#missing getou hours

[eastbluees]

darling, i'm fallin' f*cked up over you

[prettyboykatsuki]

TEXTBOOK CITATIONS ON IMMORAL SEX | S. GETOU ft. F. TOJI

✮ tags ; porn no plot, afab + fem!reader (good girl, little girl once sarcastically by toji, pretty), mild degradation (dirty girl, a bitch in heat), professor!getou + security guard!toji, dubcon, imbalanced power dynamics, age gaps(10+ years), mild coercion / blackmail, spit play, wet ‘n messy sex, face-fucking, oral (f +m!recieving), spanking, restraints, dirty talk, creampie / unprotected sex, 18+

✮ wc ; 10.6k

✮ synopsis ; You’re willing to do anything to pass your intro course. Whatever it takes. No cost is too high.

✮ a /n ; a comm for the beloved @fushironi !!! thank you for commissioning me and letting me post your work. if anyone is interested in a commission i will be reopening them at some point this month hopefully

A SIDE NOTE: THIS IS VERY CONSENSUAL!! but the relationship is inherently unethical so the dubcon tag is there. and this is. just smut. no plot no brain. just porn.

You're failing ethics. 

You're failing ethics and failing it badly. 

You refuse to take all of the blame for your failures. Some of it is your fault, but most of it is the fault of your good-for-nothing academic advisor. You're not sure what they get paid for, since it seems like there's an elaborate prank going on between staff and you're the only one not in on the joke. In what universe is it possible, plausible - that an individual could get paid for doing everything but their job? 

Apparently this one. But whatever. 

In your last semester of university, on the edge of graduating and totally on the right track - you're informed that you're not going to be able to graduate in the expected time frame because you are missing a single course. You learn this information about two days before registrations close, which means all the meaningful classes contributing to your major are booked and busy. Everything is full, and everything that isn't doesn't contribute to your degree. As in, even if you took it - it wouldn't give you what you need to graduate. 

After a full-blown mental break, a long night crying yourself to sleep in your dorm, and an egregious amount of begging - you managed to snag yourself a class. It wasn't ideal by any stretch of the imagination, and it did put quite the strain on your schedule. Straight out of your 8am lab - you had to speed walk to the other end of campus and make sure you made it to lecture. The lecture time itself was an hour and twenty minutes, attendance mandatory, twice a week - which meant you had to delay lunch again till afterwards and learn on empty fumes till 1 pm. 

Still, better than not graduating at all. 

You'd hoped (expected?) that the course itself would be about average in coursework. For one, it's an intro class. Intro to Ethics or PHIL-2467, with Professor Getou Suguru. Secondly, the actual listed coursework seems simple enough. Discussion boards, reading analysis, and a few papers made up for most of the grade. The expectations were outlined as clearly as they could be. 

You didn't really know anything about Professor Getou at the time, only that his ratemyprofessor described him as somewhat strict but mostly good. 

In any case, you'd consider yourself lucky. And in an effort not to freak out about your circumstances, you'd practically chanted to yourself each night the same mantra. Everything was going to be fine. You've taken nearly 120 hours of coursework, and a little extra time won't kill you. At the start of the semester, you fully believed it too. Bright-eyed, bushy-tailed, and utterly naive.

How could a single course torment you like this? You hadn't the faintest clue. At first, it struck you as odd that the course felt as difficult to grasp as it did. The readings were complex and extremely long but always said a lot of nothing. Much of your grade was dependent not only on assigned work but participation and discussion. The paper criteria was only simple on the surface, but proved to be too lengthy to comprehend and too difficult to fulfill. 

Long story short, the class was kicking your ass. And the ass-kicking slowly progressed into a failure so bad it was laughable. You're in your final year, and that means taking a lot of difficult and specified courses in relation to your major. You were at the point where your classmates were starting to thin out, and you were seeing the same group of people you had as a freshman. As far as prioritizing goes, a 3-credit hour course that isn't technically meaningful to you falls to the very bottom of your priorities. You're more concerned with things like job-hunting and finishing your capstone and all the stuff related to your actual career. 

So you've been half-assing all the papers and exams, falling asleep in class, and lowkey straight up ignoring the weekly discussion boards. 

However, above everything else, the worst part of your class is your professor. Professor Getou Suguru. PhD in Comparative Ethics with a Masters in Cognitive Science. 

You didn't really have a chance to speak with any of your friends about Professor Getou, despite it being in your best interest - because you only knew you had the class two days before it started. You'd come to learn only two things about him after attending. First, he's a complete hardass when it comes to grading any assignments, and second most of his merit comes from the fact he is ridiculously good-looking. 

He can't be any older than his late thirties or early forties, which means he's young. Young enough to be attractive but old enough for most of your peers to thirst for him in unhealthy ways. He's at least a decade and a half older than you, and by god does he make it clear. 

What they don't tell you about college is that there's nothing that can make or break a class more than your professor. Everyone is always too worried about everything else, about getting their schedule right - that they often overlook this basic tenet of college life even though it's so crucial. The worst part is that while various websites rating your professors are helpful, you won't truthfully know how you feel about a professor until you've met them in a classroom. You've had professors with lower ratings be absolute angels, and professors with higher ones being some of the most useless in your entire academic career. 

You were hoping that Professor Suguru would be what you expected. That his astounding 4.5/5 would be a meaningful assessment of his character, that he would be tolerable and polite and understanding and that your semester would be smooth sailing because of it. 

But of course, of course - that couldn't be further from the truth.

You don't know at what point exactly your relationship to Professor Suguru became as sour as it is right now. There's no real pivotal movement where mild intolerance became full-blown and outright distaste. But part of it, you know, stems from the fact your beloved professor is a snake. 

