#m.jjk

[seoafin]

“Is Satoru in here?”

You poke a head into the teacher’s lounge, expecting to at least see Ijichi and one other auxiliary manager or personnel lounging, waiting for the coffee to dispense. Instead, you see Megumi, Nobara, and Yuuji hovering over a seated, unmoving Satoru.

Well, Nobara and Yuuji hover. Apprehensively, they peer down at him as if examining some unknown specimen, and the two of them regroup to whisper amongst themselves for a possible explanation. Megumi supervises them, back to the wall across the room, arms crossed, face vaguely suspicious.

Yuuji and Nobara greet you with waves. Megumi straightens when you approach.

“Gojo-sensei wasn’t in class,” is the explanation he offers, eyeing Satoru’s figure. “We thought he was slacking.”

A smile nudges at your lips. “So you thought you’d find him here.” 

Satoru is sleeping, gaze shielded by his typical blindfold. You can tell in the almost uncanny stillness of his body. Although his students might not be able to, convinced that a prank is underway. It’s a nostalgic sight. Satoru doesn’t sleep often. Not anymore. Once, he would’ve fallen asleep on your shoulder after a particularly rigorous day while you struggled to support the full weight of his body slumped on your side. Until Suguru yanked him over to his shoulder anyway.

Now he stays awake through the nights, awake when you sleep, awake when you inevitably rise, ready to supply you with an endless amount of good morning!’s and murmured good night’s.

Nobara nods resolutely. “On three.” There’s a hammer in her hand.

Yuuji gulps. “Roger that.”

Megumi pinches the bridge of his nose. Exhales.

The lines of Satoru’s lips imperceptibly twitch. 

You slowly walk over to Satoru, and meet the covered line of his sight, his head resting on a slightly reclined cushion.

“Hey,” you greet softly. “It’s rare to see you asleep.”

Satoru pulls his blindfold down to his neck, revealing his open gaze directly on yours. An easy smile curves his lips and softens his expression. “Who said I was sleeping?” He hums. “Just resting my eyes for a bit.”

“So he was sleeping—”

Yuuji’s voice wavers with awe. “You could tell?”

“Yaga-sensei’s looking for you,” you tell him.

Satoru huffs. “That's why you came to find me? Tell him I’m sleeping.” His fingers reach up, brush at your cheek. Nobara gags as Megumi corrals her and Yuuji and drags them out the door. His voice is airily unbothered. “I had a dream.”

The words take you aback. You consider your nightmares to be dreaded, dreamless sleeps to be a relief. Dreams are rare. “Was it a happy one?”

You hope for his sake, it was.

He briefly lowers his eyes, as if caught in a distant memory. “Happy enough," he says, rising to his feet and gazing at you. "But you know, I think I prefer reality."

[pileofmush]

you don't know what i deserve .·:*¨ ¨*:·..·:*¨ ¨*:·..·:*¨ ¨*:·.

ft. okkotsu yuuta

it’s 1 a.m. on the fifteenth of February and there’s a corpse on your kitchen floor. still fresh: odorless and warm to the touch. you're on your own—just you and the dead body.

info : ̗̀➛ tags: gn!reader, neighbor au, strangers to lovers, yuuta & reader are a little strange, happy ending // cw: death, light angst, vulgar language, canon-typical violence...but pretty mild imo

thoughts : ̗̀➛ helllooo. back on my bullshit. let's call this a very belated birthday present to my beloved <3 // read this on ao3

wc : ̗̀➛ 5.1k

The human body contains a shit ton of blood. 

Which is not something you think about often, but now you are forced to confront this fact in real-time. People… have a lot of blood.

And it stains. No matter how many times you wash your hands. There are still flakes of blood wedged underneath your fingernails. Part of you thinks it'll never go away.

...And then there's Sailor Moon.

“I am the pretty guardian who fights for love and justice! I am Sailor Moon! And now, in the name of the moon, I’ll punish you!”  

Cue trumpets and flashy poses; the makings of a battle. Your comfort anime blares in the background of a morbid scene, the flickering TV casting a soft glow on a sight that will inevitably haunt your nightmares. 

Because it's 1 a.m. on the fifteenth of February and there’s a corpse on your kitchen floor. Still fresh: odorless and warm to the touch. You pace in your tiny living room, unsure of what to do, of how to proceed. The pretty Sailor Guardians won’t save you now. You’re on your own. Just you and the dead body.

How romantic.

The chill from outside has swept into your apartment thanks to that annoying fucking prick who left your window open. Honestly, people these days have no decency. The least he could’ve done was close your shutters after tumbling through your bedroom window like a deranged acrobat. Now you’re, like, moderately cold. 

“What a fucking mess,” you sigh.

Blood seeps into the earthy Persian rug that you got for half-price at a flea market a few months ago. It’s dark; puddling, like... like a knocked-over glass of chocolate milk, spilled all over the kitchen table. Or, maybe chocolate syrup would be more apt. It doesn’t matter, though. You can always get a new rug. You know, if you make it out of this situation of yours intact and not in a dingy prison cell for homicide.

Hmm. You might be sorta kinda screwed. 

The police, of course, are out of the question. No matter your side of the story, it wouldn’t hold up in trial. No, no, no. A foreigner murdering a Japanese citizen? Even if it was in self-defense, it wouldn’t matter. Forget prison—you’ll probably be hanged.

So, you could run… But you probably wouldn’t get far. Or, you could do what every naive murderer in the movie about karmic retribution does and try your darnedest to get away with it.

“Option two it is!” you quit pacing and announce to the room. Thankfully, the body doesn’t respond.

A weak knock at the door sounds off—a gunshot. Your heart stalls, your head snapping to the entrance of the apartment. Who the hell is at your door? The person at the door knocks a second time, a little bit more insistently, and you start to sweat. “Hello, is everything alright? I—I heard a scream.”

You step up to the peephole and squint. A mild-looking man shuffles his feet outside your door. It’s your next-door neighbor, bathed in the ugly yellow lighting of your apartment complex. He smiles like he knows that you can see him. 

This… isn’t ideal. You could choose to not answer him, but that probably wouldn’t work. What if he called the police? You take a breath. “Everything’s fine,” you call out.

The man’s smile freezes in place, somehow more eerie than a frown; his hands burrow deeper into his pockets. “Oh!” he says. “Are… Are you sure?”

You turn away from the peephole, a little unnerved. “Yeah, why?”

“I’m sorry, I don’t mean to intrude, but I heard a lot more than a single scream.”

A slow, dreadful feeling starts to seep into your gut. “Pardon?” 

There’s a pause. You swallow.

“These walls are thin.” 

Fuck. He knows. Oh God, he knows. 

No—that’s impossible. You were the only one to scream. Yasuhiro… He didn’t get the chance to. So this is just a concerned neighbor checking in on you. Nothing more, nothing less. You can prove it, prove that you’re okay.

You open the door a smidge so that you can peek through, then step outside and shut the door behind you. Your neighbor, what’s his name again? Okkotsu, right? Okkotsu’s brows lift at the sight of you, then relax. He’s wearing a plain white tee and a pair of grey sweats that should probably be criminal in Japan. His eyes flicker up and down your frame. You suppress a shiver.

“Just a horror movie,” you broach, offering him a polite smile. “I’m an easy fright.”

Okkotsu pulls a hand out of his pocket to awkwardly rub the back of his neck. His gentle smile has dimmed. “I’m not sure I believe you,” he says in an apologetic tone.

You both notice the tremor that runs through your body. Nosy fucking neighbors and their lack of sense when it comes to minding their own business. You stare mulishly at the floor. His shoes are simple. Black; scuffed. His left foot taps once against the floor. Whatever. You don't have to answer to him. Gathering up your resolve, you start to speak. “Listen, Okkotsu-san,” you say but are cut off quickly.

“Is that blood?” 

That makes you freeze, eyes glued to the floor. A cold set of fingers dips under your chin and gently lifts it. Your gaze meets his: two pools of an endless, starless night. It flickers to a spot beside your ear knowingly and you reach for it. 

He’s right. Blood sticks to your fingers, not yet dry. Lurking in the crevice behind your ear. You missed a spot.

“Well spotted.” It’s fruitless to lie now. You know it, he knows it. Now it’s a matter of who’ll crack first. 

“Are you… Are you injured?”

Physically? No. Psychiatrically? Well, you just murdered a man, so.

“I’m unharmed.” 

Okkotsu blinks owlishly. “Is that so?” He murmurs curiously, tilting your head to the side to observe the blood staining your skin. 

You readjust your head and mimic him, blinking slowly. “Okkotsu—”

“Yuuta,” he interrupts. 

You blink again. For such a mild, polite-seeming boy, he really is quite rude. And confusing. And terrifying. And you kinda sort of want him to die. “Okkotsu-san” you repeat. “I think it’s best if you leave.”

Okkotsu Yuuta’s smile returns, and it’s dangerously innocuous. He breathes your name out like a question. Starless eyes wander to your front door, then go back to studying your own. “Can I come inside?” he asks, quietly. 

Everything stills, even your heart. You’re not quite certain you’re alive, when you ask, dubiously, “The apartment?” 

Okkotsu just smiles.

You let Okkotsu come inside.

Which is absolutely fucking insane, but you have a feeling that your neighbor’s worse off than you are, and that’s truly saying something. 

You hear him lock the door behind you before you start. Silently, you lead him past your living room, past Tsukino Usagi flying down the sidewalk on the way to school—the start of another episode, then—past your browning house plant hanging from the ceiling, into your quaint kitchen. 

It’s nothing special. A small green stove with two bunsen burners on top. A sink; limited counter space. A couple of peeling cabinets. Tied in together with a white backsplash, shifting colors with each flicker of the TV. To the side, a small table sits, with two mismatched chairs tucked into it. 

Oh, and there’s the dead body, too. Practically dribbling blood, painting your discounted rug muddy red and the surrounding blue tile purple. 

Okkotsu lets out a soft sigh. “What a mess.”

You consider him from the corner of your eye. “That’s what I said,” you frown.

He shrugs, still looking at poor, dead, Yasuhiro. “Well, it’s true, isn’t it?” 

Yeaaaah. It’s true.  

A giggle escapes you, the reality of the situation finally hitting you. “Fuck,” you whisper in between the giggles. “I’m fucked.” It’s true. Utterly and thoroughly—no condom used. 

“Not yet,” you barely hear him say over the fracturing of your composure. This is impossible. You killed a man tonight, then showed a stranger the corpse. You’re an idiot. You’re a freak. You can’t hide a dead body. You really might as well bend over and get it over with. Fuck.

Hands gripping your knees, you struggle to catch your breath. When did you lose it? Ah, who cares? Dead. You’re dead. The noose is looped around your hollowed throat, tightening by the second. Perhaps there’ll be two corpses on your kitchen floor by the time the sun is up. Perhaps you should’ve just let him kill—

“Breathe with me,” Okkotsu mutters, right in front of you, long hands gingerly clutching your shoulders. Which is strange. You had no idea he got so close. His thumbs swipe up and down, around and around, and you are flummoxed. But Okkotsu is patient, his chest compressing and expanding with each measured breath, and you are compelled to follow him. Slowly, you come down from your panicked high. You let out a shaky breath, eyes sliding back to the imposing guest in your apartment. The other imposing guest in your apartment.

The body in front of you lays eerily still, impervious to your mini breakdown. It’s not purple, or rotting, or excreting out the last remaining fluids left in its underwhelming husk. It’s just—laying there. Laying, not lying, because it is no longer a breathing thing that rests; now an object to be placed. Dehumanized, in every way. Then again, what is dehumanization if not just another word for murder? What is murder, if not just the taking away of a person’s autonomy? Dead bodies can’t rest. It will never lie again. 

The dead body lays.

And you wonder for how much longer you’ll keep your own autonomy.

When do the dead start to attract flies? Realistically, you know it can range from a day to a few days for a decomposing body to become…obscene, depending on the environmental conditions. It hasn’t even been a few hours. You doubt flies will start buzzing around any time soon. If you move to crouch down and touch it, it’ll probably still be warm.  

The swipe of a thumb over your shoulder brings your awareness back to your neighbor. 

“Why are you helping me?” You ask, wiping the tears that have beaded up in the corners of your eyes. Your breathing is steadier now, but you’re still trembling. That damn window is still open. 

The hands on your shoulders release, and you look up to gauge his thoughts. He’s frowning. His eyes cloud, then sharpen: lightning against a black sky. “You need to get rid of the body, don’t you?” It’s a rhetorical question, but you nod anyway. 

“Then we’ll figure it out. Don’t worry. I bet we’ll be done before dawn.”

He makes to walk away but you stay rooted to your spot, trying to figure out why this strange, strange neighbor of yours who makes friends with stray cats and tends to the apartment garden is willing to become an accomplice of murder for you. 

“Okkotsu, are… Are you in love with me or something?” 

Your neighbor stops, then snorts, and it sends a shiver down your spine. He turns back to face you. A soft pout lies on his lips as he skillfully evades your question with a request of his own. “Hey, if you’re gonna ask me something like that, why don’t you use my name next time?”  

You don’t ask again.

You have far bigger problems than interrogating Okkotsu Yuuta, so you push it aside and stalk toward the body. Okkotsu joins you, and the two of you peer at the deceased man before you. It’s… Still. The blood has stopped its puddling; a thin line stretches the column of its throat. His throat was slit neatly, gracefully, like an act of love. It wasn’t one, but, maybe you gave Yasuhiro what he wanted, in a terrible, twisted way. How magnanimous of you. 

Yasuhiro wasn’t an attractive man. Limp brown hair framing a slightly uglier-than-average face. At least he had the decency to close his eyes before his last, dying breath. They were blood-shot and wiry, the last time you saw them open. Bouncing haphazardly in its sockets like they couldn’t discern which corner of the room you stood in.  

Okkotsu perks up at the sound of your harrumph. “What?” he questions you, and you slide your eyes over to him. Okkotsu Yuuta is distinctly pale, a trait that you’ve always noticed and have always sort of admired on him. It suits the subdued, yet haunted look he’s got going on. Black lashes feather the whites of his eyes, as well as the endless void of his irises. Yeah, he’s almost doll-like, in that gentle, haunting way of his. 

“You’re creepier than the corpse,” you tell him instead and turn away, just barely hiding your smile. The laugh that rings out from him sounds like nails grating on a chalkboard. 

Just kidding. It actually sounds kind of sweet.

Okkotsu follows you to the bathroom, where you’ve grabbed pretty much all of your cleaning supplies. You stuff them in a bucket and he hauls it out of your arms, the two of you shuffling back to the kitchen. 

“So how should we go about this?” You muse, staring at the body. The movies you’ve seen are the only reference you have for the disposal of dead bodies, but those usually end with the killer getting caught, so you’re not so sure about mimicking their methods. 

“I’m not sure,” Okkotsu says, tilting his head in thought. “Severing his limbs without the proper tools would be difficult. I guess we could carry him and bury him somewhere unassuming—unless you have a car that we could use?” A quick glance at you confirms that you don’t. He rubs his chin, nodding to himself. “Right. A garden cart will do, then. We should check to see if he has any identifiers on him, first, though. Oh, and we can’t forget about the teeth. Do you have any pliers?” He turns to you casually, eyes widening at the sight of your awe. 

Thin black brows furrow in confusion. “What?” He asks.

You blink. “Have you…ever…?” Your voice dies in your throat.

Thankfully, he gets it. “Oh. No! No, I’ve never murdered a person,” he denies, dipping his head and tugging the neckline of his plain white tee. A curious look crosses his face. “But I could,” he tacks on cautiously.

You hug your arms and give a half-assed shrug. You can almost feel the weight of a kitchen knife in your dominant hand; the quick, fluid motion of ending a life. 

“Anyone could,” you acquiesce, dismissing the conversation. Okkotsu hums mournfully in return. 

According to his ID, Yasuhiro Souta is a twenty-seven-year-old male who lives in Chiba. What he was doing tumbling through your window in the middle of the night is anyone’s guess. Well, he did tell you, sort of shakily before he made to lunge at you, that you were supposedly his Valentine for the night. How sweet!

Snip. You met him for the first time a little over two months ago. He dropped his wallet on the train, so you picked it up and handed it to him in a silly attempt to be a decent person. It resulted in the man refusing to let go of your hand for a solid five minutes. Yes, yes, what an adorable meet-cute! Snip. When you managed to pry your clammy hands out of his vice-like grip, it was your stop, and, oh, how fortuitous, it was Yasuhiro’s as well! He followed you off the train into a random coffee shop, and it was only when you got the help of the employees that he backed off, the doorbell chiming as the glass door swung behind his back. Snip.

You thought that was the end of it, and proceeded about your day, running errands for a few hours until you retreated home. It shook you up for a little, yes, but it was nothing too crazy. You doubted you’d ever see him again. 

Snip.

You slice Yasuhiro’s ID with your scissors until it’s a pile of ashes. 

Okkotsu’s on his knees, holding a pair of pliers to the light. Wedged between the metal lies a crooked tooth. He hums to himself, plopping the tooth in a ziplock bag. He wears a pair of green garden gloves he grabbed from his apartment; you’re wearing a matching set. The rubber’s a little too big for you, but you’re making it work.

It's as Okkotsu calmly adjusts the head in his lap, preparing to yank another tooth that you stare at your strange partner, wondering how in the hell you got yourself into this situation. It’s been happening every so often: your acceptance of reality swinging in the opposite direction like the pendulum on a grandfather clock. 

You shouldn’t have killed him.

You don’t care for Yasuhiro Souta’s life. You don’t care for the man who intended to assault you. But there’s not a chance in hell that this won’t get traced back to you. 

You're fucked.

Why did it have to be like this? Why do bad things happen to good people?

That’s the way the cookie crumbles, darling.

And you crumble—crumbled—are crumbling when you turn to your neighbor. “Okkotsu-san,” you say, picking at your dirty nails.

“Yuuta,” the man insists. What a freak. He's a freak, and he's good, and you don't deserve it.

You take a deep breath, mulling over your doomed fate. It doesn’t have to be his, too. “You should get out of here. While you still can.”

There's an awkward pause. The strange man pulls out another tooth and plops it in the baggy. “There,” he says warmly, then draws to his full height. “Do you have a coffee maker?” You ball your fists around the plastic handle in your hands. Calm, calm, stay calm. “Did you hear what I just said?” You ask. 

“Oh, I did,” Okkotsu hums. “I chose to ignore it.”

Your hands begin to shake as you repeat his words. “Ch—Chose to—” 

Okkotsu says your name pityingly. “I thought we already had this conversation," he questions with pinched brows. “Why are we—”

“We?!” You interrupt, incensed. We. It's as if the curtains have been drawn open, allowing the rays of the illuminating, scorching sun to trickle through. It blinds you, and you have the urge to pull your eyes out and shove them down his throat. “You thought we? Who are you? You don’t know a damn thing about me!”

“I think I know a few things about you,” Okkotsu smiles sweetly, gesturing to the dead body in your apartment.

“Do you, now?” You laugh and toss your hands up to the ceiling. “Great! I have an idea!" You glare, the metal edge of your scissors catching the light. "If you know what I’m capable of, then you should get the hell out." 

A pause. You pant, more worked up than have been all night and it's fucking ridiculous and you hate it. You want to choke—you want him to choke. On your blood-soaked fingers, preferably. He'd probably lick them clean. 

Unaware of your depraved thoughts, Okkotsu’s lips pull into a frown. He sighs, running a ghostly hand through his hair.

“I’m not scared of you,” he tells you, quietly.

You hold your breath. “Maybe you should be.”

Your insufferable neighbor takes a step forward, that stupid frown still on his stupid doll face. “What’s your plan?” He prompts. “Do you intend to confess? To go to prison?” You shake your head slowly and he softens. “You don’t deserve that,” he says, like he really means it.

Why did you let this man into your house? Why is he offering you hope? It’s too much. The scissors slide out of all your fingers save for one; your limbs sag with a weariness that’s settled deep in your bones. 

“You don’t know what I deserve.”

Okkotsu stops and considers you. Your chest heaves, your heart pounds, and you want out. You want out, and he can get out, and you don’t know… You don’t know why…

“If you want me to judge you, I won’t,” says Okkotsu. 

You shake your head at his dismissal, your eyes squeezed shut. “I can’t judge you,” he continues, and there goes his cold, calloused hand again, gingerly tilting your chin upwards. The pair of scissors in your clutches drops fruitlessly to the floor. When you look up, there’s something like pleading in his endless, starless eyes. “Trust me,” he begs. 

You shouldn’t. You know it with every fiber of your being that you should not trust Okkotsu Yuuta. The man who blinks like an owl and stares at you like you’re a mouse he can’t wait to swallow whole. Who blushes pink whenever you hold the elevator door for him. Who has cold fingers that cradle you so gingerly—who touches you like he knows you—who doesn’t cringe at the sight of dead bodies but gives a damn about a bit of blood staining the outside of your ear. 

You shouldn’t. Trust him. But you—you feel as if he’s reached inside your chest and plucked out your pulsing, blackened heart. 

“Do you love me?” You ask Okkotsu Yuuta again, heart throbbing in his hand.

His eyes don’t stray from yours. “Ask me again with my name,” he says quietly. 

…You don’t know if you want to. 

Releasing a breath, you push past him, snatch the ziplock bag from the floor, and stride towards the stove. “I’ll make coffee,” you say, already fiddling with the grinder.

Okkotsu lets you depart with a sigh.

“So what do you like to do when you’re not helping random people bury bodies?” You ask Okkotsu a couple of hours later. You stumble over a root in the dark, and Okkotsu’s quick to grab you by the waist and steady you. You continue, a bag full of your keys, water, pepper spray, freshly-bleached gloves, a burner phone that Okkotsu already had, for some reason, and two sets of clean clothes swinging against your back. You fidget with the shovel in your hands mindlessly, trying to get it to spin. A garden cart with a tarp draped over it creaks along the grass floor. The two of you have walked for who knows how long, but, according to him, you’re getting close. 

The man beside you hums, surprisingly chipper for the nefarious activities afoot. “When I’m not busy, I like to garden and crochet. I also like making food for my friends from time to time,” he says in a simple, humble manner. The last part doesn’t surprise you. He’s brought you helpings of food on the most random occasions, showing up at your doorstep with self-proclaimed “leftovers” and shoving full plates into your arms with a velvety smile. That does beg the question, though…

“Have you considered us friends this whole time?” You squint at him in the dark, only the moonlight carving out the contours of his subtle, delicate features. You’re kind of surprised. You two made decent neighbors but only ever talked in short bursts outside your rooms. Your conversations rarely ever broke past polite mumblings about the weather.  

Okkotsu pouts. “You mean, we’re not friends yet?” He asks, before breaking into a twinkling laugh. 

“Shut up,” you bite, but you laugh too, lightly shoving at his arm. Okkotsu, bless him, pretends to stumble. It takes you a moment to suppress the heat burning the tips of your ears, but you do get it under control, eventually. “I meant… Before?”

His expression smoothens out before he gives a soft shake of his head. “No, not quite. But, I wanted us to be."  

It’s quiet for a moment, nothing but the rustling under your feet and the ever-present, cacophonous sounds of nature. You spot a nest of sleeping birds tucked in between the branches of a tree and smile.

