#suguru geto

[space-fishy]

[breadedbuttered]

there was this jjk suguru geto edit to the tune of fall out boy's "from now on we are enemies" and during the lyrics "a downward spiral just a pirouette/getting worse till there is nothing left/what good comes of something when i'm just a ghost of nothing" the scene used was the close-up of suguru in the shower. i remember liking the scenes the creator used in the pre-chorus. i really miss it, man

[cryptichaunts]

okay sooo… i think i’m gonna start writing JJK one-shots on here 👀

x reader, ships, whatever you guys want. fluffy, romantic, cheesy, angsty, hurt/comfort, smutty, cute, domestic, unhinged… all of it.

have a character/ship or a specific prompt you want to see? send it to me 🖤

let’s feed the JJK brainrot together 🫶🏼

[poutyngel]

saw a sad satosugu edit who can provide me with a missile

[tartoruu]

Who wants to be tagged once it’s finished?? It’s still in process but I like it a lot so farr 😽 part 1 should be done in few days!!

Just write a comment below or in my inbox 🩷

More about the fic here

[matriarchisis]

"Weekends With You" (Interlude)

Some nights changed your life because of the choices you made. Others changed it because of the ones you didn’t

synopsis: Six months after your divorce, an ordinary evening takes an unexpected turn when Suguru arrives, bringing back the familiarity you once shared. After the two of you give in to the lingering love between you, you are left questioning what it means for your family and insist it cannot happen again.

content/warnings: smut, reader is depressed once again, nanako and mimiko appearance, flashback, cunnilingus, fade-to-black, probably inaccurate saudi arabian food...sorry

a/n: i did do research on mandi but i still feel like i did it badly so pls let me know if it's wrong !!! sooo sorry that this took so long! i kept rewriting it. ALSO THIS IS AN INTERLUDE, NOT A CHAPTER!!!

17:22 — Dinner Prep

The kitchen was always the heart of the house after the divorce. The kitchen felt alive. Steam curled lazily from a pot on the stove, carrying with it the warm scent of cardamom, cinnamon, cloves, and onion softened in oil. The fragrance lingered beneath the hanging lights and settled into the corners of the room, rich and comforting. Outside evening was beginning to settle over the neighbourhood, children were playing soccer outside. The sky beyond the windows had turned the colour of wet slate, heavy clouds gathering overhead. 

You stood at the counter with a knife in one hand and a tomato in the other, trying hard to focus on dinner. You were determined, because the moment Mimiko got home from school, she had apparently decided you needed a complete education on Saudi Arabia.

“Mama.”

“Mhm?” 

“Mama!”

“Yes, Mimi?”

“Did you know Saudi Arabia had deserts?”

You smiled. “I did, sweetie.”

The answer seemed to disappoint her. “Wellll,” she continued, perched on one of the stools at the kitchen island, “really big deserts.”

“Oh?”

“The biggest ever in the whole world!”

She was wrong. But nonetheless, she was satisfied. Mimiko swung her legs beneath the stool and launched into another story before the first one had even finished. Their new classmate had shown everyone photographs today. Apparently there had been camels. Apparently there had also been a falcon…? The details shifted every thirty seconds, but you couldn’t blame the imagination of a child. Meanwhile, Nanako had lost all interest in her art assignment. Your elements were the target of her attention. Luckily you had turned in time to see a small hand creeping over to a bowl of fried onions. 

“Nanako.” 

The hand froze. Large brown eyes blinked up at you. “What?”

“You know why I’m calling you.” 

“Whyyyyy?”

She possessed more personality than should reasonably fit inside a body so small, and if you were being honest, you couldn’t exactly pretend you had been any better at four. You set the knife down and crouched slightly until you were eye level with her. 

“Because Mama’s cooking dinner, sweetheart. If you’re helping Mama, we need clean hands first.”

Nanako stared at you with all the solemn gravity of a queen negotiating peace treaties. “I washed them this morning.”

You blinked. “...So did I.”

“Mama.”

“Yes?”

“You’re not cooking though?”

A laugh escaped before you could stop it. Nanako pointed triumphantly, convinced she had won. “See.” 

“Go wash your hands.”

The tiny tyrant sighed as though burdened by responsibilities beyond her years. Still, she slid from her stool and padded towards the sink, muttering beneath her breath the entire way there. You caught fragments between the sound of running water. 

“Washing hands…hands washing…washing hands…mama says washing hands…”

Mimiko immediately abandoned her ‘lecture’ on Saudi Arabia. “Nana, use soap!” 

“I know!”

“You need bubbles!”

