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Thanks for handling my request. I just didn't understand why my request was directed to someone else who didn't carry it out. But that's okay. Thanks for writing.
OH SHIT WHAT NO WAY I MESSED UP THE ASKS IM SO SORRYđ„Čđ„Čđ„Čđ„Čđđđđ i truly am, between the mess my brain is in and the load of requests i got i really didnât understand đ„Č im deeply sorry babe but tysm for the request i hope it wasnât too shabby
â You had it all. The house, the car, the job, the husband and the little baby in your stomach in that fairytale ending way. But when you wake up in a completely different reality that only knows the remains of war, where you donât have everything youâve learned to live with, and a man whose supposed to be your husband, who do you become?
Tags: [HEAVY ANGST with EVENTUAL COMFORT] Isekaiedwife!Reader x husband!Higuruma (lol), canon au but like canon div, sorcerer reader and hiromi, depression, derealisation, grieving a life you used to have, mentions of childloss and pregnancy, read at ur own risk u alr know my warnings r no joke. đ wc: 11k
This amazing request by @sashaaalovescherry <3
Life was calm in a way where it felt almost wrong to sail so smoothly through days. To the point where youâd say that you almost grew paranoid of a bell ringing somewhere and everything crumbling to ash.
Regardless, things were perfect before youâd woken up in the hospital.
It had been long after you graduated university, you were married to the love of your life, and had a baby on the way.
It seemed like every decision youâd ever made in your life led you right to where you were.
And it worked out amazingly. You had a stable job, a loving husband and a nursery that you both worked on little by little.
Vaguely remembering now, you know that before everything changed, it was just an ordinary day for anyone else.
Your last day at work in the bank before taking your maternity leave. At 6 months pregnant, you know you pushed it with still working while expecting because youâd come home with every fiber in your body screaming at you for enduring another workday.
But you liked your job, contrary to many of your coworkers who were only in it for the money.
You liked communicating with customers, it was a job that kept you on your feetâequal parts requiring productivity and intelligence.
Work was a place you didnât mind spending hours from your week at. It kept you from spending long hours at home without Higuruma since he was busier than you.
Despite there still being some days where heâd come home way later than heâd promised, you both made it work as two grown adults.
Then the little baby wrapped in love came inside of you. Nestled like a growing seed in your womb and the future was already being rewritten.
That day you felt everythingâfrom the tears threatening to spill from the second you entered the bank knowing youâd miss it far more than you expected, to the excitement and anticipation buzzing beneath your skin.
But thenâŠ
Your memory goes blank there.
You awoke several hours later, or days, maybe even months, in a hospital room.
Back pressed against a stiff matress, arms covered in IV drips of things you couldnât even pronounce, eyesight blinded by fluorescent lights and antiseptic invading your nostrils.
Nothing made sense. There was no one around to ask questionsâonly the eery sound of the light panel outside flickering and the faint creek of rusty doors in the far distance, sign that there was someone but that they were too far away.
You felt too far away.
Far away from your own world like youâd been wrongfully wedged in another reality that belonged to another you who knew how to hold the reins to this place.
You were still you, your hair was the same length it was when youâd gone to bed the previous day, your skin was rid of any scars.
But, she wasnât there.
She wasnât pushing against your stomach no more.
There wasnât a protruding bump under the blue-grey hospital gown. There was nothing.
You were empty.
She was gone, or maybe she never even existed in this life.
But thatâs ridiculous.
Thereâs no such thing as shifting realities just like that.
This is a joke. You probably passed out at work and your friends are playing a shitty prank on you.
This is still your life, youâll get off this bed and go home. See your husband and kiss him crazy, nuzzle into his neck in your bed and heâll press soft kisses to your growing daughter.
Still, the feeling of not belonging claws at your spine when the hospital roomâs door opens to reveal a woman in blue scrubs and a clipboard in hand.
She seems to take a step back in shock after seeing you, scrambling over her words as she gently approaches the bed with hesitant steps.
Her hand drapes over her knee as he inches closer. Eyebrows drawn together in concern, her brown eyes scanning your every feature for anything of worry.
Finding nothing, and still failing to really get out anything, she takes a deep breath and levels her surprise. âMrs. Higuruma?â She questions, head dipping to scan the file pinned on her clipboard.
You nod, feeling your throat somehow raw like you havenât used it in a while. It only downs on you now that maybe something did happen and this isnât a dream.
That thought alone leads to something else.
The nurseâs lips part to say something but you cut her off, too eager to find out about the condition of your child.
âIs she okay?â You rasp, wincing when you feel just how much your vocal cords are straining.
An eyebrow slowly quirks on her face as it twists in confusion, hands sliding under another sheet of paper on the board and searching for who she might be. A relative? It says nobody but your husband has visited.
And youâre the only victim of the bank shooting that was seriously injured to the point of comatose and multiple internal haemorrhages.
Not finding anything that correlates with another girl or woman within the documents sheâs holding, the kind, brown-haired nurse turns to you with a curious expression and softly questions.
âShe?â
Your heart weakly jerks in your chest before you reply without letting a breath pass.
âMy baby.â
Her face pales at the sound of the two words, confusion mixing with horror and uncertainty as she takes a step back.
âIâm sorry, Mrs. Higuruma. I donât seem to understand what you mean. Your baby?â
Eyes tracing every inch of her face, you start to wonder if sheâs serious or not.
âYes, Iâm pregnant.â You confirm, voice steadier and clearer than a few brief moments before.
Her blank stare makes you doubt your words which is ridiculous because you know.
You know the months youâve spent growing that little body. You know the rhythm of her kicks and where her kicks land.
The endless doctors appointments youâve been to. The exact shade of pink the nursery build for her is painted in. The name youâve chosen for her. The pink that seeped from a white vanilla cake on your baby shower and the two pink lines on your pregnancy tests.
You know she exists.
And that sheâs yours.
So why does it feel like youâre saying something impossible?
The nurse doesnât have the chance to get another word in. And frankly, you donât know if you were ready to face a harsh truth just yet.
The feeling of crippling emptiness still lingers as a rapid knocking on the door cuts your conversation shut.
She hesitates at the door handle, hand hovering over it before breathing out and pushing it down.
Taking one last, pitiful glance at you over her shoulder, she pulls the door open and a little figure comes running up to you.
Little footsteps echoing through the quiet, linoleum-floored, washed-out-blue-walled room, the tiny child jumps on the bed.
âMom!â It yells.
The world tilts on its axis, a knot in your chest loosens at the name like itâs second nature. Like youâve always known it like that.
The body crashes against the foot of the bed, metal creaking from the impact followed by the springs groaning when the child climbs the structure.
Clawing its way closer to you, you take note of the strong grip it has on your ankle as it drags itself forward and the brown tuff of hair it has.
Reaching your chest, you feel a surge of excitement buzz beneath your skin. Anticipation crawl up your throat until their face lifts and your bubble is popped harshly.
Itâs a boy.
Your heart sinks.
This is wrong.
You had a girl.
You were carrying a baby girl.
There was no way the doctors messed up.
You saw the soft curve of her growing button nose in your stomach, her chubby cheeks and the clear indicators that you were going to have a daughter.
Yet.
Who is this little boy who calls you mom?
This little boy who looks equal parts you and your husband.
Dark brown eyes, soft-curved lips and puffy cheeks.
Your mind is somewhere far away when you barely register another figureâmuch taller and sharperâcome inside.
Eyes glueing themselves to the floor to avoid looking at the boy sitting on your legsâunable to grasp the whole sight of it, you catch polished shoes coming into view.
Slowly trailing up the body, your heartbeat picks up as you recognise the attireâtailored dress pants, textured blazer, sharp white chemise beneath.
Expecting your husbandâs familiar angular face to greet you, a small smile starts growing on your face.
Except.
Thatâs not your husband.
Higuruma doesnât have scars on his face.
Your Higuruma, as you know him inside out, doesnât have a slash across his defined face.
There isnât marred skin dragging from his cheek, over his nose, and to his other cheek.
This man is not your husband.
Yet your soul calls out for him like it is.
Like your eyes are deceiving you but your soul wonât fall tricks to what the human senses are limited by.
A heavy log is jammed in between your ribcage, stealing your ability to breathe.
The boy on your lap becomes too much, too overwhelming in this situation.
You want to push him off and claw at the tightness in your chest where knots form when you start hyperventilating. Limbs too fragile to move.
The man whose face looks too close to the one you went to bed with just yesterday, notices your growing panic and swiftly steps in.
âLeo, come here. Let your mother breathe for a second.â
The confused little boy you now learnt goes by Leo pulls back. Eyebrows knitted together and a hurt expression on his tiny features. The face alone tugs at your shaky heartstringsâa guilty feeling creeping into your cracking chest.
Higuruma, or who he seems to be in this distorted reality, holds the boy tightly against his chest after bending and picking him up.
He hovers around the door with what you assume is his son too. Just staring, lips pressed tightly in a straight line and irises covered by his narrowed eyes that search you for a sign that youâre okay.
The nurse who you almost forgot was even in the room, mutters something out of earshot to him and he sharply nods in return, reluctantly following her out of the room before throwing a worried look your way and closing the door.
It shuts with a soft click, leaving you to your thoughts again. Now louder by tenfold and more alarming.
Your head starts to run with the idea that you mightâve switched realities, fallen into a loophole while going home in your own reality before waking up here. Thrown like a joker in the middle of a running game.
A rock in the middle of a train track.
Heart beating with uncertainty, your moment alone lasts far less than what you wanted it tooâbut maybe itâs for the best considering the mess your head is in.
He steps back in. Alone.
The boy is no longer in his arms.
The frown sewn between his eyebrows is gone, too.
Your breath hitches without you wanting it to when he steps closerâthe details of his face clearing up as his thigh hits the side of the bed.
Looming over you, your words find a corner in your chest to hide and never leave from.
Thereâs an unreadable amount of pain lurking behind his irises, begging to be released as his eyes beg you to say something.
When you donât, he tries.
A hand snakes up from his side, fingers crawling up the white sheets hesitantly, slowly, until they land right next to yours.
Palms facing down, you watch how his hand is overcome with a tremble as the tips of his fingers brush yours with such delicacy that youâd think heâs being so careful because you might disappear if he moved too fast.
The second he gains the courage to intertwine his fingers with yours and his warmth seeps into your skin, a choked sob sets itself free from his chest.
A sound that spent so much time under locks that when set free, is stuck between a rough crack in his voice and a heavy sob.
A part of you shatters somewhere deep downâa space youâre not sure you know in this body. A place that pulses in pain from seeing him like this and with a reason you donât know yet.
Higuruma flushes a weak shade of red at the realisation of how unmanly he sounded just nowâbut he doesnât make any effort in stopping the tears from spilling.
The ones heâs held back the last six months while youâve been dormant ever since the incident.
A year ago, the Tokyo streets were covered with bodies and rubber. Ash that clung to walls and now hearts, remains that will never be erased from memories and one person who was the cause of it all.
The name alone provokes a stutter in Higurumaâs heart, not the shy flutter that follows after his wife kisses him in the mornings, but the one who hesitates to let your heart continue working after it holds its beat in hand.
The survivors of the Shinjukuâs incident have a tale to tell which they canât physically recount even if they would like to.
The events scarred souls beyond healing, leaving the vast majority of them too afraid to even try and mend those cracks by reliving what happened in their minds.
People were lost.
Many people.
Gravestones replacing what were once humans with dreams and hope.
Hope for a better future.
One where they didnât know they wouldnât be apart of.
You were one of the few fortunate to live to see it.
He gave you what he could after coming out alive.
A house in the countryside where you wouldnât remember how it feels to sense dead peopleâs cursed energy beneath crushed buildings.
With a porch that creaked loudly and had paint peeling off, but that offered comfort in its reality.
In how it shows that nothing remains the same, ever.
So it could remind you that one day, the burning ache in your chest will die down.
He gave you a child.
Not that neither of you were in the right mine to have children, but Leo came as a casualty.
Not a mistake, not really, because the talk of kids came even before the wedding ring was placed on your finger.
Over morning coffee, on a day off, maybe three years into dating Higurumaâwhen things were particularly difficult due to the distance from him spending more hours at work than at home.
You had sat him down and laid out your plans for the future. Spread them flat on the table and told him to wedge himself in between them if he really wanted to be with you.
So he did.
In a year heâd proposeâand he did.
In two, youâd be married on a venue overlooking icy peaksâand you did.
Then kids would come without a set date.
So Leo wasnât a mistake. He was the expected outcome sooner or later.
Your son came as an extension of both of what was left of his parents after the grief.
He carries the last pure, innocent part of your soul that survived on a thread from the horrors you lived, and carefully plucked from your tight grip when he was born.
From his father, he took the remainderâgenetics, mostly.
At one, heâs already achieving more than kids his age have. Exceptionally sharp and emotionally smart, Higuruma himself wonders sometime how his son came out so similar to him.
As if you didnât even try to fight his genes while growing him.
Things were oddly simple when he was born.
Sure, the nights were long and the cries even longer, louder.
But the outside world seemed to have faded from where you both lived on the countryside.
Nothing was too salty, or sweet. The time was neither hot or cold. Everything was in that odd positionâin the middle.
Tethering between falling on the right path for the future or on the right.
Leo was only three when his mother fell into comatose one day.
Higuruma remembers the day far too wellâthe way your face was ghostly pale when heâd found you unconscious on the floor, blood dripping from your headâpooling around it, creating a traumatic sceneâand a crying baby in his crib.
Heâd never driven so fast in his lifeârisking all lives in the car. He was reckless, the guilt would settle in his bones later.
But with the empty Japanese streets, there was never that much of a danger of killing anyone, only crashing against something.
By the time your body was stretched out, the image of the corner of Leoâs baby crib stained with your blood and your blood staining the wooden floor was too far in your husbandâs brain.
And you were gone.
Not physically, but absent.
An absent mother, wife, person.
As if youâd been temporarily removed from his life in subtle waysâan empty bed in the morning, a missing plate on the dining table, only one coffee mug prepared in the morning.
Yet, your clothes stay scattered where youâd left them before falling asleep. Higuruma didnât dare to move them, a silent prayer that youâd come home to put them away yourself just so heâd see your annoyed figure ghost through the house and scold him for not doing it.
And Leo.
Leo couldnât grasp why the warm chest heâd lay his head on was missing. He couldnât stop himself from sobbing on for months, developing a quite ear-piercing colic.
A strained chuckle cuts his thoughts off, his own body pulling himself away from the dark void that were the first months without you.
He huffs out quietly when his chest settles, grip tightening around your handâmind racing with what he would say first.
The mere sight of your eyes open, alive, confused but with those irises staring back at himâa sign that youâre backâis enough for him.
His eyes wander a bit more over your stateâmessy hair, cracked lips, hollow eyesâthen, his mouth parts open.
âI missed you.â He whispers, eyes locked into yours with a kind of softness only a person whoâs seen you inside out and still chose to say can hold.
Your insides churn, a dull feeling washing over you. A knot you donât know why twists in your throat lodges itself there and blocks your breath way.
âWhoâŠâ
You blink, feeling head start to pound with memories you donât recognise.
A man on a battlefield, scarless. Him.
Your husband.
In his work clothes. A crisp uniform.
The same firm badge on his chest.
A long hammer in his hand.
A frightening entity behind him.
Your heart violently jerks, voice cracking as you continue.
ââŠAre you?â
The room falls quiet.
Tension doesnât built instantly, things turn heavy when the words land in Higurumaâs chest.
You donât see the reaction paint itself on his face, but you feel the grip around your hand leave, the blood flow back through your entire hand.
The heat leave your cold palm, and the dip of the covers when your hand falls on top of it.
He takes a step back, the heel of his shoe echoing through the silent room just like your words keep bouncing around the walls in his head.
âIâm⊠your husband.â He whisper back. Forehead drawn tight in confusion.
âYouâre not my husband.â You croak out, feeling like an elephant is sitting on your chest. Putting his whole weight in trying to stop you from talking.
But you continue, you continue seeing the cogs turn in Higurumaâs head, the pain mix with confusion in his eyes.
âMy husband doesnât have that scar.â You blurt out, knuckles turning white where you grip the sides of the mattress with your whole force so something grounds you.
Something clicks in his head. âDo you know where you are?â He retorts, dodging your comment about the gash across his face.
You nod. âAt the hospital.â
His lip catches between his teeth. âDo you know who you are?â He questions, fearing the answer that will come.
You scoff from where youâre lay. âHiromi Y/Nââ the words catching again when you notice youâre contradicting yourself in a way you canât explain.
ââIâm an accountant.â You add, quieter than you started.
âNo.â He shoots back, stature rigid. Shoulders square, eyes watery.
âNo, youâre not.â
Something in the way he looks at you pierces through your resolveâeverything you believe in.
Is this right?
Are you really married to this man?
Is that child really yours?
Youâre about to ask when he continues.
âYouâre a sorceress, Y/N. I am a sorcerer.â
He takes a breath.
âYou never got to study Business.â
But you did.
And you are an accountant.
A pregnant one.
A shudder overtakes your body as you try to swallow his words.
âIâm pregnant.â You say, eyes stinging with the want to close and wake up to your world. To where your actual husband exists.
Hiromiâs hands flex by his side. âYouâre not.â
Narrowing your eyes to your stomach, you frantically push the covers off you and see the flat surface.
The curve of a growing body gone. Like it was never there.
Pulling the hospital gown up, thereâs only a fading scar over where your uterus lies.
And that slams into you harder than anything.
Your fingers twitch when they skim over the ragged surface. Different, darker than the rest of the skin you have.
No.
Nonononono.
You missed it?
That child is yours?
What is going on?
âYouâve been in a coma for the last three months, Y/N.â His voice cuts through, smooth now. Steady. Unlike before.
Your head starts to spin, bile coming up your throat.
âYou banged your head against Leoâs crib and I found you there. On the floor. Passed out.â
Despite the levelled tone he holds, Higurumaâs coming apart at the seams. Feeling the parallel need to throw up as the memory slams into him.
He leaves the room before he has the chance to let the thoughts swallow him.
A head peaks in through the left ajar door, dark brown hair catching your eye over the cloudy state your head is it.
His eyes stare back at you.
And the questions tenfold.
Youâre out of the hospital by the end of the week.
Nothing is said on the way back.
You ride in a car you have no memory of, not a single idea of just how many days of your life youâve spent in it despite Hiromiâs attempts in explaining to you that you belong here.
The past few days before getting discharged were filled with tension and awkward chats with the man youâve been forced to accept through wedding pictures and written, pledged and sworn vows, as your husband.
He plays the part well. He has been taking care of you, watching the injury on your head you arenât even aware where is actually, taking care of the little boy who calls you âmomâ despite you not even taking a second glance at him, and stays patient by your side as you offer blank looks at him.
Nothing clicks in place.
You drive yourself, and him up the wall with arguements so much youâre sure heâll end up divorcing you before you accept this is real.
That you are a mother, some woman with powers, and a wife to a man who youâre not sure you know.
The last harsh words you barked at him last night still echo in your head.
You had lashed out at him for being too caring to someone whoâs scared to trust him.
âYou keep staying by my side! Acting like I know who you are! Doing that! Stop bringing him here and letting the fucking boy think Iâm his mom! I was going to have a daughter, we were fineââ that was all you could get out before a nasty panic attack took over you, catching every cruel word you were planning to continue shooting and swallowing it.
Now, guilt eats at you like a parasite. Leoâs in the backseat, chewing on string cheese as he looks out the window.
You donât know a single thing about him besides his name. And maybe, you donât want to know.
You look forward to bedtime every night in a desperate attempt to succumb to slumber and wake up rid of this joke that the universe has thrown you in.
A joke where you find yourself in a life thatâs the complete opposite of yours.
Where you live in a crumbling house on the outskirts of the big cityânot in a high-end apartmentâand drive a hand-me-down looking pick me truck with a son in the back.
Somewhere deep down, a part of you is already rewiring to this new reality and you hate it.
You hate how you feel like you should apologise for the ugly things you tell him or for trying to make him run away knowing that heâs only trying to make you understand heâs lived a life with you.
And youâre not just someone who popped up.
You feel like youâve taken someone elseâs body. You, but someone elseâs body.
Someone who looks like you, thinks like you, but holds a different story.
And you miss your own timeline.
There are so many things to ask, so many concepts to grasp.
A jujutsu sorcerer?
A sorcerer fight?
A baby you birthed?
Everything new you learn is a new jab at your belief.
Have you gone crazy?
Brushing your fingers faintly against the uneven grounds at the back of your head, a grainy bump meeting the skin of your pads.
Your lips subconsciously press into a thin line, thoughts consumed by the rhythmic humming of the vehicle.
For now, you can only sink into the peeling off leather of the car and wait for the inner turmoil in you to settle again.
Even when itâs the only thing you think about.
The carâs engine dies before a white-porched, washed-out blue-roofed, creaky-staired house with two floors.