“Well,” you try to keep your cool, eyes sweeping over the forest's shadows, “Better late than never.”

It strikes you halfway to the burial grounds that Yasuhiro didn’t bring his phone with him to your apartment in his depraved, intoxicated state. He crawled up a tree, through your cracked-open bedroom window—conveniently avoiding cameras. So, once you’re done with this, you very may well be free.

It’s a terrifying notion, freedom.

“What about you?” Okkotsu asks you, something like ten minutes later. “What do you like to do for fun? Besides watch Sailor Moon, I mean.”

You bite your lip to keep from grinning. “Well,” you wonder aloud. “This is pretty fun, wouldn’t you say?” 

Okkotsu lets out a little breath before he softly admits his agreement. 

It rained earlier today, you forgot. The ground crumbles like clay when you swing the shovel into the ground. You and Okkotsu take turns making a grave, taking water breaks in between. There is hope alive in you, you realize, as the two of you work in tandem.

Yasuhiro Souta is lowered into the ground with all the dignity a dead man could possess. He lays atop a tarp and your old Persian rug. A stream rushes somewhere nearby, bubbling like blood, and you pray that the body will make good fertilizer. When your hand shakes, Yuuta grabs it. 

You bury your clothes on the way back, a mile out. The sun peaks over the horizon.

When you return to your room with Yuuta in tow, your emotions overwhelm you: you are terrified and gleeful and sorry for all you’ve done. 

It is mournfully quiet as you mop the purple tiles blue, bleach burning your nostrils and freshly scrubbed gloves. Yuuta’s left to clean the garden cart in the gardens. He returns shortly, though, offers you a small smile, and helps you scrub every inch of your apartment. 

You scrub, and scrub. 

And scrub.

“You’re beautiful,” Yuuta says to you when you’re in the middle of wiping your brow. You’re sitting cross-legged on your rugless kitchen floor, where a dead body once lay. Sweat clings to your skin in uncomfortable places and you reek of bleach. “Shut the fuck up and scrub, Yuuta,” you command. 

Yuuta’s serene smile is unparalleled to anything you’ve ever seen before.

You could probably fall in love with him, you contemplate as you watch your neighbor make fluffy pancakes in the comforts of his own kitchen. If you haven’t fallen in love with him, already, that is. You doubt you’ll ever have a connection with someone as profound as the bond you share with the soft-spoken man who helped you bury a dead body. 

Love, you marvel, in the span of a few hours.

It’s disquieting. 

After multiple showers, and after Yuuta’s stuffed you with more pancakes than you can chew, the pair of you are lounging on his tatami mat, a much-needed change in scenery. You have like, three hours before you need to go to work, which, Yuuta agrees, is crucial to maintaining a veneer of normalcy. Which means this impromptu nightmare date will have to come to an end—as all good things do.

“I should probably get to bed,” you say after a lull in conversation.

Yuuta nods, reasonably. “That makes sense, yeah.” 

“Got work in the morning and all that,” you continue in a nonchalant tone.

“Make sure your window’s locked.”

Fine. “Walk me out, will you?” You request. Okkotsu Yuuta, ever the gentleman, agrees, even though the front door is only a handful of feet away. He pushes himself off his knees and stands at full height, though his starless eyes are, as always, trained on you. You would probably find Yuuta’s full attention a little unsettling if you had not just slit a man’s throat that night. 

You avoid his gaze all the same—stopping at his doorstep with your hands twisting at your sides. Yuuta stops beside you and waits patiently for you to string your words together. 

You clear your throat. “Hey, um—”

“Hi,” Yuuta interrupts, and you smile, filled with the courage to go on. 

“So, the thing is… Well, I probably wouldn’t have made it anywhere far without you. I acted quite amateur back there, you’d think this was my first dead body I was trying to hide, or something, ha. Um, so yeah, thank you—from the most sincere and vulnerable depths of my heart. I guess I’ll see you around? Okay, bye.”

A hand wraps around your wrist before you can run home with your tail tucked between your legs. Yuuta murmurs your name in a soft, dulcet tone, and you’re not certain you’re prepared to hear whatever he has to say. You turn to face him anyway, because, well, you owe him that much.

“Yes?” 

“Don’t you have something to ask me?” He chides.

The pit in your stomach swoops. “Not that I recall,” you lie with a straight face.

“Try again,” Yuuta smiles sweetly, like a haunted little doll.

“It’s been a long day, you know—” 

“Cold, I’m afraid.”

“My brain isn’t functioning at its peak—” 

“Hmm, getting colder!”

“I don’t think I can.”

A pause. You avert your gaze and allow yourself to get analyzed by Yuuta’s doleful, starless eyes. “Hey,” he calls your name, asks you to look at him. 

You look at him.  

“Good," he hums.

You roll your eyes, loop an arm around his long neck, and drag him to you. 

Okkotsu Yuuta tastes like the earth. From dust to dust, you are at the end and beginning when you capture his lips between yours. He responds quickly, hands digging firmly into your waist as he knocks you into his door frame, and you quickly learn what it means to be savored. You intended the kiss to be a quick, rash, thing, but he slows you down, melds into you languidly like you have all the time in the world. When he sucks on your bottom lip, you both moan, breaking apart for air. Yuuta slips his hands underneath your shirt, and for once, his cold hands burn, lighting the fire for something you’re not certain you’ll be able to finish. 

“Go ahead and ask me already, love,” Yuuta murmurs into your ear. And, well, fuck. You melt. “Yuuta,” you whisper as he nips at your neck. “You love me, yes?” 

At that, he bites down at the hollow of your neck. You gasp, then sigh when he instantly cools the wound with his tongue. “Obviously,” he replies, quite simply, thumb swiping delicately at your stomach. 

“Great,” you gasp, and Yuuta looks at you and beams. 

And, there goes your heart again, pulsing in his cold, calloused hands. Cradle it gently, Yuuta, won’t you?

fin. if u made it this far, ily

[cruhxx]

in a little ball on the floor

script by @kayoiwritingarchivies

[metacinabrio]

Modern History Sourcebook

Thomas De Quincey (1785-1859): Levana and Our Ladies of Sorrow, 1821

[taeyamayang]

365 DAYS EVENT | summary list

ㅡdays have flown by like wisps of air in the wind. to give back to the genuine support i got from you in the past year, here is an event.

MECHANICS:

• followers are allowed to enter at most 2 of the categories below, non-followers are only allowed to 1

• all entries should be sent through my ask box

• please be kind, ask kindly, and be patient

DRABBLES (3/3)

• characters i should write for

•pairing: charac x charac / charac x reader

• genre

• not required but encouraged: a plot

MATCH-UP (6/6)

• a bit about yourself (hobbies, personality, etc.)

• fandoms you love (for pairing purposes)

• your kins

• DO NOT tell me who you simp/like

• optional: face match up (photo or picrew)

• selfies and/or picrews can be sent through dms.

SMAU (5/5)

• character you want to text

• what you want to tell them/what you want to hear from them

• can choose up to 3 characters

• NOT limited to one fandom

SAMPLE ENTRIES:

DRABBLE:

"hi i'm pea. i would like to join the 365 days event. i'd like to have a drabble written for kageyama x reader. the setting is in a beach in the middle of winter. i am thinking if angst, romance, hurt/comfort. thank you!"

MATCH-UP:

"hi i'm pea. i would like to join the 365 days event. my hobbies include gaming, painting, music, and etc. i am a bit timid and shy at first but once i get comfortable with someone i can be loud and energetic. i love the beach and traveling. my friends always say that i remind them of yuji itadori from jjk. therefore, i think he is my closest kin. i have sent you my photo/picrew through dms. thank you!"

SMAU:

"hi i'm pea. i would like to join the 365 days event. i would like to send a text to mitsuya and i would like to tell him how much he inspires me to pursue the arts. it would be nice if he could tell me words that would motivate me further. other than that, it would also be lovely to have the chance to receive a text from draken and rindou. thank you!"

ㅡi will forever be grateful for your support. onto the next year of more writings. cheers!

m.list | m.hq | m.jjk | m.tr

[kailjoi]

tag guide—

[tags added as created: I'll EVENTUALLY add links to all of these but not rn lmao]

general tags:

.mine — any original post by me q — queue [I only use it when I have a billion likes to rb] my.art — all of my art m.comic — only my comic-style art m.ask — rb of asks I sent someone else m.add — my additions to posts m.tut — my tutorials and references m.anunnaki — my main OCs and their universe m.alt — rb from my alt accounts m.poll — polls I made m.misc — miscellaneous [not art] content by me m.og — original art by me .ask — asks sent to me anonymous — anonymous asks sent to me

oc.[any oc of mine] — tags for my original characters og.me — tag for depictions of me or friends

.reblogger — any post that's not mine r.misc — non-fandom posts r.tut — tutorials and references r.art — other people's non-fandom art r.vid — non-fandom posts involving video(s) r.audio — non-fandom posts involving audio r.poll — others' polls .gift — gifts or fanart for me

.nsfw — only on my own applicable art .pinned — pinned post .tags — this post

----------

fandom tags "m." are mine "r." are reblogged:

m.aa / r.aa — Ace Attorney m.acnh / r.acnh — Animal Crossing m.aph / r.aph — Hetalia m.at / r.at — Adventure Time m.atla / r.atla — Avatar: The Last Airbender m.avm / r.avm — Animation vs Minecraft/Animator m.bananafish / r.bananafish — Banana Fish m.bg3/ r.bg3— Baldur's Gate 3 m.beastars / r.beastars — Beastars m.bnha / r.bnha — My Hero Academia m.dbh / r.dbh — Detroit: Become Human m.dcu / r.dcu — DC Universe m.dn / r.dn — Death Note m.dororo / r.dororo — Dororo m.drstone / r.drstone — Dr. Stone m.dt / r.dt — Dream Team/SMP m.fma / r.fma — Fullmetal Alchemist m.given / r.given — Given m.hc / r.hc — Hermitcraft Server m.hk / r.hk — Hollow Knight m.hq / r.hq — Haikyuu!! m.inuyasha / r.inuyasha — Inuyasha m.jjba / r.jjba — JoJo's Bizarre Adventure [alt: r.jjba2, etc.] m.jjk / r.jjk — Jujutsu Kaisen m.kny / r.kny — Demon Slayer m.loz / r.loz — The Legend of Zelda m.mario / r.mario — Super Mario m.mc / r.mc — Minecraft m.mcyt / r.mcyt — Minecraft Youtubers m.mp100 / r.mp100 — Mob Psycho 100 m.mushishi / r.mushishi — Mushishi m.naruto / r.naruto — Naruto m.ofmd / r.ofmd — Our Flag Means Death m.pokemon / r.pokemon — Pokemon m.rtgame / r.rtgame — RTGame [Youtuber] m.sf / r.sf — Sally Face m.sihk / r.sihk — Sekaiichi Hatsukoi m.sk8 / r.sk8 — Sk8 the Infinity m.smii7y / r.smii7y — Smii7y [Youtuber] m.yoi / r.yoi — Yuri!!! On Ice

c.[any character] — posts involving listed character/persona s.[any ship] — posts involving listed ship t.[any topic] — posts involving listed topic

[full character/ship/topic tag list utc]:

----------

oc.aku oc.damien oc.dumuzid oc.haaki oc.shamash

—

c.aphengland c.nagaengland c.aphamerica c.aphcanada c.aphfrance c.aphjapan

c.link c.sidon c.zelda c.ghirahim c.ganondorf

c.josephjoestar c.caesarzeppeli c.higashikatajosuke c.nijimuraokuyasu c.hirosekoichi c.kishiberohan c.kujojotaro c.giornogiovanna c.guidomista c.leoneabbacchio c.pannacottafugo c.naranciaghirga c.brunobucciarati c.vinegardoppio c.jonathanjoestar c.dio c.higashikatatomoko c.kakyoinnoriaki c.gyrozeppeli c.johnnyjoestar c.jjbastands

c.midoriyaizuku c.todorokishoto c.allmight

c.aratakareigen c.kageyamashigeo c.kageyamaritsu

c.hinatashoyo c.kageyamatobio c.bokutokotaro

c.kakashihatake

c.kamadotanjiro

c.ginko c.adashino

c.inuyasha c.higurashikagome c.sesshomaru c.sango

c.edwardelric c.alphonseelric c.roymustang

c.ishigamisenku

c.legoshi

c.dororo c.hyakkimaru c.yagamilight c.ryuk

c.onoderaritsu c.takanomasamune

c.uenoyamaritsuka c.satomafuyu

c.stede c.blackbeard

c.mario c.luigi c.peach c.bowser

c.grian c.mumbojumbo c.iskall c.xisuma c.bdoubleo c.rendog c.gtws c.keralis c.ethoslab c.jevin c.xisuma c.dream c.georgenotfound c.sapnap c.technoblade c.bbh c.wilbursoot c.karljacobs c.smii7y c.rt

c.brucewayne c.joker c.dickgrayson c.jasontodd c.timdrake c.damianwayne c.clarkkent c.dianaprince c.harleyquinn c.edwardnygma c.selinakyle c.alfredpennyworth c.jimgordon c.harveydent c.pamelaisley c.lexluthor c.johnconstantine c.zatanna c.dinahlance

c.theknight c.quirrel c.hornet c.lemm c.zote c.thk

c.connor c.hankanderson c.gavinreed c.tav c.gale c.astarion c.shadowheart c.karlach c.laezel c.wyll

—

s.usuk s.fruk s.tododeku s.adashinko s.kagehina s.caejose s.josuyasu s.dreamnotfound s.batjokes s.superbat s.harlivy s.clex s.hankcon s.bloodweave

—

t.anticensorship t.art&writing t.arthistory t.culture t.humans t.internetculture t.literature t.neurodivergency t.photography t.postgames t.queerness t.stories t.videogames

misc.postsIReferenceDaily misc.postsThatMakeMeLaugh misc.tumblrBeingTumblr

[holysugu]

general tags:

#marie.whispers — all things that reside in my brain

#marie.core — things related to me!

#answered.letters — answered asks

#marie.thirsts — all things horny that reside in my brain

#all time favs — stuff i love a lot !

content tags:

#maries.journal — all of my writing !

#maries.recs — stuff i enjoyed reading

#tw [topic] — mostly used for dark topic like yandere or toxic behaviors. for example: #tw yandere. if i missed any triggers please let me know!

character tags:

#[character]<3 — these are my favorite characters/ ones I talk about the most. (ex. #suguru <3, #satoru <3 )

#m.[character] — this tag is for all other characters mentioned in content! (otherwise its just the characters names)

#m.[fandom] — main fandoms tag (ex. #m.jjk, #m.bnha, etc.)

[baticuls]

umm…..what if long hair

[seoafin]

happy kinktober (2.4k)

stsg x fem!reader

MDNI; threesome, mfm, pronebone, overstimulation, toys, mating press, marathon sex, c-curseplay............stsg get off to being married (they refer to themselves as your husbands), breeding kink, restraining, stsg absolute menaces warning

18+ only

You cum again for the fourth time in the last hour with a long, muffled cry. Satoru greedily takes in the sight of your legs trembling as you drip onto the sheets, the folds of your cunt pulsing the long vibrating silicone embedded deep into you. He can see the walls of your pussy tighten in an attempt to push out the intrusion, to relieve the overstimulation, but it fails.

Suguru doesn't even look at you, seemingly engrossed in the book in his lap, but Satoru can tell Suguru's patience is waning. His eyes trace the line of words down the page at a speed slow enough to tell Satoru that his interests lie outside of the book.

Mainly, in your spread body, forced open by a curse of Suguru's as the toy he placed in you an hour prior overwhelms you to the brink.

Satoru watches the black tendrils gyrate around the length of your thighs, completely exposing you to them. Suguru had placed you in a particularly humiliating position, ass raised to the air, face planted in the sheets, arms and hands bound by a black rope like entity Suguru had chanced upon during a mission a couple of years ago. Satoru can almost feel the tightness around his own wrists, the memory of it binding his own legs, and he grows even harder, cock straining against his pants.

It's perverted, it's perverse, watching the curse curl around your naked, glistening body, caressing you like a lover while you cry out for them. It's all Suguru in the end. The curses are a part of him, in a way that Satoru doesn’t blink at.

It’s different when someone else touches you, with an ease that signifies a lack of understanding for their position. You are not someone who can be casually touched anymore. Not by any man that isn’t them. 

You breathe out a sob. You've given up trying to upright yourself with your latest orgasm, and the tentacles dig into your flesh as you let yourself fall limp, your exhaustion evident. You've made a mess of the sheets, and all Satoru can think about is having you make an even bigger one.

Suguru closes his book.

Satoru grins. Without another word he shrugs off his shirt, and unbelts his pants.

When Suguru sits on the bed next to you, he easily pulls out the toy from you, glinting and wet with your juices, and you exhale shakily, relieved. The curse shrinks away at its master’s presence until it's only wrapped around your wrists, trapped behind your back. Suguru turns you around, and the two of them gaze at your weary body, your tear stained face, for a little longer.

“Have Satoru and I been neglecting you?” Suguru asks lightly, knuckles brushing the wetness from your cheek. His voice takes on a consolingly sweet murmur, “We’ve been busy lately, haven’t we.”

A repeat cycle of missions and meetings and days, seeing Suguru’s face in passing, and yours not at all. You’ve been holing yourself in your apartment for the last couple of days coaxing that hellcat of yours out of its place underneath the couch. As if sensing the approaching move, it had refused to come out, distressing you greatly. But Satoru is a new man, with patience and generosity to spare. He’ll endure that horrible ugly cat of yours (which looks nothing like him) that you refuse to be without, the monotony of missions and meetings, the constant squawking of the higher ups, if only to come home to you and Suguru at the end of the day.

And the rings of your fingers.

He’s a married man now, after all.

Everything changes when a man gets married, he thinks, looking at you. For better or worse, you’ve given yourself to them, unaware that they’ve also given themselves to you.

You blink, staring up at them with confusion marring your face. “N-no…?”

Suguru smiles. You balk, as if finally understanding where this conversation is heading. Satoru has to give you some points though, it’s taken quicker than it once would’ve for you to understand.

“That’s a shame,” Suguru breathes, “Satoru and I missed you,” he trails a finger down the valley of your breasts, and you shudder, squeezing your eyes tight as your nipples perk in response. Satoru can imagine your wrists straining against the confines of your binds.

“Aren’t you lucky,” Satoru crows, with a wide grin, enjoying the wide eyed panic settling on your face. “Having not one, but two husbands that miss you so diligently.”

“I missed you two too!” You blurt out, embarrassment alight on your face, more for the predicament you seem to be in than the words itself. Satoru could listen to you say you missed him over and over, if only you’d indulge him. It seems to him these are the only moments you’re most truthful to yourself. You never understand, not fully. You’ve always rationalized their love in ways it doesn’t make sense, especially when it’s never been rational in the first place. 

Satoru’s never been a picky man when it comes to you. He’ll take your increasingly distressed declarations of love over nothing. He knows they’re genuine at heart.

Maybe it’s all a last ditch attempt to placate them, to ask for forgiveness, but there’s only one way to placate the both of them, and it won’t be with words.

He moves closer to you, slotting himself between your legs as his hands spread you open once more. You make a small noise when you feel the hardness of him pressed to your slick sex.

“You’ll make Satoru jealous,” Suguru says, eyes glinting, as Satoru lines his cock up at your glistening entrance, “if you don’t give him as many orgasms as you gave that toy.”

“Double the amount,” he agrees with a heated look. Until you’re not thinking of anything but them. The way his cock splits you open and touches you in places only he can reach. He’ll make you feel so good you never entertain the attention of another man ever again. And then maybe he’ll grant you some reprieve. He can’t promise the same of Suguru though.

After Suguru, you might be a little too messed up to function properly for the next couple of days, but Satoru can think of nothing better than the two of them having you to themselves until reason inevitably grabs hold of you.

You try to squirm away, but to Satoru’s delight, black tendrils snake back around your thighs and hold you open. Suguru smiles innocently.

“I’m…” you hiccup, squeezing your eyes shut, “sorry…”

“I know,” Suguru says, settling into the bed, and freeing his cock from his pants. Satoru watches his hand firmly grip the base of his leaking cock, and wonders if Suguru’ll let him suck him off after he finishes his turn with you.

Suguru pushes the hair from your face, and kisses your sweaty forehead.

Your previous orgasms make it easier to slip into you, and Satoru sighs when the familiar wet heat of your pretty pussy sucks him in. Nothing in the world compares to the feeling of when he and Suguru fuck you together, in seperate holes, or one, but this comes pretty close.

“Ngh…” you moan, no doubt already sore and overextended as he pushes into you, past the lingering tightness. If Satoru didn’t know better, you’d be a virgin with how tightly your walls cling to him, but he knows he and Suguru have thoroughly divested you of that title long ago.

Satoru hums, stilling himself inside of you, letting you really feel him, despite the urge to wildly thrust. You lay almost limp before him, blinking away the wetness in your eyes. He smiles. “I guess I’ll just have to show you how much your husband missed you, yeah?”

Without another word of warning, he pulls out, and thrusts into you fully. You choke on your breath as he begins to fuck you in earnest, letting his cock drag against your folds before touching that part of you inside that he knows makes you lightheaded. His hands are wrapped around your waist, the black tendrils doing the work of keeping your hands bound, and your legs spread, forcing you down to him at the same timing of his thrusts.

You’re already on the cusp of another orgasm, sobbing, lips trembling in a way Satoru is tempted to bite. A few more thrusts and you’re shaking, squeezing around him as everything gets even wetter. It takes everything not to bury himself to the hilt, brush against your cervix, and come inside of you. 

His gaze drops to your cunt, to where the two of you are connected, and his blood runs hotter. Suguru is watching, pumping his wet length, chest starting to heave as he approaches what Satoru knows won’t be his final orgasm of the night. He’ll be inside you before long, painting your insides white, their seeds mixing into a mess inside you. 

The three of you, together, always together. It gives him a high akin to violence, to know you’re indisputably theirs in a way nobody can say anything about anymore, even you. You gave that right away when you said yes.

The room is obscenely loud as he fucks into you, wet squelches and the slap of skin against skin. Your legs have gone limp, held up only by Suguru’s curse, and your breathing goes funny in a way that makes him even harder.

“You’ve got some nerve,” he grunts, sinking himself into the hilt once more, “neglecting your husbands.” He hasn’t even played with your clit yet, hasn’t really made you sorry like he knows he could, but you’re already approaching your next orgasm, and even he isn’t strong enough to let you come by yourself. “Don’t worry,” Satoru says breathily, “We’ll take our time with you tonight. Make up for lost time. You’ll indulge your husbands, huh?”

You don’t get a chance to answer, or even register his question.

His hips slam into yours with reckless abandon, fingers marking indents into your hips. Satoru watches your face twist, watches as you try to fight off your impending orgasm, watches the shameless pleasure on Suguru’s face when you start to become incoherent underneath him. He feels the vice tight squeeze of your cunt, and presses your raised thighs until they’re nearly level with your chest. With one final thrust, he comes inside of you, feels your pussy pulse with his release. Your feet on either side of his head twitch with the aftershocks of your orgasm.

