore. this chapter ruled my life, and it only took me two weeks to complete -- I was just so invested and emotional. thank u all for the love on part one, which you can re-read here :)) again, sit with this for awhile. it's a lot of words to ingest and a lot of emotions to feel, but I think they're good ones. don't be too afraid to keep reading <3 ily! -elly

listen to the soundtrack (updated for pt.2), revisit part 1 <3

A cigarette passes through the warmth of the summer air, mid-morning rays bleaching the burning tip an eye-squinting shade of red. 

Shoko brings it to her lips, tongue in cheek as she stares past Suguru’s head. Perched at the back entrance to the Science building, the small expanse of cars parked neatly under sun covers distracts her piercing gaze. She shakes her head, lowering the smoke to ash it quickly, then reaches to take a drag. 

“You don’t think it’s gonna affect us?” She continues, growling something of a sigh into the openness. It’s clear as day, Shoko is not having a good morning. You were supposed to return today, but so is Satoru. This divorce wasn’t even her problem, but the entire staff base was going to feel the ripples. Every single one of the 120 faculty members was aware of the marriage. Satoru is everyone’s favorite – you were his rock. 

“Only if you allow it to.” Suguru crosses his arms at his chest, squinting as he peeks behind him. The crunch of tires pulls his attention just like it pulled Shoko’s. “Look, I texted him the other night, didn’t get a response, and moved on with my life.” He shrugs, sharp shoulders soft against the blur of harsh light. “Satoru’s so easy to read that it’s shameful. He wants to be alone – needs it, too. It’s like he’s allergic.” 

Shoko hums, pursing her lips around another drag before handing it off to Suguru. She’s looking past his head again, thinking she recognizes the sleek, black car that pulls in behind the school. 

She does. It’s Satoru’s. 

“Speak of the devil,” She mentions, glancing up at Suguru when he peeks over his shoulder again. “That’s probably Jo.” 

“Oh-” Suguru shoves the cigarette between his lips, cheeks hollowing around the drag he sucks out. If Shoko was right, Satoru hated the smell of smoke – he’d complain with the biggest shit-eating grin on his face. It’s a habit; there’s a jump behind Suguru’s step as he walks to meet Satoru halfway. Shoko’s standing up like she’s about to head inside, light eyes squinted as she watches him shrink with distance. “Oh, shit.” 

“Whaaaat?” Shoko springs up, hand latched onto the metal. Suguru halts in his tracks at the end of the ramp, grip tightening against the rail. She can just see the look on his face in her mind; he doesn’t have to be looking over for her to know. 

“They’re getting a divorce, right?” 

“What do you mean – yeah.” 

“Okay, well, they don’t look very separated to me.” Suguru’s pushed out of the way as Shoko stumbles over her feet for a good vantage point. He’s not lying; you and Satoru are together. It’s just like things always were; he holds the door open for you, gaze dead ahead as he waits for you to slip out. That poor door slams shut – his body so packed full of hot tension they could feel it from so far away. 

You aren’t looking at him either, wary with a short peek over your shoulder when you emerge. Satoru is wearing a tight, dark, long-sleeved shirt in the peak of this heat – you’re wearing long, dark pants. 

Everything is right – normal. Why does it feel so wrong? Something is off.

“Go – go, we have to hide.” 

“What? No, I want to know what’s going on-

“Oh, he looks so pissed.” Shoko gasps behind her hand. “He’s wearing the glasses – Geto, the glasses.” 

“I see the glasses. Come on.” The cool air from inside the building soothes Shoko’s back like a thick, welcome blanket. Sure, inside would lead to hours of emotionally uncompelling work, but it’d be better than second-hand embarrassment. She’s wise enough to deduce that nothing good will come from this situation. 

Shoko ducks out, sliding under Suguru’s stretched arm, keeping the door propped. They both dart from the entrance.

“What a shit show. Someone is lying.” Shoko’s nearly running down the hallway, breath heavy in her throat. It’s still too early for students to be in yet, but a scattered few roam the halls, breaking their necks when the pair rushes hot past them. 

“Don’t bring it up; just act normal,” Suguru mutters, pushing the door to the staff room open for Shoko to step into. They know it's where you two would stop once you arrived – it’s where everyone is gathered. 

At least three heads turn at the dramatic entrance. 

Utahime stands up from her spot at the head of the table, a thick, leather-bound book open towards the end that she entirely disregards. “Shoko!” 

“Gojo’s are coming.” 

Two seats down from Utahime, back as straight as a pen, Mei annotates paper assignments, nails as red as the ink on the page. She hums – slow, controlled. “Didn’t you say they broke up?” 

“That’s the issue, just be normal.” 

They don’t have to tell Nanami twice – he takes his coffee, drops his conversation, and leaves the room like he was never there. Takuma watches him walk out on their discussion, sputtering like a fish out of water. 

“What is happening?” He turns around, eyes blown wide. “Suguru?” 

“Sit. Be normal.” Suguru snatches his shoulders, pushing him into the empty seat opposite Mei. His heavy touch lingers, and one hand fumbles in his back pocket for his phone. 

“Don’t say anything about the divorce, or I’ll strangle you,” Shoko speaks through gritted teeth, holding her hand in a tense claw in Takuma’s relative direction. He slumps down like he’s guilty, letting Suguru’s weight sink in. 

“I didn’t even know they were getting divorced…” He trails off, voice light as a feather. 

“Shut up,” Shoko and Suguru hiss at the same time, wary of the shadows that pass the covered windows every time one appears. She’s keeping an eye out for a pair of them – intertwined by the arms like you and Satoru always do. 

It never comes. 

The door clicks, creaks, then settles. You walk inside, your head heavy and your gaze low. Shoko gives a breath of relief. 

“Hi, stranger.” Suguru purrs. 

“Oh my God – you didn’t sleep?” Shoko clicks her teeth, turning on her feet, and she crowds you at the door. You feel pitiful standing in the way, arms crossed over your sensitive frame, still singing and sore from last night. There’s a crip in your walk – a numbness in your eyes. 

“Oh, Gojo.” Utahime pouts, standing to greet you, hiding no pity behind her words. It’s all over your face, you feel like shit. 

“Don’t call her tha-

“Whatever, it’s fine.” You cut Suguru off, knowing he has good intentions but belittled by the air of it all. Utahime goes in to hug you – your chest aches as she cradles it. “I guess it’s nice that everyone knows. I don’t have anything to hide.” You smile when she pulls away, avoiding eye contact so she can’t see the lie in your gaze. It’s bad enough you can’t even hide it in your tone. 

Shoko is chewing her bottom lip raw, poking and squeezing at it with manicured fingers. She wants to say more – wants to point out the stumble in your step and the drowsiness in your eyes. She wants to point out the fact that you came here with him, but knows it's inappropriate. After all, you and Satoru live together and share a car – it’s not unheard of that you two are still around each other. She just worries about the headspace it’d lower you into. 

Satoru, when he’s upset, is an entirely different person. Every ounce of heat in his soul drops, leaving icy lakes where his heart should be. He jokes through it all, making sly digs at Shoko’s unhealthy habits or how useless he thinks she is as a friend. Always, he’d laugh it off, then drop his expression like it was never there. He’s too good at being an asshole – it’s why she’s so wary. 

“You sure you’re good to be back?” 

You ignore her. “Hi Mei, Takuma.” 

“Hi, beautiful. Long time no see, hm?” 

“Good to see you, Gojo.” 

“Stop-” You reach for Shoko’s shoulder as she whips around to scold him. “I don’t care. I’m not changing my name.” 

She turns back to you, eyes wide with worry. You can hear the unsaid words vibrating off of her bare lips. They wash over you with the weight of the world. Everyone is staring. 

Utahime crosses her hands at her waist, clearing her throat as the dust settles in the room. Takuma peeks up at Suguru as he steps away, wanting to say more but far too conscious of the space they found themselves in. 

“Smart.” Mei hums, not having looked up from her work since you entered. She tilts her head, light, loose hair falling over the pressed, blue blazer over her shoulder. “Don’t let one bad Gojo ruin the name for you.” 

“You know you’re not helping, right?” 

“Bye, Ieiri. Your abrasiveness would be endearing if she were actually a child who needed support.” Though she threatens to walk away, Mei doesn’t move. She doesn’t even reciprocate the hazel daggers Shoko is sending her. “It seems this conversation is a bit suffocating. Why don’t you move it outside.” 

“Is that a suggestion?” 

“Let’s just-” Suguru jumps into action, peeling his dark eyes from his glaring white phone screen. “Come on – she’s right.” 

“We don’t have to talk about it at all.” You scoff as Suguru nudges both of you out of the frosted glass door. “You two are making this into a spectacle.” 

“Oh, I guess it’s fuck me then? Okay.” 

Suguru scoffs once the door closes on the rest of his colleagues.“Sho- are you just incapable of calm?” 

“I need a cigarette.” She decides, turning on the ball of her flat shoes. In one fluid, flustered stroke, she’s pulling out her pack and her phone, grumbling something likely aimed at Suguru that you couldn’t catch onto. 

“Is she serious?” You scoff, eyes burning a bit at the rush of emotion so early in the day. You’re still incredibly fragile from a silent, ugly morning with Satoru, facing his glaring and silent treatment all the way here. You felt worthless in his bed, in his car, and now you’re an outsider at work. 

Suguru stands with his hands stuffed in his front pockets, his knee jutted as the back entrance rushes open and slams shut. He squints against the light, bangs reacting to the breeze. “She’s just overwhelmed with the change of workload. She’s fine.” 

“Have you heard from Satoru?” 

“Oh.” Suguru flips his phone around in his pocket, biting over his lip as he feels your short stare burn the side of his face. “Texted a few minutes ago. He just said he was on campus – came in through the front.” 

“Like he’s avoiding me.” You sigh, gaze falling as you turn back to the hallway. Sugu’s close behind in every one of your movements, head tilting like a confused puppy. He knows you two drove together… Toru’s doing a pretty shitty job at avoidance, then. 

“You don’t even have to be in the same vicinity as him today. Don’t let it bother you.” 

You suck your cheek, hoisting your bag further up your shoulder as you weigh your options. You could go back to the break room and kill ten minutes before the day started, or you could duck into the bathroom and cry this energy out. Right now, the latter is the best option. 

“You understand, don’t you?” You turn around, peeking over your shoulder at his hunched frame. Your lips are shaking with a familiar rush of emotion. Yeah – you’re about to cry. “It’s so hard to see when you’ve lost your light.” 

Suguru stares at you like an emotionless, gutted fish. Lips parting to bring you back as you start to walk away. You take a few steps, then turn into the bathroom hallway, face beet-red as tears start down your face before you can hide. 

Your languid pace turns into flustered steps, hiding your running nose behind your fist. Through your peripheral, Suguru locks eyes with you just before you disappear. He feels backed into a corner – broad shoulders weighed down by bricks he didn’t place. 

Suguru sighs, eyes rolling in his skull as he turns back to the break room. Mei finally looks up when he pushes back inside, but he doesn’t care to notice. He needed to tell Toru what was on his mind. 

To: Satoru Gojo I actually want to die a little inside. I’ve never seen her cry before, please let this be the last time Oh, i’m so sick From: Satoru Gojo Wdym?  Are you talking about Gojo? She’s a literal train wreck, just avoid her

Satoru looks up from his phone, pulling his square-framed glasses from his face as he steps inside the building. For some reason, he finds a smile crossing his lips at the feeling of being back – he’s riding on a dangerous high, eyes flickering the white fluorescent lights. On his phone, he can see the three dots undulate across the bottom of his screen as Suguru responds, but he tucks it away just as the message appears on his screen. He wouldn’t be distracted right now – today was a big day. 