A neat backyard and a workshop on the side, seemingly unused or abandoned.
Higuruma quietly slips off the drivers seat and pulls your door open, the heels of your slippers digging into the mud beneath you, wet from the previous dayâs light drizzle (not so light outside of the hospital).
Your eyes canât obtain tear away from the structure that seems to knock a door youâre supposed to know the code to the lock to open.
The world continues turning around you. Leo, president, tugs at your jeans once, twice, before failing at making you turn to him and just choosing to waddle over to the house.
You catch how he climbs up the stairs on all fours, the old wood quietly crying beneath his weight.
And disappear into the house, door unlocked, dragging the mud that clung to his boots onto the indoor carper.
His father rushes inside when he sees it, yelling from a distance for his son to wait.
Youâre rooted in place, standing infront of the open car, the vehicles door pleading to be closed due to its tired hinges.
You take a step and slam the door shut behind you. Getting a better view of the house.
A home, essentially.
Itâs strangely all you wanted as a little girl and nothing you got in your world.
Blue roof. Cream, wooden walls. Wrap-around porch, a swing by the front door.
Enough space for a growing family, not big enough to feel alone when home alone.
A deep breath graces your dry lungs before your legs take you to the front door and you push it open, a wave of memories crashing over you.
âHigu! You did not! This is all Iâve ever wanted!â
âI know, honey.â
âWhere did you even find this place?â
âI built it.â
âFor you.â
The door creaks when opened, revealing a chilly interior with beige walls and a stained milky carpet.
Your flats fall in place next to Hiromiâs shoes where you leave them as your feet take you around the house as if your soul knows the layout.
That alone spooks you even further.
You reach the kitchen in a blink. Marble surfaces, a pretty island with kids toys and baby bottles scattered around.
There are two coolers pressed against a well on the farther end of the living room.
Inside, thereâs nothing but empty, probably forgotten, breastmilk ziplock bags.
Your chest tightens again.
This means nothing. You try to convince yourself it doesnât.
But your head circles to how hard it mustâve been to feed the baby if youâre really mother.
Or how much he must be missing his mom.
Heâs not yours.
You chant the mantra like a silent sermon in your head, hoping it threads into reality at some point.
You didnât make him with this man.
You donât know him.
You didnât hold himâsticky and pale, when he was born.
Another woman did.
You.
Maybe.
A you that built a different life, took a different path.
The one you didnât.
Yet.
She has everything you want despite everything .
The son, the house and the husband in the way that you almost got too.
A light realisation spawns in the center of your heart.
You find your way to Higuruma no matter the universe.
Speaking of the devil, the bathroom door clicks open and Leoâs giggles filter into the living room.
You donât flinch or turn around, just listen to his footsteps and your son laugh as heâs taken up the stairs and disappears behind a closed door.
Minutes later, when youâre in the backyard sat on a chair on the porch, you hear Higuruma come back.
Sliding through the door, he takes a seat atop the other chair. Yours rocky, his normal.
Another clue. Probably for cradling the baby.
The sun retreats in the background slowly as the charged silence stretches. You feel like youâll cave soon.
So you do.
âIâm sorry.â You sigh. Feeling your shoulders drop half in surrender and half in relief.
He doesnât say anything, just nods once. Sharp. You watch his profile and how itâs locked tight from the corner of your eye.
And then the next big thing that bothers you beside everything, claws itself out of your confines.
âHeâs mine?â Your voice is quiet.
He hums. âYeah.â Chest swelling with infectious bruises, pained by the fact that his own wife doesnât recall the precious moments theyâve shared.
The doctors said youâd probably suffered memory loss due to the intensity of the hit and the seriousness of the injuryâadd the huge amount of blood youâd lost.
You push. âWhen was heâŠâ
âNovember third.â
âOh.â You fall quiet.
A small smile pulls your mood down, limbs starting to ache with the pain that grows over time and the guilt only a lost person knows.
âYou named him Leo.â Higuruma confesses, recalling the day you came up to him. Confident, sure. Seven months pregnant, waddling like a duck just the way your son does now as he learns to properly walk.
Leo, because it means Lion. And youâd said your son would be fierce like you. Brave enough to crawl over mountains and keep himself safe from everyone else when youâre not around anymore.
When youâre not around anymore.
You werenât when he turned 7 months old, or when he turned one.
Are you here now though?
When youâre not even sure the boy who is half you and half him pads across the house in search of his motherâs love again.
Higuruma is not sure how much longer he can keep promising Leo that his mother will be back again.
Especially not after sheâs within his line of sight, pulling questions from the barely verbal infant just by existing.
âLion.â You mutter. âFierce and brave.â
âMy son will be fierce and brave!â
Hiromiâs heartstrings play a delicate song with moments of you when he hears you echo your words without knowing it.
Itâs somewhat funny to him. Not yourself, yet you still are.
Still harsh with your words when arguing, paranoid when caught off guard, picky with your food and eternally beautiful even tired.
Thereâs exhaustion written in every crevice of skin you wear.
âYou should go to sleep.â
Unable to bear the weight of the conversation, Higuruma cuts it short by pushing himself off the chair and disappearing in the darkness of the house as the last rays of the sun shine on your face.
He, too, looks forward to closing his eyes and drifting off to that one place where his wife still remembers him.
And in hopes of waking up tomorrow with the same life he led before Shinjuku.
The one where you seem to have gone back to in your slumber as you were in a coma.
Living past the first moments of dating with him peacefully.
Not like you actually did.
He remembers the first attacks in Shibuya after heâd set in stone marrying you.
Pushing off the engagement.
The wedding.
The vows heâd written for you.
Only resuming when heâd already lost everyone.
Five people total attending your wedding.
You donât seem to remember that.
Or where you came from.
The fights youâve fought.
How the scars on your hands remember every battle youâve ever went into.
Or how you loved seeing how trains wiped people off platforms when they picked passengers up.
Or how bright your eyes shined for the first time in forever when you saw the two lines on the pregnancy test and hope was reborn in your chest again.
He does.
He remembers everything.
And itâs cruel how heâs the only one who shares these moments.
Stranded in the ruins of a life you lived, but donât recognise.
You realise youâre stuck in a game of identity vs reality that next morning as you shuffle around the attic.
There must be something here that proves this isnât your life.
You dig and dig through boxes and drawers in the dusty roof that you asked your body to find.
And find nothing.
Its as if youâre fighting yourself.
Did you ever live that other life? 9-5 job and lawyerâs wife responsibilities?
If so, why does it feel farther away by the day?
Why does it feel like youâve woken up from a dream and plunged straight into real life after an eternity of euphoric slumber.
Itâs too early for another pair of footsteps to echo off the floorboards, but you hear rushed steps draw and your heart drops.
Your hands still over a box youâd pulled to your kneesâtaped at the top, promising some sort of revelation to your dilemma.
Youâd seen Higurumaâs cracked open door before climbing up to the attic with the foldable stairway.
Between him and the skies, despite you sleeping in the guest bedroom, his door was ajar just in case you remembered the arms that held you during the nights and you needed them more than oxygen.
Now, he was in deep slumber for the first time in an eternity.
Which can only mean the body coming up the steps is no other than Leo. His little head pokes out as he manages to jump over the last few steps.
His weight makes a thudding sound everytime he successfully climbs another degree.
Your body reacts on its own, lunging forward and securing him against you before he can slip and fall back once he reaches the last level.
Heâs tiny, soft and warm against your chest. You crawl on your knees to the box again, setting him beside it. Watching with attentive eyes the little intruder thatâs smiling too brightly for someone who just woke up.
How did he even climb out of his crib?
That ugly feeling lodges itself between your ribcage when you realise heâs probably happy thinking his mom is back.
You sigh, deciding to stop the snooping and yourself back to bed and him too.
When he grabs the corner of the box and starts biting it. You freeze, eyes widening before reaching out and pulling him gently by his chubby cheeks off the cardboard.
âLeoâŠâ You whisper, making his pupils dilate even further in the darkness.
Instead of his teeth not though, his hand grasps the top corner of the box and he starts hitting it.
Taking a deep breath, you curiously tug the tape off the top, amusing Leo with the scratchy sound and then opening the folds.
Thereâs three photo albums inside, bingo.
Taking them out, you place a cooing baby boy inside of it so he doesnât run and get hurr while you quickly skim through them.
In and out, thatâs how quick youâll be.
But the first album that stares back at you in raw pain.
âY/N and Hiromi, 2015.â
There it is again, that pang in your being.
Fingers moving on their own anyway, driven by a primal need in your system, they hook under the cover and throw it off.
Youâre met with a portrait picture.
You, in a white dress you recognise far too much.
Lacey, delicate, intricate and yours.
Your wedding dress.
Same as you remember it.
If you were to touch it again, your fingertips would remember the lightness of it, the sheer material and the moments sewn onto it.
The dip Hiromi kissed you in, the feeling of the cold metal on your ring finger, the chants of celebration.
You skim past the picture to avoid the helplessness bubbling in you.
Oh.
This is a sight you remember too well, only now, a foreign sight.
You, sitting on a bench. A side profile candid, your hair framing your face perfectly, your hand over the swell of your belly covered by a yellow sundress with sunflowers.
Higuruma loves sunflowers.
Maybe thatâs why itâs still one of the first pictures.
Or maybe you put it there.
Another printed out memory.
This one screams out to you more than the otherâsilently attacks and lands in your heart.
Newborn Leo sleeping by you.
You look beyond exhaustedâdeep dark eye bags and stress lines.
But peaceful in a way you never got to be.
This only adds to the feeling of not belonging.
You had a little girl.
You were going to have a daughter.
Now, thereâs a baby boy looking over the cardboard box heâs in with kind, innocent eyes that hold a curiously only the purest of children still have.
And youâre not his mother.
But heâs yours.
And you donât know what to do with that.
Leo reaches out. Babbling over the papery material, spit wetting the brown and turning it darkerâsaggy soon.
His little hand tries to claw at you, unsuccessful due to the distance between you and him.
Something inside of you though, makes you move.
Reach inside the box and lift him by his arms.
He lands in your lap. Staring up like youâre giving him the stars, eyes shining in happiness.
You canât breathe from the guilt stuck in your throat like poison.
The little boy has the time to launch himself forward and grip around your waist, small arms not looping together.
He snuggles against your stomach, tousling his chocolate hair and finding the comfort his mother would provide when he was newbornânever forgetting it as if it were written in his skin.
Yet, your hands find a way around his back. Securely cupping the lower part of it and pulling him flush against you while your other caresses his hair like youâve done this a million times before.
Three hours later, youâre losing it again.
The tiniest things set you off with Higuruma. Heâd just offered to brush your hair for you after seeing you hesitate while doing it due to the fear of brushing over the scar.
Itâs still sensitive.
It was a logical thing to ask.
You lost it nonetheless.
Saying that he doesnât have the right to touch you or ask things like that when you donât know him.
He stayed quiet.
Now, heâs silently stirring something in a pot over low heat on the stove and you feel significantly worse than this morning.
You sigh againâthe only thing you seem to be doing ever since you woke up here.
âIâm sorry.â You offer, unable to look at him.
That slow exhale between unspoken words reaches your ear, the sound of sizzling ingredients filling the space.
âItâs fine.â He breathes out.
ââŠHow did you get that scar?â You blurt out, unable to bear the silence. His hands freeze, shoulders tensing when he hears you ask the question.
For a few long seconds, his chest fills with disappointment. You were there when he got it, you were the one who healed it.
âI fought against the king of curses.â His voice drops an octave into a grim, painful tone.
A beat passes before he adds: âWith Yuji Itadori.â
Both names draw a blank, you nibble on your lip in return. He takes a look over his shoulder at your troubled expression, more disappointment filling him.
âAre those⊠sorcerers?â You ask, uncertain.
He nods, his back facing you while he continues working on dinner.
The overhead light in the kitchen is yellow, easy on the eyes, bathing you both in a comfortable hue, loosening your nerves as you tip-toe the sensitive topics.
But of course, nothing breaks a layer of tension better than some liquid gold.
Your body moves on its own, taking you to the wine cellar you noticed when first touring the house.
You hover to the first bottle you spot and pluck it off the rack, ducking out of the room and locking it back shut with the key youâd swiped off the top of the fridge.
Higurumaâs eyes narrow and follow you going up to him when you come back in the kitchen.
Holding up the bottle to him, you donât need words for him to take it from your hands and nod sharply in return.
Taking a seat back on the islandâs stool, you prepare how to word your next question as you eye him grab the opener.
âSo how does thatââ You start, scrambling together whatever you can to try and ask about this magic world of his.
When the cork pulls off the top of the bottle with a loud pop and youâre pulled in a memory you have lived through.
Your breath shallows out immediately, hands starting to shake by your sides.
Your vision starts to blur, a mix of white flashes and black spots clouding it, your head spinning too much to make out your surroundings anymore.
The bottom of the glass hits the marble and hands wrap around your waist just as youâre about to stumble off the chair and hit the floor.
Potentially cracking your skull again.
Hiromiâs lungs falter at the sight of you losing color, eyes screwed shut and lips parted openâdesperately searching for air.
Some sort of trigger set you off to relive the incident.
The one youâre about to learn sent you to this universe.
You remember now, you were leaving work.
Work bag heavy against your shoulder with the remaining of your desk ornaments.
But when you tried to leave, tugging the front door of the bank, it was locked.
The alarms blared soon after.
The last customers that had just stepped in uncovered their true identities by pulling out guns from their bags.
Seemingly innocent men turning into violent robbers quickly, shouting for people to duck, to shut up and listen.
You panicked, pulled at the front door and screamed for help as a hand held your stomach.
And then came the shot.
Then black.
Higuruma focuses on combing through your hair, profusely repeating that itâs going to be okay, slowly pulling you back to reality.
Not working, he props you against the wall of the island as he hurries to look for a cup of water and quickly crouching by your side with it in his hands when he obtains it.
You feel the distant press of cold against your lips and the liquid pooling in your mouth when itâs introduced there.
From then on out, you swallow on instinct. Afraid of choking.
And suddenly youâre brought back to reality.
This one.
Where Higurumaâs face has fear and worry etched deeply in his features and his hand holds your head as you drink the water.
Seeing your eyes zero on him again, he pulls the cup from your lips and exhales for the first time in minutes.
You stay pressed against the wall, mind blank now. Eyes empty as they pierce a hole through Higurumaâs fallen head.
He doesnât question what happened.
His hand falls on your thigh, dragging it up and down. Friction creating warmth against your jeans.
Your heartbeat is in your ear.
And you realise things are more complicated than they seem with him.
Heâs still here for you like always.
That makes everything harder for you.
The weeks stretchâlong and intense. The arguements continue, you see his patience thin out, you see Leo starting to grow accustomed to a mother figure again in small shapes.
In how he doesnât wail during the morning anymore. Instead crawling out his bed and invading your room in silence, slipping under the sheets next to you so when you wake up, you feel the weight of a tiny body and the doubled guilt over your chest.
Or in how he drifts from his father more and more with the passing of days. He begs you to feed him, and stupidly, you do. Knowing itâs wrong. But when those eyes, shaped like yours, and that smile, bright like you used to hold, looks back at you, you fold.
And Higuruma sees it.
He sees a glimpse of who he used to know.
Of the woman he canât let go the love he holds for go.
He sees a glimpse of youâhim and you. Wedding rings shining under the morning sun when you sit at the counter with your head bowed and your shoulders sagging.
The memories burn his spark away little by little.
Yet, his heart is kept warm when he catches how you subtly canât resist caring for Leo like your soul recognises the part itâs missing in the young boy.
Things are still rocky between you and him.
You canât accept him. It feels wrong.
But he looks so much like your Higuruma despite the scar on his face.
His hands are steady against the walls you swallow him with.
And thatâs dangerous on levels you donât want to acknowledge.
The thought that he isnât really a different man.
That he is the one you love.
Youâre the different one.
Sometimes you feel like you canât run from the small feelings.
The scariest ones.
The ones who pop up when he plays with Leo, a small flutter in your stone-cold heart. Contrasting every word you yell at him when this life presses against your ground too much.
Or the ones who show when he looks at you in the eyes with a look he canât hide that shows just how much he canât resist seeing her in you.
Because you are her, but youâre not.
And itâs confusing.
Itâs confusing when you go to bed at night and wish there was a heavy body next to yours again, and when your mind drifts to imperfect Higuruma rather than the perfect version you have back at home.
Itâs worse when you wake up in the morning, Leo on your chest, and still feeling like the bed is empty.
You stopped fighting the maternal instincts once they kicked in.
Subconsciously cupping his head when you hold him in your arms and move through the house, voice pitching a tone higher when giggling him and cooing things he still canât understand, chest loosening when he counters with happy laughs.
A part of you, the one who had prepared for a life like this, comes alive again when he looks for you.
Leo heals a part of you thatâs too stubborn to admit she wants to stay here just so you can stay with him.
Your attachment with the little boy has grown beyond your restraints, blossoming into early love at some point.
And it claws at your mind in the dark hours of the night when you know heâll be in your room by morning again.
What was once anger and frustration with being thrown in this reality slowly became fear.
Fear that youâll wake up and go back to that unfinished life.
You donât want perfection anymore.
Maybe thatâs it.
You donât want a lawyer, picture perfect husband and white picket-fence, wooden roofed houses anymore.
Somewhere along the lines you grew to love the dents in this husband of yours.
The one you didnât vow anything to, but wish you did.
The one who makes you want to have been born here in the first place when heâs still by your side through your screams and sobs.
A part of you still feels like itâs not allowed to want to fit into this world now.
Like youâre not allowed to fall in-love with him again.
Not after everything youâve been putting him through.
The selfish part of you stands tall.
But it canât take it anymore.
You find him lounging on the backyard one day in that same ordinary chair whose wood digs into your spine after sitting for too long on it.
âHiguruma.â You call out, internally wincing at how weird it is to call someone who has the same name as you by it.
His head lifts from his book, eyes closing in on your figure over his shoulder standing at the doorway.
Your legs feel weak as you walk to the granny chair and plop down on it. Back sinking against the cushion, you still arenât able to let go of the breath youâre holding.
He lifts a brow at your strange behaviour.
âIs something going on?â He asks, deliberately careful like alwaysâtugging at your heart without even noticing it.
You donât doubt his keen eyes though, especially not when he takes note of your nervous fidgeting beneath the blanket you wrapped yourself up in, previously just left on the seat youâre now occupying.
A coffee mug rests abandoned on the small table between your chairsâbottom rimmed with faded brown stains from use.
You exhale, hoping the tension in your muscles leaves with the released breath.
âNo, everything is fine.â
His face relaxes, muscles migrating back to their respective spots. He hums in acknowledgment, not fully trusting though.
You hesitate as you say your words.
âActually, I wanted to ask you somethingâŠâ
Not turning to you, he says: âAnything.â
Anxiety crawls up your back again.
The question you have bordering your lips is too personal. Sensitive. Both for you and him.
âDoâŠâ
Ah.
The conjoined letters lodge in your throat, sticking onto the walls like gum.
âDo youâŠâ You try again, feeling his gaze on you now. Reverent of some sort, waiting. Heavy.
ââŠEver miss me?â
Her.
You mean her.
âI mean, her.â
His eyes flicker with a hint of hurt for a split second before it vanishes as quick as it came.
A sad smile grows on his face.
âNo.â
You didnât expect the answer.
âNo?â You echo.
He inhales sharply.
âSheâs still you, Y/N. Is she not?â
And the thing is, sheâs not.
âNo. Sheâs a version of me that knows you. I donât know what she learned.â
He stills, forearms sitting over the wooden armrests.
âIt doesnât matter, I still want you.â
Your breath hitches hard, mind rewiring at his bluntness.
Heâs laid himself bare, stripped the layers that hide what the last few months of subconscious rebuilding of a relationship that you were supposed to have in the beginning, has done to him.
Heâs opened the door you need to step into to.
You steady your voice, giving him it all now.
âIâm not your wife, not reallyâŠâ You start.
âIâm not the women you married, I canât channel cursed energy.â The truth starts to sting early, your voice fraying at the edges. âYou didnât make love to me and make Leo with me. I didnât stay up at night and take care of him when he needed it most. I did none of that.â
A pause takes the conversation for a brief moment.
âBut⊠I assure you, Hiromi, I love you.â
You catch how his pupils dilate fully at your words, the unexpected confession.
âI love you again like I chose to love you in another realityâ
Your truth slips out. Landing heavily in his heart.
âMaybe not like the version of me that did before I woke up. Maybe more. But I do. In my own way. And Iâll spend my time proving it to you, making up for lost time till you smile easily again. I love Leo more than I love life. I love you for showing me this life. I see bits of who you were with her. This more gentle, poised version of me. But I want to learn you more than her. Itâs selfish. Sheâs me. Yet, sheâs not. Still, I canât find it in me to care. I want you, Higuruma. I canât close my eyes at night thinking Iâll all run back and Iâll live a life with a different version of you. One I loved but canât, wonât ever be able to love now. I have fallen in love with you all over again and I canât help it.â
The revelation hangs like an angel in the airâpure, beautiful and raw.