“I KNOW!”

You smiled to yourself as you stirred the rice. Maybe it was time to buy them aprons. Little matching things with embroidered flowers or rabbits across the pockets. Tiny wooden spoons and child-safe knives. Their own mixing bowls too. Something that would let them stand beside you properly instead of balancing precariously on stools and attempting to steal ingredients whenever your back was turned. 

The kitchen had become the heart of the house after the divorce. The place where homework happened. Where scraped knees were kissed better. Where tears were soothed with warm milk and biscuits. Where stories from school spilled out between mouthfuls of dinner. Where your daughters sat at the island every afternoon, swinging their little legs and talking over one another until the room rang with noise. 

You’d not grown up with a kitchen like this. The one in your childhood home had been magnificent in the way wealthy people liked things to be magnificent. Polished pots hung from gleaming racks (decorations). Marble counters stretched longer than some hallways. Staff moved through it from dawn until long after sunset. 

As a little girl, you used to slip away whenever you could, sneaking through corridors and back staircases until you found yourself standing in the kitchens. The cooks always noticed; they pretended not to. 

Sometimes one of them would hand you a wooden spoon and let you stir a pot while nobody was looking. Sometimes they would sneak you scraps of pastry dough. Once, an elderly baker had shown you how to braid bread. Braid bread! Imagine the shock on your face when you figured that out. 

Your parents had been horrified, however. A young lady shouldn’t spend time in kitchens. A young lady certainly shouldn’t interfere with staff. You remembered standing there with flour on your nose while your mother scolded you, trying desperately not to laugh because the baker behind her was making faces. 

Nana most likely got this from you. “Mama!”

You turned to be greeted with Nanako standing beside the sink with both hands held proudly in the air, water dripping from her fingertips. 

“I washed them with soap!”

“That’s nice, sweetie.”

Then, she launched herself at you. You barely caught her before she collided with your legs, damp hands immediately grabbing at your apron. “Mama!”

“Hm?”

“I love helping you.” Children did that. They handed you pieces of their hearts without realising it. 

You brushed a curl away from her forehead, letting your fingers linger for the briefest second. There would come a day when she would no longer fit beneath your hand like this. You pushed the thought away before it could settle.“And I love having your help.”

Across the island, Mimi let out an offended gasp. “What about me?”

“What about you?” Nana said.

“I help too!”

“Nuh uh!”

Mimiko considered this very seriously before adding, “I helped by telling you about Saudi Arabia!” A pause. “The mandi would've worked without me.”

Your laughter came easily, filling the kitchen until both girls joined in despite neither of them entirely understanding why. Outside, rain began tapping softly against the windows. Inside, the house glowed gold beneath the lights. And for a little while longer, the world felt impossibly small and impossibly precious. Just you, your daughters, the smell of spices hanging in the air, and the sound of laughter echoing through the heart of the home you were still learning how to build.

19:12 — Daddy’s Home?

The first mouthful had caught you by surprise. You had expected it to be good enough to your babygirl’s standards. You sat there for a second, chewing thoughtfully, before a small, almost disbelieving smile tugged at the corner of your mouth. Well. you’d done it. 

For all the frantic glances at the recipes propped against the fruit bowl and the occasional muttering: surely, that can’t be right while measuring spices, dinner had actually turned out rather well. 

Across the table, Mimi had already decided there was no greater culinary achievement in human history. “This is really goood!” she declared through a mouthful, stopping only long enough to swallow after you lifted an eyebrow in her direction. 

“I’m glad you like it baby.”

Her little feet swung happily beneath her chair. Between bites, she looked up again, eyes sparkling with the kind of excitement that had followed her home from school. “I’m going to tell my friend tomorrow!”

Beside her, Nana had no interest whatsoever in discussing the authenticity of Saudi Arabian cuisine. She had managed to fit an alarming amount of rice into her mouth at once, cheeks puffed out until she resembled an indignant squirrel preparing for winter. 

“What have we said about taking enormous bites, you are not starved around here.”

Slowly, and with all the reluctance of someone surrendering a great treasure, she began chewing. Mimi leaned across the table. “I told you.”

You pinched the bridge of your nose, hiding a smile behind your hand as your passionate daughters argued over who possessed more table manners. 

It was neither of them, so you were confused as to why they even started this in the first place. By the time the argument had dissolved into giggles, both girls were eating again as though it had never happened. Mimiko absentmindedly nudged the roasted almonds into neat little piles before eating them one at a time. Nanako had discovered that the caramelised onions were her favourite part and kept carefully fishing them from the top of the rice first, as though saving the best pieces before anyone else could steal them. Every now and then their knees bumped beneath the table, earning an absentminded complaint before they carried on eating.