You’re a pretty sight, nearly bent in half, half sobs escaping your mouth, his hands on both sides of your head, as he keeps your hips flush together. Every small movement sends the legs resting on his shoulder into overdrive. He meets Suguru’s gaze, trails his eyes down the flexing muscles of Suguru’s abdomen, to the painfully erect need between his open thighs.

Satoru snorts. Sometimes he can’t decide on whether or not Suguru is a masochist or a sadist. If he’s indulgent to the point of excess, then Suguru is restrained to the point of delayed gratification. 

You shiver when Satoru slips out of you, your leaking cunt a sticky mess. You look blankly serene, gazing up at the ceiling. Not a single thought in that head of yours, just the way he likes it. He and Suguru have always been of the opinion that you think too much. If he can give you quiet, then he’ll consider it one of his husbandly duties.

He almost feels bad for you when Suguru claims his seat, after giving him a long kiss. Satoru can’t help but reach and give Suguru’s cock a hard squeeze, relishing the harsh grunt that leaves his throat, and the warning nip of Suguru’s teeth against his neck.

You blink, as if regaining some semblance of cognizance, when Suguru’s hardness taps against your stomach, smearing it wet with precum.

You blink when Suguru brushes your face with his knuckles, takes your hand, adorned with the ring they had given you, entwines your fingers, and smiles.

-

Satoru watches as Suguru fucks you in a new position. It looks like punishment, and it must feel like punishment too. The rough, measured thrust of his hips slaps against your nearly limp form, a foamy white ring around his cock as he unrelenting spears into you. The weight of him against your back pushes your body deeper into the bed. Rivulets of come slide down the curve of your ass, dripping onto the sheets. 

You’ve long given up on trying to fight. Suguru had unbound your hands in what seemed as if it might be temporary forgiveness. But then you had tried to run away. Suguru can be capricious too, because after sighing earlier that he could be tempted into forgiveness with a few more direct ‘I love you’s’, he had decided then and there that you needed to be thoroughly chastened. Your wrists hadn’t left your back since. 

Suguru’s fingers are wrapped around your throat, with just enough effort to keep your head upright as he murmurs into your ear. 

When Satoru sticks two fingers in your mouth, and presses against your tongue, your jaw easily falls slack, drool pooling down his wrist. Your eyes are glazed over, any indication of consciousness in the slight shift of your breathing.

This might be the most fucked out Satoru has ever seen you. And he’s seen you in multiple, varying states of dissociation following sex. He feels his dick twitch in interest, a rush of blood following. A challenge it’d be, to bring you back to a world of awareness. To have you calling his name after you had been nearly unresponsive just minutes prior.

Suguru comes with an exhale, and you with a whimper as tears rush to the surface of your eyes, animating you back to life once more. Suguru spends the next few minutes rutting his hips into you, fucking their cum back into you with a vigor that tells Satoru that he’s thinking about children. 

The two of them have come inside of you so many times that Satoru thinks there isn’t a possibility of you not being pregnant. They’ve made a game of it, whose seed will be the first to take. You leak when Suguru leaves you. The curse enveloping your wrists dissolves into air. Suguru takes your wrists with his hands, and gently rubs his finger over them.

The two of them look with unabashed interest when Satoru pushes down on the slight distension of your lower stomach, and you leak even more, a mixture of your slick and their come onto the sheets. You blearily watch, unable to do much more.

Satoru’s eye catches on the glint of the pretty rock on your finger as he pets your hair. You’re theirs now. Formally and forever. 

Well, he thinks. They have all the time in the world.

[seoafin]

dog days are over | chapter one

pairing: gojo satoru x fem!reader x geto suguru warnings/tags (for this chapter): none, but please heed overall fic warnings word count: ~3.2k

fic masterlist read on ao3

“Suguru…you’re getting married?”

Your eyes are wide as you examine Suguru in a new light.

Marriage…that’s…that’s a big step isn’t it? Already? Do people get married at twenty-two nowadays? You aren’t sure. In fact, you don’t really know what people your age do. But you’re sure that whatever Suguru decides, you will support him fully. Even if he desires to get married at the early age of twenty-two. Who are you to come in the way of Suguru's apparent desire to get married?

Suguru doesn’t even blink at your words. “Of course not,” he replies smoothly, expertly dicing carrots into small cubes on the cutting board. He finishes, puts the knife down, and looks at you reassuringly. “It was just a matter of propriety. I couldn’t just leave that girl waiting for hours on end for Satoru, now could I?”

You shake your head, smiling back. Of course he would. Because Suguru is a good person who would keep a girl company at a matchmaking ceremony that Satoru either refused to show up to or forgot. You aren’t surprised to hear it. Both the fact that Suguru spent his afternoon entertaining her, and that Satoru had neglected to go to it in the first place, or even mention it to you.

Marriage…

You think of white dresses, veils, shiromukus. Endless white fabrics. Black kimonos. Cups of Sake. You think of temples, the reception, the planning. All the different options for catering and flowers and wedding invitations. Your head spins. Weddings. Marriage. Abstract concepts to you. Foreign in their conventionality. You’ve never had the luxury of dwelling too long of what a hypothetical wedding would entail. You had no use for it, really. Though you did occasionally think about how Shoko would look on her wedding day. 

Suguru is calling your name.

You blink, regaining the smile on your lips, hoping he didn’t ask you a question you had not heard. “Y-yes?”

“Just keeping you with me,” he hums, getting started on the mushrooms and potatoes. “What were you thinking about?”

“Weddings are complicated,” you say seriously. But then you think of Shoko in a wedding dress, Suguru and Satoru in black kimonos, and decide that Shoko would make a lovely bride just as Satoru and Suguru would make lovely grooms. “I hope I get to see all of you married one day.”

Though the thought of Shoko getting married disturbs you. You think of seeing her even less than you usually do and frown. Twenty-two really is a bit too young, isn’t it? She hasn’t even finished medical school yet! You force yourself away from your thoughts, regarding Suguru brightly.

“What did the two of you talk about?” You ask eagerly. 

An amused glint flickers in his dark gaze. Almost teasingly. “Flowers.”

“Flowers?”

“Flowers.”

The girl had invited Suguru to see the sprawling garden at her estate and the special lotuses she tended to daily. He politely declined. You are slightly disappointed at this. You think of Satoru and Suguru’s wedding. You think of a faceless third, a potential bride that could handle Satoru and Suguru’s tempestuous natures. A calming, dignified force. You think she’ll be beautiful, befitting the two of them. 

“Was she pretty?”

Suguru stops, knife pressed to the cutting board, mushroom split in two. He lifts his gaze, returning to your expectant gaze with an unreadable one before his expression softens. “I suppose.”

You stare at him. He…supposes? Just what is that supposed to mean? Some new cryptic way of conveying his interest? Maybe he’s embarrassed. Maybe he doesn’t want to admit it.

The amused smile returns to his lips. “I was just a temporary fill in for Satoru, nothing more.”

He resumes cutting. Finishes. Heats up oil in a large pot and pushes the vegetables into it with a knife.

He’s too modest. You’re sure he’s downplaying himself. She had invited him to her estate for a second meet, hadn’t she? You guess Satoru and Suguru and yes, even Shoko are at an age most would consider eligible for marriage. They’ll get married soon, embark on the next adventure of their lives and you’ll…

You’ll be content.

“Have you thought about it?” He asks nonchalantly. “Marriage?”

You falter, a lapse in your thoughts at Suguru’s inquiring gaze. “Not at all,” you say truthfully. “I can’t even imagine it.��� Someone loving you? The thought of someone finding something worthwhile in you makes you feel greatly disturbed when you decided long ago that romantic endeavors were useless in your case. But even that line of thinking is arrogant of you. Nobody has ever shown interest in you in the twenty-one years you’ve been alive, and you are sure that even the slightest interest in you would only end with disappointment.

There is something fundamentally wrong with you. You would rather the vulnerable truth of it all not be laid bare and dissected by a scorned lover you disappointed in some way, because you had not been able to live up to the expected standards of romantic love. You would say something wrong, do something wrong. You wouldn’t understand. You don't think you'd be recover, and even the thought of it makes you feel vaguely ill.

You’re not naive. You know that love doesn’t have to be a factor in marriage, but if marriage was a necessity, then what was wrong with hoping for love, romance, passion? You’ve seen the well bred women of jujutsu society, the ones whose last names hold importance on some level, cultivated for the singular purpose of being a wife, a mother, sheltered away in their estates awaiting the inevitable. You think these girls deserve far more respect for being able to flawlessly navigate jujutsu society than you do, as a working jujutsu sorcerer. 

You also think you want better for Satoru. You think he deserves love and everything else he’s found in Suguru. You’re happy for him. For Suguru. Because even someone like you knows how rare it is to find what the two of them have.

You exhale. “But nothing’s expected of me anyway." You've never even been kissed. "I don’t have a lover, or even parents. I’m nobody important. But you, Satoru, and Shoko…" A self deprecating smile. "It seems that I’ll have to learn to live without you guys soon.” You’d be lonely. But you at least had Megumi and Tsumiki, and even Mimiko and Nanako. You were sure they’d still need you for a few more years. And then…

You’ve never thought about the future. Not to this extent. You’re unsure of what your life would be without Suguru, Satoru, and Shoko. You’re unsure if you’d even exist. 

As long as you’re alive, you’d persist. Somehow. And if you died along the way, well. You suppose you wouldn’t have to put too much thought into the future then, would you?

You must look troubled. Suguru clears his throat. You look up, just as the smell of curry fills your nose. 

He lifts up an inviting spoonful of curry. “For you.”

It takes you a few seconds to completely pull out of your thoughts, and to register the spoon in his grip. You learn forward automatically, mumble ‘thank you for the food,’ and eat his offering. The curry is delicious, savory with a sweet note that can’t just be attributed to the apples you had seen him blending before to mix into the sauce. Your gaze drops to an opened packet on the counter.

“Dark chocolate?”

“A tip I got from some of the housewives in the complex,” Suguru replies, satisfied with your response. “They said that it’d add an additional note of flavor. I’m guessing it worked…?”

You nod vigorously. “It’s delicious!”

Of course Suguru’s made good with the housewives in the fancy apartment complex the two of them live in with the kids. Suguru wanted a big kitchen. Satoru wanted a view. The penthouse seemed to both their tastes.

It’s a lovely apartment, with a large sprawling living room that includes ceiling high bookshelves, an open kitchen with a long island, and stairs that spiral to a second floor. Accommodating two adults, four kids and more, easily. It brings a smile to your face to see traces of Satoru and Suguru, and all the kids all over the apartment. You’re sure the confetti and colored paper scraps on top of the kotatsu are from Mimiko and Nanako and Tsumiki. Some school project that involved copious amounts of glue and glitter. There’s a book you bought for Megumi on the couch. Just as the bookshelves are full of Suguru’s own books. The big jar of sugar in one of the upper cabinets of the kitchen (far away from the kids’ reach) is Satoru’s. To add into his cereal, tea and anything else accommodating his usual sugary diet. There’s an identical jar back at your apartment. Satoru’s sugar jar.

To Satoru and Suguru and the girls, Megumi, and Tsumiki, it’s home.

Suguru’s eyes crease with the curve of his lips, pleased. “I’m glad you like it.” 

“Everyone’s going to love it.” Especially the twins, you think. Chocolate in their curry seemed to be exactly the kind of thing they’d delight at, in the small bursts of childlike wonder they rediscovered after Suguru rescued them. They followed after Satoru with their sweet tooths. However, after Nanako had been found with a cavity, Suguru had been forced to put a hard limit on their sugar intake, much to their disappointment.

Suguru gives the curry a stir, almost absentmindedly, as if he’s pondering something.

“I think about it,” he says, after a small silence. “Getting married.”

Oh.

Of course Suguru has thought about marriage. What, with all the marriage talks and matchmaking ceremonies and lovely elegant women in their pretty kimonos, who probably knew all the perfect ways to serve tea and facilitate conversation in all matters of talk. Suguru would make a perfect husband. Anybody would be lucky to marry Suguru. Charming and kind and handsome. 

You’ve begun to formulate a question about whether or not anyone’s caught his or Satoru’s eye, when you hear a thundering of footsteps. 

“We’re backkkkkkk!” Nanako hollers, rushing into the open living space, pulling Mimiko along with her. “Papa, are you making curry? It smells good!”

Mimiko nods her agreement, tugging on Suguru’s apron. Suguru greets them with a smile, untying his apron and pulling her up into his arms, just Satoru strolls into the room, Tsumiki at his side, Megumi trailing a few steps behind them.

“I’m starved!” Satoru announces, peering over the stovetop at the boiling curry. When a hand sneaks for a piece of chocolate, Suguru slaps his hand away. 

Suguru takes the chocolate away and puts it into a drawer as Satoru gawks. “It’s not the kind you’d like anyway.”

“Tsumiki, Megumi,” you start. “How’s school?”

You have regrettably not been able to visit as much as you wish you could. Your studies kept you busy. Your missions kept you out of Tokyo. You hope your absence isn’t missed too much. You read that children should grow up in stable environments. Your schedule was the last thing from stable.

Tsumiki beams. “I’ve got a part in the school play. We’re putting on Hachikazuki-hime!”

You make a mental note to grab the date from Satoru so you can clear your schedule. Tsumiki would be graduating elementary school soon. Already onto middle school. Children grow up so quickly. You’d have to take as many pictures as you could to compile an elementary school picture book for all the kids.

“Is that why you guys were all at the school so late?”

She nods. “Ah, and Megumi hasn’t gotten into a fight in a month,” she says excitedly. “It’s a record!”

The aforementioned boy makes a face. “What is that supposed to mean?” 

You grin, ruffling the boy’s hair. “That is a record!” Satoru had taken care of an incident a month ago in which you had been called to the school over an altercation between Megumi and another male student. You hadn’t been able to make it. You didn’t ask what Satoru had done, but you have a suspicious inkling that it had been waved away with a twirl of Satoru’s trusty black card.

You catch a glimpse of the clock above the refrigerator and balk. You snatch up your bag from the floor and wrap Tsumiki and Megumi in your arms and squeeze.

“I have to go now! I’ll see you guys later.”

“You’re not staying for dinner?” Mimiko asks quietly, peering up at you through her black bangs.

A sheepish breath escapes you. “I have a lot of homework, unfortunately.” You’d get takeout from that new tempura restaurant that opened up a couple of blocks away from your apartment. Then it was back to the books for you.

Satoru frowns. “You can’t stay an hour?”

Nanako and Mimiko and even Tsumiki voice their agreement.

Even Suguru looks displeased. Though you suppose it’s your fault. It had been your intention to stay until…

Suguru wanted to get married. He was thinking of marriage. With Satoru, with some other faceless bride to be. All three of them. You had said it yourself, hadn’t you? You’d have to learn to live without them. 

All of this is just temporary. 

You turn to the kids. “Why don’t you guys wash up for dinner?”

One by one, they shuffle off to their rooms. Megumi gives you an inquiring stare, but you wave him off.

“I’ve got a lot more work than I thought…” you trail off underneath their twin scrutiny. “I think it’d be best for me to go home for today.”

“Home,” Satoru repeats. His lips twist, effectively staunching all the words that would undoubtedly tell you exactly what he thinks about your decaying one bedroom apartment that had become your home after you graduated. You were untethered after graduation. While it was an occasion, jujutsu tech had been your home for better or worse for four years. It was the first place you had truly thought of as a home. And to leave it…

Yaga had offered you your room on campus, if you wanted to stay. But it didn’t seem right. Not without Suguru, Satoru, and Shoko. You found your apartment off a flyer attached to a pinboard while at a public library. Shoko had visited the apartment with you, negotiated rent down with the landlord, and the lease had been signed with little fanfare. It was small enough that you wouldn’t feel too lonely. Big windows overlooking a courtyard in the back. She hadn’t been thrilled about it (Satoru and Suguru even less so), but it was clean with a well worn floor and chips in the wall adjacent to the kitchen from what you presumed was to measure a child’s height. It endeared you to the apartment immediately.

Your landlord had informed you that a single mother had lived in your apartment before vacating it. You thought that there must have been love in your apartment once. So much love that a child could grow up happily scribbling away on the same walls you woke up to everyday. Maybe, somehow, this love would make you feel less lonely.

Your apartment was home. 

“Then let me pack you—”

“It’s fine, it’s fine!” You say hurriedly, backing towards the foyer. “I’d hate to trouble you. I have food at home.”

“I’ll walk you.” Satoru says, grabbing his jacket off the counter.

“I’ll take a taxi from the lobby.” You refuse. You can’t hide your smile, touched by their concern. “You should all eat. As a family.”

Suguru stares at you, the weight of his dark gaze making your skin prickle. It makes you feel as if you’ve said something wrong.

“At least make Ijichi drive you home,” Satoru says, exasperated, gesturing to the ceiling length windows that detail the darkness that has set over Tokyo. “It’s dark out.”

You blink in disbelief. “Satoru…” He cocks his head to the side. “Are you still using Ijichi as your personal chauffeur…?”

“...”

You turn to Suguru who seems to suddenly find the potted flowers resting by the window interesting.

Your mouth drops. “Not you too, Suguru! For the last time, you two can’t make Ijichi drop everything he’s doing to drive you through Tokyo!”

You sigh, shaking your head. These two. You feel sympathy towards Ijichi’s plight. Maybe that was why he had looked so withered the other day while you had visited Shoko in the morgue at Jujustu tech. Shoko had made a joke about watering him like you’d water a plant. You, however, could not find the humor in the situation when your kouhai had truly looked to be in need of water. And sleep. And food.

Maybe you could treat him for a meal one of these days…

“Does Ijichi like yakitori…?” You wonder out loud.

“I wouldn’t know.” Suguru says lightly, despite the peeved expression on his face. You can tell that Suguru, really, could not care less about Ijichi’s tastes.

“I don’t care about that man,” Satoru deadpans. “Why are you talking about Ijichi right now?”

You are unimpressed by their responses. “Anyway,” you sigh out. “I’ll be going now.”

“I’m coming—”

“No you aren’t,” you’re already halfway out the door. “Eat Suguru’s delicious curry,” you tell them both. “Tell the kids I love them. Goodnight.”

You don’t take a taxi. You walk fifty minutes to your apartment in the brisk winter in an effort to clear your mind. It doesn’t work. Suguru wants to get married. Satoru too, maybe, despite his efforts to avoid all the matchmaking ceremonies and invitations to go back to the Gojo estate for more lectures on the importance of continuing the Gojo line with an heir. In the end if Suguru wanted it, Satoru would end up wanting it too, as that was the nature of things. The two of them reconfiguring themselves around the other, always in tandem. A girl would catch Satoru’s eye, or Suguru’s, or maybe both of their attentions. And if she made them happy, you would be happy.

It wasn’t as if Suguru and Satoru didn’t have prospects. There was no shortage of girls who would gladly offer themselves. They didn’t need any help in that aspect. Besides, you are sure you’d be of absolutely no help in matchmaking. You always found it difficult to talk to pretty women. Your mouth never quite worked right. They always smelled nice too…

What you can do…

You can keep your distance. Slowly disengage yourself from the tangle of their lives. You’d be relegated to watching from the sidelines. You’d be content. Maybe you could keep Shoko to yourself for a little bit longer. To your knowledge, she had no intention of getting married. You hoped. Yet anyway. 

You jam your keys into the door of your apartment, slightly lifting the weight of the door up and jiggling the keys to the right. When you walk into your apartment, you set down your bag. You had forgotten about the takeout. There’s no food in your apartment except for a rotting carrot in the fridge that you throw out, and Satoru’s big jar of sugar on the island. 

Oh well, you didn’t have to eat. There's old tea in your cabinet. You ready the kettle. As you wait for the water to heat, you look out the window and think the apartment feels especially big tonight.

[seoafin]

shoko x f!reader (main pairing); gojo satoru x f!reader x geto suguru 1.2k words; no warnings just general high school clownery!!! part of the summertime record series

-

There's an unsettling feeling that creeps over you as you approach the door to your classroom. It's so potent that you pause for a second, hand lingering in the air before you slide the door open.

You take in the scene before you.

It’s an unusual sight, but you’ve come to realize that unusual has become the norm when it comes to your new classmates. Geto Suguru and Gojo Satoru, two powerful jujutsu sorcerers who had taken to each other immediately, for better and for worse.

Geto is gripping Gojo’s wrist, pinning the white haired boy’s outstretched right arm to the desk, the weight of his body hunched over and leveled against Gojo's own to ensure he stays put. Gojo is struggling to use his remaining hand to pull his other one away, but it’s futile against Geto’s ironclad grip.

There is a knife in Shoko’s hand. A regular knife for food preparation that must have been swiped from the kitchen.

The knife is poised right above Gojo’s wrist.

"Let’s just—” Gojo’s voice pitches high, “wait wait wait wait—"

You stare.

Three gazes turn to you. Gojo’s sunglasses are askew on his face, face feverish with a rising panic.

"Ah, perfect timing." Shoko smiles pleasantly. You stare some more. Then in a perfectly amicable tone she gestures to the katana slung over your shoulder. “We're testing Gojo’s limitless. Can I borrow your katana?"

You wordlessly slide the sheath off your shoulder and hand it to her.

"Sell out!" Gojo condemns, squirming and floundering underneath Geto’s body. You observe that he looks like a miserable fish gasping for air on dry land.

Shoko turns to you, straight faced. "This is for science."

Despite the arduous task of restraining the aforementioned male, Geto only looks slightly winded as his lips curl into another perfectly pleasant smile matching Shoko’s own. “Please,” he says congenially, in a tone that would suggest anything but the cold blooded torture about the ensue. He nods at an empty seat in front of a spare desk. “Enjoy the show.”

“This is my hand we’re talking about—!”

A particularly bony elbow slams into Geto’s chest as you take a seat. Geto remains unfazed. You sit with a wide yawn in an attempt to chase away the last stubborn dredges of sleep.

"I can reattach it." Ieiri says. You can sense the flow of reverse cursed energy in her fingertips as she flexes them. She shrugs. "I think."

Gojo balks, whiter than a ghost. "O-kay. I'm sorry. Hear that Suguru? I said I'm sorry! I won't do it again!”

Even to your ears, it doesn’t sound particularly sincere.

Geto must come to the same conclusion, because he pretends not to hear.

The apologies take a sharp turn. “It’s not my fault you tripped like an idiot into that curse’s mouth—” 

“Let’s get started, shall we?” Geto interrupts. 

He turns to Shoko who holds your unsheathed katana with steady hands. Light dances over the blade, sharp enough that a stray finger on the flat edge could easily draw blood. It’s a beautiful blade, on loan to you from the Kamo family. Your favorite one out of the many that have passed your hands. Most katana users you’ve come to find, are particularly possessive over their blades, like they would a lover, but you think this one looks right at home in Shoko’s elegant hands.

Gojo eyes the prized blade as if it’s the evilest thing to have graced his presence. You know this because it’s an even worse, beadier look than the one he used to give you. Now he only looks at you as if he doesn’t quite know what to say to you now that the two of you have settled into a tentative kind of relationship-not-friendship. You don't miss his antagonism. It's a welcome change.

Shoko levels the sharp blade of your katana against Gojo’s long index finger, above the knuckle. In response, as a last resort, the fingers curl against the desk, ensuring a messy cut.

"Hm,” a slow smile spreads over her face. “A finger? Or the wrist?"