Itâs quiet on both sides. Your eyes feel heavy with tears threatening to leak.
And when you feel him get up, your heart weakly jerks in your chestâmind racing with the worst.
Heâs going to turn and leave.
But he doesnât.
He pivots on his heels.
Figure straightening up as he takes the step to your chair and gets a hold of your hand resting over the blanket.
With a gentle tug, youâre brought to your feet. Chest colliding with his when you stand, no space between your feet and his.
A hand of his wraps around the small of your back. Grounding, real. A quiet preview of his answer.
Coffee brown eyes look down at you, attentive with every thought behind your irises.
You feel the flowing of his blood through the fingertips you have on his chest. The beating of his heart everywhere. Betraying his calm exterior.
And then they come.
The quiet answers youâve been praying for all along.
âItâs always you, Y/N. Whether you know me or not, whether you remember us or not, itâs always you.â
His head dips, lips ghosting yours.
âHere, and in every other reality.â
âItâs you and me.â
He seals his words with a kiss.
And it really is you and him, only.
You, him, Leo.
And new beginnings.
New memories, new chapters.
With the same old love you share.
Imperfect and beautiful in its own way.
MASTERLIST, JJK MASTERLIST, TAGLIST.
Someone ban me from touching a keyboard ever again. This was so emotionally complex and interesting for me omg. Tysm for the beautiful request love<3
â You had it all. The house, the car, the job, the husband and the little baby in your stomach in that fairytale ending way. But when you wake up in a completely different reality that only knows the remains of war, where you donât have everything youâve learned to live with, and a man whose supposed to be your husband, who do you become?
Tags: [HEAVY ANGST with EVENTUAL COMFORT] Isekaiedwife!Reader x husband!Higuruma (lol), canon au but like canon div, sorcerer reader and hiromi, depression, derealisation, grieving a life you used to have, mentions of childloss and pregnancy, read at ur own risk u alr know my warnings r no joke. đ wc: 11k
This amazing request
Life was calm in a way where it felt almost wrong to sail so smoothly through days. To the point where youâd say that you almost grew paranoid of a bell ringing somewhere and everything crumbling to ash.
Regardless, things were perfect before youâd woken up in the hospital.
It had been long after you graduated university, you were married to the love of your life, and had a baby on the way.
It seemed like every decision youâd ever made in your life led you right to where you were.
And it worked out amazingly. You had a stable job, a loving husband and a nursery that you both worked on little by little.
Vaguely remembering now, you know that before everything changed, it was just an ordinary day for anyone else.
Your last day at work in the bank before taking your maternity leave. At 6 months pregnant, you know you pushed it with still working while expecting because youâd come home with every fiber in your body screaming at you for enduring another workday.
But you liked your job, contrary to many of your coworkers who were only in it for the money.
You liked communicating with customers, it was a job that kept you on your feetâequal parts requiring productivity and intelligence.
Work was a place you didnât mind spending hours from your week at. It kept you from spending long hours at home without Higuruma since he was busier than you.
Despite there still being some days where heâd come home way later than heâd promised, you both made it work as two grown adults.
Then the little baby wrapped in love came inside of you. Nestled like a growing seed in your womb and the future was already being rewritten.
That day you felt everythingâfrom the tears threatening to spill from the second you entered the bank knowing youâd miss it far more than you expected, to the excitement and anticipation buzzing beneath your skin.
But thenâŠ
Your memory goes blank there.
You awoke several hours later, or days, maybe even months, in a hospital room.
Back pressed against a stiff matress, arms covered in IV drips of things you couldnât even pronounce, eyesight blinded by fluorescent lights and antiseptic invading your nostrils.
Nothing made sense. There was no one around to ask questionsâonly the eery sound of the light panel outside flickering and the faint creek of rusty doors in the far distance, sign that there was someone but that they were too far away.
You felt too far away.
Far away from your own world like youâd been wrongfully wedged in another reality that belonged to another you who knew how to hold the reins to this place.
You were still you, your hair was the same length it was when youâd gone to bed the previous day, your skin was rid of any scars.
But, she wasnât there.
She wasnât pushing against your stomach no more.
There wasnât a protruding bump under the blue-grey hospital gown. There was nothing.
You were empty.
She was gone, or maybe she never even existed in this life.
But thatâs ridiculous.
Thereâs no such thing as shifting realities just like that.
This is a joke. You probably passed out at work and your friends are playing a shitty prank on you.
This is still your life, youâll get off this bed and go home. See your husband and kiss him crazy, nuzzle into his neck in your bed and heâll press soft kisses to your growing daughter.
Still, the feeling of not belonging claws at your spine when the hospital roomâs door opens to reveal a woman in blue scrubs and a clipboard in hand.
She seems to take a step back in shock after seeing you, scrambling over her words as she gently approaches the bed with hesitant steps.
Her hand drapes over her knee as he inches closer. Eyebrows drawn together in concern, her brown eyes scanning your every feature for anything of worry.
Finding nothing, and still failing to really get out anything, she takes a deep breath and levels her surprise. âMrs. Higuruma?â She questions, head dipping to scan the file pinned on her clipboard.
You nod, feeling your throat somehow raw like you havenât used it in a while. It only downs on you now that maybe something did happen and this isnât a dream.
That thought alone leads to something else.
The nurseâs lips part to say something but you cut her off, too eager to find out about the condition of your child.
âIs she okay?â You rasp, wincing when you feel just how much your vocal cords are straining.
An eyebrow slowly quirks on her face as it twists in confusion, hands sliding under another sheet of paper on the board and searching for who she might be. A relative? It says nobody but your husband has visited.
And youâre the only victim of the bank shooting that was seriously injured to the point of comatose and multiple internal haemorrhages.
Not finding anything that correlates with another girl or woman within the documents sheâs holding, the kind, brown-haired nurse turns to you with a curious expression and softly questions.
âShe?â
Your heart weakly jerks in your chest before you reply without letting a breath pass.
âMy baby.â
Her face pales at the sound of the two words, confusion mixing with horror and uncertainty as she takes a step back.
âIâm sorry, Mrs. Higuruma. I donât seem to understand what you mean. Your baby?â
Eyes tracing every inch of her face, you start to wonder if sheâs serious or not.
âYes, Iâm pregnant.â You confirm, voice steadier and clearer than a few brief moments before.
Her blank stare makes you doubt your words which is ridiculous because you know.
You know the months youâve spent growing that little body. You know the rhythm of her kicks and where her kicks land.
The endless doctors appointments youâve been to. The exact shade of pink the nursery build for her is painted in. The name youâve chosen for her. The pink that seeped from a white vanilla cake on your baby shower and the two pink lines on your pregnancy tests.
You know she exists.
And that sheâs yours.
So why does it feel like youâre saying something impossible?
The nurse doesnât have the chance to get another word in. And frankly, you donât know if you were ready to face a harsh truth just yet.
The feeling of crippling emptiness still lingers as a rapid knocking on the door cuts your conversation shut.
She hesitates at the door handle, hand hovering over it before breathing out and pushing it down.
Taking one last, pitiful glance at you over her shoulder, she pulls the door open and a little figure comes running up to you.
Little footsteps echoing through the quiet, linoleum-floored, washed-out-blue-walled room, the tiny child jumps on the bed.
âMom!â It yells.
The world tilts on its axis, a knot in your chest loosens at the name like itâs second nature. Like youâve always known it like that.
The body crashes against the foot of the bed, metal creaking from the impact followed by the springs groaning when the child climbs the structure.
Clawing its way closer to you, you take note of the strong grip it has on your ankle as it drags itself forward and the brown tuff of hair it has.
Reaching your chest, you feel a surge of excitement buzz beneath your skin. Anticipation crawl up your throat until their face lifts and your bubble is popped harshly.
Itâs a boy.
Your heart sinks.
This is wrong.
You had a girl.
You were carrying a baby girl.
There was no way the doctors messed up.
You saw the soft curve of her growing button nose in your stomach, her chubby cheeks and the clear indicators that you were going to have a daughter.
Yet.
Who is this little boy who calls you mom?
This little boy who looks equal parts you and your husband.
Dark brown eyes, soft-curved lips and puffy cheeks.
Your mind is somewhere far away when you barely register another figureâmuch taller and sharperâcome inside.
Eyes glueing themselves to the floor to avoid looking at the boy sitting on your legsâunable to grasp the whole sight of it, you catch polished shoes coming into view.
Slowly trailing up the body, your heartbeat picks up as you recognise the attireâtailored dress pants, textured blazer, sharp white chemise beneath.
Expecting your husbandâs familiar angular face to greet you, a small smile starts growing on your face.
Except.
Thatâs not your husband.
Higuruma doesnât have scars on his face.
Your Higuruma, as you know him inside out, doesnât have a slash across his defined face.
There isnât marred skin dragging from his cheek, over his nose, and to his other cheek.
This man is not your husband.
Yet your soul calls out for him like it is.
Like your eyes are deceiving you but your soul wonât fall tricks to what the human senses are limited by.
A heavy log is jammed in between your ribcage, stealing your ability to breathe.
The boy on your lap becomes too much, too overwhelming in this situation.
You want to push him off and claw at the tightness in your chest where knots form when you start hyperventilating. Limbs too fragile to move.
The man whose face looks too close to the one you went to bed with just yesterday, notices your growing panic and swiftly steps in.
âLeo, come here. Let your mother breathe for a second.â
The confused little boy you now learnt goes by Leo pulls back. Eyebrows knitted together and a hurt expression on his tiny features. The face alone tugs at your shaky heartstringsâa guilty feeling creeping into your cracking chest.
Higuruma, or who he seems to be in this distorted reality, holds the boy tightly against his chest after bending and picking him up.
He hovers around the door with what you assume is his son too. Just staring, lips pressed tightly in a straight line and irises covered by his narrowed eyes that search you for a sign that youâre okay.
The nurse who you almost forgot was even in the room, mutters something out of earshot to him and he sharply nods in return, reluctantly following her out of the room before throwing a worried look your way and closing the door.
It shuts with a soft click, leaving you to your thoughts again. Now louder by tenfold and more alarming.
Your head starts to run with the idea that you mightâve switched realities, fallen into a loophole while going home in your own reality before waking up here. Thrown like a joker in the middle of a running game.
A rock in the middle of a train track.
Heart beating with uncertainty, your moment alone lasts far less than what you wanted it tooâbut maybe itâs for the best considering the mess your head is in.
He steps back in. Alone.
The boy is no longer in his arms.
The frown sewn between his eyebrows is gone, too.
Your breath hitches without you wanting it to when he steps closerâthe details of his face clearing up as his thigh hits the side of the bed.
Looming over you, your words find a corner in your chest to hide and never leave from.
Thereâs an unreadable amount of pain lurking behind his irises, begging to be released as his eyes beg you to say something.
When you donât, he tries.
A hand snakes up from his side, fingers crawling up the white sheets hesitantly, slowly, until they land right next to yours.
Palms facing down, you watch how his hand is overcome with a tremble as the tips of his fingers brush yours with such delicacy that youâd think heâs being so careful because you might disappear if he moved too fast.
The second he gains the courage to intertwine his fingers with yours and his warmth seeps into your skin, a choked sob sets itself free from his chest.
A sound that spent so much time under locks that when set free, is stuck between a rough crack in his voice and a heavy sob.
A part of you shatters somewhere deep downâa space youâre not sure you know in this body. A place that pulses in pain from seeing him like this and with a reason you donât know yet.
Higuruma flushes a weak shade of red at the realisation of how unmanly he sounded just nowâbut he doesnât make any effort in stopping the tears from spilling.
The ones heâs held back the last six months while youâve been dormant ever since the incident.
A year ago, the Tokyo streets were covered with bodies and rubber. Ash that clung to walls and now hearts, remains that will never be erased from memories and one person who was the cause of it all.
The name alone provokes a stutter in Higurumaâs heart, not the shy flutter that follows after his wife kisses him in the mornings, but the one who hesitates to let your heart continue working after it holds its beat in hand.
The survivors of the Shinjukuâs incident have a tale to tell which they canât physically recount even if they would like to.
The events scarred souls beyond healing, leaving the vast majority of them too afraid to even try and mend those cracks by reliving what happened in their minds.
People were lost.
Many people.
Gravestones replacing what were once humans with dreams and hope.
Hope for a better future.
One where they didnât know they wouldnât be apart of.
You were one of the few fortunate to live to see it.
He gave you what he could after coming out alive.
A house in the countryside where you wouldnât remember how it feels to sense dead peopleâs cursed energy beneath crushed buildings.
With a porch that creaked loudly and had paint peeling off, but that offered comfort in its reality.
In how it shows that nothing remains the same, ever.
So it could remind you that one day, the burning ache in your chest will die down.
He gave you a child.
Not that neither of you were in the right mine to have children, but Leo came as a casualty.
Not a mistake, not really, because the talk of kids came even before the wedding ring was placed on your finger.
Over morning coffee, on a day off, maybe three years into dating Higurumaâwhen things were particularly difficult due to the distance from him spending more hours at work than at home.
You had sat him down and laid out your plans for the future. Spread them flat on the table and told him to wedge himself in between them if he really wanted to be with you.
So he did.
In a year heâd proposeâand he did.
In two, youâd be married on a venue overlooking icy peaksâand you did.
Then kids would come without a set date.
So Leo wasnât a mistake. He was the expected outcome sooner or later.
Your son came as an extension of both of what was left of his parents after the grief.
He carries the last pure, innocent part of your soul that survived on a thread from the horrors you lived, and carefully plucked from your tight grip when he was born.
From his father, he took the remainderâgenetics, mostly.
At one, heâs already achieving more than kids his age have. Exceptionally sharp and emotionally smart, Higuruma himself wonders sometime how his son came out so similar to him.
As if you didnât even try to fight his genes while growing him.
Things were oddly simple when he was born.
Sure, the nights were long and the cries even longer, louder.
But the outside world seemed to have faded from where you both lived on the countryside.
Nothing was too salty, or sweet. The time was neither hot or cold. Everything was in that odd positionâin the middle.
Tethering between falling on the right path for the future or on the right.
Leo was only three when his mother fell into comatose one day.
Higuruma remembers the day far too wellâthe way your face was ghostly pale when heâd found you unconscious on the floor, blood dripping from your headâpooling around it, creating a traumatic sceneâand a crying baby in his crib.
Heâd never driven so fast in his lifeârisking all lives in the car. He was reckless, the guilt would settle in his bones later.
But with the empty Japanese streets, there was never that much of a danger of killing anyone, only crashing against something.
By the time your body was stretched out, the image of the corner of Leoâs baby crib stained with your blood and your blood staining the wooden floor was too far in your husbandâs brain.
And you were gone.
Not physically, but absent.
An absent mother, wife, person.
As if youâd been temporarily removed from his life in subtle waysâan empty bed in the morning, a missing plate on the dining table, only one coffee mug prepared in the morning.
Yet, your clothes stay scattered where youâd left them before falling asleep. Higuruma didnât dare to move them, a silent prayer that youâd come home to put them away yourself just so heâd see your annoyed figure ghost through the house and scold him for not doing it.
And Leo.
Leo couldnât grasp why the warm chest heâd lay his head on was missing. He couldnât stop himself from sobbing on for months, developing a quite ear-piercing colic.
A strained chuckle cuts his thoughts off, his own body pulling himself away from the dark void that were the first months without you.
He huffs out quietly when his chest settles, grip tightening around your handâmind racing with what he would say first.
The mere sight of your eyes open, alive, confused but with those irises staring back at himâa sign that youâre backâis enough for him.
His eyes wander a bit more over your stateâmessy hair, cracked lips, hollow eyesâthen, his mouth parts open.
âI missed you.â He whispers, eyes locked into yours with a kind of softness only a person whoâs seen you inside out and still chose to say can hold.
Your insides churn, a dull feeling washing over you. A knot you donât know why twists in your throat lodges itself there and blocks your breath way.
âWhoâŠâ
You blink, feeling head start to pound with memories you donât recognise.
A man on a battlefield, scarless. Him.
Your husband.
In his work clothes. A crisp uniform.
The same firm badge on his chest.
A long hammer in his hand.
A frightening entity behind him.
Your heart violently jerks, voice cracking as you continue.
ââŠAre you?â
The room falls quiet.
Tension doesnât built instantly, things turn heavy when the words land in Higurumaâs chest.
You donât see the reaction paint itself on his face, but you feel the grip around your hand leave, the blood flow back through your entire hand.
The heat leave your cold palm, and the dip of the covers when your hand falls on top of it.
He takes a step back, the heel of his shoe echoing through the silent room just like your words keep bouncing around the walls in his head.
âIâm⊠your husband.â He whisper back. Forehead drawn tight in confusion.
âYouâre not my husband.â You croak out, feeling like an elephant is sitting on your chest. Putting his whole weight in trying to stop you from talking.
But you continue, you continue seeing the cogs turn in Higurumaâs head, the pain mix with confusion in his eyes.
âMy husband doesnât have that scar.â You blurt out, knuckles turning white where you grip the sides of the mattress with your whole force so something grounds you.
Something clicks in his head. âDo you know where you are?â He retorts, dodging your comment about the gash across his face.
You nod. âAt the hospital.â
His lip catches between his teeth. âDo you know who you are?â He questions, fearing the answer that will come.
You scoff from where youâre lay. âHiromi Y/Nââ the words catching again when you notice youâre contradicting yourself in a way you canât explain.
ââIâm an accountant.â You add, quieter than you started.
âNo.â He shoots back, stature rigid. Shoulders square, eyes watery.
âNo, youâre not.â
Something in the way he looks at you pierces through your resolveâeverything you believe in.
Is this right?
Are you really married to this man?
Is that child really yours?
Youâre about to ask when he continues.
âYouâre a sorceress, Y/N. I am a sorcerer.â
He takes a breath.
âYou never got to study Business.â
But you did.
And you are an accountant.
A pregnant one.
A shudder overtakes your body as you try to swallow his words.
âIâm pregnant.â You say, eyes stinging with the want to close and wake up to your world. To where your actual husband exists.
Hiromiâs hands flex by his side. âYouâre not.â
Narrowing your eyes to your stomach, you frantically push the covers off you and see the flat surface.
The curve of a growing body gone. Like it was never there.
Pulling the hospital gown up, thereâs only a fading scar over where your uterus lies.
And that slams into you harder than anything.
Your fingers twitch when they skim over the ragged surface. Different, darker than the rest of the skin you have.
No.
Nonononono.
You missed it?
That child is yours?
What is going on?
âYouâve been in a coma for the last three months, Y/N.â His voice cuts through, smooth now. Steady. Unlike before.
Your head starts to spin, bile coming up your throat.
âYou banged your head against Leoâs crib and I found you there. On the floor. Passed out.â
Despite the levelled tone he holds, Higurumaâs coming apart at the seams. Feeling the parallel need to throw up as the memory slams into him.
He leaves the room before he has the chance to let the thoughts swallow him.
A head peaks in through the left ajar door, dark brown hair catching your eye over the cloudy state your head is it.
His eyes stare back at you.
And the questions tenfold.
Youâre out of the hospital by the end of the week.
Nothing is said on the way back.
You ride in a car you have no memory of, not a single idea of just how many days of your life youâve spent in it despite Hiromiâs attempts in explaining to you that you belong here.
The past few days before getting discharged were filled with tension and awkward chats with the man youâve been forced to accept through wedding pictures and written, pledged and sworn vows, as your husband.
He plays the part well. He has been taking care of you, watching the injury on your head you arenât even aware where is actually, taking care of the little boy who calls you âmomâ despite you not even taking a second glance at him, and stays patient by your side as you offer blank looks at him.
Nothing clicks in place.
You drive yourself, and him up the wall with arguements so much youâre sure heâll end up divorcing you before you accept this is real.
That you are a mother, some woman with powers, and a wife to a man who youâre not sure you know.
The last harsh words you barked at him last night still echo in your head.
You had lashed out at him for being too caring to someone whoâs scared to trust him.
âYou keep staying by my side! Acting like I know who you are! Doing that! Stop bringing him here and letting the fucking boy think Iâm his mom! I was going to have a daughter, we were fineââ that was all you could get out before a nasty panic attack took over you, catching every cruel word you were planning to continue shooting and swallowing it.
Now, guilt eats at you like a parasite. Leoâs in the backseat, chewing on string cheese as he looks out the window.
You donât know a single thing about him besides his name. And maybe, you donât want to know.
You look forward to bedtime every night in a desperate attempt to succumb to slumber and wake up rid of this joke that the universe has thrown you in.
A joke where you find yourself in a life thatâs the complete opposite of yours.
Where you live in a crumbling house on the outskirts of the big cityânot in a high-end apartmentâand drive a hand-me-down looking pick me truck with a son in the back.
