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when FIRELORD ZUKO takes a liking to AVATAR AANG'S mysterious new BRIDE.
TORN BETWEEN TWO ROADS ! — aang x reader x zuko
PLOT. republic city is finally at peace, and for once, katara allows herself to hope—maybe now, after everything, she and aang can finally become something real. but when aang returns after eight months, he isn’t alone. he comes back with you at his side, introducing you as his wife. suspicious yet helpless, his friends do their best to welcome you, even as nothing about this sudden marriage makes sense. but while everyone else keeps their distance, one person doesn’t. and perhaps Zuko gets a little too comfortable with the avatar’s new wife.
CHARACTERS. AANG and ZUKO.
CHAPTER WARNINGS. 18+, mdni, angst, zuko spirals a little, multiple minor character deaths, ozai appearence, takes place 10 years after atla, age gaps, reader is 21, established relationship, fem reader, atla spoilers, no spoilers for legend of aang, not proofread.
(please check the story masterlist for the story warnings.)
WC. 7.7k
masterlist : story masterlist
chapter eleven
art creds :: chamiii07, ilameys on x
a/n: this was my least favorite chapter to write for sure. there is no reason behind it. it just took me so long to write with the lore drops, and i still am not happy with how it turned out. will probably come back to refine it.
also, i finally have an ending in mind, ahhhhhh it is insane to even think about it!
p.s. please read the a/n at the end.
Zuko had remained within his study from the moment he left your chambers.
With you occupying his rooms and his thoughts rendered unbearable in their presence, this had been the only place within the palace where he could still tolerate being alone with himself. Even then, the quiet surrounding the study had offered little comfort.
A single torch burned on the wall, its flame flickering restlessly against shelves lined with old scrolls and unfinished reports, though the weak light did nothing to ease the heaviness consuming him.
At first, he had simply sat there motionless.
Hours passed without meaning beneath the weight pressing endlessly against his mind, and despite everything that should have occupied his thoughts, the scandal of it, the horror of what Aang might think, the betrayal hanging between all three of you, none of those had truly remained at the center of his mind for long.
Instead, one question returned to him again and again with almost humiliating persistence.
What did you truly think of him now?
The thought disgusted him each time it surfaced, yet still it lingered.
Because yes, the kiss had been a mistake. A terrible one. Neither of you had intended for it to happen, and the shock crossing your face afterward had made that painfully clear.
Still, another part of him could not stop replaying the moments before it.
Surely something like that did not happen entirely without reason.
Zuko hated himself for wondering it.
You had been vulnerable. Injured. Exhausted beyond reason after reliving some of the worst moments of your life for hours while your husband remained miles away. You had found yourself in an unfamiliar palace surrounded by strangers, carrying pain that still had not fully settled inside your own body, and he understood all of that perfectly well.
He repeated those facts to himself countless times throughout the night in hopes they might silence the dangerous hope surfacing beneath them.
Perhaps that was why you asked him to stay, since any familiar kindness would have sufficed.
And yet, some part of him still wanted to believe otherwise.
That realization alone left him feeling ashamed that he could scarcely bear sitting with it.
After Mai, after everything between them had finally crumbled beneath years of distance and exhaustion and becoming entirely different people from who they once were, Zuko had never truly allowed himself to feel deeply for anyone again.
At first, he convinced himself it simply required time.
Then time passed.
Six years of it.
Six years spent ruling a nation still healing from war while advisors reminded him repeatedly of duties extending far beyond politics. A Fire Lord required stability, a wife, children.
An heir capable of continuing the royal line.
Those conversations surfaced so frequently within council meetings that eventually they no longer sounded invasive at all, merely inevitable.
And it was not as though he had refused trying.
Over the years, he had met many women worthy of admiration. Intelligent women. Kind women. Beautiful women whose company he often enjoyed enough to briefly consider whether one of them might finally become enough for him to stop searching altogether.
Every single time, however, he reached the same miserable conclusion.
He was not falling in love. He was attempting to settle.
The plan always sounded reasonable in theory. Find someone suitable, someone capable of understanding the demands tied to the throne. Affection could come later, that love itself did not necessarily need arriving first.
That had been his logic for years.
Uncle Iroh, however, always recognized the truth before Zuko himself wished admitting it.
"You are trying to convince yourself that loneliness and peace are the same thing." His uncle had once told him quietly during one particularly exhausting evening within the palace gardens.
At the time, Zuko dismissed the words entirely, but now they returned to him with irritating clarity.
The truth was, he had wanted the search to end.
He hadn't stopped believing in love entirely, but he had grown tired of waiting for something that never seemed to arrive naturally for him. He wanted certainty.
Something stable and permanent enough that he could finally stop questioning whether he was meant for that kind of happiness at all.
Marriage frightened him more than he ever admitted aloud.
Fatherhood even more so.
There existed nights where he still woke hearing Ozai's voice inside his head clear enough to leave him staring at the ceiling until sunrise, terrified of how easily cruelty could become inherited when left unchallenged long enough.
Yet despite all of it, despite every fear lingering inside him, he trusted himself enough to believe he would never become that man.
Because Ozai had not been the only example of fatherhood within his life.
Uncle Iroh had loved Lu Ten with gentleness Zuko still remembered vividly years after his cousin's death, and despite the grief of losing his own son, he had continued extending that same patience and care toward Zuko afterward too.
Perhaps that was why the realization consuming him tonight felt so dangerous, because for the first time in years, hope had returned to him.
The thought should have comforted him, but instead, it unraveled everything further.
Zuko sat motionless behind the desk, his fingers pressed against his temple leaving faint marks against his skin. Scrolls remained scattered untouched before him, reports awaiting signatures long forgotten beneath thoughts far heavier than politics or court matters.
The more he thought about your story, the less certainty he found within any conclusion.
You had not loved Aang when you married him.
You respected him, even trusted him. Felt grateful toward him. But love itself had come afterward.
The horrifying circumstances surrounding that marriage, despite how premature and desperate the arrangement initially appeared, it had still become real. Somewhere between your grief and his kindness, you and Aang had found something genuine enough that even now, long after hearing you speak of him, Zuko could still feel the shape of your love for the Avatar lingering painfully within every word.
Which meant his own idea had not been foolish after all.
Marriage can come before love.
That was how it had always worked for most people, particularly within noble households and royal families. Duty preceded affection, because for them, compatibility came first.
Love followed afterward if one proved fortunate enough.
Aang's marriage to you stood as proof of that.
Yet the thought brought him no satisfaction whatsoever, because the moment he leaned too far toward that conclusion, another voice surfaced immediately afterward within his mind.
Uncle Iroh's.
"Love should not feel like resignation, Prince Zuko."
For years, his uncle had insisted that Zuko approached relationships incorrectly, it wasn't because he lacked the capacity for love, he simply searched for practicality before emotion every single time.
He treated companionship almost like diplomacy, something negotiated carefully rather than something truly felt.
Perhaps Uncle Iroh had been correct.
But if that were true, then what of you and Aang?
Zuko exhaled sharply before dragging both hands down across his face in frustration.
No matter how he approached the thought, the contradiction remained.
If Uncle Iroh stood correct, then perhaps love could not truly be built afterward from mere kindness and circumstance alone.
Yet Aang undeniably loved you.
Zuko had seen it himself.
The patience in Aang's voice whenever he spoke to you. The instinctive way he protected your dignity even during conflict. The softness surrounding him each time he thinks of you.
That love existed unquestionably.
Which should have settled the matter entirely.
Instead, it only worsened the storm consuming his thoughts.
Because if Aang's marriage proved Uncle Iroh wrong, then that meant Zuko himself had wasted years searching for something that perhaps never needed existing beforehand at all.
And if Uncle Iroh still remained right—
Then what did that imply about Aang's marriage?
The thought disturbed him enough that his head dropped forward harshly against the desk with a dull thud echoing through the study.
He remained there, forehead pressed against scattered parchment while frustration twisted tighter and tighter within his chest.
Even entertaining the possibility of Uncle Iroh being wrong felt deeply unnatural to him.
Absurd, almost.
There had been moments throughout Zuko's life where entire nations doubted his uncle's judgment, where generals dismissed him, where nobles mocked his gentleness, where Ozai himself viewed compassion as weakness, yet through every terrible turn within Zuko's life, Uncle Iroh had somehow remained the one unwavering certainty he trusted entirely.
So if his uncle remained correct here too—
Then perhaps Aang still had not truly loved you in the way Zuko imagined.
No.
The denial surfaced immediately.
That conclusion felt false the moment it formed.
Aang loved you.
He loved you so deeply that hearing you speak of him left the air inside the room altered somehow. Zuko could still hear it within your voice, feel it threaded through every memory you shared.
The realization should have ended his spiraling thoughts there, but, another surfaced immediately afterward.
...Did you love Aang the same way?
Zuko shut his eyes briefly at once, disgust striking him almost immediately for even allowing himself to think it.
After everything you told him. After the way you spoke of your husband. Questioning your love for Aang felt cruel.
But, the kiss remained.
No matter how desperately he tried rationalizing it away beneath exhaustion and grief and vulnerability, the memory still lingered stubbornly within him. You had not recoiled immediately. You had leaned toward him too. Your lips had remained against his for one unbearable suspended moment before reality finally shattered across both of you.
Why?
The question returned endlessly.
Because yes, people made mistakes.
People sought comfort while wounded.
But still, why had you kissed him back?
The sharp knock against the study doors shattered the spiral of Zuko's thoughts before he could sink any deeper into them.
He straightened from where he sat behind the desk, one hand dragging quickly across his face.
The doors opened without waiting for permission, revealing Grand Chamberlain first, parchment clutched tightly beneath one arm while tension stretched visibly across his aging features.
Uncle Iroh followed shortly behind him as he paused the moment he crossed the threshold.
His expression softened instantly at the sight before him, and Zuko knew precisely what he must look like.
Still dressed in yesterday's robes, hair poorly tied back after hours spent dragging restless fingers through it, exhaustion settled heavily beneath his eyes while untouched reports remained scattered across the desk before him in complete disarray.
"Lord Zuko," Iroh said gently, concern threading naturally through his voice, "surely you have not remained here the entire night."
Zuko's brows furrowed faintly at the title.
He had never grown accustomed to hearing it from his uncle.
Most days, Iroh remembered. Sometimes the formalities slipped in front of ministers or council members, though Zuko always hated the strange distance it created between them.
Still, he merely exhaled quietly before answering.
"It appears I have."
Iroh's expression turned increasingly troubled at that admission, though before he could continue, Grand Chamberlain stepped forward hurriedly.
"Was my message to the Avatar sent out?" Zuko questioned.
"Yes, it should reach him by nightfall." He answers before continuing.
"My lord, we have concluded preliminary questioning regarding last evening's attack upon the upper eastern district and—"
"Perhaps, the Fire Lord might appreciate a hot meal and a bath before beginning state matters at sunrise." Iroh interrupted smoothly, his tone remaining pleasant despite the unmistakable warning beneath it.
Grand Chamberlain faltered immediately.
"Of course. I merely thought—"
"It is fine," Zuko cut in quietly before the older man could begin apologizing further.
"Continue."
Truthfully, he welcomed the interruption.
Anything capable of pulling his thoughts away from your chambers even briefly already felt preferable to remaining alone with them.
The Grand Chamberlain inclined his head respectfully before unrolling the parchment held beneath his arm.
"The attackers carried markings associated with the Shinu clans stationed along the western caldera settlements." he explained carefully.
"Three separate prisoners bore ceremonial burns matching records from the old noble registries predating Fire Lord Sozin's consolidation of the throne."
Zuko's expression darkened slightly. So his earlier suspicions had not been entirely unfounded.
The Shinu bloodlines.
One of the oldest surviving noble factions within the Fire Nation, descendants of rulers who, centuries ago, had nearly ascended the throne themselves before the royal line of the Fire Lords established dominance permanently.
Though stripped of significant influence generations prior, remnants of the clan still held wealth and political standing across several outer territories.
And resentment.
There had always been resentment, quiet enough to remain manageable under previous rulers, yet never fully extinguished.
"Their grievances have increased considerably throughout recent years," The Grand Chamberlain continued cautiously.
"Particularly among traditionalists unsettled by Your Majesty's reforms concerning the colonies and trade alliances with the Earth Kingdom."
"A kinder Fire Lord invites challengers." Zuko murmured flatly.
Neither man answered immediately because the truth lingered too plainly.
Zuko had spent years undoing fear, and to some within the Fire Nation, that alone resembled weakness.
"The timing remains suspicious nonetheless," Iroh spoke at last, his voice calm yet thoughtful beneath the flickering torchlight.
"The Shinu clans have complained for decades. Open rebellion does not suddenly emerge overnight without encouragement."
The Grand Chamberlain nodded stiffly.
"We considered that possibility as well. There are concerns another faction may be using the clan's existing resentment to disguise a larger operation."
Zuko leaned back slightly within his chair, exhaustion pressing heavily against his skull once more.
"Internal?"
"Potentially," He admitted. "Though we lack sufficient evidence presently."
Silence settled through the study. The attack itself disturbed Zuko less than the precision behind it.
The rebels had known exactly where to strike. Exactly when palace security would thin surrounding the festival routes. Even the explosion near the southern bridge had occurred with enough accuracy to delay reinforcement units without collapsing the structure entirely.
Someone had informed them, or someone had guided them.
"I want the prisoners questioned personally," Zuko said finally.
The Grand Chamberlain straightened immediately.
"Yes, Your Majesty. Shall I prepare the underground chambers?"
Zuko nodded once.
"And arrange escort rotations along the lower corridor entrances. No one enters without direct clearance."
"At once."
The Grand Chamberlain bowed deeply before departing hurriedly from the study, parchment still clutched against his chest while the doors shut heavily behind him.
The silence returning felt entirely different.
Zuko remained staring toward the scattered documents across his desk before Uncle Iroh finally spoke again.
"Are you certain you wish to do this yourself, Prince Zuko?"
The title settled warmly against him in a way nothing else had throughout the entire night.
"I need answers," Zuko replied quietly.
"You need rest first," Iroh corrected gently.
Zuko let out the faintest breath through his nose. "That too, apparently."
A small smile finally touched Iroh's face , though concern still lingered heavily within his eyes while he studied his nephew carefully.
"You carry too many things alone, and you always begin believing exhaustion is discipline instead of injury." he said softly.
The older man had always possessed an irritating ability to notice unrest before Zuko himself wished acknowledging it aloud, and tonight proved no different.
Zuko lowered his eyes briefly toward the papers scattered across the desk.
"There is...something else." He admitted at last.
Iroh remained still. Then gently he spoke—
"What troubles you, Prince Zuko?"
The title nearly undid him more than the question itself.
Because suddenly he did not feel like the Fire Lord sitting inside a cold study burdened beneath politics and personal dilemmas. For one fleeting moment, he felt young again. Sitting across from the only person who had ever consistently remained patient enough to guide him through his worst moments.
And that was precisely why the confession left him before he could reconsider it.
"I kissed her."
The words landed heavily within the quiet room and Iroh did not react immediately.
Still, Zuko caught the slight stillness entering his uncle's posture all the same, as Iroh finally exhaled softly through his nose.
"I see."
The calm response worsened the shame clawing through Zuko's chest.
"It was not intentional," he said quickly.
"At least—not entirely. We were speaking for hours and she was injured and exhausted and—" His jaw tightened faintly.
"And vulnerable," Iroh finished gently.
Zuko fell silent.
The truth within that single word settled painfully.
"She spoke about Aang," He continued more quietly after a moment.
"About everything that happened before they married. And then..." He stopped briefly, visibly struggling to explain.
"It just happened."
Iroh listened patiently without interruption.
"She asked me to leave immediately, she looked horrified." Zuko admitted, the humiliation within the memory still fresh enough to leave bitterness coating his tongue.
"And you?"
Zuko let out a humorless breath.
"What do you think?"
Iroh's expression softened faintly.
"Zuko. Moments born from exhaustion and closeness can confuse even very wise people." He said carefully
Zuko's eyes narrowed faintly at that.
"You think that is all this was?"
"I think, you are trying very hard to convince yourself this moment carried certainty when in truth it carried pain." Iroh answered gently,
The words struck harder than Zuko wished admitting, and immediately, instinct rose within him to argue.
"But feelings do not appear from nowhere. People do not simply—" Frustration interrupted him briefly before he forced himself to be calm.
"She kissed me too." He insisted quietly.
Iroh remained silent, already understanding where Zuko's implications were headed, and so he simply reminded him of the truth.
"And yet she still loves her husband."
Zuko's throat tightened because that had never truly been the question haunting him.
He already knew the answer.
"Yes," he admitted.
The older man nodded once.
"Aang loves her deeply as well."
Another truth, which only added another wound.
"I know."
"And despite that knowledge, a part of you still hopes this moment meant something greater." Iroh continued carefully,
Zuko said nothing. and his silence answered sufficiently enough.
"Love may arrive unexpectedly," he said.
"It may grow in strange places and under unfortunate circumstances. On this, you are correct." His expression saddened faintly afterward.
"But I could never encourage you to pursue a married woman, particularly one who is not only your friend's wife, but the Avatar's wife."
The words settled with quiet finality.
Iroh was not condemning him, nor was he judging him. He simply wished for Zuko to see the situation for what it was.
Zuko lowered his head, one hand pressing against his brow while shame twisted together inside him unpleasantly.
"I know," he muttered.
And he did know.
Spirits, that was precisely why the entire thing felt so unbearable, because nothing about it should have happened at all.
The study fell silent once more before the distant sound of armored footsteps echoed faintly beyond the doors, signaling the escorts and guards preparing below.
Iroh straightened slightly at the noise.
"The prisoners will still be there in another hour," he remarked gently, pressing for Zuko to take rest.
"So will my thoughts," Zuko replied dryly.
That finally earned the faintest smile from his uncle.
Before leaving, however, Zuko suddenly reached for one of the blank parchments resting nearby.
"Wait outside for me," he said quietly.
Iroh studied him briefly before nodding once and stepping from the study without further question.
The moment the doors closed behind him, Zuko dipped the brush swiftly into ink and began writing across the parchment with hurried precision. Once finished, he rolled the parchment tightly before fastening it shut with the royal seal.
Then finally, he stood.
Outside the study, several guards already waited alongside the Grand Chamberlain and Uncle Iroh beneath the dim corridor lanterns.
Zuko stepped past them before extending the sealed parchment toward one of the palace guards stationed nearby.
"See this carried out immediately," he ordered calmly.
The guard bowed at once.
"Yes, Your Majesty."
Zuko gave a single nod before turning away entirely, the sound of armored footsteps soon echoing through the palace halls while he disappeared deeper within the palace corridors alongside his uncle, the Grand Chamberlain, and the waiting escorts.
The palace prisons rested far beneath the royal compound, carved deep into the volcanic stone beneath the capital where heat lingered permanently within the walls no matter the season above. Torches lined the descending corridors in uneven intervals, their flames casting restless shadows across iron gates while armored guards stepped aside hurriedly at the Fire Lord's approach.
The deeper they descended, the quieter the palace became overhead.
By the time Zuko reached the final staircase alongside Uncle Iroh, the Grand Chamberlain, and the escorting guards, the sounds of court life had disappeared entirely beneath the heavy stillness suffocating the underground chambers.
Then shouting shattered it.
Several guards appeared abruptly from the lower corridor ahead, panic visible across their faces while one nearly stumbled descending the final steps too quickly.
"Your Majesty!" the man gasped breathlessly. "The prisoners—they are dying!"
Zuko's expression sharpened immediately.
"What happened?"
"We do not know," another guard answered frantically. "They regained consciousness only moments ago and then suddenly began convulsing. They are foaming at the mouth—we attempted restraining them but—"
The rest dissolved into alarmed shouting as Zuko moved immediately.
The corridor blurred past rapidly while the guards struggled to keep pace behind him, boots striking sharply against volcanic stone as the smell reached them before the cells themselves did.
Bitter almonds and smoke.
A terrible familiarity settled instantly through the air.
By the time Zuko reached the holding chambers, three prisoners already lay collapsed against the floors of their cells, violent tremors wracking through their bodies while thick foam gathered visibly around their mouths. One guard attempted forcing water between clenched teeth only for Iroh to stop him sharply at once.
"No, do not touch their mouths." He ordered immediately.
The authority within his voice startled the surrounding soldiers making them obeyed instantly.
Zuko stepped closer toward the nearest prisoner, eyes narrowing slightly as the man's body convulsed violently against the stone floor before suddenly going still altogether.
Then another prisoner collapsed moments later.
Zuko already understood. So did Iroh.
The realization settled between uncle and nephew without either speaking it aloud, and the weight of it spread visibly across Zuko's expression while he stared down toward the dead man lying motionless inside the cell.
"No..." the Grand Chamberlain whispered faintly behind them. "Surely not..."
Iroh exhaled quietly through his nose before crouching carefully beside the iron bars, studying the corpse without touching it.
"The emberroot capsules," he said grimly.
The words tightened something sharply inside Zuko's chest because emberroot capsules had not existed publicly within decades.
A poison developed secretly during Ozai's reign for use among covert operatives and royal informants stationed within enemy territories during the war. Small enough to conceal beneath the tongue or within hollowed teeth, the substance reacted almost instantly once bitten down, killing the carrier before meaningful interrogation could begin.
Officially, the practice had been discontinued long before the war ended.
Unofficially...Zuko knew better.
He had spent months after becoming Fire Lord combing through classified wartime documents hidden within sealed palace archives, forcing himself to understand fully the machinery of fear and cruelty his father once wielded so effortlessly.
Among those records existed references to the capsules, though even reading about them years later had left him unsettled enough to close the scrolls early that evening.
Iroh knew of them differently, through watching his younger brother become someone unrecognizable piece by piece beneath ambition and paranoia.
"They were prepared for capture," Zuko murmured quietly.
"No, They were expecting it." Iroh corrected softly, rising slowly back to his feet
The distinction chilled the corridor because this no longer resembled desperate rebellion.
The Grand Chamberlain stepped forward uneasily then, lowering his voice instinctively despite the prisoners already lying dead before them.
"Your Majesty...If these methods originated under Fire Lord Ozai's intelligence divisions, then perhaps our conclusions regarding the Shinu clans were mistaken entirely." He hesitated briefly.
Zuko remained silent.
His mind had already arrived there moments ago.
The clan markings. The coordinated attack. The capsules.
Someone wanted the palace looking toward the old noble houses, but the poison belonged elsewhere.
Or rather, to someone else.
A cold realization settled slowly through him.
Had they overlooked Ozai loyalists entirely?
Ozai remained imprisoned, his reign had ended. Most of his inner circle either stripped of power or imprisoned following the war.
And yet, fear rooted deeply enough inside nations rarely vanished completely, especially not within men who once prospered beneath cruelty.
Zuko's jaw tightened faintly.
Among his council sat generals who once served Ozai directly. Within his guard remained soldiers raised beneath wartime propaganda before Zuko dismantled it piece by piece after ascending the throne.
Loyalty shifted publicly far easier than privately.