You have no idea how no one else notices it. It genuinely feels like you're the only one who catches the subtleties of his behavior. There's just something about him that's a little…off. The irony isn't lost on you. He's an ethics professor, but something about him makes alarm bells go off in your head. A walking red flag, though a handsome one. He's off in a subtle way, but more than that - he's very openly smug to every single one of his students. It's just that no one else seems to really care. The air of pretension that surrounds him in his every movement is suffocating. Maybe that's part of the charm, if the way girls flock to him after class is anything to go by. 

Even so, you just know there's something deliberate about his casual cruelties. He always seems to pick out the quiet kids, and from the beginning of your semester to now - he always, always manages to single you out of the crowd of students. In every class, in every discussion, in every chance he has to make you out to be a troublemaker he will. 

Yes, you don't really have any idea how it started. But you've been keeping a long record of every single act of personal terror that damned man has been inflicting on you since the start of the course, and you're not unconvinced that your shit grade is in part because he wants to see you grovel in front of him. 

The first time it happened - you figure it was a coincidence. He had called you out in class after you missed a discussion board. You hadn't done the reading, and it wasn't obviously humiliating but it singled you out all the same. When you fumbled coming up with an answer, he gave you a smug smile that so quickly morphed into a fake sincere one, you wondered if you were imagining things. 

The second time was when you came in late after a walk of shame, and Professor Suguru greeted you by the door by asking if those were the same clothes you wore yesterday. After being completely mortified by it, the once dark gaze immediately rescinded to his usual fake-calm self. It was suspicious, but not the concrete evidence you needed. 

And the third time was after your first project of the semester. Your grade was lower than you deserved, and you knew it - so you went to his office hours to bitch and moan to get it bumped up. But he wouldn't budge, saying that he thought his assessment was accurate. Made a smug face as he told you he just didn't think you thought your points out through. Unfair critiques shielded by flowery words and polite gestures. It was that moment that cemented the dislike, though it wasn't the start.

The beginning of the end, so to speak.

Ever since then, you've harbored nothing but dislike for him. You can see past his pretty face and you don't see anything good. You've had unpleasant professors before, but none have ever targeted you so specifically. None of your previous professors, even at the worst, seemed to hold such an unbelievable personal grudge. 

You're all alone, fighting an invisible battle. 

The worst of it though, is that you simply couldn't be bothered to give a shit about it for most of the semester. You had way too much going on, so you just had to put up with the inexplicable dread of attending that class until you had to deal with it again eventually. 

And after months and months of avoiding the issue head-on, you're at a point where you can no longer do so. Your grade is officially below a C after bombing your last quiz, and there's only 5 weeks left until your semester is over and you're barred from graduation. 

And you have no fucking idea what you should do about the situation. 

__

There's a subtle pit of dread in your stomach as you enter your first philosophy lecture of the week. 

For the first time since the start of the semester, Professor Getou doesn't antagonize you as soon as you enter the door. In a strange way, this makes you kind of uncomfortable. He gives you his usual fake smile, but the fact he's gone out of his way to leave you alone makes you feel like he's planning something. 

You brush your paranoia aside as you take a seat in the back of your class. You don't have any friends in this lecture, at least not ones you do more than greet. You sit closer to the back of the lecture hall, tucked into a corner and up a few steps.

The charms on the end of your book bag zippers click together as you take your seat. You open your laptop - pulling up the lecture slides to pretend to study while opening 2048 to play while Professor Getou goes on about his business. You're hoping he's going to go easy on you today, and that his lack of interference is a sign of mercy. 

More people start to trickle in and the classroom is the usual amount of packed it is by this point in the semester. The last day to drop passed last week, so the number of students has decreased despite it being spring semester. 

Your professor starts his lecture as soon as the clock hits 11:30am. You look up from your computer, watching him as he sets up his slide deck and waits for all the conversation to settle before he begins talking.

He catches your eyes briefly before he continues, but he holds it for long enough that you know it's intentional. You frown at him, and it almost looks like he laughs - but you can't be sure your mind isn't tricking you into thinking that. 

"Good morning everybody," His voice is smooth and pleasant - hair tied up neatly. He's wearing his usual attire. Black slacks, and a loose-fitting white shirt with some kind of canvas shoe. "How's everybody hanging in there? Good? Bad?" 

He takes a look around the room, gauging peoples replies before chuckling. 

"Not in good shape huh? Stick it out, a few more weeks and you'll be out of here. Today, we're going to continue on into section five of our coursework - the shortest of all of our other sections," He grabs something that clicks the slide into the next one, a few images next to a wall of text "We have a lot to cover in the last few weeks, but I want to start with a refresh of what concepts we've been learning for the last few weeks." 

The swiftness in the way his eyes land on you is comical in its predictability. You give him an uncomfortable half-smile as he calls your name and brings the class's attention your way. A few looks of pity don't go unnoticed. You stiffen, straighten your back as he says your name slowly before asking. 

"Do you think you can tell me, what are the four core structures that define modern Japanese philosophical thinking?" 

There's real, uncomfortable weight to his gaze that makes you choke. You pull back slightly. 

"Uhm, well - there's Shintoism, Confucianism, Buddhism and western ideology. Primarily German idealism."

He gives you a smug look, the same one you always see before it fades off to an uncannily brilliant smile. Not a sincere one, because when is it ever - but there all the same. 

"Someone's been studying hard huh? But you are correct. We've spent the majority of this class going over the first three. How Shinto tradition, Confucianism, and Buddhism were experienced in Japan - isolated from Anglo-Saxon influence for the first few centuries of its establishment. We've also studied the vague historical timeline of these influences, mostly focusing on modern philosophy. We've covered Edo period philosophy as a precursor for what we know and understand now." 