It’s the day every student waits for – the day when Satoru takes over office hours. In charge like that, he’s gentle and enthusiastic. Scarily good at his job, too. A small cult following had bloomed around him – girls even opting to take Nanami’s course so that they could sit a little closer to their beloved Gojo.

He feels on top of the world when he lets himself lead. It’s still unknown as to why he’s still just an aide, but you know why. Satoru is as straight-backed as they come. He doesn’t drink, do drugs, lie, or steal. He hardly cusses – never, ever getting mad… unless he’s around you. Their beloved Gojo becomes Satoru when 5 o’clock hits.

He’s grown up as the wonder boy, always wanting to do things by the book. He went to school and immersed himself in his studies to escape from his family, devoting all his energy and sanity to it. That’s why he graduated early – taking that first opportunity at freedom and education by the horns and riding off with it. It only took him two years of schooling to get his first career line as an aide at Tokyo-U, and he’s still there nearly eleven years later, hanging off of Nanami’s bootstraps – aging him twice as fast. 

 Satoru absorbs Nanami’s information like a dehydrated sponge, coming back to life every time a new nugget of knowledge plants itself inside of him. It’s all he lived for before he met you, and loving you wasn’t even the end goal. He never wanted to get married but couldn’t stand the thought of seeing you with another man. Even now, moping about the science hall, the thought bubbles in his throat like he needs to expel it. 

No, he wouldn’t think about you now. He needs to swallow it down. 

Then, the perfect distraction presents itself at the crossroads in front of him – Nanami and his beloved protégé, Yuji Itadori. He’s one of Satoru’s favorites, too – the only one who can carry his humor in non-humorous spaces. 

“Sir, I’m really excited about all the stories you’ll have to teach when you come back! Please bring us souvenirs.” Itadori is begging with his arms clasped, dangerously close to Nanami’s footpath. The older man cradles the coffee he brought from the break room, golden eyes flickering from the steam he’s nursing to his peer. 

“It’s much more than a pleasure trip, Itadori. I will be in and out of various Universities doing guest lectures with little time to rest or sight-see.” Nanami is typical, just as straight-edged as Satoru, albeit in a stricter sense. Nanami didn’t need anyone around him – Satoru needed everything. 

He needs this twenty-two-year-old kid to like him, which is why he approaches him as if they’re friends, not a teacher and peer. 

“Itadori!” Satoru rushes to the scene, sticking a hand in Itadori’s light locks and ruffling them unkempt. “What are you doing here, kid? Did you sign up for my office hours?” 

“I was the first person who put the request in! Kugisaki told me they were all full two minutes later… she had to settle for Nanami’s after his break.” 

“Settle?” 

“Ah – don’t take it personally, Nanamin.” 

“Don’t call me that.” 

The pair break out in devious laughter. Nanami rolls his eyes, ready to walk away and find peace in his empty lecture hall. Something stops him – it’s the way Toru looks at him with his long arm slung across Itadori’s shoulders. They’re nearly twins like this once their outward appearances fade away. They’re just two smirking idiots burning holes in Nanami’s aging face, not saying a thing. 

“I heard you two talking about Malaysia. I know you’re excited, and so am I.” 

“Mm, because you can pretend to be me for a full month – I know.” 

“I’m excited, too! Inumaki mentioned sneaking into the lecture in my place next Thursday… and I told him no.” 

“Good. Respectful.” Satoru mentions. Nanami sighs again. 

“Please don’t sneak students in while I am gone.” 

“I’ll make sure he won’t.” Satoru smiles like an elated child, pearly white teeth on full display. Bells don’t ring early in the morning like this, but at the turn of the hour, Itadori notices immediately and shrugs from Toru’s grip. 

“Sir! I will see you this afternoon.” He bows deep enough to show he respects the pair with his life, but not enough to make it odd or showy. Nanami nods him away, and then Itadori turns to Satoru. He goes in for a hug. 

“Do good work today.” 

“Yes, sir.” He nods, so sure of himself and glistening with the only praise he needs. “Goodbye Nanamin! Bye, Gojo!” 

Once they’re alone and Nanami tries to flee, Satoru finds a way to hook his attention once more. He stuffs his hands in his pockets and smirks, “You know, I’ve been meaning to congratulate you.” 

“For what?” 

“Well, isn’t your dream coming true? You know, any school in Malaysia would hire you without question. Japanese is so highly sought after there. So is science – especially mind science. You could get your hands on some cool research material. Everyone's willing to have their mind poked for a little bit of money” 

“You just know this course will be handed to you on a platter. Not that I’d have it any other way, of course. You spent the last decade fleshing out these units with me.” 

“Your encouragement means more than you know.” 

“I respect you, Gojo.” He nods, finally taking a sip of the coffee he’s letting get a bit too cool. “I won’t be your friend, but I respect your relationship with your students as well as your colleagues. You’re more fitted to be a Professor than a lot of them already here.” 

“But the system-

“Ah, the system.” Nanami rolls his eyes, hyper-aware of the time ticking away. He needed his dark, quiet time, and Gojo was pulling that from him with every chatty second. “Systems are made to be dismantled, aren’t they?” 

That’s what he leaves Satoru with, and the lingering smell of his shower from this morning. It makes him think for a moment – about his boss, or Nanami’s boss. The way they judge scores and hand out punishments when grades drop, and students drop out. To a high degree, they have nothing to do with lazy pupils or people who make poor decisions about their majors, but when they do fall short, it consumes them. There’s no need to rub salt in the wound, but it's common practice when teaching. 

Control is so fragile in this field – when you’re nurturing new minds. 

Toru slams the door shut on you with the same vigor he showed this morning. You two waited three hours after the day ended to shrug off back home together. The sun is setting in the warm sky – you’re quiet and nervous. Today had been shitty, but freeing in its own way. It gave you time and space, free from Satoru and his seedy, strict ways. You’re talking to people that you haven’t seen in a month, and the normalcy is sparkling off of you. 

What a shame that one look at Satoru’s covered eyes and you’re slinking back into insecurity. He was just so cold. 

He’s an iceberg personified – a walking flurry of winter snow that keeps flying under your jacket, making your skin sticky and wet. You hate it – you hate him, right now. 

Yet, you stay. You let him treat you like this because you’re the idiot. A flustered, selfless idiot who uses her body as ransom for a love it’ll never feel again. You wish you could go back in time and bottle the feeling of the last night you and Toru actually made love. If you close your eyes, you’re back there – back pressed into his sheets, his sweet name on your lips, and the climax just seconds away. He told you he loved you on a loop. Yes, he wanted you swollen with his babies, but that’s nothing abnormal in the heat of the moment. He made sure you knew just how much he loved you. 

When he gets back in the car, you’re rudely jolted from your head, numb to the noise but nervous about what would transpire once he settles so close. You know he doesn’t want to talk to you – he’s said it on multiple occasions on the way here, but that won’t stop you. You still pine for him – still yearning for a shred of attention, even if it’s platonic. You just don’t want him to hate you… never, ever. 

As stupid as it sounds, all you wanted was yourself back. If living a life known as only Satoru Gojo’s wife was your destiny, you’d kill yourself trying to run away from it but would stumble two steps back just to feel him again. 

What a cruel existence… you let your head fall into your open palm. 

Just like he promised, Toru doesn’t speak a word to you as he pulls off, glasses sitting over his hair so he can squint at the road. With both hands on the wheel, you can peek over and see just how tense he is. Thick veins protrude against his pale skin, leaving purpley streaks and tinges against the ocean. Of course, you’d only notice this. Your throat burns. 

“I… I ordered my new bed today.” 

“Will it be here today?” 

You pause, unsure of his tone. He just seems transactional – as if all the life had been sucked from his soul. “No,” You reply, soft as a whisper. It’s lost against the rush of the road. 

“Speak up, or don’t speak to me at all.” 

“You don’t have to be so mean.” 

“And you don’t have to be so goddamn pathetic, but here we are!” He explodes, finally free after holding in anger all day. He used to hate lashing out at you like this – he never really did, but you were the bane of his existence right now, pestering at his ear like an angry fly. “You cried in front of Suguru today. Do you see how terrible that makes me look? I can’t even pretend to care through text, and I shouldn't feel like the bad person, but that’s how it looks, doesn’t it?” 

“I-I didn’t cry-

“You’re gonna call him a liar?” He whips his head around, blue eyes wide and crazy. You can always nail down how he’s feeling with the glint of his eyes. They’re blown and dull – he’s mad. They’re bland and sparkling – he’s endeared. It hurts to know him so well. “You’re seriously going to sit here and call Suguru a liar to my face? Are you dense?” 

“Satoru, I’m sor-

“No! No, you don’t get to be sorry.” His grip tightens. He rolls his shoulders back, so tense that it’s almost painful. “You don’t get to be sorry… not when you’re the one that left. I’ve never felt hurt like that before – it tore me apart.” 

You’re crying now. You can’t help it – the emotion in this tiny car is so thick and hot that you feel suffocated. He’s always been one to swallow his pain or just ignore it through and through. He hates his family but visits them every year. He hates the commercials that interrupt his favorite show but will sit through each one willingly. He hates loud, sudden noises but doesn’t flinch at them. He hates you but loves you. He wants to hurt you, then turn around and heal it brand new. 

Right now, all he wants to really do is yell. It’d make him feel brand-new. 

So, that car ride home is the worst thing you’ve ever put yourself through. It’s constant – belittling, nasty, and loveless. He doesn’t stop. 

“I think it’s so funny – you’re the one telling me to be kinder, when I used to beg for that. Do you understand just how much I begged for you when you were already emotionally checked out? Nobody deserves that.” 

“I-I didn’t-

“You don’t get to speak – you get to listen.” He pauses, taking a breath, then starts again. “You didn’t even spare me a stupid meal – not unless I forced you. I had the swallow back the urge to call you a cold bitch because I felt some type of dedication to you. Call it respect – but it’s all gone now.” Another pause – he has to catch his breath.“You just make me sick. Truly… And when you crawl into my bed feeling lonely tonight,  I want you to feel as disgusting as I felt this last year.” 

Satoru has to stop again. He has to give it to you. “I don’t know… it just feels so good not having to worry about upsetting my wife.” He lifts his hands from the wheel, adding fitting air quotes around the phrase he lost access to a month ago. “I can fuck every person that looks my way, come home smelling like it, and always count on you to open your legs. Are you not ashamed?” He finally spares you a look, not even reacting to the silent, shaking sobs you’re trying to stifle. 

“I’m just so exhausted with being good for you. I’m exhausted with holding your hand and kissing it better when you never did the same for me. You’re cold, calculated, and cruel. So fucking cruel, and I want you to feel it.” Staring you down again, it feels like knives in your back. “Do you feel it? How much I hate you right now? I want it to hurt.” 

“Fucking classic. Pathetic, sad coward. I hate you. I hate what we have.” 

Somewhere, buried in the deepest part of yourself, you conjure up something to defend yourself. “I don’t want to be with you. Look at how you’re speaking to me!” 

“Oh, fuck me! For years, you’ve called me useless, pathetic, and annoying – years! Isn’t that your favorite term, “Stop annoying me, Satoru”? Huh? Am I annoying you right now? Well, I’m not sorry.” He’s flailing like a polite maniac, hair ruffled and disheveled as he nervously runs a hand through it, trying to use the road to balance out his emotions. His heart is beating so fast, you’re crying in his ear, and he’s numb to the core. “I’m not fucking sorry because you’re an entitled brat. My family took you in last time, and you were worried about them thinking you’re fat – they just wanted to cherish you!” 