Somewhere deep down, a part of you is already rewiring to this new reality and you hate it.
You hate how you feel like you should apologise for the ugly things you tell him or for trying to make him run away knowing that heâs only trying to make you understand heâs lived a life with you.
And youâre not just someone who popped up.
You feel like youâve taken someone elseâs body. You, but someone elseâs body.
Someone who looks like you, thinks like you, but holds a different story.
And you miss your own timeline.
There are so many things to ask, so many concepts to grasp.
A jujutsu sorcerer?
A sorcerer fight?
A baby you birthed?
Everything new you learn is a new jab at your belief.
Have you gone crazy?
Brushing your fingers faintly against the uneven grounds at the back of your head, a grainy bump meeting the skin of your pads.
Your lips subconsciously press into a thin line, thoughts consumed by the rhythmic humming of the vehicle.
For now, you can only sink into the peeling off leather of the car and wait for the inner turmoil in you to settle again.
Even when itâs the only thing you think about.
The carâs engine dies before a white-porched, washed-out blue-roofed, creaky-staired house with two floors.
A neat backyard and a workshop on the side, seemingly unused or abandoned.
Higuruma quietly slips off the drivers seat and pulls your door open, the heels of your slippers digging into the mud beneath you, wet from the previous dayâs light drizzle (not so light outside of the hospital).
Your eyes canât obtain tear away from the structure that seems to knock a door youâre supposed to know the code to the lock to open.
The world continues turning around you. Leo, president, tugs at your jeans once, twice, before failing at making you turn to him and just choosing to waddle over to the house.
You catch how he climbs up the stairs on all fours, the old wood quietly crying beneath his weight.
And disappear into the house, door unlocked, dragging the mud that clung to his boots onto the indoor carper.
His father rushes inside when he sees it, yelling from a distance for his son to wait.
Youâre rooted in place, standing infront of the open car, the vehicles door pleading to be closed due to its tired hinges.
You take a step and slam the door shut behind you. Getting a better view of the house.
A home, essentially.
Itâs strangely all you wanted as a little girl and nothing you got in your world.
Blue roof. Cream, wooden walls. Wrap-around porch, a swing by the front door.
Enough space for a growing family, not big enough to feel alone when home alone.
A deep breath graces your dry lungs before your legs take you to the front door and you push it open, a wave of memories crashing over you.
âHigu! You did not! This is all Iâve ever wanted!â
âI know, honey.â
âWhere did you even find this place?â
âI built it.â
âFor you.â
The door creaks when opened, revealing a chilly interior with beige walls and a stained milky carpet.
Your flats fall in place next to Hiromiâs shoes where you leave them as your feet take you around the house as if your soul knows the layout.
That alone spooks you even further.
You reach the kitchen in a blink. Marble surfaces, a pretty island with kids toys and baby bottles scattered around.
There are two coolers pressed against a well on the farther end of the living room.
Inside, thereâs nothing but empty, probably forgotten, breastmilk ziplock bags.
Your chest tightens again.
This means nothing. You try to convince yourself it doesnât.
But your head circles to how hard it mustâve been to feed the baby if youâre really mother.
Or how much he must be missing his mom.
Heâs not yours.
You chant the mantra like a silent sermon in your head, hoping it threads into reality at some point.
You didnât make him with this man.
You donât know him.
You didnât hold himâsticky and pale, when he was born.
Another woman did.
You.
Maybe.
A you that built a different life, took a different path.
The one you didnât.
Yet.
She has everything you want despite everything .
The son, the house and the husband in the way that you almost got too.
A light realisation spawns in the center of your heart.
You find your way to Higuruma no matter the universe.
Speaking of the devil, the bathroom door clicks open and Leoâs giggles filter into the living room.
You donât flinch or turn around, just listen to his footsteps and your son laugh as heâs taken up the stairs and disappears behind a closed door.
Minutes later, when youâre in the backyard sat on a chair on the porch, you hear Higuruma come back.
Sliding through the door, he takes a seat atop the other chair. Yours rocky, his normal.
Another clue. Probably for cradling the baby.
The sun retreats in the background slowly as the charged silence stretches. You feel like youâll cave soon.
So you do.
âIâm sorry.â You sigh. Feeling your shoulders drop half in surrender and half in relief.
He doesnât say anything, just nods once. Sharp. You watch his profile and how itâs locked tight from the corner of your eye.
And then the next big thing that bothers you beside everything, claws itself out of your confines.
âHeâs mine?â Your voice is quiet.
He hums. âYeah.â Chest swelling with infectious bruises, pained by the fact that his own wife doesnât recall the precious moments theyâve shared.
The doctors said youâd probably suffered memory loss due to the intensity of the hit and the seriousness of the injuryâadd the huge amount of blood youâd lost.
You push. âWhen was heâŠâ
âNovember third.â
âOh.â You fall quiet.
A small smile pulls your mood down, limbs starting to ache with the pain that grows over time and the guilt only a lost person knows.
âYou named him Leo.â Higuruma confesses, recalling the day you came up to him. Confident, sure. Seven months pregnant, waddling like a duck just the way your son does now as he learns to properly walk.
Leo, because it means Lion. And youâd said your son would be fierce like you. Brave enough to crawl over mountains and keep himself safe from everyone else when youâre not around anymore.
When youâre not around anymore.
You werenât when he turned 7 months old, or when he turned one.
Are you here now though?
When youâre not even sure the boy who is half you and half him pads across the house in search of his motherâs love again.
Higuruma is not sure how much longer he can keep promising Leo that his mother will be back again.
Especially not after sheâs within his line of sight, pulling questions from the barely verbal infant just by existing.
âLion.â You mutter. âFierce and brave.â
âMy son will be fierce and brave!â
Hiromiâs heartstrings play a delicate song with moments of you when he hears you echo your words without knowing it.
Itâs somewhat funny to him. Not yourself, yet you still are.
Still harsh with your words when arguing, paranoid when caught off guard, picky with your food and eternally beautiful even tired.
Thereâs exhaustion written in every crevice of skin you wear.
âYou should go to sleep.â
Unable to bear the weight of the conversation, Higuruma cuts it short by pushing himself off the chair and disappearing in the darkness of the house as the last rays of the sun shine on your face.
He, too, looks forward to closing his eyes and drifting off to that one place where his wife still remembers him.
And in hopes of waking up tomorrow with the same life he led before Shinjuku.
The one where you seem to have gone back to in your slumber as you were in a coma.
Living past the first moments of dating with him peacefully.
Not like you actually did.
He remembers the first attacks in Shibuya after heâd set in stone marrying you.
Pushing off the engagement.
The wedding.
The vows heâd written for you.
Only resuming when heâd already lost everyone.
Five people total attending your wedding.
You donât seem to remember that.
Or where you came from.
The fights youâve fought.
How the scars on your hands remember every battle youâve ever went into.
Or how you loved seeing how trains wiped people off platforms when they picked passengers up.
Or how bright your eyes shined for the first time in forever when you saw the two lines on the pregnancy test and hope was reborn in your chest again.
He does.
He remembers everything.
And itâs cruel how heâs the only one who shares these moments.
Stranded in the ruins of a life you lived, but donât recognise.
You realise youâre stuck in a game of identity vs reality that next morning as you shuffle around the attic.
There must be something here that proves this isnât your life.
You dig and dig through boxes and drawers in the dusty roof that you asked your body to find.
And find nothing.
Its as if youâre fighting yourself.
Did you ever live that other life? 9-5 job and lawyerâs wife responsibilities?
If so, why does it feel farther away by the day?
Why does it feel like youâve woken up from a dream and plunged straight into real life after an eternity of euphoric slumber.
Itâs too early for another pair of footsteps to echo off the floorboards, but you hear rushed steps draw and your heart drops.
Your hands still over a box youâd pulled to your kneesâtaped at the top, promising some sort of revelation to your dilemma.
Youâd seen Higurumaâs cracked open door before climbing up to the attic with the foldable stairway.
Between him and the skies, despite you sleeping in the guest bedroom, his door was ajar just in case you remembered the arms that held you during the nights and you needed them more than oxygen.
Now, he was in deep slumber for the first time in an eternity.
Which can only mean the body coming up the steps is no other than Leo. His little head pokes out as he manages to jump over the last few steps.
His weight makes a thudding sound everytime he successfully climbs another degree.
Your body reacts on its own, lunging forward and securing him against you before he can slip and fall back once he reaches the last level.
Heâs tiny, soft and warm against your chest. You crawl on your knees to the box again, setting him beside it. Watching with attentive eyes the little intruder thatâs smiling too brightly for someone who just woke up.
How did he even climb out of his crib?
That ugly feeling lodges itself between your ribcage when you realise heâs probably happy thinking his mom is back.
You sigh, deciding to stop the snooping and yourself back to bed and him too.
When he grabs the corner of the box and starts biting it. You freeze, eyes widening before reaching out and pulling him gently by his chubby cheeks off the cardboard.
âLeoâŠâ You whisper, making his pupils dilate even further in the darkness.
Instead of his teeth not though, his hand grasps the top corner of the box and he starts hitting it.
Taking a deep breath, you curiously tug the tape off the top, amusing Leo with the scratchy sound and then opening the folds.
Thereâs three photo albums inside, bingo.
Taking them out, you place a cooing baby boy inside of it so he doesnât run and get hurr while you quickly skim through them.
In and out, thatâs how quick youâll be.
But the first album that stares back at you in raw pain.
âY/N and Hiromi, 2015.â
There it is again, that pang in your being.
Fingers moving on their own anyway, driven by a primal need in your system, they hook under the cover and throw it off.
Youâre met with a portrait picture.
You, in a white dress you recognise far too much.
Lacey, delicate, intricate and yours.
Your wedding dress.
Same as you remember it.
If you were to touch it again, your fingertips would remember the lightness of it, the sheer material and the moments sewn onto it.
The dip Hiromi kissed you in, the feeling of the cold metal on your ring finger, the chants of celebration.
You skim past the picture to avoid the helplessness bubbling in you.
Oh.
This is a sight you remember too well, only now, a foreign sight.
You, sitting on a bench. A side profile candid, your hair framing your face perfectly, your hand over the swell of your belly covered by a yellow sundress with sunflowers.
Higuruma loves sunflowers.
Maybe thatâs why itâs still one of the first pictures.
Or maybe you put it there.
Another printed out memory.
This one screams out to you more than the otherâsilently attacks and lands in your heart.
Newborn Leo sleeping by you.
You look beyond exhaustedâdeep dark eye bags and stress lines.
But peaceful in a way you never got to be.
This only adds to the feeling of not belonging.
You had a little girl.
You were going to have a daughter.
Now, thereâs a baby boy looking over the cardboard box heâs in with kind, innocent eyes that hold a curiously only the purest of children still have.
And youâre not his mother.
But heâs yours.
And you donât know what to do with that.
Leo reaches out. Babbling over the papery material, spit wetting the brown and turning it darkerâsaggy soon.
His little hand tries to claw at you, unsuccessful due to the distance between you and him.
Something inside of you though, makes you move.
Reach inside the box and lift him by his arms.
He lands in your lap. Staring up like youâre giving him the stars, eyes shining in happiness.
You canât breathe from the guilt stuck in your throat like poison.
The little boy has the time to launch himself forward and grip around your waist, small arms not looping together.
He snuggles against your stomach, tousling his chocolate hair and finding the comfort his mother would provide when he was newbornânever forgetting it as if it were written in his skin.
Yet, your hands find a way around his back. Securely cupping the lower part of it and pulling him flush against you while your other caresses his hair like youâve done this a million times before.
Three hours later, youâre losing it again.
The tiniest things set you off with Higuruma. Heâd just offered to brush your hair for you after seeing you hesitate while doing it due to the fear of brushing over the scar.
Itâs still sensitive.
It was a logical thing to ask.
You lost it nonetheless.
Saying that he doesnât have the right to touch you or ask things like that when you donât know him.
He stayed quiet.
Now, heâs silently stirring something in a pot over low heat on the stove and you feel significantly worse than this morning.
You sigh againâthe only thing you seem to be doing ever since you woke up here.
âIâm sorry.â You offer, unable to look at him.
That slow exhale between unspoken words reaches your ear, the sound of sizzling ingredients filling the space.
âItâs fine.â He breathes out.
ââŠHow did you get that scar?â You blurt out, unable to bear the silence. His hands freeze, shoulders tensing when he hears you ask the question.
For a few long seconds, his chest fills with disappointment. You were there when he got it, you were the one who healed it.
âI fought against the king of curses.â His voice drops an octave into a grim, painful tone.
A beat passes before he adds: âWith Yuji Itadori.â
Both names draw a blank, you nibble on your lip in return. He takes a look over his shoulder at your troubled expression, more disappointment filling him.
âAre those⊠sorcerers?â You ask, uncertain.
He nods, his back facing you while he continues working on dinner.
The overhead light in the kitchen is yellow, easy on the eyes, bathing you both in a comfortable hue, loosening your nerves as you tip-toe the sensitive topics.
But of course, nothing breaks a layer of tension better than some liquid gold.
Your body moves on its own, taking you to the wine cellar you noticed when first touring the house.
You hover to the first bottle you spot and pluck it off the rack, ducking out of the room and locking it back shut with the key youâd swiped off the top of the fridge.
Higurumaâs eyes narrow and follow you going up to him when you come back in the kitchen.
Holding up the bottle to him, you donât need words for him to take it from your hands and nod sharply in return.
Taking a seat back on the islandâs stool, you prepare how to word your next question as you eye him grab the opener.
âSo how does thatââ You start, scrambling together whatever you can to try and ask about this magic world of his.
When the cork pulls off the top of the bottle with a loud pop and youâre pulled in a memory you have lived through.
Your breath shallows out immediately, hands starting to shake by your sides.
Your vision starts to blur, a mix of white flashes and black spots clouding it, your head spinning too much to make out your surroundings anymore.
The bottom of the glass hits the marble and hands wrap around your waist just as youâre about to stumble off the chair and hit the floor.
Potentially cracking your skull again.
Hiromiâs lungs falter at the sight of you losing color, eyes screwed shut and lips parted openâdesperately searching for air.
Some sort of trigger set you off to relive the incident.
The one youâre about to learn sent you to this universe.
You remember now, you were leaving work.
Work bag heavy against your shoulder with the remaining of your desk ornaments.
But when you tried to leave, tugging the front door of the bank, it was locked.
The alarms blared soon after.
The last customers that had just stepped in uncovered their true identities by pulling out guns from their bags.
Seemingly innocent men turning into violent robbers quickly, shouting for people to duck, to shut up and listen.
You panicked, pulled at the front door and screamed for help as a hand held your stomach.
And then came the shot.
Then black.
Higuruma focuses on combing through your hair, profusely repeating that itâs going to be okay, slowly pulling you back to reality.
Not working, he props you against the wall of the island as he hurries to look for a cup of water and quickly crouching by your side with it in his hands when he obtains it.
You feel the distant press of cold against your lips and the liquid pooling in your mouth when itâs introduced there.
From then on out, you swallow on instinct. Afraid of choking.
And suddenly youâre brought back to reality.
This one.
Where Higurumaâs face has fear and worry etched deeply in his features and his hand holds your head as you drink the water.
Seeing your eyes zero on him again, he pulls the cup from your lips and exhales for the first time in minutes.
You stay pressed against the wall, mind blank now. Eyes empty as they pierce a hole through Higurumaâs fallen head.
He doesnât question what happened.
His hand falls on your thigh, dragging it up and down. Friction creating warmth against your jeans.
Your heartbeat is in your ear.
And you realise things are more complicated than they seem with him.
Heâs still here for you like always.
That makes everything harder for you.
The weeks stretchâlong and intense. The arguements continue, you see his patience thin out, you see Leo starting to grow accustomed to a mother figure again in small shapes.
In how he doesnât wail during the morning anymore. Instead crawling out his bed and invading your room in silence, slipping under the sheets next to you so when you wake up, you feel the weight of a tiny body and the doubled guilt over your chest.
Or in how he drifts from his father more and more with the passing of days. He begs you to feed him, and stupidly, you do. Knowing itâs wrong. But when those eyes, shaped like yours, and that smile, bright like you used to hold, looks back at you, you fold.
And Higuruma sees it.
He sees a glimpse of who he used to know.
Of the woman he canât let go the love he holds for go.
He sees a glimpse of youâhim and you. Wedding rings shining under the morning sun when you sit at the counter with your head bowed and your shoulders sagging.
The memories burn his spark away little by little.
Yet, his heart is kept warm when he catches how you subtly canât resist caring for Leo like your soul recognises the part itâs missing in the young boy.
Things are still rocky between you and him.
You canât accept him. It feels wrong.
But he looks so much like your Higuruma despite the scar on his face.
His hands are steady against the walls you swallow him with.
And thatâs dangerous on levels you donât want to acknowledge.
The thought that he isnât really a different man.
That he is the one you love.
Youâre the different one.
Sometimes you feel like you canât run from the small feelings.
The scariest ones.
The ones who pop up when he plays with Leo, a small flutter in your stone-cold heart. Contrasting every word you yell at him when this life presses against your ground too much.
Or the ones who show when he looks at you in the eyes with a look he canât hide that shows just how much he canât resist seeing her in you.
Because you are her, but youâre not.
And itâs confusing.
Itâs confusing when you go to bed at night and wish there was a heavy body next to yours again, and when your mind drifts to imperfect Higuruma rather than the perfect version you have back at home.
Itâs worse when you wake up in the morning, Leo on your chest, and still feeling like the bed is empty.
You stopped fighting the maternal instincts once they kicked in.
Subconsciously cupping his head when you hold him in your arms and move through the house, voice pitching a tone higher when giggling him and cooing things he still canât understand, chest loosening when he counters with happy laughs.
A part of you, the one who had prepared for a life like this, comes alive again when he looks for you.
Leo heals a part of you thatâs too stubborn to admit she wants to stay here just so you can stay with him.
Your attachment with the little boy has grown beyond your restraints, blossoming into early love at some point.
And it claws at your mind in the dark hours of the night when you know heâll be in your room by morning again.
What was once anger and frustration with being thrown in this reality slowly became fear.
Fear that youâll wake up and go back to that unfinished life.
You donât want perfection anymore.
Maybe thatâs it.
You donât want a lawyer, picture perfect husband and white picket-fence, wooden roofed houses anymore.
Somewhere along the lines you grew to love the dents in this husband of yours.
The one you didnât vow anything to, but wish you did.
The one who makes you want to have been born here in the first place when heâs still by your side through your screams and sobs.
A part of you still feels like itâs not allowed to want to fit into this world now.
Like youâre not allowed to fall in-love with him again.
Not after everything youâve been putting him through.
The selfish part of you stands tall.
But it canât take it anymore.
You find him lounging on the backyard one day in that same ordinary chair whose wood digs into your spine after sitting for too long on it.
âHiguruma.â You call out, internally wincing at how weird it is to call someone who has the same name as you by it.
His head lifts from his book, eyes closing in on your figure over his shoulder standing at the doorway.
Your legs feel weak as you walk to the granny chair and plop down on it. Back sinking against the cushion, you still arenât able to let go of the breath youâre holding.
He lifts a brow at your strange behaviour.
âIs something going on?â He asks, deliberately careful like alwaysâtugging at your heart without even noticing it.
You donât doubt his keen eyes though, especially not when he takes note of your nervous fidgeting beneath the blanket you wrapped yourself up in, previously just left on the seat youâre now occupying.
A coffee mug rests abandoned on the small table between your chairsâbottom rimmed with faded brown stains from use.
You exhale, hoping the tension in your muscles leaves with the released breath.
âNo, everything is fine.â
His face relaxes, muscles migrating back to their respective spots. He hums in acknowledgment, not fully trusting though.
You hesitate as you say your words.
âActually, I wanted to ask you somethingâŠâ
Not turning to you, he says: âAnything.â
Anxiety crawls up your back again.
The question you have bordering your lips is too personal. Sensitive. Both for you and him.
âDoâŠâ
Ah.
The conjoined letters lodge in your throat, sticking onto the walls like gum.
âDo youâŠâ You try again, feeling his gaze on you now. Reverent of some sort, waiting. Heavy.
ââŠEver miss me?â
Her.
You mean her.
âI mean, her.â
His eyes flicker with a hint of hurt for a split second before it vanishes as quick as it came.
A sad smile grows on his face.
âNo.â
You didnât expect the answer.
âNo?â You echo.
He inhales sharply.
âSheâs still you, Y/N. Is she not?â
And the thing is, sheâs not.
âNo. Sheâs a version of me that knows you. I donât know what she learned.â
He stills, forearms sitting over the wooden armrests.
âIt doesnât matter, I still want you.â
Your breath hitches hard, mind rewiring at his bluntness.
Heâs laid himself bare, stripped the layers that hide what the last few months of subconscious rebuilding of a relationship that you were supposed to have in the beginning, has done to him.