You can say a lot about Professor Getou, but more than anything - he has a certain way of commanding the room's attention that never lets you get completely comfortable. He has an air of charisma you've never seen in your life and being in close proximity to it makes you feel like you're being swept in by waves larger than life. 

You fidget almost anxiously as you wait for him to continue his lesson.

"Our last few weeks are going to cover the culmination of your previous lessons, and what dictates both national morality and the hierarchy of modern Japanese social mores - Bushido. The way of the Samurai." 

Professor Getou continues with this slide deck as he outlines Bushido conceptually. From its existence as a moral code in late 12th century Japan, to the many misconceptions about the strictness in which it was adhered. He starts the lessons like he starts many others, explaining misconception and myth before touching the surface of the subject at hand. 

It's in his nature to advocate for the whole truth. From the start of your classes to now, Professor Getou always places the same emphasis. If only that truth is unable to be understood without opposition. It's like his whole being is constructed by it, opposition that is always radical and jaw-dropping. You've known this about him since he voiced his open critique for certain ideas about social welfare and about the emphasis of national morality. 

You can't be certain what he really believes - only that he'll voice his views as critically as possible, if only to stir the room. 

"Bushido is the heart and soul of modern and postmodern Japanese ethics, but it remains critically undefined despite its usage and citation functionally. Other philosophical schools of thought have strict definitions - Bushido is evolutionary in nature. Inazo Nitobe is primarily credited with the modern and popular interpretation of Bushido, but has received criticism for its obvious influence from Western ideas, and its comparison to chivalry."

Professor Getou sits back on the edge of his desk with a look on his face. 

"The tendency of Japanese philosophy to lean into metaphysics does not align with the many values of infrastructure and military present in the culture now, but I'm not going to critique the philosophy for you," He skips to the next slide, your last project of the semester on the wall "For the sake of brevity, I'm going to have you write a paper on one of the eight outlined ideals in Nitobe's work, and I want you to reflect on that ideal in your paper." 

A collective whispering erupts in the class as people stress about the assignment of their final few weeks. Not unexpected given the circumstances. Professor Getou doesn't flinch as he waits for the room to settle down.

"This will be your final project in this classroom, and will count as your final grade. On one hand, doing a good job on it means you have nothing to worry about for the last few weeks. On the other it's make or break," He locks eyes with you again as he says this, startling you as his smile grows coy and inauspicious "So if you're in need of a good grade to pass you, I'd recommend coming to see me during office hours or during one-on-one time so I can get you the grade you need. We'll discuss more at the end of class, but we've gotta get through more lectures so you can get an idea of what you can pick."

He gives you one another look, another pointed and obviously direct look, before he proceeds on with his lecture. It gives you a bad feeling in your stomach, and maybe you're being too self-centered thinking he's focusing too much on you.

But you can't help it, swallowing down your uncertainty as you continue on with the lesson. 

You need to pass this class. 

___ 

You meet up with Nobara after the fact. 

She's a good sounding board for your problems as usual. Where you're always looking for the most civil solutions, she's good at giving it to you straight on what you should do. She's no bullshit and you like that about her. Whenever you need a kick in the ass or an ounce of courage, she's the person for the job.

 So after meeting up for lunch, ranting again about Professor Getou (for the hundredth—no, thousandth time), and whining about his weird behavior, you're expecting some semi-sound, if not mean advice on what you should do. 

"Have you thought about just fucking him?" She says instead, her voice full of sincere boredom. It comes out so casually, like she's relaying the news cycle to you - and you can't help but be utterly shocked listening to it. "Not that it was my first suggestion, but I mean…it's getting ridiculous." 

"Hello? Where the hell did that come from? What do you mean just fucking him?" 

She gives you a sideways glance of disdain as if you were the one saying something unreasonable. She leans forward into her hand mirror, gluing on her eyelashes for her afternoon date with Maki. She scoffs when she realizes your shock is genuine. 

"Are you serious? Does this not read as an elaborate scheme for this total jackass to fuck you?" 

You're flabbergasted. Surely she's not being serious with you. 

"Nobara." 

"Haah? Tch. Don't make that face. It's a gross abuse of his power but well, he's not ugly. If he were any younger of a professor, would you like… not assume that was the end game?" 

"Nobara, he's a professor of ethics. His whole career is ethics." 

"Yeah. Like. The perfect cover for wanting to screw his wide-eyed, desperate students. He's a hot, young professor. Not my type but you get me. Don't you think it's a little naive to assume his personal vendetta against you is shit, I don't know… totally lacking that motive? Think with your brain, not your tender little heart for a minute, okay?" 

"It's not that!" 

"Really? Just like your relationship with Mr. Fushiguro is totally platonic?" 

"I said it was one-sided, not platonic." 

"You're my whole heart and soul, you know that right? I didn't freak on you when you said you had a crush on Megumi's deadbeat dad. You're my salvation from the idiots we call guy friends. So I'm saying this with love, and not as the complete bitch you know me as - you're being dumb." 

"Nobara, are you seriously saying you think this whole thing is about him wanting to," You can barely even get the words out. You're not that much of a prude but god. "Wanting to have… sex with me?" 

"Yeah. What else would it even be? I think an awful man is interested in screwing you - a hot, capable twenty-something. Are you stupid? Is that like, sooo impossible for you to consider?"

"Well it's not the first place I would think to go, that's for sure." 

"And that's your whole problem. Don't get me wrong, again, totally gross. Is it like.. a total abuse of his authority? Yeah. But that doesn't have anything to do with you personally. If I'm right, and you fuck him - you get a good lay and to graduate. And you need both."