And suddenly, the precision behind last night's attack no longer felt merely political.
It felt far too personal.
Zuko's eyes remained fixed upon the dead prisoner before he finally spoke again.
"How many survived?"
One of the nearby guards straightened immediately.
"Seven remain unconscious, Your Majesty. Two others attempted swallowing the capsules but were restrained before they could fully bite down."
"Good, keep them alive." Zuko answered quietly.
The command carried sharp finality beneath its calmness.
Beside him, Iroh folded his hands loosely within his sleeves while studying the holding chambers thoughtfully.
"Were any of the assailants identified yet?" he asked.
The question should have been simple, but he noticed the Grand Chamberlain hesitated visibly.
Zuko noticed it immediately.
"So they were," he said flatly.
The older man swallowed once before answering carefully.
"Well..." His voice lowered instinctively.
"You see, my lord...they were not identified through city registries or clan records." He paused briefly.
"They are all members of the royal palace guard."
The corridor fell silent. Even the remaining soldiers nearby stiffened faintly at the admission.
Zuko turned sharply toward the Grand Chamberlain then, disbelief surfacing across his expression before restraint quickly forced it back beneath composure.
"What?"
The older man bowed his head slightly.
"The insignias beneath their armor were hidden intentionally," he explained hurriedly.
"However, upon removal of the outer plating, several were identified by captains stationed within the palace divisions."
Zuko looked immediately back toward the nearest corpse lying motionless behind the iron bars.
He did not recognize the man.
The royal palace employed hundreds upon hundreds of guards across rotating divisions, many stationed permanently within outer corridors or lower districts of the compound. Helmets and masks concealed much of their faces during duty hours, and Zuko himself rarely interacted personally with anyone outside the higher-ranking commanders assigned directly to the throne room or private quarters.
Still, the knowledge settled unpleasantly within him all the same.
These men had not infiltrated the palace.
Iroh's expression dimmed subtly beside him.
"That is deeply unfortunate." He murmured.
The understatement almost would have sounded humorous under different circumstances.
Zuko exhaled quietly before turning toward the guards once more.
"The surviving prisoners are not to regain consciousness naturally," he ordered immediately. "Have the physicians prepare sedative incense from moonroot and black lotus extract."
Several guards exchanged startled looks.
The mixture remained notoriously strong, often used only during violent psychiatric episodes among prisoners too dangerous to restrain physically.
"It can be administered through smoke inhalation," Zuko continued calmly. "Keep them unconscious until I arrive personally for questioning."
"Yes, Your Majesty."
"And conduct full body searches on every surviving prisoner before transport," he added sharply. "Mouths, armor lining, hair bindings, boots. Everything." His expression hardened slightly.
"If there are additional capsules hidden upon them, I want them found before another man dies."
The guards bowed immediately before rushing to carry out the orders.
Zuko turned toward the Grand Chamberlain afterward.
"I want every personal file belonging to the captured guards delivered to my office within the hour."
The older man blinked faintly.
"All of them, Your Majesty?"
"Everything," Zuko repeated. "Service records. Family lineage. Division assignments. Promotions. Transfers." His voice lowered slightly.
"I want to know precisely how long each of them served within this palace."
The Grand Chamberlain bowed quickly.
"At once."
Zuko fell silent once more afterward, though his thoughts continued spiraling rapidly beneath the stillness visible upon his face.
Because if these truly were Ozai loyalists rather than merely rebellious guards exploiting old methods, then another far more dangerous question surfaced immediately.
How had anyone maintained contact with him?
Slowly, his attention drifted toward the darker corridor extending farther beneath the prison complex.
Toward Ozai.
Very few possessed access there.
Fewer still after Zuko ascended the throne.
Only his most trusted guards rotated through the lower watch posts surrounding his father's isolated imprisonment, and every transfer assignment required direct authorization from the palace itself.
Yet if these men truly remained loyal to Ozai after all these years, that would mean someone had been speaking to him.
"I should speak to him."
The words left Zuko quietly, the decision behind him already been made before he spoke it aloud.
Uncle Iroh's expression dimmed almost immediately.
"Prince Zuko, I do not believe your father will offer clarity upon this matter." He began carefully,
"No, but he may still reveal something useful." Zuko replied evenly while turning toward the deeper corridor descending beneath the prison chambers.
Iroh studied him for a lingering moment afterward, concern visible despite the older man's usual composure.
"And what if he reveals something harmful instead?"
Zuko did not answer.
Ozai had never required bending to wound people.
Zuko finally stepped forward, the heavy fabric of his robes shifting softly against the stone beneath his feet while behind him, Iroh sighed quietly.
"You continue hoping there is a version of him you have not yet suffered from," he murmured sadly.
Zuko's jaw tightened faintly at the words, though he continued walking regardless.
Iron doors lined the corridors intermittently while guards stationed throughout the lower watch posts straightened immediately at the Fire Lord's approach, stepping aside without question.
None attempted speaking.
The corridor narrowed considerably near the end, eventually opening into a lone circular chamber separated entirely from the remaining prison complex. Heavy bars enclosed the final cell.
Ozai sat near the back wall when Zuko entered.
At first glance, he appeared unchanged.
Yet prolonged isolation had altered him in subtler ways impossible to ignore. Time clung differently to men stripped entirely of power. His hair had silvered further throughout the years, shadows settling deeper across his face while age finally began claiming him properly.
And the moment his eyes lifted toward Zuko, that old fear returned instinctively within him.
Some part of Zuko would always remain the little boy standing trembling before the throne, desperate for approval that never arrived.
Ozai smiled faintly upon seeing him.
"Well, to what do I owe the pleasure of such an early visit?" He drawled softly, his voice still carrying that same cruel smoothness Zuko remembered from childhood.
Zuko stopped several feet from the bars, his posture remaining composed despite the tension tightening subtly through him.
"I have questions."
Ozai let out a low sound beneath his breath that nearly resembled amusement.
"How unfortunate." His eyes moved slowly across Zuko's face. "And here I believed perhaps my son had finally begun missing me."
Zuko ignored the remark.
"Has anyone visited you recently besides the assigned guards?"
Ozai tilted his head slightly.
Straight to business.
That alone amused him visibly.
"You descend into the depths of the palace after years of absence, and the first thing you ask me concerns visitors." He murmured lazily.
"Answer the question."
Ozai smiled wider at the command.
"There it is."
Zuko's expression hardened faintly.
"The imitation of authority you practice so carefully." Ozai leaned back slightly against the stone wall behind him.
"You truly do sound more and more like a Fire Lord each time you visit. Though unfortunately..." His eyes sharpened subtly.
"Still not a convincing one."
Zuko remained unmoved outwardly. Inside, however, fear coiled tightly through him.
"You will answer eventually regardless."
"Will I?"
The taunt slid easily from Ozai's mouth.
"With what exactly do you intend forcing cooperation these days?" His gaze lowered briefly toward Zuko's hands before lifting again knowingly.
"Mercy?"
The word sounded almost insulting spoken aloud, and Zuko exhaled slowly through his nose before continuing.
"Several palace guards attacked the upper districts last night."
That earned Ozai's attention more visibly in interest.
"And you came to me because your own guards failed you," he observed quietly.
"They possessed emberroot capsules."
Silence overtook the conversation as Zuko observed him for any nuance.
Then Ozai laughed softly beneath his breath. The sound barely rose above the torches crackling against the walls, and hearing it again after so many years unsettled Zuko.
"Ah, So you finally discovered that fear remains loyal far longer than affection ever does." Ozai murmured.
Zuko's jaw tightened.
"Did someone contact you?"
Ozai ignored the question entirely.
"You were always too sentimental for this throne," he continued calmly.
"Your sister would have understood immediately what weakness invites. And now your own guards turn against you beneath your own roof." His eyes narrowed faintly.
Zuko stepped closer toward the bars despite himself.
"You will answer me."
Ozai observed him carefully for a moment before smiling faintly once more.
"There he is."
The quiet satisfaction within those words irritated Zuko more than outright mockery ever could.
"You still approach me emotionally," Ozai continued. "Still reactive. Still allowing fear to guide your decisions while pretending it does not."
Zuko forced himself still again.
"Has anyone besides the assigned guards spoken with you recently?"
Ozai sighed lightly through his nose.
"You ask questions already knowing the answer."
"I want confirmation."
The older man leaned forward slightly, shadows from the torchlight cutting sharply across his features.
"You want to believe the rebellion inside your palace belongs to strangers." His mouth curved faintly. "Because if loyal men still remember me fondly after all these years, then perhaps your reign has not inspired nearly the devotion you imagined."
Zuko's hands curled faintly behind his back, and Ozai noticed immediately.
"You will answer my questions."
Ozai leaned back slightly against the stone wall behind him.
"You continue asking them incorrectly."
Frustration stirred sharply through Zuko's chest once more.
"I asked whether anyone besides the assigned guards visited you."
"And I heard the question perfectly."
"Then answer it."
Ozai studied him silently for a lingering moment before speaking again.
"You assume loyalty functions through proximity," he said calmly. "That men require direct instruction to remain devoted." A faint smile touched his mouth afterward.
"That was always your misunderstanding."
Zuko's expression hardened.
"You are implying nothing."
"I simply observe." Ozai said smoothly.
The older man tilted his head slightly then, the movement almost thoughtful.
"You spent years dismantling fear from this nation because you believed fear itself created obedience." His eyes remained fixed steadily upon Zuko now.
"But fear is not what loyalty truly grows from." His voice lowered faintly.
"Pride is."
The word settled unpleasantly within the chamber.
"Men followed me because I gave them purpose," Ozai continued evenly.
"You replaced certainty with kindness and expected everyone to thank you for it." His mouth curved faintly.
"I replaced tyranny."
Ozai let out a low breath that almost resembled laughter.
"Such dramatic wording." His attention drifted briefly toward the torches lining the corridor outside before returning toward his son.
"Tell me honestly, Zuko. When your guards looked upon me years ago, what did they see?"
Zuko remained silent.
"A conqueror," Ozai answered himself. "A ruler unafraid of power." His expression sharpened faintly afterward.
"When they look upon you, they see hesitation."
The words struck harder than Zuko wished admitting.
He didn't believe them fully, but a small part of him feared they might be true.
"You speak endlessly, for a man rotting inside a cell." Zuko replied tightly.
That finally earned a fuller smile from Ozai.
"There you are."
Zuko's jaw tightened.
Ozai still knew exactly where to press.
It exhausted him.
"You continue avoiding the question." Zuko said sharply. "If these men acted under your influence, then someone has been communicating with you."
"Do you truly believe, that men require constant reminders to remain loyal to their beliefs?" He asked quietly
Zuko stared at him.
The prison chamber suddenly felt colder.
"Enough."
The word left him harsher than intended, and Ozai observed him for another moment before finally sighing faintly through his nose.
"No one visits me, son."
The sentence came weakly.
"Not ministers. Not soldiers. Not hidden loyalists." His eyes lingered steadily upon Zuko.
"Only you."
Silence settled heavily afterward.
Zuko should have felt reassured hearing it.
Instead, his confusion only deepened further because Ozai sounded truthful.
"You remain the sole visitor to my lonely little chamber," Ozai continued softly, mockery threading subtly beneath the words once more.
"Though admittedly your visits have become disappointingly infrequent."
Zuko exhaled slowly through his nose before turning away sharply from the bars.
The conversation had gained him nothing.
Behind him, Ozai's voice followed calmly through the darkness.
"You should be careful, Zuko."
The warning halted him despite himself.
"You spend so much time searching for enemies resembling me, that one day you may fail to notice the ones who do not." Ozai murmured.
Zuko left without answering.
You had slept terribly.
Whether the fault belonged to the wound stretched across your back or to the memory of what had transpired within Zuko's chambers, you could not fully determine, though every attempt at rest throughout the night had eventually dissolved into shallow exhaustion and restless thoughts.
By the time you finally rose from bed, sunlight had already shifted high beyond the palace windows.
The physician assigned to your care had visited earlier that morning, arriving with quiet professionalism and the faint scent of medicinal herbs. He examined your body carefully, replacing the wrappings across your shoulder and back while asking measured questions regarding dizziness, fever, and pain.
To his visible relief, your condition appeared stable.
"You are recovering better than anticipated," he had remarked thoughtfully while securing the final bandage.
"Particularly considering the extent of inflammation surrounding the wound yesterday evening."
You merely offered polite agreement.
Truthfully, your body felt heavy enough that even sitting upright for prolonged periods exhausted you. Still, the physician seemed satisfied by your progress.
Before leaving, he reminded you firmly of the medicine prepared for you upon the bedside table, instructing complete bed rest and minimal movement before promising to return the following day to inspect the healing more thoroughly.
Complete bed rest.
Unfortunately, isolation and silence proved considerably less tolerable by noon.
And so, eventually, boredom overcame you.
The Fire Lord's chambers had remained quiet since morning, untouched save for the occasional servants arriving briefly with fresh water or food trays before departing immediately. Left entirely alone within rooms far too large for a single recovering guest, you eventually found yourself wandering through them aimlessly simply to occupy your thoughts.
Your movements remained slow, the sluggish heaviness belonging to exhaustion.
You avoided lifting your injured arm more than necessary while crossing the chambers, careful not to aggravate the healing shoulder beneath the loose robes provided for you. Anything positioned too high upon shelves or mounted against walls remained deliberately untouched, and despiie passing the large wardrobe several times throughout your wandering, you refused yourself even a glance toward it altogether.
Some boundaries still felt important maintaining.
Instead, your attention drifted elsewhere as the small study adjoining his chambers stood partially open, and after a moment's hesitation, curiosity eventually carried you quietly inside.
Scrolls remained stacked neatly across shelves lining the walls while maps lay partially unrolled across the large desk near the windows, several marked heavily with inked notes and military positioning routes.
One corner held old Pai Sho tiles arranged midgame beside an untouched teacup long gone cold, and near the shelves rested a collection of swords displayed carefully upon dark lacquered mounts.
Your attention lingered briefly upon one particular object resting beside the desk afterward.
An old glider staff.
You paused at the sight of it.
The wood appeared aged from use, repaired carefully near one edge where a fracture once split through it years ago. Resting beside it sat several smaller items far less ceremonious than anything else within the room; a faded Pai Sho token carved from pale stone, and tucked partially beneath several scrolls, an old sketch rendered clumsily that made you smile despite yourself.
Aang. Katara. Sokka. Toph. And Zuko himself standing awkwardly near the edge.
The drawing looked terrible, a trait of Sokka you remember Aang describing to you once.
Somehow it only made it feel more precious.
Your fingers hovered faintly above the parchment before withdrawing again quietly.
Something softened unpleasantly inside your chest then, the sudden awareness of how deeply intertwined all their lives truly remained even years later.
Before the thought could settle further, however, a knock sounded sharply against the chamber doors.
You startled slightly at the interruption, instinctively pressing one hand against the desk edge before recovering yourself.
"Come in," you called softly, walking out to the room, closing the study room door behind you.
The chambers doors opened moments later.
An usher stepped carefully into the chambers, dressed in formal palace attire trimmed neatly with crimson and gold while his posture remained respectfully lowered upon noticing you standing.
"My lady, it pleases me greatly to see you upon your feet. I had hoped your recovery progressed favorably." He greeted politely.
You offered him a faint smile.
"I simply needed to move about for a while, though I assure you I intend returning to rest shortly." You replied honestly.
"I am relieved to hear it." The usher inclined his head respectfully before continuing.
"However, you need not continue resting within these chambers."
Your brows furrowed slightly. The man stepped aside gently then.
"I have been instructed to escort you to your new room, should you permit it."
Your brows furrowed faintly at the usher's words.
"My new room?" you repeated slowly before another thought struck you almost immediately afterward.
"Were my belongings recovered from the fire?"
The usher hesitated, and the pause unsettled you.
"We recovered what we could, my lady," he replied carefully, a trace of sympathy softening his otherwise formal tone.
"The salvaged items have already been arranged within your new chambers."
Something about the vagueness of it settled unpleasantly inside your chest.
The usher clearly intended reassurance, yet the faint sadness crossing his expression suggested far more had been lost. You considered questioning him further, though the impending reality made the effort itself feel burdensome.
So instead, you merely inclined your head softly.
"I understand."
The walk through the palace corridors terrified you.
Every passing servant dressed in dark crimson robes made your pulse jump unexpectedly within your chest, and each turn around the hallways left you bracing instinctively for the possibility of suddenly encountering the Fire Lord himself standing somewhere ahead.
You did not know what frightened you more.
The thought of seeing him, or the thought of not knowing how either of you were supposed to behave afterward.
The memory of last night still lingered far too vividly beneath your skin, impossible to separate from the quiet shame curling through your stomach each time you allowed yourself thinking about it for too long.
Several times throughout the walk, you nearly convinced yourself he would already be waiting within the chambers prepared for you, perhaps out of guilt regarding the fire, perhaps to apologize, perhaps simply because neither of you properly understood how to exist around one another anymore after what happened.
Thankfully when the doors finally opened, he was nowhere inside.
Relief arrived so quickly it almost weakened your knees.
The room resembled the chambers you previously occupied almost identically in structure and arrangement, from the lacquered table to the embroidered bedding draped elegantly across the large bed.
Only small differences betrayed otherwise.
The decorative screens bore different carvings. The wall hangings carried older Fire Nation patterns woven carefully through black and gold silk.
And standing near the far side of the room rested two portable clothing rails draped heavily with robes far finer than anything you liked.
Beautiful silks cascaded elegantly from polished wooden frames in layered shades of deep crimson, burnt amber, dark ivory, and muted gold, their embroidery unmistakably Fire Nation in craftsmanship.
Beside them rested a small box left partially open upon a low table, revealing delicate jewelry crafted in the sharp elegant style favored throughout the capital.
You turned slowly back toward the usher in confusion.
Before you could question him, however, he had already stepped aside while one of the accompanying guards approached carrying a small chest carefully between both hands.
The guard opened it respectfully toward you.
Relief struck instantly.
Your jewelry rested safely within velvet lining exactly where you remembered leaving it before the fire, untouched despite everything, and beside it remained several bundled letters tied carefully together with faded ribbon.
Your letters.
You exhaled quietly before realizing how tightly you had been holding your breath.
Stepping forward immediately, you accepted the chest carefully into your hands before checking the letters yourself, fingertips brushing gently across familiar parchment edges while something inside your chest loosened faintly for the first time since arriving within the palace.
The usher smiled politely at the sight.
"These were among the few possessions recovered intact from your previous chambers," he explained. "His Majesty instructed they be transferred personally to your new residence."
You nodded softly, still looking down toward the letters.
"And the robes?" you asked quietly.
"The Fire Lord felt deeply regretful regarding the damage done to your belongings during the attack," the usher answered smoothly.
"These garments were commissioned this morning in hopes they might ease your stay here somewhat." His expression softened politely.
"His Majesty also expressed hope that the styles and colors selected would prove agreeable to you."
Your fingers tightened faintly around the chest.
Morning.
Meaning he had ordered them only hours after leaving your chambers.
Carefully, you placed you recovered belongings upon the bed beside you before offering the usher a restrained nod of gratitude.
"You have my thanks."
The servants bowed respectfully before departing, the doors closing softly behind them while silence settled gradually through the chambers once more.
Only then did you finally step closer toward the rows of newly prepared robes.
Your fingertips brushed lightly against the fabrics hanging before you, the silks impossibly smooth beneath your touch while intricate golden stitching glimmered subtly.
Beautiful and expensive.
But meant to be thoughtful.
Your jaw tightened faintly.
Was this truly an apology for the fire or for something else entirely?
a/n: i've received a lot of messages after chapter 11, and while i completely understand people being upset or even angry, i need to say something.
this story has always been tagged with infidelity, and i've never hidden that fact. if cheating is a trope you absolutely cannot stand, then this story probably isn't for you, and that's completely okay. however, i do think some people are jumping to conclusions about where the story is heading. just because something happened between reader and zuko does not automatically mean she is going to end up with him.
i'm not writing this story for the sake of shipping wars or proving which relationship is "better." this story is, first and foremost, a character study. it's my way of exploring emotions, relationships, mistakes, consequences, and perspectives that i don't normally get to write about.
more than anything, tbtr started as a way for me to fall back in love with writing after spending over two years stuck in a creative block.
that being said, while i read and reply to every message because i genuinely appreciate hearing everyone's thoughts and reactions, i do not appreciate being scolded in my inbox for writing exactly what i warned readers i was going to write.
you are allowed to dislike the story. you are allowed to dislike the characters. you are allowed to disagree with their actions. But please don't be rude to me because the story did something you knew it was going to do.
if this story is no longer something you enjoy reading, then i sincerely encourage you to step away from it rather than continue reading something that only frustrates you.
thank you to everyone who has been reading, even when the story takes turns you don't personally enjoy.
[taglist open] (please mention under the latest chapter or the story masterlist)
Synopsis: You arrive in Japan with a soft heart and nothing to lose until the meanest, the most popular fuckboy in your class chooses you as a bet, smiling at you like it means something. While you fall for him counting the petals of the roses he gave you, he’s only counting days to get in your pants.
Tags: Angst, emotional manipulation, bet trope, power imbalance, fear of abandonment, slow burn, smut, college AU, soft reader, rich mean Gojo, lots of drama.
Preview
You arrive wrapped in soft colors. Pink hoodies, sleeves too long, hands hidden. Your smile is automatic, practiced, something you give away so people won’t ask questions you don’t know how to answer in a language that still feels borrowed.
Japan is beautiful. And it reminds you every day that you don’t belong to it. Finance classes are neat. Structured. Predictable.
People aren’t.
You sit alone because it’s safer. Because you’ve learned that attachment hurts more when you know you’ll have to leave again. Because your heart is too soft for goodbyes that never warn you before they happen. You don’t hear the whispers at first.
You don’t see the way eyes follow you down the hallway. You don’t know that your quiet has made you interesting. Or that interesting, to the wrong people, means target.
The bet doesn’t start with you. It starts at a party you’ll never attend.
Laughter. Alcohol. Ego.
“She won’t even last a week,” Toji says.
“She barely talks,” Sukuna laughs.
And then his voice cuts through them—lazy, confident, cruelly amused.
“Thirty days,” he says.
“Thirty days and she’ll be in love with me. Head over heels. Thinking about me when she wakes up”
A pause. A smirk you don’t see.
“And yeah—she won’t be walking away untouched, would practically be dying to have me bust in her”
They laugh because they know his reputation.
Because he’s never failed. Because girls are games and feelings are temporary for him.
Gojo Satoru doesn’t chase.
He collects.
You don’t know his name yet. You just know the feeling of being watched for the first time when he finally notices you.
You don’t know that your shyness feels like a challenge to him. That your politeness feels like permission.
That your softness is something he thinks he can bend. He doesn’t know how your chest tightens when voices rise.
Doesn’t know how deeply words sink into you. Doesn’t understand that you don’t fall easily—you fall completely.
He thinks this will be easy. That you’ll blush, giggle, unravel. That you’ll mistake attention for affection.
What he doesn’t realise is that the closer he gets, the harder it is to remember why this was supposed to be a joke.