Your jaw hangs open – those arrows hitting a deeper part of you. “That’s not what happen-

“I’m doing the talking – me!” He whips over at you, swapping hands on the wheel so he can dig a finger in his chest. “How ungrateful, and you still have the nerve to walk around with that Gojo crest on your skin.” 

“J-just stop!” You’re sobbing, trying to hide behind your hands as they cover your face. You’re pushed all the way to the door, cowering in on yourself to dodge his bullets. You’ve never seen him like this, and you never want to see him like this again. The Toru sitting to your right was not the same boy you married. “Stop, okay?! I get it!” 

“If you get it, you’ll get a hotel. You’d sleep on the bare floor and shiver all night, but I know you better than that. You want to be touched – you need to feel real, satiated, and wanted, right? What if I said I didn’t want you anymore? That your body disgusts me, and I’d rather use my hands?” Satoru doesn’t think he means what he says, but he speaks it like he does. If it hurts you, good. It can’t hold a flame to the years of emotional neglect you put him through. “Silence. That’s what I thought.” 

You’re a shell of yourself, existing with holes riddled through your exhausted body from his shots. It feels like once it’s over… It’s over. He’s done, finally empty from the thoughts making him manic. You know he hates you, now. He made it clear that you’re the reason he hates you, and it just makes your decision feel even more right. 

Your husband is gone. 

You sob while he calms down, heavy breathing morphing into contented sighs and occasional head shakes. You feel like a disobedient child after being scolded, ashamed, and wanting to melt away. You never wanted to speak to him again, but you’re so close. You let your eyes slip shut. 

Minutes pass — however many needed to until you’re back home. Toru doesn’t say much, but he is chewing his lip when he parks. “I’m sorry.” 

You scoff. “Now I really don’t wanna talk about it.” 

He huffs out a defiant breath, slamming that fucking car door again just like he’s been doing all day. Still, he makes the time to get out and open yours for you. 

“I didn’t mean that stuff I said about my parents.” He whispers, leaning against the doorframe, eyes lost somewhere in the deepening horizon. “Yes, I think you’re crazy… But so am I, then. I think it’s the fact that you bring it out of me.”

“Satoru, do not speak to me.” 

He thrusts his hand towards you, putting your coolness on display. “Look at you – cold as ice.”

“Are you fuck- Are you serious? You just called me every name in the book, then you try to lighten things up with your shitty sayings?” You reach past him, using the side of the car to stand up and not his outstretched hand. “Nothing is funny right now, Satoru. If you want to hate me, how about you hate me completely?” 

“If you want to leave, how about you leave me completely?” 

You shoulder past him, unable to hide that look on your face, he can’t see. Then, there are people around, and you two have to put a lid on your boiling emotions. Your lips snap shut. 

You two play the role of the emotionally detached young couple too well — you don’t even glance at each other in the lobby or in the elevator. He’ll peek over at you sometimes, wondering if you’ll be looking back. There’s nothing. 

He unlocks the apartment door when you step beside it. As the lock turns, words bubble in your throat. You swallow them down, Satoru lets you in first, thoughtful even in the thick of this seismic rift.

“I have some work to do, so you can figure out dinner.” He starts, key clinking on the hard countertop as the door draws shut. 

“I’m not cooking for you.” 

“Then, there’s plenty of laundry to do.” 

“Just shut up — do you hear how demeaning you sound right now?” You scoff, kicking your black loafers in the corner by the door for him to pick up. 

“What else do you do when we’re at home?” He’s mad, too, wanting to jump down your back for painting him into someone he’s not. “You don’t work from home, I do. I work from home after eight hours on campus — you make sure the home is neat and dinner is made! Why are you so hellbent on fighting me all the time?!” 

Desperate for a shred of control, you fight back. “I work from home, too!” 

“What are you so desperate to prove?!” 

“That I’m not your wife anymore, Satoru! I signed it away, it’s not who I am!” 

“Tell me, Gojo.” He lets himself calm down — two deep breaths, and he leans a propped arm against the countertop. “Who are you, then? Do you even know?” 

He wants a reaction so bad, calling you that name. You won’t give in, you spit venom and then turn your back. “I hate you.” 

“Yes, but answer the question.” 

“You stole every single chance of self-discovery I had.” You don’t know why, but you’re storming off to the spare room in hopes of peace. You know he’ll follow you, and he does, but he’d never undermine you and open the locked door when you don’t want him to. Not even after saying all that to you. He’ll let the lightness of his hair rush in the heavy breeze from the slam, blinking when that lock turns and the thump of your bag hits the floor. 

Still, he reaches for the knob, giving it one little shake. “You know, I really am sorry. There were better ways to air my frustrations out without resorting to name-calling and accusations.” 

“Fuck off Satoru.” You deadpan, absolutely no emotion behind your tone as you unbutton your blouse in the bedroom mirror. He heavy-sighs against the wood. 

“I’m gonna work for a few hours, then grab some takeout. I’ll let you know when it's here.” 

“Don’t bother.” 

Biting down on you is like crunching through ice, and Toru’s teeth are chipped and sensitive. He doesn’t fully realize that you’re retaliating in the one way he hates – by ignoring him. 

There is absolutely nothing Satoru Gojo hates quite like the silent treatment. Fittingly, nobody can dish it up like him either. There were times when you were clawing your skin bloody for an ounce of verbal support, all for him to turn his nose up at you and walk the other way. 

It’s what you have to dig out every time you think you want him back – that cruel existence when he’s too fed up to speak and the venomous words he thinks he can speak to you. Now, you have more material to hate him with. 

However, he does leave you alone for a few hours. It’s wholly welcomed – you’re able to get ahead in some work you’d have to finish tomorrow, kicked up with your laptop on your knees in bed. You have the windows wide open, using the sun as your clock to measure the time before you’d have to take a shower and resort to bed. 

Sometime before the sun fully sets, you can hear Satoru move about the hallway and inevitably shut and lock the front door behind him. You take that time to sit up in bed, rubbing your skin raw in the shower in less than five minutes, and melt into the couch with your current read tucked under your arm. Freedom like this in the space you developed is so serene and exactly what you needed. Satoru never lit candles, so when you sat up to light them, the wick crackled with unuse. Lighting fills the air – the softness of lavender spinning from the smoke like ribbons you can’t make out with the naked eye. 

You’re only wearing socks, wrapped in loose linen shorts and a patterned sleep top that leaves little to the imagination. Not wearing undergarments to sleep is just routine – you don’t know why you feel so naked under the soft, golden light. Perhaps it's the fact that Satoru is due to arrive at any moment. You couldn’t check his location, but when that lock clicks, you’ll be running back to the bedroom with the linger of your smell clinging onto the furniture. 

Or, maybe you wouldn’t run. Maybe you’d eat with Satoru and not pull away when his hand slips—your core trembles at the thought. You quickly open your book to will those thoughts away. 

When that dreaded lock clicks, you’re flying up from your spot, book slamming and heart racing. You have every mind to run for the hills – to curl up on yourself and will the night away with dreams, but you don’t move. You’re too late. That’s what you tell yourself. 

Satoru is slinking back into the apartment, wearing a dark hat over his hair and glasses hanging from the front of his shirt, which he pulls off and places next to his paper bag of takeout. He notices your head over the back of the couch, smiling softly when you turn to him with an unreadable look on your face. 

“I got Thai food, I know it’s one of your favorites.” 

You don’t respond. His smile fades into grey. 

“Food from Thailand-” He starts, unveiling the carry-out boxes hidden in their outer packaging. There’s a separate plastic bag he unveils, setting it next to it. “-And drinks from Japan. I got cold green tea – your favorite.” 

“I’m not hungry for anything provided by you, unfortunately.” 

“Unfortunately?” He scoffs, eyebrow raised as he moves about the kitchen, not bothering to plate the food, but opting for real chopsticks. It’s a stainless steel pair you got for his birthday – his favorite. “Don’t be hard-headed. Come and eat this.” 

You stare at him blankly, blinking once before turning back to your book. In your rush, you absolutely lost your page, and it was one of your final straws. You can feel the frustration start to build in your bones. 

Satoru closes in on you from behind, gaping mouth and disheveled, hatless hair everywhere as he takes a noisy bite of his rice noodles. He crunches on his broccoli in that savage way you despise, exhaling loudly as he slams into the couch next to you. 

Pulling your limbs close and turning your nose up at him, you scoot to the edge, begging for distraction from the words you’ve already read in front of you. You still couldn’t find your page. 

“Don’t be like that.” He mutters around a bite, manners completely thrown out the window when he’s next to you. 

“How about you don’t be like that.” 

“Like what? Cold? Cause that’s what you’re being.” Two seconds after his last, Toru shovels another loaded bite into his mouth, chewing quickly. “I like that sleep set on you. Reminds me of our first anniversary.” 

Satoru can never be vague – the entire idea is lost on him. It wasn’t in your head when you pulled this set out of your bag; it’s just what you packed to sleep in. Your options are so limited, and now you feel like you can’t run from them. 

“Close your eyes, then.” You cross your knees, trying to shrink yourself further so you don’t fall victim to his man-spread. He’s taking over the couch with his long limbs like he always has. Years ago, you didn’t care because it was just an excuse to be touching him all the time. Now, you’re running from it. 

Caving and leaning forward to put his meal down, he gives you a look over his shoulder – one that pulls your attention from the turn of a new chapter. “Don’t be like that,” he repeats, then his knee bumps your thigh. You suck in a breath. 

It feels like the end closing in again – dreaded but so familiar. 

Satoru blinks once, then licks over his lips. Your finger twitches as it washes over you again. 

Then, he turns around, wrapping a thick hand over your throat. You react with claws, reaching up to tug at his wrist. He’s not being gentle – your breathing is uneven and scared. Knees pressing to the couch to crowd you, Toru lets your book tumble off your lap when he pins you down. 

Your hands are shaking, eyes screwed shut, but completely unable to speak. He’s got you so vulnerable like always – reduced to a thing manufactured for his pleasure who would never, ever say no. 

After all, what’s a man to do? This was customary during the marriage, and if you’re willing to give it, Toru is more than willing to take it. He can read you well enough to know this is what you need – him. 

As he crawls over you, both knees pressed close to your thighs, his weight shifts back, and your legs quiver. He’s got your arms tied up, legs pinned, and body becoming one with the cushions. If you’d look, you’d see the tent in his grey sweatpants standing at full attention as he dominates you into wordless, fightless putty. 

You only need one more thing to seal the deal – that mature, deep, reassuring voice scorching you like fire on mealy stones. 

“Gonna give it to me?” He whispers, free fingers pushing through his lips into the warmth of his mouth. He’s wetting them over, unsure what to expect when he dips his hand into your shorts. Your eyes are squeezed shut, and that’s as good a sign as any to let him know you wouldn’t be an overactive sprinkler system down there. 

You don’t answer him right away – those two fingers twirl around his digits like he’s making out with them. 

Under this dull, shadowed light, you crack open your eyes and die at the sight hovering over you. 

Toru’s light hair hanging over his blinding eyes, the way the shadows dip in the sucked hollows of his cheeks and bounces off the strength in his hand. A small, silver bracelet rolls down his arm, hanging from pale skin so delicately that your insides tremble and shake. 

You squeeze them shut again. “Oh, my God.” 

“Well, Gojo, I’m not God.” He mutters, wet fingers falling from his lips. He trails them down past your waistline, using his instincts to push them right to your warm, waiting cunt. Easing you apart, he raises an eyebrow at the slickness that pools around his fingers, but his heart is pounding. You’re wet for him – growing wetter by the second, and he’s drinking it up like a greedy child, tongue darting over his lips again. “But it feels like you want it.” 