The kitchen was always the heart of the house after the divorce. That was why the sudden chime of the doorbell seemed so strangely intrusive.. The three of you looked up at the same time. You frowned, you weren’t expecting anyone. Both girls looked at you. 

“Who is it?” Mimiko asked. 

“I don’t know, sweetheart. Maybe Grandma and Grandpa?” You pushed your chair back, the legs scraping softly against the floor. Nanako immediately turned in her seat to watch you go. You wiped your fingertips against the edge of your napkin and rose. The rain had straightened since you’d sat down, though it was still little more than a steady drizzle. 

You reached for the handle and pulled the door open without giving yourself time to wonder. 

Suguru stood on the other side.

Fawk.

His long black hair was damp, strands sticking to his forehead and cheeks before trailing over the shoulders of his coat. Unattended, he was. His clothes weren’t drenched, but they were damp enough that the fabric begun to darken in places. You blinked.

“Suguru?” 

Without thinking, he started to step inside.

“Leave your shoes at the door,” you reminded him automatically.

Suguru paused, one foot still poised over the threshold, and glanced down at the small puddle already gathering beneath his shoes. “Yes ma’am.” He glanced down, watching another droplet fall from his hair onto the polished floor with the sort of detached curiosity usually reserved for strangers’ problems. A sheepish smile slowly spread across his face, and somehow that only irritated you further.

You heard the scrape of chairs against the kitchen floor. Both girls appeared around the corner a second later, their faces brightening. Mimi’s eyes widened, followed by a gasp. “Daddy! Daddy’s home!” 

He laughed, opening his arms just as his daughters reached him. Mimi collided with his waist first, Nana wrapping herself around one of his legs, and Suguru bent down to gather them both up. He scooped Nana into one arm and caught Mimi beneath hers, lifting them, causing them to shriek with laughter. 

“My pretty girls,” he murmured, pressing kisses to their cheeks. “I missed you guys.”

“You didn’t tell us you were coming!” Nana screamed.

Mimiko squealed when he kissed her cheek, then the other one, then planted another noisy kiss against her forehead before doing the same to Nana. “Daddy, guess what!” 

“What?”

“My friend told us about it at school, and Mama made it for dinner. It’s really good and I’m going to tell her tomorrow and Mama said she doesn’t know if it’s right but i like it.”

Suguru’s eyes lifted over her head and found yours. “You made mandi?”

You shrugged, suddenly conscious of the ridiculousness of how proud you’d been of dinner only moments ago. “Apparently.”

“Well,” he said, shifting both girls higher in his arms as they immediately began talking over one another again, “I supposed I arrived at the right time.”

You looked at the man standing in your doorway, rain still caught in his hair, you daughters wrapped around him. “Yes,” you whispered. “Apparently you did.”

19:54 — It Was Always Like This

The closed bedroom door and the distance between the floors muffled the faint noises of the television from upstairs, which was occasionally broken up by one of their drowsy giggles. They had insisted they weren’t tired, naturally. Mimiko had insisted that she was “wide awake” while yawning so hard her eyes watered, while Nanako had lasted perhaps another seven minutes before curling beneath her blanket with the remote still clutched in one hand. You had left them to their cartoons, as promised.

Not that either child had any intention of remaining in her own bed. Despite having separate bedrooms decorated according to their individual preferences, your daughters still migrated towards one another every night like tiny stars caught in the same orbit. One would wander into the other’s room under the flimsiest excuse imaginable and before long, they would be curled together beneath a mountain of blankets, whispering secrets they would almost certainly forget by breakfast. 

Tonight was no different. When you checked on them twenty minutes later, you found the television glowing softly in Mimi’s room, My Little Pony playing quietly in the background. Nanako was sprawled sideways across the bed like a fallen soldier, one foot dangling perilously over the edge of the mattress, while Mimiko sat upright against the headboard, attempting to explain the plot despite clearly not understanding it herself. 

Downstairs, while you made your way, you could hear the clatter of dishes from where you sat on the sofa, water running as Suguru rinsed plates and stacked them beside the sink. He had changed out of his damp clothes sometime after dinner, emerging from the bathroom in a dark T-shirt and grey sweatpants that looked far too familiar to him. His hair was still slightly damp, falling loose around his face and down his back as he moved between the counter and sink. 