Geto's smile is merciless. It comes easier to him than you would have originally expected. "All of it.”

There’s a yelp. Something utterly incomprehensible leaves Gojo’s mouth. You think it could be his spirit ejecting itself from his body, floating into the air.

There’s a glint in Shoko’s eyes. "Roger that."

A rush of cursed energy fills the katana, imbuing it with malicious intentions.

There is no clear indication of the infinity shrouding Gojo’s body other than the presence of his cursed energy, but you know it has to be in effect because as Shoko furiously saws at the appendage, the blade never sinks into flesh. Sweat forms on Gojo’s brow as he stares intently at the portion of invisible space right above his wrist.

With bated breaths, the three of you stare.

The sawing stops. “Huh, it really doesn’t go through.” Shoko remarks flippantly, stepping away with a shrug. “A shame.”

Geto sighs, loosening his grip.

Gojo springs away with a shaky bark of laughter, too far away from Geto and Shoko and you to be anything but the intention to maintain a distance.

“Of course it wouldn’t have gone through,” he snaps. The relief is evident on his face as he straightens his wrinkled uniform. He waves an accusatory finger at the three of you. “Now you’ve all had your fun!”

Geto and Shoko look too disappointed, without any hint of remorse on their faces.

“Pfft.”

It slips from your mouth before you can help it. Your lips wobble despite your attempt to stifle the laughter growing in your stomach by firmly pressing your lips shut.

Your loud laughter envelopes the room as Satoru, Suguru, and Shoko stare at you, slack mouthed.

“I’m…” the remnants of laughter wrack your body, “sorry…” 

You hadn’t meant to laugh. You think it’s been a long time since you last laughed. 

Gojo’s usual black sunglasses have slid down the bridge of his nose, revealing the wide blue expanse of his eyes. “You laugh?”

“I do,” you answer seriously.

Then you smile widely. The motion is still unfamiliar to your lips but you find it’s a bit easier now. There are things to smile about now. The friendly shrine cats, the warmth of the sun on your skin when you settle down to take a nap, Shoko’s laughter. There’s a raised empty bed of soil in front of the dorms. No flowers or plants. Yaga-sensei had told you that the contractors had been recalled before anything could begin. Then he handed you a book on horticulture.

You don’t know much about plants or flowers or gardening, but you’d like to start.

“You’re dumb,” Shoko directs towards him as she takes the seat next to you. “And you,” Shoko says to Geto. “You’ll catch flies.”

Geto’s mouth snaps shut. You find that he doesn’t meet your eyes, but Shoko easily leans her head against your shoulder and you don’t think much of anything but the weight of her and how good she smells.

In the next second, Yaga-sensei steps into the class, and levels the four of you with a suspicious look.

“Class is starting,” he says, raising an eyebrow when he sees Shoko pressed close to you. Before he turns to the blackboard, you catch a glimpse of a smile. “The four of you in your seats.”

For the first time in a long time, you stay awake through a lesson.

[seoafin]

I need your thots on house husband geto,,how he cooks and cleans and all he asks from you is a kiss every now and then [ever since i read nitc all i've been thinking about is how he asks rip!mc for a kiss in exchange for anything]

ohhhhhhhhhhhh

-

"You don't cook at home?"

When Shoko had dragged you out to a girl's night with some of her old friends from medical school, citing that Satoru and Suguru had kept you cooped up in the apartment for themselves for too long, this was not a question you anticipated to be answering. At first you were overwhelmed. It was a large gathering. Ten became eight, and eight had dwindled to six and then four. Right on the verge of retiring for the night, conversation had shifted to the topic of boyfriends and relationship woes.

And now three pairs of eyes look to you. An amused chuckle escapes Shoko's lips, a lit cigarette neatly slotted between her lips.

You blink, embarrassment washing over you. "I—well." You stare down at your lap. "I'm not really that good at cooking...so my boyfriend...does all the cooking."

Suguru does the cooking. And the laundry. When Suguru's away, Satoru takes care of it. Satoru washes the dishes. Cleans. He sweeps and vacuums and tidies after the kids. You had tried to help, once, but Suguru had directed you away, and now the realization is quickly dawning on you that it may have been because you are simply incompetent at housework.

You may not be able to cook, but nobody is incompetent at cleaning!

Except…maybe you. You don’t know. You’ve never needed to clean. Nothing more than a perfunctory clean every once in a while when you lived alone. You weren’t a messy person. Shoko remarked often that your first apartment was cleaner than it had been when you had originally moved in.

"How sweet," Kuriyama sighs out. "My boyfriend can't even cut a vegetable! He cooks for you? Everyday?"

"U-usually," is your response while your mind races, trying to think back to the last time you had helped with anything around the house. Anything.

"The only thing my boyfriend can make is ramen. Not to mention he's super picky about his food!" Mori shakes her head. "He's so difficult! Honestly I think of dumping him everyday for being so incompetent!"

You stare at her.

Shoko clears her throat. "I'm sure it’s not only that—”

“I agree,” Kuriyama says, nodding, face fiercely determined. “It gets so tiring sometimes taking care of everything. Maybe it’s time to move on!” She leans in. “Your boyfriend wouldn’t happen to have any good looking friends?”

Out of all the reasons that constantly filled your head with why Satoru and Suguru would break up with you, you hadn’t expected your inability to do household chores to be one of them.

Incompetent.

Well, it would certainly be understandable. If anything, you think you would prefer them breaking up with you over something as mundane as not being able to do housework, instead of the many flaws to your character. It would settle easier. It would hurt less. Now you just had to prepare yours—

“Let’s call it a night!” Shoko interrupts, cigarette disposed, taking you to stand up by the arm. “I have to get her back before people start calling,” she says, interlacing your fingers.

Kuriyama sighs. “Just when we were getting to the best part, Shoko!”

“Yeah, yeah,” Mori grins. “You should come to our next night out. You can invite your boyfriend too! We’ll make an exception!”

Shoko waves them off, pulling you outside the izakaya. 

“I can’t cook either,” she says as the two of you wait for a taxi. You know that. But Shoko bakes. Cookies and cakes and occasionally other baked goods. You spent nights over at her apartment eating cupcakes until late in the morning, watching American dramas and horror movies. Delicious, mouth watering desserts.

“Who expects women to cook nowadays anyway?”

—

When the elevator parts to your apartment, you immediately go to Mimiko and Nanako’s room and check their pink laundry hamper. Empty. Then to Tsumiki’s room. Empty. Megumi’s room. Empty.

You’re seated on the floor of Megumi’s room when the door opens again.

“How was the—”

You push past Satoru to go into your shared room at the end of the hall to check your laundry hamper. Suguru is reading on the bed when you open the closet. Empty. You sit down, knees flush to your chest, dejected.

You don’t need to look behind you to know Satoru and Suguru are exchanging glances.

From your knees, you mumble. “Did you do the laundry?”

It’s Suguru that answers you. “We just finished a load.”

“Oh.”

You sit in silence.

At least, until Satoru gently yanks you up into his arms, and carries you to the bed. You immediately turn face down on your comforter, covering your face. 

You think they must be having another one of their silent conversations. You squeeze your eyes shut. Tomorrow, you resolve, you’d wash the dishes after dinner.

You hear the door open yet again with Satoru’s departure, and Suguru softly says your name. You sigh, picking yourself up. You really can’t refuse Suguru when he says your name like that.

“Where are the kids?” You ask, even though you already know where they are. They’d be back early tomorrow morning, before school.

“Educational overnight field trip with Yaga,” Suguru replies, amused as your attempt to delay the inevitable. He plays along, lightly teasing. “It’s not like you to forget these things.”

You don’t meet his eyes. Suguru calmly waits you out until you lamely say: “I don’t help around the house.”

You can tell he’s taken aback. “Is that why you were looking for…dirty clothes?”

You’re embarrassed just thinking about it. “...”

“I like cooking,” he says. “I like cooking and watching you, Satoru, Megumi, and the girls enjoy what I make. And I definitely, don’t think it’s a burden. We order out a lot too, don’t we?” He continues. “As for the laundry, I grew up doing it with my mother. It reminds me of home.”

You reluctantly look up. There’s a soft smile on his lips. “I can wash the dishes.”

He chuckles, hand caressing your face. You nearly close your eyes and lean into it. “You don’t need to. You don’t need to do anything.”

You still want to. Try. It makes you feel better. Slightly. The knots in the pit of your stomach loosen. “Can I help you with lunch for the kids tomorrow…?”

He pretends to think about it. The fondness in his barely suppressed expression gives him away. "Maybe if you give me a kiss first."

"Suguru," you grumble.

He only replies with your name, face erupting into a full blown grin.

Your face warms as you lean close and cup his face with your hands, bringing your lips to his. He pulls you on to straddle his lap, wrapping an arm around your waist and breathes you in. His lips briefly part, and you feel his tongue run over your bottom lip.

You pull away, about to rest your face onto his shoulder, into his neck. His dark purple gaze draws you in. “We can take care of you,” he says, softly. Then he kisses you again, and this time you let him take you apart with his tongue. Against your lips: “We can take care of you.” 

You draw apart, breathless. You pointedly stare at the wall behind him while you attempt to regain what’s left of your composure. Suguru laughs and presses a kiss to your collarbone, one hand sliding underneath your shirt onto bare skin, thumb lightly dragging over the scar of raised flesh on your side.

“Besides,” he murmurs, lips still attached to your neck. You can feel the slightest kiss of teeth. “Satoru makes more of a mess than the kids. It’s only right that he cleans up after himself.”

“Hey!” The sound erupts from behind the door. 

You should’ve known. 

—

[extra]

“I’m so sorry,” you bemoan.

Ten minutes prior, Nanako had run into the kitchen, brush in hand and horrified, ("Papa, something's burning!"), then she had looked at you, brightened in understanding, and called back into the hall: “Everything’s alright guys!”

Satoru looks over at the unrecognizable charred pieces of salmon on the stove top, face unreadable. Then he shrugs and drops a light kiss on your nose. “You tried.”

You hide your face in your hands.

You also pretend not to see Satoru discreetly handing Megumi a pack of bills as the kids shuffle out the door for school.

[seoafin]

dog days are over | chapter eight

pairing: gojo satoru x fem!reader x geto suguru warnings/tags (for this chapter): gojo word count: ~9.6k

fic masterlist read on ao3

“No need to look so nervous! Loosen up!”

You try your best to smile, despite the nerves bundled in your stomach. “Thank you for inviting me out, Ikeda-san.”

She beams at you, opening the menu in front of her. You stare at her glossy, perfectly shaped nails and the smooth skin of her hands. You remember the softness of them. Still, there is no ring on her finger.

“Please, call me Meiko. And of course! Don’t tell Gojo and Geto, but I’ve always wanted to talk to you.”

Surprised, you say, “Me?”

“The mysterious fourth classmate of Jujutsu High’s 2008 graduating class. I was always so curious about you.” She smiles, and you are drawn to the cherry red of her lipstick. “Especially since those two are notoriously tightlipped about you.”

You’re sure it’s because there’s nothing to talk about when it comes to you. 

“I’m not that interesting,” you say politely, because in your opinion, you really aren’t. “I’m sure you weren’t missing much.”

“Is that really what you think?” She leans forward, placing her chin on top of her threaded fingers. “I think you’re plenty interesting.”

Your face warms. Nobody’s ever called you interesting before. You meet her gaze. “Is there something you need, Ike—Meiko-san?”

She laughs. “Please, you’re so formal! No need for the honorific, you’ll make me self conscious. We’re nearly the same age! If I’m being honest, I just wanted to get to know you.”

“Because we have…” you consider her carefully, “a lot in common?”

Once again, she bursts into laughter. It’s not mocking, but amused. “I thought maybe you’d feel a little more comfortable if we had…common ground.”

The common ground being…

Your face flushes with heat. “Is it…” you stare at the plate laid flat in front of you, stomach churning in distress, “obvious?”

You think back to every single semi public interaction with Suguru and Satoru. Maybe someone had caught a glimpse of Suguru’s knuckles brushing against yours, walking a little too close to you to be considered casual acquaintances. Maybe someone had seen Satoru draw you close to him. It hadn’t been discreet. Satoru’s never been discreet. Not enough. And now you’re paying the consequences.

Your palms go sweaty.

“Oh, it seems I’ve worried you,” Meiko looks concerned. “It was just a guess,” she murmurs gently, reaching out for your hand. Your heart starts with a jerk when her hand closes around you. “An inkling if you will. Woman’s intuition?”

They are soft. They smell like peach flavored hand lotion. Relief sweeps through you like a cool balm. “Oh,” you say breathlessly. “Thank god.” It slips out before you can help it.

“It’s rare to see Geto and Gojo so ruffled,” she chuckles. “Geto especially. I can never tell what he’s thinking with that smile of his…I just wanted to tease them a little, you know? Make them sweat.” She studies you, face sobering. “They hold you in the highest regard.”

The she winks, and calls over a server.

She must be a regular here because she easily strikes up a conversation with your server about the new seasonal specials. You then watch in slight awe as she proceeds to order one of every single thing on the menu.  

At your expression, she grins. “Instead of deliberating, isn’t it easier to just order the entire menu? That way we can try a little of everything. Besides, my palate gets a little bored with one plate.”

You blink. It strikes you as something Satoru would do. Order every single sweet on a menu to have his pick. The world of jujutsu elites and their bottomless bank accounts is truly something beyond your understanding.

“When Ieiri-san said you were coming to my reception as her plus one, I was surprised,” Meiko says. “I asked Gojo for your availability, and he said you were busy. Honestly,” she huffs, “selfish men are the worst!”

Satoru said you were busy? You wonder if he thought you’d somehow embarrass him and Suguru. Somehow, you can’t fault him. People just don’t seem to like you, and it’s probably your fault. “You wanted me to come?” 

“Of course I did.” She makes a face. “Instead I had to deal with that Kumiko. The nerve of her to seat herself at my table! In your seat!”

She scans you, as if to gauge the measure of your outrage. You simply only look at her, unblinking as your mind runs wild with all the possible ways to navigate the rest of this conversation without stepping on any landmines. You're not good at this. 

“I wasn’t aware you two were acquainted.”

Meiko’s smile turns tight. “We were briefly homeschooled together. Flower arranging class.” She spits out.

Her face clouds darkly.

You quickly change the subject. “I wonder when the food—”

Meiko’s eyes narrow. “ Wait. Are you acquainted with her?”

“J-Just briefly…”

“That snake,” her fingers fist tightly. “Of course she’d worm her way into your life!” She slams a fist onto the table. You wince. “It’s Geto isn’t it?” She scoffs. “I heard she got stood up by Gojo, but to think she was that shameless—”

“She likes him,” you say, a little more firmly than you intended. A look of surprise paints her face at your sudden boldness. You settle down, embarrassed. “I think…her feelings are genuine,” and it’s wrong to undermine them. The fondness in her eyes is real. You of all people understand her feelings. You love Suguru too.

“I’m sorry,” you apologize weakly.

Meiko exhales deeply. “No, I am. I always get carried away when it comes to her. We’ve always had bad blood between us. I suppose we’ve just never seen the world the same way. It’s always been her dream to be married to an influential man,” her voice turns bitter. “To be a perfect wife. To bear sons with cursed techniques. You could say we were bred for it. Disgusting pigs like that Zenin Naoya are a dime a dozen in jujutsu society. But unlike me, Kumiko was actually born with a powerful cursed technique.” There’s a bitter note to her voice. “What a waste.”

You don’t know what to say to her. You’ve never been good at knowing what to say at the right time. Not like Suguru.

But Meiko continues, “I suppose that’s why it’s a surprise to everyone she’s still not married. A lot of people think it’s because her clan elders are holding out for Gojo.” She snorts. “I guess everyone is expecting him to get married soon too, and have children. Lots of children.” She pauses, “Though I suppose they don’t mind the unmarried part as much as the not-impregnating-women part.” She raises an eyebrow. “They do make quite the pair, don’t they?”

You get the strongest feeling of deja-vu. 

Your face warms, looking at anything but Meiko. “I…”

“They work even better together too,” she remarks with a sigh. “Unfortunately, good looks can’t save them from their lousy personalities.” She shoots you a sympathetic look. 

L-Lousy personalities…

Clearing her throat, she says, “The Gojo clan elders and higher ups from Fukuouka are convening in Tokyo to try and convince Gojo to get married. To secure the Gojo line.”

You stare at her.

Meiko’s expression gives away to surprise. “You didn’t know?”

“Nobody mentioned it,” you answer truthfully. It clears up a lot of the happenings at the school. Perhaps they had come to Tokyo because Satoru refused to come to them. You knew Satoru’s less than enthusiastic feelings towards the burdens pushed on him by clan politics, such as marriage. A part of you can’t help but wonder if that had spurred Satoru and Suguru’s actions towards you. That and pity you suppose. In your first year, Satoru often used to remark that you seemed like you’d be the type to die alone. He wasn’t wrong. 

“The Zenin and Kamo’s want him to take a bride from their own families, but the Gojo clan’s own preference is someone like Sasaki. Someone from a distinguished lineage and a clan that’s not as powerful as one of the big three. They don’t want a strong clan interfering in interfamily politics. It’s all terribly political.” She makes a face. “They want him to consider mistresses from other families too. He’s not the only one. Geto’s been fielding all kind of offers too. His cursed technique is too valuable, and the Zenin’s have always been greedy.”

Of course the Gojo clan would want someone as delicate and refined as Sasaki. She’s beautiful, talented, and holds a revered cursed technique. It would be easy to fall in love with her, if the way Suguru talks highly of her means anything. 

You try to process the rest of the information, but all you can think of is marriage, marriage, marriage. Your head is spinning. Had your parents’ marriage been rife with such difficulties? This can’t be normal. You are confronted by the realization that the day Satoru and Suguru get married might be closer than you think. It throws your thoughts into disarray. All this time you’ve been unaware of the specifics and complexities of jujutsu society as it pertains to someone of Satoru and Suguru’s positions. They’ve never confided in you, and you think it’s for good reason. You’ve been so caught up in your own head that it never occurred to you that they might be troubled too. What a friend you’ve been lately. 

Spirits dampening, you lower your gaze. “Is…that right…”

Luckily, you’re saved from a more coherent answer because the food comes. A line of waiters approach your table. Twelve plates, large and small, are set down in quick succession. You stare at the colorful array of dishes. Another waiter makes an appearance with a bottle of expensive looking wine, pouring the two of you a glass. 

Meiko loads food onto your plate. “Eat up! You seem like you could use a good meal.”

“Thank you…” Eating saves you the trouble of having to speak when you don’t have the words. It’s easy. The food is delicious.”

“This is the restaurant that catered my food during the reception,” Meiko says, taking a bite of her ricotta peach salad. “I hope you enjoyed the food, then and now.”

“It’s delicious,” you admit with a smile. “Thank you for bringing me.”

A wide smile hangs on her face. “Of course! It was a terrible night, but it might have been a little better if you had been there.”

A warm flush creeps into your face. “I would’ve liked to have met you too,” you say shyly, hesitantly. You like Meiko, you think. It’s easy to like her, with her bold personality. There's a frankness to her that reminds you of Shoko. A familiarity. You wonder what she sees in you. You wonder if your night would’ve been different had you met her instead of Hideo.

You’re thoughtful. “You didn’t seem very happy at your wedding.” The words come out before you can stop it.

Meiko goes quiet. You quickly move to retract your statement, realizing it was insensitive of you to say something. “I’m so—”

Meiko lifts her wine to her lips and slams it down, emptied. “I didn’t want to get married. Not then, not ever. I thought my father had given up on it, after I scared the fifth suitor away.” She takes the bottle and nearly fills her glass to the brim. “Only to find out my father had given away my hand without my knowledge when I came back from visiting my mother in Hokkaido.” She takes a long drink. “To a politician of all people! It was horrible. I threw a fit, hoping to convince my father. You can imagine how well that went.”

You can’t imagine being unknowingly married, bound to spending the rest of your life with a stranger. It feels like the puzzle pieces are slowly coming together. Meiko’s sour expression throughout the entire reception. Shoko’s comment about the unwilling bride. You can’t do anything but commiserate with her in silence.

“My father said he’d be willing to break off talks if…” she trails off, looking vaguely uncomfortable for the first time since the evening started. “At the time, I hadn’t realized those two were into women.”

You nearly choke with laughter.

It’s an understandable mistake. The nature of Satoru and Suguru’s relationship have always raised eyebrows. They’ve never hidden it. It’s a truth, never presumed, never spoken, lest it be true. Or spreads. Satoru and Suguru have always enjoyed making people uncomfortable to an almost sadistic extent. You’ve seen people squirm in their seats beneath Suguru’s pleasant smile, Satoru’s creeping menacing grin.

Meiko looks amused now, eyeing you with an understanding you don’t quite get. “My mistake.”

You sober. “The reception…”

“He spent the entire time with Gojo and Geto, trying to worm his way into their good graces. He has ambitions, you see.” A mirthless smile. “He wants to be prime minister of Japan one day, and everyone knows it’s Gojo’s vote that matters the most when it comes to selecting the political face of Japan, and my father already has very strong ties to the current Kamo head.”

Oh you knew that. Upon watching a political debate with Shoko in the common lounge your first year of jujutsu tech, Satoru had taken up all the space on the couch with wide legs, eaten all your popcorn, and watching the current prime minister’s effective response to the burgeoning inflation, had commented that it was an aggressive policy for the mild and meek man who had cowered in the face of him and the Zenin and Kamo heads.

Shoko and Suguru had simply looked at him until Satoru shrugged and said that between the current prime minister and his former opponent, personally, he had flipped a coin before casting his vote. Suguru gawked at him, and had spent the rest of the week questioning the legitimacy of the political institutions in Japan.

To this day, you’re unsure of whether or not Satoru was joking.

Sometimes, the thought that the fate of your nation rests in Satoru’s hands makes you a little uneasy.

You try not to think about it often.

She snorts. “It wasn’t as bad as our first night.” 

You straighten immediately.

“He didn’t touch me,” she clears up quickly. “Or force me, if that’s what you think. He slept on the couch actually.” Her face goes thoughtful. “It’s more than you can say of a lot of men in jujutsu society,” she completes darkly.

Relief shoots through you. “If you ever need help…” This time, it’s your turn to squeeze her hands reassuringly. “I’ll do whatever I can.”

Meiko looks touched. “You’d help me?”

“I’m not all that impressive,” you respond truthfully, a little embarrassed at your bold proclamation with nothing but intent to back it up. You aren’t in a position of any strength to be promising easy help. But you’d do anything you could. “But I’m sure I could ask Satoru and Suguru to help if necessary too.” And if whatever you could meant pleading to Satoru and Suguru on the behalf of someone else, you wouldn’t even have to think about it.

“Satoru and Suguru are good people,” despite the opinions of others. Despite…what Meiko may think. They are, you know it. You’re sure they’d intervene if needed, not because you asked.

She sniffs. You look at her in alarm. Then you realize the bottle of wine is empty.

“I’m sure…” she swallows, eyebrows furrowing as she tries to piece together her sentence. “I’m sure they’d do anything, if you asked them.”

You’re sure she’s just flattering you, so you smile, and motion for the waitress before Meiko can order another bottle. You hope she doesn’t cry. A pretty, crying woman would have you flying into a panic. You prepare yourself to call Shoko for advice just in case, although for crying women matters Suguru would probably be your first choice.