“Don’t wanna talk-

“Well, I do-” He cuts you off with a bite of his tongue. He gives you no warning, but you can feel his fingers start to slip lower, completely disregarding your pleasure and focusing on intrusion. Your breath picks up when his fingers slip inside. “-Wanna talk about it. It’s impossible to get off when you’re keeping your filthy mouth shut.” Punctuating his point, that finger inside of you curls mean against your shivering walls, hooking you like prey. 

“Ugh – God, Satoru.” 

“Yeah, let me hear it.” He eggs you on with a deep voice, sliding another finger inside of you. He waits a moment, grip tightening uncomfortably over your neck, before he’s fucking you on them – no mercy. He’s not tender with anything anymore. “God, Satoru, Jo, Toru, Gojo – I don’t care. Just say my name.” 

“Ugh – I hate you.” 

He leans down, lips hovering over yours as you slowly blink your eyes open. It’s startling… looking right into his pearlescent gaze, but it's so familiar that you could die. Then, he kisses you like everything is okay. You kiss him back. 

“I love you – Mm, I love you, baby.” He’s rejoicing on your lips, the lines between marriage and separation blurring in his hazed mind. “Love when we fight ‘cause it shows that you still care.” 

“Higher… H-higher, I wanna com-

“No, it has to be on my cock.” He cuts you off with little thought, thumb only barely lifting to ghost across your shivering wet clit. It shocks you from the blood, back arching painfully over the soft couch. “Just wanted to get you wet for me first.” 

If it were anybody else, you’d be cringing with the language Toru so easily lets melt off his tongue, but it drives you deeper. His hand on your throat – his voice in your ear. Yeah, this is why you married him. It’s just too good. 

You want more. 

“Then give it to me.” You growl, finally ready to be his again. You’re ready to hear your old pet names – you’d be good enough to hear them. If he just keeps this up… if he lowers you deep enough, then pulls you back up for air, you’re sure it’d be the one thing that reels you back. 

“Fuck – I love you. I love that I can hate you. I love that I can love you. I love that I can fuck you.” He sits up, face flushed from your presence. His thumb is back at his lips, studying the taste of your chapstick on his tongue. He looks so manic, like he’s entirely taken with your dark expression. 

Finally, that hand around your throat unravels, and you’re taking a deep, reassuring breath. “Don’t say that. Not right now.” 

“No, I know you want it hard.” He mentions if it was a fact, like he knows how repressed you are from a too-sweet marriage. The main thing Satoru adopted when you took his surname, was the absolute definition of love and gentleness. During sex, he never squeezed you too hard. During arguments, he’d nod and let you win. There is something there – something that drove that part of love out of your life. You’re just too blind to see it. 

“You don’t have to say it, I know you feel ashamed.” 

“C-can you just…” 

“Can I what?” 

“Get on with it.” You whine, hips bucking up into his pelvis. He loves trapping you like this, chests kissing when you take a deep enough breath. “I don’t want— don’t wanna talk about it.” 

His hand closes around the underside of your jaw, yanking your head to force eye contact. You’re like a puppet – pliable and jelly in his grip. You can’t fight back against his strength. 

“You don’t get to rush this. Not like before.” His voice simmers out, getting lost in his chest all gravelly and hard. His fingers dig into your jawline, leaving wells against the sensitive muscle. Your face twitches, eyes shut and burning. 

Then, he slaps you for some reason – on the face. 

Your lips part, eyes flying open as you suck in a breath. Your body is rolling under him, shivering with generational need for him to bury himself inside of you. “Ohh, God. Toru–

“Knew you’d like that–” another slap. You bare your teeth. “-Fucking shameless.” 

“D-don’t wanna hurt,” 

“Ye, you do.” He slaps you the other way, gentler on his backhand but strong enough to leave a sting. You’re wiggling from his grasp – his hot fingers tighten. “You were shaking in the car when I was demeaning you. You know, that’s what I was doing – demeaning you just like you do to yourself. If it didn’t feel good, you’d have burned my number the second you left.” 

“S-so mean…” 

“Didn’t mean all of it, but I meant most of it.” He leans real close again like he’s trying to push words into your gasping mouth. “Respect is earned, lust is given. You’ve gotta give it to me really good for me to even glance at you outside of these walls again.” 

Toru sits up, letting you free as both hands work at his waistband. He’s not stalling, and he’s so hard that his cock whips out with one tug at the crotch. He hisses as cool air hits too-hot skin. “Tell me what you told Mama, baby. ‘Toru is so cold, he ignores me’? What about, ‘He watches my every move, even my bank account’?” 

You don’t really understand what he’s trying to say; all you’re focused on is the pure, shiny white pearl falling over his fist as he works himself in front of you. You’re trying to look him in the eye – his shirt is between his teeth, now. He’s the perfect reflection of the lust you keep buried deep inside of you. 

“Bet you didn’t tell her about how I peeled the underwear from your skin and sucked them clean right in front of you on our wedding night,” his neck tenses as pleasure builds white-hot in the core of his hard body. “Or how I obsessed over that green tea you told me you liked on our first date – the green tea sitting in that bag over there you didn’t touch. Remember how I wiped the shelves of it and surprised you with a fully packed fridge? Or your ring, I had resized six times just because it kept falling off during sex, and I’d have to stop and put it back on? Hm… there’s that time I missed finals because I was hungover in a hotel room with you in Shibuya. The last time I drank, I drank for you.” 

You’re crying now. It’s a feeling you’re used to – crying at the thought of him and everything he’s done. The ring now sits beautifully on your finger. It’s so embedded into your being that you don’t notice you haven’t taken it off. 

“Yeah, how can you ignore that? It’s true love, I don’t care what made you run so afraid, but my love never faltered.” 

“If that’s all you want to see, fine.” The tears are making you angry – you’re frustrated by the build-up, horny and tense. Your face burns from his palms. “But I see the times you purposefully didn’t make me finish, how you told your family I was crazy for not wanting them to comment on my body, and the weeks of silence you gave me after.” 

“Insignificant things, sure.” 

“You’re not denying it.” 

“Because I did it, so what?” Toru’s starting to get himself there – scarily close to finishing from the flustered sound of your voice and the quickness of his fist. He quirks his neck, finally pulling open his eyes. “Ugh – what about when you told your friends how I wasn’t good in bed? The same friends I have to see every day?” 

“None of my friends are going to stroke your ego. You don’t like how I describe you? Fix it.” 

That cold look in his eyes burns as he hoists your hips up with one arm. There’s no real way to fuck you comfortably like this, so he’ll maximize his own pleasure, knowing you’ll cry and come for him at the drop of a coin, and the pain will only make you hotter. 

One long leg swings over the side of the couch, foot planted just the way he needs to keep his balance as he watches his cock disappear inside of you. You’re stretching so filthily around him – opening up to everything he has to give. You’re already blooming that delicious pink-red shade he loves so much. He’s so focused on the sight that he doesn’t notice the line of drool that slips from his shiny lips. 

“Put me down– this angle.” You’re whining, fingertips digging into the side and back of the couch like you’re trying to run away. He has your body pressed in a sick seventy-degree angle, your thighs burning and singing with pain at the awkwardness. 

“-is so hot, I know.” Satoru throws his head back when he’s buried all the way inside of you. He focused on this feeling right now – filing it away as one of his favorites. He feels so safe and surrounded like this – loved from the core of his being, even when you’re deadset against him. “Baby, you’re so flexible.” 

You’re sweating now, tears sliding hotter down your flushed cheeks. He’s rolling his hips, staring off into space as he brushes your cervix. Your hand flies up to push at his chest – you fall short. “S-stop! God, you know I hate that.” 

Toru finally looks down at you, gaze sparkling in turquoise hues as he watches you flail for mercy. “Feel good?” He rolls his hips again, breathing so delicately like he’s in heaven. “You’re so wet. Gonna make you feel me tomorrow.” 

It’s the last thing he truly says to you before pulling out halfway – mind on a mission as he fucks you so hard you’re seeing stars. All the blood is rushing to your heart and head – eyes rolled back like you’re on the verge of death as his thrusts send you deeper and deeper. He’s pushing you into the cracks of the couch, uncaring of how your neck is straining and face reddening. He’s fucking you with his eyes shut – perhaps imagining someone else, yet hopelessly in love with you. 

Your body is trembling as he continues the assault on your poor cervix – his eye twitching every time he slams into that soft little barrier. 

Toru has a sad affinity for this – being so deep inside of you that if he were any deeper, he’d be playing in your womb. He’s so obsessed with your body – he can’t help it. He loves your taste, and the way you sound, look, and feel. Every one of his five senses is wholly devoted to you, and still, you found a reason to leave him. 

He lays you down so well every night, and still you tell your friends he can’t make you come… To him, it sounds like a personal problem. He won’t let you fuck with him like that – not again. He’ll just fuck the devotion right back into you as hard as he can. 

Toru’s sweating now, too. It’s dripping off the hair sticking to his forehead – hips moving so fast they’re blurred with speed to the naked eye. Combined wetness makes those lewd squelches so much louder, and you’re deafened by your own desire. 

Sanity is starting to slip away from you. Satoru notices immediately. You’re not tearing at the couch as hard as you usually would – your grip falls loose. 

“Look at me, beautiful. Look at how well you’re taking me.” He grunts, taking breaths between each deep word. His voice is so lost – so wrecked, and it wrecks you. A whine punches from your throat. 

Toru gulps and starts again. “Hey, c’mon. Gonna be a good girl and stay with me?” 

“Too- It’s too-

“Shh, shh… Don’t talk, honey. Let me take care of you.” It might be a bad idea, but Toru has you completely mindless. He reaches for your clit and pinches it whisper-soft between his thick fingers just to elicit a different reaction from you. He smiles when your eyes fly open. Your whines are the only thing he can hear. “Do you know how good you feel – how good you’re making me feel?” 

“Mm, yeah. T-tell me.” 

“It’s so hot.” He starts. Moving both big hands to your waist when you start to slip. The sweat against your silk, all streaky and stained, is so slippery, Toru wishes he can rip it off. “You’re squeezing me so tight, it feels like home – God, it’s just so hot.” 

You’re crying even harder if that’s possible. The onslaught of his deep, precious voice during this rush of physical and mental stimulation is just too much. It feels like you love him so much – like you want to open up and give him babies, be his forever, but you can’t. 

You’re not even his anymore. 

Then it hits you like a cruel joke without a punchline – your orgasm, right to the face. 

At that very moment, all life is pushed from your bones. You go completely limp in Toru’s grip, dragging him down like dead weight. He scrambles, letting your hips fall as your body shakes and seizes with release. 

It’s never hit you this hard before. It’s never come to you so unexpectedly. 

You’re obsessed. 

“Oh, my God… Shit, you should see your face.” Satoru’s voice carries you through the mindlessness. He’s sitting between your thighs, pulling his leg behind him to finish you off in missionary. Your legs are too weak – they fall open and expose you like you’re a prize to be bid on. “So pretty… So beautiful; my perfect wife.”

“N-

“Yeah, I’m gonna cum so fucking hard. It’s coming – shit, ah-

Toru can only roll his hips because the expression of pure mindlessness you’re making is better than the ruthless way he’s screwing you. Seeing your strict demeanor crumble and burn with the feeling of him makes him so fucking cocky. He knows you now – has never seen this before, but will do anything to see it again. 