Heâs opened the door you need to step into to.
You steady your voice, giving him it all now.
âIâm not your wife, not reallyâŠâ You start.
âIâm not the women you married, I canât channel cursed energy.â The truth starts to sting early, your voice fraying at the edges. âYou didnât make love to me and make Leo with me. I didnât stay up at night and take care of him when he needed it most. I did none of that.â
A pause takes the conversation for a brief moment.
âBut⊠I assure you, Hiromi, I love you.â
You catch how his pupils dilate fully at your words, the unexpected confession.
âI love you again like I chose to love you in another realityâ
Your truth slips out. Landing heavily in his heart.
âMaybe not like the version of me that did before I woke up. Maybe more. But I do. In my own way. And Iâll spend my time proving it to you, making up for lost time till you smile easily again. I love Leo more than I love life. I love you for showing me this life. I see bits of who you were with her. This more gentle, poised version of me. But I want to learn you more than her. Itâs selfish. Sheâs me. Yet, sheâs not. Still, I canât find it in me to care. I want you, Higuruma. I canât close my eyes at night thinking Iâll all run back and Iâll live a life with a different version of you. One I loved but canât, wonât ever be able to love now. I have fallen in love with you all over again and I canât help it.â
The revelation hangs like an angel in the airâpure, beautiful and raw.
Itâs quiet on both sides. Your eyes feel heavy with tears threatening to leak.
And when you feel him get up, your heart weakly jerks in your chestâmind racing with the worst.
Heâs going to turn and leave.
But he doesnât.
He pivots on his heels.
Figure straightening up as he takes the step to your chair and gets a hold of your hand resting over the blanket.
With a gentle tug, youâre brought to your feet. Chest colliding with his when you stand, no space between your feet and his.
A hand of his wraps around the small of your back. Grounding, real. A quiet preview of his answer.
Coffee brown eyes look down at you, attentive with every thought behind your irises.
You feel the flowing of his blood through the fingertips you have on his chest. The beating of his heart everywhere. Betraying his calm exterior.
And then they come.
The quiet answers youâve been praying for all along.
âItâs always you, Y/N. Whether you know me or not, whether you remember us or not, itâs always you.â
His head dips, lips ghosting yours.
âHere, and in every other reality.â
âItâs you and me.â
He seals his words with a kiss.
And it really is you and him, only.
You, him, Leo.
And new beginnings.
New memories, new chapters.
With the same old love you share.
Imperfect and beautiful in its own way.
MASTERLIST, JJK MASTERLIST, TAGLIST.
Someone ban me from touching a keyboard ever again. This was so emotionally complex and interesting for me omg. Tysm for the beautiful request love<3
Lowkey still in the jjk trenches but UGHHH imagine ur at Sasha and Niccolos wedding. You havent seen ur high school ex bf Jean in forever after he broke up wu back then because he just didnât want to b in a relationship anymore (rly it was bc he didnt feel good enough for y) and u see him at the wedding.
Kirk me i wanna write aot so bad
Might release some really sad HIGURUMA ANGST TONIGHT OR TOMORROOOWWWWW. (Im in a pothole again welp)
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I donât know if your requests are open but Iâd love a gojoxcurseuser y/n where heâs dragged her somewhere to interrogate her. Shes being lied to, he has to yell at her, Shes bratty đ€€ only after they fuck does she say heâs right. ALRIGHT LOVE U BYE
Hi honey my requests are closed but IG NOT cause i cant say no to an askđđđfuckđđđ anyway I saw ur other msg saying u acc put on anon but U didnât turn it off there eitherđ pls lmk who u r so I can tag u when I do it cause id love to write curseuser readerđ
hiiii, i read echoes of us on wattpad and asked for a megumi oneshot, i finally found you here and love your work
Omg an EOS readerđ„čmy loves<33 so glad u found me again, even happier u like my worksđđ Drop more info about what exactly youâd like me to ask since I promised id do smth 4u
hairstyling 101 :: the strongest tries to figure out how to do his daughterâs curly hair <3 !
âthis is the shampoo mom uses for you, right?â
gojo hovered over your daughter in the bathtub, staring at the very intimidating lineup of hair products that stood before him. he loved your hair, the way your curls always sat perfectly atop your shoulders every single time you got them done, and he always paid close attention to the order of products youâd use whenever the two of you showered together.
heâd gotten used to the routine by now, helping you do your hair whenever you were too tired to do it yourselfâcommitting everything to memory so heâd do it perfect justice.
so, when he was blessed with a daughter who was practically a carbon copy of you, he knew doing his precious girlâs hair would be the greatest thing heâd ever do.
your menace of a daughter looked up at him, narrowing her eyes to make sure he knew not to fuck it up.
he reached for the shampoo, squeezing a generous amount of it onto his palm, slowly lathering it on her scalp while you sat outside the bathroom, eating a bowl of fruit while gojo was absolutely laser focused on washing her hair.
he grabbed the shower head, washing out the lathered shampoo, finding the conditioner in the shelves, leaving it in a couple minutes before washing it out again, slowly draining the water and lifting her out with a fluffy towel before seating her on your dressing table.
âdada why isnât mommy doing my hair?â she sighed, slowly looking up at him with her eyes that had him melting.
âbecause daddyâs better at it, duh.â
âdaddyâs a bad liar.â
he was combing through what he could find, looking through the order of haircare in his phone before applying them onto her hair frantically while she giggled at something you said.
âgods, you guys are the same.â he grumbled while applying the leave in conditioner and smallest amount of coconut oil in her hair.
âand you love us, toru.â you sighed, with your daughter turning around to simply stick her tongue out at him.
he was finally done, carrying her up and leading her to her closet so she could pick out her clothes, with you giggling at how much heâd sweat through his shirt.
ânervous, huh?â
âiâve watched you do your hair a million times before, i was prepared, okay?â
you got out of your seat, kissing him on the cheek while she walked out in the cutest dress she could find.
âaww look at you, youâre just like a princess.â
âi am.â she said, crossing her arms over her chest while pouting just the slightestâshe mightâve been a carbon copy of you, but gojoâs genes still found a way to show.
a/n :: based on this req!! sorry iâm so late nonnie <3 also i have curls but i fry them straight because i cba to style them. maybe i should lol
navigation. || masterlist.
all works belong to @lilithkleia, do NOT copy, translate or feed to AI. lest you wish upon tojiâs worm to crawl up your ass.
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â Your boyfriend, Suguru, cheats on you with his best friend and Satoruâs girlfriendâShoko. So what better is there when their exes get together?
Tags: [SMUT/ANGST w COMFORT - 18+] Childhoodbsf/bsfs bf!Gojo x best friendâs girlfriend/childhoodbsf!reader. Shokosugu (donthateme) Porn with a whole lotta plot. Cheating ig, backshots, missionary, handjob, mini cunnilingus, exhibionism/voyerism (?), hair pulling, breeding/condomless activities, yearning, pining Gojo⊠ehhh yk the drill. Satoru: s0311_tre !! WC: 7k.
You and Gojo can only exchange silent glances between eachother as you watch your boyfriendâSuguru Getoârub shoulders with his girlfriendâShoko Ieiri.
Sure, youâve all been best friends since middle school even before the couples in the group formedâyou and Suguru in your first year of college while Shoko with Satoru in high school.
But you arenât sure where the lines of platonic love and romantic love blur when your boyfriend is laughing way too closely with your friendâs girlfriend like theyâre sharing something far too intimate for the rest to hear.
Youâve known Satoru for years, sure. He is really attractive, probably caught your eye sometime when you first became friends.
Actually, not probablyâyou had told Shoko before ever getting involved with Suguru that you had developed a sort of crush on his friend.
In the end though, Shoko ended up getting closer with him despite what youâd told her and you naturally ended up forming a stronger bond with Geto.
However, youâve never rubbed noses with him or sung love songs to each other in karaokeâregardless of how drunk you were.
Yet, the sight of Suguru and Shoko carelessly touching each other and laughing together like their partners arenât watching them from afar, stirs a sickly feeling in your stomach.
Just what is going on?
Currently, youâre both standing outside of the cafeteria the four of you agreed to meet at to catch up.
A car accident on your way to your destination and you sent a message to your boyfriend saying that youâd be half an hour late to which you received a half-assed âOkay. No problem.â
Satoru got held up at work and was already planning on coming later.
Coincidentally, you both met in the parking lot and made your way together to the entry only to freeze outside when you saw your significant others head to head, cheeks rubbing as they snapped picturesâperfectly unaware of them being watched.
Your heart weakly beats in your chest, mood falling and head spinning as you stabilise yourself with a hand on Satoruâs shoulder.
âYouâre kidding.â He mumbles from your side, body equally as tense as yours is.
Every bone in you wants to convince yourself and the world around you that this is a misunderstanding, that the newfound closeness between them is just a product of years of friendship.
Nothing new, nothing personal.
The two of you briefly compose yourselves, pining your sour moods down and clipping your words before walking in and taking a seat opposite them.
Shoko is the first to notice you walk in, quickly but calmly putting her phone down as your eyes zero on her.
She sends a smile your way that has your insides churning, the image you have of one of your best friends slowly tainting itself with ugly slashes.
Suguru greets Satoru in a hug, which the latter returns strangely quiet and stoicâmaking the air on their side turn awkward quick.
Then he turns to you, reaches over the table and takes your hand in his gentle grasp to place a kiss on it.
This is wrong, you feel it swimming in your veinsâthe afterthought that you are already sitting in the ruins of both your relationship and Satoruâs.
And of your friendships.
From the way Shoko is by your boyfriend, and from how Suguru is by his best friendâs girlfriendâeverything in this setting screams that itâs out of order.
Your partner should be by your side. Not reaching across the table diagonally and greeting you with a warm smile like he wasnât wearing a bright one with the woman next to him mere minutes ago.
Gosh, can someone be this two faced?
You donât want to speculate it yet, but how can he look at you in such peace when heâs cheating behind your back.
Shoko, never being the one for PDA, just squeezes Satoruâs hand across the dark oak table and says a small hi.
A waitress comes by and asks for everyoneâs order. You take the opportunity to snap out of your trance and point to the first thing on the menu when she comes around to you.
After leaving, the tense atmosphere settles over the four of you like a fragile veilâmere words away from being shattered.
The two of them, oblivious to being caught, sport smiles on their faces as they wait for their significant others to say something.
They exchange a look between eachother like they already speak a completely different language youâll never learn and that theyâve mastered with time.
Your chest tightens, Satoruâs hand slips under the table and lands on your thigh to ground you seeing how tightly your knuckles are gripping the fabric of your skirt.
Breathing out, you regulate your thoughts just enough to manage a weak smile.
âHow have you two been?â You croak out, voice hoarse, raspy from the bundle in your throat.
Suguru doesnât miss a beat before replying.
âGood.â His voice is smooth like itâs always beenâsteady, warm like the tether he used to be for you, but now is for somebody else.
Your lips press into a thin line, unsatisfied with the brief answerâyouâre about to push for some more when Shoko interrupts.
âWe hiked Kamikochi last week.â
Your breath hitches, the hand underneath the table catches Satoruâs as your heart drops.
Kamikoichi is a scenic mountain valley youâve dreamed of hiking ever since Suguru had introduced you to his hobby.
Itâs remote, beautiful, peacefulâbut your boyfriend had always some excuse for you two not go.
Whether it was work or just personal circumstances that didnât allow neither of you to go, there was something between you both and that special place.
And now, youâve just found out heâs climbed it with someone else.
Without you even knowing.
Itâs not as small as it seems, not really. Not when youâve both been getting farther away from each otherâleaving you chasing after the person youâre dating on some days.
The worst part is this isnât an accident. Suguru has always known how much you wanted to visit the place just like he knows you like sitting next to him in restaurants and cafes because you like being close.
Yet, here you are.
Being grounded by Satoruâs strong grip beneath the table as your breathing shakes and your eyes sting.
Your voice is a ghost of how it usually is when a tight smile slowly stretches across your face and you mutter. âThatâs nice.â
Satoru is not better than you though. Heâs spent a good while of his life with Shoko. Middle-school sweethearts who know nothing but everything about each other.
Theyâre the kind of couple that couldnât be more different but that persevere through time.
Even when the roads are rocky and the odds against them.
Even when Satoru knew deep down they would get nowhere.
He always felt a stronger pull to other women, he always saw how sheâd be bored of him more often than not.
But he still clung onto that little fantasy that heâd be one and done. Married to his high-school sweetheart with a kid on the way and a white picket-fence house in place.
He still clung onto that fantasy even when on some nights, his mind kept drifting to his best friendâs girlfriend.
It would be a lie to say that Satoru liked Shoko all along.
No, you took over his being since the beginning.
But 15 and stupid, when Shoko confessed, he was quick to jump in a relationship without second thought.
Wanting to be cool and all with a girlfriend in middle school, without actually weighing how much his stupid acceptance of her confession would reroute his whole life.
Now heâs only somebody to you whoâs at arms length and a friend.
Maybe for now, the worst part of this whole situation is that you both canât even tell if things are over between your respective partners.
You canât tell if Shoko and Suguru have tangled their very obvious feelings for eachother any farther than what youâre both seeing with your eyes.
Canât tell if Suguruâs lips have been pressed against hers like they do with yoursâsoftly, slowly, deliberately.
Canât figure out if he touches her with the same kind of reverence he does with you.
Or if he has already mapped out and memorised every dip of her skin, every surface thatâs painted by moles.
With your chest clenched tight and Satoruâs comforting presence, you sit through the excruciatingly painful little coffee date.
Where Suguru laughs richly like he hasnât done it in forever.
And where youâve never seen Shoko be so happyâsmile so much, look so free.
Itâs skinning on so many different levels.
Watching the people youâve both devoted years of your life to, turn to others, and said others being people who you trusted with your life.
By the time you and Satoru excuse yourself, the sun is yawning in the horizon and going to bed.
Your feet barely hit three steps in the parking lot before the sob youâve been swallowing down comes out through your cracked chest.
Satoru remains quiet as he wraps an arm around your shoulder and brings you over to his car thatâs nearest.
Sitting in the backseat, you sob with no controlâtears staining his shirt as he holds your head snugly against his chest while his other hand runs up and down your back in an attempt to calm you down.
But youâre shattered beyond words. Feeling like the universe has played a cruel trick on you, like itâs getting you back for something you havenât done.
Your cries ring like sirens in Satoruâs head, heâs becoming all too aware of the situation youâre both in the more you cry and it only makes his insides churn.
Frankly, Gojo isnât sure how to move on from here.
How does he exist without the two people heâs had all along?
What if you leave him too?
His bones ice with the thought, a chill running down his spine.
For now, he can only hold you and hope the slashes in your heart are still mendable.
Your whimpers subside after a while and your evening steadies. Head feeling heavy against Satoru, you fall asleep on accident.
Later, you wake up in a bedroom you recognise aa Gojoâs and for a split second, you allow yourself to convince your consciousness that it was all a dream.
But when he comes through the door, dressed in loungewear and sagged shoulders, a pitiful look in his eyes and a tea mug in his hand, you know itâs not.
âHey.â He whispers, reluctantly sitting on the edge of the bed youâve sinked in again.
Staring at the ceiling, you barely have the mental energy to mutter a âHi.â back, but you do anyway.
Your voice is dry, scratchy from the earlier cryingâthroat raw and begging for water when Satoru interrupts your mind.
âHere, I got you some tea.â
A small smile touches your face at how he seemed to have read your thoughts.
âThank you.â You rasp, sitting back up and letting your back hit the headboard as you grab the mug from him.
Itâs warm against your fingers, the leaves dance on the waterâs surfaceâpainting it in a swirl of purples and pinks. Showing that itâs a red berries kind of tea.
The smell climbs up to your nose and your shoulders relax just a bit as the fruity scent envelops your tense muscles.
Satoru watches you with attentive eyes, tracking the fatigue etched on your face from the recent events and the tear stains on the corner of your eyes.
Taking a sip, you feel your temples pulse in relief before the pain in them completely leaves. A satisfied hum escapes you before you remember something.
âYou drink tea?â The question comes out lighthearted, a small chuckle biting the end of your words.
His head drops as a laugh also rips from him.
âNo.â He replies, letting a breath pass before the confession. âGot it specially for you.â
A warm sensation blooms across your chest. You canât help but be taken back to middle school when you were whipped for him.
The feeling sits wrongly in your chest, but you feel nostalgic for a second. A thin veil of safety draping over you in this fragile moment with your thoughts.
Noticing how youâve fallen quiet, Satoruâs lips part to say something when a faint chime echoes through the room.
Fishing his phone out of his pocket, the lock screen lights up with the most recent notification.
One from Suguru that reads âMe and Shoko are going to Kyoto next week for three days. Iâve already asked Y/N but she hasnât answered, you wanna tag along too?â
Thereâs a bitter taste on his tongue as he reads the first few words alone. What excuse would they put if he were to ask what they were going to do alone in Kyoto for three days.
That you donât like to travel? That Satoru is too busy to go? That Suguru knows the city better? Or that Shoko has some business there which she canât go alone to?
He wonders whether to bite his tongue and go, or stay behind with youâguessing you feel no pull to be with your boyfriend and his side chick.
When it hits him that you havenât seen the message.
Youâre looking at him over the rim of your mug, curiosity swimming in your irises under the dimly lit room.
âWhat?â
Only having woken up a few minutes ago.
Taking a look at your groggy, still sleep-entranced figure, he ponders for a split second before deciding.
âWeâre going to Kyoto.â
And to Kyoto you go next week.
With a trunk full of bags and your partners sleeping on each other in the backseat, your throats dry, and some radio station playing on low, Satoru is driving you all to the city.
You donât know when you actually agreed to do this, only that by Tuesday your suitcase was zipped shut tightly and Wednesday you were getting your ass hauled into shotgun.
Satoruâs grip around the steering wheel is tightâknuckles turning a pasty white, the leathers stitches digging lines into his palm.
Youâre biting your lip continuously, stomach flipping as you think of what to anticipate the next few days.
The silent hours in the car stretch on for what feels like forever, even when the GPS is bright with the numbers â30 min.â till you reach the hotel.
With the two knocked out in the back, you lean over the console and whisper close enough so Satoru hopefully hears.
âAre you sure this was a good idea?â You ask, eyebrows drawn together. His hands ease off the wheel, gaze flickering to you before glueing back on the road.
He breathes out, heavy and frustrated. You watch how his lips press into a thoughtful straight line.
Thatâs enough of an answer.
His hands land back on ten and twelve as he smoothly swerves off the highway and into a street, ten minutes out.
The hotel the two loverbirds have booked is nothing short of luxurious but comfortable. Itâs black, sleek and polished outside with mahogany walls in the lobby and a soft, cream carpet on the floor.
Checking in, you acquire two key cards. A room for you and Suguru and one for Satoru and Shoko.
How itâs supposed to be.
The remaining time settling in passes within a blink, you shake Suguru awake while Satoru carries his girlfriend into the hotel.
Your boyfriend carries her bags and his while you take yours, leaving Satoruâs bags in the car.
Seeing that Satoru still hasnât come down when you leave your hotel room to find him and tell him that Shokoâs bags are in your room, you go to the car to help with his belongings to find him sitting in the driverâs seat.
It isnât particularly warm this time of year, thereâs a chill that clings to your skin and makes the hair on it stand.
Confused, you slide in the passenger seat and shut the door behind you closed, shielding yourself from the cold.
âSatoru, what are you doing here?â
He looks startled by you coming even though he doesnât show it. His hands are in his pockets, fists clamped shut like heâs trying to hold in a secret.
You feel the tension in the car rise the longer he stays quiet, head bowed.
Then he breaks.
âFuck, Y/NâŠâ He mutters.
âWhat?â You whisper, becoming increasingly worried. âAre you oââ
âI found hickeys on Shoko.â He blurts out, resting his head over the steering wheel as his words pierce through you.
Youâre at a loss of words for moments. Head spinning and ringing with every vowel he pronounced.
âWhat..?â You voice again. Unbelieving. No, you refuse to believe it.
Thereâs no wayâ
Thereâs no way your Suguru did that.
Thereâs just no way, right?
He wouldnât do that.
Right?
Your breathing becomes shallow, lungs screaming for air as you struggle to breatheâa full panic attack washing over you.
Satoruâs already moving when he understands whatâs going on, hands wrapping around your shaking ones and pulling you close to him.
You tremble like youâre freezing in his arms, he offers the warmth youâve been missing in your live for months now.
The one Suguru has taken and given to another now.
He hears your heart fragment in pieces through the raw gasps youâre taken. Sounds stuck somewhere between struggled breaths and choked sobs.
Nothing hurts quite like this.
His arms hold you tight enough for you to not completely slip into the sad frenzy you were in last time it all crashed over you.
After your hyperventilating dies down, you push yourself off him. Eyes glossed over but no tears staining your cheeks.
You refuse to cry.
You canât.