The bill is placed. You figure you should pay since she took the liberty of inviting you out in the first place, but there’s a black card in her hand before you can even blink. The waitress smoothly takes it, just as Meiko’s fist slams down onto the table.

“They don’t deserve you!” She exclaims, drawing stares from other tables. “You’re too good for them!”

The server hurriedly rushes away, presumably to quickly check you two out.

Your server returns with Meiko’s card and helps you collect her. Luckily, she’s not drunk enough to be immobile, but she tilts precariously as you two walk her outside. The weight of her body leaning on yours is almost pleasant. She must be a lightweight. Like Satoru. You don’t mind it. It reminds you of the time you had had to drag Satoru to his room after he mistook Shoko’s flask of alcohol for apple juice. Outside, a sleek black car awaits.

“Meiko,” you say, “would you like to stay at my apartment tonight?”

Her voice is small as she hides her face in the crook of your neck. Your heart nervously starts in your chest. “...Do you mind?”

You manage a smile. “Not at all.”

The driver (the same driver from before you recognize), a kind looking middle aged man, takes Meiko as you thank the waitress. When the two of you are seated, Meiko slurs to him that she’ll be following you home tonight. You tell him your address.

When you arrive, the driver does a double take at your apartment building. Meiko sobers up enough to be able to walk up the three flights of stairs to your apartment by herself so she shoos the driver away as you promise to take care of her.

“Go,” you call as you open the door. “I’m home.”

Go is seated in front of the door, above the platform of the genkan, as if he’s been waiting for you, tail excitedly flicking from side to side on the floor as he regards you.

“Wow,” Meiko says. “That’s a beautiful cat.”

Pride blooms in your chest at her words. Go’s grown big enough to nearly encompass the length of your arms. You wonder if he’ll ever stop growing, but you don’t mind. More of him to hug and pet. You love him regardless. 

After taking off her heels, Meiko clambers to her knees and immediately starts petting Go. You can hear Go’s pleased purr as Meiko showers him with bellyrubs. 

When she finally pulls away, you lead her through the living room and then into your room, Go following beside your ankles. 

“You can take my bed.” Meiko opens her mouth to argue. “I insist.” You’re no stranger to sleeping on the couch anyway. And having Go next to you made things substantially better. You leave to the kitchen to get her a glass of water.

Clutching a tall glass of water, you return to your room to see the top dresser of your drawer opened, and a white envelope in Meiko’s hand.

“O-oh,” you say quickly, placing the glass of water down on your desk. “That’s…”

“Did you write all of these?” Meiko places the envelope back down at the top of the stack in your drawer. You had momentarily moved the letters there until you could finish Satoru’s latest one to ensure all the postage was up to date. His birthday was coming soon after all. But you couldn’t risk the letters being seen by any of the recipients. Your letters weren’t meant for them—not as long as you were alive.

With Satoru's tendency to snoop through your things, their usual home was in a shoebox inside a bigger storage container underneath your bed, covered with spare blankets. You hadn’t been expecting visitors.

Meiko gestures to three stacks of letters, each stack addressed to a different person.

“Three every year,” you reply, with a small smile, closing the drawer. She must have seen Satoru’s name written on the envelope. You’re relieved when she doesn’t say anything else, only gazing at the picture frames on top of your dresser. 

“Your apartment,” her voice is quiet, “is very empty.”

“I’m not good at decorating. I’ve never had a lot of things.”

“The unsentimental type, huh.”

Meiko raises her hand, as if to examine the picture of Shoko on your desk, but then drops it. You open the covers for her. It’s easy to see how tired she is, the darkness of the night casting shadows on her face that make her expression muted. You should let her get rest.

Slowly, she gets into your bed.

“I wanted to enroll into jujustu high,” her voice is barely a whisper, covers pulled to her chin. “My father said my cursed technique wouldn’t amount to much as a jujutsu sorcerer. That I’d be killed on my first mission. I wanted—” her voice warbles, and you worry she might cry. “I could’ve been an auxiliary manager.”

Hesitantly, you reach out and pat her hair. You like it when Shoko pats your hair.

She blinks slowly, before her eyes close. A few seconds later, Meiko is peacefully sleeping in your bed. You exhale, relieved that sleep had come to her easily.

Freedom. It’s easy to take it for granted. Despite everything in your life, at least you had that. You could quit being a jujutsu sorcerer, move to the mountains unaccounted for, and live the rest of your life surrounded by rocks. There would be no great impact on jujutsu society. You’d be a fading memory at best.

You’re still thinking about it when, settled on the couch, with Go in your lap as you brush his fur, someone knocks on your door.

At this hour?

You set Go and the brush down, walking over to the genkan. You open the door.

A tall, slightly disheveled man greets you. From what you can make out in the sparse light coming from the small lamp of your living room, he’s nicely dressed, in an expensive looking suit, but his tie is loose around his neck in a way that reminds you of drunk businessmen splayed out in the streets awaiting the trains to open.

“Is Ikeda-san inside?” He asks sharply. You try to make out his face, but the darkness encroaches on his face, creating shadows. Your eyesight is going bad. Too many late nights in the archives. 

“She’s sleeping—”

You immediately move to block him from coming in when he takes a step forward. Go hisses from in between your ankles.

“I’m her husband,” he says, in a tone that leaves little room for argument. “I’m here to retrieve my wife.” After a slight pause, as if remembering to be courteous, he dips his head. “Thank you for taking care of her.”

“Of course.” You meet his gaze. “Though I don’t think it’s wise to move her now. Like I said before, she’s sleeping.” You don’t share that she had been drinking.

You think you imagine the flicker of displeasure on his face, but then his face is smoothly dispassionate. “It’s only proper that she should rest at home.”

You don’t move.

“If I’m being honest, I don’t feel comfortable letting her go home with you.” Not in her current condition.

“Forgive me,” he says. “But my relationship with Ikeda-san doesn’t pertain to you. It’s a separate matter altogether. I simply want her to rest at home.” In other words: it’s none of your business.

A politician through and through, you think. Despite the fact that this straitlaced man seems to be the very opposite of smiles and fake goodwill. 

It’s not. Your business. But you don’t think you can let her go home, not in good conscience. You wonder if this means making enemies with the future prime minister of Japan. Well, there wasn’t much he could do even if he wanted to retaliate.

“I’m sorry,” you say firmly. “I’ll take care of Ikeda-san until the morning. I may not look like it but I’m also a jujutsu sorcerer. A Grade One. I’m more than capable of watching over her.”

You leave out the part where your own missions have been on the backburner as of late. You’re sure Yaga-sensei is being considerate after what happened in Nagoya. You mentally thank Satoru and Suguru for all their hard work. 

Surprise on his face. “You’re a jujutsu sorcerer?”

Y-yes… “I am.” 

His fingers curl, unhappy. You can tell he’s hesitant. You understand it, but you already decided you wouldn’t let Meiko go home. It’s not something you’ll budge on. You’ll stand your ground.

“Then I leave her in your care,” he says curtly, straightening. He bows his head and you bow back. Then he’s gone, leaving you wondering if you imagined the entire interaction. You stare at your empty doorway until Go meows.

You close the door and sigh, sitting down on the elevated floor connected to the genkan as you scratch Go’s ear.

“Do you think the future prime minister of Japan hates me?”

He bumps his head into your thigh. You sigh again, picking him up as you stand. Like he said, it’s beyond you to assume their relationship, a nobody like you. Go immediately rolls onto his back in your arms, paws kicking up, nuzzling into you.

At least Go would never hate you.

You tread back to the couch, and put on a documentary about African meerkats. Go doesn’t take his eyes off the screen, entranced by the slim animals and their dietary habits. You eventually doze off.

—

You wake up to the sound of eggs sizzling and the smell of breakfast. You blink, cold winter sunlight streaming in through the window. You sit up.

“Good morning,” Meiko says. “I’m making breakfast.”

You look at her.

She snorts. “What, did you think a rich girl like me couldn’t cook? I lived by myself in college, you know. No servants at all.” Meiko must mistake your blank eyed stare for something more because she hastily says, “O-on the weekdays anyway.”

You didn’t know you had food in your fridge.

“I went to the grocery store around the block,” she says, answering your unspoken question. “What do you live on? All you had was cat food in the fridge!” She opens a cabinet and points. “And this huge jar of sugar!”

“Satoru’s,” you answer. Meiko looks even more confused.

You yawn. Go is already awake on your lap, awaiting his breakfast no doubt. “There were some eggs…” Leftovers from the groceries Shoko had bought you a week prior. 

“I can’t believe you…” She shakes her head, muttering something along the lines of ‘hopeless,’ before shooing you into the bathroom to wash.

After a quick stop to the bathroom, you feed Go and take a seat. Meiko puts a plate of eggs, bacon and sausage, and buttered toast in front of you.

“You didn’t have to.” You stare at the food. When was the last time you had breakfast in your apartment out of ingredients that had been bought? 

“It’s the least I could do,” she sounds exasperated. “I can’t believe you let me take your bed!”

You feed Go a leftover piece of raw bacon which he gratefully accepts, nudging into your hand. “As long as you were comfortable.”

She huffs, and you thank her for the meal. The two of you eat in brief silence.

“Have you ever wondered what you’d be if you weren't a jujutsu sorcerer?” Meiko asks suddenly, spearing a sausage with her fork. “Like if you had never known curses existed.”

You wonder where this is coming from.

“Not really,” you admit slowly, staring at your plate of food. “It’s not like it would have ever made a difference. It was also highly probable I’d be killed during a mission anyway.” No need to think about the possibilities, no point in contemplating the path of your life unless you were debating the merits of suicide.

“Oh. That’s morbid.” Then she says, “Do you still think that?”

You think about your last missions, and the last time you had a close call with death. It could be tomorrow, it could be next year. You suppose that’s always been the inevitable reality for you. Who would you be if not a jujutsu sorcerer? You had little to no experience of life outside the world of jujustu sorcery. No other friends. No family. “I do. I don’t even know if I’ll survive to the next year,” you say plainly.

“What if you do survive?” She presses. “What if you don’t die? Next year, the year after the next…What would retirement look like for you?”

You consider it. It’s a difficult question. It must show on your face because Meiko laughs as if she’s torn whether to be amused or sympathetic. “Is it really that hard?”

“I would move somewhere peaceful,” you say slowly. “The countryside. Maybe somewhere along the coast, near the beach.” You’d like that. Somewhere aligned with nature. Somewhere where you could watch the sunrise and the sunset. Somewhere, where the stars are visible.

“By yourself?”

“By myself.” You would live in solitude, once again, content knowing Satoru, Suguru, and Shoko were living happily. Nobody would ever hurt you again. Go headbutts your ankle. Your lips curl, leaning down to pet him. “With Go,” you correct. No, you wouldn’t be entirely alone.

“And then?”

“Die.”

Meiko makes a face.

It wouldn’t be bad, you think. It’s all you can ask for out of life, if any higher existence is merciful enough to grant it. A peaceful death. 

Meiko gawks at you. When she finally regains her words, she says, “Either you live as a jujutsu sorcerer or you die?”

You nod.

She opens her mouth. Then closes it. She sighs. “You’re so morbid.”

–

There are flowers on your desk. They’re lovely, a bouquet of a colorful array of flowers, some of which you recognize as japanese iris’, peonies, and wisteria. 

You examine them, fingering their delicate petals, running your hands through them to try to find a card. You think it had accidentally been delivered to the library by mistake. You don’t know who would send you flowers. 

There’s no identifying information on them, so you gingerly pick up the bouquet and walk out the library, all the way to Shoko’s office on the third floor of jujutsu high’s main building.

She raises an eye at the bundle in your arms when you knock and open the door.

“I’m glad I caught you before you went on break,” you say. “I found these flowers in the library, and I thought they’d brighten up your office.” You wrap your hands around the stems of the carefully trimmed flowers, and feel the thrum of your cursed energy imbue the flowers.

You place the bouquet down on the closest cabinet to you. As long as nobody intentionally destroyed them, they’d stay beautiful forever. “I’ll find you a vase.”

She swivels in her chair to face you, scrutinizing the flowers. “Are you sure? Those look like serious money.”

You play with a petal. “I think they were delivered to the library by mistake, but I can’t find a card.”

A knowing smile plays on her lips. “Men give women flowers when they want to apologize. Any groveling men in mind?”

You look at her. “No.”

She huffs a breath of laughter. “I’ll take them,” she says airily. She stands. “Are you going to join me on my break?”

You give her an apologetic look. “Paperwork.”

She narrows her eyes. “Fine, fine, but you owe me some of your time this weekend. It’s been a while since we went shopping.”

Shopping with Shoko always meant a good time. You’re looking forward to the weekend already. You wave her off, and back to the library you go. Just as you step into the gardens leading to the library, you hear a voice call your name.

“How’s your cat?” Hideo asks in greeting, jogging up to your side. “Have you named him?”

“Hello.” You smile. “His name is Go, and he’s very big.”

“Go…” Hideo’s eyebrows momentarily draw together, understanding dawning on his face. “I’m guessing it’s not because five is your lucky number, huh.”

You laugh. “He looks just like Satoru.” You adore him. 

The two of you continue to the library. 

“Has Go met his namesake yet?”

“Not...” Your smile slips, thinking of your last encounter with Satoru and Suguru. “Yet.”

“Well, all in good time, I suppose,” Hideo says easily, after a beat of contemplative silence. 

You think about the flowers in Shoko’s office, and what type of vase they would look best in. Maybe Meiko would know. “There were flowers in the library.”

Hideo grins, amused. “A secret admirer?”

You blink. “I don’t think so.” A secret admirer? You? “I’m sure it was a mistake. I gave them to Shoko to brighten up her office.”

A wince crosses his face. It melts into a chuckle. You look at him curiously.

“You’re just a normal girl, huh?”

He grins, eyes bright, fond with a familiarity you still aren’t used to, but for some reason the comment makes your chest ache. 

Normal. 

You must be making a face because he straightens, mostly sobering. “Ah…how do I put this,” he scratches the underside of his chin. “When we were younger you always seemed…older. Somehow. It’s easy to lose sight of what’s normal in this world. I guess talking about love and secret admirers just reminded me…”

You tilt your head. 

He clears his throat. “I prefer the person you are right now though,” he says easily. “You smile now” —like a normal girl— “and get sent flowers from a secret admirer” —like a normal girl—

You stare at him. Then lower your gaze to your feet. “Is that…bad?” You wonder if he’s making fun of you. You don’t think those flowers were intended for you.

Nobody has ever called you normal. If anything, you were abnormal. If you were a normal girl, maybe you’d be married like that woman you saw months ago. If you were a normal girl, maybe everything would be better.

If you were a normal girl would you be happier? Would things make more sense? You can’t imagine it. First Meiko asks you about a hypothetical future, and now Hideo seems to be under the mistaken impression that you are a normal girl.

It…

You don’t hate it. The thought peeves you more than you thought it would.

Hideo blinks rapidly. “No, of course not!” He frantically waves his hands. “Ignore me! I have a bad habit of running my mouth occasionally!” His gaze turns worried. “I’m sorry—”

“It’s fine,” you respond, meaning it. You smile. “I don’t mind.”

Normal, normal, normal.

Hideo walks you inside the library. Out of the corner of your eye you can see his neck crane to look at the domed skylight in the center of the library, the interest clear on his face. The building is in a unique shape: a heptagon, walls lined with bookshelves that fit the shape of the building. “I didn’t know this building was a library. Cozy.”

“I think they converted it,” you say. You’ve always liked this library, away from the bustle of the campus. Not many people knew about it. You discovered this building your second year of high school, and found a thin layer of dust on all the books and scrolls. It was clear it hadn’t been occupied in a while. It wasn’t until you had stayed inside for a day or two, unaccounted for, reading whatever you could salvage, that Shoko had found you, Satoru and Suguru not too far behind. Yaga thought you had never come back from a previous mission.

Shoko helped you clear the library. Satoru and Suguru carried a desk and chair into the center, right beneath the skylight, and suddenly, it was a study. Yours.

“I like it here,” you say quietly. “It’s peaceful.”

As soon as you finish your sentence, you hear the large wooden double doors open and slam shut as Satoru strides in. You flinch at the noise.

“...?”

Satoru folds his arms as he rests his weight against one of the bookshelves. He doesn’t need to take off his glasses for you to know he’s keenly unhappy in a way that fills up the entire room.

“...”

“...”

“...”

Satoru’s jaw ticks.

You move your gaze to the floor, sensing Hideo looking from you to Satoru curiously. Greater men have scurried away from the palpable tension Satoru has injected into the room, but Hideo seems oblivious to it.

“Guess I should leave the two of you to it,” Hideo finally says. “Sorry for the intrusion!”

You startle, looking up, mouth opening to deny his statement, but Satoru’s flat expression snaps your mouth back shut.

“T-Then I’ll see you…” you say quietly, wanting him to stay, to buffer conversation between you and Satoru anyway. But that would be unfair to Hideo. Satoru and Suguru have vocalized their dislike of him, for what you aren’t sure. You think Hideo is similar to Haibara in temperament, with his winning personality and easy going conversational air, and the two of them seem to get along with Haibara just fine.

He stops. Then turns back. “Next week, right?”

You blink. Next…week…? “Yes…?”

Hideo smiles, as a crease forms between Satoru’s eyebrows. Hideo slightly bows in Satoru’s direction before taking his leave. You hold your breath as the doors close once more, leaving you alone with…

Satoru is in front of you before you can blink, pushing you back into your desk. Your knees slightly buckle. 

“You didn’t want him to leave,” Satoru says, accusatory, pulling his glasses off his face. “You wanted that third rate sorcerer to stay!”

You frown. “That’s rude.”

He ignores you. “Where’s your phone?”

You look at him curiously. Where had you left it again? Satoru opens his mouth, then closes it so quickly you hear the click of his teeth.

“Is…” you sigh. “Is something wrong?” You would rather he just get it over with. Telling you your outburst that day was unwarranted, and that you had been a terrible person and friend and human being in general. He wouldn’t be wrong.

“No,” he says through gritted teeth. “Nothing is wrong.”

Something, you think, is clearly wrong.

Silence.

All you can think of are Meiko’s words. The Gojo elders who traveled from Fukuouka just to convince Satoru to get married, preferably, to Sasaski. They want him to wed a woman of standing and lineage. They want him to have children. Then take a few mistresses, and impregnate them for backup heirs. 

Freedom, you once again think, is immeasurable. You’re sad for Satoru. You want him to be happy. It’s all you’ve ever wanted for him and Suguru and Shoko. It makes you relieved and happy to know Suguru would always be by his side. Any sorrows or joys, would be shared together. 

Satoru exhales roughly. In seconds he goes from bearing down at you, gaze alight, to sinking down to his knees in front of you.

You stare at him, confused.

There’s a loud slap of noise that has your eyes going wide.

When Satoru looks back up at you, his cheeks are stinging red, and handprinted. You reach out immediately, fingertips brushing over the heat of his sculpted face, wondering why he had slapped himself.

“Sato—”

“You know, Suguru and I were idiots.”

Oh. “No,” It wasn’t their fault. It was yours. “I shouldn’t have—”

You’re fully backed into the desk, taking a small seat (there’s nowhere else to move) as Satoru rises, hand closing around your nape. He brings you close and kisses you greedily, a moment’s indulgence, until he draws away, letting you breathe as you wonder what just happened.

“There’s nothing I love more than seeing you think,” he murmurs against your lips, piercing blue gaze never leaving yours for a second, “but right now I need you to stop thinking and listen.”

He sinks back down, expression almost smug when you close your mouth. He takes your hands, thumbs rubbing and pressing down on your knuckles soothingly, if not in an almost agitated manner. You’ve seen him do the same thing to Suguru. You don’t think he’s aware of it.

“I haven’t stopped thinking about it,” he admits, expression unusually forlorn. “I forgot…” he hesitates, dropping that line of thinking altogether. “Suguru and I get carried away when it comes to you.” There’s not a hint of amusement on his face as he squeezes your hands. “We don’t like seeing you cry.”

He says it with such a truthful earnestness that your throat goes tight. He’s still him, you think. That very same long limbed mischievous boy who laughed loudly and smiled broadly and clung a little too hard to your side, as if unaware of his own strength. His arm perpetually slung over Suguru’s shoulder like he was always meant to be there. No matter how far you think Satoru and Suguru are, those are the memories you’ll carry in your heart. Those sun slicked, sepia tinged memories, echoing of laughter. 

Maybe the only person who had changed was you. 

You look down at your entwined fingers.

You, you, you. It’s all you.

You’re a bit embarrassed. You don’t think you cried. Not in front of them at least. You had gone home and locked your door first. I’m sorry too, you want to say, but somehow with Satoru gazing up at you, the words are lodged in your throat. He looks devastatingly sincere. You don’t doubt his words.

“You should forgive us,” Satoru says lightly, almost innocently. Too innocently. That should’ve been more than enough for alarm bells to sound, but you had been preoccupied by Satoru’s show of sincerity.

You blink when his fingers easily wrap around the length of your right ankle. And when he firmly presses your foot to his shoulder, you stare.

You try to drop your foot, move it away, but Satoru’s grip is iron clad. A smile is slowly sneaking onto the corners of Satoru’s lips, making him look more incriminating than anything. You don’t like that look. Not at all.

“Satoru—”

“Would it make you feel better to push me around a little?” He asks breathily, eyes glinting mischievously. “You can kick me if you want, I don’t mind.” His voice lowers. “ Anywhere , really.”

You sweat. Trying to pull your ankle out of his grip isn’t working. 

“I’m sorry too,” you blurt out, unable to comprehend how you ended up with your foot on Satoru’s shoulder while he gives you his consent to kick him. “I forgive you, I forgive you—”

“No needa be shy!” He moves your foot to his chest, pressing it down. “Just give me one good kick—”

You give him a flinty, dead eyed stare. “That’s not funny.”

He returns it with a raised eyebrow. “I’m not laughing.”

“Satoru,” you say weakly.

Finally, he releases your foot, and you are allowed to jerk your leg down. You’re instantly relieved, planting both feet firmly on the ground as you dust away the dirt on his shoulder and chest. He sighs, disappointed in a way that perturbs you.

“You’re so difficult sometimes,” you murmur, considerably warming up to his presence.

“That’s right,” he hums, idly trailing a finger down your clothed leg. “You and Suguru have your hands full, I’m sure.” He peers up at you daringly, looking every bit the petulant boy the Gojo clan had spoiled rotten in their adoration of the first six eyes user in centuries. “I’m worth it though, aren’t I?”

“...”

“...”

“...”

“...”

“Sometimes, I wonder that,” you say, (and mean) seriously.

“I didn’t hear that,” he says pleasantly. 

“...If you say so…”

You think you imagined the twitch of his eyebrow. 

You can’t help but smile. This is how things should be, you think. Now, if you could talk to Suguru, you’re sure you could draw this entire incident to a close. You wouldn’t have to skirt around the two of them with feelings of impending doom clouding your mind. 

“Well,” Satoru says casually. “Now that we’ve gotten all that out of the way, apologies and all,” he promptly gets to his feet, so quickly you blink, gaze following him up. His face transforms into a full blown pout. “You’re a true sadist!”

