mae headcanons

[tags: drabble, fluff, comfort]

The rising sun's rays shone directly on the Strongest Sorcerer's face. He scowled and groaned softly, rolling over. Satoru had defeated the first obstacle, but before he could sink back into peaceful sleep, a second one—a loud alarm clock—shattered his peace, forcing his chosen one to start the new day early.

"Satoru, get your hands off me." Ava mumbled, half-asleep, as she silenced the alarm.

"Just five more minutes..." Gojo whispered, pulling her closer and throwing his leg over her hip, leaving her no chance of escape.

"Get up already."

"You're so cruel to me on my day off," Satoru said, tightening his grip. Today was his day off, which meant he could stay in bed as long as he wanted, and with whomever he wanted. A happy smile spread across his lips at this small victory.

The faint scent of fabric softener hung subtly in the air. Sunlight poured into the bedroom. The distant sounds of the city barely made it through the floor-to-ceiling windows. This apartment was a separate world for them, its high walls a temporary shield from their crucial roles in the sorcerer society. Here, amidst the creative chaos on his desk, she neatly arranged her books on the wooden shelves, dusting them every weekend. On the white dresser, among his countless colognes, was one bottle, a scent that belonged only to her.

"You're acting like a kid." Mae said, gently pushing a few stray hairs from Satoru's forehead, careful not to wake him and face a lecture about her heartlessness. Still, in his sleep, he looked like a demigod no one could ever defeat. Gojo knew no boundaries, obeyed no rules—this man always found his own way, never following an old map. A true winner in both battle and life. And yet, sometimes he was simply unbearable.

"I know." But Satoru hadn't been sleeping.

Ava jumped out of bed, grabbed the nearest pillow, and threw it at him.

"Where are you going?" he asked through his laughter.

The sound of footsteps reverberated through the long, abandoned passage. Molly reached out, tracing her fingertips along the cracked stone. The pervasive cold and the gloom of this corridor, which led to a dilapidated throne room, dragged forth forgotten memories of a younger, inexperienced self, who once ran here daily, bruising her knees on the dusty tiles, naïvely hoping to conjure her husband through yet another ritual. Toji, the God of Rebirth, once sat proudly on that throne; now, he reigned in a different reality. And Molly once again had to breach the divide of the two worlds, on the day when every binding seal shattered.

“Rend the heavens and the earth.”

Ascending the stone steps, she spoke with certainty, halting before the throne. Gilded columns preserved the hall's vanished grandeur, like faithful adherents who held every word of the tragically fallen ruler within their fissures.

Molly spread her arms, drawing a deep breath. In a ritual dance of life and death, she slowly released all air from her lungs with every turn, whirling like rose petals caught on the desert winds. Instantly, the torches flared with an unearthly blaze, scorching not the flesh, but the soul. The ground beneath her feet convulsed. Cries of the dead echoed from all directions, their peace violated by the too-bright light of that lost world, access to which was forever denied to them. But the moment the King lifted his left hand, all sounds fell silent.

“Another boring year?”

Toji did not trouble himself to rise, greeting his wife with the same insolent smirk and a warm welcome. His chains, ebonized by time—each link symbolizing a day spent without her—and the couple of fresh scars scoring his bare chest, only made him look more imposing, instilling a blend of awe and fear.

“It was as boring as all the previous centuries...”

Standing rooted to the spot, at the sight of him, Molly fought to suppress her smile. In the shadow of the realm of the dead, her eyes gleamed like amethysts in the moonlight.

“…spent without you.”

“Come to me.”

To the hollow clatter of steel chains, he rose from the dark throne — adorned with the shattered skulls of sinners—and advanced towards her. Toji’s massive shadow eclipsed her figure. His calloused palms framed her delicate cheeks, offering a shamelessly tempting kiss. His tongue claimed Molly’s mouth, and she, in response, involuntarily closed her eyes, a gesture he did not mimic—Toji’s gaze remained fixed on her, memorizing every line of her face, never breaking from her lips.

Tonight, he would surrender to his feelings, heedless of all else. They ruled separate domains: Toji became the God of the Underworld, while Molly continued to safeguard women, children, and the wounded. The fetters that bound him could not prevent their meetings, even if it meant tearing the sky and the earth asunder.