Youâve only just made it here.
âI want to go home.â You plead, eyes full of hope that heâll oblige.
His head shakes in a no and you feel the horrible feeling of almost crying climb up your throat again. Making you want to gag.
Satoruâs voice rings softly. âI canât take you home.â
You inhale a sharp, painful breath.
âWeâll stay until weâre sure⊠itâs really what we think, okay?â His hand reaches your cheek and caresses it.
You donât mean to snuggle against it, but your body craves comfort more than the rational side of your brain can process.
Nodding against him, you take a few more deep breaths and you both leave the car.
The ride to the fourth floor is quiet.
Exchanging brief, tense goodbyes, you both leave the unspoken truths hanging in the air as you both disappear in your rightful rooms.
Suguru is knocked out again in the bed when you come in, back facing the window on the king-sized bed.
Tired from the crying and exhausted from the stressing, you silently slip under the covers behind himâpulling yourself closest to the other end of the bed, not wanting to risk touching him.
Not after you found out his hands hold the strings of another womanâs heart.
Evening rolls in the form of knock on the door. You toss and turn till the sound annoys you enough to wake up for your eyes to see the moon hanging in the sky through the window.
The knocks continue as you lie on your back for a second and realise Suguru isnât in bed. Assuming itâs him at the door, probably locked out, you push yourself off the soft mattress and drag your feet to the door.
Pulling it open, thereâs no dark haired, onyx-eyed man standing there, instead, his best friend is leaning over the doorframe with bloodshot eyes.
âLet me in.â He immediately goes. You step aside without a word, leaving the door to him which he locks once shut closed.
Leading him further into the room, you sit back down on your bed, rubbing your eyes tiredly as you start to feel your outside clothesâthe ones you hadnât changed out from before nappingâclinging onto your skin.
You drawl out the first words. âWhatâs up?â Voice still laced with sleep and weak.
A loud, stressed sigh leaves Satoru and your eyes fly up to see him running a hand down his face.
âTheyâre on a date. Went to dinner alone while we slept.â
Taking a look at the clock on the bedside table, you realise that itâs 9 PM.
The fact that they both probably are eating and laughing away together should have you crumbling again, crying harder than before because this is really the only confirmation you need to know that theyâre more than friends.
Instead, a humourless laugh escapes you and Satoru quirks an eyebrow.
Youâre exhausted from everything.
The months of excuses and lies. The hushed phone calls and late-night âdrives.â. The lack of intimacy and looks.
Somewhere between those growing cracks, a seed of self-loathing started to grow.
Now, you hate yourself for staying, for letting it get this far so that they both feel comfortable enough to play in your faces.
Itâs humiliating, really.
Satoru stands from where he was perched against the desk, taking up the space beside you on the bed.
His weight crinkling the comforter beneath him and making the bed groan in protest.
âYou okay?â He asks, head tilted to where youâre just staring at the floorâeyes lifeless.
Brushing a stray strand of hair off your face and tucking it behind your ear, Satoru tries to read your emotionless face.
Sighing, you mumble. âI donât think I care anymore, there has been nothing going on with me and Suguru for a while now.â
Satoru feels his heartbeat in his ears as you confess the actual state of your relationship. Caught off guard by the realness in your tone.
Narrowing his eyes to the open window, he watches as the tree leaves rustle in the distance under the winds strong blow.
The breeze seeping into the room tousles his hair, offering to hold the conversation as you both hold your words.
He takes the wheel again when he slowly confesses again. âYeah, me and Shoko, too.â
Your head rises to watch him. The soft curve of his jawline under the moonlight, the pale strands of his hair.
And the fading glimmer behind his azure eyes.
Your chest feels tight with the wrong feelings building up the last months.
Emotions so heavy that it hurts.
Satoru has always been here for you, always.
When you argued with your boyfriend.
When you lost your grandma years ago.
When you got fired.
Heâs always been a rock for you when you were shaky.
And now you can only try and offer some stability while you also crumble apart.
Itâs not everyday you see him vulnerable with you or anyone.
Hesitantly placing your hand on his sleeve, your fingers wrap around the grey material of his sweatshirt, bringing his attention from the shining moon to you again.
âIâm sorry.â Your heartfelt apology lacks a reason behind it, why are you apologising?
Is it out of pity that both you and him ended up like this?
Cheated on and hurt?
Or are you apologising for your boyfriend going for a taken woman, in his stead?
Or perhaps, youâre apologising for never speaking up.
For never telling him how you felt, thus leading you to where you are.
His face softens, eyes crinkling at the corners. Blue irises holding a kind of longing youâve never seen him dedicate to his own girlfriend.
Maybe Gojo isnât any better than Suguru.
Leading on a woman for nearly a decade, never committing fully or putting a ring on it because his heart belonged with someone else.
You feel your heart jam against your chest relentlessly as he gazes down at you, eyes flickering between yours and your lips before sliding back up.
He doesnât shy away from being caught in the act when your breath hitches again, a small gasp passing between the two of you as the gap closes little by little.
Your hand falls from his sleeve, landing somewhere behind you as your palm digs into the mattress and you balance your weight on it.
The more Satoru leans over, the more you pull back, feeling the pressure in the room thicken and your veins pulse with anticipation.
This wasnât in your plans, yet the sight of his low-lidded eyes and glossy pink lips from running his tongue over them hazes you mind.
Making your thoughts a mush of nothing with sense. All rationality leaving out the open window.
The silence turns suffocating as you become unable to move away and he lowers his head closer to your face, noses eventually brushing as he breaks the tension little by little.
Your resolve going with it.
âI think Iâve always kind of known I wasnât the one for her.â He whispers, lips barely ghosting yours. Leaving a lingering shadow behind when he pulls back just a bit to look into your eyes.
Unable to think correctly, you blurt out the first thing your heart is begging to find out.
âThen who are you the one for?â
Ocean blue consumes you.
Satoru stares and stares till he finds out what heâs looking for behind your eyes.
The second he sees the flicker of hope.
He loses it.
Lips crashing onto yours in a hungry meeting. Desperation and devotion mixing halfway through as his hands find your waist and claw at them to assure that youâll never leave his grip once heâs got you.
The remaining sorry amount of oxygen you had in your lungs is swiftly stolen away as he presses and presses his lips against yours.
Years of watching, yearning and silent praying for you to be his bleeding through every swift swipe of his tongue down your throat.
Finding the hidden places of you that heâs always dreamed of exploring. He learns the base of your mouth instantly, taking and taking from you your reciprocity.
You kiss back with equal fire, trying to keep afloat in his battle. Youâve wanted him for as long as he has, if not longer.
So you wonât allow him to sit there and think heâs the only one who has been suffering the last decade.
Not when you imagined yourself in Shokoâs place so many times.
When sheâd come to work limping, her neck painted in blooming bruises and love bites that would make your stomach churn.
Or when sheâd celebrate another year with the man you secretly could never forget.
Especially when the nights at home alone started to get more frequent while Suguru ran off to another womanâs arms.
He unlatches from your lips with a string of saliva stubbornly holding you two together.
As if youâve spent so much time seperated that now the cards on your side do anything to keep you connected.
Heâs slightly panting, chest rising and falling erratically. Heartbeat seeping through his fingertips and onto your waist.
Youâre sure he can also feel your heart slamming against your ribcage.
The distance between you two disappears once more as his lips find yours again. This time, in a slower kiss.
His hands unclasp from around your waist, standing up from the edge of the bed, he parts your thighs before slotting himself in between. Pressing his palms beneath your thighs, he wraps them around his own midsection and climbs up the mattress.
Your fall is cushioned by the soft comforter when he gets down on his elbows, hips pressing against your aching core.
Lips melting against eachother and filling the room with only the sound of kissing as you make out, your hands fall from his shoulders and roam over his shirt.
You feel him tense under your warm, needy touch as you tug at the end of his shirt. He parts from you for a brief second.
Baby blues looking down at you from a veil of lush, before he pushes himself off you and lifts his shirt.
Catching your breath with his breathtaking physique, heâs quick to pull your shirt over your head too and throw it somewhere far away.
A breath passes only between him tasting your lips again. His now bare chest pressing against your lacy bra. You feel his growing erection strain again his sweatpants and press against your own warmth.
His body subconsciously ruts his hips against yours, searching for friction. You almost moan at how much you feel between the layers.
Fingers trailing down from where they were tracing every dip of Satoruâs washboard abs, you slowly reach the waistband of his pants and still your jaw till he shows any sign of taking this further.
As if you stopping physically hurt him, he kisses you harsher, biting your bottom lip to slide his tongue to its rightful place again.
Your hands slip inside his gray sweatpants, fingers grazing a bead of pre-cum dampening the black cotton of his boxers.
Satoru lets out a deep growl as his hands grip your hip.
Pulling back, you hook your fingers inside of his pockets and pull down his pants before reaching inside his underwear and wrapping your hands around his twitching boner.
The grumble Satoru lets out before moving from your lips to your neck goes straight down to your leaking pussy, making it clench around you.
He chuckles as he nips at a sensitive area in the crook of your neck that has you whimpering.
âYouâre already trembling, baby.â He teases, voice low and private like thereâs somebody else in the room.
You exhale, pushing his words aside as you pull his cock free from restraints and land a few slow strokes on it.
Your mind rewires with how hard and thick it feels in your hand alreadyâthoughts slipping to how it will feel in a few seconds when itâs inside you.
Unaware of its length though, your fingers straighten up along the height of it and you keep trailing upwards till you hit the pale mushroom head.
Your breath hitches when you get just how long and thick he isâfeeling the veins in your hands makes you salivate even more.
Satoru, seemingly aware of his effect on you, starts humping his cock in your frozen hand while itching temporary marks on your skin that would mean so much more than words tomorrow morning.
Snapping back to reality, leaving the daydreaming to the side, your grip tightens around him again.
Collecting the clear liquid on his tip, you smear it around what you can of his size and apply pressure as you stroke him.
His muscles tense under your hand, your smell invading his nose is doing nothing to help his situation where he might cum like an inexperienced teenager within minutes.
Your head tilts back when he unclasps your bra with a flick of his fingers and attaches his teeth to a peaked nipple from the nights chill.
He devotedly sucks on the sensitive bud, sending jolts of electricity through your body as your thighs beg to clamp together.
Pleasure mixes with frustration when he moves to the other after a while. Your strokes gets sloppy.
Youâre a whining mess beneath him, begging for him to just get inside of you when you shimmy down your pants and slot him between your thighs.
Snugly sitting under your twitching pussy, Satoru almost loses it and paints your flimsy panties white as he finishes kissing your girlies.
Pushing himself off you, he smirks down at your frowning face.
âYouâre one needy girl, arenât you?â He muses, pressing one final kiss to your lips before dipping in between your legs.
He pushes your knees to your chest, angling your lace-covered pussy till itâs sitting prettily in front of his mouth, screaming his name in morse.
His breath is hot over your sensitive core when he brings his face closer to the poking bud, fanning over the surface of your frustration.
You almost cry out of need, fingers gripping the sheets like theyâre a lifeline you need.
Hooking a hand under your ass, he pulls the strings of your thong with two fingers and doesnât even bother to completely throw it off your body before drowning himself in your essence.
A high-pitched moan immediately cracks from your chest, bouncing off the walls and straight to Satoruâs cock again.
He gives your crying pussy a few greedy licks, tongue flattened out in eagerness to catch every drop.
Then, with a kiss, he parts. Getting back up on his knees and holding your hips strongly as he lines himself up.
Your eyes are glossed over with lust as you feel his tip nudge your entrance, a quiet warning of how youâre about to be ripped apart when you both hear loud footsteps in the corridor followed by hushed voices.
Your heart drops to your stomach when you realise what youâre doing. Limbs freezing on the bed youâre laying on.
Satoru looks over his shoulder, seeing the light beneath the front door spill into the room and the faint noise of Shokoâs recognisable heels clinking against the marble.
He scoffs lightly under his breath, unbothered with them if it wasnât for him feeling reality crash into you and threaten to take this moment heâs been waiting decades for, from him.
Clinking his tongue, a grin stretches across his face as he turns to you again, pushing himself in one go.
He doesnât bottom out just yet, but just breaching that first ring of resistance he deems too tight for someone whoâs dating his best friend, gets the reaction he needed from you.
A guttural moan frees itself from your throat, eyes clamping shut as the stretch consumes you and the sound bleeds through the thin walls.
Satoru makes no attempt in silencing you, fingers tracing absentminded, shapeless forms on your hip till he sees your slacked jaw regain movement.
He pushes himself further inside, halfway through now, fighting his own battles as you grip him like vice.
Another string of whimpers and choked moans spill from you, his consciousness drinking it all in, fuelling him with more need to completely ruin you.
Have you get undone by the hands that truly deserve to touch your body.
Hands that hold unconditional love for you.
Not hands that hold the blood of someone elses heart.
And that is exactly what Suguru and Shoko, in the next room over, will understand tonight.
Falling back down and pressing his chest against you, he whispers in your ear, aware only him that you both have spectators now.
âCome on, sweetheart, just a few more inches.â He should sound cocky with a voice so smooth and confident ringing in your ear like that, but he sounds so soft and intimate when heâs so close and so warm.
You nod against him, half gone and half full.
With one final push, Satoru bottoms out and you canât help but moan his name when his balls hit your ass and when youâre so full of him that you can feel him in your throat.
âSatoru!â
His grin grows impossibly tighter, corners of his lips curving upwards and pining themselves there for what you think will be the rest of the night.
He brushes the hair on your angel-like features away and presses soft kisses to your face as you readjust to his side.
Never having been stretched this much.
âYou okay, baby?â He asks, hands settling on your waist. You hum, clawing at his shoulders for support.
It only takes him that short melodic sound to pull back and slam home, pulling out a loud moan from you.
The room fills with your screams, whimpers, mewls and moans as he pounds you till youâre dust.
Too stupid and fucked out and gone, you spewl out random bullshit as aggressive plap!plap!plap! echoes through the space.
Satoruâs hair sticks to his forehead as he keeps thrusting into youâbarely putting in any effort to make his ruts hit hard because youâre pulling him in so strongly he barely needs to work.
You blink and heâs hooking an arm under your waist, flipping you on your stomach without warning.
Sliding himself back in, you groan against the pillow under your head when the new position hits places youâre not sure youâve discovered yet.
Not by yourself, and surely not with Suguru.
He kisses your back like heâs claiming yet another part of you. Like he wants to make a dent in your spine with how much he can love you.
Your tongue feels like a senseless piece of meat hanging out of your mouth as he fucks your brains out.
Head lolling down again, muffling your screams, Satoruâs hand tangles in your hair when he pulls your face off it and growls in your ear.
âNo, let them hear you.â
Your heart skips a beat in your chest when you process his words, eyes rolling back subconsciously when he finds that spongy spot inside of you.
The thought should frighten you.
Fucking your best friendâs boyfriend and your boyfriendâs best friend isnât payback for what Suguru has done with Shoko.
The thought should dry you up.
Instead, it makes you even wetter.
Filthy juices spilling down Satoruâs cock as he hits home harshly.
The sound of skin clapping against skin drowns out the thoughts of how wrong this all is. But the thought of how good it feels prevails.
It seeps into your bones and you allow yourself to fall victim to Satoruâs sweet kisses on your shoulder.
The coil in your stomach shakes with every thrust, thinning out with every brush and kiss of his tip in your cervix.
Oh god. You think.
Only not realising, and far too late, that every drag of his cock is so delicious because heâs raw in it.
âSatoruâ.â You croak out
Marking you as his from the very first time.
Oh god. You think as your legs start shaking and you feel the euphoria start to wash over you.
âOh god.â You moan as the sweet release washes over you.
Still spasming around his cock, walls gripping to him, he flips you around till youâre on top and his back hits the matress.
Firm hands hold you by your hips as he rides you on him through your own orgasm as you call out for him.
Your sensitive bud, oozing out a sticky clear substance, smears it on his base as he plops you down on his dick.
A bulge forming through your stomach, his own groans smoothly mixing with your overwhelmed ones.
He follows after dropping you a few times on his length, arms going limp by his sides as you sit on his cock and take his cum straight in your tummy.
A relieved sound escapes you. Your body falls forward, defeated, and your head lands on his warm chest.
You feel his arms warm around your back loosely.
For now, as you listen to his heart still frantically breathing, you let tomorrow carry the weight of your problems and fall asleep shortly after he presses a soft kiss to your head.
Thank god the door was locked.
Or was it?
You stirr awake what feels like five minutes after being filled by Satoruâs release, the sticky substance glueing your inner thighs as you shift.
Your eyes scream in protest against the light shining down at youânot from the morning sun, soft and mellow.
No, far from it.
The hotel roomâs lights blind you for a second when you open your eyes.
Youâre still on the soft surface of Satoruâs chest, safely embraced.
Your voice is groggy with sleep when you blink up at him. âSatoru⊠Turn the light offâŠâ You mumble, head dropping once more.
Feeling your head being caressed by his fingers, you almost slip away into dreamland again when his words ring.
âTell your boyfriend that.â His voice is too light, too quiet and calm for what heâs just said.
Your head jumps off his chest, eyes skimming the room quickly until they land on the figure in the doorway.
Fuck.
The figures.
Shoko and Suguru.
Dressed in their dinner attire.
His hair messy, her makeup ruined by streaking mascara.
You donât know if they heard everything and if they spiralled with it going on.
You canât tell the difference between that and if they were to have had sex.
That says a lot more than anything.
Satoruâs smirking at Suguru, holding you like the chess pieces are all on his side and the game is over.
And it is.
Shokoâs holding herself against the doorframe, legs shaky, chest heavy.
Isnât karma a bitch?
And all you do, is smile back.
A mirror of the man you truly deserve to be held by.
MASTERLIST, JJK MASTERLIST, TAGLIST.
2k special<3 been a sec since I wrote smut ig (or ive been so busy w asks that it feels forever). Thank u all for ur continued support and love, ur all incredible ilysm đ
â Your boyfriend, Suguru, cheats on you with your best friend and Satoruâs girlfriendâShoko. So what better is there when their exes get together?
Tags: [SMUT/ANGST w COMFORT - 18+] Childhoodbsf/bsfs bf!Gojo x best friendâs girlfriend/childhoodbsf!reader. Shokosugu (donthateme) Porn with a whole lotta plot. Cheating ig, backshots, missionary, handjob, mini cunnilingus, exhibionism/voyerism (?), hair pulling, breeding/condomless activities, yearning, pining Gojo⊠ehhh yk the drill. Satoru: s0311_tre !! WC: 7k.
You and Gojo can only exchange silent glances between eachother as you watch your boyfriendâSuguru Getoârub shoulders with his girlfriendâShoko Ieiri.
Sure, youâve all been best friends since middle school even before the couples in the group formedâyou and Suguru in your first year of college while Shoko with Satoru in high school.
But you arenât sure where the lines of platonic love and romantic love blur when your boyfriend is laughing way too closely with your friendâs girlfriend like theyâre sharing something far too intimate for the rest to hear.
Youâve known Satoru for years, sure. He is really attractive, probably caught your eye sometime when you first became friends.
Actually, not probablyâyou had told Shoko before ever getting involved with Suguru that you had developed a sort of crush on his friend.
In the end though, Shoko ended up getting closer with him despite what youâd told her and you naturally ended up forming a stronger bond with Geto.
However, youâve never rubbed noses with him or sung love songs to each other in karaokeâregardless of how drunk you were.
Yet, the sight of Suguru and Shoko carelessly touching each other and laughing together like their partners arenât watching them from afar, stirs a sickly feeling in your stomach.
Just what is going on?
Currently, youâre both standing outside of the cafeteria the four of you agreed to meet at to catch up.
A car accident on your way to your destination and you sent a message to your boyfriend saying that youâd be half an hour late to which you received a half-assed âOkay. No problem.â
Satoru got held up at work and was already planning on coming later.
Coincidentally, you both met in the parking lot and made your way together to the entry only to freeze outside when you saw your significant others head to head, cheeks rubbing as they snapped picturesâperfectly unaware of them being watched.
Your heart weakly beats in your chest, mood falling and head spinning as you stabilise yourself with a hand on Satoruâs shoulder.
âYouâre kidding.â He mumbles from your side, body equally as tense as yours is.
Every bone in you wants to convince yourself and the world around you that this is a misunderstanding, that the newfound closeness between them is just a product of years of friendship.
Nothing new, nothing personal.
The two of you briefly compose yourselves, pining your sour moods down and clipping your words before walking in and taking a seat opposite them.
Shoko is the first to notice you walk in, quickly but calmly putting her phone down as your eyes zero on her.
She sends a smile your way that has your insides churning, the image you have of one of your best friends slowly tainting itself with ugly slashes.
Suguru greets Satoru in a hug, which the latter returns strangely quiet and stoicâmaking the air on their side turn awkward quick.
Then he turns to you, reaches over the table and takes your hand in his gentle grasp to place a kiss on it.