"Nobara!"

"Don't be mad, I love you, okay? But I'm thinking about your future and your prospects. There's nothing wrong with it on a technical level."

"That is so untrue and you know it—"

"Look. I don't like it. I think it's a weak move and kind of corny and gross. But you've been planning your big graduation for years. And it's not a bad opportunity, and you're not a complete idiot. You said before that he's never inappropriate with the other girls right? You might even be the only one. As far as I'm concerned, there's no reason for you to not get laid and pass." 

"Oh, so the student-teacher thing isn't reason enough?" 

"Not if you wanna graduate it's not." 

The two of you remain at a stand-still as his words trap you into a corner. How the hell do you even deal with this information? And how on Earth is she so sure of herself anyways? You think you're pretty good with signs, at least about things like this.

But it doesn't feel like flirting. He's never flirted with any of the students in class, despite how much they seem to fawn over him. Could this weird, psychological dance you've been doing for the last twelve weeks be some sort of unspoken foreplay ritual? 

The more you think about it, the less it seems implausible to you. There's a wave after that, some cross between impending doom and shameful arousal blooming up inside of you as everything hits you all at the same time. 

When you return to reality after being trapped in your thoughts, Nobara gives you a mindful (almost pitiful) smile and shakes her head. You frown at her in reply, squeezing the bridge of your nose. 

"If it were like literally anyone else, I'd totally tell them it's a bad idea. But it's not like you're going on to date him, and you're what - 24? because of your gap year so you're not a preteen like some of the freshmen in your class. I just don't see any reason not to go for it." 

You tamp down the small voice in the back of your head, encouraging you to do - and instead ask her a follow-up question. 

"...Do you think I should attend his office hours tomorrow, yes or no? I have to email him by tonight to get the one on one." 

"Yeah. Yes. And shave before you go." 

__

You decide, for the sake of your sanity and everyone else's - to ignore Nobara's odd implications about what Professor Getou wants from you and to attend his office hours.

(That's a partial lie, you figure - given the fact you did shave, and shower before attending. You're wearing something kind of nice underneath. But you still don't think he wants to fuck you. It's more of a safety precaution than anything else.)

 You made the game plan last night that you would go, present your idea, and then beg him to be kind to you during the grading process. You even developed a list of things to sob and cry about it to generate something of a sob story if everything went awry. You've forsaken your pride. The only thing that you need to get out of this meeting is a passing grade. 

And that is, of course, by any means necessary. 

Fearing for your life, the state of your mood improves as you approach the building hosting Professor Getou's office. Of all of the people you interact with semi-regularly on campus (all of which you are quite fond of), Nobara wasn't lying about your affection for campus security guard - Toji Fushiguro.

He's an older man. Older than you by double digits, and from what you can tell - older than even your professor. You've been fond of him ever since he brought you back to your dorm after a horrible break-up with your ex as a sophomore. He's got a rough edge, and there's plenty of unverified rumors of his past. You know that he has something of a criminal record too. 

But for all of those rumors, and for all the things you hear about him - he's been one of the highlights of your campus experience. You've had a one-sided school-girl crush on him ever since that night, because you were sober enough to catch his body and how it feels. He was strong. Not in an average way. He made it so effortless when he was carrying you home in his arms - and it's not the first time you've seen him lug around things at least over 300 pounds like they were nothing. 

But attractiveness aside, he is uncharacteristically good at cheering you up. He's funny and witty, all while maintaining a cool facade. He's endearing in his own way too, and you're a little head over heels for him though you'd never push yourself to make the first move. 

Still, when he sees you come towards the building - he greets you with a wide smile. The scar over his busted lip - split open and welcoming as you run up to him for a hug. He's normally patrolling around campus, so it feels lucky to catch him where you least expect. 

He wraps you up with a single arm, your feet temporarily lifting from the ground before you get put back down again. 

"Mr. Fushiguro, what are you doing here?"

"I got moved over here since there's been some rumor about someone stealing from the labs upstairs. So I'm on lock up duty for this building 'till it gets fixed up and solved," He says, voice as smooth as ice "What about you sweetheart? It's gonna get dark out soon." 

"Ah, I have office hours with Professor Getou today. I need to consult with him about a paper." 

"That right? Just gonna be you in there, then?" 

"Yep. I'm gonna go in there and beg him for a good grade on our next assignment. So for the sake of my sanity, please wish me luck?" 

Mr. Fushiguro tilts his head to one side, grinning. 

"Wouldn't that mean you graduate sooner instead of later? Can't wish ya luck on that." He says, making you flush and letting the feeling linger before continuing "Just kiddin'. A pretty face like yours should do you just fine. Knock 'em dead." 

"I feel a lot better about it with your encouragement." You say honestly. Mr. Fushiguro gives you a laugh.

"Treat me to something if my luck makes any difference. And hurry in. Last thing you'd wanna do is be late." 

You nod, wide-eyed and dazed by how charismatic he is before you rush into the building. It's silent, given how late in the school day it is. Most people have already gone home, with the exception of the other poor souls likely chasing down their professors for the same reasons as you. 

You feel an overwhelming sensation of dread as you encroach upon Professors Getou's office. There's no one else in the close vicinity, only a few closed classrooms and students who are passing by the small corner where his door resides - most of which are making their way to leave. 

You decide to take a deep breath, calming your shaken nerves before knocking politely once on his door and entering the room. 

Professor Getou's office looks like how you'd expect it to look. It's clean, and sleek - and lacking almost completely of items of personal effect with the exception of his desk. It's the first time you've ever been inside of the room before, but it smells distinctly of him. He has that same scent surrounding him, like flicks of nicotine and a hint of bergamot. Sweet with the taste of metallic bitterness, like blood and sugar.