When he comes, he buries his face in your neck, getting drunk off your scent as he ruts into you weakly. He can feel himself flood and pool around his cock – leaving a sickly, shiny layer on him once he pulls out. It falls limp against your thigh, and for a moment, Satoru collapses into you. He holds you like a prize. 

You two must’ve stayed like that for hours – days have passed in your mind. You’re not worried about his crushing weight or his soft breath; you’re worried about what your friends will think when you tell them Satoru just gave me the best sex of my life. 

Shoko will laugh – Utahime will take pity. Yeah, you have to tell them. 

When he’s finally sitting up, it feels like your skin is being pulled from your body. You two are interconnected; he has to sit up slowly so your soul doesn’t detach, too. His hair is a mess – it’s the first thing you see when you creak open your eyes, feeling high off of something you couldn’t pinpoint. Maybe it was him – how you couldn’t get enough of that savory, sex-filled scent that wafts off his godly body and settles in your skin. 

This feeling —lost in a rose-colored daze —feels like love. 

“If you can sit up, I’ll grab you some tea.” He sits back, sliding his pants over his filthy skin. Of course, he has plans to shower later, but he’s hungry. That always comes first. “You want some Pad See Ew, baby?” 

“Don’t call me that.” 

He rolls his eyes, and finally, you two feel like yourselves again. You’re rolling over on your side, positioning your shorts back over the mess between your thighs – shoving your chest back in its constraints. 

“Will you cut it loose? You know how hard I just made you come? I swear, you saw Jesus.” 

“Shut up.” You bite. “No, I didn’t.” 

Satoru sucks his teeth, kicking his legs back up as he takes his cool noodles back in his grip. He’s eating like nothing just transpired – hair sticky with sweat, come drying on his skin. You feel just as dirty, and when you move to kick your feet off the edge of the couch, your core cramps and tightens. Your hands fly there to cradle it. 

“Ah- fuck.” 

“You okay?” 

“No!” You snap, overcome, and pissed because you told him you didn’t like when he targeted your cervix like that. It didn’t take a genius to know it’d be bruised for these next few days. “I don’t know if you know, Satoru, but you can’t fuck yourself into my womb, so you need to stop trying.” 

You’re not trying to be funny, but Toru chokes on his food with a laugh. He’s coughing – laughing. You’re glaring. 

“But I know it’s so warm and safe in there, baby.” He sighs, pushing your overwhelming strictness off his shoulders like he always has. Yes, he knows about your cervix aversion. No, he wouldn’t fuck you halfway – there’s no point. He needs to be buried inside of you, all the way to the hilt, or it’d kill him. 

“You have no respect.” 

“I don’t.” He mumbles, taking another bite once his breath evens out. Sharp canines scrape against pristine metal. You glance over at his striking side profile. “But seeing you so beautiful and willing to let go like that might be bringing some back.” 

“How about you keep it?” You’re trying so hard not to let him in again – so hard. His voice is sweet like honey, and his movements are endearing, but you know it’s that post-sex ovulation-thick way your thoughts twist and twirl everything into something it’s not. You can only hope that the feeling of absolute detachment you experienced a month ago will return and bring you to your senses, as Satoru did. 

Unfortunately, you’re leaning into his strong frame when he fishes for a vegetable-heavy bite for you, mentioning, “Open wide.” As he pushes it between your lips. 

Sauce dribbles across them; Toru reaches to wipe it away, then leans in to lick them clean. 

That lick turns into a kiss – his hand pressed to the side of your head, chopsticks digging into your hair as his tongue licks forward into your mouth. He wants something else out of you now – your devotion. Perhaps that umami taste on your tongue that he’s so addicted to. Either way, you’re making out with him like you love him, and that’s all he could ever ask for. 

Toru is just so in awe of how sexy and mindless you look right now. He wants to make a mess of you again. “On a scale of one to go rot in Hell, pervert – how pissed would you be if I said I was hard for you again?” He whispers against your lips, serious as hell, but moreso focused on never letting up on yours. 

“Go rot in Hell, pervert.” 

Midnight has ticked by – forgotten takeout containers litter the table. You’re standing in the dark, legs trembling in the shower as the throbbing in your stomach makes it hard to keep steady. 

You’ve been here many times before, losing your mind against the rush of clear water. Moments like these give you time to think – to want, to yearn. 

Now, you’re yearning for Satoru. 

You want him to bust the door open and press his naked, wet body into yours until you become him. You want his hair in your mouth – his blood on your skin, his touch on your bare, shivering flesh. No skin, no boundaries. 

Your shame spans countries – continents. You hate yourself. 

Reaching between your thighs, you cup your hand against your core, absorbing the flaky traces of him before the water washes them away. Once, it was so thick – so soft against the heat of your legs. Then, it felt like lava pouring into your soul. Now, Toru’s old finish feels like a stain on your skin. You sigh. 

Satoru loves showering with you, so it doesn’t take him long to come slinking in, welcome as ever. He’s still wearing those tired, terribly attractive grey sweatpants, hair wild from constantly running fingers through it. The sweat’s got the strands sitting on a different gravitational field – they’re everywhere. 

“You can tell me to go die, but I swear it’s just gonna make me stay longer.” He whispers, stepping inside with you like he always has. This is such a familiar maneuver – so familiar it makes you smile. His hand on your wet shoulder, his toned stomach melting into your back. You sigh against him, nodding slowly. 

You don’t know what to say. “Hi.” You reply, rolling your head back on his sturdiness. Toru breathes out a short laugh. 

“Hi, my love.” He kisses the top of your head, taking this moment as his. Nothing can ruin this right now. 

One more kiss – a few seconds to linger, then he turns you around. His hands trap your arms, and his tall reflection feels like home as he gazes down at you. You’re being stared down like headlights in the dark – blinding and cruel. You blink up at him. 

One arm falls, reaching between your pressed bodies, and your thighs part as they know. Except his fingers concentrate under your belly button, smoothing out before pressing softly. You suck in a breath. 

“It feels good to leave my mark like that, though it hurts you.” He’s mumbling, so the mood isn’t lost or twisted. Satoru is in here because he knows one more round will do him in perfectly. So, he pushes you to your knees, keeping his arm strong and stiff to guide you as you fall. 

You do so without saying a word, ignoring the singing in your pelvis and the shame on your cheeks. He knows what he wants – you know what he wants, so you don’t waste time. 

Rescinding all control, you lean forward and press your lips to his heavy-hanging cock, breath so hot and painful in your throat. His thighs smell like him – the tuft of hair around him being the absolute goldmine of his body. A beautiful head of hair falling into a gorgeous face, body, and crotch – all dripping like a waterfall to his long fingers, strong legs, and wide feet. Every part of him was crafted with so much care and precision; it’s your job to worship it. 

Satoru reaches down, grabbing his cock by the base. He palms it to the side, letting it linger on his thigh as he presses your face to the swell of his sack. You whine, tongue darting out to catch the water that streams against the soft skin. Satoru tastes so much like himself as you suffocate between his legs, but it’s a taste so salty and loving that if you could bottle it for a high, you would.

He holds you close for a moment, letting you kiss and lick at him like a needy kitten. His thick fingers trail across your chin, sending down little breaths and moans to make your blood hotter. You reach up and bury your fingertips in his thighs. 

Satoru pushes you away once he’s hard enough. His blood is rushing again, thick cock painted in a hue of crimson. It almost matches the palm of his hands – as soft as them, too. Shiny and pink like his lips. 

“Open your mouth.” He demands.

You do. 

Water attacks your gaze when you try to open your eyes, but he notices and shifts just for you, letting the water pelt his shoulder blades. With a curl of the lip – a suck of the cheek, he gathers spit on his tongue and lets it fall right into your waiting mouth. 

Your lips snap shut. His cock eases against your jaw, sliding delicately across your wet skin. He pushes your head back, water falling on your skin as he rubs his length over your cheek, brushing your nose, poking at your eyelid. 

He’s guiding himself with his thumb, making sure he’s pressed close enough to feel something. The rest of his fingers tangle in the hair behind your ear, caressing you like a porcelain doll. 

Satoru knows he has you again. It’s a feeling he can’t see but can pinpoint in the darkest of hallways. It’s the sound of your voice – your obedience, your care for his jokes. He knows. 

You’re right back where he wants you. 

At the end of the night, you crawl into his bed. All the lights are off, and the bathroom door is cracked – soft light from your shower spilling into the void. You think Satoru is asleep on his side of the bed – his soft snoring is familiar. 

You’re half asleep, throat on fire, stomach in knots when you crawl over him. 

Your knee presses into his side, body sliding over his arms as you make your way. He ruined your set, and now you’re wearing his clothes to bed. You don’t mind. Satoru surely doesn’t mind when he blinks awake, and it’s the only thing he sees. 

You settle against his back, slipping an arm under him – winding one over his broad shoulder. He’s the little spoon, rolling back into the touch like he’s never been without it. You used to hold him like this when you called him your husband, sneaking little ear kisses and wandering fingertips as the night dragged on. 

Now, he knows you’re awake. He’s awake. 

His voice hits so genuinely, you think it might kill you. “We don’t have to be married if you don’t want to be… but I think we’re good enough to start over.” 

“Satoru…” You whisper, voice broken with the ghost of him scrubbing your throat raw. “I’m scared.” 

“So am I, but it’s a good feeling.” He reassures, giving you that sweet, low voice he knows you can’t say no to. “If this weightlessness isn’t gone by tomorrow, we’ll know, and I’ll give you your divorce.” 

It’s been a week since you’ve been moved into your apartment. You and Satoru have had sex two more times since that night, but you two don’t bring up the obvious. 

You’re staring in the floor-length bedroom mirror, fingers at the blouse you’re buttoning to your skin. Like always — it’s your friend's idea. You’re impartial to karaoke, but they’re desperate to see you again, chalking up the weekend outing to a housewarming. 

It’s been too many times that you’ve blown them off; now you have to show up. 

You straighten out your hair in the reflection, avoiding your eyes and the darkness that just won’t fade. Your phone rings — exercising bad habits, you reach for your side table to answer it without checking the caller. 

“Hello?” 

Your mom is on the other line — her voice is warm. ‘Hi, dear. We haven’t heard from you since you visited. How’s Tokyo?’

You sigh, stepping back to sit on the edge of your bed. “Um… I know. It’s just been a lot. Tokyo is good… It’s good for me to be back here.” 

‘Settling into your new place, still?’

“Unfortunately.” You’re ripe with shame for some reason, fingers twisting in the strings hanging from your thin skirt. “Had a friend help me move the last of my new furniture today. It’s good to actually have stuff.” 

She hums — you know she wants to say more. ‘And… is it okay if I ask about him?’ 

You close your eyes, the sound of her gentle voice making you cry only the way a mother can. “Satoru? Mhm. I put in for divorce yesterday. Just waiting on the proceedings to be shipped to me.” 

‘That’s good. I’m proud of you for taking that step. I know it’s hard.’

“Really, really hard.” You’re crying now, unable to hide the sound of it in your voice. Over the line, she hears, giving you a sad little hum. You feel so pathetic - reaching up to cover your eyes to hide from yourself. “Mama, I’m so scared.” 

‘Darling, you have no idea just how strong you are and just how strong I think you are. No matter your reasons for leaving, I understand and support them. Satoru was an important person in your life — there’s no doubt about it, but even the closest of relationships aren’t meant to last forever. God has something better for you, you know that.’ 

“Have you ever felt like this? Like you’re standing so close to the edge, but you just… can’t?” 

‘Well, what made you leave him?’ 

Your throat clicks, stopping the words before they’re even thought of. If you cared, you’d give her a laundry list right now, but you can’t. “I- I can’t. I’m ashamed.” 