It was strange seeing him in your kitchen again, stranger still how naturally he seemed to fit there. Your wine glass rested loosely between your fingers, the red catching the warm light of the lamp beside the sofa. Another glass sat on the coffee table beside you, empty now, with the bottle resting next to it. 

The television held your attention, though you couldn’t have explained why. Love Island USA was playing, and you had spent the last fifteen minutes staring at the screen with the increasingly bewildered expression. There were attractive people sitting around a pool, someone was crying, another person appeared to be furious about something that had happened during a conversation beside a fire pit. 

You took another sip of wine, narrowing your eyes at the TV.

Suguru walked over, slowing beside the sofa. The rose-coloured silk of your nightdress caught the warm glow of the lamp, pooling around your legs in soft folds. 

“You look lovely.” 

You smiled back at him. “Thank you.”

His eyes remained on you before he glanced towards the television. “Are you actually watching this?” 

You looked back at the screen. “I’ve been trying to understand it. I have no idea what’s happening.”

He laughed, the cushion dipping beneath his weight, bringing him close enough that your shoulders almost touched. He smelled faintly of soap and clean cotton. There were things your body remembered long after your mind had learned to forget them. You turned your attention stubbornly back to the TV. 

“She was kissing that man earlier,” you said. “Now she’s crying because he’s upset about it, but apparently she’s also upset because he’s upset, which I don’t understand at all.” 

When you finally glanced towards him, you found him looking at you instead of the TV. He lifted one hand and curled his fingers towards himself in a small gesture. “Come here.”

You immediately rolled your eyes and turned back towards the television. “No.”

“Why?”

You shook your head, taking another sip of wine. “I’m not falling for that.”

He laughed. “Falling for what?”

“This.” You gestured between the two of you. “The sweet voice. The little hand gesture. Acting like you just want me to sit beside you when you’re obviously trying to—”

“Trying to what?” He was smiling now. Suguru leaned back against the sofa, leaving the choice entirely to you. “Come here, you’ve been sitting all the way over there for the last hour.” 

“I’m comfortable.” You pressed your lips together, fighting the smile threatening to betray you. “You’re annoying and manipulative.” 

He held out his hand, palm upward, but didn’t reach for you. You let out a long sigh, setting your wine glass down on the coffee table before shifting across the cushions to his arms. “There, you happy?” His arm slipped around your shoulders. His hand settled against your upper arm, warm through the silk of your nightdress, and his thumb began moving slowly back and forth over your shoulder. 

Suguru simply held you there, his fingers moving in slow, absent circles over your shoulder as the television continued to murmur in front of you. You could feel his breathing beside you. The longer you sat there, the more difficult it became to remember why you had resisted in the first place. 

“How have you been?” he asked. 

You lowered your eyes to your hands, resting loosely in your lap. “I’m tired.” 

“I know.”

“No, I mean...” You hesitated, searching for the words. “I'm just tired. All the time, sometimes.”

His hand slowed against your shoulder.

“Because of the girls?”

“Partly.” You gave a small laugh that held no real humour. “Because of everything, I suppose.”

Suguru nodded, and you felt his cheek brush lightly against the top of your head when he looked down at you. His hand continued its slow path over your shoulder, patient and familiar. You found yourself leaning into him, a sigh escaping your lips. Your temple settled against the warmth of his shoulder as naturally as breathing, as though your body remembered the shape of him long before your mind had the chance to object. The wine glass remained loosely cradled between your fingers. 

“You’ll spill that.”

He reached across you, gently easing the glass from your hand. His fingers brushed yours only briefly as he placed it upon the coffee table beside his own. When he settled again, his hand found your back.

His palm moved in slow circles between your shoulder blades, the same absent-minded rhythm he had used countless nights before. You closed your eyes for only a moment.

“You’ll never guess what happened yesterday.”

You hummed against his shoulder. “What?”

“You know the couple across from me? The one with the white Labrador? They had the most ridiculous argument I’d ever heard. At one point I thought someone was going to die.”

“Seriously?” You let out a sleepy little laugh, the sound muffled against his shoulder.

“You have no idea,” Suguru murmured, his fingers never quite ceasing their path across your back. “The shouting started just after I’d got home. By the time I looked outside, they were both standing in the middle of the drive, absolutely beside themselves. She was waving her arms high and low, and he was carrying three shopping bags while trying to defend himself.”

You could picture him standing behind his curtains watching the entire spectacle unfold. Suguru had always pretended he wasn’t nosey. He used words like observant or concerned citizen. It had never fooled you…and it still didn’t.

“What did he do?” you asked.

“Forgot their anniversary. He’d realised halfway home, pulled into a petrol station, bought the flowers, and believed that was going to save him.”