You feel the back of your throat bob as you see your Professor sitting at his desk. It's lacking his usual gracefulness. His shirt is unbuttoned down by three entire buttons, and his slacks seem looser. Most notable is his hair - classically long, now in a loose bun with pieces falling all on his shoulders and rolling down his neck. 

You think of what Nobara said to you earlier in the day alone, a strange and overwhelming sensation of lust and embarrassment making it difficult for you to open your voice and talk.

It's Professor Getou who greets you first. He looks up from whatever he was reading and looks at you from where you stand awkwardly at his door. His smile widens, though it's just by a little. 

"Ah, I was wondering when you'd be here. Looks like you're right on time." He says first, sitting up in his chair but not bothering to gather himself in any way otherwise "Come on in and sit. I assume you're here to talk about your grade."

 You sit across from him hesitantly, hands folded in your lap as you put your bag down on the floor. 

He studies you quietly. There's a long stretch of silence, where neither of you do anything but sit in each other's company.

He breaks the silence first.

"So, while I have a guess," He says, elbows on his desk "Do you want to talk to me about what you're here for?" 

You've practiced the dialogue in your head so many times now. What to do and how to say what you need too, but the words seem to fizzle out completely when it's time to really say them. Leaving nothing but uncertainty, you open your mouth only to close it once again. 

"Uhm," Your voice strains trying to make the words out into a coherent sentence. "I came to talk about my paper. And my grade, like you mentioned in class."

"So you decided to heed my advice? Good girl, that was a smart choice," You try not to be taken aback by the pet name - unsure if it's as inappropriate as you think it is "Do you know what virtue you want to cover?" 

"I thought I would pick uhm, righteousness - and then pull from some of the Western ethics we learned about. Making uh, connections between deontological ethics and duty and how it relates to the defined idea of righteousness," You explain nervously, an uncomfortable laugh bubbling out of your throat "How practicing duty and righteousness relate to each other."

 "Hmm. Sounds like you've had time to think about it a little, then."

"I uhm, haven't finished the reading but I did take a look over my section to see if I could make it work." 

"I think you have something to work with. You'll need to straighten out the thesis of your paper into something more tangible. I know that's an ironic ask. But I think it's a good idea," He gives you a brief glance, studies you with eyes. Snake-like. Something coils inside of you, tickles and brushes against your skin and makes the hairs on the back of your neck raise "It seems like you have something more to tell me, though." 

Do you? Is there anything more there? The answer lies indifferently on a scale from obviously to no. nothing at all and it haunts you that he's able to pick it out. 

"It's just well. Uhm. You know, I don't have the best grade in this class so I was more prepared to go down with my grade. You approved quicker than I thought you would." 

"Your grade is pretty abysmal. Did you come in here planning to beg?" 

You refrain from an instant yes, even though it's what you feel. Something about the way he says it makes your stomach clench. Your heart quickens. Your tongue feels too heavy in your mouth as you laugh uncomfortably. 

"Something like that? Uhm, or at least try to hash things out between us. I know our relationship over the c-course of the semester has been kind of sour so I…"

He cuts you off.

"Has it?" 

Your brain stutters to halt.

"Uhm. Yes?"

It's unpredictable, utterly and completely - the way he reflects on your words like you've said something incomprehensible. You aren't sure if that's sincere. You can't be sure if any of the words out of his mouth are. But he doesn't seem like he's lying. Your mind flashes to Nobara, and you find yourself speaking before you can stop it. It comes out like a flood.

 "I j-just always assumed you singled me out in class because you didn't like me? I don't mean to be accusatory, though."

"I'm afraid you've got the wrong idea," He says, shaking his head "I don't harbor any negative feelings for you at all."

"Oh," You say, eyes falling down to your lap again "Right, then." 

"You must be desperate for that passing grade, hm? If you're meeting with a professor you think hates you." 

You glance at him. 

"Well, yes. I want—need to pass this class. I've already planned my graduation for this semester." 

"And you'd be willing to do anything for that, is what you're implying?" 

"Yes," You say, with a sudden rush of unwavering confidence "Anything." 

"Let me ask you another question, then." He lets his elbows rest on the edge of his table, a familiar coy smile "Do you think there's any other reason for why I've been paying special attention to you, aside from me disliking you? You're a smart girl, so I'm sure you'll be able to figure it out." 

The weight of his words don't go unnoticed. The air feels heavy as it hangs between you. He couldn't be implying it so directly could he? Your mind drifts back to Nobara's warning to you, and your breath hitches. Your eyes widen as you glance up for the first time and give him a look of mild distress. 

And he smiles. His grin widens as soon as it dawns on you.

"Seems like you've reached an important conclusion," He says, casually - as he sits up in his chair and leans back. Stretched like nothing could get in his way "Why don't you share with the class?" 

"You," Your voice is a nervous tremor. You must be crazy. You must be completely out of your mind "...To sleep with me?" 

"See? I told you, you're a smart girl." 

The question is a burning one. One you've been wanting to ask since you started thinking about it last night. 

"B-but…why? And why me? A-and," 

"You have a tendency for being combative. You know that? An air of defiance. I can tell you're a little older than your peers. A little wiser, and a little more knowing of when to ask for help," Getou outlines, staring you down "And seeing you with that sense of desperation was exciting for me. I'm a man of simple tastes. At my age, I know what I want." 

"And I like when tough, combative, clever women turn into babbling, desperate, needy girls. I'm quite fond of it, actually." 

He's detrimentally serious. Your stomach flips. 