That’s all you need to tell her. It clicks. ‘It’s not the sex, is it? Dear, if you’re not satisfied, have you told him?’ 

“It’s-” You pull the phone from your ear, chest tightening as tears rush. “It’s not that, it’s the opposite. We can’t stay away from each other.” 

‘Oh,’ she pauses, unsure of where to step. You two always had a good enough relationship to talk about these things, but the conversations were few and far between. You hardly talk about Satoru when you're at home, which is why the divorce doesn’t surprise her. ‘How many times… have you two been together since the split?’

“Four or five times.” You’re beet red in shame, sniffling into your hands as you try to muster up words. “It’s so bad, I know.” 

‘Nobody can blame you for going back to what you know. After so long with your father, I don’t even know if there’s a man out there who can even make me feel anything anymore. You’ve been with Satoru for years — he’s all you know. Don’t feel guilty.’ 

“Thank you.” You cry, snotting into your hand, ruining the makeup you painted so precisely just minutes ago. “It’s just – the sex is good, but everything else is so terrible with him.” 

‘Then, you’re making the right decision. Trust it.’ She pauses for a moment, offering you the rustle of movement to fill the silence. ‘I don’t dare overstep, but if all he can offer you is pleasure, why don’t you just find another outlet?’ 

“What do you mean?” 

‘Going to the gym regularly could help you balance out some of that need. Or, you could derive pleasure from other sources. I know it won’t be the same, but toy-

“Mom.” 

‘I know – you don’t want to hear it from me.’ 

“No, I don’t.” 

‘Then pretend like I’m a friend.’ She doubles down, evening out her voice as she repeats. ‘It won’t kill you to just try. It can’t be worse than going back to him, can it?’ 

And that’s what you tell yourself as you crawl back in bed, breath heavy and hot in your lungs. The conversation ended long ago – you had to sit with yourself for a bit afterward, letting her wisdom set you straight. It feels better to know that you’re not a touch-starved slut, and it makes sense that you keep going back because it’s all you know. Change is uncomfortable. That’s what she left you with.

Now, you’re lying on your back against the rustle of sheets, staring at the ceiling, trying to work up the nerve. Proudly, you don’t own any sex toys – your husband was a walking one with a voice and touch that drove you mad. It’s what you’re trying to lose as you part your knees, hand reaching down to pull your panties to the side. Under your skirt, it’s so easy to get where you need to go – Satoru always loved you in them, and always found the perfect excuse to be under it come nightfall. 

You’re thinking about one of those nights – skin to skin, your voice melting off of his tongue as you slowly approach your core. Your fingers concentrate at your slit, completely bone-dry save for naturality. You breathe out a soft breath, working up the nerve to dip your finger a little closer to your most sensitive area. 

You can’t find the nerve. 

“Fuck.” You bite, angry at yourself as you hesitate. Time moves slowly suspended at this moment, and when you slip your eyes shut, all you can see is his gaze – that cheeky little wink he sends you when he’s propped between your legs. You’re combing back to remember his taste – his touch, the way he loves. It makes your heart skip a beat in anticipation. 

“Toru… Toru – mm…” You whisper, gasping when your fingers slide over your clit, making your back arch embarrassingly. “Please, Satoru – right there.” 

You feel so pathetic, but it feels so good. Too good. 

Just not enough. 

You work your smaller fingers in messy, quick circles against your bud – just trying to get yourself off so you can have a level head tonight with karaoke. It’s shameful just to admit how much you get from being intimate with Toru – it’s a way to lose your mind, like a high from a drug that costs way too much. 

You’re trying to mimic his deep tone in your head, whispering how good and beautiful you are. Your hand quivers as you bring it to your neck, hoping the soft squeeze will be enough to emulate Satoru’s affinity for squeezing you there. It works, if even for a second. Then, you’re scrambling for your phone, remembering the one video he sent you two years ago. You were in Tokyo, and he was in Kyoto – he missed you and recorded a video of himself in bed, vocalizing just how much he did. 

That tone – that adoration. It’s what you need. 

So you’re swiping manically through your camera roll, one hand frozen between your thighs as you search and comb the archive. 

Finally. You’ve never clicked on anything so fast. 

As you click the video to start, you push your head back into the pillows, working your fingers at your clit like you’d die if you stopped. 

God, his voice. 

‘Hi, baby. Just got to my room… It’s so big and lonely without you here… I know you’re gonna shake your head and think ‘God, he’s so dramatic.’ like you always do, but I miss you. If a man is dramatic for missing his wife, then lock me up and throw away the key because I'll be in jail for a long, long time… I wish I can touch you right now. Wish you were here so I can tell you all about my day – you’ll tell me about yours… then we’ll make the sweetest love… look, see how soft this bed is? You’d sink right in, love. I’d have to dive in and pull you up for air, haha… Anyways, I know you don’t like when I talk too much about nothing, but I really do miss you. Work trips are the worst. Well, I love you. So, so, so much. Alright baby, good night…’ 

He kisses the phone, and the video goes dark. 

You’re close, leaning over to bite the pillow in a sad attempt to muffle your overwhelmed sobs. In a few swipes, the video is replaying, and as soon as that deep laugh licks the line, you’re convulsing and coming all over your fingers. 

When you’re sitting in the dark blue light in the private karaoke room, you feel lighter, yet so guilty with shame. It’s only been twenty minutes, but you’re three drinks and two shitty pop songs deep. Now, you, Shoko, and Utahime are listening to the machine run – letting the choppy backing track carry the silence when one of you stops talking to take a sip. 

Shoko’s at your left, leg pressed to your bare one, blinding white screen cutting through the darkness as she feverishly texts someone back. When you lean over to ingest her business, you see Suguru’s name. Your heart flips. 

Clutching your glass like it’s a stress ball, you sit up so fast your head is spinning. “Please tell me you didn’t invite him.” 

Shoko scoffs, not even looking at you as she sends Suguru an “okay” message. “What? Of course, I invited him, who do you think’s gonna buy the drinks?” 

“Okay, but you know he’s going to bring Satoru – Shoko, I’m gonna fre-

“I told him not to invite Gojo. Chill – it’s fine. They’re walking up now, I think. He’s just bringing Yu instead.” 

You huff, sitting back with the mind to trust her. You can’t win against an angry or annoyed Shoko – never. Not even when she’s tipsy, and you’re drunk. You actually don’t want to fight at all because you know you’d curl into a ball and call a truce. 

The fact that Suguru is just bringing Yu is a red flag – he went to school with them before you even met. If there’s one, there’s always the other. It’s suffocating trying to leave someone so integral to your friend group. 

You didn’t notice exactly when Utahime ducked out of the room, so you’re loopy and surprised when she peeks her head through the door, smiling softly, eyes shut. “Shoko-

“What?” 

Utahime opens her eyes to glance at you, then tugs at her lips as she circles back to Shoko. “I have a situation. Can you… come on?” 

“Whatever.” 

They leave you alone like it’s nothing, but you’re thankful for the loneliness. You didn’t even want to come out tonight; you thought the orgasm would help, but the conversation you had with your mother hung over your head like a dark cloud. You feel so lifeless – like joy falls onto your soul just to shrivel up and die. 

Utahime makes sure that the door is shut – she’ll keep an eye on it, too, but she’s panicking right now. There’s nobody in the world who has ivory-white hair, sticking out of the crowd like a sore thumb. It’s a weekend – the bar is thick with bodies, and Satoru stands tall amongst the crowd at the edge of the room, drawing attention. 

Utahime leaps into damage control, waving her hands in front of Shoko like it’d simmer her down before she starts. “Look, I don’t know where Haibara and Geto are–

 “Shit, is that Gojo-

She springs into action, Utahime right on her tail.“-wait! Shoko, look-

-no, I’m killing him.” Shoko would never let anyone see how flustered she was, but she knew this was going to happen. If Suguru didn’t tell Satoru he’d be here, it was surely Yu. She knows you or Utahime aren’t responsible. “Killing all of those fuckers – God, I hate them.” 

Just before Utahime and Shoko can close in on him, Satoru’s attention is pulled to his phone, then the pushing bodies moving through the door. Suguru and Yu are shoulder-to-shoulder, laughing at a joke carried over from the walk here. They don’t see each other often – not with Yu’s secretive job on the outskirts of the city he can’t tell anyone about. Suguru told you it was government work, and Satoru told you he worked for a tech company. They’re both liars, but Yu is sweet enough to overlook the grey matter. He’s been around for years. 

“You. Dumb, Dumber, and Dumbest, come here.” Shoko points to each of them respectively, barreling into protector mode to shield your bleeding heart just a few rooms away. She didn’t want to see your face when you saw Gojo, but she also didn’t want to be proven a liar. 

“Hey, Shoko!” Yu tries, unfamiliar with seeing her painted in dark makeup but in love with the reflection. He just thinks she’s great, albeit a little strict. It’s why you two get along so well. “Utahime!” 

“To be clear, you’re ‘dumber.’” Shoko completely barrels past his sunny persona, letting Satoru pick it up when he looks his way. She targets Suguru, grabbing at his baggy sleeve to drag him away for a second. Utahime is quick to start damage control, leaning in to hug Yu and exchange pleasantries with Satoru. It’s hard to hide what she thinks about him when he’s so close – after everything you said about him, too. 

Suguru isn’t even surprised, but he does pull Shoko’s small hand from the expensive fabric, frowning against the flickering blue lights. Everyone’s gaze is shadowed – terribly sung music is ringing in their ears. “I didn’t invite him!” 

“I don’t care! Kick him to the fucking street!” 

“Dude, you’re drunk. Whatever, they’re cordial.” 

“Because she’s actively trying to stay away from him – ugh.” She grunts, disgusted to her core and so flustered she’s tripping over her own feet. Suguru is a lost cause; he’s too nonchalant and sweet. She needed to poke the target – the only man wearing sunglasses in a bar. “You.” She states, pointing a finger right into Satoru’s chest. 

He steps back, feigning ignorance. “Hey-

“Leave – I’m so serious.” 

He’s laughing – of course, he doesn’t think this is serious. “Why would I leave? Come on. Don’t be like that.” 

“Oh, my God, I’m going to kill you!” 

“Shoko–” Utahime steps back in, cheeks all red with flush. Poor Yu has no idea what’s happening – he doesn’t think he even wants to know. 

“You’re gonna kill me? Me?” Satoru’s challenging her; it’s just in his obscure nature. He thinks she looks like a feral kitten, with fluffy hair and a razor-thin gaze. “What’d I do?” 

“Why couldn’t you have just kept your stupid mouth shut?! We wouldn’t be in this situation.” 

“What situation? My divorce?” 

“What divorce?!” Yu stands shellshocked, looking at Suguru, who is chuckling under his breath, then to Utahime, who looks like she just wants to run and hide. He can’t blame her – these two are scary when they’re mad. 

“His!” 

“Mine!” They belt at the same time, emotions running hot without care. 

Then, it’s like something supernatural clicks. Satoru stands up straight, taking a tentative step back. “She… she’s here?” 

“Who fucking cares?!” 

Satoru looks past Shoko’s sad, tiny figure, peeking over his shoulder as Suguru gives him a small nod. 

He feels manic, like a lion swooping in to collect his mate. It’s a feeling in his blood that he’s not sure he can pinpoint, but one that feels like pure, unbridled protectiveness. He just knows you’re somewhere sad and drunk, wishing he were close even though you’d push him away. Without care, he’s shoving past Shoko – she spins on her heel and follows. Suguru slinks behind with his hands in his pockets. 

“Lay off Shoko!” 

“You’re going to make it worse when you go in there!” 