Thirty days.
A bet built on arrogance.
A heart that already knows how to break quietly.
And a boy who has never learned what happens when the game stops being fun.
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Your only option (AU! modern Hiromi Higuruma x Fem! reader)
Y/N is a woman who has recently become unemployed, and her boyfriend has just broken up with her through a voice message only three days before their second anniversary. To make matters worse, her landlord wants to evict her from her apartment due to unpaid rent, and, as the final blow, her best friend turns out to be her boyfriend's mistress. With her life taking such a devastating turn in the span of a single week, Y/N can no longer find any reason to keep living.
On the other hand, Hiromi Higuruma is a successful 36-year-old lawyer who owns his own law firm. The downside? Watching the looks of disappointment and anger on his clients’ faces whenever they lose their cases, and feeling increasingly dissatisfied with a justice system that seems more concerned with statistics than with delivering fair outcomes. This week, Hiromi’s life has taken a turn toward nihilism.
Everything changes when fate brings their lives together in a situation where Y/N decides to give up on life, and Hiromi cannot ignore someone who still has so much to live for throwing it all away. That direct collision of destinies is sealed with a promise: for the next three months, each of them will try to help the other rediscover their will to live.
Can two lost souls find healing in each other's arms? Or will it end in complete disaster?
⚠️ Content Warning ⚠️
This story addresses sensitive topics related to mental health. Throughout the narrative, themes such as depression, suicidal thoughts, hopelessness, and existential crises are mentioned and explored. It also depicts situations involving intense emotional distress, heartbreak, job loss, and feelings of personal failure.
The purpose of this story is not to romanticize or promote suicide or the deterioration of mental health, but rather to explore the process of finding support, understanding, and reasons to keep moving forward even during life’s darkest moments.
the flashing lights, the big stage, the camera's flashing, people screaming your name, the cheers, the thrill of it all made your entire head spin. you felt the adrenaline the first time you got on stage, it felt like your dreams came true, like the spotlight was made for you, and you were so right. it became a motivation push for you, to push yourself and your dignity, no matter what you just wanted to make people happy, to be relatable to others, and you succeeded so well with it.
there was of course a downside to being the popstar you've come to be, others had their opinions rather it was negative or positive, someone always has some to say. rather you're to sexual, or too loud, or maybe show too much skin, your jokes never land, no matter what people are never satisfied with you or what you do. and it got exhausting to deal with most times, but you didn't let it bother you because at the end of the day, only you know how you are, so one can truly judge you. if they got offended, clearly the shoe fits, am i right?
you knew the downside of debuting your career so it just gave you an ego boost, but the nights you spent crying, wishing things could be differently, having doubts goes unnoticed, at least that's what you think for now. why you may ask? well... you're about to find out.
"baby, did you pay for the reservations at the restaurant yet?" laurence said with a sly smirk on his face, it almost sounded conceding the way he said it, god this man you thought. "laurence, you were supposed to get the reservations, yesterday, i can't do it tonight because i have to film for the music video, i told you that beforehand..." you sighed and rolled your eyes, the last thing you needed was another argument with your boyfriend so you just left it as that.
laurence, or known as Laurence baker is your boyfriend, you guys met at a fashion show during fashion week. you both thought it was love at first sight, you instantly became infatuated with him, you needed to know how he would feel on top of you, how soft his skin is, what his love languages were, you wanted to know everything about this man, and you were going to have him one way or another. but after a year things became so different, it wasn't the same love you romantized, you began to hate the person you were when you were with laurence.
"c'mon baby, i forgot okay? you know how the industry is, your man is a busy man!" he said while stepping closer to you, holding his arms out to single you to hug him. "y/n you really don't have to get upset over this, we can just reschedule i guess" you scoffed out a "unbelievable" and walked out on him, you headed to the kitchen to grab your keys before walking out the door. "i don't even know why i put up with him anymore" you sighed. as soon as you got in the car you turned on the radio. signs by tate mcrae was playing. now you're headed over to the set for the music video.
after some hours you've arrived at the set, you settled in and talked to your team and the camera crew what exactly you had in mind for this project that was in the making.
"you sure this is exactly what you want to do, y/n?" nanami said with concern in his voice, looking at you with nothing but possession in his eyes, in a bodyguard kinda way since he is your security guard and your friend. he's been looking out for you for years now, and he doesn't plan on stopping, in his words you're his favorite headache.
"of course, nana, i'll be fine i promise, besides i gotta keep the viewers on their toes!" you snickered, admiring how the nanami kento is still in protect mode. after some time you and the camera crew decided it was time to get to work, all the background characters had the time of their life being a part of the music video, it took exactly 7 hours, so after a few breaks until you were officially satisfied with this idea you had nanami ride you around back home, you loved it when nana drove you around, it made you feel like a princess, and he also didn't mind if it meant keeping an eye on you.
"this is your stop m'lady, you sure you don't want me to stay the night?" he said with a tiny pout on his lips, he barely showed emotion but with you he's always been sweet, that's how much you mean to him, and thank god that he was such a gentleman.
"yeah, i'm sure nana, you don't always have to be here for me" you say, smiling at him. you got up to open your car door but kento softly but sternly tapped your shoulder, signaling you to sit back down so he could open the door. "i know, but it's my job, and i'd be damned to let something happen to you" he got out the car and headed over to your side and opened the door for you. "at least let me take you to your doorstep, m'lady" and what he said was final because that's exactly what he did. he stayed by until he saw you walk in the house, with a final goodbye you waved at him and closed the door shut.
the first thing you see as soon as you thought you could get some peace, was a fucking mess on the floor, controllers on the ground, dirty shorts across the floor, and dirty dishes that haven't been cleaned in the last 8 hours since you've been gone. god this goddamn manchild.
"you act like a kid even though you stand six foot two." you huffed out, ready to kick this man all the way into next week, i mean who does he think he is? and did he think you were going to be the one to do all the work? "manchild" you grumble. you ended up slapping him out of his sleep because you'd be damned to clean up this hideous of a mess.
"OWWW BABE WHAT THE FUCK DID YOU DO THAT FOR?" he winced, immediately jumping off the couch and laying his palm on the side of his face you slapped him with, rightfully so of course.
"why is this house a mess? i wasn't even gone that long, i expect you to at least have some urgency of being decent to a house you don't pay bills for!" you're extremely annoyed and yelling seems to be the only way to get a man to listen to you these days.
"baby, i'm sorry, i must have lost track of time me and the guys wa-" you cut him off before he could finish his sentence.
"you and the guys, are you serious? you know what, just please clean up, i'm serious laurence, don't even come in my room until this house is back to the way it was!" you stomped out of the living room to head to your room, you slammed the door shut to make a point. after a minute you took a deep breath, you were on the urge of spiraling out so you went to your drawer to put on some comfy clothes, you had on pink victoria secret pajamas and your hair was wrapped up in a bonnet. after getting cozy sat on your bed and scrolled on your Instagram because you couldn't sleep with the way how you were feeling. you scrolled for a bit until you saw a specific post. it was a post of you and laurence, man how things changed so much, what happened to us? you thought in your head. guess not all love is forever, huh?
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synopsis: a chronicle of your betrothal to naoya zen'in, from the start of your new life at the zen'in estate to the present.
CONTENTS (full work): N/SFW, canon compliant, 2nd person pov, no use of y/n, arranged marriage, manga spoilers, mutual emotional manipulation, depictions of abuse, non-sexual grooming by the zen'in clan, unhealthy relationship dynamics, possessive behavior, controlling behavior, suggestive themes, eventual smut, childhood friends to lovers, misogyny, injury and canon-typical violence, verbal threat of sexual violence, main character death, reader insert has a family and personality
⤷ read it on ao3 | full masterlist
Chapter 2 // Misguidance
word count: 5.9k
Naoya felt slightly startled at the thought. You were always going to marry—yes, that was true. But he’d always pictured it as something far-off, not urgent. He was young and strong, and there would be time for such things way down the line. And it was guaranteed.His own papa had lived to be an old geezer, and he had plenty of heirs. What was the rush?
Taglist is open!
chapter 1 << [ chapter 2 ] >> chapter 3
It’d been weeks since Naoya had been alone with you. Whenever he spotted you, you would vanish through a doorway or slip easily into conversation with someone nearby. Avoiding him. The burning heat he felt low in his chest still flared every time you caught his eye. He hadn’t expected it to last beyond a day or two. He’d thought you would sulk, maybe apologize for overstepping, and then things would return to usual. That was how it worked. That was how it had always worked.
Instead, you had gone quiet. He could have forced you to face him, of course. A word to an attendant, a summons delivered without explanation, and you would have come. But the idea of summoning you like that left a sour taste in his mouth. As if that would prove something he wasn’t ready to admit.
“Again.”
Naoya moved before the command could echo through the training hall. Naoji lunged, blade raised, but Naoya sidestepped with ease and struck his fist to his brother’s side, driving him into the tatami. Naoya didn’t offer a hand up.
“Too slow,” he said. “That’s what you get for fighting with a weapon.”
Naoji pushed himself up, scowling. “It’s not fair if you’re using your technique.”
“I don’t need to.”
A few of the onlookers exchanged glances as they reset. Naoji came again, this time with a feint. It was better, but not good enough. Naoya swept his leg and sent him down with a thud for a second time.
“Oi,” Naosuke called with a half-laugh, taunting. “What’s got into you?”
“Nothin’,” Naoya snapped back.
He rolled his shoulders and flexed his fingers. His knuckles rang with the aftershocks of his strike. If he was irritable, it was because no one here was a worthy opponent to spar with, not because he couldn’t rid himself of the thoughts of you. He was unused to being distracted and unsettled that anyone could cause such instability in him.
But you were right; you did know him. You had spent years knowing him, seeing him in ways he kept from everyone else, in ways no one else bothered to. Naoya had thought he liked being seen by you, but now he found he did not enjoy it at all. At least, not like this. It felt like being flayed wide open, vulnerable and weak. Yet, he couldn’t help poking at the wound, the urge as tempting and painful as pressing on a toothache.
You should have known better. You’d grown up here and understood the rules. So, why had you stepped in? Why had you spoken to him the way you did? And more importantly, why couldn’t he just leave it alone until you came crawling back?
“You’re in a mood,” Naoji said sourly, rubbing at the base of his spine.
Naoya responded with a scathing look.
The instructor cleared his throat. “Control is part of strength, Naoya.”
Naoya scoffed. Control. He had control. If you thought otherwise, then you were mistaken. You’d been annoying, cutting his fun short like that. He didn’t think you were the type of woman to ruin his fun. That was why it bothered him. Not because when you stood that close, he had become acutely aware of the space between your bodies. Certainly not because he could still picture the hue and shape of your lips when he closed his eyes.
He stepped back onto the mat. “Again.”
Naoji attacked, and Naoya met him head-on. He didn’t bother with the flourishes. Just drove him down and held him there, shoving his forearm against his brother’s collarbone. For a split second, he imagined pinning someone else like this—finer wrists, softer eyes, a spill of hair spread over the mats—
The thought jolted hot through him, and he released Naoji abruptly and stood.
“Enough,” the instructor said.
Naoya exhaled slowly through his nose. He wasn’t distracted, he told himself. He was irritated.
He left the training hall without waiting to be dismissed, sliding the door behind him with a snap that startled a passing attendant. The walk through the gardens did nothing to cool his temper. He didn’t want to see anyone. Least of all, you. Or maybe that was a lie; maybe that was exactly what kept grinding at him.
It pissed him off.
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That week, the estate hosted guests. Not important ones—just a minor family from Osaka hoping to curry favor—but enough to require formality. The visitors gathered in the long reception room overlooking the inner courtyard, where the doors stood open to let in the late-summer light. Trays of sweets were arranged with meticulous care, and tea steamed gently in ornate porcelain cups.
Naoya had come only because Papa had told him to show his face. Appearances mattered, and a future clan head couldn’t appear aloof.
The women’s heads dipped as he entered. He vaguely recognized some of the faces, girls in shades of blue, green, and plum, all watching him demurely out of the corners of their eyes. Boring.
He absorbed the attention, keeping his face blank enough to make it clear he was above them all, then let his gaze slide to you, where you knelt among the others. Even dressed like that, in the plainest kimono, with your hair arranged neatly and unremarkably, you stood out. You weren’t even trying, and you stood out to him. Naoya felt his attention prickle.
You didn’t look at him right away. You were busy pouring tea, offering a polite word to the visiting family’s eldest daughter. But all Naoya could focus on was how much you had changed over the past year alone. In fact, he had already noticed that you were not a child anymore. That much had been impossible for him to ignore. Now, a new realization crept up on him: that others might start to notice, too.
You glanced up and, noticing him, bowed properly. Naoya felt a flicker of satisfaction. You remembered, even now, after your little act, after all your avoidance. You still knew your place and deferred to him before anyone else. He crossed the room unhurriedly and took his place beside you, close enough that the sleeve of his kimono brushed the back of your shoulder as he sat. Close enough that anyone watching would understand the arrangement without being told.
“She’s been taking good care of you?” he asked the men lightly, offering a toothy smile.
The patriarch laughed. “Very refined. You are fortunate.”
The Osaka women giggled behind their sleeves. Naoya let himself be amused by their obviousness, by the way their eyes darted between him and you. He almost smirked. He had never minded that you were competent. He had never expected you to rival him. Women did not need to. That wasn’t their place. And besides, things had already been settled between you, for years now. You were his, and that certainty was a balm.
You turned your head to look at him, drawing attention to the clean, unadorned line of your neck. “Naoya,” you said softly, offering him a cup of tea.
The angle of the cup was adjusted so it faced him perfectly. Naoya let his eyes linger on the fine sheen of sweat collecting at the base of your throat. He accepted the tea, his fingers brushing yours, and caught the tiniest shift in your breath.
“It was you, wasn’t it?” you said, quietly enough so only he could hear.
He didn’t look at you. “You’ll have to be more specific.”
“The Akashi. I’ve been permitted to join.” You paused, and he could feel your gaze on him, searching. “Two years of petitions, and suddenly, I’m approved. They said someone vouched for me.”
Naoya lifted the cup to take a sip, hardly tasting the tea itself. “That so?”
He kept his tone flat and uninterested. Of course, the elders had resisted making that decision. Zen’in women didn’t belong in the Akashi; you were just too stubborn or too clueless to give up. He’d figured he might as well intervene. Stop wasting your time like that, circling the same refusals and waiting on men who had already made up their minds. A well-placed word had been all it took.
Not that he would admit it. Admitting meant inviting you to ask more questions. To ask him why. And if you did, Naoya feared he wouldn’t have an answer for you. Not one that didn’t hurt his pride. Yet, at the same time, he felt a quiet satisfaction that you had noticed. That you had traced it back to him.
“It was you,” you said again, this time more decisive.
He set the cup down slowly. “Hm. Dunno what you’re talkin’ about.”
A small smile formed on your lips before you could hide it, dipping your head and letting out a soft hum of amusement. “Sure, you don’t,” you said. “Thank you, Naoya.”
He clicked his tongue softly. “Don’t thank me for things I didn’t do.”
“Of course.”
The conversation at the reception table moved on, but neither of you paid it much mind. You poured for the rest of the guests, and Naoya sat at your side, shifting his hand to let it rest lightly at the small of your back whenever he reached out to take his cup. And when one of the Osaka women asked how long you had been promised to him, you smiled faintly and answered since childhood.
///
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Naoya could barely recall a time when he could not count on you to be there. As children, you would trail behind him and listen to his every word, rarely questioning and always attentive. The memory of it was oddly comforting, a reminder that there were still constants in this house where everything else seemed determined to test him.
Yet now, when he glanced at you, Naoya found himself arrested by something new: an awareness that attention could shift, that you could look away, that the certainty of your deference was not fixed but something that might have to be claimed again and again.
He didn’t like it. He didn’t like that you could unsettle him with the tilt of your chin or the softness in your voice. Or that, in a room full of people, his eyes found you so easily it felt less like choice and more like need.
Voices drifted around him, laughter and formalities piling up in neat, predictable layers. Naoya couldn’t care less about what the geezers were discussing, but he would have preferred their tiresomeness over the contradictions growing and already beginning to fester within him. No childhood closeness could account for the fact that you had started pushing back. Nor could it explain why instead of rejecting it entirely, he felt pulled toward it.
“My little brother’s fiancée is a beauty, isn’t she?” Naosuke announced loudly to the tittering guests before fixing his gaze on Naoya. “This is the first time I’ve seen you two talk in a while, Nao-chan. Aren’t you taking her a bit for granted? Geez, even if I were as busy as you, I’d still try to make time for such a lovely creature.”
The laughter from the other guests swelled. Naoya’s lips curved in a cold, knowing smile. He looked directly at Naosuke. “Your own betrothed is a lucky woman, Onii-chan. Oh, wait—you ain’t got one. Odd that you’re older but no one’s bothered makin’ arrangements,” he drawled. “Why is that?”
Naosuke’s jaw tensed, a flicker of something mean passing through his eyes, but he recovered, spreading his hands in mock surrender. “Maybe I’m just too much for any one woman to handle. Or maybe the clan’s got other plans.” He let the words hang, savoring the undercurrent, eyes drifting to you as if you might be included in those other plans if you didn’t perform well enough.
The tension slid through the room, muffled by polite laughter, but Naoya watched his brother with a lazy smile. He didn’t have to say more. Everyone present understood the point had been made.
///
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“You shouldn’t provoke him,” you said to him afterward. It was late, the last of the guests had departed, and your eyes kept moving past him down the length of the hall, as if you were waiting for the shadows to come to life.
Naoya followed your gaze briefly, saw nothing, and looked back at you. “Provoke him?” he echoed, faintly amused. “You think that was provoking?”
Your eyes returned to him. “You didn’t need to say anything.”
A small scoff left him. “And let him run his mouth like that?” He narrowed his eyes. “You’re the one who stepped in the other day. Thought you didn’t like it when people went unchecked.”
“That’s not the same.”
“It’s exactly the same.”
“No,” you said, more firmly now. “It isn’t.”
He watched you for a moment. There was something in your tone that was cut with a new kind of clarity, a thread of conviction that he recognized from your quarrel in the garden. He bristled at it even as it fascinated him. “Explain it, then,” he said. “What’s different?”
You didn’t look away. “You did it in public, Naoya. In front of the guests, your family. You could have ignored him. Instead, you made it clear there’s something to fight over.” You hesitated, then added, “You made it about me.”
He felt a flare of annoyance at the suggestion that you understood how to handle Naosuke better than he did. “He wasn’t talking about you,” he said. “Not really. He was trying to get at me.” His mouth curved slightly. “And he failed.”
Your gaze flicked past him again.
“You’ve been doing that all night,” he said, frowning. “What are you looking for?”
“Nothing,” you replied quickly, eyes snapping back to his.
Naoya huffed. “Liar,” he said, almost affectionately. He watched you purse your lips, roll around a response behind your teeth, then swallow it.
“Will you walk me to my room?” you asked instead of whatever it was you were going to say.
He studied you in the half-light, searching for any sign you were playing him. “Scared of ghosts all of a sudden?” he said, and when you didn’t say anything, he sighed. Didn’t you know you were safe here? The clan took security insanely seriously. Plus, he was here. He couldn’t think of a safer place for you. “C’mon, then.”
///
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///
A week later, you had put aside your kimono in favor of modern clothes. The assignment had been a minor one, just a low-grade curse up north. The elders had agreed to send one of their own to accompany the two-man team sent from Tokyo Jujutsu High. When you volunteered, there was nothing really to object to. You were officially a sorcerer in the eyes of the clan, and one thoroughly trained in its expectations. If anything, your presence reflected well on the Zen’in.
You were gone two days. News traveled back quickly that things had gone well. It was Naosuke who inevitably introduced the first unnecessary detail.
“She’s working with a couple third-years,” he’d remarked idly. “Tokyo’s different, ya know? Bet those boys’re already calling her by her name.”
Naoya ignored him and pretended to be unbothered. But he couldn’t help chastising himself for getting you elevated to the Akashi. His mind conjured up the image unbidden of some uniformed boy grinning at you, saying your name without honorific, as if he had the right. Tokyo students. He had met some of them before. They were usually loud and less disciplined. The only one worth anything as a jujutsu sorcerer was Satoru Gojo, and he wouldn’t be involved. They wouldn’t know how to address you properly, and that irritated him.
The day the car returned to drop you off, Naoya was there to greet you, just as you did when he came back from his assignments. You seemed pleasantly surprised to see him as you stepped out, the corners of your mouth lifting in a subtle smile.
“Naoya?” you said while the car pulled away. “What are you doing out here?”
He wanted, badly, to answer your question with his own. Had the Tokyo boys bothered you? Did they overstep in their familiarity? Did they address you informally? But all his questions stank of wretched self-doubt without any basis of evidence. He would not let himself be so pathetic.
“What else?” he said instead, doing his best to affect casual dismissiveness.
Your smile widened slightly in fond recognition. For some reason, it made Naoya’s heart give a single, clumsy thump. He had the sudden absurd urge to gather you into him, the way he imagined husbands did with their wives after they’d been apart. Not that he really knew; he had never seen such things in person.
“C’mon,” he said, taking you neatly by the elbow. “Papa’ll wanna hear from you.”
///
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That night, you were sitting together at the edge of the engawa again, feeling the cool mountain air prick at your skin. Naoya sat with his back against a pillar, long legs bent and sprawled lazily and his arms loosely folded. He watched your profile, the curve of your cheek in the moonlight. You were back in your usual traditional clothes again.
“So,” he said. “This is how you act after a mission? You don’t even tell me how it went?”
Your lips quirked. “There’s not much to tell. It went as expected. The curse was weak. I barely had to do anything.”
He snorted, unconvinced. “You’re saying you did all the work, but you ain’t bragging about it.”
“The Tokyo students handled most of it,” you said with a shrug. “They were fast. Impulsive.” You glanced at him sidelong. “But they get results.”
Naoya stared at your lips. He’d been thinking about them all day, since the moment you stepped out of the car. About how husbands kissed their wives. About what a girlish and stupid thing to think about and how he wanted you to be the one who thought about kissing him. But at the same time, how furious he would be if you just came right out and did it by surprise, because what woman made the first move?
He waited, half-expecting you to fluster or look away, but you only regarded him with that steady attention you reserved for unraveling the meaning behind every word out of his mouth. The silences between you were never really empty; they had always been a tangle of questions you were too polite to ask and confessions Naoya would never, ever offer.
“You’re sulking,” you finally observed, leaning forward to rest your elbows atop your knees. “I didn’t mean to make you jealous.”
Naoya clenched his jaw. He didn’t think the word applied to him, but it stung to have you read him so easily. “Why would I be jealous?” he shot back.
“I don’t know,” you replied, kicking your feet where they dangled above the path. “I just thought—”
You trailed off as the press of his body made itself known. Naoya had scooted in close behind you, wrapping his arms gingerly around your waist. “Don’t turn around,” he said when you tried to look. He couldn’t stand it if you looked at him now. He slotted his chin against your shoulder.