"Do you want to pass this class?" He asks you, an air of confidence surrounding him. You close your eyes, unsure if you can call it coercion when you're feeling so terribly willing about it. 

"Yes. I need to pass." 

"Then come up here," He gestures, widens his legs and leans back in his chair "And sit." 

Your body is burning. You don't know if you're even really in the situation, or if you've daydreamed it into something impossible. Something phantom moves you. Stands you to your feet shakily before walking in short strides. Professor Getou looks at you from where you stand over him. 

His hand brushes your outer thigh, patting it. 

"Sit." 

So you sit. You spread yourself and straddle your professor - and the reality dawns on you the minute you touch what you're doing. You haven't gotten laid in a bit, and he's nothing like anyone you've ever slept with. You feel out of your element. You get the impression he's a man, a grown one. There's a confidence in him that looms and looms and looms, overshadowing any of your doubt.

He's sexier up close. There's the faintest trace of smile lines on his expression as you look down at him. He guides your arms to loop around your neck, and holds your hips with his hands. 

Then you feel it, almost instantly - something hard and bulging pressing against the seam of your pants and against your crotch. He's already half-hard and he hasn't even kissed you. He grins at you lazily, like a cat with cream. 

"I'll pass you as soon as I put it in," His hands are so big - long, slender fingers gripping your ass "And give you extra credit when you cum for me. How's that sound?" 

You feel dirty. It's all happening so fast. Almost vulgar, but it's impossible to feel cheap. To believe in the wrongness of it when Professor Getou is so undeniably sexy. Wrong, on so many levels, to do this for the sake of your grade. Or just in general. Yet you want it, yearn for it, find the culmination of all your annoyances melting as he graces you himself. 

"I wanna pass," You say, uncharacteristically nervous about everything. You add the next part a little quieter "...I want it." 

"What do you want, exactly?" 

"Want you to fuck me." You admit, against your better judgment "Please?" 

"Gonna make a real pretty mess out of you," He says, voice smooth and serene. You look down at him. His knuckles brush against your jaw, on your cheek before his thumb holds on your lower mouth. His fingers push past the edge of your lips, sliding against your tongue and gently running along your teeth. He gags you on it, so slightly - enough to startle you but not enough to hurt. You feel spit pour from your lips. 

Thick messy strings of drool drip down the sides of your mouth. You want to back away in shame. But there's an air of intention behind the gesture. It's deliberate, the action - the mess and how it runs down your neck. Before you know it, he's kissing you in that same state. 

Professor Getou kisses like he's done it before.

His hands grip on your ass as he kisses hot and heavy. Self-assured, he sucks and bites at your mouth - sticking his tongue in and mixing his saliva with yours in a way that feels downright dirty. Yet it makes you throb, white-hot flames licking at the back of your thighs. The sparks of arousal crawl up your skin. 

Your nerves tighten as Professor Getou cups your face with one palm, kissing you with fervor. You melt into him, arms wrapped tightly around his neck. 

"Been thinking about what you would look like bent over my desk all semester," He says as he pulls away, looking on with admiration at your messy complexion "You wanna go on ahead and show me?"

Another wave of embarrassment washes over you, but you find yourself standing to your feet. Sliding your sweats off down your legs - your lower half is left bare with the exception of your feet. You lay or stomach on his desk, the cold wood sending chills up your whole body and your stomach and tits lay flat and squishy against the hard material. You stand, shoulder width apart, and present yourself in front of him. 

"That's what I like to see," His voice is rich and deep as he speaks. You can feel him inch towards you, pulling you apart with his palms before his hand comes down on your ass in one hard motion. The noise echoes against the walls of the room "See, I knew you could listen well when you had to." 

You don't say anything in reply, pressing your cheek against the desk. 

"W-what do I call you?" You ask, your voice trembling. You feel his fingers against the seam of your panties. He snaps the cotton waistband against your skin before humming thoughtfully, a light tap to your ass. 

"Getou is fine. Suguru is too. Sir if that makes you more comfortable."

 Getou makes a show of fondling you, though you can't see it - you can feel the way his eyes nearly swallow your naked lower half. How his fingers touch and prod all of your sensitive places, with some kind of keen observation. Everything Getou says is like that, keen and particular.

"Such a pretty pussy on you. Would've been such a waste if you didn't come to me."

You don't bother to ask what he means by that. Behind you, there's a noise. Of a chair rolling back, and the dull thud of knees hitting the ground. Before you know what's happening, there's a face dangerously close to your clothed pussy. The minute you try to squirm, there's a tight grip keeping you in place. He takes a deep breath. Without any real hesitance, you feel his tongue lick across the clothed material. 

In one fell swoop, he pulls your panties to one side and kisses your clit without any more real introduction. You're gripping the edge of the table you're bent over as you feel his tongue slide against the wet folds of your pussy, making your voice cry out involuntarily. Normally people would urge you to be quiet, but you got the feeling he didn't care if anyone heard you crying out for him. You get a second wave of intuition telling you he might even like it. 

A sensation of bliss washes over you as he sucks hungrily at your cunt. It feels good enough to be holy. There's such immense expertise in it that you can't help but succumb to it completely. The warm, heavy muscle gliding over sticky folds.

You're so lost in the pleasure, your mind completely blocks out the intrusion. The sense that would detect another person in the room disappears completely. You only know because of Getou, the way he stops and scoffs. It forces you to blink your eyes open. He speaks before you get the chance. 

"What are you doing here?" 

You recognize the voice instantly, and your heart drops through your stomach. 

"Thought I heard a ghost howling," Mr. Fushiguro says, his voice is rougher and deeper and older "Turn out it was just a little girl wanderin' into the woods." 