A soft, helpless laugh escaped you. His profile was only a few inches away now. The warm light from the lamp softened his face, catching in the loose strands of dark hair that had escaped across his forehead. There was something achingly sweet about him like this, stripped of his work clothes and responsibilities, sitting on a sofa drinking a glass of wine after a long day. It felt as though the last six months had been nothing more than an unpleasant dream waiting to dissolve with morning.

Your hand rose almost without your permission. The backs of your fingers brushed lightly against the side of his jaw before your fingertips settled there, lightly enough that you could have pretended it had been an accident if either of you had chosen to break the spell. Suguru turned his face slightly into your touch.

You leaned forward, letting your lips find his jaw in the gentlest of kisses. Then another. And another. They were feather-light; you felt him let out the quietest laugh beneath his breath.

“…Love?” he murmured. “Are you alright?”

You pulled back, holding his gaze for a while before giving the smallest nod. “I’m okay.” Your voice barely rose above the rain. “I just…” You swallowed, your thumb unconsciously tracing the line of his jaw. “I miss…you.”

His hand remained at the small of your back, rubbing slow circles through the silk of your nightdress. You searched his face with a timid little smile.

“Can I keep going, Sugu?”

His answering smile was almost imperceptible, but it reached his eyes before he gave the slightest incline of his head.

You leaned into him again, letting the space between you disappear until your forehead brushed the line of his jaw. Your lips returned to his neck in lingering kisses, each one filled less with urgency than with quiet longing. They spoke of evenings spent apart, of empty houses and separate lives, of all the affection that had had nowhere to go after the signatures were written. 

–––––

You hurriedly slipped your nightdress over your head, letting it fall forgotten to the floor. Suguru’s lips found your neck again as he guided you gently towards the bedroom that, despite everything, had once belonged to you both. Neither of you said anything. It wasn’t necessary. The room still remembered you. He eased you down onto the edge of the bed before following, his kisses wandering slowly along your neck.

You were bare beneath him now. The rain continued its quiet song beyond the windows, the soft patter filling the spaces where words should have been.

Suguru’s hand rose to your cheek, his thumb brushing gently across your skin as though reassuring himself that you were truly there. A shaky laugh escaped him before he lowered his forehead to yours. “Oh my god,” he murmured, eyes closing briefly. “I’ve missed you so much.”

The confession settled between you like something sacred.

Your fingers found the collar of his sweatshirt, gripping the fabric as though afraid he might disappear if you let go. He wasted no time shrugging it off, letting it fall somewhere onto the floor without a second thought. The joggers followed soon after, discarded carelessly as he returned to you.

The mattress dipped under his weight as he settled between your thighs, the familiar heat of his body radiating through the thin fabric of his boxers. You lay there completely bare, your skin humming with a desperate, electric hunger that six months of separation had only amplified. Suguru didn’t rush. He never did.

He hovered over you, arranging you in a missionary position, his chest brushing against your breasts with every shallow breath. He looked down at you with eyes that were dark, clouded with agonising desire. When he finally lowered himself, pressing his hips firmly against yours, a soft, broken gasp escaped your lips. He was hard—straining against the cotton of his underwear—and the sensation of him rubbing against your aching centre sent a jolt of pure electricity straight to your core.

“We have to be quiet, the girls can’t hear,” he whispered.

The reminder of your daughters upstairs added a forbidden edge to the encounter. The danger of being caught, the taboo of this reunion between two people who were no longer legally one, only served to heighten the sensitivity of every touch. You arched your back, pressing your yoni upward, seeking more of that friction. Suguru groaned into the crook of your neck, his lips grazing your skin in a series of slow, teasing kisses that made your toes curl.

He began to move, a slow, rhythmic grind of his pelvis against yours. It wasn’t the frantic pace of a first encounter, but the seasoned, soulful friction of a man who knew exactly how you were built. He rubbed himself hard against your clit, the fabric of his boxers creating a delicious, searing heat that teased the entrance of your soaking wet folds. You could feel the dampness of your own arousal soaking into the sheets beneath you, an exemplification to how much you had craved this.

Your hands flew to his shoulders, your fingers digging into his muscles, pulling him closer until there wasn’t a single millimeter of space left between your chests. You locked your lips with his, the kiss tasting of salt and desperation. It was a hungry, searching collision, your tongues dancing in a rhythm that sang of years of intimacy. Every time he pushed his hips forward, grinding his cock deep into the crease of your thighs, you let out a muffled whimper against his mouth, your breath coming in hot, jagged bursts.