You gawk at him. So soon after reconciliation!?

Satoru scowls. “Throwing Suguru and I away so quickly?”

“???????”

“Who said you were allowed to see and talk to other men!” He frowns even more vigorously at the confusion on your face. “Don’t act so surprised! Suguru’s been sulking every single day! He’s been downright distressed. The girls think he’s depressed! Again!”

You wince, recognizing the tell tale signs of another common Satoru overblown overreaction. Very high school reminiscent you think.

“S-Satoru…”

Satoru sighs dramatically, glaring at you. “Any day now, he might do something drastic.”

You stare at him.

“That’s why you should never get mad at us ever again,” he finishes succinctly, looking at you expectantly.

You stare at him. 

When it’s clear you have no response, Satoru brushes off the silence so easily you think this is how others can get tripped up at the pace in which he leads. If you weren’t so used to it, you’d be one of them.

Satoru scans the small room. “Where are our flowers?”

“Oh, they were yours?”

Satoru levels you with a flinty gaze that would send others running to the hills. It elicits no strong response from you. His tone is chilly, displeased. “There’s another man sending you flowers?”

You give him an unimpressed look so withering that he clears his throat, almost meekly.

“Suguru’s idea. I picked them.”

“Well, they’re lovely,” a small smile on your lips. “They’re in Shoko’s office.”

“Of course they are,” he sighs, resigned. He regards you silently for a minute. “Did you like them?”

“I did.” You’re unsure where this line of questioning is headed. You slightly tilt your head to the side in a question.

“They were for you,” Satoru says. “I picked them for you.” He takes a step forward until your legs touch. “I wanted you to have them, so why’d ya have to give them away?”

You blink at the hint of roughness that bleeds through Satoru’s fixed (Suguru’s work) pronunciation. In hindsight, if the flowers were for you…it was awfully rude of you to have given them away wasn’t it?

“I…understand. I’m…sorry for giving your flowers away.”

Now he looks peeved. “They weren’t mi…” he groans, looking at you with an exasperated warmth. Then his eyes narrow. “You’re sorry, huh?” 

You don’t…like that look in his eyes.

You don’t have time to respond, because Satoru’s finger comes to rest on the button fastened right below your neck. Uh oh. A sensation familiar to deja-vu suddenly envelopes you. 

You’ve been getting a lot of those lately. 

Your face warms as Satoru’s tongue runs over his bottom lip, playfully. The button comes undone easily. His voice is playful, but his gaze burns. “You can get on your knees—” your shirt is half undone, your black bra peeking out “—or I can get on mine.”

You don’t think he’s intending to give you a choice, because he’s so quickly down on his knees and spreading your legs apart, you’re blinking from the whiplash.

“Wait—!” You put your hands on his shoulders, thanking whatever deity was looking down on you today that you had put on pants instead of whatever easy skirt and sweater outfit you usually chose when sleep riddled in the morning. 

Satoru smiles pleasantly. Too suspiciously well mannered when his fingers are on the zipper of your pants. “Yes?”

“H-how about a kiss instead…?”

You figure it would be easier to untangle yourself from him then…

Satoru’s fingers curl into your thighs, pinning you to the table. You’re surprised to see him seriously consider it. And relieved. His gaze is weighted with all the seriousness of negotiating a crucial deal. “How long?”

Your eyebrows furrow. You’re not sure how long a kiss should be. You hesitantly bring your hands to cup his face and lower your head to gently meet his lips. He’s as still as a statue, except for the sound of his breathing; deep slow breaths that overtake the rise and fall of his chest. His lips are immeasurably soft. A fact that you can only appreciate as time slows.

You take a moment to look at him. In the silence, you can admire the fine lines of his sculpted face and the inviting curve of his lips all within the grasp of your hands. He looks softer like this, happy. It makes you happy. 

Satoru’s eyelashes flicker open, long white lashes framing the blues of the sky trapped in his gaze. You offer him a smile, a small quirk of your lips as you turn a hand over and lightly brush his cheek. You blink, taken aback when Satoru lightly takes your hand and presses a kiss to your knuckle. 

His eyes flash, engulfed by a dark hunger.

You’re flat on your back against the desk, and there’s no time to think before Satoru presses forward, claiming your lips in an open mouthed kiss that steals your breath away. He’s trapped you into the desk, the weight of his body pushing you down. His fingers wind through your hair, cradling the back of your head. 

You can feel his need between your legs, throbbing against you, all harsh panting and heat.

“Satoru,” you mumble the best you can with his lips still eager to meet yours. “We should—”

Your words are smothered when Satoru’s tongue licks into your mouth purposefully. You can tell he’s unhappy to be separated by layers of fabric. Your panties stick to your core, damp, as Satoru begins to lightly rock into you, straining against the material covering your heat. 

“Satoru—”

He moans into your mouth, “Just like that.” 

You snap your mouth shut, but Satoru doesn’t seem to notice as his lips trail across your neck with a single minded purpose. You feel his lips on your shoulder, as they glide across your chest.

Satoru’s lips are on yours again before you can even blink in an open mouthed kiss, tongue thoroughly exploring your mouth. His hands are tight, pressing into your waist, body flush against yours. 

You mentally apologize. Then, you bite him.

Your teeth close over Satoru’s bottom lip. Hard. You almost wince yourself. 

To your horror, Satoru does not release you like you thought he would.

You feel his body shudder to a near tremble, and the sharp exhale-like moan that leaves his lips. His eyes look delighted in their frenzied state. He presses closer to you, erection prominent and twitching, holding you even tighter. Your heart races in your chest as Satoru buries himself into your neck, hips grinding into yours. 

You force your hands out against his chest. “Satoru,” you say tightly. “Someone could come in.”

That gives him pause. He rises, just slightly, enough to look down on you. You must look like a mess. His tongue swipes over the blood on his lips, and then he smiles.

“Oh?”

This is bad.

“I should talk to Suguru first,” you say quickly, avoiding his gaze. “You know…”

There's a brief pause.

“Hm.” He begrudgingly acquiesces, allowing you enough space to rise up. He briefly cups your face, before a hand falls to your neck. A dull ache flares when Satoru’s thumb presses down. You swallow, trying to calm your beating heart, all despite the fact that his hardness is within plain view.

You try not to stare at it as you busy yourself with buttoning your shirt. You can feel him grinning at you.

“And Suguru says I’m the one with no restraint.” Crossing his arms, he bears down at you expectantly. HIs foot taps up and down.

Your nerves are still frayed, electric, but you feel…almost better. Lighter. Despite the unexpected turn your meeting had taken, you’re happy. 

“I love you Satoru,” you say, finishing up your top button. You really do. If he and Suguru and Shoko could be guaranteed happiness for the rest of their lives, you truly would have no problem dying in the next hour.

After straightening out your shirt, you finally look up. Satoru blinks at you, but there’s a flush to his neck, lips warbling.

You haven’t seen Satoru this flustered in ages. You should enjoy it now while it lasts. 

“Where’d that come from?” He manages with a croak. He regains himself, straightening, but there's a pleased glint to his eye. Like a preening cat.

“I just wanted to,” you say happily. “Because I love you.”

You stand, rising on your toes to pat his head. Go likes it when you pet him. Meiko had liked it too.  

Satoru stares at you, but he doesn’t push your hand away. He closes his eyes with an exhale.

“Are we…good?” you drop your hand, much to the disappointment that overtakes Satoru’s face.

“Always,” he confirms, and a part of you thinks he means it.

You smile. Everything’s going to be alright. As long as Satoru can smile at you like that, then things can’t possibly be as bad as you may have envisioned. You hear Meiko’s words once more: The Gojo clan elders and higher ups from Fukuouka are convening in Tokyo to try and convince Gojo to get married. They want him to have children.

It's odd. That such an important thing hadn't reached your ears. According to Meiko, those elders never left Fukuouka. A matter of the upmost importance. Nobody told you about it. Not even Shoko. It's none of your business. That's what you've been telling yourself, despite the disappointment swirling in your gut. You wish they could have confided in you.  

“Do you want children?”

The look of interest on his face quickly fades as his gaze turns discerning. “What brought this on?”

“Nothing,” you say quickly, intuitively deciding that telling Satoru of your excursion with Meiko would be disastrous right now. “Just curious I guess…”

“About how babies are made?” His eyebrows waggle.

“No. I know about that.” Speaking of which. You’d need condoms.

Though you aren’t quite sure how well Satoru would react to you asking him what their to-go brand of condoms are. Maybe you’d ask Suguru instead.

“You weren’t at your place last Sunday,” Satoru says casually.

You blink, caught up in your worries about selecting the wrong condoms. Sunday…that had been…dinner with Meiko. 

“Oh, I was out.”

“Out,” Satoru repeats. “Where?”

“With a…” you mentally apologize for being presumptuous, “friend…”

Satoru frowns. “You don’t have friends.”

Other than me, Suguru, and Shoko.

The unspoken words are pointed. You smile nervously.

You aren’t as popular as Satoru, Suguru, and Shoko. That’s a given. Shoko gets invited to for drinks with the auxiliary managers every other day. Visiting jujutsu sorcerers have been known to ask her out for coffee. You’re sure it’s tripled for Satoru and Suguru.

“There are some…” you clear your throat. “I have friends other than you and Shoko and Suguru.”

Ijichi. Utahime….Hideo. Maybe Meiko.

But to be a friend…they’d have to consider you a friend right? It has to go both ways. You’ve never received verbal confirmation or anything. You shouldn’t have automatically assumed…but Meiko had invited you out hadn’t she? She wanted to see you. To talk to you. There were no ulterior motives. She wanted to get to know you. Isn’t that how friendships start? You don’t even remember how Satoru and you became friends. One day he hated you, and then he didn’t. It’s not that much of a surprise. He’s always been a little capricious at heart like that. Satoru, Suguru, and Shoko had seamlessly blended into your life, like they had always been there. 

Satoru disregards your words. “You don’t need them.”

He doesn’t believe you. Your face warms in embarrassment. Of course he’d think that. You stay silent awkwardly.

Satoru hums. “So Megumi, huh.” He looks amused. “You should’ve just come over to the apartment.”

“R-right…” Sometimes, you truly believed it was easier to let Satoru think what he wanted. It was harmless anyway. So you’d let him.

He gently pulls you up to your feet. “I’ll drive you home.”

“But Suguru…”

“In Yokohama." He picks at something at your shoulder, but his knuckles brush your neck. "He won’t be back until tomorrow. So eager to see him?”

“Yes,” you admit. “I want to see him and I want…to talk to him.” If these past months have taught you anything, it’s that one of the things you miss most of all is talking to Suguru. Suguru is more than an excellent conversationalist, he’s attentive in a way others aren’t. Satoru and Suguru both. They make you feel seen. Satoru, when he looks at you. Suguru, when he listens.

You cherish it. You’ll miss it.

At your response, Satoru groans, falling to his knees once more. You blink at him, wondering what caused the sudden dramatics.

His fingers grip your pants, like a child hiding behind his mother’s dress. 

He looks up at you. You suddenly get the image of a withered man in the desert, dying of thirst, and you already know what he’s going to ask. You step back. His hand falls loosely back to his side.

“No,” you say sternly, in the same manner you tell Go he can’t knock over your vases. 

Then you walk outside.

[seoafin]

pairing: fushiguro toji & reader / side pairing stsg x reader an installment to the exposure therapy au warnings/tags: mentions of sex work/escorting, gambling, don't read if weird teacher/student dynamics squick you nothing is meant to be romantic and toji is a shitty teacher word count: ~4.7k

-

“So,” Toji says, eyeing your lone figure in the classroom with a raised eyebrow. “Just you today huh.”

You look up from your book at him, and then your gaze circles the empty room, the three unoccupied desks next to yours make the room feel emptier, bigger. Sorry to disappoint, you think. He’s not the only one. “Just me,” you reply plainly.

Satoru, Suguru, and Shoko aren’t here. The three of them are in Fukuoka. Before they left, Satoru had boasted about a certain famous shrine dedicated to Sugawara no Michizane belonging to his family. Suguru had slammed his closed fist down on his head with a roll of his eyes, dragging Satoru away by the hair, leaving you with a smile and a promise to return promptly. Don’t go anywhere, okay? We’ll be back soon. 

When a sleek black car had pulled up to the base of the school, Shoko had reluctantly disentangled herself from your side, complaining about unnecessary appearances.

That had been four days ago.

You heard of a brewing storm in the area. You hope the three of them are staying warm and out of the rain. You hadn’t even expected Toji to drop in on class today. He seems to call out at the mildest inconveniences. The other day he had cited not wanting to see Satoru’s face as a legitimate reason to skip on his duties as a teacher. He’s the worst teacher you’ve ever had.

You close your book. “What’s on the agenda today?”

“Hell if I know,” he shrugs. “Got any ideas?”

You stare at him.

“Forget I asked,” he scoffs. “Right,” one foot is already out the door, “I’m out.”

He stops, back turned to you. Then he sighs wearily, as if you’ve somehow exhausted him.

You are promptly plucked out of your seat, Toji's fingers curled around the back of your collar. When you look at him inquiringly, he simply says: “Field trip.”

—

Your eyes water as you enter the pachinko parlor. You are greeted by the omnipresent acrid scent of smoke clinging to the yellowing walls and ceiling. You blink away the tears stinging at your eyes, and quickly follow Toji through the large room, passing by multiple seated older men, eyes glued to the bright machines in front of them. All you can hear are the sound of balls clacking and levers being pushed. From what you can gather, nobody has won today. It slightly amazes you how Toji thinks he’ll be the exception.

You follow his dark, foreboding figure to the back of the room, to the very end of the row, where there are only three other men. Only one spares you a glance. There are eyes all over the ceiling, scuttling about. Curses, you note, traces of all the ill will that’s gathered. 

There’s a wooden stool. He barely gestures at it before saying, “Sit.”

Toji gets comfortable in front of a large flashing machine, and proceeds to pull out his wallet.

You’re aware gambling is a vice. It’s not really any of your business what your teacher decides to do in his spare time. It’s not as if Megumi and Tsumiki aren’t being taken care of. If this is what Toji would prefer to do over buying the kids new school supplies then…

All that work into keeping Megumi only to gamble his time and money away.

It would be one thing if it was entertaining but…

He’s losing.

Badly. You never expected it to be like this. How awful. If it were you, your dignity could only take so much.

You think it takes a special kind of resilience to be a gambler, but more importantly it takes luck.

You rise from your seat to take a closer look. Not a single metal ball has reached the prize slot no matter how he tries to align his timing with the press of the lever.

You glance at Toji, face alight with a fierce concentration, jaw tight. You sigh.

“You’re losing.”

“Shaddup.”

You sigh again, turn around and seat yourself back on the stool. You open your book. You told Suguru you’d try to finish it by the time he returned.

Someone is hovering. You can see a man out of the corner of your eye. You look up at him, a skinny balding middle aged man in a worn suit, tie loose around his neck, and he nearly flinches. You can hear the plink plink plink of money being lost in front of you.

“Is something the matter?” you ask politely. You figure if anything he’ll ask you for your ID. Without the jacket of your school uniform, you can usually pass off any suspicions of being a student. You aren’t an adult, but you aren’t a child anymore either. You’re of age.

He hesitantly takes a step closer. “How much?”

There are thin, wire glasses on the bridge of his nose. You can see the perspiration building on his forehead. You tilt your head.

Anxious energy radiates off of him. His gaze is fixated on your chest. “Just for the night,” he says quickly. “One night.”

Understanding quickly dawns on you. “I’m sorry,” you start apologetically. “You seem to be mistaken. I’m not an escort.” The man blinks. You continue. “In fact, if you’re looking for one, you might want to look at the man right there.”

You wonder if Toji is into men. If it even matters. Customers are customers. Money is money, and something tells you he isn’t picky.

That elicits an indelicate snort from the aforementioned man. So he is listening.

The man looks dissuaded for a minute, before pressing forward once more. “I can pay,” he says breathily, inching closer to you. His eyes dart to your slightly spread thighs before going unfocused. 

Now, just how should you handle this?

You could take his hand, momentarily stop him in his tracks. You’d be gone before he gained consciousness once more. But you’re technically not allowed to use your cursed technique on civilians, and you don’t like doing it either, despite Satoru’s protests about the underutilization of your technique.

A shadow looms above you.

“You bothering my girl?”

You involuntarily shudder at the statement, but the man pales, looking up at Toji fearfully as if he descended from the parted heavens. 

“Y-Y-Yours—”

“Mine." Lips peel back, revealing bared teeth in a mockery of a smile. “Fuck off degenerate. Or you’ll be seeing my fist next.”

The man scrambles backwards, almost tripping on his feet. He gives you one last look before you watch him disappear through the rows of metal machines. You look back at Toji, gaze dropping to his empty hand.

“Wow. You didn’t win a single thing.” You think that in itself is a special skill. 

An irritated look crosses his face. Green eyes flash. “Damn things are rigged,” he seethes. “ All of ‘em.”

Just as he finishes that statement, shouts fill the front of the room along with shrill celebratory noises. You look at him. His face grows cloudy. You hop off the stool. “I was wondering how long it’d take you to give up.”

He changes the topic. “You look fine for someone who was just solicited.”

You shrug. “Nothing would’ve happened.”

Toji begins to trudge to the exit. A walk of shame. “He looked like he was gonna haul you off to the nearest love hotel.”

“I’ve never been to a love hotel." You had told Satoru and Suguru of your interest to see the interior of one once. They had both fallen quiet for the rest of the walk home. “But it’s not exactly the kind of place you go to alone.”

He shakes his head. “You’re a full time job, you know that?”

You look at him curiously as you step outside. Your lungs are glad to trade the smoke-laden air for fresh air.

“It’s a shame he didn’t solicit you instead,” you remark as the two of you start on a journey to the nearest convenience store. You’d like a drink. Maybe if you’re in a lenient mood you’ll buy Toji one too. “I’m sure you could’ve shown him a better time than me.”

“Dunno about that.” He gives you a scrutinizing once over. “A virgin like you? Hot commodity. ‘Sides,” he smirks. “I’m expensive.”

An unmarked virgin maybe. But any man would recoil from the scars that mark your body. All the assignments from before Shoko. And if not that, then the disfigurement of your side gifted to you from the man right next to you.

“That explains how you can afford to lose so much money.”

Unexpectedly, he takes you in good humor. “You’re a mean little thing when you want to be,” he says. “The mouth on you.”

You blink. Nobody has ever called you mean. Not to your face anyway. You think about it. Maybe this is what Satoru used to dislike about you, back when you hadn’t cared about how he perceived you. All you knew back then was that you said all the wrong things. Now you eagerly await text messages from Shoko. You like it when Satoru smiles, when he flashes you a grin so bright that you can’t help but smile back. You like the soft crease of Suguru’s gaze when he regards you. You like it so much that you can’t sometimes can’t breathe. You’re a different person now. Sometimes, you need to remind yourself of it.

Inside the convenience store, you select black tea for yourself and a coffee for Toji. You walk outside to him chewing on a pork bun and you hand him the drink. It’s a brand you’ve seen him drink before. He stares at the black label. You don’t expect a thank you.

“Tsumiki is starting middle school soon,” you say, staring out into space. “She could use some new school supplies.” Along that line of thinking, Megumi could use a new randoseru. 

He’s silent. You’d buy her some yourself, but you think it’d be more meaningful coming from the man who is technically her step-father. She’d be delighted even, you think, and Megumi for as aloof as he tries to be, can only be so distant when it comes to his beloved sister. There have been too many mistakes, too many burned bridges, but this could be a step in the right direction. You don’t think he sleeps at home.

The two of you enjoy the quiet. You finish your drink, and then stand. You’re in a familiar area of the city, and there’s someone you’ve been meaning to see.

—

“You’re late,” Marie scolds, hand on her hip. You close your eyes at the scent of plum blossoms wafting from her skin. “Think of me as one of your clients. Be punctual!”

“This one’s fault,” Toji grunts out. His knuckles dig into the side of your head with enough force to tip you over, and your eyes snap open immediately. If you were a lesser person, you’d be on the ground. You frown, your head sore. “Found her hoverin’ over some damn stick in the park.”

It would have made an excellent walking stick. You clutch your shopping bag to your chest. “Satoru and Suguru never complain…”

That’s a lie. Satoru has resorted to either holding your hand or staying attached to you at all times to make sure you don’t wander like some bodyguard. Suguru too. You don’t know why. You’d rather just find them later to save them the trouble of finding you.

“Make your boyfriends wait, not me.”

You make a face. He should’ve just left you. Despite that, you hang your head apologetically. It is your fault. You had become distracted multiple times along the way, and a specific distraction had culminated in the shopping bag in your hand. “I’m sorry. I didn’t realize Fushiguro-sensei made plans to be here by a certain time. It was my fault.”

“Damn right.”

He’s a sore loser, you think. You may have said it out loud because his gaze slides to you, mouth opening with what you think is a nasty reply.

Marie shoots him a sharp look. “Now, now Toji. A man like you knows better than to run his mouth like that.”

“Off the clock,” he replies before stepping forward. A throng of women gather around him, cooing and ah’ing, hands skirting over his arms and chest. A man like him has no need to pay for a woman, so you gather they’d sleep with him willingly for free. And from the looks of it, he has a plethora of choices. You hope they aren’t expecting more. Like money. You think many women have been reduced to tears by the man. 

Marie clicks her tongue, and a collective sigh sounds the air before the crowd disperses to their actual clients, leaving just one lucky woman who pulls him towards the back of the room, towards the more private area.

“They pulled sticks earlier.” Marie looks amused. “It’s not often Toji comes around for anything other than drinks.”

You smile. “He likes your company. You shouldn’t discount that.”

Her eyes are fond as they look at you. Her fingers brush the hair away from your face. “What a man like that is doing around a sweet girl like you is beyond me.” She sighs, shaking her head. “He’ll corrupt you.”

It’s not that bad, you want to say. Not as long as you hold no expectations about the person he is. The only thing you’ll hold him to is being a father. But other than that you’ve found that you seem to feel a certain kinship with miserable people and your teacher is one of the more miserable people you’ve ever met.

That’s when you see them. A group of girls hovering behind Marie. They span from what looks like your age to a little older, and they seem to be waiting.

“Honestly,” Marie turns to them. “What have I said about standing around the front?”

The girl in the very front pouts, glossy bottom lip jutted out. “But Marie, you said they’d be here! Those two hot guys. I want the black haired one, he was charming!”

“Then I’ll take the one white haired one. Those sunglasses…”

“No, I want that one!”

“I’ll take them both!”

“As if they’d be interested. You’re practically made of plastic!”

“What did you say—”

“GIRLS!”

They reluctantly settle. 

“Toji’s students are they?” Another girl asks, voice breathy. 

“Not like that,” Marie says chidingly. “Those two respectable high school boys wouldn’t come to a place like this if they didn’t have to,” Marie glances at you. “And I never said they’d be here. You girls and your selective hearing give me a headache!”