"If you can see I'm busy, why're you still here?"

You can't help but feel the second wave of overwhelming shock as you sit there, naked and unafraid. Still, they stand like nothing is wrong. Chat like they know each other somehow, but you have no idea in which way. All you can focus on is the bubbling, nauseating shame. 

"Oh god." You voice, but both others ignore. Mr.Fushiguro speaks first.

"This one is off-limits, Suguru. What kinda professor goes around fuckin' their innocent little students?"

"Just the one, Mr. Fushiguro. And I'd like to get back to business."

"Ah, no way I'm letting you off the hook. I could report this y'know? Make headlines. Ethics professor coerces student into sexual activity. It'd be big. 

Your heart drops. 

"Fuck off, would you? Does she look coerced?" 

A beat of silence. "Nah. Not with the way she's twitchin'. But it's not fun if I just let you go. How about you tap me in and I'll keep your little secret hm? She's gotta cute crush on me already."

Your heart flounces around in your chest, a muffled noise of shock escaping your lips as you squirm to move but are held, still, so firmly in place. Your expression and feelings all go through 5 stages of grief before settling at dumbfounded. They don't especially ask for your input, but you hear Professor Getou behind you.

"Fine, if it'll get you to shut up. And I'm fucking her first."

Strange. Nothing about today makes any sense. You don't miss the almost childish sense of competition in Getou's voice that changes your view of him in an instant. Humanizes him in the strangest and most unrecognizable ways. It lacks his usual virtue.

Mr. Fushiguro walks up in front of you, imposing. He's grinning, a well-worn smile on his face that you know. He helps you up, and you keep yourself upright on your arms as he grabs your chin with his palms. You look up at him wide-eyed, unsure of what to do.

"Dirty fucking girl aren't ya?" He says, though he almost sounds like he's impressed with himself 

"You into older men or is it a coincidence you're screwing 'im for your grade?"

You're speechless, and you moan a little pathetically as Getou doesn't stop eating you out. This only seems to make Mr. Fushiguro even more excited. You look up at him through wet lashes, unsure of what to do.

"Don't mind either way, just curious. Guess I'm a little sad 'cause I thought your little heart eyes around me made me special," He tells you this looking down at you, eyes locked. You can tell he's just teasing you, and it makes you twitch "But I guess that's not true, is it?"

"You're different. I uhm. Well it's true at least."

"Yeah? You're just letting both of us fuck you 'cause you're like a bitch 'n heat?"

You flush. He gives you a smile and a well-meaning laugh that makes your body feel warm with heat.

"Mind if we're a little rough on you, sweetheart?"

You shake your head.

"Good. Stick your tongue out and open your mouth for me then."

You listen, oblige the instructions almost obediently. Your face is still covered with spit from before. You watch idly, intently - as Mr. Fushiguro pulls his cock out from his black pants. The loose material covers him well, but as soon as they're down past his thighs - the outline of his cock borders on intrusive. Your eyes widen, fluttering and unfocused because it's hard to think about anything while feeling such intense pleasure.

But Mr. Fushiguro is captivating as he pulls himself out for you. His cock is thick and heavy, protruding but too much that it can't stand up on its own. Weighed down by gravity, you stare at it wide-eyed. It's the size of your forearm, so thick you can't possibly imagine what it feels like.

Your heart stammers. 

"It won't fit in my mouth." You say, gasping for air as if you're already suffocating on it "You're—you're so huge."

He laughs with an edge of snark. You blink at him in complete seriousness, taken aback. He lets the tip of his cock tap the plushness of your cheek before pressing against your lips. You stare at him, almost afraid.

"Of course it'll fit," He says in confidence "Just gotta make sure you're relaxed. So relax, sweetheart, and open your mouth for me." 

Hesitantly, you open your mouth wide. You feel the corners of your lips stretch around the intrusive, thick head of Mr. Fushiguro's cock. The taste of sweat and skin is invasive and heavy, violating your senses. Just the tip and it barely fits in your mouth. You try and concentrate, sticking your tongue out and curling it around the underneath of his cock, focusing on sucking just the tip. He groans above you, a hand on the back of your head. He doesn't force you down, but you can tell by the twitch in his fingers that he wants to.

"Look at you," He says, his voice coarse with restraint and desire "You're drooling on my cock while you're professors busy eatin' your pussy. Thought you were an innocent girl, but now I don't know what to believe."

He says this as he eases more into your mouth, slowly letting you adjust. He rocks his hips back and forth until you relax. You open yourself up, trying to focus on blowing him.

But a hand comes down on your ass, hard and heavy - making you yelp. The noise is muffled but audible. A short squeal, you can't turn your head to look 

"Don't you think you two are getting too comfortable upfront without me? I'm the one who decides your grades."

"Maybe you're not doing good enough for her to care."

You can feel a strange sense of competition between them, but you're too occupied to ask about it. How do they know each other, and for what reason do they seem so automatically hostile? It bothers you, but you can't think about it too hard.

"That's not true. Her pussy is soaking fucking wet." He punctuates his words with a harsh smack against your cunt, the force rippling through your as you bend forward and choke "Almost as messy as her face."

He's quick, again, to latch himself to your clit. He flicks it with his tongue, licking it mercilessly as your brain starts to fog up with desire. Like he's trying to prove a point, you moan around Mr. Fushiguro's cock as your pleasure starts to thrum up again. The back of your legs tense, trembling as a knot begins to uncoil in your lower stomach. The cock in your mouth moves too, using the distracted moans to ease himself even deeper into the wet, arm cavern of your mouth. 

Your head feels heavy, body weak as the both of them use you to their contents. Your stomach starts to stir as a familiar feeling of euphoria claws at you. 