“I can’t...I can’t believe you’re here,” he murmured against your lips, his voice trembling. He shifted his weight, tilting his pelvis to hit that perfect spot, rubbing with a slow, agonising pressure that made your vision blur. “I’ve dreamt of this every fucking night. Just feeling you under me again. I missed you so much.”

The friction was becoming unbearable, a sweet torture that had you clinging to him for dear life. You wrapped your legs around his waist, locking your ankles to pull him even tighter against you, forcing the bulge of his dick to press firmly into your swollen yoni. You were both trembling now. You wanted him inside you—you wanted to feel him stretch you open and fill the void that had been gaping in your heart for half a year, but the precarious silence of the house kept you tethered to this exquisite torture.

Suguru trailed his kisses down to your collarbone, his teeth grazing the skin just enough to make you shiver. He continued to hump you slowly, his movements becoming more urgent, more demanding, though he remained careful not to make a sound. The sound of the rain seemed to swell, masking the wet sounds of your bodies sliding against one another and the heavy, synchronised thud of two hearts beating as one.

You tilted your head back, your eyes fluttering shut as you focused on the sensation of his hard length grinding against your clit through the fabric. You were on the precipice, your body wound tight like a spring, aching for the release that only he could provide. 

Suguru felt it too; his breathing had turned into heavy huffs, and the grip he had on your hips was bruising, his knuckles white as he drove himself against you one more time, the friction sending waves of heat crashing through your lower belly.

“Please…” you begged, pulling down at his boxers. Your hands, desperate and shaking, slid down from his shoulders to the waistband of his boxers. You tugged at the fabric, your knuckles brushing against the heat of his skin, craving the raw, skin-on-skin contact that would finally bridge the gap between you—(but) Suguru caught your wrists.

“Not yet,” he whispered. “Be patient for me, can you do that?”

He captured your lips in a deep, demanding kiss that silenced your pleas. It was a kiss of possession and promise, his tongue sweeping through your mouth. Slowly, he began to migrate, his lips leaving yours to trail a path of fire down your throat.

He kissed the hollow of your collarbone, then the swell of your breasts, his mouth lingering on each peak until you were arching off the mattress. He was taking his time, treating your body like a sacred temple and he the devoted priest. Every touch was a confession; every kiss was an apology. Apology for what? Perhaps it could’ve been his absence…you didn’t want to know, you just wanted his sweet lips all over you.

Suguru reached down, his large hands sliding beneath your hips to lift you slightly, exposing you fully to his view. He paused for a moment, just looking at you—at the way you were flushed and glistening, your pussy swollen and weeping for him. You were so beautiful in his eyes, not because of what had been laid bare before him, but because every guarded piece of you had slowly found its way back into his hands. He knew the faint scar near your hip that neither of you could remember the origin of. He knew the way your breathing always caught whenever you grew embarrassed, how your lashes lowered when you felt yourself being truly seen. Time had carried so much away from the two of you, but it had failed to steal this.

Your ex husband slid down the bed until he was positioned between your legs. He didn’t dive in immediately; instead, he began to massage your inner thighs. His thumbs traced slow, swirling circles into your sensitive skin, coaxing you to open further for him. You did just that. Suguru leaned in. The first touch of his tongue was a ghost of a sensation; a slow, wet stroke from the base of your opening up to the very peak of your clit. You gasped, your fingers digging into the sheets, your hips jerking instinctively toward him.

“Shh, if the girls wake up, I swear to god...”

He came back to you with passionate attention. His tongue turned into an incredible torture instrument, spinning dizzying circles around your clit before flattening out to lap at your drenched wetness. Sparks of white light flooded across your vision as he gently sucked the little, delicate flower of your pleasure into his mouth.

You bit down hard on your lower lip, swallowing every sound that threatened to escape. If Nanako or Mimiko woke now, you would’ve killed Suguru. The thought alone nearly made you laugh, and you shot him a look that was equal parts prurience and accusation. He caught it immediately, the corners of his mouth twitching with infuriating amusement.

He was so meticulous, alternating between long, slow licks that tasted every drop of your arousal and quick, flicking motions that drove you toward the edge. He used his fingers to gently spread your folds, ensuring his tongue could reach every hidden crevice, every nerve ending that had been dormant for far too long.

“Suguru…please,” you gasped, chest heaving. “I…I need you inside.”

Suguru looked up, a smudge of your own liquid glistening on his lip, and the look of raw devotion in his eyes nearly broke you. He didn’t—wouldn’t make you wait any longer. He surged upward, his body sliding back over yours in a familiar, perfect fit. He guided the head of his cock to your soaking entrance, pausing for a heartbeat as he looked deep into your eyes. 