“She needs me!” 

“Guys, come on.” Suguru’s voice evens theirs out as the music thins. They stop in the hallway of private rooms; Satoru is panting. “Satoru, I don’t think you should go in there. We don’t have to fight about it, and you know-

“I’m the only one that knows what she needs.” Satoru presses his hands into his chest, blue eyes open to the hilt under his dark glasses. His heart is racing so fast he doesn’t know how to think. “It’s complicated, but I know she needs me.” 

You can hear them outside the door – you’re staring at the red wood, vision pulling in and out, distorting the obvious. It makes it easier that you’re drunk, but Satoru’s voice feels like a blanket – a loud, mean blanket. Your heart races just like his, swallowing twice when their voices draw closer. 

Then, silence comes. Someone mutters. 

And the door swings open – wind slaps you in the face. 

It takes a second for reality to settle, but when you see Toru’s body in the doorframe, you’re panicking. 

You scramble for cover, rising to your knees pressed on the faux leather couch. He closes in on you before you can blink, and trying to gather yourself to run, you rise to your feet, towering over him, for once. 

“Get down. We’re leaving.” He takes his glasses off when he looks up at you, big hand reaching to snatch yours up. He feels possessive in your drunken daze – mean in a way you’re not sure you’ve seen so blatantly. 

“What? No.” You whine, knees rocking together as you tug against his grip, nearly losing your footing. 

“Get. Down. Look at you – about to fall.” Toru glances over his shoulder at Shoko and Suguru watching on with their fists in their mouths. He has to approach this accordingly – you two are in public, and everyone thinks you’re estranged. 

Then, he thinks to himself – how estranged can a couple be after only a month and a half apart? 

No, Satoru is crazy about you. He doesn’t care. 

He snatches you down so quickly, careful to hoist you to your feet when you rightfully stumble. 

The last time you two saw each other left him with more questions than answers. Satoru is reaching out for you, gripping onto every shred of hope you hang on a string. He thinks these hookups are hope — a way to split you open so he can see who you are and what you need. 

You don’t talk to him much anymore, but you didn’t tell him no when he proposed starting over. It’s why his mind is skewed - you won’t give him the answers he needs, so he’s making it up in his head. 

Not to mention, this is not where you were supposed to be tonight. “You said you weren’t feeling well, so you were gonna stay home.” He closes his hands over your shoulders, shaking them to bring you to life. Satoru is mad, but he’s not angry. You were too drunk to care — trying to drink him away. 

“Mm,” You whine, shaking hands covering your eyes. You feel exposed with your friends in the doorway, even though the lights are so dim nobody can really see your face. Except him. He’s so close. 

“I hate when you do this!” His voice reaches a peak you haven’t heard in a few days. It’s still not enough to rid your shame. “Stop running from me! There’s nothing to run from!” 

His tone makes Shoko stand up straight, ready to dive in and protect your shivering figure. They’re just lucky the music is so loud — it drowns Satoru out. “Hey, shithead. You don’t have to scream at her.” 

Sensing this situation won’t get better if they’re idling, Suguru steps in, smoothing his hand over the top of her back. “Shoko, let’s just leave them-

“I can’t keep doing this. I can’t keep trying.” You whimper, safe with him so close but torn to pieces at what you know you have to do. You have to leave him. This has to be the last time you two ever see each other. 

Digging deep, there has to be something there — some kind of courage that can rear its ferocious head and set you free. 

“Trying? All we do is try; this is a marriage!”

“And I want out. Let… let me out.” 

“You keep coming back! Why?! If you hate me, stop crawling back!” 

Like always, you’re crying, hunching in on yourself as his anger shoots for your core. ”I can’t stop! I can’t. I wish I knew how…” You shake your head, scrubbing at your eyes like it’s scrubbing how pathetic you feel from your frontal lobe. “I-I’m so scared that I’m not who you think I am, Toru. I need to be free — or at least feel free — and I need to be wanted by you. That’s all I want. I want you.” 

“See? You’re telling me you don’t want me, then saying you do.” He calms down when you’re shaking so bad you can’t breathe, turning that possessive arms-length hold into a comforting hug. “How am I supposed to work with that? Help a guy out.” 

“I want you.” You sniffle, finally calm enough under the prison of your hands to get some real words out. “I don’t feel good without you.”

“I want you, too — easy as that.” Satoru takes that spark you give him and lights a torch. He pulls you away when he feels your hands lower, heart-shattering when he sees your bloodshot gaze. “We’re back together now, got it.” 

“No, Satoru—

“What about me is driving you so far away?! Help me understand, I’ll change!” 

“How can I ask you to change everything about yourself?” 

You can hear it through the fog — Satoru’s heart plummets. He pulls away. “What do you mean?” 

It has to be the drunkenness— there’s no way you just said that out loud. You don’t even believe it. Yes, he has flaws like every other human, but he tries. 

Which is more than you can say. 

Somewhere in the middle of the conversation, the door slipped shut because someone knocked on it as soon as the silence hit. The noise stills you to the core. “Satoru, come on. I’ll take you home.” 

Satoru takes a step back, staring into your soul as if he wants to snatch it away… his gaze is off, as if it’s missing something. Or, like something inside of him has died. 

“I-I’m sorry… I’m sorry, I didn’t mean that.” 

He laughs — something akin. Just a short, stupid breath of air through his parted lips. Silently, he shakes his head, then turns on the ball of his foot, making a beeline straight for the door. 

“Sat-

“Yeah, Suguru, let’s go.” 

“Sure-

“Satoru, don’t.” Now, you’re doing the chasing, piecing together the only two sober brain cells you have to put one foot in front of the other with purpose. 

Through the door, you’re rushing past Shoko, tears streaming down your face. It’s pathetic — honestly, the laughing stock of your lifetime, but right now, you don’t care. It feels like you need Satoru. Like your heart is ripping from your chest every time he takes a step away from you. 

No. It’s not supposed to be like this. Satoru is not supposed to be leaving you. 

The crowd gets thicker as they approach the front doors — Suguru peeks over his shoulder, expression so damning and overcome as he watches you push past bodies to get to them. Satoru is dragging him along now, holding onto his bicep like he’s on a mission. 

“No! Mph– T-toru!” You sputter, the heel of your hand flying up to tug at your eyes. You can’t see much in the haze – the front door is cracking open. Everything falls by the wayside. “I’ll stay, I’ll try! I promise you, I’ll try again!” 

He stops, grip shaking around Suguru’s elbow before he yanks it back. The three of you stand like statues in the middle of the floor, blocking the exit — bodies pushing. You’re out of breath, swallowing tears and wiping wetness when he turns to look at you. 

In the pursuit, his glasses fell, but somehow you can see the look in his eyes. One that loves you, hates you so well, and that can’t hide the devotion he feels. 

It hurts. You’re running face-first into a lie. 

Satoru blinks at you, breathless, as he closes the distance in less than a second, it feels like. He yanks off his glasses, balancing in his left hand as he cradles your cheeks. Sobbing, you grip his shoulder blades, shaking your head when he pulls your gaze. 

There, in the ripe blue light at Midnight, he kisses you like he used to all those years ago. He holds you, eyelashes shuddering against your skin as he leans into you. 

The kiss is hungry and mean — he’s shoving his tongue between your lips, squeezing your face so you don’t run away. You cry and sniffle against him, whining when he bites down on your bottom lip, drawing blood. 

Satoru’s not done for at least a minute — face so red when he pulls away that you swear he’s due to pass out. In that heaviness afterward, he presses his forehead into yours. Not saying anything, just silence. Pulsing music, unfamiliar stares. 

Nothing blooms into something. You’ve thrown your life to the wolves, innocent and baring your neck to be mauled to a bloody, beautiful end. 

That’s why you’re crying now. Not for him… for you. 

Satoru is on his back in bed, your ring finger in his mouth, sucking the metal clean. 

You’re on top of him, crying like always. Head tossed back, jazz music on your skin, and blossom in the air. You’re riding him like a horse, out of your mind with pleasure as he moans your name. He’s fucking you so good, now, knowing you differently since the breakup. You feel different since then, too. Nastier — headier. 

You know what you want. Satoru knows you know what you want. He’s ready to give it all to you, but right now, all he wants to do is suck your wedding ring. 

“You look so hot like this.” You gulp, tongue flicking from your parted mouth. Your free hand reaches forward to rub over his face, marking the expanse red in your wake. “Look at me.” 

He does, slamming open his eyes and staring at you so blue it feels like you’re drowning. Toru’s pupils are blown to Hell, too — so dilated you could be mistaken for a drug he’s high on. 

“Fuckin– look at you.” He groans, teeth grinding as your hips slam down again. He’s sure your calves hurt with the fervor of your want, but he’s just too much right now. Your body is craving him – he’s treating you so well. 

Satoru reaches forward, kissing your glistening ring as he grips and grabs at the flesh gathered around your hips. Your body is making him drool, and the pure mutual attraction in the air is so thick neither of you can snap out of it. You’re caught in a constant state of praise, adoration, lust, and more praise. 

Everything is perfect, here. You’re not sure you ever want to rise to the surface.

Technically, you and Toru aren’t separated anymore. It’s complicated. 

It’s what you two tell your friends – it’s what you tell yourself. He still refers to you as his wife even though things aren’t perfect all the time. He comes to and from your apartment now, just like you do his, and the space is exactly what you two need. Maybe living with him is too much? Being around him constantly is suffocating? 

The pieces are starting to fall into place. Satoru sees that you still need to feel free even when you’re tied to him with a ring you refuse to take off. If it’s staying so perfectly, ripe with his spit and deep in the throes of pleasure, it’s meant to be on you. 

“Oh, you’re stunning – taking me like this.” 

“Tell me, baby.” 

“Sexy fuc-fuckin’ mouth. God, your pretty little lips–

You’re slowing down, catching your breath as you grind on him like you want it to mean something. Your ringed hand pinches at his chin, egging those words you need to hear along. Toru’s spacing out – he’s close. 

You shiver, that deep, grinding sensation setting you ablaze. It doesn’t dawn on you just how far you were edging yourself until you’re about to snap, but it’s impressive. “Want it in my mouth?” You whisper, dragging one of his heavy hands to your lips. Biting and kissing at the soft webbing between his thumb and pointer, Satoru mumbles something adjacent to yes, then no. You giggle – hardly there, but felt through the vibrations of the pulsing position you’re in. 

“No– yes, oh, suck on it, beautiful… Tell me you love me,” 

“Oh, I love you, Satoru.” 

“Again.” 

“I love you!” 

“Come here.” His voice turns into something primal – deep in his chest in a way he can’t replicate outside of the moment. This is taking you there at an alarmingly defenseless rate, closing in like a bounty hunter. 

Satoru yanks his hand from your mouth, pinning you chest-to-chest by the back of your neck. He knows not to be gentle now, taking the small hairs at the nape and nearly pulling them out. Open-mouthed, sharp-toothed, he gnaws at your cheek and ear because it’s just too much to get to your lips right now. 

It gets too much – he has to fuck you. He feels like a track runner, hips rising from the bed so he can carry you both to the finish line. Toru knows you too well, he knows how to sync your orgasms, and he executes it perfectly this time. 

Fingertips digging in that gorgeous muscle around your hips, Satoru fucks you right – the only way he knows how to keep you, now. He tugs at your earlobe with sharp teeth, gasping right into you. You’re sobbing for him, fists pulling at the ruined sheets as the wetness between your bodies gets too much to block out. 

“Ugh – take it.” He growls, screwing his pulsing release deeper inside of you as it comes. You can feel every spurt – your nerves are on fire. It’s that third one that does you in. It pools right against your favorite spot, stabbing deep inside of you as Satoru lays his mark. 