“We’re graduating this year,” you say. You don’t think it matters. Jujutsu High is a year longer than regular civilian high schools. Nobody in your class is underage anymore. “I’ll be sure to pass them your way after. But—”

The girls squeal. Marie winces. You’re surrounded at once, the surrounding clash of perfume making you go lightheaded. Someone’s large endowed chest is pressing against your back, and both your arms. Someone is tightly clutching your hand. Everyone is speaking. Their names, their phone numbers, their availability. Not a single girl has listed her rates. You want to tell them that they should because Satoru and Suguru have money to spend. Special grades make a salary far beyond anything normal jujutsu sorcerers do, and that was coming from someone who considered their own pay more than comfortable.

You suddenly understand every single man in the host club more than you ever had before. You, too, would pay for the experience of a beautiful woman looking at you like the only person in the world.

Your face is hot. You’ve never been surrounded by so many beautiful women in your life. Satoru and Suguru and even Toji regularly experience this? You think that’s unfair. 

“GIRLS!”

“Satoru and Suguru are in Fukuouka right now,” you say apologetically. Shoko too, you think. But that’s something you’d like to keep to yourself, lest you lose her to another prettier girl.

The girls sigh a collective “awwwww.”

You are reluctantly let go of, on unsteady feet. Marie looks downright annoyed. “I should put you all out for the night! Stop bothering the poor girl, and get back to work!” She barks.

The girls slink away, casting you pleading looks. You smile. Something flutters to the ground. You pick it up. It’s a business card with a number written on the back. Someone had stuffed it into the sleeve of your shirt. You discreetly slide it into your shopping bag. You’ll give it to Satoru and Suguru later. Satoru, when he inevitably complains about how you hadn’t bought him a gift. 

And then you feel something more in your shirt.

“Those girls,” Marie scowls as she straightens your shirt and hair with all the vigor of a mother cat grooming her kitten. You almost close your eyes. “The new ones go crazy for a pretty face. They’ll learn soon enough.”

You follow Marie to the bar, unable to help your curiosity as you glance at all the men being entertained on love seats. You recognize some faces from the women that had surrounded Toji, but instead of the excited air that had prompted a frenzy around Toji, everything now is strictly professional.

The life of a jujutsu sorcerer is hard, but in a way you envision anything else. If you ever became a hostess or an escort, you’d fail. People like Toji and the girls can do things you could never do. 

Marie pours you a drink as you take a seat. It smells sweet. “I’m sorry about that,” she sighs. “How have things been?”

“Good,” you reply truthfully. Unexpectedly so. You’re visiting Riko next month and you are carefully readying souvenirs to take to her. No deaths (as of now). Suguru and Satoru are happy. Shoko is preparing for medical school. Things are unusually good. You pause. “I was solicited by a man.”

“Oh dear,” Marie closes her eyes. “Now just where has that man been taking you?”

“Just the pachinko parlor.” And the race tracks, but that’s a story for another time. 

“Not that seedy place!”

“It wasn’t that bad,” you say. For you. “But I don’t think Fushiguro-sensei has a single yen to his name right now.” In other words: you really hope the woman currently with him isn’t expecting anything other than a good time. 

“Oh,” Marie groans. “Born under an unlucky star, that one. He just doesn’t learn.”

“I’ve never seen anyone so unlucky,” you reply gravely, sipping at your plum wine. “I am curious though. I wish Fushiguro-sensei hadn’t scared him off so early. I’ve been wondering about how much he would’ve paid.”

Toji slides into the seat next to you. There’s lipstick on his chin and smudges of it on his neck. “A cheapskate lookin’ guy like that? He would’ve shorted ya. Consider yourself lucky I was there.”

You frown once again. “Nothing would’ve happened.”

He eyes you dubiously. “With you? Who knows.”

You don’t have a reply for that. He’s right.

Marie hums, cleaning a cocktail glass. “That was quick,” she says to Toji. “Done already?”

He waves a blithe hand, not responding. You also look at him.

“Oh dear,” she says in mock concern. The corners of her lips are fighting not to tilt into a smile. “Old age getting to you?”

He narrows his eyes playfully. “Why don’t you find out?”

You eagerly take a long swig of your drink.

Marie straightens, not in the least ruffled, gazing down at him with the countenance of a regal queen. “Things have changed since we first met, Toji. You couldn’t afford five minutes of my time.”

You nod.

Toji grins, and it looks devastatingly charming. “No discount for little ole’ me?”

“You bastard,” a derisive snort. “I’d make you pay more. You’ve never paid for a girl in your life.”

It doesn’t dissuade him. “You know I’d make it worth your time.”

“All this with another woman’s lipstick on your face,” she leans over and lightly pats Toji’s cheek in a vaguely warm, yet condescending manner. She turns to you. “Never let a smooth talker into your bed.”

“You know I do a lot more than talk, Marie.”

Marie rolls her eyes. “Toji, dear. Shut up.” She smiles. “I want to hear about those boys of yours.”

It takes you until Toji snorts to realize she’s talking about Satoru and Suguru.

“They’re fine,” you say. Maybe she’s angling for their wallets. It’s an endeavor you wholeheartedly support.

She imperceptibly leans forward. “Is that all?”

“No girlfriends if that’s what you’re wondering,” you report. You’re sure the two of them will make her money. 

Speaking of Satoru, Suguru and Shoko. You take your phone out of your pocket and stare at it. No text messages. It’s been like this for the last four days. They must be busy. You’re not upset by it. 

Just…

Maybe a little lonely.

“Thank you for inviting me out today,” you tell Toji. Well. More or less he had dragged you out of your seat under the guise of a field trip. But you’re still glad nonetheless. You enjoyed it. The school is too big without your best friends, and Nanami and Haibara were out on a joint assignment this morning. You don’t know what you would’ve done by yourself. You don’t like to be alone with your thoughts. “It was very educational.”

An eyebrow quirks upwards. “Was it now.”

You look at him. “Yes. I’m never betting on pachinko.”

He clicks his tongue sullenly. Marie exhales a wheeze of laughter. 

Then he reaches over to pluck your phone out of your hand. After a second, he tosses it back at you.

Your phone is alight as text messages fill your entire screen. You stare at it, wide eyed as texts start piling in, the latest from Satoru, Shoko, Suguru, or all three.

satoru 

[13:04] respond 

[13:04] respond 

[13:04] respond 

[13:04] respond 

[13:04] respond 

[13:04] respond 

[13:06] what r u doing

[13:06] answer

[13:06] answer

[13:06] answer

[13:07] answer

[13:07] answer

[13:07] answer

[13:07] IT’S BEEN 4 DAYS

[13:09] are you mad at me

[13:10] fine

[13:10] don’t reply.

[13:15] hello

[13:20] hello

[13:20] hello

[13:20] hello

[14:05] WHAT FIELD TRIP ANSWER ME RIGHT NOW

shoko

[8:43] your phone is on silent isn’t it

[8:45] see u soon

[30 picture attachments]

suguru

[12:04] yaga said you were on a field trip with fushiguro-sensei

[12:04] can you tell me where you are?

[12:05] nowhere dangerous right?

[12:06] are you still with him? what kind of field trip are you on?

[12:06] this is inexcusable. you shouldn’t be on an unsanctioned field trip just the two of you.

[12:07] are you back at the school?

[12:07] you don’t need to be there. just leave him.

[12:07] please don’t do anything you would normally do

“Your phone was on silent,” Toji says flatly, if not a bit amused. “How old are you again?”

You’re too eagerly engrossed in reading your text messages that you don’t respond. Marie and Toji share a look.

“I don’t know…” you trail off, ungluing your eyes from your screen. Too many texts. You don’t even know how to begin to respond. So you don’t. 

A memory suddenly hits you. Before the three of them left you had been at a cafe with Satoru. While you had been in the midst of typing out Shoko a heartfelt response Satoru had snatched your phone out of your hands, clicked around with it, and slipped it into his pocket.

After then you had subsequently received no text messages. So he had put your phone on silent. You resolve to learn that setting as soon as you go home. 

suguru

[17:54] we’re coming back. i’ll see you at the school.

You excitedly stand, waving the text in Toji’s face. “They’re coming back!” You exclaim. “I’m going to meet them.” You quickly bow to them. “Don’t bother coming back early,” you tell Toji. Then you rush out.

—

You nearly run into Shoko’s open arms, burying your face into her shoulder. She smells like dewy grass. Back inside Satoru’s room in jujustu tech, the four of you are together. It feels as if they never left. 

“Welcome back,” you say breathlessly. “How was Fukuouka?”

“Wet,” she says, making a face. “How was your field trip?”

“Interesting. I think Fushiguro-sensei is the unluckiest man in the world.”

“Well, I don’t doubt that,” she replies. “I bought you souvenirs.”

“Me too,” you blurt out. Your face warms. “Well not a souvenir, really.” You give her the shopping bag in your hand. “I saw it and thought that…” that it’d look perfect on her, “that maybe you could wear it to the next festival…?”

Before she can unravel your impromptu gift, an airy voice cuts through. 

“So the two of us are chopped liver now, are we Suguru?”

“It seems that way, Satoru.”

“How awful,” Satoru sniffs. “After all the trouble we went through to get here early.”

“It was an ordeal, wasn’t it?” Suguru’s smile turns a hint menacing. Your fingers go sweaty. “I’m more interested in this ‘educational field trip. ’”

“It was educational,” your rebuttal is weak. 

“Is that right,” Suguru hums. “I’m looking forward to hearing all about it.”

You look at Shoko helplessly. She shrugs.

Satoru frowns, rounding on you. “I can’t believe you! Not a single text the entire time we were gone! Just what were you two doing anyway? Confess!”

“You’re the one that put my phone on silent,” you reply. “I didn’t even know. I thought the three of you were too busy to update me.”

Satoru opens his mouth. You can see the moment he realizes you’re right. His mouth closes. 

Suguru rolls his eyes. Shoko shakes her head. The two of them promptly slap the back of his head, earning a yelp from the white-haired boy.

“Besides, I haven’t forgotten about you two,” you say, thinking about the cards. Satoru perks up at the prospect of a gift. He’s surprisingly easy to handle at times. Like a child. It’s not bad, you think. Not at all. You smile, reaching into your pocket and pulling out a stack of cards.

“For you two.”

They momentarily glance at each other before taking the cards.

“Wait,” you pat down the sides of your body. “Ah—” three cards tucked into the waistband of your skirt that you hadn’t noticed before “—here you go.”

They stare down at the cards in their hands in silence.

"...Thank you," Suguru says, ever polite, voice strained.

You beam. “Your welcome. The two of you should go with Fushiguro-sensei next week." The two of them wear matching grimaces. "The girls really want to see you again." You look at Satoru. "Even you Satoru!"

"Hah!? What is that supposed to mean!?"

You're sure the prospect of being surrounded by beautiful women will make them more amenable to the idea. Shoko is laughing.

“Wait right here,” Shoko says quickly, getting up from the floor. A quick squeeze of your arm. “I’m getting your souvenirs.”

You turn back to them. “Was Fukouka fun?”

“...The same as always,” is Satoru’s somewhat peeved response as he throws you a box of mentaiko flavored chips. “Annoying old geezers nearing the grave. We skipped the onsen.”

The fact that Suguru doesn’t even correct Satoru on his words says enough. 

“Oh. You shouldn’t have.” It would’ve been a nice way to end their trip. You plop a chip into your mouth. It’s too salty for Satoru’s tastes, but you enjoy it just fine.

Suguru smiles. His fingers are playing with the edges of your hair, lightly tugging. “Next time, we’ll all go together.”

“That would be fun. I’d like that.” You go quiet for a few seconds. “I missed you two.”

Satoru puffs up. “Tell me more.”

“I was a little lonely without everyone. I think that’s why Fushiguro-sensei took me out on a fieldtrip today.”

In other words: he was being oddly considerate. In his own way.

Satoru deflates, pouting. You don’t notice, lost in your thoughts.

“Satoru, Suguru.” The two of them look at you. “If I were an escort, how much would you pay for a night with me?”

The two of them go silent.

[seoafin]

dog days are over | masterlist

pairing: gojo satoru x fem!reader x geto suguru / ieiri shoko & reader

summary: for all the many talks about marriages and weddings and matchmaking ceremonies, you suppose it was only reasonable for Satoru and Suguru to be interested in the next step of their lives, together, or even with a potential third. One of the many beautiful well bred women of higher jujutsu society with enough grit and grace to handle them both. There'd be no place for you in their lives after. Knowing this is one thing. Coming to terms with it is another.

full warnings/tags: misunderstandings, jealousy, unhealthy relationships, possessive behavior, eventual smut, threesomes, themes of depression & mental illness, mentions of disassociation, pining, friends with benefits to (eventual) lovers, angst & hurt/comfort, self esteem issues, sexism & misogyny, slowburn, mentions of child abuse, polyamory, loss of virginity

a/n: hello.....this is long awaited poly fic......i can't believe we've actually reached this point. this fic is a labor of so much love and effort, not just from me but from others who have loved this fic into existence. not to be sappy, but i'm emotional! that being said! please heed the warnings. let's bold the misunderstandings/miscommunication tag. anyway if you stick around to the end i hope you find it a worthwhile journey. i suppose i could give my typical gojo n geto warnings but instead i will say that if gojo loves horribly and geto too much then the both of them love almost oppressively. good luck!

chapter one chapter two chapter three chapter four chapter five chapter six chapter seven

[tba]

[seoafin]

dog days are over | chapter seven

pairing: gojo satoru x fem!reader x geto suguru warnings/tags (for this chapter): no word count: ~6.8k

fic masterlist read on ao3

You listlessly play with the spread book in front of you, tugging at the corners of the page as you mindlessly stare at the text. Nothing is comprehended. After a few more minutes of trying to pull your concentration together, you give up. Pushing the book back, you lean back, bleary eyes fixed on the dark ceiling of the library, and sigh.

Your temples throb, and you squeeze your eyes shut. 

It's been a while since you’ve been pressed for sleep like you are now. You stay awake through the night, catching an hour or two of sleep when exhaustion overtakes you. Through it all, Go stays awake with you, and the two of you have taken to watching animal documentaries together.

The nights are long and constant, but you aren’t alone.

You’re thinking about getting another fruit shaped bed for Go and a few other enrichment activities, when a giggle draws your attention back to reality.

You blink.

Another giggle soon joins the fray. 

Smiling, you get to your feet and follow the badly stifled laughter. You finally peer around a tall stack of books to find Mimiko and Nanako crouching down, hands pressed to their mouths as giggles wrack their bodies.

You attempt some semblance at being stern. “Did you girls escape Yaga-sensei again?”

A wide, mischievous grin stretches Nanako’s lips. “We did!” She announces, delighted. “I bet the old man’s running around wondering where he lost us!”

She and Mimiko dissolve into giggles once more. 

The old man…

You can’t help but be fondly exasperated. Undoubtedly Satoru and Suguru’s influence. Their words rubbing off on their young, impressionable minds. You should expect better from Suguru, but you don’t.

You kneel down to face them. The delight on their faces is palpable. You can’t help but feel a little better, seeing them laugh like the children they are. If the two of them are here then that means…

They must have been dropped off in the morning. Your heart quickens at the thought of encountering them. They must be upset at you, over your nonsensical outburst, and at the thought of it all, apologies instinctively jump to your tongue. You bite them back.

Mimiko and Nanako exchange a glance. The motion makes you think of Satoru and Suguru, and for a sudden you think you’re seeing doubles.

Nanako momentarily lowers her gaze before speaking. “Are you and papa fighting?”

You blink at her. 

Nanako’s eyes are wide with a sadness that wouldn’t look out of place on a beaten dog. “Papa and Satoru are really sad you’re mad at them.”

Mad…

Your mouth is dry. “That’s…”

They stare at you, forlorn expressions matching. “That’s not it,” you force out. “It’s…a lot more…difficult to explain. I’m not mad.” Anger has always been a foreign emotion to you. You’ve never had the means to sustain something as ever permanent as anger. You’re ill suited to it. 

Nanako brightens immediately. “Really? When are you going to move into our apartment?”

Mimiko asks, “Are you going to have babies?”

“I want a younger brother!”

“And a sister…”

“That’s not…” your face vigorously heats. It seems you weren’t as discreet as you wished. You’d have to…talk to Satoru and Suguru about being more careful. After you build up the courage to face them. “We’re not…” You clear your throat. Better to clear up any misconceptions right now. “It’s true that something happened, but it’s not like that,” you say firmly. “I promise.”

The two of them go momentarily silent, understanding the weight of a promise from your lips.

Mimiko gazes at you discerningly, in a way that has always reminded you of Suguru, her quieter disposition making her no less of a force. “You don’t love papa?”

Nanako leans into you. “Or Satoru?”

“Of course I love them,” you answer truthfully, even though your stomach tightens.

“But…not like that?” Nanako leans in closer, gesturing for you to lend her your ear. You incline your head down. In your ear she whispers, “Nao-kun at school told Kana that he loves her and that they're going to get married. Do you love Papa and Satoru like that?”

You stare at her, eyes wide. The twins tilt their heads to the left in one synchronized movement you’re sure they aren’t even cognizant of. You feel sick all of a sudden, hands sweaty and head spinning. “It’s not like that,” you say quickly. It’s not like that. Not like that. You’d never…not with Satoru and Suguru. Never with Satoru and Suguru. You’re sure they’ve never entertained the idea either.

“If Satoru and Suguru got married to another woman, I’d support them,” you say plainly. You’re unsure how to articulate it any other way. “Because I love them. I want them to be happy.” Their happiness makes you happy. Despite it, you smile, reaching out to ruffle Mimiko’s hair, and then Nanako’s. They light up at your touch. “This is something for the adults to worry about, okay?”

They don’t look convinced. When Nanako, once more, opens her mouth, you hurriedly rush to change the topic. “Have you two eaten?” Suguru would’ve sent them off with breakfast, but it’s already nearing late afternoon. They must be hungry.

Mimiko nods. You notice that her long dark hair is styled with her pretty silver clip. Nanako's blonde hair is tied into a slightly curled ponytail, complete with a pink bow. Suguru must have done their hair this morning, just as he does most mornings. Both accessories must have been gifts from Suguru. He spoils them. The thought brings a smile to your lips.

“Alright,” You jump up. “Shall we go get lunch?”

Mimiko and Nanako stand, the two of them taking your hands on either side of you as you make your way to the cafeteria. Nanako is recounting her week at school and the messy love lives of her elementary classmates, including the three boys that had confessed their love for her and asked her to be her girlfriend to which she responded that no boy would be able to match her papa in any way. Mimiko nods seriously in agreement. 

You’re in the middle of asking which suitor suits her tastes the best when you hear your name from behind. You turn.

Sasaki is in a dark emerald kimono that reminds you of Megumi’s eyes. The delicate fabric is decorated with embroidered auspicious cranes, one of which spans the length and curve of her leg, silver colored, eye black.

“Sasaki-san,” you greet with a smile. Of all the places to see her, you didn’t think you’d see her at jujutsu tech. “It’s been a while.”

“Please,” she replies, “Call me Kumiko. It seems wrong to have a friend of Geto-sama and Gojo-sama’s to address me with formalities.”

“Kumiko then,” you agree. You look down at Mimiko and Nanako and lightly squeeze their hands. “I’m not sure if you’ve met, but these two are Mimiko and Nanako.”

“Hello,” Nanako says, gazing from Sasaki to you. When you smile encouragingly and nod, she says, “I’m Nanako, and this is my sister Mimiko.”

Mimiko stares at her quietly.

Sasaki beams. “I’ve heard of you two. Geto-sama’s wards.” She kneels down to their height. “My name is Kumiko. Please feel free to refer to me as such. I’m sure we’ll be seeing each other more often from here on out.”

“We were just about to go to the cafeteria to get some food,” you say. “Would you like to join us?”

Sasaki brightens. “Of course.”

The short walk to the cafeteria is in silence, Nanako having fallen suspiciously quiet, and your attempts to get her to recount her story about Kouta-kun getting in trouble for not feeding the class fishes shut down.

“They’re a little shy around new people,” you explain as the girls have gone to get lunch, trays in hand. The cafeteria is empty, save for a few auxiliary managers milling around. “But they get over it quickly. When Nanako gets going she doesn’t stop.”

Sasaki is understanding. “Of course,” she says. “It’s only reasonable considering their…” something like sympathy dabs at her face, “history.”

History.

You suppose that’s what it is now. You can only hope the scars on their hearts have mostly healed, but you also know that sometimes they wake up in cold sweats, scrambling into Suguru’s arms and clutching him tightly. They love him. They adore him with a hero worship you’d be more worried about if you hadn’t known Suguru to be the good person he is. In their eyes, Suguru can do no wrong, so when he holds them close and tells them that the ghosts of their past are just that, ghosts, they believe him. 

But you also know some things never heal. 

They’re still young, you think. Unlike you. You never learned what it means to leave things in the past. They’ll learn from your mistakes.

“Are you here on business?” You ask.

“Oh my, the only business I’d ever be conducting here would be marriage talks,” she says goodnaturedly. “I’m with my elder brother. He’s here for a meeting with the elders that came in from Fukuoka. I was told to accompany him by my father, but I’m afraid even I cannot wait several hours with immunity,” she smiles, and you are once again taken by her good looks. She simply doesn’t look human, even more up close. “I was bored,” she states, mirthful. “I was hoping Geto-sama or even Gojo-sama would be here today.”

“I see…” you glance at the clock towards the entrance of the room. “If you wait until a little later, I’m sure you’ll catch them when they come to pick up the twins.”

She looks surprised. “They personally come to pick up the children?”

“On most days. Sometimes when Suguru and Satoru are busy, I drop them off. Or Shoko if she finishes a shift early. But usually either Satoru or Suguru try to make it.” Sometimes, when it was impossible for anyone, an auxiliary manager. But Suguru doesn't like the idea of strangers taking the twins home so often times than not Ijichi is made to drive the twins home. He doesn't mind it too much. You made sure to talk to him about it. In fact you'd say he's fond of the girls when they aren't tormenting him.

“Most men wouldn’t take the time out of their day.”

You can’t really speak to that, but you suppose the elites have always had their own way of doing things, far removed from your own experiences. Either way, you’ve always been alone. You don’t remember your father’s face. Not anymore. Only the hurt he left you with.

She studies you, dark eyes intentful. “Geto-sama is a kind man.” A light smile touches her lips. You can’t help but think it looks sad. “My brother was…” she hesitates, “not pleased when Gojo-sama did not come to the marriage talks our families arranged. If it weren’t for Geto-sama…” Clearing her throat, she forces a smile. “I thought he was lovely.”

You can’t help the pride blooming in your chest. Suguru is lovely, you think. The kindest and one of the best people you know. You shouldn’t have blown up at him, at Satoru. Your heart grows heavy.

“Suguru’s a good person,” you agree. “Satoru too.” Although people may not think it at first, too cowed by his presence.

“That’s…reassuring to hear,” she says. Her gaze turns contemplative. “The two of them make quite a pair…”

Before she can finish her train of thought, the twins return with bento boxes.

Nanako pushes a third box in your direction. “This one’s yours!”

“Oh, I’m fin—”

“Papa says it’s important to make sure you’re eating,” Mimiko says, opening hers. “He and Satoru say you always forget.”

“Is that right…” you say, exasperated. Luckily, there’s an extra chopstick inside. You offer a pair to Sasaki. “Hungry?”

“I’ve eaten,” she politely inclines her head. “Thank you for offering.”