A part of you had wished he uttered the words. You knew he was thinking it…you were thinking it. It wasn’t the punishing force of the sex; this was a homecoming. He filled you completely, the sensation of his size stretching your wet walls creating a cave of warmth that diffused through your entire being. You let out a long, shuddering breath, your legs locking around his waist to pull him as deep as possible. “I’ve got you,” he murmured, trembling. Weird as it may be, it felt like he was kissing you with his body.

Suguru groaned, a sound of pure, unadulterated longing, and leaned down to capture your lips in another long kiss. Every slow slide of his cock, every soft press of his chest against yours, felt like a stitch being sewn back into a torn fabric.

“I never stopped loving you,” he breathed against your lips, his movements becoming more fluid, more rhythmic. “Not for a single second.”

You clung to him, whispering sweet comforts, telling him how much you’d ached for his touch, your voices barely audible over the steady drumming of the rain. Everything was overwhelming, a mix of raw lust and heartbreaking love that made the world outside the bedroom cease to exist. There were no divorces here, no arguments, no distance—only the heat of your skin and the soulful connection of two people who had finally found their way back home.

“Me neither.”

———

The rain had not yet relented. The world had carried on without, indifferent to the earthquake that had quietly shifted the foundations of your home. 

The room smelled faintly of rain and Suguru. You lay beneath the duvet with your cheek resting against his bare shoulder, neither of you were making any attempt to move. The frantic desperation that had drawn you together had long since dissolved, leaving behind an exhaustion that settled pleasantly into your limbs. Suguru’s fingertips wandered absentmindedly across your back, tracing slow circles between your shoulder blades. Every so often, his lips found your temple or the curve of your shoulder. 

You should have felt comforted. 

Oh my god.

It slipped into the silence so quietly that you mistook it for simple tiredness, or post nut clarity. Your eyes widened, fixing on the rain blurred outline of the curtains.

I just slept with my ex-husband.

Your heart gave a slow, uneasy thud against your ribs. Not just your husband, your ex-husband.

What had you done? Six months ago—yes you keep telling yourself but listen—six months ago, a judge had signed papers declaring that the life the two of you had spent building together was over. The girls had learned that Daddy lived in one house and Mommy in another. You nodded through conversations about moving on, about healing, about doing what was best for everyone. Tonight had actually happened.

What had you done? Your thoughts refused to stay in one place. They scattered in every direction, each one worse than the last. What did this mean tomorrow morning? Had this been loneliness? Nostalgia? A mistake born from too much wine and too little sleep? 

A kiss landed softly against the top of your shoulder. You hadn’t even realised your breathing had changed until Suguru’s hand stilled against your back. “You’ve gone quiet,” he cooed. His fingers resumed their slow path along your spine. “What’re you thinking about?”

You laughed, though it wasn’t really a laugh, more the sort of breath. “I’m thinking…I might actually be an idiot?” 

“I don’t think that’s true—”

“I do. Suguru.” You rubbed a hand over your face before letting it fall back onto the pillow. “We just…we just had sex.”

“...We did…”

“My ex-husband.”

There it was. Said aloud, the words sounded almost absurd. “I know how you feel.”

“No. No, I don’t think you do. I have spent six months telling myself this was finished. Telling myself that we couldn’t keep falling back into old habits because that wasn’t fair on us...or the girls." Your throat tightened. “And then the first time you're here, I…” You looked away, heat rising to your face despite everything. “Oh my god.”

Slowly, almost against your own will, you turned your head to look at him. You hated it, but he was beautiful. His dark hair was still tousled from your wrestling hands. The soft light from the bedside lamp painted warm gold across his skin, catching on the faint curve of his cheek. There was no triumph on his face, no smug satisfaction. Only the gentle, complicated affection that somehow made your chest ache even more. It pissed you off.

“This cannot happen again.”

His face shifted instantly. “...Love.”

“No.” you shook your head before he could continue. “Don’t.” You pushed yourself upright, clutching the duvet tightly against your chest as though it might somehow shield you from the enormity of what had happened. “This was…this was the wine talking and—”

“—It wasn’t.”

“It was.”

“It wasn’t just the wine.”

“Yes! It was!” you repeated, louder this time. “We’d both had a drink. we were emotional and we started talking about old times and—” You gestured helplessly towards the bed around you. “—this.”

Suguru sat quietly, giving you space to speak. “I don’t think either of us imagined this, but it’s okay b—”

“This isn’t fair,” you whispered, staring down at the duvet gathered in your fists. “It isn’t fair to the girls.”