He felt your body tense against his chest, just for a moment. It was a delicate kind of tension, not resistance but surprise—a response he recognized, and one that satisfied him. The tips of your hair brushed his cheek, cool to the touch. He let himself breathe you in, then pressed his mouth close to your ear.
“Was it fun? Being out there,” he murmured. “You said you didn’t mean to make me jealous. Why would you think I was?”
You went very still, as if you could stifle the shiver that threatened to betray you. A hot pulse of satisfaction flickered through him, almost enough to drown out the restlessness that had gnawed at him for weeks. He could sense you gathering yourself, your hands knotting together in your lap.
“I didn’t mean it like that,” you said. “Only that you seemed upset.”
“I’m not upset,” Naoya said. He squeezed you gently. “We both know you belong here. With me.”
He waited for you to say something clever or stubborn at that. Instead, your limbs seemed to loosen, and the muscles of your back melted slightly against his chest, as if in agreement. Naoya permitted himself a low, near-silent hum of satisfaction. This was right. You were always going to marry. That was what all these weeks of confusion had truly amounted to. You knew it, too, even if you needed to be reminded.
Outside, the garden was quiet and silvered. He nuzzled into the line of your neck and felt your breath hitch, your fingers pressing closed around his forearm. Your pulse fluttered beneath his cheek. Naoya wondered if you could feel the thump of his own heart against your back. You didn’t try to move away. Maybe you’d finally gotten the message. Or maybe you liked it.
That thought sent a warm, smug ripple through his chest, more addictive than any praise he’d ever wrung from the clan. He let his palm settle over the silk of your obi. The little movements you made—a slow exhale, a shift of your shoulder, the way your hands relaxed just so—were proof that you were paying attention to him and only him. He was careful not to squeeze too hard, though a part of him wanted to test the strength of your ribs, to see just how much of you he could hold.
The position fleetingly made him imagine a husband touching the belly of his pregnant wife, and Naoya felt slightly startled at the thought. You were always going to marry—yes, that was true. But he’d always pictured it as something far-off, not urgent. He was young and strong, and there would be time for such things way down the line. And it was guaranteed.
His own papa had lived to be an old geezer, and he had plenty of heirs. What was the rush?
He’d also imagined marriage as something very, very political. Naoya made himself loosen his hold, just a little. The need to grip onto the things he wanted was a hard habit to shake. But he remembered what the elders said about control. Everything was transactional, and women were chosen and traded for what they brought in children. Personal feelings had no place in the Zen’in way.
Lately, though, it didn’t feel political when it came to you. Naoya had never felt that way before, and he’d never admit such things. Not once had he entertained the idea that he might want something in a way that made him reckless or foolish. Not even the urges of adolescence managed to affect him this way. He let himself look at women. He’d seen them plenty, scantily-clad or even nude in the pages of his brothers’ dirty magazines. He was a man, after all.
There was nothing unfamiliar or shameful about wanting a woman; he knew every man in the compound did. He’d overheard the jokes, the late-night talk that filtered through half-open shoji, the way the older men compared mistresses or boasted about the prettiest girls in neighboring families. But none of that had ever mattered to him. Even when he flipped through those magazines, he’d only felt bored. Detached. The women there all looked the same, all of them deliberately arranged for display. He could admire them, sure, but didn’t want a woman like that.
Naoya wasn’t blind to your appearance. But with you, it wasn’t really about what you looked like. It was how you looked at him. Did that mean he… loved you? Naoya felt his body rail at the suggestion, his stomach already curling violently against it.
No. That was just another trap, wasn’t it? Some sentimental thing women talked about, or that men lied about in order to get what they wanted. Naoya didn’t “love” anyone. He wanted you, and you belonged to him. That was all. You might need it, might even be quietly hoping for it, but he refused. If he loved you, it meant you could take something from him. It meant giving up ground.
He swallowed and let his hand slide safely away from your waist, easing away just enough to mask the sudden discomfort in his chest. You glanced off toward the corner of the house, as if you had heard something.
“I should get back before someone notices,” you said. Your voice was soft, but your eyes were suddenly alert.
Naoya exhaled a huff. You were ready to slip away again before he said you could. “Nobody’s gonna care,” he said. “You’re not doing anything wrong.”
You rose, and he found his hands fell away easily without resistance. “They’ll gossip,” you said. “I don’t mind, but you might.”
So, you were thinking of him, even now. Naoya made a quiet, childish sound of annoyance as you smoothed your kimono and stepped carefully around him.
“Good night, Naoya,” you said before turning away.
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It had been his turn to leave the estate again. He’d started working alone that year, but sometimes they still insisted he go accompanied. Just one or two members of the Kurukuru unit, typically.
The building was closed for years. From the outside, it looked like any other squat resident of the commercial block, with its windows papered over from the inside. Inside, the air was stale with rot and dust. Naoya stormed past the rows of pachinko machines, all of them old and quiet now, their bright plastic shells muted beneath a coat of grime. Places like this had soaked up too much from its patrons—people who wasted hours convincing themselves the next round would fix everything.
The curse had grown fat on debt and anger, causing the overhead lights to flicker and buzz like trapped insects, but they were silent now. With a disgruntled sound, he kicked aside one of the machines that had fallen over into his path during the fight. The cabinet scraped shrilly across the floor and crashed into the wall with a loud bang. One of the Kurukuru members—Takumi—who had been sent with him cowered on the floor at the sound.
Naoya started calmly. “Didn’t I say to stay out of the way?” He shouted the last few words and sent another one of the faded cabinets crashing to the ground.
Takumi kept his eyes fixed somewhere near Naoya’s feet. A thin scrape along his cheek oozed crimson. He was lucky. If Naoya had been off by a single frame, Takumi would have been a stain on the tiles.
“I-I thought I saw an opening. It looked like it was—”
Naoya felt a familiar surge rising in him. It was hot and sharply satisfying. He could already hear the words forming quick on his tongue as he stepped forward, waraji crunching softly on broken glass. The man cut himself off, shrinking instinctively. It would have been easy to lean into that fear. Easier than anything. One cutting remark, one reminder of rank and talent, the simple math of who had nearly died for forgetting their place. The mission was finished, and the curse was gone. Nothing stood between Naoya and the clean satisfaction of putting someone back where they belonged to make an example.
Yet, something held him back. Much to his irritation. The man in front of him wasn’t going to forget this moment; his hands were still trembling. Any other day, Naoya probably would have stalked past Takumi and given him a kick for good measure. Instead, he said, coolly, “You nearly got yourself killed and complicated a simple exorcism. Don’t let it happen again.”
Takumi’s brow tapped the filthy parlor floor. “Yes, sir. I—yes. It won’t happen again.”
Naoya exhaled through his nose and turned away. He flexed his fingers once, hearing Takumi scrambling to his feet behind him. The other followed at a respectful distance as Naoya shoved his way out into the cool evening air. His first thought was that you would have approved of how he handled things.
Tch. Naoya scowled at nothing in particular as he walked to the car. Why the hell was it so hard lately to just do things the way he’d always done them? Normally, if someone pissed him off, he made damn sure they didn’t dare do it again. He slid into the backseat, ignoring the way Takumi hovered by the door in the hope of being dismissed or thanked. Naoya said nothing. The driver took the hint and pulled out.
Pathetic. Why had he held back? The answer hung in his mind, heavy as a curse. Because it would have been pointless. Because the idiot was already crushed. Because… what, you would have been disappointed to see it? You weren’t even there, and yet the ghost of your measuring gaze lingered. Had he gotten so soft that he was worrying about how a girl would look at him for teaching someone a lesson?
He leaned his jaw hard against his knuckles and let his eyes drift to the window. City lights spilled and flickered in the glass, catching his reflection for a moment. His face was set tight with annoyance. Damn it all. It was you. You made him think. You made him consider. You hated unnecessary cruelty, and you would have argued that a wasted outburst would’ve solved nothing in the moment. Takumi had learned, and the mission was complete. Simple practicality.
And you were right. It was more efficient this way. Anything more would have been merely a vehicle for his own self-indulgence. There was nothing else to gain from it. Naoya closed his eyes, let the hum of the engine fill his head, and forced the muscles at the back of his neck to relax. He was supposed to be the future clan head; there was no reason to squander energy on fools. It wasn’t weakness. He wouldn’t let himself believe that. If anything, it was the opposite.
Control.
That was what made you the right choice of wife for him. You were disturbing, yes. Interesting, and as a result, truly striking. You made him think about things, like the names of the men sent on missions with him. Things he thought were beneath him.
The drive wound through the outskirts, and as Naoya closed his eyes, the snow started to fall.
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The snow had moved in from the mountains, and it was beginning to come down harder. Perhaps, Naoya wouldn’t be returning that evening, after all. The flakes came thick and soft, painting the edges of the courtyard in a haze until the stone lanterns looked like ghosts in the dark. You stood just inside the engawa, arms folded into your sleeves, watching the white gather in soft layers. Everything was so much quieter in the snow, doubly so here, in this place that seemed to exist outside the bounds of the modern world.
You had been told Naoya’s mission would be a day’s work, no more. He had left that morning with his usual impatience, and now, you were waiting as you always did, breath blooming in the cold. A betrothed woman who didn’t mark her man’s comings and goings would be judged as inattentive and ungrateful.
Weeks ago, you might have dreaded his return in this mood. But something had shifted between you. Now, when your eyes met across a room, something secret and electric passed between you before one of you looked away. You had carried those moments like trinkets, turning them over in your mind when you should have been studying or sleeping.
It frustrated you, how much you wanted to understand that look. You thought you had always understood Naoya. Even at his most confusing, growing up in this house, you knew what it was that had made him this way. His pride, the power he carried effortlessly through every room he occupied, the roots of it were so obvious, tangled right into the foundation of the Zen’in clan. You understood how panic could hide behind pride, how anger could be the armor for loneliness. What you didn’t understand was why you kept returning to the memory of his arms closing around you on the engawa, the quiet steadiness of his chest at your back as the world faded into blue dusk.
Perhaps, it was foolish to want so much from him, but that knowledge didn’t make you immune to him.
A gust of wind sent snow spiraling into the courtyard. You shivered and tucked your hands deeper into your sleeves. A man like Naoya didn’t bend because he was asked to. He bent when he chose to. And even then, he would never call it bending. But you couldn’t shake the sense that something was coming to a head, gathering like a storm. The air had been changing, the way it changed just before the first heavy fall of snow.
You heard a shout come faintly from beyond the wall. It was followed by the clatter of the gate. Naoya was back. You felt the transient flicker of relief, quickly chased away by the hammering of your heart. The nondescript black sedan pulled into the drive, and the back door swung open.
He stepped out, eyes detachedly lowered. It wasn’t that he was apathetic to your presence at the entrance, merely that he hadn’t noticed you there yet. When he did, he paused for the briefest moment, lips parting, then shut the door with a thud and strode through the snow toward you.
“Welcome back, Nao—” you started, but he had scooped you up in his arms without a word, cutting you off, and pressed his lips clumsily to yours.
You let out a muffled sound of surprise. It was a rough, graceless kiss. His teeth knocked against yours as he turned you and crowded you into the shadow of the house. For a beat, your mind was blank, your body gone weightless in the shock of being seized so suddenly. The cold of the night dissolved into the solid heat of Naoya’s arms pinning you back against the wall just inside the shelter of the engawa.
His lips tasted first of snow, clean and metallic, then the more familiar salt and warmth of him melting it away. His mouth crashed against yours hungrily, as if he’d been holding this in for years rather than letting it build only these last weeks. Then, quite suddenly, he pulled away to observe you for only a second before cupping your face gently in his hands and leaning in again. This time, he kissed you slowly, soft but insistent, and your hands came up without thinking to rest at his forearms.
“I’m back,” Naoya said in a low, matter-of-fact intonation, as if that explained everything.
He brushed his chin against your temple and exhaled. Your thoughts struggled to catch up. Your lips burned, the warmth of the kiss spreading outward and settling somewhere deep in your chest.
“I’m glad you’re back,” you said.
“Yeah,” he said quietly. “‘Course you are.”
It was arrogance, on the surface. It always was. But it was half-hearted. There was an undercurrent of sincerity. You knew him, knew the difference between his cockiness and his shield. This was the latter, and he meant for you to see through it.
The snow swirled around behind him. Somewhere inside the house, a door slid closed with a soft whisper. But here, in the shade of the frosted eaves, you were hidden away in your own little corner of the world.
࣪₊˚☆ synopsis: you spent your life missing a man up in the stars. a shame he only came back down when you weren't there anymore. but as gojo picks up the pieces of you he left behind, he finds moving on is a lot harder when it appears you might not have either.
⊹ pairing: teacher!choso x f!reader x astronaut!gojo
࣪₊˚☆ wc: 19.0k
⊹ content: mdni, HEAVY ANGST + SMUT, make sure to read part one first! gojo is once again suffering with no relief, heavy tension, intense jealousy and insecurity all around, mentions of character death, mourning, anxious avoidant attachment, reader is an emotionally constipated mess beware, a lot of choso pov, conflicting feelings, kissing, piv sex, oral sex (f! receiving), aftercare, choso whimpering, choso LOVES his girl more than anything okay, parenting, proposals, breakups and makeups, some domestic fluff, uncomfortable conversations and confrontations, marriage, bittersweet endings, if you want comfort, not much to be found here once again i'm afraid
࣪₊˚☆ art cr: @yotume div cr: @/decomposedmaw
The ghost waiting at your grave wasn’t yours.
Not much older than he looked in that photo still tucked in the top drawer of your dresser, but rather than the brilliant smile plastered on his face back then, your former fiancé was grimacing. Leaning against the closest tree, head leaning back against the bark as he stared up at the sky accusingly.
As if he had anyone other than himself to blame for choosing anything over you.
Choso bit his tongue, reminding himself that in the end, he was the one who won, the one who got to spend his life with you – and if it hadn’t been for Gojo being an idiot who left you behind, he wouldn’t have gotten his wife. His kids – whether by blood or bonds. His grandchildren.
Gojo had given it all to him.
One foot dragged a little slower than the other, but he made his way to the grave, bending down on aching knees to place a bundle of lilac by your gravestone. Apollo came by once a week to clean it, the one next to it left dingy in comparison.
It had always been you who insisted on upkeeping it – but well, your son didn’t exactly share the same sentiment for his biological father.
Especially now that he was here.
“Lilacs?” Gojo grumbled behind him. The morning sun wasn’t very warm, the breeze in the air making him shiver as he reflexively fiddled with his wedding band.
“Her favorite,” Choso shrugged, glancing back at his…well, not competition anymore. It was irritating how attractive he was. Made it obvious why you’d fallen so hard – and never seemed to fully snap back out of his spell. That icy intelligent stare refocusing onto where he was still kneeling by your plot, making it clear he didn’t think he deserved that position.
Gojo was holding onto his own flowers, long fingers clasped tight around thin stems. Forget-me-nots. He felt a sick shift in his stomach, a familiar ache returning to the forefront of his mind at the reminder that the two of you still had something he’d never been able to touch. The peace he thought he’d finally managed rippled by his reappearance.
Choso didn’t want to let it get ruined though.
Clearing his throat as he gestured to the flowers, “She never forgot about you.”
Even though part of him had always hoped you would.
“Her favorite color was blue,” Gojo blurted out, and Choso felt his eye twitch. Mouth barely able to hold onto thin neutrality as he resisted reacting.
“When I was with her, it was purple,” he evenly replied, pushing off the ground to stand up straight. You wouldn’t even let him paint the kids bathroom blue. Skipped every shade of it to pluck out a soft lavender, smiling as you offered it to him.
“Well, I guess you just know her so much better than I do,” Gojo scoffed, white brows pinching together tightly as he walked over to place his flowers by Choso’s.
It was hard not to cringe.
Jealousy used to burn him up inside, gnaw at him endlessly at night no matter what you whispered or how tightly he held you in his arms. But now, seeing the man who was responsible for it teetering on a knife’s edge, miserably mourning your memory the same way he was, just sorta made all those harsh edges of his own hurt soften with unexpected sympathy.
“She wouldn’t want you to waste the rest of your life waiting by-”
“You don’t know that,” Gojo snapped at him, before immediately wincing, probably realizing how he sounded. “That was childish, I’m-”
“Don’t worry about it,” Choso waved it off.
Truthfully, he didn’t know what he’d do if he was in his shoes.
Except for maybe not leaving to start with.
“I used to be terrified I’d wake up one day and you’d be waiting at the front door,” he added, not sure if being candid would help him any, or if it just felt good to get it off his chest.
“I wish I was,” Gojo openly admitted, defined jaw clenched tight.
Up close, Choso could make out the curve of his cheekbones, a little too hollow to be healthy. A haunted quality etched into every line, every feature of his face. Not getting enough to eat. Probably not getting enough sleep either.
Struggling to cope with his new circumstances.
Displaced in time and space.
And still there was one thing they both had in common.
“I miss her,” Choso softly spoke, throat constricting as a lump started to take shape, blocking his breathing as he steeled himself. He wouldn’t cry. Not here. Not in front of him.
“Yeah,” Gojo awkwardly agreed. “Me too.”
“Do you want to go out for lunch later? Talk about her?” He offered, shoving down his own discomfort to extend an olive branch.
Hope blooming when Gojo hesitantly accepted it, nodding with just a short bob of his head.
“Can you bring some photos of her?”
And a couple hours later, they were sitting across from each other in a corner booth of a restaurant he used to take the twins and Yuji to with you, plates pushed to the side as they poured over photo albums, fingers tracing over the glossy plastic protecting your pictures.
Choso paused over an old one, back when the two of you first started dating, where you were sandwiched between Apollo and Artemis, smiling at him from behind a snowcone in a roller skating rink. It was supposed to be a playdate for the kids, but it kinda felt like one for him too. Holding your hand skating, making conversation over the loud bass of the obnoxious music blaring, and blushing when you nearly fell and sent him tumbling down on top of you. He could still remember that flutter in his chest when he helped you up, your fingers gripping onto his forearm and his own splayed across your side, lovestruck at the way you looked up at him with those pretty eyes, a temporary tattoo of a butterfly stuck to the bottom half of your cheek courtesy of Artemis and crinkled when you laughed.
He didn’t think he’d ever seen anyone so gorgeous.
Snapping photos of your side profile and the kids racing around the arcade section, glued to your side and feeling like a dumb dog lapping up every little sliver of affection you tossed down to him.
Devouring every ounce of it, feeling like he’d been stuck in a drought, wandering in a desert without you as he watched you help Yuji calculate how many tickets he’d need to get a ridiculous stuffed animal from behind the prize counter, Apollo tugging at your pants and pleading for you to play air hockey with him after Artemis went back to skating.
It had been a good day.
A great one.
The five of you together had felt like a family far before you actually became one.
“They look like they’re having fun,” Gojo muttered, tapping the picture of the little boy who looked so much like him.
It was strange, honestly, a little uncomfortable how much Apollo had grown up to resemble him.
And now Apollo was older than him, his dad damn near the spitting image as him at that age.
Not that he’d admit it.
No, his stepson had done everything he could to diminish the similarities, running as far from his dad’s shadow as he could while his sister found the light in it.
“We had just started dating back then,” Choso wistfully exhaled, reminiscing about how naive he’d been back then.
How easy things had been.
Artemis had filled your former fiancé on the basics. A rough history lesson on the years he’d spent in space. A vague outline of your life since he left.
But he didn’t know how much Gojo really knew.
“You seem pretty close,” Gojo commented, his mouth pressed in a thin line as he flipped the page to a photo Mrs. Geto had snapped of the five of you at a soccer game, Apollo still in his uniform and beaming at the camera while you leaned into his side for the shot.
“It, uh, was a little rocky,” he admitted. “Mostly because she was still in love with you.”
And you had been terrified of falling out of it.
“I think she was scared of falling for me too,” Choso added, leaning back against the leather seat, still able to shut his eyes and bring himself back to the first night he confronted you about it.
Standing in your kitchen, putting plates in the dishwasher as you wiped the crumbs off the table, all three kids watching a movie in the living room, throwing popcorn at each other and giggling while you cleaned up after dinner.
Another night where everything had revolved entirely around the kids, picking up after them and playing, breaking up their bickering or dragging them around from place to place.
He had felt like a fucking asshole for having any kind of complaints, but when the most the two of you managed was a handful of makeout sessions you had to sneak in, a brief foray to second base that ended in less than a minute when Artemis burst into the bedroom crying about a skinned knee, frustration had begun to build.
Choso didn’t mind waiting, if that was what you wanted.
Taking however much time you needed if the idea of being intimate was still too much.
But you weren’t saying anything. Avoiding the conversation every time he tried to bring it up, switching subjects or shifting back to the kids like you were searching for an excuse not to be close with him.
To not move to the next step together.
He wanted to take you on real dates. To spend time with you one-on-one. Be a couple instead of just coparents.
“Can we talk?” Choso cleared his throat, shutting the dishwasher and fixing the settings without looking over at you.
“Yeah?” He could tell you were nervous already, voice cracking on just a single word.
“I, uh, just was thinking that we haven’t gone on a real date, y’know?” He started, peeking back at you just to see how stiff you were suddenly standing, shoulders squared as your mouth parted in surprise.
“I mean, I guess,” you awkwardly replied, biting your bottom lip as you avoided his stare, turning your attention away, and he could already anticipate how many seconds he had left before you’d offer to check on the children or change the topic.
“Are you avoiding being alone with me?” He bluntly asked, a tiny bit stunned himself at the way the words just fell out of him.
“No, no,” you stammered it out, repeating yourself as you shook your head. “It’s just, it’s hard to find time with the kids, it’s not you-”
It was the fact he wasn’t actually their father.
But he didn’t say that. Didn’t bring him up.
“I don’t want to rush you,” he tried to clarify, stepping closer and reaching out. Desperate to feel some kind of connection even when he suspected he might only end up freaking you out. “If you’re not-”
“What if I, um, ask Suguru’s mom to watch all of them next weekend?” You offered before he could explain his concerns, cutting him off with the words he wanted to hear.
“You’d do that?” Choso asked, heart thumping against his rib cage as he contained the hope he’d been clinging onto since the first day he met you.
“Yeah,” you nodded, smiling at him softly as he ran his hand over your arm, leaning in to press a kiss to your forehead.
He hadn’t looked then.
But part of him wondered now, what he would’ve seen if he had. Would the smile reach your eyes?
Still, you kept your word.
Dropped all three of them off to be babysat for the night a week later, got all dressed up in a little purple dress that left him swallowing his drool throughout the entire dinner, clumsily opening doors for you and paying the check despite his dismal teaching salary.
You laughed at his jokes, leaned across the table and let him trace circles over your knuckles with his thumb over white wine.
Choso didn’t go on dates often.
But he hadn’t met anyone who made him feel like you did. Warm and fuzzy and frustrated and so entirely wrapped up in every word that left your lips that it was driving him mad.
Practically vibrating just from your touch, the way your fingers delicately intertwined with his when you led him back up to your front door, electricity he might just be imagining buzzing between your body as his as you leaned back against the the frame, giggling when you accidentally bumped into the bell.