This is wrong, you feel it swimming in your veinsâthe afterthought that you are already sitting in the ruins of both your relationship and Satoruâs.
And of your friendships.
From the way Shoko is by your boyfriend, and from how Suguru is by his best friendâs girlfriendâeverything in this setting screams that itâs out of order.
Your partner should be by your side. Not reaching across the table diagonally and greeting you with a warm smile like he wasnât wearing a bright one with the woman next to him mere minutes ago.
Gosh, can someone be this two faced?
You donât want to speculate it yet, but how can he look at you in such peace when heâs cheating behind your back.
Shoko, never being the one for PDA, just squeezes Satoruâs hand across the dark oak table and says a small hi.
A waitress comes by and asks for everyoneâs order. You take the opportunity to snap out of your trance and point to the first thing on the menu when she comes around to you.
After leaving, the tense atmosphere settles over the four of you like a fragile veilâmere words away from being shattered.
The two of them, oblivious to being caught, sport smiles on their faces as they wait for their significant others to say something.
They exchange a look between eachother like they already speak a completely different language youâll never learn and that theyâve mastered with time.
Your chest tightens, Satoruâs hand slips under the table and lands on your thigh to ground you seeing how tightly your knuckles are gripping the fabric of your skirt.
Breathing out, you regulate your thoughts just enough to manage a weak smile.
âHow have you two been?â You croak out, voice hoarse, raspy from the bundle in your throat.
Suguru doesnât miss a beat before replying.
âGood.â His voice is smooth like itâs always beenâsteady, warm like the tether he used to be for you, but now is for somebody else.
Your lips press into a thin line, unsatisfied with the brief answerâyouâre about to push for some more when Shoko interrupts.
âWe hiked Kamikochi last week.â
Your breath hitches, the hand underneath the table catches Satoruâs as your heart drops.
Kamikoichi is a scenic mountain valley youâve dreamed of hiking ever since Suguru had introduced you to his hobby.
Itâs remote, beautiful, peacefulâbut your boyfriend had always some excuse for you two not go.
Whether it was work or just personal circumstances that didnât allow neither of you to go, there was something between you both and that special place.
And now, youâve just found out heâs climbed it with someone else.
Without you even knowing.
Itâs not as small as it seems, not really. Not when youâve both been getting farther away from each otherâleaving you chasing after the person youâre dating on some days.
The worst part is this isnât an accident. Suguru has always known how much you wanted to visit the place just like he knows you like sitting next to him in restaurants and cafes because you like being close.
Yet, here you are.
Being grounded by Satoruâs strong grip beneath the table as your breathing shakes and your eyes sting.
Your voice is a ghost of how it usually is when a tight smile slowly stretches across your face and you mutter. âThatâs nice.â
Satoru is not better than you though. Heâs spent a good while of his life with Shoko. Middle-school sweethearts who know nothing but everything about each other.
Theyâre the kind of couple that couldnât be more different but that persevere through time.
Even when the roads are rocky and the odds against them.
Even when Satoru knew deep down they would get nowhere.
He always felt a stronger pull to other women, he always saw how sheâd be bored of him more often than not.
But he still clung onto that little fantasy that heâd be one and done. Married to his high-school sweetheart with a kid on the way and a white picket-fence house in place.
He still clung onto that fantasy even when on some nights, his mind kept drifting to his best friendâs girlfriend.
It would be a lie to say that Satoru liked Shoko all along.
No, you took over his being since the beginning.
But 15 and stupid, when Shoko confessed, he was quick to jump in a relationship without second thought.
Wanting to be cool and all with a girlfriend in middle school, without actually weighing how much his stupid acceptance of her confession would reroute his whole life.
Now heâs only somebody to you whoâs at arms length and a friend.
Maybe for now, the worst part of this whole situation is that you both canât even tell if things are over between your respective partners.
You canât tell if Shoko and Suguru have tangled their very obvious feelings for eachother any farther than what youâre both seeing with your eyes.
Canât tell if Suguruâs lips have been pressed against hers like they do with yoursâsoftly, slowly, deliberately.
Canât figure out if he touches her with the same kind of reverence he does with you.
Or if he has already mapped out and memorised every dip of her skin, every surface thatâs painted by moles.
With your chest clenched tight and Satoruâs comforting presence, you sit through the excruciatingly painful little coffee date.
Where Suguru laughs richly like he hasnât done it in forever.
And where youâve never seen Shoko be so happyâsmile so much, look so free.
Itâs skinning on so many different levels.
Watching the people youâve both devoted years of your life to, turn to others, and said others being people who you trusted with your life.
By the time you and Satoru excuse yourself, the sun is yawning in the horizon and going to bed.
Your feet barely hit three steps in the parking lot before the sob youâve been swallowing down comes out through your cracked chest.
Satoru remains quiet as he wraps an arm around your shoulder and brings you over to his car thatâs nearest.
Sitting in the backseat, you sob with no controlâtears staining his shirt as he holds your head snugly against his chest while his other hand runs up and down your back in an attempt to calm you down.
But youâre shattered beyond words. Feeling like the universe has played a cruel trick on you, like itâs getting you back for something you havenât done.
Your cries ring like sirens in Satoruâs head, heâs becoming all too aware of the situation youâre both in the more you cry and it only makes his insides churn.
Frankly, Gojo isnât sure how to move on from here.
How does he exist without the two people heâs had all along?
What if you leave him too?
His bones ice with the thought, a chill running down his spine.
For now, he can only hold you and hope the slashes in your heart are still mendable.
Your whimpers subside after a while and your evening steadies. Head feeling heavy against Satoru, you fall asleep on accident.
Later, you wake up in a bedroom you recognise aa Gojoâs and for a split second, you allow yourself to convince your consciousness that it was all a dream.
But when he comes through the door, dressed in loungewear and sagged shoulders, a pitiful look in his eyes and a tea mug in his hand, you know itâs not.
âHey.â He whispers, reluctantly sitting on the edge of the bed youâve sinked in again.
Staring at the ceiling, you barely have the mental energy to mutter a âHi.â back, but you do anyway.
Your voice is dry, scratchy from the earlier cryingâthroat raw and begging for water when Satoru interrupts your mind.
âHere, I got you some tea.â
A small smile touches your face at how he seemed to have read your thoughts.
âThank you.â You rasp, sitting back up and letting your back hit the headboard as you grab the mug from him.
Itâs warm against your fingers, the leaves dance on the waterâs surfaceâpainting it in a swirl of purples and pinks. Showing that itâs a red berries kind of tea.
The smell climbs up to your nose and your shoulders relax just a bit as the fruity scent envelops your tense muscles.
Satoru watches you with attentive eyes, tracking the fatigue etched on your face from the recent events and the tear stains on the corner of your eyes.
Taking a sip, you feel your temples pulse in relief before the pain in them completely leaves. A satisfied hum escapes you before you remember something.
âYou drink tea?â The question comes out lighthearted, a small chuckle biting the end of your words.
His head drops as a laugh also rips from him.
âNo.â He replies, letting a breath pass before the confession. âGot it specially for you.â
A warm sensation blooms across your chest. You canât help but be taken back to middle school when you were whipped for him.
The feeling sits wrongly in your chest, but you feel nostalgic for a second. A thin veil of safety draping over you in this fragile moment with your thoughts.
Noticing how youâve fallen quiet, Satoruâs lips part to say something when a faint chime echoes through the room.
Fishing his phone out of his pocket, the lock screen lights up with the most recent notification.
One from Suguru that reads âMe and Shoko are going to Kyoto next week for three days. Iâve already asked Y/N but she hasnât answered, you wanna tag along too?â
Thereâs a bitter taste on his tongue as he reads the first few words alone. What excuse would they put if he were to ask what they were going to do alone in Kyoto for three days.
That you donât like to travel? That Satoru is too busy to go? That Suguru knows the city better? Or that Shoko has some business there which she canât go alone to?
He wonders whether to bite his tongue and go, or stay behind with youâguessing you feel no pull to be with your boyfriend and his side chick.
When it hits him that you havenât seen the message.
Youâre looking at him over the rim of your mug, curiosity swimming in your irises under the dimly lit room.
âWhat?â
Only having woken up a few minutes ago.
Taking a look at your groggy, still sleep-entranced figure, he ponders for a split second before deciding.
âWeâre going to Kyoto.â
And to Kyoto you go next week.
With a trunk full of bags and your partners sleeping on each other in the backseat, your throats dry, and some radio station playing on low, Satoru is driving you all to the city.
You donât know when you actually agreed to do this, only that by Tuesday your suitcase was zipped shut tightly and Wednesday you were getting your ass hauled into shotgun.
Satoruâs grip around the steering wheel is tightâknuckles turning a pasty white, the leathers stitches digging lines into his palm.
Youâre biting your lip continuously, stomach flipping as you think of what to anticipate the next few days.
The silent hours in the car stretch on for what feels like forever, even when the GPS is bright with the numbers â30 min.â till you reach the hotel.
With the two knocked out in the back, you lean over the console and whisper close enough so Satoru hopefully hears.
âAre you sure this was a good idea?â You ask, eyebrows drawn together. His hands ease off the wheel, gaze flickering to you before glueing back on the road.
He breathes out, heavy and frustrated. You watch how his lips press into a thoughtful straight line.
Thatâs enough of an answer.
His hands land back on ten and twelve as he smoothly swerves off the highway and into a street, ten minutes out.
The hotel the two loverbirds have booked is nothing short of luxurious but comfortable. Itâs black, sleek and polished outside with mahogany walls in the lobby and a soft, cream carpet on the floor.
Checking in, you acquire two key cards. A room for you and Suguru and one for Satoru and Shoko.
How itâs supposed to be.
The remaining time settling in passes within a blink, you shake Suguru awake while Satoru carries his girlfriend into the hotel.
Your boyfriend carries her bags and his while you take yours, leaving Satoruâs bags in the car.
Seeing that Satoru still hasnât come down when you leave your hotel room to find him and tell him that Shokoâs bags are in your room, you go to the car to help with his belongings to find him sitting in the driverâs seat.
It isnât particularly warm this time of year, thereâs a chill that clings to your skin and makes the hair on it stand.
Confused, you slide in the passenger seat and shut the door behind you closed, shielding yourself from the cold.
âSatoru, what are you doing here?â
He looks startled by you coming even though he doesnât show it. His hands are in his pockets, fists clamped shut like heâs trying to hold in a secret.
You feel the tension in the car rise the longer he stays quiet, head bowed.
Then he breaks.
âFuck, Y/NâŠâ He mutters.
âWhat?â You whisper, becoming increasingly worried. âAre you oââ
âI found hickeys on Shoko.â He blurts out, resting his head over the steering wheel as his words pierce through you.
Youâre at a loss of words for moments. Head spinning and ringing with every vowel he pronounced.
âWhat..?â You voice again. Unbelieving. No, you refuse to believe it.
Thereâs no wayâ
Thereâs no way your Suguru did that.
Thereâs just no way, right?
He wouldnât do that.
Right?
Your breathing becomes shallow, lungs screaming for air as you struggle to breatheâa full panic attack washing over you.
Satoruâs already moving when he understands whatâs going on, hands wrapping around your shaking ones and pulling you close to him.
You tremble like youâre freezing in his arms, he offers the warmth youâve been missing in your live for months now.
The one Suguru has taken and given to another now.
He hears your heart fragment in pieces through the raw gasps youâre taken. Sounds stuck somewhere between struggled breaths and choked sobs.
Nothing hurts quite like this.
His arms hold you tight enough for you to not completely slip into the sad frenzy you were in last time it all crashed over you.
After your hyperventilating dies down, you push yourself off him. Eyes glossed over but no tears staining your cheeks.
You refuse to cry.
You canât.
Youâve only just made it here.
âI want to go home.â You plead, eyes full of hope that heâll oblige.
His head shakes in a no and you feel the horrible feeling of almost crying climb up your throat again. Making you want to gag.
Satoruâs voice rings softly. âI canât take you home.â
You inhale a sharp, painful breath.
âWeâll stay until weâre sure⊠itâs really what we think, okay?â His hand reaches your cheek and caresses it.
You donât mean to snuggle against it, but your body craves comfort more than the rational side of your brain can process.
Nodding against him, you take a few more deep breaths and you both leave the car.
The ride to the fourth floor is quiet.
Exchanging brief, tense goodbyes, you both leave the unspoken truths hanging in the air as you both disappear in your rightful rooms.
Suguru is knocked out again in the bed when you come in, back facing the window on the king-sized bed.
Tired from the crying and exhausted from the stressing, you silently slip under the covers behind himâpulling yourself closest to the other end of the bed, not wanting to risk touching him.
Not after you found out his hands hold the strings of another womanâs heart.
Evening rolls in the form of knock on the door. You toss and turn till the sound annoys you enough to wake up for your eyes to see the moon hanging in the sky through the window.
The knocks continue as you lie on your back for a second and realise Suguru isnât in bed. Assuming itâs him at the door, probably locked out, you push yourself off the soft mattress and drag your feet to the door.
Pulling it open, thereâs no dark haired, onyx-eyed man standing there, instead, his best friend is leaning over the doorframe with bloodshot eyes.
âLet me in.â He immediately goes. You step aside without a word, leaving the door to him which he locks once shut closed.
Leading him further into the room, you sit back down on your bed, rubbing your eyes tiredly as you start to feel your outside clothesâthe ones you hadnât changed out from before nappingâclinging onto your skin.
You drawl out the first words. âWhatâs up?â Voice still laced with sleep and weak.
A loud, stressed sigh leaves Satoru and your eyes fly up to see him running a hand down his face.
âTheyâre on a date. Went to dinner alone while we slept.â
Taking a look at the clock on the bedside table, you realise that itâs 9 PM.
The fact that they both probably are eating and laughing away together should have you crumbling again, crying harder than before because this is really the only confirmation you need to know that theyâre more than friends.
Instead, a humourless laugh escapes you and Satoru quirks an eyebrow.
Youâre exhausted from everything.
The months of excuses and lies. The hushed phone calls and late-night âdrives.â. The lack of intimacy and looks.
Somewhere between those growing cracks, a seed of self-loathing started to grow.
Now, you hate yourself for staying, for letting it get this far so that they both feel comfortable enough to play in your faces.
Itâs humiliating, really.
Satoru stands from where he was perched against the desk, taking up the space beside you on the bed.
His weight crinkling the comforter beneath him and making the bed groan in protest.
âYou okay?â He asks, head tilted to where youâre just staring at the floorâeyes lifeless.
Brushing a stray strand of hair off your face and tucking it behind your ear, Satoru tries to read your emotionless face.
Sighing, you mumble. âI donât think I care anymore, there has been nothing going on with me and Suguru for a while now.â
Satoru feels his heartbeat in his ears as you confess the actual state of your relationship. Caught off guard by the realness in your tone.
Narrowing his eyes to the open window, he watches as the tree leaves rustle in the distance under the winds strong blow.
The breeze seeping into the room tousles his hair, offering to hold the conversation as you both hold your words.
He takes the wheel again when he slowly confesses again. âYeah, me and Shoko, too.â
Your head rises to watch him. The soft curve of his jawline under the moonlight, the pale strands of his hair.
And the fading glimmer behind his azure eyes.
Your chest feels tight with the wrong feelings building up the last months.
Emotions so heavy that it hurts.
Satoru has always been here for you, always.
When you argued with your boyfriend.
When you lost your grandma years ago.
When you got fired.
Heâs always been a rock for you when you were shaky.
And now you can only try and offer some stability while you also crumble apart.
Itâs not everyday you see him vulnerable with you or anyone.
Hesitantly placing your hand on his sleeve, your fingers wrap around the grey material of his sweatshirt, bringing his attention from the shining moon to you again.
âIâm sorry.â Your heartfelt apology lacks a reason behind it, why are you apologising?
Is it out of pity that both you and him ended up like this?
Cheated on and hurt?
Or are you apologising for your boyfriend going for a taken woman, in his stead?
Or perhaps, youâre apologising for never speaking up.
For never telling him how you felt, thus leading you to where you are.
His face softens, eyes crinkling at the corners. Blue irises holding a kind of longing youâve never seen him dedicate to his own girlfriend.
Maybe Gojo isnât any better than Suguru.
Leading on a woman for nearly a decade, never committing fully or putting a ring on it because his heart belonged with someone else.
You feel your heart jam against your chest relentlessly as he gazes down at you, eyes flickering between yours and your lips before sliding back up.
He doesnât shy away from being caught in the act when your breath hitches again, a small gasp passing between the two of you as the gap closes little by little.
Your hand falls from his sleeve, landing somewhere behind you as your palm digs into the mattress and you balance your weight on it.
The more Satoru leans over, the more you pull back, feeling the pressure in the room thicken and your veins pulse with anticipation.
This wasnât in your plans, yet the sight of his low-lidded eyes and glossy pink lips from running his tongue over them hazes you mind.
Making your thoughts a mush of nothing with sense. All rationality leaving out the open window.
The silence turns suffocating as you become unable to move away and he lowers his head closer to your face, noses eventually brushing as he breaks the tension little by little.
Your resolve going with it.
âI think Iâve always kind of known I wasnât the one for her.â He whispers, lips barely ghosting yours. Leaving a lingering shadow behind when he pulls back just a bit to look into your eyes.
Unable to think correctly, you blurt out the first thing your heart is begging to find out.
âThen who are you the one for?â
Ocean blue consumes you.
Satoru stares and stares till he finds out what heâs looking for behind your eyes.
The second he sees the flicker of hope.
He loses it.
Lips crashing onto yours in a hungry meeting. Desperation and devotion mixing halfway through as his hands find your waist and claw at them to assure that youâll never leave his grip once heâs got you.
The remaining sorry amount of oxygen you had in your lungs is swiftly stolen away as he presses and presses his lips against yours.
Years of watching, yearning and silent praying for you to be his bleeding through every swift swipe of his tongue down your throat.
Finding the hidden places of you that heâs always dreamed of exploring. He learns the base of your mouth instantly, taking and taking from you your reciprocity.
You kiss back with equal fire, trying to keep afloat in his battle. Youâve wanted him for as long as he has, if not longer.
So you wonât allow him to sit there and think heâs the only one who has been suffering the last decade.
Not when you imagined yourself in Shokoâs place so many times.
When sheâd come to work limping, her neck painted in blooming bruises and love bites that would make your stomach churn.
Or when sheâd celebrate another year with the man you secretly could never forget.
Especially when the nights at home alone started to get more frequent while Suguru ran off to another womanâs arms.
He unlatches from your lips with a string of saliva stubbornly holding you two together.
As if youâve spent so much time seperated that now the cards on your side do anything to keep you connected.
Heâs slightly panting, chest rising and falling erratically. Heartbeat seeping through his fingertips and onto your waist.
Youâre sure he can also feel your heart slamming against your ribcage.
The distance between you two disappears once more as his lips find yours again. This time, in a slower kiss.
His hands unclasp from around your waist, standing up from the edge of the bed, he parts your thighs before slotting himself in between. Pressing his palms beneath your thighs, he wraps them around his own midsection and climbs up the mattress.
Your fall is cushioned by the soft comforter when he gets down on his elbows, hips pressing against your aching core.
Lips melting against eachother and filling the room with only the sound of kissing as you make out, your hands fall from his shoulders and roam over his shirt.
You feel him tense under your warm, needy touch as you tug at the end of his shirt. He parts from you for a brief second.
Baby blues looking down at you from a veil of lush, before he pushes himself off you and lifts his shirt.
Catching your breath with his breathtaking physique, heâs quick to pull your shirt over your head too and throw it somewhere far away.
A breath passes only between him tasting your lips again. His now bare chest pressing against your lacy bra. You feel his growing erection strain again his sweatpants and press against your own warmth.
His body subconsciously ruts his hips against yours, searching for friction. You almost moan at how much you feel between the layers.
Fingers trailing down from where they were tracing every dip of Satoruâs washboard abs, you slowly reach the waistband of his pants and still your jaw till he shows any sign of taking this further.
As if you stopping physically hurt him, he kisses you harsher, biting your bottom lip to slide his tongue to its rightful place again.
Your hands slip inside his gray sweatpants, fingers grazing a bead of pre-cum dampening the black cotton of his boxers.
Satoru lets out a deep growl as his hands grip your hip.
Pulling back, you hook your fingers inside of his pockets and pull down his pants before reaching inside his underwear and wrapping your hands around his twitching boner.
The grumble Satoru lets out before moving from your lips to your neck goes straight down to your leaking pussy, making it clench around you.
He chuckles as he nips at a sensitive area in the crook of your neck that has you whimpering.
âYouâre already trembling, baby.â He teases, voice low and private like thereâs somebody else in the room.
You exhale, pushing his words aside as you pull his cock free from restraints and land a few slow strokes on it.
Your mind rewires with how hard and thick it feels in your hand alreadyâthoughts slipping to how it will feel in a few seconds when itâs inside you.