You’re the one that collapses on him once the aftershocks ride away, but he’s still limply thrusting into you like he doesn’t have a mind to stop. 

After the ecstasy, Satoru thinks he feels… sad. He’s sad that its over. He’s sad you’re so tired you can’t talk to him anymore. He just wants to talk to you. He wants to know how he did… was it good enough for you now?

Everything settles. You roll away sometime in the midst, and Satoru sits up. He knows you’re tired – don’t want to be touched, don’t want to be bothered, but he wants you to know how much that just meant to him. 

He wants to show you how loved he feels. Something he hasn’t felt in that last year of your marriage. 

“Ba-

His phone rings. Satoru closes his eyes and wills it to Hell.

Then snatches it up from the nightstand, eyes glancing at the caller ID as he stands and fishes his underwear from the pile on the floor. 

It’s Nanami. Satoru smiles when he answers. 

“Hi! How’s Malaysia?” 

‘I’ll make this quick – I’m having a peaceful time down here.’ 

“Really?! Aw, well we miss-

‘I was offered a position down here at the school… Effective next semester, but effective nonetheless.’ 

Satoru stands still as a statue in the doorway of the bedroom. Glancing back at you, it seems like you’re completely dead to the world; you must’ve drifted off. 

So, he slinks out with his promise of good news, trying to hide his smile as he shuts the door so softly the click is almost invisible. 

When he’s safe from ears-length, he opens his mouth. “That’s so amazing! How amazing! So deserved – really, that’s so great.” 

‘Don’t be coy, Professor Gojo.’ 

It’s hard to hide the face-spanning smile that creeps over his. Then, he throws his hands up – letting it take over. In any case, he grinded for over ten years just to feel this moment. Now, he gets to live it. “God – it just rolls off the tongue, doesn’t it?” He flushes like a child, bringing his hand to his face to cover the unbridled joy. 

He has to shake himself free of it again. He earned this. He’s allowed to feel excited. 

After all, you’re not at his feet telling him how annoying his light is. 

‘Fairly well, I admit. Look, Gojo, I didn’t know this was going to happen, but I do not regret it. Your pupils adore you, peers love you, and you’re so smart…’ Nanami pauses, taking a deep breath. Satoru can almost see him now – head in his hands, stewing away in the wake of success. ‘You know I have nothing but respect and faith in you.’ 

“Thank you… honestly, thanks.” 

‘I’ll be back in Japan next week – together, we will work on making this transition as smooth as possible, okay? Don’t let this weigh on you, Gojo. The summer semester is slow. It’ll be the perfect time for you to adapt.’ 

“Yes… yes, sir. I understand. Thank you so much.” 

‘Alright.’ 

Just like that, the line clicks on the most important phone call of his life.

Satoru spent the entirety of his twenties focused on this and you – it’s all he knows, so stepping into this shiny new territory is terrifying and so exciting. 

He just can’t stop. Satoru can’t stop smiling. 

Lost in himself in this moment, the only thing that can pull him out is you. The movement from the bedroom behind him makes that smile even wider. Toru just can’t stop winning today – you’re awake after sex. 

Still, he gives you a moment, giddy in his own skin as he paces, combing his hands through his hair, trying to slow down his racing heart. He doesn’t know whether he should grieve for the years past or look forward to the new ones – maybe both? Maybe talking to you can help him balance out these big, conflicting feelings. 

For once, Satoru actually wants to call his mother. 

He abstains, opting to slip back into the bedroom with a small grin on his lips. You’re not in bed – the sheets are ruffled. Satoru smiles even bigger. 

“Hi, sleepyhead.” He peeks his head in the dark bathroom, reaching to pull the dimmed lights a little higher. He watches as newness floats over your body as you lower yourself into steaming bathwater. 

You’re exhausted – bones sore. You needed this. 

Satoru walks into the bathroom, turning the dripping shower head you used to rinse entirely off. Silence spills the nude space. He’s biting over his lip as he watches you settle. 

“Hi.” You reply, finally. Eyes drifting shut as heat melts over your entire strung-out nervous system. Against the heat, you’re shivering,  opening your eyes as you lean against the back. Staring at his smile, you can’t help but smile back. “What?” 

Toru’s phone is still in his left hand. He waves it once, then pushes it on the counter. “Nanami’s all kicked up in Malaysia. Totally forgot about us over here.” 

You laugh under your breath, flashing him the sleepy bedroom eyes that make him feral. He steps closer. “Mm… Miss him. Nanami always has the best family-owned bakery recommendations.” 

“My professor is not a review site – but I agree.” 

“Shut up,” You shrug him off with a short laugh, rolling your head the other way as he approaches the side of the tub. The moment falls in silence – Toru is kneeling beside the basin, reaching for your wet hands against the polished stone. 

“I know it’s still too soon to tell how you’re feeling, huh?” He chews on his words carefully, avoiding eye contact when you look over to evaluate the sudden dip in his tone. 

Satoru’s referring to a conversation you two almost had two days ago over dinner. He brought up moving you back in — you declined immediately. He suggested going on casual dates until the pieces are connected again, but you also declined. 

He asked you what you wanted from him, and you lied. You want his company, but you want his lust even more. You want him to scream your name in his sleep — to torment him with debilitating morning wood and linger in the air long after it’s gone. You want to smile in his face and have him smile back — you want that feeling of teeth against softness when he smiles as he kisses you. 

That’s it. 

“What do you want to hear?” 

“That you’ll forget you ever left and let me buy you that house I always promised.” 

“What do you mean?” 

“Nanami took a job in Malaysia. They’re offering me his position.” 

You sit up, water splashing around you as you stare at him dead-on. Satoru is easy to read — when he’s lying, his eyes sparkle in mischief. He’s telling the truth, you can tell. 

Then, it dawns on you. “Oh, my God.” 

He’s smiling as big as he did when he found out, just ecstatic you’re around to tell it to. “I know.”

“Oh- oh, my God. Baby, I’m so happy.” You whisper, shell-shocked as you pull him into a wet hug. “I’m so proud of you.” Your naked chests melt together with water to make them stick. His heart is sprinting like a hare, knocking over your chest cavity for entrance. 

It’s true – you’re so proud of him. Before Toru was your husband, he was a friend. Previously, he was a trusted and beloved colleague. That’s where it should have stayed. 

“I love you. I do it for you.” He kisses your hair, big hands rubbing your back. This moment with you is so tender and warm, like he can pull away and feel the same heat from you. He knows the truth, though – just doesn’t want to admit it. “I feel so good right now, with you and this news. I think it’s hope.” 

Still hugging him close, arms slung over his neck, your hands pull into fists where he can’t see. You’re staring at yourself in the tall vanity mirror. You know what this is – what he’s going to take from this. Now that he’s found success, naturally, he’ll want to drag you into it. After all, you two spent your best years talking about this time in your lives. He’d get this promotion, and everything will be okay. 

So, you don’t comment on it. Instead, you state the obvious. “I love you.” 

~

 Suguru’s house is up in lights, and chatter spills out through the open kitchen window. Everyone sounds so happy – Satoru’s name is on the tip of everyone's tongue… Everyone is so happy. 

Not you. Never you. You swear something inside of you was manufactured with broken parts – this didn’t make sense. You’ve spent the best week of your life with Satoru. You two had the best conversations, and agreed on the minute stuff. This last week actually felt like the promise – a tiny little inkling of the hope Satoru wanted to churn out so badly. 

Inside, you’re nowhere to be found. 

Once he crawls off of you, you’re drowning in overwhelming numbness. 

When he kisses you, some feeling comes back, only to fade away again with the passing breeze. You look at him and see nothing, you’re tired of hearing about the promotion, and you’re tired of your inability to escape him. 

It passes through you all at once as you stare at the promotion party from around the corner. Suguru lives in a beautiful, well-maintained neighborhood – families and salarymen at the top of their field make this street more alive than you’ve ever felt. You envy it. 

You envy their lives – you bet their marriages are perfect, and their children are beautiful. Their cars are probably polished like Satoru’s, ripe with money like Suguru and demanding attention like Shoko.

You squeeze your eyes shut and fall back behind a fence, willing your life to disappear. You no longer want to have a choice. You don’t want a body that feels something your mind doesn’t – you just don’t want to be here. 

It takes everything inside of you to do it, but one-foot steps in front of the other. Your arms shake as it clutches your purse against your body. Tears come – you welcome them. 

You welcome anything that pours some feeling back into you, because you feel like a dripping, empty chasm. Burning the hope you two created as fuel, your slow steps turn into determined strides, sneaking a look over your shoulder to see if anyone from the gathering was following. 

Maybe you want them to, or maybe you just want to disappear off the face of the Earth. 

You chose the latter. 

France is beautiful around this time of year, but not the city. The countryside sparkles in the humid breeze, away from all the noise and sewage. It feels a little bit like home, only you can’t go back there. Not yet. 

Not when you gave every single piece of your old self away. Of course, you kept the ring and the last name – it feels good to carry him around. It’s proof to your former self, there to remind you that those years did exist, and they were good. 

It’s just you. You’re the faulty component. You’re the missing piece. Satoru is an angel – you’re nothing but a stranger who crashed into his life and drained his happiness from his sweet soul. He doesn’t deserve that. 

The toll you took on him was starting to kill you, but he was too indebted to ever let it show. Satoru would see the darkness in your eyes when he turned your words into a joke, then nod and tell himself to never do that around you again. Being so close to you for so long, his light started to fade at the corners like a vignette. 

He never mentioned it, and when you began to notice, you hated yourself. 

Now, you’re cordial with your mind. It’s had time to think and heal just being alone. Being in France is just a vacation for you – sleeping in a bi-weekly rented cottage a few hours from the Capital. 

You truly picked the destination out of a hat after leaving Tokyo. You quite literally ran for the hills – sending off the stack of divorce documents to his new office at Tokyo-U for him to sign. Inside that sealed package, you had decided to give him the note you had written when you left the first time. You’re not sure why you kept it, but you knew you needed to. 

This was why. You knew you were going to leave again. 

With the absence of him, you’ve begun writing again. It started as notes to him, then to your past self – now it’s studies of the mountainside, the way the air smells as it rushes through your hair. Small little poems to take your mind away, and it feels so good. You don’t feel like a walking extension of him anymore, but you feel like a Gojo. There’s that scary sense of power that sits over your shoulders, knowing it’s all one phone call away from falling back into place. 

You have plans to reach out to him eventually, but it feels good to not exist anymore. It feels good to pad around the little cottage in nothing but your socks and underwear, reciting the poem you wrote yesterday without care of anyone hearing. 

It feels good to feel the morning light on your skin, snaking in through the window with the week-old dried wishbone on the sill. You love this life right now, and that’s all you need. 

All you need is right now. 

@coralbae @nylve @torueater @yossellinn @kiwikeeahwah @gojoikawa @peacequeen2 @asimpinamillion @genericxseas @casssiesthings @bypanana @kr3ideprinz @kamuihz @bbqsauceonmytddys @sukunaslilsocks @spacefae-x @tenaciousavenueavenue

[thcyn]

when you need to leave but you don't want to wake up your boyfriend 😔💔💔💔

(inspo image under the cut)

[hyydraworks]

Lil Ruby-throated hummingbirds

[gay-lien-from-space]

BRO the way the lighting on Mike changes after Will smiles to be more soft and warm IM GONNA CRY HELP ME

These shots are seconds apart, mind you. The lighting changes mid-sentence right after Will does that smile.

[davilishuuu]

I completely forgot to post this lol