As you start on your tempura, Sasaki asks the twins about school. “Do you enjoy it? School with civilians. It’s not…odd?” To be leading separate lives, she seems to say.

Nanako shrugs. “It’s just school. Megumi’s school seems more fun though. Megumi once beat up a sixth grader for picking on Tsumiki when he was in fifth grade! And the bully came back with middle schoolers, Megumi beat them up too!”

You sweat. You remember that particular incident, and the accusations of delinquency flying out of several mouths. Satoru and Suguru had shared a long laugh over it. In front of the principal, and the offending student’s father.

“The Zenin heir,” Sasaki mulls. You’re glad Megumi isn’t here to hear that. “The three of you don’t attend the same school?”

“I thought it better for Megumi and Tsumiki to stay at the school they were originally enrolled in. We enrolled the twins at a school closer to the apartment,” you say. “But you two want to get into Tsumiki’s middle school, right?”

They nod. Megumi didn’t care as much, something that chagrined Tsumiki. But to you, it only seemed natural he would follow his older sister. The three of them would easily test into the school. It wasn’t as much of a worry.

“Forgive me for being curious,” Sasaki says shyly. “I was only ever homeschooled so the likes of regular school is beyond me…”

You don’t think she missed much, but then again, your own memories of elementary and middle school don’t inspire any great, memorable feelings within you. 

Mimiko looks from you to Sasaki. “Are you two friends?”

You’d hate to presume. “Sasaki-san is much more a friend of Suguru’s than mine.”

Nanako perks up at Suguru’s name. “Papa’s?”

There’s a light blush on her face. “Oh,” she breathes out. “I would hate to be presumptuous…or take advantage of Geto-sama’s kindness…”

You smile. “That’s nothing, I wouldn’t be worried. Suguru’s a lot less formal than he seems.”

“I see…” a pleased expression settles on her face.

You feel someone approaching, and in your peripheral you see a man in a suit.

Sasaki straightens immediately as the man bends down to whisper into Sasaki’s ear. Expression formal, she stands. 

“I’m afraid my brother is calling for me,” she says apologetically. “I have to take my leave, but thank you for entertaining me.”

“Anytime,” you reply.

You can’t help but think her steps look heavy as she walks away, the man trailing after her.

When you turn back to the twins, you say, “What did you think of Sasaki-san?”

Nanako shrugs.

Mimiko eats her bento.

“It's important for you to meet new people,” you say softly. You wonder how you can phrase it in a way they can understand. “One day, there might be someone new in Suguru and Satoru’s life.”

Mimiko peers up at you. “Not…you?”

“Not me,” you agree. If not Sasaki-san then someone else, but you’re sure Suguru is fond of her. Maybe he’s playing coy. Satoru would endear himself to her soon enough. The three of them make an unearthly attractive couple. You think of married Meiko-san, an unhappy bride, and you wonder if marriage is even worth it after all. Love is enough, and to you, it’s always been enough. 

But Meiko-san too, you think, is beautiful in a way that wouldn’t look out of place at Satoru and Suguru’s side. You’ve never personally met one of Satoru and Suguru’s partners before, but suddenly it’s real. You wonder if they slid their hands over her body, if they held her, if they kissed the moans from her lips. Your face goes warm. And suddenly it feels all wrong, like you’ve done something you shouldn’t. Satoru and Suguru aren’t meant for you. You’re content just to watch them, to see them happy. A sudden feeling of shame washes over you at how you had faced Sasaki so brazenly, and innocently watched her face fill with joy at the mention of Suguru.

The food goes bitter in your mouth.

“No,” Nanako says plainly, lotus root caught between her chopsticks. “I don’t think so.”

You force yourself to smile, despite the horrible, sinking feeling in your chest. Maybe this would be an easier topic for Suguru to broach with the girls when it’s time. “Is Suguru picking you up today?”

Nanako nods eagerly, waving the screen of her lit phone. “Papa said he’d be here soon!”

Apprehension swirls in your gut.

“Mimiko! Nanako!” A deep voice exclaims from behind you.

The twins go suspiciously silent, looking anywhere but at the man behind you. 

You blink at him. “Yaga-sensei, there you are.” Your old sensei’s appearance is in unusual disarray, lips sternly pursed. You wonder what wild goose chase the girls had led him on. Well, you’d feel better leaving the kids in his care until Suguru came anyway. You're relieved. 

He straightens, crossing his arms in that imposing way that makes you feel as if you’re in high school again, seated in seiza, wondering what Satoru and Suguru had gotten up to that you were also getting punished.

“You didn’t think to call?” He asks gruffly, gaze imperceptible behind his sunglasses. “I thought the girls had run away.”

They had, you think. But it might not be in your best interests to mention that.

Call…

Ah. Right. You could’ve done that. You should’ve. You reach into your pocket for your phone and come out empty. Yaga-sensei stares at your hand.

He closes his eyes, thoroughly exasperated. “Some things…”

If you squint and turn your head, you could almost swear he looks fond.

As you walk away, you hear Yaga-sensei clear his throat. You recognize it as a precursor to a long lecture. 

You speed up. 

—

You are engrossed in a book on Heian deathbed rites when Shoko marches into the library. Your paper is on the Shoen system, but you had found a peculiar scroll — a first hand account written by a Gojo clan historian focusing on Gojo-specific funeral customs and before you knew it, you were nose deep into a whole new topic. 

“This is a kidnapping,” she says. “Get up, I’m taking you home.” 

Not really, you think. You’d follow Shoko anywhere, without much prompting at all. So you obediently close your book, tidy your paperwork, and pack up everything while Shoko watches with her arms folded. By the time you’re done, your eyes are blurry from the strain, and Shoko watches in dismay as you unsteadily walk over to her.

“What time is it?”

“Two in the morning,” she replies, as the two of you exit the campus and walk to the street where she’s called a taxi.

When she opens the door, you wordlessly get in. You must have slept on her shoulder, because a hand gently wakes you up soon after you think you closed your eyes. You blink dazedly, straightening, recognizing the apartment complex outside the taxi as Shoko’s.

You immediately think of Go.

“I have to go home to check—”

“I already sent someone over,” she says, opening the door. A bemused look on her face. “Your cat doesn’t seem to like men, you know that?”

You’re worried at once. Alert. “Did something happen?”

Shoko raises her phone in your face. You take her phone and scroll through the twenty pictures of a contented Go lying on a female auxiliary manager’s lap in your apartment. You breathe a sigh of relief. You don’t recognize her, but if Shoko sent her, then you trust her.

You give her phone back and wordlessly exit the car. You let Shoko lead you up the elevator and to her apartment. Standing in her chicly decorated apartment, you’re at a sudden loss of how to proceed.

“Shoko, why am I here?” Sometimes, oddly enough, you are overcome with a peculiar untethered feeling. You felt a little of it at Meiko’s wedding reception. A feeling in your gut saying you shouldn’t be here.

“We’re having a sleepover. Just like we used to.” She disappears down the hallway and returns with clothes. “You can borrow these.”

The knot in your stomach unravels, just enough that it becomes easier to breathe. Just like we used to. The two of you have been busy. You with your classes and assignments and missions and Satoru and Suguru. Her with medical school, her jujutsu duties, and everything the higher ups feel fit to assign to her as the resident medic. 

You stare at the bundle of clothes in your hands and will yourself not to cry, but you can feel your eyes become watery. Everything is easier when you’re with Shoko, you think, and everything for the last few months has been too hard.

You wonder where everything went wrong.

“Thanks,” you say hoarsely, unable to meet her eyes. You abruptly turn towards the bathroom. “I’m going to take a shower.”

In the bathroom, you lift the bundle in your hands to your face. It’s soft and smells faintly of Shoko. Her clothes. You shower, wash up, and change.

You walk out back to the living room to find Shoko eating a tub of dark chocolate ice cream on her couch. Settling down next to her, she hands you a spoon and you take a large bite of it.

“I haven’t been seeing you around the campus much lately,” she says nonchalantly.

“I’ve been busy,” you reply, shooting her a weak smile. “Lots of work.”

There’s a glint of momentary suspicion in her gaze. It passes quickly as she answers, “I guess so. It’s Satoru’s birthday soon. Wonder what he’s going to ask of us this year.”

The reminder of it makes you internally wince. “A twelve tier birthday cake?”

“A life sized sugar sculpture.”

You smile. “All that and a long vacation.”

She snorts. “He’ll take you and Suguru and never come back.”

You go quiet, smile fading, and Shoko's gaze is on you.

You hold your breath, but Shoko only puts her ice cream and spoon on the coffee table, and settles back into the couch. “I haven’t met your cat yet. ‘Go’ was it?”

You might cry all over again. “He looks like Satoru,” you say. “White fur and blue eyes. I’m not sure what kind of cat he is, but he’s big.” You demonstrate how big he’s been getting with your hands, feeling your spirits lift as you tell her about how Go is the prettiest, most beautiful cat you’ve ever seen, all his habits and quirks, and how much you enjoy brushing his fur. You think he’s a little vain, gently butting at your hand until his fur is glistening and smooth to his liking, but you love that about him too. You tell her that he’ll love her as much as you do, and that she should visit when she has time.

You miss him, you realize. You’ve grown accustomed to expecting someone when you go home. You come back to your apartment and scoop him into your arms, and Go nuzzles into your neck like he’s welcoming you home.

Shoko smiles. “Next time you should bring him.”

You brighten. You think Go could do with a change of scenery. Sometimes you wonder if your apartment was too small for him. You don't want him bored. The other day you found him sleeping in one of your cabinets.

It’s been a while since you talked this much. You suppose without Satoru and Suguru, the amount of people you can confide in have dwindled. You don’t know many people, not like Satoru and Suguru and Shoko. You’ve never been good at conversing, or making friends.

The two of you talk about everything and anything. The classmate at medical school that asked her out for drinks after their exam next week. Med school relationship drama. One of the Gojo elders had approached her earlier in the week, asking for the reverse cursed user Ieiri-san, and had been disappointed upon the realization that Ieiri-san was the woman right in front of him. You tell her that it had been with Hideo that you chanced upon Go, about Haibara’s mistake, and seeing Sasaki-san at the school.

“I think Suguru likes her,” you say, thinking about Sasaki’s face softening at the mention of Suguru. “She really likes him.”

If she’s at all interested in the state of Suguru’s love life, she doesn’t show it. You don’t expect her to be. “Is that right.”

Your gaze falls to your hands. “I…” I messed up, you want to say. You had an outburst, spurred on by exhaustion and your own shame, but the words die on your tongue.

“They’ve been sulking, you know,” Shoko says plainly.

You blink, looking up at her.

“I’ve seen Satoru standing outside your library these last few days.” She gives you a look. “I saw him earlier today. He was there for over an hour looking like a pathetic, kicked dog.”

This is news to you. You thought Satoru had been in Kamakura today. “He…was…?”

You didn’t know Satoru had been anywhere near your vicinity.

“And Suguru,” she looks faintly amused, “has been just despondent in my office.”

You feel sick. “Really?”

“You didn’t do anything wrong.” She’s using her doctor tone, you think. Pragmatic, self assured, and confidently right. 

As awful as you feel, that brings a mirthless smile to your lips. “You don’t even know what I did.”

She raises an eyebrow, daring you to disagree. “I don’t need to.” Her hand reaches out to squeeze yours. Your eyes grow wet once again as you feel the weight of her gaze on you.

Meeting Suguru, Shoko, and Satoru had acquainted you with the discomfort of being seen. Before them, you had never felt particularly bothered by anyone’s opinions of you, not even when others complained to Yaga-sensei about the audaciousness of your gaze, your bluntness. But maybe that was because nobody had bothered to pay you any attention in the first place.

You didn’t understand back then, why it had even mattered in the first place. Why Satoru had thought you to be a challenge when you first met him. Maybe you still don’t. You still seem to say and do all the wrong things. Maybe you haven’t learned a single thing.

Now you can’t help but think the floor is a familiar sight to you.

You don’t want them to look at you. Maybe a part of you is afraid they’ll see you for who you really are. And Satoru and Suguru are nothing if not discerning. 

Shoko moves closer to you, and you let yourself lie down, rearranging yourself so that you and her are comfortably lying down, face to face.

A comfortable silence overtakes the two of you. Shoko presses closer to you, and you can feel her breath on your shoulder before she moves flat on her back.

“It’s okay to be a bother,” she says. “You’ve always been the type to keep everything to yourself.” 

You’ve never thought it necessary to burden others with your problems and mistakes. You hold them close to your heart, and hope they never hurt you again.

Shoko snorts at your silence. “You’re doing it again.”

Troubled, you say, “I’ve never really known what to say…”

“I know,” her voice goes soft. “It wouldn’t hurt to be more forthcoming with the things troubling you. I want to know, and I’m sure they want to too.”

Shoko wants to know about your problems. She wants you to talk to her. Your throat grows thick. And yet…

“It’s getting harder and harder to talk to…” Them.

You feel horrible as soon as the words leave your lips, it feels like a weight off your shoulders. You’re terrified, wanting, and self loathing. You don’t want to know how Satoru and Suguru feel about the new direction of your relationship. You don’t think you’d be able to come back from knowing they regret it. You’re already keenly aware of what you can offer them, and that already isn’t enough.

Maybe that’s why you feel choked by words every time you see them. They’re so far away from you. You’re not sure when the distance between you and them had grown into an insurmountable gap. But that’s okay. You’re content to watch them. 

Shoko sighs in a manner that reminds you how she breathes out cigarette smoke, bottom lip slightly jutted out. “Yeah, well, they’re idiots.” There’s something forlorn in her gaze. “They’ve never known how to handle fragile things.”

“I…I suppose…”

She rolls over on her side to face you. “Forget about them,” she says decisively. “You shouldn’t waste another second on those idiots.”

S-scathing…

Her lips twist. It almost looks like a smile. “But you won’t, will you?”

“...”

“I know it’s been hard for you these last few months.” She throws an arm over her face and groans. “They’ve been working me like a dog. I wish they’d at least keep me at Jujutsu High,” with you . “When we were in high school, they barely sent me out on missions.” A note of distaste enters her voice. “Those two are doing their jobs too well.”

You smile, always touched. There are so many things you could say. There are important people in need of her help, just like they need Satoru and Suguru’s help. Jujutsu society relies on her. You know she secretly enjoys the work, and helping people. That’s who Shoko is.

Instead you selfishly say: “Me too. I wish I could see you all the time.”

Her lips curl into a genuine smile. She scoots closer to you, resting her head in the space above your shoulder. The air becomes drowsy, almost dream-like in the low light of a lamp resting on a cabinet, next to a vase of flowers emanating your cursed energy.

“Shoko,” you say quietly, like you're releasing a secret into the night. “When I was in Nagoya…”

—

When you leave for your apartment the next day (sad to be leaving Shoko, excited to see Go), you are in high spirits. Light-hearted happiness for the first time in months.

You slow to a stop. There's someone waiting in front of your building.

You hadn’t realized it that day, at her wedding reception, or even at Satoru and Suguru’s apartment, just how long her hair is. Down, Meiko’s hair reaches her waist. It’s styled into neat waves today, instead of being tied up.

She smiles at you, bundled up in a brown trench coat, and waves. Long fur gloves adorn her hands. She looks wildly out of place in front of your decrepit apartment building.

“And here I thought I had been lied to,” she says cheerily as you approach. “You do live here!”

“That’s right,” you answer politely, curious about her sudden appearance. “Is there something you need of me?”

“Oh nothing so serious.” She waves an easy hand. “Just wanted to invite you out for dinner next week.”

“Me?” You think this may be Meiko’s roundabout way of asking you to also invite Satoru or Suguru to the dinner too. You aren’t sure why Meiko wouldn’t ask them herself since they already seem to be acquainted (in more ways than one), but why else would she invite you in the first place? There’s not much else than you can offer her. You’d have to make clear that the most you can do is float the suggestion. You’re sure she’s overestimating how much sway you hold over your friends in the first place.

Satoru and Suguru could be a little selfish in that way. 

“That’s right. How does six work?”

“Six works fine,” you pause. Next you settle on: “I’ll be sure to invite them.”

That’s as much as you can do anyway. You wonder if you’ve conveyed the sentiment well enough. If she pulls back the invitation, you wouldn’t embarrass her. You gauge her expression. 

She makes a face. “Oh no. Not them.”

You blink.

“Just you, thank you very much!”

“Just…me?”

“Just you.”

“Oh,” you say, a bit awed. You hadn’t expected that.

“Besides,” she huffs. “They’d only intrude on our time together.” She takes your hands with her gloved ones. This is the second time you’ve felt the warmth of her hands. Your throat goes dry. You can’t feel the brittle chill of the weather. She smiles. “I want you all to myself.”

You swallow, stomach flipping.

Your words come out breathlessly. “Me?”

“That’s right,” she hums. “You’ll come won’t you?”

“I will,” it sounds more eager than you intended. You draw back, slightly embarrassed. "If...if you want me."

"Of course I do," she answers without a hint of hesitation.

She squeezes your hands once, before dropping them and letting you go. You’re a little disappointed. You shake yourself out of it.

She tells you she’ll text you the restaurant name. You hadn’t noticed the unmarked car waiting by the road until it pulls up close. The driver gets out of the car to open the door for her. With a wave and a wink, she’s gone, leaving you wondering if you had imagined her.

The air is oppressively heavy at Jujutsu tech. You’re unsure what the occasion is, but it must be of the utmost importance if the private cars and suited men and robed elders tell you anything. From your vantage point on the balcony of the top floor of an unused storage building overlooking the main courtyard, you can see members of the upper echelons of jujutsu and civilian society crossing to the main building, gathering for some event or meeting. Did they come from Kyoto? 

Suguru and Satoru would know. The two of them are too important not to be involved somehow. A meeting discussing a wave of crimes perpetrated by the rise of curse users in Kyoto. Discussing the national security of Japan. Discussing the maintenance of Tengen-sama’s barriers. There are so many things the meetings could entail. You can expect Satoru, Suguru, and even Shoko’s schedules to be stacked for the rest of the week. Meeting after meeting after meeting. 

You feel for them. In your case, you had the perfunctory meeting here and there, involving Tokyo matters on a smaller scale. Your presence isn’t required. You usually blanked through them anyway, unless they were actually important in some way. In your opinion, you believed it was better than Satoru sleeping through his. 

Well, you wouldn’t be needed here. Not for the week anyway.

Your stomach is sore from your position pressed into the railing of the balcony. You figure you should head home. The clouds above you are darkening, and you can feel a storm coming on.

You straighten when you catch a glimpse of white. It’s Satoru. 

Satoru’s face looks distinctly annoyed in a fashion that reminds you of his high school petulance as he heads towards the direction of the Torii gates. You squint. There are two older and shorter men dressed in robes behind him struggling to keep up to his long strides, perhaps calling out to him. Satoru ignores them, but they end up catching up to him anyway. Your gaze is glued to the scene as the men try to stop Satoru from leaving, gesticulating wildly. 

That’s when you see Suguru calmly making his way to Satoru. He places a hand on his shoulder, and you see Satoru slightly relax.

Satoru raises his head. Your stomach plummets at once, and you drop to the floor, immediately erasing your cursed energy. You’re unsure if it worked. Satoru is excellent at sensing cursed energy and even better at controlling his own. Even at the distance you’re at, you’re sure he has an inkling. But you’ve always been good at knowing how to disappear. Your fine control over your own cursed energy isn’t something to casually disregard. 

You decide to leave. You crawl into the storage room and don’t bother shutting the door to the balcony. Then you stand, brushing yourself off. Waiting until you’re sure the courtyard has been evacuated, you walk down to the first floor.

It’s not that late, you think. You could still take the train home instead of calling a taxi. You wouldn’t mind the walk from the school down to the city. It would only be a mild inconvenience if it rained. The thought strikes you as you’ve already made your way down the long steps and the winded road to the main road. As you contemplate retracing your steps back to the campus to grab an umbrella, a long sleek black car pulls up to the road.

You don’t pay it much mind, ultimately deciding to brave the rain. No big deal. You’d have to take a shower and dry before indulging in your daily cuddle sessions with Go though. He’s not a big fan of water. You start on your path to the train station, passing the man who had gotten out of the car flanked by two men in suits. 

“You.”

You keep on walking.

“Woman.”

You stop, turning back to face an unfamiliar man. You blink. “Me?”

His nose crinkles, face easily conforming to a look of distaste. “Are you deaf?”

“No,” you reply. Not yet at least. Your eyesight might be a little impaired though. All those constant nights in the library haven’t done you any favors. If glasses are inevitable, Satoru is going to make fun of you. Suguru will be polite about it, but he and Satoru will laugh about it later. The thought both slightly depresses and tires you. 

Something about the look on his face tells you he wasn’t looking for a reply. Oh.

He replies with your full name. You blink.

“—Class of 2008.”

“Yes, that’s me.” You glance at the men behind him. You had noticed them as body guards before they had even left the car. Not jujutsu sorcerers. Enough control over their cursed energy to regulate their own, but not refined enough. A higher up? Someone from an important clan. You hope he’s not expecting you to recognize him. You’ve long given up on trying to memorize things like that.

The two of you stare at each other in silence. His face tightens. “Sasaki Ichiro.”

This must be Sasaki’s older brother. Now that you think about it, they share the same hazel gaze, and the fine slope of their noses…

However, his features are encompassed by a coldness not present on Sasaki’s own.

You wonder what he wants.

“Did you need something?” You are pressed by an urgent need to hold Go in your arms. Preferably as soon as you can. You’ll make him a nice dinner tonight, in the strawberry bowl you bought just for him the other day in a ceramics shop in Ginza.

“I don’t like your tone,” he clicks his tongue, eyes raking over you with a scrutinizing edge. He must not like what he sees because a frown digs at his lips. “Are you always this impertinent with those above your station?”

You thought you had been polite, but not enough evidently. For these types, it’s always better to keep quiet and let them talk. They like to talk.

He continues. “I was merely curious. I believed there were only two others in the esteemed Gojo head’s class.”

If you’re being honest, you would’ve preferred he kept on believing that. You hadn’t corrected people when they assumed you to be in Nanami and Haibara’s class. It happened in high school often, except Satoru had been deeply offended for no reason at all, and made it a point to introduce you as his classmate to every single higher up and elder and jujustu sorcerer the two of you chanced upon, forcing you forward with a rough hand that made you almost stumble over your feet.

What? You prefer Nanami and Haibara over us or somethin’? You’re ours.

“It seems there are exceptions to be made everywhere,” he says coolly. “The exception in an exceptional class.”

With that, he doesn’t spare you another glance as he turns on his heels towards the campus of jujutsu high.

Exceptional, huh.

You watch him disappear into the trees following the path to the school. You wonder if he’ll see Satoru or Suguru or Shoko later today. He’ll offer them his respect, and probably his deference with an expression that doesn’t look like he’d like to spit at their feet.

Oh well, better you than them.

You wonder if he’ll broach the idea of marrying Sasaki to them. You hope it’ll be at least to Suguru, not Satoru. You remember the softness of her gaze, the pink blush on her cheeks, the slight, shy curl of her lips when mentioning Suguru. A lovely flower you think, made even lovelier by love.

You’re not sure how Satoru and Suguru feel about flowers, but they’ve always kept the ones you’ve given them over the years. You think it might mean something.

A droplet of water hits your cheek.