He could see that nervous glimmer in your eyes.
Shared his own sea of anxiety over how tonight would end when everything inside him was aching for it not to.
“So,” you started, sucking in your bottom lip for a second as your unsure stare met his.“Are you gonna come in?”
Choso felt like he was going to black out.
Sure that he was going to blink and wake back up in his bed. Alone. Exhausted. Craving you so goddamn much he could hardly contain it.
And before he could hold himself back, he was cupping your pretty face and kissing those lips that constantly lingered in the back of his brain.
The rest was a blur. You kissing him back and looping your wrists around his neck. Shutting the door behind both of you and stumbling back to your bedroom, clothes hitting the floor while his chest strained to catch his breath.
And when your back hit the bed, he was sure this had to be heaven.
“You’re so fucking gorgeous, god, I can’t fucking believe you’re mine-”
He didn’t even realize he was rambling until your mouth collided with his again, your soft thighs wrapping around his waist as his cock pressed up against your entrance.
You were already wet, which felt like far more of an accomplishment than it should.
Pride sparking in his chest as his pre-cum unhelpfully leaked out onto your skin.
“Condoms are, um, in my drawer,” you blinked when you broke the kiss, swallowing hard as you tilted your head towards your nightstand.
“Okay,” he nodded, a little too eagerly as he climbed off to grab it, yanking open the drawer to find a sealed box.
Brand new.
Did you actually buy it for him?
Or was he being delusional?
He ripped open the top flap, but before he put one on, he looked back at you, feeling a little bit like an idiot for thinking with his dick instead of his brain.
How could he forget about foreplay?
Choso tossed a condom on the bed, walking back around to the edge of it before getting on his knees and yanking you down by your thighs until that pretty pussy of yours was right there in front of him.
Ready to be prepared.
“Can I taste you first?” He asked, not entirely selfless in his request.
He wanted to bury his tongue inside you. Get the whole experience rather than rush into it and risk cumming in just a couple clumsy minutes.
You nodded, maybe a little unsure yourself.
As rusty at this as he was.
You had confided in him before you hadn’t dated anyone since him. But Choso had no clue whether or not you’d actually been with someone else – even if it was just a hookup.
His fingers trembled as they slid over your pliable thighs, pulling them closer as he shyly leaned in to tentatively take his first lick.
But all it took was a taste.
And a handful of minutes later, he was nuzzling his nose as he sucked and lapped like a man starved, cock throbbing and twitching as he resisted the urge to cum every time you moaned and whined for him.
Pausing to ask if you were okay a couple times before he got too tangled up in balancing your pleasure and his.
Your fingers laced through his hair, tugging at his roots to keep him going, thighs clamping down on his head as he swirled his tongue around hungrily.
It honestly felt like a crime you’d kept it from him for so long.
He could spend the entire night like this.
Solely devoted to you.
Trying out every little thing, pushing and pressing and prodding at every spot inside you until he made a map of your likes and dislikes.
But you were prying him off, ignoring his deep whine as his glossy lips froze in a panicked pant, ready to plead his case to convince you to let him have a teesny more time.
“Are you alright?” He asked, swallowing hard as his own saliva and your slick dripping down his throat. Pretending he didn’t notice the rings gleaming around your neck, the diamond one you’d switched from your fourth finger to a dainty chain. Daring him to remember that you weren’t supposed to be his.
“I-I’m fine,” you murmured, chest heaving with every breath, making the necklace bounce with it. “Good.”
“Please,” he began to beg, brows knitted together tight. Desperate to make you his. For tonight, at least. “I just want-”
“I want all of you,” you half-whispered, like you could hardly believe it.
He couldn’t either.
Brain still lagging by the time he was sheathing his cock inside the condom, squirting lube on his hand and stroking his shaft before slowly starting to slip his way in you.
No resistance. No more holding back. No more hoping for something he didn’t know would ever happen.
Just you and him here together.
It was perfect.
You were perfect.
Your warmth, your touch, your scent, god, every last detail was far better than he ever dreamed it.
His thrusts were precise, dragging in and out all slow and deliberate so he could study the way your face scrunched up in pleasure, watch your lips part and purr his name like a prayer.
“C-Cho,” you groaned, raking your nails down his shoulder blades, not enough to sink into his skin, but more like a soft graze.
“Y-you like that?” He stuttered over his own words, not coming off nearly as confident as he liked.
You were nodding, your head on a bobble as your mascara-laden lashes fluttered.
He was shuddering, whimpering right as his cock pressed all the way in, bumping into the back as your walls squeezed down on him.
Nothing had ever felt so good.
He wasn’t sure anything ever would again.
Fucking you all soft, hips sliding smoothly against you, grabbing your hands and pinning them over your head so he could kiss you as much as he liked. Tongue slipping into your mouth, tracing your teeth, exchanging whines just for the other to swallow.
Pressure building and twisting in his core, terrible tension he couldn’t resist, trying to break him before he could make you finish.
Rushing to rub your clit, murmuring into your mouth and practically begging you to cum for him.
You were hurting.
He still thought he could heal you.
Intoxicated by your face when you unravelled for him, cumming into the condom twice as hard as usual hearing your breathy moan, half-collapsing on you as his knees went weak.
Choso might’ve been more embarrassed if he wasn’t so enticed by every little shiver and shake of your body, absolutely enveloped while he left kiss after kiss across your soft skin.
Talking to you in a soft voice, pulling your body back up the bed and flipping over so you could be on his chest.
It didn’t take long for you to drift off like that.
He didn’t blame you.
Between work and the twins, you barely had time to take care of yourself. You rarely got restful sleep.
He was feeling it call to him too.
Peace. Contentment.
Heat lingering underneath his cheek as he held you close, brushing your hair back from your face as you dreamed. Your mouth curled up, a pretty smile reflexively forming as your fingers tightened around his side.
Some sliver of him sort of wanted to wake you, to ask what occupied your mind when you slept so soundly. But he just craned his neck down to nuzzle his nose in your hair, pulling you up another inch or two closer to cradle your body against his.
And then you said it and shattered the illusion completely.
“Satoru.”
One sleepy word. Three soft syllables.
And you broke him in a way he wasn’t sure he could repair.
He stilled beneath you, heart lodged in his throat as he resisted the urge to throw it up. Flush it down the fucking toilet as he tried to lie to himself.
Swear that you didn’t mean it – even if your subconscious did.
That he wasn’t even here.
But fuck, that look on your face, so relaxed, so raw, it made something inside him snap.
What the hell was he thinking?
He couldn’t do this.
Slowly, he slipped out from underneath you, making sure to tuck the pillow under your head and cover your bare body back up with the blanket before he padded silently over to his discarded clothes.
Choso couldn’t take just being your consolation prize.
But the idea of going home and never coming back to you felt pretty fucking unbearable too.
He didn’t want you to know he felt like this either.
Hated the idea of you seeing him spiral into doubt.
His feelings were his responsibility. He couldn’t put anything else on you – be another burden on your shoulders. He just needed time.
Yeah, that was it. To think this through.
Figure out if you were really ready for this. If he was ready to be what you needed while knowing he wasn’t who you needed.
Choso had only managed to get his socks and boxers back on when he heard rustling behind him.
You were sitting up and staring, eyes wide and worried as you watched him wordlessly.
“I need to get Yuji,” he lied, sweat sticking to his forehead and plastering his bangs down as you blinked at him.
“Why?”
One word, and he nearly cracked. Changed his mind and caved in.
“I forgot that we’re supposed to go see Sukuna in the morning,” he excused, shrugging his shoulders. “I should probably pick him up and head home.”
“You’re going home?” Your voice was wound tight, but you didn’t call his bluff.
“I should, yeah,” he muttered.
You didn’t fight him on it.
Just covered yourself with the blanket as you got up to grab some clean clothes from the closet. Not looking directly at him when you got dressed, mumbling under your breath that you’d let Suguru’s mother know you were picking the kids up as you sent her a text message.
She answered the door with a soft smile for both of you, murmuring that the kids were still asleep as she let both of you in.
“I’ll go get them,” you yawned, walking past her – and all the framed photos of men who weren’t around anymore.
“Would you like some tea while she wakes them up?”
Choso always had trouble saying no.
Ending up in the kitchen, a deep line imprinting on his palms from the bite of the sharp counter’s edge as she poured him some fresh tea.
She glanced up at him with tired eyes, holding out a steaming cup he timidly took. She wasn’t a fool. Probably figured it out from your text alone that something was up.
“Can I ask you something?” He started, readjusting to lean against the kitchen cabinets as he looked at the ticking clock on the wall.
“Of course,” she nodded, a fondness in her gaze that he knew wasn’t reserved for him either.
You had told him about her son. Your fiancé’s friend.
Commenting quietly a month after he had met her that you thought he reminded her of him.
“Do you think I’m wasting my time?” He asked, keeping his voice down as he felt all the muscles in his face involuntarily clench. Mouth twitching in a tight line as he voiced the thought haunting his mind.
Was he just a moron for standing here wishing for someone who didn’t want him back?
He didn’t want to be a placeholder.
“Wasting your time doing what? Waiting for her to stop loving Satoru? Or for her to start loving you?” She asked, tilting her head to the side knowingly.
His mouth opened, but no sounds came out.
Unsure what question he really was trying to ask once she said the silent parts out loud.
“She’s never going to stop loving Satoru,” Mrs. Geto calmly said, no malice or condescension, just stating a fact Choso already knew. “But you’d have to be blind to not see how far she’s fallen for you.”
He hoped she was right.
Would rip his heart out of his chest and hand it to you if it made it true.
Artemis stumbled in first, sleepily rubbing her eyes and clutching a stuffed animal to her chest as the boys trailed in after her. You were behind them, but you weren’t looking at him.
“What’s happening?” Apollo grumbled, leaning all his weight against your leg as Yuji scampered over to his big brother.
“We’re going home,” you answered, your voice coming out all breathy, familiar heat still curling hot in his stomach just at your pitch . “And Yuji’s going home with Choso.”
“But I thought we were-”
“No buts,” you huffed, wrangling your kids towards the door without looking at him once.
He knew that he might’ve screwed things up.
Still, he didn’t think it would still be so tense a full week later.
That when he didn’t text you good morning, you wouldn’t either. No more dinners for five. Or carpooling to school. No more cozying up on your couch while the kids fell asleep halfway through a bad movie.
The distance didn’t make him feel any better.
It only made him miss you more.
Staring at the stars outside his window and wishing that he was home with you. Even if there would always be a ghost haunting its halls. Looming over the two of you no matter how much love he had to offer you.
Was the man you loved before him still out there somewhere?
Craving you the way he was now?
Sympathy he hadn’t anticipated surged inside him, daring him to fully empathize with someone he wanted to hate.
But he couldn’t hate him.
And he couldn’t stop himself from loving you.
So he sent you a text Saturday morning, typing and deleting a variation of the same ten words before finally hitting send.
He wasn’t lying when he said that Yuji missed the twins. Choso just didn’t know how to tell you how much he missed you too.
But you replied back that he could bring him over if he wanted, and he refused to miss the chance to reconcile. To fix things before they ended up broken.
Choso thought you might be a little upset. Confused by the sudden space between you.
But you barely even glance at him when you opened the door, speaking only to Yuji as you directed him to the backyard, nodding along to his endless chirping about what he learned in school yesterday before he ran out to join the twins.
The morning sun wasn’t too harsh yet, your side profile illuminated in the soft rays as you stepped out with them, wearing one of your favorite faded shirts he suspected belonged to him, the chain of your necklace peeking out underneath the color.
“Are you going to say it?” You broke the silence, your stare focused solely on Yuji and Apollo chasing each other and laughing.
“Say what?” He repeated, running his fingers through his hair, attempting to not sound as nervous as he felt.
You scoffed, low and soft, your mouth curling down as you looked down at the grass around your bare feet.
“I guess this is it then?” You asked, refusing to so much as glance his way. Leaning against the wall with your arms tightly folded across your chest like you were trying to protect your heart. “We’re over?”
His own practically fell through the fucking floor as he processed what you just said.
“What?” The question came out wounded. His throat drying out as he forced himself to exhale, “Why-”
“I don’t want to waste your time,” you coldly replied, but he could hear how much you were struggling too.
Oh god.
You must have overheard the first part of his conversation with Mrs. Geto.
“That’s not what I meant,” he defensively started, panic pulsing through him as he reached out to touch your arm. But you recoiled, flinching fast like his fingers would burn you.
“I thought things were okay,” you murmured, shaking your head like the very notion was stupid now. “Was it the sex? Was I not good enough for you?”
“No, no, I swear-”
“Then what?” You snapped, finally looking back at him, your beautiful face scrunched together in pain. Big tears welling up in your pretty eyes that you were trying to blink away.
For a second, Choso froze, stunned that he could be the reason for that. That you cared enough about this, about him to cry.
His mouth stuck open in a moronic ‘o’ as he stumbled for the right thing to say to stop your relationship from unraveling.
“You had your fun and fucked me. I’m just not what you wanted, right?” You were half-whispering, keeping your voice down to not alert the kids. Bottom lip quivering as you continued, “I don’t know why I thought you’d stay.”
Fuck.
This was not how this was supposed to go.
He was supposed to be smoothing things over, not losing you over nothing.
“No, baby, no,” he insisted, grabbing your hand before you could retreat even further away. “You are everything I’ve ever wanted.”
You tried to pull your hand out of his, but he wasn’t the kind of fool who would let you walk away.
“The sex was amazing, god, you’re amazing,” Choso rambled, rushing through his words as he felt a frightening surge of anxiety at the idea of you thinking he was just using you like some scumbag. “I just, I thought everything was perfect, and after you dozed off, you said his name and I-”
“What?” You faltered.
“You were in my arms, and you called out for him,” he murmured, attempting to suck air in his lungs as he inhaled sharply.
A tear slipped down your cheek, and before you could burst into sobs, he was pulling you back against his chest. Enveloping you in his embrace, arms wrapped around you as your body wracked with the weight of your sorrow.
“M’sorry,” you cried, your voice muffled as your tears left damp spots in his shirt. “I-I-”
He was stroking your hair, swallowing the lump in his throat at the sound of your broken voice.
“It’s okay,” he soothed, pressing your head against him to make sure the kids wouldn’t have to see you crying.
Not when you tried so hard to be strong for them.
Built a life around being there when their father hadn’t been.
“I didn’t mean-” You started again, and he only pulled back to wipe the tears away beneath your eyes, thumb slowly dragging over your cheekbones. “I just haven’t had sex with anyone since-”
“You don’t have to apologize when you didn’t do it on purpose,” he reassured you, feeling that hole in his own heart chisel just a tad wider at your acknowledgement he’d been the first man to fuck you since him. “I just needed some time to sort out my own feelings.”
“You’re still going to leave,” you mumbled, wiping your nose on your forearm as you tried to step back and recoil back.
“I’m not,” he promised, cupping your cheek. “I’m just scared of being his stand-in. A shitty replacement for the real thing.”
You stared back at him, taken a little aback before you shook your head, leaning into his palm. “You know you’re not.”
He didn’t though.
How was he supposed to believe he wasn’t second place when you wore the proof of who was first around your neck every day?
But he couldn’t point that out.
Not when he knew that he wasn’t being fair.
Your former fiancé had been gone for years. It wasn’t a bad breakup, or like you lost him in some tangible way.
You had no closure. No answers.
Just an empty hole in your heart that Choso was doing his damndest to fill.
He glanced back at the children, clueless as they played in the sandbox, Artemis threatening to dump a bucket on her brother while Yuji dared her to do it.
And his chest fucking spasmed at the idea that there might be another life where they weren’t his family.
Where you weren’t his.
“I’ll always love Satoru. I wouldn’t have the twins without him,” you admitted, sniffling a little as you pulled yourself back together. “I wouldn’t have you either.”
He didn’t know what to say to that.
Aware that you were right, but having a hard time finding it in himself to be grateful.
You were a gift.
Choso just couldn’t decide how to feel about the sender.
“I love you,” you spoke so softly to him though, so tenderly despite how scared he could sense you were just saying the words out loud. “I’m sorry it took me so long to say it.”
“I love you too,” he promised, leaning down to press a soft kiss against your lips.
To seal it.
“I think we just have to work on talking to each other,” Choso added after you started to pull away, slipping a hand around your back to keep you close. “Communicate better before it turns into this.”
He didn’t want to be the reason you cried. Be the one who broke you.
“Yeah,” you mumbled an agreement, relaxing into him before looking back over to the twins and Yuji. “I don’t want to lose you.”
“And then what?” Gojo interrupted his story, shoving a fry in his mouth with an annoyed frown. “You guys lived happily ever after?”
Wouldn’t that be sweet? If it had been so simple?
If you’d both stuck to what you swore?
“Uh, not exactly,” he muttered. “I mean, most of it was great. But we did have a pretty bad patch.”
Gojo freely glared at him, like he was offended at the concept of him having anything to complain about.
“Why are you looking at me like it’s my fault?” Gojo huffed.
Some childish part of him wanted to retort that it was.
That he spent his life fixing the damage he’d done to you by getting on the damn spaceship.
But Choso had made his peace with that long before you were his wife.
“You’re the one she married,” he bitterly added, jaw locked with barely concealed contempt he wasn’t bothering to hide without Artemis around.
Apollo didn’t even want to entertain him at all, only tolerated seeing him when his sister dragged him around to family gatherings and brunches, excited to have someone to chatter about science stuff the rest of them couldn’t comprehend.
Choso didn’t blame either of them.
“You know, she didn’t say yes the first time I asked her to marry me,” Choso confessed, twisting his own wedding band around a wrinkled finger.
You broke up with him, actually.
He had tried to dull the memory over the years. Make the edges of it less sharp, enough that it didn’t taint you in his mind.
But it still stung.
No matter how much time had passed. No matter what he knew now that he hadn’t then.
Choso had spent weeks planning it.
Debating on all the different ways to do it before finally deciding that he should do something as a family. Show you how much he loved you and the twins.
He didn’t want to just be your live-in boyfriend.
He wanted to be the step-dad to your kids. Your husband. To slip a ring on your finger and swear to love you for the rest of his life.
To never leave.
He settled on making the kind of meals usually reserved for holidays, buying candles and balloons, buying a pack of rose petals to scatter on the bed. Picking out a ring he hoped you’d like and saving enough money to afford a second if you didn’t.
Waiting for the perfect opportunity to get you out of the house long enough to set everything up only for you to hand it to him on a silver platter.
You were distracted when he got home from work, chewing on your lip as you dropped your phone in your purse and murmured that you needed to go run a couple errands while he tried to hide his excitement.
Maybe, if the kids hadn’t rushed over and started tugging on his jeans, distracting him with what they’d done at school, he might’ve seen your face before you walked out the door.
Maybe it would have all played out differently.
But he didn’t, and he’d never get to know what could’ve happened instead.
Roping the kids into the plan was perhaps a mistake.
But he wanted the twins' permission before he proposed.
“I need to ask you two something,” he hummed, ruffling Apollo’s hair as Artemis squinted suspiciously at him.
“What?” She murmured, glancing between him and Yuji, who was practically bouncing up-and-down with excitement he couldn’t contain.
“I would like to ask your mom to marry me,” he admitted, chewing on the inside of his cheek as he measured their reactions.
Apollo threw his arms around his leg, looking up at him with those bright blue eyes, absolutely elated. “So you’re gonna be our dad?”
“It would make me your step-dad,” he replied as calmly as he could, still trying to respect the man who made them – even if he’d never gotten to watch them grow. “And that’s up to your mom.”
You lived together. You told him you loved him.
He never thought no was really an option.
“If it makes mom happy,” Artemis murmured, a little more reluctant as she nodded.
“That’s all I want,” Choso softly replied, smiling at her.
She looked like a little version of you. Acted like one too sometimes. Slower to trust. Sweet underneath it all. She wanted to seem strong, but she was still soft underneath it all.
Choso had overheard her on the playground telling her one of the other kids swinging that her daddy was up in space, swearing that he’d come back after the child called her a liar.
He felt pretty fucking shitty for his silent hopes that her father would stay up there.
Did it make him an awful person? To want a place in your life that badly? Unsure if you would really pick him if your first choice became an option once more?
He did what he did best though.
Push down his anxieties and pray he never had to find out.
“Who wants to help set everything up for her?” He asked, forcing his brightest smile as his ring sat impossibly heavy in his pocket. Weighing his heart down like a lead balloon, threatening to bury it as he tried to swallow the fear that he might fuck this up.
But the chorus of ‘me’s and the bright faces of the kids that had all started to feel like his own was enough for him to forget about it and focus on you instead.
Getting all the details right as he devoted himself to the dinner, letting the kids lay out the tablecloth and set the plates up – although he had to stop Yuji from accidentally setting his hair on fire when he snuck the lighter out of the drawer to light the candles Choso had set out.
But eventually, everything was in its place, the lights adjusted and the food set out, the children all changed into nicer clothes as the twins talked about how they’d all be siblings soon.
“What do you guys think?” Choso grinned, wiping his palms off on the apron before taking it off.
“She’ll love it,” Apollo optimistically smiled, one of his front teeth missing from where it’d fallen out the week before and traded in for five dollars from the tooth fairy.
Choso really hoped you would.
It was too late to change anything, because they all heard the familiar sound of your key turning in the lock, the creak of it swinging open. The front door thudded shut, and he was pretty sure his heart was going to explode if it started pounding any harder.
“Are you guys hungry?” You called out, your voice wavering, bordering on exhausted, pride flaring in Choso’s chest at how happy you’d be to see the spread on the table, to see the way the kids were all eagerly holding their breath, glancing between each other and nearly bouncing out of their seats. “We could order pizza or-”
You stopped speaking the second you saw it.
Froze in the open doorframe, your eyes going wide as you scanned over the scene. All the food and the fancy tablespread and the flickering candles, the way the kids were holding in giggles as he stepped forward to bridge the distance between you.
“What is-”
Choso got down on his knees mid-question slipping a hand in his jeans to clumsily grab the crushed velvet box, blinking a little too fast, mouth opening too soon as he struggled to remember the speech he rehearsed a thousand times in the mirror over the last month.
“Um, I, uh,” he paused, spit thick in his throat that he had to swallow before continuing, “I love you, and I love our family, and I can’t imagine living the rest of my life without you or the twins in it. Will you make me the happiest-”
“I cannot believe you,” you interrupted him, shaking your head as you stepped back, your face blank, mouth hanging open as you sucked in a shallow breath.
“What?” He blanched, barely even processing the words that had just left your lips as your expression shifted to anger, of all things.
Brows scrunching together as you scoffed, fingers trembling as you pointed down the hall. “My room. Now.”
The kids looked at each other, awkwardly slipping into dining chairs as if they were the ones in trouble, but Choso didn’t know what to say to soothe them when it felt like his heart was shattering too.
Humiliation burning his cheeks as he put the ring box back, getting up off the ground and following you like some dejected puppy, hoping for his owner’s love. But the moment you were alone, the second you shut the door behind him, the way you were staring at him was closer to a stranger.