“They won’t even know.”

“They will! They are very intelligent. Have you met Mimiko?”

His brow furrowed.

“They’re children. If we start…this again. They’ll see it. They’ll get their hopes up. And what happens if this falls apart again?” Your eyes finally met his. “What happens when we hurt them a second time?” 

“We don’t have to. We can work this out again.”

“You know you can’t promise me that.”

Suguru reached for you, his hand finding your forearm before you had pulled away. His touch was gentle, hesitant even, as though he had already suspected you would reject it. “No…” he admitted. “I can’t. We’re not the same people we were six months ago—”

“—Exactly, we’re divorced. For a reason, at that.” You pulled your arm away.

He sat up straighter, the duvet slipping to his waist as he watched you slip off the bed and gather the discarded clothes from the floor. You couldn’t bring yourself to look at him. If you did, you knew your resolve would begin to crumble all over again, and you’d end up back in his arms. “We’re divorced because we…we had problems,” he said carefully. “As every couple does.”

“No, Suguru.” You snatched your phone from beside the bed and held it tightly against your chest. “That might be part of it, but don’t rewrite our marriage because we had one good night.”

“I’m not rewriting anything!”

You closed your eyes for the briefest moment, dragging an unsteady breath into your lungs before turning away from him altogether. 

“...I’ve thought about you every single day,” he confesses. 

You stared at him as though you’d misheard, searching his face for some hint that he was exaggerating, that this was desperation speaking rather than truth. You found neither. Suguru’s eyes never left yours. He looked nearly relieved to have finally spoken the words aloud. 

“Stop it.”

The corners of his mouth pulled into the faintest, saddest smile. “I mean it.”

“I said stop it.”

Your heart hammered painfully against your ribs. You hated that he meant it. You hated even more that some selfish, broken part of you wanted to hear him say it again. Suguru let his hand fall back onto the duvet you. He watched you quietly for a long moment before speaking, his voice barely louder than a whisper. 

“I still love you.” Suguru simply said them as though they had remained true every single day since he had walked out of this house. You laughed, but the sound caught somewhere between a sob and a breath. You shook your head, pressing trembling fingers against your forehead as if you could somehow stop your thoughts from spiralling. 

“That’s the problem. Suguru, this is never happening again.”

You turned away, the bathroom welcoming you with a wash of pale amber light. You reached for the switch almost automatically. Slowly, you lifted your eyes to the mirror. Your lips were swollen from kisses that had only just ended. Faint pink blossoms lingered along your throat, disappearing beneath the neckline. They were tiny things, hardly noticeable to anyone else…hopefully. 

Your cheeks still carried warmth. Your eyes…they looked brighter somehow, almost peaceful.

You looked happy. Tearing your eyes away from the mirror, you reached immediately for the shower controls. Your fingers trembled as they closed around the brass handle, twisting it harder than necessary until water burst from the showerhead. 

You stood beneath it far longer than you intended, your forehead resting against the warm wall as rivulets of water chased one another over your shoulders and down your back. You scrubbed at your skin as though soap would wash away the guilt lodged beneath your ribs. 

Eventually the rush of water died away. 

You stood there for a moment, dripping all over. Reaching for a towel, you wrapped it tightly around yourself before pushing damp strands of hair back from your face. The mirror remained clouded, offering only the vaguest outline of the woman standing before it. Perhaps that was for the best. You weren’t certain you wanted to meet her eyes again.

You frowned. Ever so slightly, you could hear the faintest sound. Rain still walked against the windows, the pipes clicked somewhere behind the walls as the hot water settled through them. It could have been any of those things. 

You held your breath. It wasn’t a voice, not…quite. A small, uneven sound, muffled by the bedroom wall and rain. Your hand froze where it had been rubbing the towel absently over your arm. You knew that sound.

For fourteen years, you had learned every language his silence could speak. You knew the difference between the sigh he let out after a difficult day at work. You knew how he sounded when he laughed until he cried. And you knew how he sounded when he tried not to. The realisation settled over you with a sickening weight. 

Suguru was crying. 

He wasn’t sobbing or calling your name or asking you to come back. If anything, it sounded as though he were trying with every ounce of strength he possessed to keep the sound trapped inside his own chest. Maybe that night you should’ve opened the door, crossed the room, and wrapped your arms around him and told him everything would be all right. 

Instead, you stood perfectly still. Some nights changed your life because of the choices you made. Others changed it because of the ones you didn’t.

[belimah]

art by nikki