Unaware of its length though, your fingers straighten up along the height of it and you keep trailing upwards till you hit the pale mushroom head.
Your breath hitches when you get just how long and thick he isâfeeling the veins in your hands makes you salivate even more.
Satoru, seemingly aware of his effect on you, starts humping his cock in your frozen hand while itching temporary marks on your skin that would mean so much more than words tomorrow morning.
Snapping back to reality, leaving the daydreaming to the side, your grip tightens around him again.
Collecting the clear liquid on his tip, you smear it around what you can of his size and apply pressure as you stroke him.
His muscles tense under your hand, your smell invading his nose is doing nothing to help his situation where he might cum like an inexperienced teenager within minutes.
Your head tilts back when he unclasps your bra with a flick of his fingers and attaches his teeth to a peaked nipple from the nights chill.
He devotedly sucks on the sensitive bud, sending jolts of electricity through your body as your thighs beg to clamp together.
Pleasure mixes with frustration when he moves to the other after a while. Your strokes gets sloppy.
Youâre a whining mess beneath him, begging for him to just get inside of you when you shimmy down your pants and slot him between your thighs.
Snugly sitting under your twitching pussy, Satoru almost loses it and paints your flimsy panties white as he finishes kissing your girlies.
Pushing himself off you, he smirks down at your frowning face.
âYouâre one needy girl, arenât you?â He muses, pressing one final kiss to your lips before dipping in between your legs.
He pushes your knees to your chest, angling your lace-covered pussy till itâs sitting prettily in front of his mouth, screaming his name in morse.
His breath is hot over your sensitive core when he brings his face closer to the poking bud, fanning over the surface of your frustration.
You almost cry out of need, fingers gripping the sheets like theyâre a lifeline you need.
Hooking a hand under your ass, he pulls the strings of your thong with two fingers and doesnât even bother to completely throw it off your body before drowning himself in your essence.
A high-pitched moan immediately cracks from your chest, bouncing off the walls and straight to Satoruâs cock again.
He gives your crying pussy a few greedy licks, tongue flattened out in eagerness to catch every drop.
Then, with a kiss, he parts. Getting back up on his knees and holding your hips strongly as he lines himself up.
Your eyes are glossed over with lust as you feel his tip nudge your entrance, a quiet warning of how youâre about to be ripped apart when you both hear loud footsteps in the corridor followed by hushed voices.
Your heart drops to your stomach when you realise what youâre doing. Limbs freezing on the bed youâre laying on.
Satoru looks over his shoulder, seeing the light beneath the front door spill into the room and the faint noise of Shokoâs recognisable heels clinking against the marble.
He scoffs lightly under his breath, unbothered with them if it wasnât for him feeling reality crash into you and threaten to take this moment heâs been waiting decades for, from him.
Clinking his tongue, a grin stretches across his face as he turns to you again, pushing himself in one go.
He doesnât bottom out just yet, but just breaching that first ring of resistance he deems too tight for someone whoâs dating his best friend, gets the reaction he needed from you.
A guttural moan frees itself from your throat, eyes clamping shut as the stretch consumes you and the sound bleeds through the thin walls.
Satoru makes no attempt in silencing you, fingers tracing absentminded, shapeless forms on your hip till he sees your slacked jaw regain movement.
He pushes himself further inside, halfway through now, fighting his own battles as you grip him like vice.
Another string of whimpers and choked moans spill from you, his consciousness drinking it all in, fuelling him with more need to completely ruin you.
Have you get undone by the hands that truly deserve to touch your body.
Hands that hold unconditional love for you.
Not hands that hold the blood of someone elses heart.
And that is exactly what Suguru and Shoko, in the next room over, will understand tonight.
Falling back down and pressing his chest against you, he whispers in your ear, aware only him that you both have spectators now.
âCome on, sweetheart, just a few more inches.â He should sound cocky with a voice so smooth and confident ringing in your ear like that, but he sounds so soft and intimate when heâs so close and so warm.
You nod against him, half gone and half full.
With one final push, Satoru bottoms out and you canât help but moan his name when his balls hit your ass and when youâre so full of him that you can feel him in your throat.
âSatoru!â
His grin grows impossibly tighter, corners of his lips curving upwards and pining themselves there for what you think will be the rest of the night.
He brushes the hair on your angel-like features away and presses soft kisses to your face as you readjust to his side.
Never having been stretched this much.
âYou okay, baby?â He asks, hands settling on your waist. You hum, clawing at his shoulders for support.
It only takes him that short melodic sound to pull back and slam home, pulling out a loud moan from you.
The room fills with your screams, whimpers, mewls and moans as he pounds you till youâre dust.
Too stupid and fucked out and gone, you spewl out random bullshit as aggressive plap!plap!plap! echoes through the space.
Satoruâs hair sticks to his forehead as he keeps thrusting into youâbarely putting in any effort to make his ruts hit hard because youâre pulling him in so strongly he barely needs to work.
You blink and heâs hooking an arm under your waist, flipping you on your stomach without warning.
Sliding himself back in, you groan against the pillow under your head when the new position hits places youâre not sure youâve discovered yet.
Not by yourself, and surely not with Suguru.
He kisses your back like heâs claiming yet another part of you. Like he wants to make a dent in your spine with how much he can love you.
Your tongue feels like a senseless piece of meat hanging out of your mouth as he fucks your brains out.
Head lolling down again, muffling your screams, Satoruâs hand tangles in your hair when he pulls your face off it and growls in your ear.
âNo, let them hear you.â
Your heart skips a beat in your chest when you process his words, eyes rolling back subconsciously when he finds that spongy spot inside of you.
The thought should frighten you.
Fucking your best friendâs boyfriend and your boyfriendâs best friend isnât payback for what Suguru has done with Shoko.
The thought should dry you up.
Instead, it makes you even wetter.
Filthy juices spilling down Satoruâs cock as he hits home harshly.
The sound of skin clapping against skin drowns out the thoughts of how wrong this all is. But the thought of how good it feels prevails.
It seeps into your bones and you allow yourself to fall victim to Satoruâs sweet kisses on your shoulder.
The coil in your stomach shakes with every thrust, thinning out with every brush and kiss of his tip in your cervix.
Oh god. You think.
Only not realising, and far too late, that every drag of his cock is so delicious because heâs raw in it.
âSatoruâ.â You croak out
Marking you as his from the very first time.
Oh god. You think as your legs start shaking and you feel the euphoria start to wash over you.
âOh god.â You moan as the sweet release washes over you.
Still spasming around his cock, walls gripping to him, he flips you around till youâre on top and his back hits the matress.
Firm hands hold you by your hips as he rides you on him through your own orgasm as you call out for him.
Your sensitive bud, oozing out a sticky clear substance, smears it on his base as he plops you down on his dick.
A bulge forming through your stomach, his own groans smoothly mixing with your overwhelmed ones.
He follows after dropping you a few times on his length, arms going limp by his sides as you sit on his cock and take his cum straight in your tummy.
A relieved sound escapes you. Your body falls forward, defeated, and your head lands on his warm chest.
You feel his arms warm around your back loosely.
For now, as you listen to his heart still frantically breathing, you let tomorrow carry the weight of your problems and fall asleep shortly after he presses a soft kiss to your head.
Thank god the door was locked.
Or was it?
You stirr awake what feels like five minutes after being filled by Satoruâs release, the sticky substance glueing your inner thighs as you shift.
Your eyes scream in protest against the light shining down at youânot from the morning sun, soft and mellow.
No, far from it.
The hotel roomâs lights blind you for a second when you open your eyes.
Youâre still on the soft surface of Satoruâs chest, safely embraced.
Your voice is groggy with sleep when you blink up at him. âSatoru⊠Turn the light offâŠâ You mumble, head dropping once more.
Feeling your head being caressed by his fingers, you almost slip away into dreamland again when his words ring.
âTell your boyfriend that.â His voice is too light, too quiet and calm for what heâs just said.
Your head jumps off his chest, eyes skimming the room quickly until they land on the figure in the doorway.
Fuck.
The figures.
Shoko and Suguru.
Dressed in their dinner attire.
His hair messy, her makeup ruined by streaking mascara.
You donât know if they heard everything and if they spiralled with it going on.
You canât tell the difference between that and if they were to have had sex.
That says a lot more than anything.
Satoruâs smirking at Suguru, holding you like the chess pieces are all on his side and the game is over.
And it is.
Shokoâs holding herself against the doorframe, legs shaky, chest heavy.
Isnât karma a bitch?
And all you do, is smile back.
A mirror of the man you truly deserve to be held by.
MASTERLIST, JJK MASTERLIST, TAGLIST.
2k special<3 been a sec since I wrote smut ig (or ive been so busy w asks that it feels forever). Thank u all for ur continued support and love, ur all incredible ilysm đ
Frat Choso hooking up with a girl at their frat party, but heâs used to always leading, but reader is actually dominant and sheâs leading. Heâs a moaning and whimpering mess. He tries to stay silent but he canât and they get caught by fratjo đ
CAUGHT OUT W FRAT!CHOSO
MASTERLIST FEM!READER
"Shhh. You don't wan't anyone to hear. Do you?"
Currently you're in the bedroom of Choso Kamo. Vice-president of Delta-Kappa-Nu fraternity. Caught up in a whirlwind of conversations, Choso had approached you with a bashful smile and you got to talking.
The guy was really sweet, and stupidly attractive, so when he asked if you wanted to ditch the crowd, of course you obliged.Â
Which is how you ended up in this situation. Not that you're mad about it.
"Shhh. You don't want anyone to hear. Do you?"
"No-" He bucks his hips needily, rubbing his tip at your entrance but too far to provide any real pleasure. He's flushed all over, cock throbbing red under thin latex. His size stretching the condom out, engorged and swollen.
This is the fourth time you've brought him to the brink before leaving him at tipping point.
"Just lay there and take what I give you. Can you do that for me princess?"
"Princess? Fuck- Yeah, I can. M'sorry-"
You sink back down, a firm hand pressed against his carved abdomen holding his frantic hips down. The harsh line of his stomach blurring into a patch of dark hair, loosely trimmed.
"You don't like my little name for you huh? You don't wanna be my pretty princess?"
"No- I do. Want it so bad."
"Good boy."
His tongue lolls out of his mouth like a puppy, head tipping back and letting out high pitched whines as you roll your hips on top of him.Â
"Fuck, Mommy, I'm soâŠso close."Â
Suddenly the door slams open. A head of white hair pokes in.
"Wassup Kamo, you got her moaning like a pornstar in here! Big up to you my gu-"
"Mommy please, give it to me."
Gojo pauses. That's not you who is making all those girlish noises.
"Shit, sorry buddyâŠI'll uh, leave you to it."
Choso stiffens up, eyes going wide. Luckily he doesn't have to think about what just happened, and all the inevitable teasing later, because you pick up the pace again.
No need to worry about his frat bros when he can just go dumb underneath you instead.
MASTERLIST Dont forget to interact to support authors 𫶠my requests are open too đ„č
TAGLIST(OPEN JUST ASK TO BE ADDED): @cherrytintedlens @stqrgumi @salad85 @megssleepygirl @jiyoonly @luvrmegumi @fushigurlfriend @doumassexywife @mrskamikazekaito @chososprettygirl @xcdchu @luaz13Â @popeheywardssecretgf @minayans @akroakai @teekistars
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â You canât really mess with Satosuguâs princess ;)
Tags: [ANGST (?) ] protective bsfs!satosugu x bullied!reader, slight violence, harsh language, Naoya and Mahito as bullies. Brief mention of childhoodbsf!choso.
This request <3
âNo, Yuji, she wonât reject you, just go.â You usher the 16-year-old onto his homeroom classroom before he has another go at trying to convince both you and himself that his recent little crush on a classmate is a joke and that heâll make a fool of himself.
You donât think Yuji is aware that there is half the girls of his grade drooling over him and Megumiâthe two oblivious duo thatâs a perfect pair of ying and yang vibes.
This is usually Chosoâs responsibilityâbeing smooth with words that actually get through his brotherâs thick skillâbut heâs currently fighting a nasty cold in bed and so you were the one who had to listen to Yuji gush like the middle-schooler he is about his crush.
With a deep sigh finally freeing itself from your chest, you spin on your heel and start to dread the way back to your own classroomâtwo floors up.
Being a senior has itâs perksâsure, you get to participate in less after school activities, cleaning, but youâre not sure itâs worth it at the end of the day with the amount of exams, homework and stairs you have climb on the way to your floor.
Your feet feel like cement bricks as you drag them across the hall and up the stairs. Actually, you feel like a heavy potato sack, particularly tired from the never ending way.
The thought of only having one more class should jump your mood and give you just about enough energy to make it through, but honestly, youâre not sure you can stand the talk of integrating equations againâŠ
And to think you have to do the college entry exam in a few monthsâŠâ
Your mind subconsciously drifts onto that rabbithole that gets you all anxias you continue climbing the stairs, failing to warn you about the approaching footsteps and person behind you until a hand wraps around your wrist and startles you.
Yanked backwards, you fall back onto leveled ground on the previous floor you were and fall right onto your knees. You cringe at the loud sound of your collision but quickly feel the pain shooting up your body and replacing that embarrassment with tears stining your eyes and blurring your vision.
The firsthand pain that clouds your mind is so strong that you canât react or budge to see who has done this to youâbut said person is quickly revealed when he starts talking.
âWell well, Y/N. Didnât know you also fucked around with younger boys?â Naoya snarks.
You canât tell when it started, his harassment. But youâre sure that his hate for you stems from something beyond hating how you know many people.
Mostly though, he makes your life hell for being friends with guysâas if he has some kind of rightful ownership over who you can befriend.
Maybe it was in kindergarten when you first met Choso on the playground. He was a bit of a loner if you can say that, an only child at that time with the most adorable chubby cheeks and long dark hair same as the one he still has today.
You were never one to care what others thought of someone and approached him without thinking twice about it. Plopping down onto the ground and showing him your brand new barbie.
He didnât understand what you were doing, just stared at you with those pitch less black eyes till you smiled and he deemed you no longer a threat.
Then a friendship blossomed, Yuji was born, Megumi soon came in the picture. You automatically became like the big sister they didnât haveâwell for little Yuji at leastâand grew with them.
In high school, Choso peeked outside of his shell one singular time and met Suguru Geto who you didnât hesitate to keep around after finding out they were friends and since your childhood best friend has a tendency to forget about his acquaintances, you forced Geto to hang around and eventually become part of the group.
Suguru is a group package with Satoru so he came too, and in 9th grade, you ended up with them in the same classâthe bond between the three of you deepening and strengthening over the year.
Now, year 12, youâre still together.
And you know a lot of people.
Unlike Naoya who has been rejected since he was still in diapers for his horrible attitude and even worse manners.
So he made your life hell.
For being a girl.
For having more friends.
For getting everything he wants.
The words you intend to spit right back catch in your throat as another wave of painâtwice as strongâwashes over you and you realise you may have fractured something.
The stairs you fell down from werenât a fewâŠ
Naoya breaks out in a maniac laugh at your silence. âWhat? Did I hit the bullseye so well you canât even bite back today?â
A loud, satisfied laugh interrupts him midway and your heart sinks even further in your chest.
âOh Y/N, Y/N, we told you playing around with boys would get you into trouble ~â Mahito spawns behind your back, ice-cold hands catching your shoulders and forcefully pulling you up.
You blink on instinct and the tears that were brimming your waterline cascade down like a waterfall and you hate how weak it makes you because when he stands you up, you accidentally let a tiny whimper in pain escape.
And he relishes in the sound gravely.
âDoes it hurt?â He coos right next to your ear, sending a chill down your spine that you wonât be able to shake.
Hands still on your shoulder keeping you somewhat steady as your knees beg you to take the weight theyâre supporting off them in their weakened state.
Youâre frozen, too consumed by the injury to fight back and that gives them too much ground to play with.
âAw, say something. Itâs no fun when you bite back. Say, where are your friends? Nanami, Geto, Goj-â He gets cut off by Naoya a step behind him.
âThose arenât her friends, she just fucks them.â
You swallow, head spinning from helplessnessâall you can do is continue to silently cry.
Youâve explained over and over how you have no romantic interest in your male friends and have no intention in sleeping with them.
Yet, Naoya and Mahito follow you around like hawksâwatching your every move.
Despite seeing how you donât even touch with themâno hugs (even when you used to give and record from them, you stopped accepting or offering because you got scared what theyâd do to you the day they saw you actually touch one of them), no more after-school hangouts or staying with them in breaks.
It led you to feel like a horrible friend at some point when you missed out on being there for them due to the fear of getting hurt again for having friends.
Finding barely any strength left in you, your voice is paper-thin, quiet and frail when it brushes past Mahitoâs ears like a final prayer.
âI donât sleep with any of themâŠâ
He snorts, then breaks into a full laugh and repeats your words as he drops your frame to laugh with Naoya who obviously follows.
Once again, your bruised knees kiss the floor as you unceremoniously fall and wince.
Mahito lunges forward, not to save you but so cruelly push you against the floor even furtherâforcing your body to fall forward with the push of your back.
Your chin nearly slams against the floor from the sheer force, head barely turning the last second as you whimper again.
Salty years leak onto the floor you go limp againstâstill conscious but drifting somewhere far away.
Theyâre about to throw another round of depicting, disgusting words at you when you hear a loud crack! echo through the empty hall.
âMan, what the fuck!?â Mahitoâs voice booms through the corridor, the pain and surprise laced into his tone reverberating into your pulsing skull.
You hear his deep groan cut off as he looks up to find Gojo and Geto looking down at him. Blood drips down onto his lips, coating them in the red, metalic liquid.
He scoffs, in disbelief. âReally? Youâre going to protect that slut?â Geto has a go at shutting him up this time, kicking his leg and making him stumble onto the floor.
Mahito lands a few meters away from you, his blood dripping onto the floor as he winces from the pain heâs now experiencingâlike a mirror of yours.
You silently watch the way he tries to scramble away as Suguru draws closer and Satoruâs steps fade out of earshot when he moves away.
Hearing a faint; âHey, I didnât do anything.â, you know where the white-haired boy is going. Naoya isnât going to be easily let off the hook.
Youâre brought back to Mahito and Geto when you hear him continue to run his mouth.
âDamn, you must be something filthy for both of them to defend your whoââ
Geto lands a blow across his face, making him choke on blood and busting his lip open.
Suguruâs eyes are coated with a layer of darkness youâve never seen before. It momentarily disappears when he turns to you.
Voice gruff, rough, when he asks. âHow long has this been going on?â
You donât mean to fall quiet, scrambling for what mightâve actually set all of this offâor when Mahito came into the equation.
But nothing comes to mind.
Everything has just kind of been there in a subtle, invisible way that makes it feel like it doesnât exist till one day itâs piled up so much you canât breathe.
There were times theyâd talk crap about you to new people so theyâd stay away.
Or tell teachers lies about you making out with boys in the bathrooms.
Cut up your uniform if they got possession of it.
Push you in hallsâranging from harsh shoulder bumps to tripping you.
The list could unfortunately go on.
And you remain quiet.
That speaks so much more than any words could.
In the background, Naoya is already taken care of. Gone, having ran away after getting punched in the stomach.
Pussy, thinks Gojo, lips pressed into a thin line.
He joins Suguru, figures steaming with angerâfists ready to jump and spill blood if he dares to say anything else.
Satoruâs eyes flicker to you, the way youâre curled up on the floor. Eyes rimmed red, faintly shaking, muscles spasming, unmoving.
Immediately, he snaps out of it after seeing your conditionâelbowing Suguru and crouching next to you.
He comes within your line of sight, face drawn tight with concernâeyes flickering over every surface of your body in search for injuries till he sees the purple blooming bruises on your knees.
âShit.â
With the utmost care in the world, Satoru hooks a hand behind your back and one beneath your kneesâhands hesitant when he lifts you gently and sends Suguru a worried look.
Youâre drifting away in his arms, eyes slowly blinking, face pale. Youâre in so much pain it makes their brains crash.
Gojo takes you away without saying a single word, knowing Geto can finish the job.
And that he does.
âI donât know who you think you are.â He bores, looking down at Mahito trying to crawl his way out of his line of attack with his numb legs.
Suguru takes a step forward when he sees him getting too far, crushing his foot with the heel of his foot.
âYou are nobody.â He spits, voice void of any other emotion but coldness.
Mahito freezes, arms burning from trying to escape and chest bubbling with fear. He loudly growls at the pain coming from his foot underneath Suguruâs weight before he pulls away and strides till heâs by his face.
âI dare you to lay a single finger on Y/N ever again.â He crouches, deep onyx piercing through Mahitoâs lifeless gray eyes.
âIf you do, Iâll make sure thereâs nothing left of you anymore.â Suguru straights back up, disgusted by the man beneath him.
âIâll make you a real scarface.â He kicks him to unconsciousness.
And neither of those two ever appear in front of you ever again.