“What the hell did you think doing that in front of my kids?” You asked, and he couldn’t comprehend what the fuck he’d done that was so bad in your book.
“We’ve been talking about marriage for like, a year,” he argued, indignation he didn’t know how to handle boiling up inside his chest at your attitude. Glaring like he had done something so absurd to deserve it, your rejection leaving a sour taste in his mouth he didn’t think would be going away any time soon.
“We?” You hissed, hurt written all over your face before you wiped it and replaced it with thinly-veiled resentment. “You were the one who kept bringing it up.”
His jaw dropped.
“Are you kidding me?” Choso deadpanned, disbelief wracking through his body as he felt a shot of adrenaline begin to course through his veins, fingers flexing into a fist before he forced them to relax.
“I was just trying to keep you happy, I didn’t think that you were serious about it,” you said, turning away from him as you buried your face in your hands for a second, breathing hard like you might be on the verge of a panic attack.
Instinctively, he wanted to reach out. Hold you close and let you crumble while he whispered soft words to coax you through it. But he stayed still, nails digging into his palm as he found himself fuming at you for the first time ever.
“What the fuck?” He spat, his voice starting to raise as you recoiled back even further. “Why wouldn’t you say something? Why the hell would you just let me think you wanted it too?”
That you wanted him?
“Don’t shout at me,” you huffed, mouth still quivering as you folded your arms tight across your chest.
“What happened to communication?” He demanded, thinking about the fight the two of you had.
How you’d sworn that you loved him and didn’t want to lose him.
And now here you were, refusing to meet his eyes, mouth pressed in a thin line as you held your tongue.
Something he didn’t know he’d been holding back snapped when he realized you weren’t going to reply.
“Oh, I get it,” he grimaced, brows knitting together in frustration as his disappointment bubbled into disgust with himself for not seeing it sooner. “You don’t want to marry me because I’m not him.”
He knew the second he said it that he couldn’t take it back.
“That’s not fucking fair and you know it,” you snapped at him, and a bitter voice in the back of his head pointed out that you were only speaking up now that he brought up your real fiancé.
“You’ll wear his ring every day and not mine,” he retorted, doubling down rather than backing out of his accusation.
He thought you’d yell back.
That you would fight him on it. He wanted you to fight him on it. To finally let every thought you kept from out so the two of you could get out of this frustrating limbo. He didn’t care if it dropped him in hell.
He just wanted to get somewhere with you.
But you shut down.
Silently staring at the floor, chest heaving as you dug your own fingers into your side.
“I really am just a fill in for you,” Choso continued, trying to get any kind of reply out of you.
And still, you somehow found the only one he didn’t want.
“Get out,” you whispered.
“What?”
“Get out.”
Everything that had been boiling seconds before abruptly stopped, the pot ripped off the burner and left him stranded in hot water as his senses finally snapped back into place.
You had never kicked him out before.
What the hell had he done?
“I’m not trying to hurt you, I just, I want to understand,” he tried to backpedal, holding his hands out and stepping forward just for you to not even glance up at him.
“I need a break,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper, sounding like you were a world away.
“From this conversation? Or us?” He blanched. You were supposed to be throwing your arms around him right now. Telling him you loved him and discussing what season your wedding should be in. Not fucking dumping him.
“This is just too much,” you muttered.
What the fuck was that meant to mean?
He felt helpless as he stared at you, the way your head was hanging down, shoulders slumped as you shut him out.
“I’ll take the twins somewhere and you can get your stuff,” you added, getting up and walking around him, making up your mind without even giving him a chance to talk this out.
Watching you walk away, dumbfounded as you slipped out the door, the conversation over before it had even properly begun.
“Are we going to be a family now?” Apollo’s hopeful voice carried through the door down the hall, and Choso rested his head against the door, wishing the conversation had gone another way and still too upset to think of a reasonable way to reach you.
To break through the barriers you were haphazardly throwing back up.
“Yuji and Choso aren’t going to live with us anymore, baby,” you softly said back.
Fuck.
You were supposed to be his wife.
Not his ex-girlfriend.
“You’re a fucking moron.”
Said the jerk that left a pregnant you to go to fucking space.
“You’re one to talk,” Choso commented, mouth curling down as he grabbed his glass to take a sip, the sight of his own aged hand reminding him that he was definitely too old for starting fights like this.
“So she really dumped you?” Gojo grinned, irritatingly white teeth on display as he leaned forward, looking directly at him instead of the photo albums.
“Not for that long.”
“You should’ve fought for her more,” Gojo pointed out, before almost immediately stopping himself, brows scrunching together like he realized what he was saying and who he was saying it to.
“I thought she didn’t want a future with me,” he shrugged. “Not when she was still thinking about what one would’ve looked like with you.”
Always stuck in the same position.
Torn between wanting your heart and wishing that he wasn’t second-place in it.
“If I could’ve been there,” Gojo started, genuine remorse bleeding through, and Choso remembered once again why he’d never been able to bring himself to loathe the man you loved.
Because they both loved you.
“I know,” Choso murmured. “I sorta wished sometimes that you would just show up if it meant she would be happy.”
𖥔 ݁ ˖
You weren’t sure you had ever been so fucking miserable.
Breaking up with Choso had nearly broken you.
You hadn’t seen him since you came back home to find every trace of him and Yuji gone. Hadn’t said his name since you had to explain to Apollo that you were going to switch him over to a new soccer team for the summer. Artemis had asked if you were happy, giving you that look like she could see through the stories you tried to keep up for them. All you could do was twist the necklace and tell her that her and her brother were all you ever needed.
But she had wanted to go to a sleepaway space camp for the summer, and you couldn’t bring yourself to say no when everything you would have planned with Choso had fallen through. So she was hours away, gone for weeks while Apollo was busy with his own soccer camp and sleepovers with friends from school.
When he was home, he was just complaining about how much he hated the older kids in the 9-12 group he’d gotten stuck in, muttering under his breath that his old team was better.
You sort of thought if you stayed busy with him, you could forget about all the other stuff.
Shut out the awful spiralling that started in your head every time you laid down in your cold, empty bed and rolled onto your side to see the unwrinkled spot next to you.
Picturing your pretty dark-haired man there, his eyes lazily opening and noticing you staring before pulling you into a warm embrace. Waking up in a daze from a dream where your blue-eyed boy was still holding onto you, murmuring that it was all just a nightmare and to go back to sleep.
Now you didn’t have either of them.
God, you couldn’t even pull yourself together enough to send a video message to Satoru like you used to, staring at the unused webcam when you got ready every day and lacking the strength to even sit in front of it and say something. Couldn’t bring yourself to call your therapist either, cancelling appointments over text and shrugging your shoulders to swear that you were fine.
You wanted to believe that you could heal from this. That there was still real happiness to be found somewhere between the lines of hurt and heartache.
But it didn’t feel like it when you pulled into the parking lot for one of Apollo’s exhibition tournaments and he started bouncing around in the backseat swearing he was sure you passed by Yuji.
Shit.
God, you were sure that he wouldn’t be here.
Yuji was in so many sports, and Choso usually coached younger kids anyway, so what the hell-
“Can I please go say hi, mom?” Apollo begged as you stopped the car.
“Of course, sweetheart,” you nodded, going ahead and practicing your smile when the muscles to make it were a little rusty.
The second you had slung your chair over your shoulder and opened the door for Apollo, he was sprinting over to the grassy area, Yuji’s voice calling out his name as a boy you didn’t recognize protectively puffing up his chest as he stepped between the two of them.
“Who’s this, brother?” The boy asked, looking back to Yuji as he stepped out from around him.
“Apollo, are you playing?” He chirped, his loose soccer jersey swaying as he rushed over.
“Yeah,” he nodded, deflating the moment he noticed how close Yuji was with his new friend. “My team kinda sucks though.”
There really weren’t many feelings worse than watching your kid go through something you didn’t know how to help them with.
Seeing the shock scrawled all over their face the second they thought they were replaceable.
“You think we’ll play against each other then?” Yuji asked, grinning with a gap in his teeth, one that must have fallen out this month.
“We’ll definitely beat you,” the other boy boasted, and you knew you shouldn’t hate a kid, but you sorta did.
And then you looked up, glancing around just to see Choso approaching – but he was too busy talking to a blonde to notice you with his brother. Her hand on his forearm, leaning forward as he spoke all seriously about something, flipping her hair over her shoulder as she listened intently to every word.
You hated her.
Almost as much as you missed him.
But you couldn’t deal with either emotion. Had no way to defend or deflect it, just putting your hand on Apollo’s shoulder and nudging him away, “Sorry, but, uh, I should get him to start his drills. It was good to see you, Yuji.”
You didn’t stay long enough to see what kind of accusatory stare he’d give you for breaking his brother’s heart. Or run the risk of Choso coming over and catching you clinging to the remnants of your relationship by letting Apollo hang around Yuji. Rushing off to find the right field, a sick feeling spreading across your stomach, filling your lungs and choking up your throat as you set up your chair and tried to tell yourself that the chance of Yuji playing against Apollo was slim considering how many teams there were here today.
But luck hadn’t decided to grace you today.
Because standing across the field twenty minutes later, in his stupidly attractive jersey and shorts, Choso was tying half his hair up off his face, bending over to listen to Yuji before looking over to see where Apollo was sitting on a bench, a cap hiding the steaks of white from the sun as he kicked his feet and waited for the game to start.
You saw the way his mouth pulled tight. How his jaw clenched before he looked over to the sidelines, starting to scan it before you looked back down in your lap, pretending to be interested in something on your phone instead of staring at him.
Just one game.
That was all, you told yourself.
You could make it through that.
But fuck, it would have been so much more bearable if she wasn’t a few seats away once it started.
Loathing didn’t quite cover the jealousy simmering inside you at the way her pretty blonde hair cascaded down her back and gleamed in the sun, how freely she bounced and cheered, clapping her hands together and calling out Yuji’s name in a chipper voice along with her own kid.
The one who called Yuji brother.
That was how it was now.
Choso wanted a happy family. So he started one with some other soccer mom, huh?
It had only been two fucking months.
How the hell could he just move on like that?
Maybe you broke it off, but he could have at least pretended to be bent out of shape about it when he had said he wanted to marry you.
Were you just not that serious? Had the past few years really meant that little to him?
Every time she cheered for Yuji felt like a fresh stab.
It was hard to hold back your annoyance when Apollo was struggling on the field too, all his older teammates refusing to pass the ball to him on the rare chance that he got to play.
And then came the moment that her kid knocked Apollo down, big tears welling up in his blue eyes as the ref called it and his coach had to pull him off the field for good. He tried not to cry. To hold it in and not seem like a baby in front of the big kids.
But rage was boiling inside you, injustice at how fucking unfair everything always for you.
You were trying to fight for your kids.
It wasn’t like you had someone other than Suguru’s mother to rely on. Not really.
No one else understood.
Knew what it was like to lose your whole world and then have to hold it together anyway. To never get closure and still be expected to just move on like nothing happened. Like you weren’t reminded of what you were missing every moment of every day.
Apollo’s team lost. And you were still trying to be the mature adult you knew he needed you to be as you folded your chair back up and slung it over your shoulder, hurrying over as he nursed his scraped knee, still trying not to sob as he bottled it all in.
But Choso beat you there.
Kneeling down on the ground and putting a bandaid over it as he smiled at your son softly. You used to love the way he cared for your children like they were his own. But now you were second-guessing if maybe that was just who he was, that it never had anything to do with you.
“-did great out there, okay? You should be proud of yourself,” he spoke gently, using all the right words as you tried not to wince. But Apollo smiled, wiping his tears away with the back of his hand, ignoring the dirt and grass sticking to it before throwing himself at Choso in a big hug.
Arms wrapped around his neck before you could move forward fast enough to pry him off. Choso patted his back, but you were already trying to pick him off yourself, swallowing the pain threatening to close your throat.
You couldn’t breathe.
Couldn’t think straight.
Clouded with so much distress it felt like someone had embedded sharp shards of glass in every fiber and muscle of your body, limbs robotically moving as you mentally replayed what your last conversation had been.
“Can we go out for ice cream? Please? Like we used to?” Apollo blurted out, and you hated that you knew he would hold the refusal that was about to leave your lips against you.
Choso opened his mouth to reply, hesitating as your eyes actually met his for the first time, and you wondered if he could see the hurt in yours as the lump in his throat bobbed.
“Choso!” The blonde called out, her tits bouncing in her shirt as she waved to him. “Time to pass out snacks!”
“Choso’s busy, sweetheart,” you said, picking Apollo up, his long legs dangling as he kicked, trying to get put back down. Trying to save yourself from the scene of him begging for attention from a guy who wasn’t his father.
Even if you both wanted him to be.
He watched you leave.
Didn’t try to make you stay.
That wasn’t who he was, you guessed.
No, he just wanted to throw a ring at you on the second worst day of your life and toss the fact that you’d lost the father of your children back in your face when you were on the verge of a breakdown.
Apollo pouted the entire way back to the car, his little nose scrunched up as you pulled out of the parking lot, muttering that he didn’t want to play soccer anymore.
You tried to talk him out of it, saying that the next game would be better.
But you didn’t know if he believed you.
Not with the way he was dramatically staring out the window the rest of the ride home, switching between having arms folded across his chest and fidgeting with the seatbelt.
“I know you’re upset, but-”
“I’m fine,” he stubbornly insisted, shaking his head. He had his cap back on, unable to make out any of his white hair underneath it as his blue eyes looked up at you through the mirror. “Are you?”
“Why wouldn’t I be?” You asked, even though you knew he wasn’t stupid.
He wasn’t as scientifically minded as Satoru, or Artemis, but he read you like a book. Saw in between the lines without you having to say anything.
“I want to sleepover at grandma’s house,” Apollo murmured, diverting his stare as you swallowed your pride and shrugged.
“Okay,” you muttered. “I’m sure she’d like that.”
Suguru’s mom had never said no to either of the twins.
And when you brought him over in the evening, watching him run straight back to the spare room she made for them, hearing faint rummaging and rustling noises as he pulled out toys to play on his own.
“I take it the game didn’t go so well?” She asked, fine lines and wrinkles really starting to show on her soft, tanned skin. Wisdom you wished you had even a small sliver of in her kind smile as you flopped down on her couch.
“Choso was there,” you muttered, your stupid heart stuttering just saying his name.
“Oh?” That piqued her interest.
She always liked him. Told him that he was good for you. Good for the kids.
But you could see how much he reminded her of Suguru. Always chalked it up to her seeing some of her son in him.
“He already moved on,” you bitterly huffed.. “Some other soccer mom was practically all over him. God, her kid even called Yuji brother.”
“Honey, are you sure? Did you speak to him?” She started, trying to be careful with her words as you scoffed louder.
“No, but-”
“Have you spoken to him at all since you broke up?” She pressed, and you could only shake your head.
What the hell were you supposed to say? You were broken up.
It wasn’t like you had his number blocked.
But he hadn’t reached out either.
“That boy loves you,” she insisted. “He wouldn’t just-”
“He left me,” you muttered.
Well, you left him.
But if he loved you, he wouldn’t have let you leave. Just stood there when you walked away.
You had made that mistake before. You let Satoru go. Trusted him to come back.
He didn’t.
And you were the one who had been stitching yourself back up every time his memory tore your heart back open.
But how were you supposed to marry a man who couldn’t tell when you had come undone? That you were falling apart in front of him?
“Did you want him to stay?” She asked, and you knew the answer instantly, no matter how hard it was to actually say it.
Of course you wanted him to stay anyway.
Even though knowing that felt like betraying Satoru.
“I should go home,” you murmured, picking yourself back up off the couch and snagging your purse from the floor as you threw a long look down the hall to where Apollo was, debating on peeking in to tell him good night before deciding against interrupting him. “Just, uh, call me when I should come get him.”
Or just walk next door.
The house was horribly quiet.
Your footsteps echoing as you returned to your room, the silence following wherever you went as you stripped and showered, scrubbing your skin raw with soap and sighing at your blurred reflection in the fogged-up mirror after you got out feeling no fucking cleaner than you had when you stepped in.
Truthfully, you didn’t really want to look at yourself anyway.
Clinging to the towel you wrapped yourself in, staring at the clothes in your closet as you searched for something to hide yourself in, settling on an oversized hoodie you’d bought before either man you were wrecked over.
Throwing on pajama shorts too, wondering whether or not it was worth wasting an hour scrolling through shows and movies searching for stuff to watch or giving up and crawling into bed when you heard a knock on your front door.
A flicker of relief slipped in, thinking that Suguru’s mom must be bringing Apollo back, that maybe he changed his mind and you could offer to let him stay up late watching whatever movie he wanted together as you scurried back towards it.
You didn’t even ask before pulling it open, but you stopped in your tracks the second you saw who was on the other side.
“Hey,” Choso greeted, the single word shoved out unceremoniously as you just stood there and stared.
“What are you-”
“She, uh, called me,” he muttered, jutting his thumb over to the house next door. He had changed into an outfit you missed seeing him in. A sweater you used to steal of his, thick and cozy, in your favorite shade of purple. Jeans that were well worn. His hair was a little damp too, bangs framing his handsome face as the dim lighting made his dark eyes hard to read. “If you want me to go-”
“You didn’t speak to me today,” you pointed out, not that you made the effort to talk to him either. Picking a fight in the first five seconds.
“I didn’t think it was a good idea,” Choso sheepishly answered, and before you realized it, you were stepping aside, letting him back in. Although, you guessed it was better than letting half the neighborhood hear you bicker.
“Yeah, I’m sure your new girlfriend wouldn't be happy with you talking to your ex,” you defensively said, gritting your teeth as he shut the door behind him. Throwing you a confused glance before he fully turned to you with his thick brows all pinched together.
“What are you talking about?” He shook his head dismissively.
“Did you think I wouldn’t see the new soccer mom all over you?” You snapped at him. Your jealousy was plain to see, painfully obvious as the words came out all wounded and weak.
“Are you talking about Yuki?” He asked, his lips parting as you imagined her mouth meeting them.
“Oh, is that her name?” You spat it out, backing away as you resisted the urge to roll your eyes. “She’s pretty, huh?”
Did he think she was prettier than you? That he upgraded?
The worst part was you could barely recognize yourself right now.
You didn’t want this to be you. Petty and pathetic and pining over something you were trying to damndest not to want.
Since when were you so insecure? So jealous that you were starting an argument with Choso because you couldn’t get a fucking grip on yourself?
“She is,” Choso agreed, and you wanted to throw up.
Ruin his sweater like he ruined your day.
You didn’t know what face you made, but whatever it was, however wrecked you must have seen before you could recover, he softened. Unlocking his jaw as his eyes crinkled, exhaling slowly.
“I’m not into her like that,” he added. Treacherous respite rippled through your body, but you held onto your anger, resisting everything you instinctually wanted to do around him. “But, we’re not together anymore. We can see other people without-”
“You proposed to me two months ago,” you pointed out, but the accusatory tone didn’t really do much when it came out half an octave too high. A horribly familiar lump was growing in your throat, heat crawling up your cheeks dangerously close to your eyes. “If you actually loved me, you wouldn’t just move on like we were nothing.”
“I’m not just moving on, it’s just,” he paused, budding frustration threatening to boil over as he took a small step closer. Standing in front of you as if he was the victim, like everything was all your fault for being the fucked up one in your relationship. “I should be allowed to heal however I need to heal.”
For a second, you couldn’t stand him. His maturity. His rationality. The way he was still collected when it felt like someone had plucked out all your seams and left you to crumble.
Tears you couldn’t stop welling up, a choked sound coming out before your broken words, “I’m sorry I was such a horrible girlfriend you have to do so much healing.”
“I’m healing from your rejection,” he clarified, but you couldn’t stop yourself from crying, rubbing underneath your eyes as you tried to stop yourself, scoffing a little as you tried to reel yourself back in.
“You had an out from the beginning,” you sniffled, although it sounded more like a huff. “I told you I didn’t want to waste your time.”
He recoiled at the reminder, and panic sprung back up, hot and bright, burning your throat. You wanted to take what you said back.
But you were too stubborn to say that.
“Our relationship wasn’t wasted time,” he muttered, and there was a hint of remorse in his tone. Disappointment that things didn’t work out the way either of you wanted. “But this argument is.”
You were about to throw out a retort, ask him what that was supposed to mean, but then he was walking away, sweater stretched across his broad back as he started towards the door, and you were bridging the gap between you, snagging his sleeve to stop him.
“You’re just going to leave again? Like that?” You asked, voice quivering as you forced your stare to harden. He looked down at you like it was taking everything inside him not to give in too.
“You wanted to break up,” he murmured, and you bit down on the raw spot you chewed in your cheek, ignoring the taste of blood on your tongue as the temptation to take it all back grew harder and harder to resist. “I was stupid to think that maybe we could talk things through tonight.”
He began to slip away again, and impulsively, you were pulling him down by his sweater, your mouth crashing into his to reclaim him in a manic kiss.
You sort of thought he would push you away.
Tell you that he was really done this time. Through with you and all the baggage he’d have to bear being yours.
But then his calloused palm was cupping your cheek and he was kissing you back twice as hard, returning the fever with his own heat. It seared through you, fried your nerves as his tongue slipped past your lips, his nose nudging against yours while his body pressed up against yours. Clumsily forced back a few steps until you were both falling on the couch, sandwiched between his heavy chest and the stained cushions.
Having sex with your ex was almost always a mistake.
But you couldn’t bring yourself to let Choso go.
“I hate how much I love you,” he muttered when the kiss broke, and your pulse picked up, self-loathing sinking into you as it struck you how much your fuck-ups were fucking him up too.
“I’m sorry,” you whispered, weak and almost whimpering as your apology came out sincere this time.
You weren’t even sure which crime of yours you were apologizing for.
Breaking up with him to begin with. Forcing him to bear the weight of your burdens. Being too emotionally constipated to communicate what was haunting you without turning it into a fight.
“Show me then,” Choso dared, his usually low voice dropping down to damn near dangerous while his intense stare narrowed, studying your face for some sign that you meant it.
And then you were tethering your fingers through his hair, pulling him back down for another rushed kiss, shutting out all the thoughts of how many sins you were trying to atone for.
You spent so long trying to be strong for the twins. For Choso. For yourself.
But you were so tired. So exhausted from expending all your energy putting on a show pretending to be fine when you just kept failing.
Couldn’t you just let it go for a little bit? Let yourself love Choso without holding back?
His hands were slipping underneath the soft fabric of your hoodie, phantom shivers racing down your spine as he nudged your thighs further apart with his knee. You could feel each finger, how they tentatively ghosted across your side up to your chest, greedily grabbing a handful of one of your breasts, nothing shy or reserved about it.
No soft questions of if it was okay, or if you wanted more, just taking what he wanted.
And you were willing to give it.
To let him have all of your body when you struggled to hand over your heart.
Kissing him came easy. His palms pressed so firmly against your skin, pulling at the soft muscle and tender flesh, his lips fitting so nicely between your own as his nose nuzzled against you. The connection you had been fighting was too intense for you to resist his pull, the intimacy that used to terrify you slipping its tendrils around you and wrapping around you so tight you didn’t think you’d ever be able to escape the hold he had on you.
He pulled away, and you were left chasing the kiss, craning your neck up, whining and missing him the moment his mouth wasn’t on yours.
That was the truth, wasn’t it?
You had missed him the moment he stopped being yours. You were used to loneliness. To being lost in your head and longing for someone.
So why the hell did it feel so different with him? So visceral and raw to accept that he might move on if you couldn’t give him what he wanted? What he deserved?
“You don’t want me but you don’t want me to go,” he accused, and you were shaking your head, pulling him back down by his hair as you locked your thighs around his waist.
“I do want you,” you admitted, brows knitting together tightly as you practically begged him to believe you.
Your heart and your head might both be a mess.
But you could pick out that brutal fact between the wreckage any day. If you didn’t want him, it wouldn’t hurt half as bad as it did right now to see him hurt.
Like he was concerned you could change your mind (or maybe before he changed his), his grip slid back down to your hips, pulling you up some so he could get your clothes off. Adjusting down so he could shimmy your shorts and panties down your thighs in one go,
You awkwardly lifted your arms, and he was half-ripping the hoodie off of you, but the moment it was off, he was flipping you over in one rough move, one hand on the back of your neck to press your face into your throw pillow.
He left his clothes on.
All his shields still up when it came to you.
Your body trembled, cool air hitting your ass as you heard the rustle of him pulling down his pants behind you.
Usually the sex was slow with him. An hour long affair of foreplay and making out, rolling around the sheets before taking turns giving each other head, drawing out an orgasm or two before he actually fucked you, or you even rode him.
You were in uncharted territory.
On the outskirts of his heart instead of taking up space inside of it.
He ran his other palm over your ass, slowly trekking over your spine and letting out a low exhale you couldn’t decipher. You tried to look back at him, but the fingers on the back of your neck kept you firmly in place, sinking in a little deeper to get you to stay.
You shouldn’t be soaked. But you could feel the dampness leaking down your thighs, your hips aching to wiggle a little and entice him into just fucking you into feeling something other than sorry for yourself.
There was no prep.
Just him tentatively testing how wet you were with his swollen tip before smoothly sliding in, a drawn-out hiss leaving his throat at the way your warmth wrapped around him the same way it had a thousand times before.
You wanted him to kiss you again. Would even settle for a handful of pecks pressed to your shoulder blade or a few tracing up your throat.
But you didn’t feel like you had the right to make any kind of requests from him right now.
“C-Choso,” you whispered, your voice muffled into the pillow as your walls clamped down around him mid-thrust, squeezing as he shoved his way past the first ring of resistance.
“Don’t,” he murmured, and if he didn’t already feel so good inside you, you might’ve broken down from that single word.
Don’t what?
Call out for him?
“Not unless you’re mine.”
You knew what he was asking of you. To give him the pieces of you that you were still desperately clinging onto. To let go of the ones that were someone else’s.
His mouth hovered over your shoulder, so close to touching and still so far away, a little squeak escaping as his cock rubbed right into a spot he knew was sensitive.
“When you close your eyes, are you picturing me? Or him?”
The raw sound of his voice ripped through you, painfully piercing your heart as his hips pinned you to the cushions. Bottomed out and buried inside like he was aching to claim you completely and utterly as his own, his teeth finally skimming over your throat as a moan involuntarily slipped out.
“You,” you half-whispered, and you could see his face in your head now, dark and dreamy and dragging you over the coals of a fading fire. The fight you used to have in you, the one that kept you dreaming for the life you lost, dying out.
Choso had fire of his own. It was tamed, controlled, where the flames wouldn’t hurt if they licked your skin. A warm hearth you could curl up by without fear of being burned.
“Promise me,” he grunted, the springs beneath you creaking as he thrusted right where he knew you’d crumble and crack, your pleasure memorized like it was his favorite book.
“It’s you,” you echoed, a whimper echoing in your living room as his back pressed flat against your own, his hand moving your hair off the nape of your neck so he could kiss you again. Mouth leaving a messy trail of kisses, each consecutive one making the invisible thread in your stomach tense and tighten, pulled taut as he pounded you into the couch with no mercy.
“I said promise,” he groaned just before biting down, your wrecked whine just making his cock twitch as his free hand slipped around your side, roughly beginning to rub your clit like you weren’t already on the brink of breaking.
“I p-promise,” you stammered, clawing at the cheap pillow for grip, each of his thrusts threatening to make you jolt. But he didn’t stop fucking into you faster, no matter how hard you were clamping down around him, thighs trembling and toes curling at the force of his rough strokes.
So stuffed you thought you were going to snap, strangled noises buried into the pillow as his thick fingers worked your sensitive bud, his mouth littering your neck with what you hoped were love bites.
Even if he wasn’t fucking you the way he usually did, Choso was still Choso.
Still made sure you came first, waiting until your breathy gasps turned into a broken moan, shuddering as he painted white splotches across your vision, cumming and crying his name, ruined and half-limp underneath his body.
Hiding your face in the pillow as hot tears welled up in your eyes, knowing it would probably leave damp spots after this was over.
Were the two of you still over?
Now probably wasn’t the time to ask.
He pulled out at the last second, hand furiously pumping his cock, cum spurting out to spill all across your bare back as you started to come back down to earth from your climax.
Waiting for him to say something first, shutting your eyes as you struggled to catch your breath, the metal of your necklace pressing hard into your chest as his weight shifted. Carefully moving off of you instead of collapsing like he used to. Sometimes you could spend half an hour afterwards just with his body melting onto yours, playing with each other’s hair or listening to him murmur about whatever was on his mind. Letting him trace pretty shapes over your skin while he swore he adored you.
“I got some in your hair,” he mumbled instead.
Oh.
Right.
“We can shower,” you offered quietly, turning your head to the side, but still barely able to make out any of him in your peripheral vision.
You thought he’d turn you down.
Leave anyway now that he fucked you.
“Okay,” he agreed.
There was no big conversation. No emotional breakthrough under the hot water.
Choso cleaned you with the same attention he always had. Scrubbing your skin with the loofah, massaging your scalp when he washed your hair.
Taking care of you like a lover.
Even if you didn’t deserve it.
You knew you should have a proper conversation. Address what had landed you here, adjusting the water and pretending not to notice the ghost in the room.
But then the shower was over, and he was stepping out first, tying a towel loosely around his defined hips, water droplets still clinging to his happy trail as he handed you your own towel wordlessly.
Was this just how things were going to be from now on?
You watched him in the steamy mirror as you dried yourself off, searched him for remorse before he bent over to pick up his phone from the pocket of his discarded jeans.
“Yuji wants me to pick him up from Todo’s,” he muttered, looking back at you with an uncertain expression.
“Oh,” you muttered, stomach twisting with discomfort you once again didn’t want to vocalize. Todo. Wasn’t he the one that belonged to the blonde? “So Yuki’s place?”
And despite what he said earlier, a poisonous part of you whispered that he might be going over to just repeat what he’d done with her instead.
That perhaps he had just picked up those moves from being in her bed.
“Yeah,” he casually confirmed with a small nod.
You didn’t know what to say.
How to bring up your insecurity when you couldn’t even commit to him how he wanted in the first place.
So instead you deflected, biting down on your bottom lip before tilting your head to the side, “Do, um, you wanna come back over tomorrow?”
Surprise registered on his face, and he slowly nodded.
“What time?”
He was at your door the next afternoon while the kids were off at camp.
And the one after that.
Keeping your bed warm for an entire week, fucking you into your mattress like he was hoping to leave an imprint by the time he finished. To permanently press the shape of your bodies into the sheets, mold it around both of you while he molded you around him in everything from mating presses to reverse cowgirl. Any position where he could make a point in seeing how hard you would cum for him. Even in the shower afterwards when he was supposed to be cleaning you up.
Kissing you from the moment he crossed the threshold to the time he left. Desperate ones that gave away the craving you both shared, the hunger that seemed to spread and sink you further into starvation.
You didn’t know what this was.
What your relationship with him would be once the summer camps were over and you wouldn’t have the time to spare for having steamy sex with your sorta-ex.
“Shit,” he groaned, throwing his head back, the outline of his Adam's apple bobbing hard in his throat as you stole a glance over your shoulder at him. On your hands and knees, cum sticking to your ass and connecting your skin to his cock as he came a few seconds after you. His muscled abs glistened in the fading daylight, toned ridges and divots on display as he finished fucking his frustrations out on you doggy-style.
Pulling out instead of using condoms, the risk of it making your stomach flutter all funny even if you had a hard time imagining yourself ever having another kid.
You knew he wanted one though.
Another conversation you’d been avoiding.
But before you could even consider broaching it, your phone started to buzz beside the bed, and he was leaning over to pick it up for you, face softening as he held it out.
“It’s Artemis,” he muttered.
“Shit, okay,” you blinked, climbing off the bed in a hurry to grab your robe off the back of your desk chair, hastily throwing it on and tying it around your waist before rushing back to take it.
You barely got to speak to her since she’d been so busy with her space camp.
Answering before it could end, biting your lip as the facetime automatically connected, the image of her all fuzzy and blurred for a few seconds before becoming clear.
“Hi, sweetheart,” you greeted, heart rapidly thumping in your chest as you made sure she wouldn’t be able to see the rest of your room.
“I missed you, mom,” she grinned.
Artemis had a light in her eyes that you missed. That spark, that gleam of excitement that was infectious, smiling easily back at her as she pushed a planetary model in front of the camera to show off.
“Check it out. Do you like it?” She beamed, proud of her work as you instinctively thought of what Satoru would make of it. How he’d probably grin and goad her into going over every detail. How happy he’d be that she was into the same stuff as him.
“I love it,” you promised, nodding along as she started rambling about how they were learning about worm holes earlier, bouncing up and down as you tried to not let the sinking pit in your stomach swallow you up with how much she reminded you of her father.
But if he was really still here, would he be here to see this? Or would he still be choosing work over the three of you?
You were so distracted, you didn’t hear Choso creeping back up until you felt the weight of him against your back, bending over to rest his chin on your collarbone as he saw Artemis’ project on your phone.
“You made that all by yourself?” He asked, and you could see his soft smile on your screen, admiring her work like she was his. The pretty picture of a perfect father.
“Choso?” Artemis blinked, mouth falling open and nose scrunching up in surprise as she looked back at you with sheer confusion.
You stammered something out, a weak excuse about her brother calling, ending the call before you had to actually answer her reasonable questions about what you were doing with him. Turning back the second you were sure she wouldn’t overhear, scoffing as you shook your head at him.
“Why did you do that?” You asked, blowing a short puff of air out of your nose as his palms settled on your hips.
“Do what? Talk to Artemis? We’re back together,” He said it as if it was obvious, and you reflexively wanted to refuse. To sabotage the slice of heaven you were living in for the past week.
“I never said that.”
The moment those four words left your lips, you wanted to put them back.
Freezing as his hands fell away from you, loathing yourself for letting this happen, seeing how hard and fast he recoiled from you.
“I’m such a fucking moron,” he muttered, turning around and grabbing his sweater from the bed, pulling it over his head as your body seized with dread. “You’re just using me. You never wanted a life with me.”
“No,” you breathed the word, but you were already sure it was too late. You screwed it up again. “I didn’t-”
“Stop with the stupid lies,” he shook his head, not believing you.
“Stay, please,” you half-whispered, the slowly-growing guilt gripping your heart encasing it completely. “I wasn’t trying to-”
“To what?” He interrupted.
“I panicked,” you weakly explained, an excuse forming on your tongue about not wanting to confuse the kids anymore, but he wasn’t about to let it go this time.
“Why don’t you want to marry me?” He bluntly asked.
No room for wiggling out of the conversation or wishing it away when it meant watching him walk out your door again.
You had to be honest.
No matter how much your brain was trying to convince you that you were just jinxing it. Cursing him to follow the same fate as your former fiancé by saying the words out loud. Condemning yourself by tying yourself down to someone you were scared would slip away too.
“The day you proposed,” you hesitated, holding your breath as you swallowed hard. “While you weren’t here, someone from NASA stopped by that afternoon to tell me Satoru had officially been declared dead.”
You didn’t know why it had even surprised you.
All the years he’d been gone, the excuses his old coworkers had offered started to dry up, the same old stories they sold you not holding the same hope.
And now they were admitting there wasn’t any.
Satoru was dead to them.
And you didn’t even really get to be a widow.
“I went to his grave after you got home, but I just, I don’t know how to say goodbye to him,” you muttered, thinking about how it felt to sit there knowing his body would never be buried by his headstone. About the life he deserved and never got. Where he got to be a father and a husband and be a family. “And then you came home and pulled out the ring, and it was like everything was happening all over again.”
The memory of it was a blur, your head a complete mess as an awful as intrusive thoughts threw everything you were terrified of straight in your face.
Telling you that you were just replacing Satoru. That he would hate you if he knew you had moved on. Insisted that if you said yes, Choso wouldn’t stick around either.
So scared that he’d leave you too, that you nearly lost him anyway.
“Baby, if you had told me-”
“I know,” your voice broke, body trembling as he wrapped a warm arm around your shoulders to tug you into a tender embrace. “I should’ve said something. But I didn’t know how to bring it up and I just shut down, and-”
“If I had waited, would you have said yes?” He asked, and you couldn’t answer straight away.
Was it a betrayal to Satoru to say yes?
Or were you losing the best thing in your life by clinging onto the ghost of a man who hadn’t loved you enough to listen and stay in the first place?
“I don’t know,” you admitted. “I don’t want another proposal if it ends in losing the person I love.”
Looking up at him anxiously, waiting for the foundation you were standing on to crack and crumble – for him to prove you right. For the world to rip him away now that you admitted that you loved him enough to fear living without him too.
“The only way you’ll lose me is if you keep pushing me away,” he comforted you, and you wanted to cry.
“I don’t want to push you away,” you mumbled.
“Then let me in,” he whispered, pulling you onto the bed and placing you on his lap. Letting you curl up on him, holding you tight like he was trying to make it clear he wasn’t going to let you go.
Your sniffles turned into soft sobs, all the tears you’d been holding in, all the mourning you’d been rejecting released the moment you had someone to lean on.
“Are you still seeing your therapist?” He pressed, and you hung your head lower.
“No,” you confessed through the tears. “I haven’t been since we broke up.”
“You need to go back,” he softly goaded, and you knew he was right. That you were only hurting yourself the more you held it all in.
“Could, um, you go with me?” You muttered, unsure and anxious as you searched his face for some sign that you weren’t making a mistake, rubbing the damp streaks off of your cheeks as he nodded.
“If you want me there,” he muttered.
And you could finally admit to yourself that you did.
That you wanted there when you went to sleep, and when you woke up, and for everything in between.
“I want you here for everything,” you whispered.
“I’m sorry that I didn’t see what you were going through-”
𖥔 ݁ ˖
“So what? The second she thinks I’m dead she decides to marry you?” Gojo interrupted his retelling of it, Choso’s mouth finding it hard not to frown at how much he sort of reminded him of you. Seeing the bits of his personality that had melted into yours, picturing how the two of you might have worked together if the positions were reversed.
“It wasn’t like that,” Choso muttered.
“That’s what it sounds like,” he retorted.
His phone vibrated on the table, Artemis' name flashing on the screen before Gojo snatched it off and shoved it in his pocket.
“You can answer that,” Choso muttered, shrugging his shoulders. It was a little uncomfortable sharing a daughter, but she was too grown for him to say anything about it. And between the twins, she was the one who always had a soft spot for the father she lost to the very thing she was studying.
Of course she was going to be excited that he was home.
Even if some things were better left in her imagination than in real life.
Choso had never planned on meeting him. Never considered what he might actually be like.
Although he did find it a little annoying that he was somehow even more obsessed and in love with you than he ever conceived.
“I’ll call her back later,” Gojo answered, but there was a nervous glint to his eyes as he cleared his throat before picking up his fork to shove some food in his mouth, still talking mid-chew. “How long, exactly, did it take for you to marry my-”
He nearly said fiancée.
But Gojo corrected himself, clearing his throat, “Her.”
“Your friend’s mother, she, uh, got cancer a year later,” Choso muttered, still a little haunted by the look on your face when she announced it. At the hard memories always attached to the good ones. “The doctors thought she only had six months to live.”
“Oh,” Gojo muttered, a crease forming between his brows on his pretty, wrinkle-free face.
“It changed things.”
If it hadn’t been for her, he wasn’t sure if the two of you would’ve found your way back together at all.
It had been her birthday. All of you over at her house, the kids playing in the living room while you helped her clean up. Choso was supposed to be keeping an eye on the twins and Yuji, but he was within earshot of your conversation, beating a level that was too hard for them on the game console she’d bought them last Christmas.
He nearly died the second he heard the words terminally ill leave her mouth, using every ounce of his self-composure not to snap his head around and ask all the questions he was itching to know. But then the kids would notice, and the idea of the twins realizing that they were about to lose the closest thing they had to a grandparent was enough to make him hold onto his cool. Force his face into a neutral expression as he clicked buttons haphazardly.
“You can get a second opinion, or, or-” You were stumbling over your words, in denial as Mrs. Geto tutted at you.
“Sometimes, it’s just a person’s time,” she softly said. “I’ve lived a long life. A happy one.”
Choso glanced back right as your entire face fell, devastation obvious in every line etched into your skin, shaking your head hard as you rejected it.
You tried to speak, but nothing came out.
“I want to be with my husband and son,” she said, and you were trying so hard not to cry. Eyes watering with tears you were quick to blink away. “I’ve made my peace with it.”
Choso knew you. Could see how hard you were resisting the urge to say that you wanted her here too.
“Don’t give me that look, dear,” she lightly said, reading you like an open book too. “All I want now is to know that you’ll be okay when I’m gone. All three of you.”
You might not be her daughter. But you were damn near close to it after nearly a decade of leaning on each other for support.
“You know Choso takes good care of us,” you softly replied, your voice barely audible as you sniffled. Rubbing your face from the spot you’d frozen in, lip still quivering.
“He does, doesn’t he?” She knowingly said, and you were nodding.
“He’s great,” you reiterated, and even when the timing was terrible, he couldn’t help but feel a small flicker of gratitude at hearing you speak about him like that. On you counting on him.
“Not great enough to marry?”
He almost flinched.
A game over screen flashing across the TV as the kids groaned in unison, little fingers poking and pushing and telling him to try again.
“I don’t need his last name to know I love him,” you muttered.
“That doesn’t mean you shouldn’t marry him,” she argued, and Choso felt his chest constrict, wondering whether or not he should even be listening when she started talking about Suguru, so fondly, recounting a memory of his father, her husband, the weight of her missing them present in every syllable. “Even if it hurts sometimes, I wouldn’t take any of it back.”
You knew what that felt like.
Choso could see the contemplation scrawled across your face, struggling to keep his focus on the game as Mrs. Geto continued.
“You’ve known him longer than Satoru, sweetheart,” she guided, touching your shoulder tenderly as he caught a glimpse of you chewing on your lip. “He loves you just as much.”
It wasn’t a competition.
Even if sometimes did feel like he was fighting a phantom for your love.
“He would understand if you went all in with him,” she spoke gently. “All any of us have ever wanted is for you to be happy.”
You were about to start bawling, but you held it in, nodding along like you knew she was right. And Choso was already planning on sending her a gift basket the next day with all her favorite foods and snacks, including a note promising to make time to take her to any appointments she needed.
“I loved Satoru like he was my own too, but even if they came back tomorrow, I don’t know if he’d be the one that’s right for you now, dear,” she gently goaded, guiding you as you sucked in a sharp breath.
Choso waited for you to shake your head, to tell her that she was wrong.
But you didn’t.
And he was still thinking about what you were thinking that night. You told him about her illness after the kids had fallen asleep in their beds, sitting up with a pillow pressed against your chest as you gave him that look you always did when you were deep in thought.
He pretended not to know, just wrapping his arms around you to offer whatever comfort you needed. He wasn’t going to push. Press about marriage just because you had spoken with Mrs. Geto about it.
Truthfully, he didn’t expect anything to actually come of it.
He understood your reservations. Those fears you were still working through with your therapist.
So you caught him off guard when you looked up at him with wide eyes and nervously asked, “Do you still think about marrying me?”
“Of course I do,” he answered a little too fast. “But I understand why you don’t want to.”
He would take a forever of being your boyfriend than a future where you weren’t anything to him.
“Why do you want to?” You asked, the question coming out slightly stilted, a hint of something he had a hard time placing. It wasn’t dismissive. Not completely curious, more like, searching for confirmation from him.
“You already know I’m in love with you,” he murmured, reaching over to brush his fingers across your cheek. “And how much I love our family.”
You and the twins. The way you readily accepted Yuji as their sibling. Loved his little brother without hesitation.
“I want to grow old with you. Spend as many moments of our lives together as we can. Watch the kids graduate and get families of their own,” he mumbled, finding more confidence with each sentence as you leaned into his hand. “I want to write cheesy vows and say them in front of all our friends. I want Yuji to be my best man and Apollo to carry the rings while Artemis tosses flower petals down the aisle.”
And fuck, when you were looking at him like that, like you wanted all of it and more too, he nearly melted on the spot.
“I want to see you in a white dress, walking towards me while I cry at how beautiful you are,” Choso whispered, his gravelly voice standing out in the soft silence, the sound of crickets chirping through the cracked window as a breeze filtered in. “But really, I just want you to choose me. Forever.”
He didn’t want to spend the rest of his life waiting and wondering if he was the one you wanted.
You swallowed hard, your hand reaching over to graze against his fingers affectionately.
“Ask me again,” you breathed.
He stared for a moment, barely believing what had just left your lips. But the moment it sunk in, he was rushing off the bed, nearly stumbling towards his nightstand, pulling it open and rummaging through everything to find the ring box he tucked in the back when he moved in with you again.
You sat on the edge of the bed, a ghost of a smile curling up on your lips as you watched him hurry to get down on one knee and pop open the box, revealing the ring you didn’t get to see last time.
“Will you marry me?”
Gojo looked like he was about to puke over the photo album in front of him.
There you were, standing in your wedding dress, Choso’s hand slung on your waist as you leaned into him. Mrs. Geto was by your side, using a walker as her illness left her struggling to get around the way she used to. Yuji clinging onto the leg of his tux, grinning and sticking his tongue out at the photographer by his new step-siblings. Artemis and Apollo were in front of you, your bouquet in her hands while Apollo beamed at the camera, proud of himself for doing a good job not tripping or falling with the rings.
“She’s glowing,” Gojo murmured, tracing over your face down to the wedding dress, face twisting up in pained tension. Maybe thinking of what his photos might have looked like with you.
All his plans wrecked by his own confidence that the world would bend to what he wanted.
And before Choso could really react, tears welled up in his blue eyes, his jaw clenched tight as he tried to hide the fact he was crying at the photo.
“She was pregnant,” Choso explained, feeling himself getting choked up too thinking about that year. “It wasn’t planned.”
Honestly, when you told him, stepping out of the bathroom with a positive test, that nervous glint of pure fear in your eyes as you held it out, he was sure you were going to tell him you didn’t want it.
That you could marry him, but you would draw the line at having his kid. Sure that you wouldn’t want to put your body through it again, especially ten years after having twins.
But you just anxiously asked if he wanted it, if he thought the two of you could really handle it.
“How was it?” Gojo asked, a surprising sincerity to the question. Genuinely wanting to know, maybe because he missed his chance to go through it with you. Only got a handful of videos you sent when you were pregnant. Didn’t get to be there for the sonograms, or the appointments, or the birth.
Missed buying baby clothes and painting a nursery. Picking out names together.
Although, it had been you who suggested naming her Keso, after one of his brothers who passed when he was younger.
“It was hard, sometimes,” he admitted. The later months especially. Your anxiety picking up the closer your due date came, convinced that something would go wrong, going to see your therapist every other week until your delivery date. “But our daughter was healthy, and I was there to help her recover.”
Choso never left you once.
Was there for every diaper change and late night feed. Comforted every time he picked up his little girl relief he hadn’t expected blooming in his chest at having one that looked like him. He had told himself it wouldn’t matter. That he would’ve loved a little girl that looked like you too. Especially since he already adored Artemis.
But it was nice to know that strangers would see his girl and know she was absolutely his.
Gojo had only met her once since she came back at a big family dinner, and she was too preoccupied with her own husband and kids now to care about the man her mother once loved, just offering him an awkward smile before going back to talking to Artemis.
He was wiping his face, pretending like he hadn’t been crying as he flipped the pages back in the photo album, finding one where you were sprawled out in the backyard on a towel and smiling at the camera, shielding your face from the sun. Artemis was laying next to you, her head buried in a book.
“Can I have this one?” He asked, and Choso wanted to say no.
Not let him have any more pieces of you than he’d already stolen.
But it was hard to actually say no when he knew there was a second copy of the photo underneath, reluctantly nodding. “I suppose.”
“I’m glad she got to move on,” he mumbled, not that it sounded even remotely truthful. The only thing there was regret. “That she could forget about me.”
“I meant what I said,” Choso sighed, turning more serious as he looked into those frustratingly familiar eyes. He loved you too much to hate him. Loved Apollo and Artemis too much to loathe the man he had to thank for them. “She never forgot you.”
Gojo was the one who was struggling to swallow the fact he had to share your heart with someone else now.
“Yeah,” he dismissively muttered, lips pressing together.
“When she got sick a few years ago, her memory started to go too,” Choso reluctantly broached his least favorite subject, recalling the long months of watching you waste away. “Eventually, she forgot almost everything. Except you.”
Gojo didn’t know what to say.
Sitting there stunned as he stared at Choso, finding it too hard to meet his eyes and turning his attention to the wedding band still on his fourth finger.
“She couldn’t remember the twins or our grandkids. But she still talked about you. Called me your name a couple times when I helped her get out of bed. Looked up at the sky and told everyone who visited that you were up there,” Choso admitted, his voice wavering as he tried his damndest not to hold it against you. To remember all the decades that had come before that when you were more than happy to be his. “Swore that her husband was just with the stars for a little bit before he’d come back for her.”
He wasn’t quite as emotional as he had once been. But it was hard to not break down at the fact that he’d lost you long before you passed away.
That in the end, he hadn’t carved himself deep enough into you to be the one you recalled.
Sure, you still had moments of clarity. Rare days where you were almost like your old self, where you’d kiss him and hold him and swear you loved him more than anything.
And those were enough. You were enough. Even when there was barely anything left.
“We both loved her,” Choso murmured, although love didn’t seem like a big enough word for it. He had a feeling that Gojo would understand anyway. Know what he was trying to get at here. That they’d both felt the full spectrum of emotions, the highest highs and the lowest lows that came with worshipping you. “And lost her too.”
“Yeah,” Gojo whispered. “I guess we did.”
“I don’t know what’s worse,” Choso exhaled, taking one last sip of his drink. “Losing her all at once like you or seeing her disappear piece by piece.”
“I’m sorry,” he apologized, and Choso looked up to see the way his face had scrunched up, his brows furrowed as he twisted around the wedding band he started wearing too. The one you bought for him once upon a time.
“You don’t need to apologize,” Choso shook his head.
If anyone understood what it was like to miss you, it was him. Even if he spent most of his adult life despising him to some degree.
But Gojo was still staring at him with guilt he hadn’t anticipated. Like he knew everything was his fault and he didn’t know how to fix it.
Choso contemplated telling him that there wasn’t anything left to fix.
It wasn’t like he could go back in time to change anything. And even if he could, Choso wouldn’t change a single moment. Not when he’d gotten you. Gotten his daughter – and two bonus kids.
His life had been filled with your warmth and laughter and a million smiles he wouldn’t trade for anything.
Even if the ending had been a bit lackluster. Even if he had to spend the next ten years on his own wishing you were still around.
“I’m going to Apollo’s place,” he announced. “His daughter brought her baby over.”
Awkwardly extending an invitation even if his son wouldn’t exactly be thrilled at having the father that was now younger than him around.
“Oh,” Gojo said, his mouth curling down like he knew it too.
Recognized where he wasn’t wanted.
It might be too late for Apollo. But he still had time to get to know the rest of his family if he stopped focusing on the past and learned to live in the present.
“Don’t you want to come spend some time with your great grandson?” Choso asked, his voice coming out gravelly as his knee ached with the effort of standing. Gojo’s stare flicked down at his lap, towards the pocket he shoved his phone in.
And even though Artemis didn’t share his physical features, he recognized that distracted look of hers in Gojo now, like he was working out a problem too complex for anyone else to solve.
“I’ll, uh, catch you guys there later,” he excused, running his thumb over the edge of the photo.
He didn’t have the energy left in him to convince him to come.
Gojo would just have to learn for himself how little time there was left with the people he loved in this life.
Choso supposed he should consider himself lucky. At least he got to spend most of his by your side.
It wasn’t jealousy that plagued him as he collected his photo albums, the proof of every year you’d given him while Gojo was gone, but pure pity.
If only he had the foresight to realize how misplaced his empathy was.
But even if he had, he wasn’t the one who could turn back time.
a/n: this was also a commission by the super creative and inspiring @dayanim !! i love her and her big brain sm :3
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synopsis: Nanami Kento has been to 10 weddings in his life. Mostly from coworkers, family, and friends. But he’s never had a plus 1 at any. His “best” friend Gojo is worried. Nonetheless, he sets up what any good friend would do. A blind date, with you. But you, on the other hand, hate blind dates. You’ve been to too many in your life from your helpful sister. But at the end of every date, no man ever contacts you after. And this date seems to be what you expect, with a man who barely talks and seems to have no interest at all. That’s until he contacts you again. But loyalty and trust is hard, for all you’ve ever wanted in life was to walk down the aisle in a beautiful princess-like white ballgown to the man of your dreams.
With time, patience, and trust, comes you to realize you’ve seen love all around you, all the time.
a/n: jujutsu sorcery does not exist in this fanfic. this is a modern au! in this fanfic, you are a very feminine lady (for example, you like pink and attract to more girly things). if this isn't your style then you can just ignore it but it will be important to the fanfic later on, just not VERY important. anyways enjoy!
Forever in Malaysia (AU! Nanami Kento x Fem! Reader)
Chapter 1: "The Day It All Began"
Life would be much easier to enjoy if it weren't for such a monotonous routine where free time simply didn't exist.
Nanami woke up at five in the morning to exercise. Every morning, he ran fifteen kilometers before stopping to buy the same breakfast: two croissants and two black coffees with no sugar. Once he got home, he took a quick shower, put on a suit, checked that he had everything he needed, and hurried out the door to catch his train.
Y/N woke up later, at eight-thirty in the morning. She would find the takeaway coffee and croissant Nanami had brought back from his workout. Taking a sip of the bitter, cold coffee, she would set it down and get rid of the unpleasant taste with a bite of the croissant. The moment she noticed the time, she would rush to shower and get dressed before running to her car and driving to Hiromi's law firm.
Coming home was another story entirely.
Nanami always prepared dinner. Without a doubt, it was his favorite part of the day: cooking. He would put on some soft jazz music, look through the ingredients, and decide what to make. He poured himself two fingers of whiskey and enjoyed the process.More than anything, he enjoyed dinner itself, even if he had to eat alone.
By the time Y/N returned home, it was usually four in the morning, and Nanami was already asleep. Her dinner waited for her, cold and unappetizing. She would push it aside and go straight to bed, too exhausted to even change out of her clothes.
Every day was the same.The days blurred together into a homogenous cycle, each one indistinguishable from the last.
Until one day, Nanami stayed awake until four in the morning.
"I never realized you came home this late."His voice carried its usual seriousness as he sighed before standing up and helping her remove her coat, hanging it neatly on the rack.
"The cases have been difficult lately, and Hiromi needs more help. The entire team has been staying this late."
"This has to change. I can't keep living like this, Y/N."He ran a hand through his hair before helping her sit down, ever the gentleman."I need you. I miss you."He gently kissed her hand. First the back of it, then her palm, and finally the spot where he could feel her pulse.
"I miss you too. A lot."She whispered the words tenderly."I thought that after we got married, I'd eventually get tired of seeing you. But it feels like we don't even live together."
"I know. I know. Listen to me, sweetheart."He walked into the kitchen and returned with several papers in hand, placing them in front of her."What do you think?"
Y/N stared at them in surprise.Plane tickets to Malaysia.A long time ago, she had begged him for a romantic getaway. He had always refused. The destination itself didn't matter to her; all she had ever wanted was her husband.But now, she wasn't so sure anymore.
"Are you crazy? These say a month and a half in Malaysia. Nanami... I don't think Hiromi will let me take that much time off."
"You've worked hard for years and put in more overtime than anyone else. Explain the situation to him, and I'm sure he'll understand that his best employee needs a break."
"And your boss approved this?"
"Yes. He didn't complain at all. In fact, he was the one who suggested I take some vacation time."Nanami stepped closer and pressed a kiss to her neck."Just imagine it. The two of us in Malaysia, sitting in the shade on a beach, hiding from the scorching sun while we read and enjoy the breeze. Sleeping in every morning and making love whenever we want."
"That doesn't sound bad at all..."She turned toward him, and they shared a soft, tender kiss."I'll tell Hiromi tomorrow at the office."
That day was the only day in a long time that Y/N found herself still lying naked in bed well past ten in the morning.She slowly opened her eyes and stretched.Then she glanced toward the window and squinted against the sunlight. Pulling the sheet around herself, she reached out in search of Nanami.
ʜɪʀᴏᴍɪ ʜɪɢᴜʀᴜᴍᴀ x ғᴇᴍᴀʟᴇ!ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ | ᴊᴜᴊᴜᴛsᴜ ᴋᴀɪsᴇɴ (ᴊᴊᴋ) | ᴏғғɪᴄᴇ ᴀᴜ, ᴇɴᴇᴍɪᴇs ᴛᴏ ʟᴏᴠᴇʀs, ғᴏʀᴄᴇᴅ ᴘʀᴏxɪᴍɪᴛʏ, sʟᴏᴡ ʙᴜʀɴ, ᴄᴏʀᴘᴏʀᴀᴛᴇ ʀɪᴠᴀʟʀʏ | ᴊᴀɴɪᴛᴏʀ.ᴀɪ ʙᴏᴛ ♡ (since this is also a bot intro I've written!)
♡ ᴀʀᴛ ʙʏ / ᴄʀᴇᴅɪᴛs ᴛᴏ: ᴜʀɪᴇʟʙᴇᴀᴜᴘʀᴇ
♡ ғɪɴᴅ ᴛʜᴇɪʀ ᴡᴏʀᴋ ᴏɴ ɪɢ / x: @ᴜʀɪᴇʟʙᴇᴀᴜᴘʀᴇ
ᴏᴠᴇʀᴠɪᴇᴡ: You don’t fall in love with Hiromi Higuruma. You endure him. At least, that’s what you keep telling yourself.Because Hiromi is everything you can’t stand, cold, precise, infuriatingly composed, with a mind like a scalpel and a habit of cutting you down in front of people who matter. Ever since the merger swallowed your firm whole, he’s been your daily punishment: correcting your work, stealing your cases, dismantling your arguments with quiet precision that makes your blood boil.And you? You’re the chaos he can’t seem to file away. Loud, relentless, impossible to ignore.It should have stayed simple,mutual irritation, professional warfare, two rivals locked in the same glass tower of ambition.But hate has started acting strangely lately.It lingers too long in the air between you.It shows up in the way his eyes follow you when he thinks you’re not looking.In the way your heartbeat stumbles whenever he steps too close.In the way neither of you ever really walks away first.Then the lines start to blur.Late nights. Empty offices. Rain against glass.A rivalry that stops feeling like a choice—and starts feeling like gravity.Because somewhere between every argument, every insult, every almost-touch…You start to wonder if hate was ever the right word at all.
˚₊‧꒰ა ♡ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚
You have a theory: loathing someone can feel dangerously close to falling for them. Your stomach turns somersaults, you barely eat or sleep, your pulse hammers so loudly you’re sure it’s visible through your skin. Every encounter leaves you jittery with adrenaline, barely able to keep your composure. Once, Shinjuku International was the crown jewel of Japanese law, renowned for its legendary wins and clientele that stretched across continents.
That legacy was shattered a year ago, when bankruptcy forced a merger with Takagi’s, a ruthless legal monolith infamous for its cutthroat clients and draconian policies. Don’t be fooled: the two firms may share an office, but the war is far from over. As for the self-obsessed show-off who seems to exist solely to antagonize you? Oh, you loathe him with every fiber of your being. Sure, Hiromi Higuruma is unfairly attractive, but don’t let appearances mislead you. As the old saying goes, 'Not all that glitters is gold.' Your list of grievances against Hiromi is long: First, you’ve never seen him crack a smile, if he did it would only be to mock you. Second, he’s obsessed with order; his desk could be a catalog photo. Monday: Duff Grey, Tuesday: White, Wednesday: Powder Blue, Thursday: Window Paint Blue, and Friday: True Blue. Third, he nitpicks every minor error you make. And most unforgivable, after the merger, he arrived with a hit list of layoffs, every name being one of your friends.
You’ll never forget that morning in the boardroom when he coolly announced that your mentor, Yamamoto-sensei, was 'redundant.' The look on your friend’s face still haunts you. And who could forget last month’s shouting match by the copier, echoed through half the floor, when Hiromi accused you of sabotaging his client files? So now you’re stranded here, day after endless day, locked in a never-ending battle of wills with your arch-rival: Hiromi Higuruma, the spawn of Satan himself.
One Year. One Year, that was how long you had endured this very torment; how long you’d been working at the most prestigious law firm in Japan, Shinjuku International. You had clawed your way up to the top, from the scraps of nothing, a self-made feminist powerhouse who fought with a tooth and nail for every inch of ground in a ruthlessly old-boys male-dominated club that wanted to watch you fail. And for one long year, Hiromi Higuruma had been the unmovable wall you couldn’t break through.
He was everything you were not: wealthy, born into money, always dressed in impeccably tailored suits that cost more than your rent, and maddeningly, infuriatingly so effortlessly brilliant. He was the nemesis you couldn’t quite best. Trapped in this shared corner office, the two of you bled through sixty-hour workweeks like an exhausting game of psychological warfare. You countered his icy perfectionism with a messy, unorthodox brilliance; he met your fiery independence with a quiet disdain that felt exactly like hatred.
You hated him. You hated him with a visceral intensity that felt almost toxic in your bloodstream. You hated the way he breathed, his stupid voice; that was so smooth it melted off his tongue like butter. The way his mind worked with a ruthless efficiency that made you feel like you were always one step behind. You hated his inherited wealth, effortless arrogance, and the way he had women in the firm wrapped around his finger.
And Hiromi hated you right back. He despised your unapologetic, bleeding-heart feminist crusades, the cheap takeout coffee you drank, and the way you bit your crimson-covered lip when you had your mind on something. He hated that your desk was always a paper-strewn disaster, which deeply offended his organized, pristine sensibilities. But most of all, he hated that you were the only one in the firm who refused to be intimidated by him. You were a loud, stubborn glitch in his perfectly orchestrated system.
And, right now, at 9:30 PM on a Friday, you are the biggest glitch possible just by sitting at your paper-strewn desk. The torrential Tokyo downpour battered against the floor-to-ceiling glass of your shared office, blurring the neon city lights into streaks of bleeding color.
Currently, you are glaring over your monitor, watching a scene itself that makes you want to gag. Add reason five to your list of why you hate him: Hiromi has an entire pathetic fan club. A gaggle of Three Junior Associates from the Takagi side, who have suddenly found very fake, urgent reasons to “work late”, are buzzing around his pristine desk like a bunch of bees. They were laughing a little too loudly, tossing their hair over their shoulders, lingering with a completely transparent desperation before they head out for the night, and enough cleavage to make a sailor faint. One of them is practically purring over a brief. Another is laughing breathlessly at something that definitely wasn't a joke.
And the spawn of satan himself? You mean sure, even though you’d rather swallow staples than admit it, you couldn’t exactly blame them, the True Blue Friday shirt is doing him favors, but don’t let it fool you. For the first time all year, his ridiculously expensive suit jacket is actually draped over the back of his chair. His sleeves are rolled to the elbows, revealing rivers of deep, prominent, corded veins and a heavy silver watch that could pay off your student loans. He possessed the kind of sharp, aristocratic bone structure that made him look like he belonged on the cover of GQ rather than buried in legal briefs. The fabric of his True Blue button-up shirt hugged his frame like a second skin, hugging his broad shoulders that are broader than they have any right to be for a man who spends his life buried in depositions. He is tall, excessively so, with a jawline that looks like it was carved out of granite by someone who harbored a grudge against soft edges. The rain's humidity has defeated his perfectly slicked back hair; a single, rebellious, strand of dark hair has fallen across his forehead, making him look unfairly, devastatingly, and annoyingly handsome.
But then your stomach does that heavy, bright flip again. Because you realize the terrifying truth of the situation.
He isn’t even looking at them.
While the women preen and compete for a scrap of his attention, Hiromi’s dark, suffocating gaze is bypassing them completely.
He is staring dead at you.
His jaw is ticking, that tight,rhythmic flex of muscle that completely betrays his control-freak nature. And if you look really closely, really closely, there are bruised, exhausted shadows under his eyes. He is just as shredded, just as tired of this psychological warfare as you are. His long fingers are spinning an expensive metallic pen between his fingers, in a restless, agitated loop. He is completely ignoring the women invading his personal space; he is entirely focused on the way your teeth are currently sunk into your crimson-painted lower lip.
Clack.
He drops the pen. The junior associates physically jump at the sudden interruption.
"That will be all," he says. His voice is a low, smooth dismissal that leaves absolutely zero room for negotiation. "Leave the files. Goodnight."
"Have a good night, Higuruma-sensei," one of the associates cooed, waving her fingers.
"Goodnight," he replied, his tone smooth, chillingly dismissive, and utterly devoid of the warmth they were desperately fishing for.
They finally took the hint. The women scattered like startled doves, practically sprinting out the door. Suddenly, you are trapped again. The massive office was completely empty now, the heavy silence broken by the aggressive drumming of the rain against the glass.
Hiromi didn’t look at you immediately. Instead, he stood up and began methodically stacking a series of files. Every movement was precise. He aligned his Montblanc pen parallel to his keyboard and snapped his laptop shut.
You kept your eyes glued to your screen, chewing nervously on the inside of your lip, refusing to be the first one to break the silence.
"You're going to make yourself bleed if you keep biting your lip like that," his voice suddenly sliced through the quiet, his voice low and rough from disuse.
You jumped slightly at the sound of his voice, your eyes snapping up. He was leaning against the edge of his perfectly clean mahogany desk, his arms crossed over his chest with a file in hand, highlighting the muscle of his biceps. His dark eyes were locked onto yours with a terrifying, heavy intensity that made your stomach execute a violent flip. He hadn’t been ignoring you per se, while those women were fawning over him. He had been tracking you. He always tracked you.
A muscle in his jaw ticked when you didn’t respond. He pushed off his desk and closed the distance between your workspaces, stopping just barely at the invisible border that divided his immaculate, neat side of the room from your messy, disaster zone. He looked down at you, his gaze briefly dropping to your mouth, noting the way you bit the inside of your cheek, before flicking back up to your eyes.
He dropped the folder onto your desk with a heavy, deliberate thunk. Red circles bled through the pages, your errors illuminated for anyone to see. He didn’t bother to sit; instead, he loomed over you, straightening his tie with unnecessary precision.
“What would you have me do with this? Did you even glance at this before turning it in?” he said, voice low and flat. “You know I expect better.” His eyes lingered on the mess of annotations, the contempt in his stare almost palpable. “Is this just laziness, or are you trying to see how far you can push me?”
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you are so lucky to have a husband like hiromi. every day, you're being taken good care by him, despite he who needed it more.
he wakes up earlier than you in the mornings to get your coffee/tea ready, and cooks breakfast while he's at it. you'd wake up to the smell of freshly brewed coffee (and any type of tea if that's what you prefer) that seeped through the bedroom door.
when you arrive to the kitchen, he's already halfway done with his coffee, sitting by the dining table with a newspaper in hand. he'd greet you good morning with a kiss, taking you in his firm arms to hold and feel you, as if holding you in your sleep wasn't enough.
it's his way of recharging himself of you before he leaves for work, not able to see you for hours again.
he drops you off to your workplace before he goes to his, and picks you up before the sun completely sets, with a gift or flowers that has a small poem about you. he personally writes them in his best penmanship. he always writes what he loves about you and how grateful he is to have you in his life.
when you're not busy together with a take-home work, you cook dinner together, trying new recipes you find online. cleaning up your home was mostly done by hiromi too. when you try to offer help, he'd let you do the easiest job then shoos you away.
he always makes time for you even though he has a busy schedule. he always makes an effort to show up and completes the side quests you give him. he takes up most of your requests and rarely ever says no to you.
he had made you his main priority over work, the moment he found himself measuring your ring finger when he massages or holds your hand.
playful banters are one of your ways to bond with him. through the years of your relationship with him, you had only argued once or twice but it was never about him. he has been nothing but good to you, after all. it somehow makes you feel nice when your coworkers or your friends complain about their lovers and compare them to your husband.
it makes your heart swell with pride, smiling genuinely at how lucky you are to have him. you heard two consecutive, short beeps which caught your attention and looked up to see a familiar sleek, black car. the window rolled down, revealing a tired hiromi but a soft smile was on his lips.
you smiled back before nudging your two female coworkers goodbye. "see you tomorrow, guys. my ride is here." you say, knowing too well they understood it in two different ways. without waiting for their replies, you excitedly jog towards the car. hiromi was already holding the door open for you to get in the passenger seat.
"your ride? am i a cab driver now?" he asked once he's settled on his seat and helped you put on your seatbelt.
you kissed his nose while he was still close to you. "my personal driver." once your seatbelt clicked locked, he looked at you. oh, he knows that look damn well.