You cum for the first time like that, your body pressed against a wood desk - restrained and under careful watch of two men. Your whole body explodes - white, hot nerves fraying off and ricocheting off your ribs inside of you. Your insides shake as the wave of an orgasm washes over your entire body. You gasp, clenching down hard and gasping as tremors of orgasm pulse and push through your whole body. Something in you ignites as you grip the edge of the desk for your life, trying to keep yourself upright as Getou pushes you through the orgasm. 

You've barely recovered when Mr. Fushiguros pulls out of your mouth, pressing his spit-soaked cock against your face and cheeks with a smile. You let it slide against your tongue, eyes fluttering open as your face gets covered in precum and saliva. 

"You look so fucking filthy right now, you know that? But it looks good on you. I'm dying to fuck you." 

"Mr. Fushiguro," You groan. He clicks his teeth. 

"Toji's just fine sweetheart." 

You whimper helplessly as you ride out your high. Behind you, your professor pulls away. You peek behind you to see him, flush as he wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. 

Toji looks down at your frazzled expression with a grin, teeth showing as he cups your jaw a second time and slides his cock back in one go. This time, he pushes his cock in the base - keeping your throat around him with a hand on the back of your head. 

"Just focus on me for now, baby. Focus on sucking me off, yeah? Just like that, easy easy. He's gonna open you up. Stretch you nice and make your pussy all sloppy. That's what you want right?" 

Getou leans over you, the weight of his body looming as you feel slender fingers slide through your sticky folds. His middle and index brush against your abused clit, rubbing a few circles into it before pulling away. He grabs your arms and positions them behind your back, gripping them in one hand to keep you restrained. You squirm against the gesture, unable to get any leeway as he holds you down. Then you feel his fingers move, middle finger catching on your wet hole as it trembles and sticks. He opens you up like this without any warning. 

His middle finger goes first - delicately intrusive as your pussy widens to accommodate him. They're so much bigger than yours. Just one feels like two of your own. You push back out of instinct but Getou doesn't let you move. He buries himself, pushing in and out until he's able to fuck your pussy all the way down to the knuckle. Once there's no longer any resistance, he pulls back and makes room for another. The sensation is duller, lets you clear your head and think even as Toji rubs his cock on your face and fucks your mouth in short ruts. 

Not enough to make you choke, but enough to smear something hot and nasty all over you. 

Professor Getou repeats the process with his pointer, pushing and stretching and opening until you can't fight it anymore. With two fingers, he scissors them trying to make your insides soft enough for him to take you. 

"You're stretching out for me like it's nothing. You must be turned on, hm? Like getting all your holes used like this? Getting your face-fucked by a man old enough to be your father?" 

Toji laughs harshly, smacking your face lightly, enough it doesn't hurt but enough to make you feel it. 

"She loves it. She's clenching down on you tight ain't she?" 

"Sure is. All this for a grade. Maybe I should've bullied you about it a little more first. Since you're so eager." 

"Gonna give her extra credit for this?"

"I should deduct points for the fact you're even near here."

He laughs good-naturedly at this point, and you're still having trouble making sense of their relationship. You manage to speak for the first time in forever, voice barely there as you go to question them. You're not expecting any solid answers. 

"How do you two know each other?" You ask, before Toji starts fucking your mouth again 

"Goes a long way back. And we're still on bad terms, so congrats on bringing us together, sweetheart. Kind of an expected reunion really." 

"He's been working here since Professor Gojo and I were students here and we knew him from before. A long story. Don't worry your pretty little head about it." 

The burning question is quick to fade out of your mind as you feel your professor's clothed bulge rest against your cunt. You moan, a clipped needy sound as you nearly beg him to fuck you. Toji bends over you this time, reaching back to spread your pussy open by grabbing your ass. You can feel the grip of his hands, strong and assured. 

"She's gettin' impatient. Give it to her." 

"Don't need your help with that." Getou spits, irritation sounding in his words. 

"Consider it an apology." 

The air of tension is there temporarily, before Getou pulls his cock from the confines of his boxers. You can't see it, eyes squeezed tight as you work your mouth and tongue Toji's length. You can feel it though. He makes a show of rubbing his cock against your puffy, sore cunt. You get a feel for its shape as he pushes it between your thighs and lets it cling in between your lips. Professor Getou's cock is longer and more narrow, but it curves upright. It's hard, throbbing between your legs. Whining helplessly you wiggle your ass again. You feel increasingly restless about needing something inside of you. You're still bound though, completely and utterly unable to move. Toji's hand comes down heavy on your ass as you do, clicking his teeth in faux irritation. 

"Don't fucking move unless you want my handmark on your ass forever," He says, his voice cool and forgiving "Impatient." 

Getou must feel something inside of him merciful enough to keep you waiting. Even with all the stretching and prep, the minute you feel the head of your cock push through - something inside of you snaps. It's still so big, still too much, still reaches a part of you so deep you didn't know it was there. The position itself - still being on your stomach, makes it reach so much farther than other positions. The raw, skin-to-skin contact leaves your tummy fluttering, skin prickling with heat. Your top is pushed up enough to expose your lower back and your skin is pulsing. You feel like your whole body is on fire, suspended between men so much older than that want nothing more than to fuck you.

Every time you try to wiggle away from the sensations, Toji's hand comes down heavy on your backside. It doesn't matter how minuscule the movement. If he gets the idea that you're going to try and pull away, he spanks you hard enough that the room echoes with the sound. Your skin tingles, phantom sensation left before as you're held open and made to take your professor's cock - obedient and wanting. 

Inch by miserable inch, it takes forever to take him down to the base. Your toes curl, eyes shut and mouth sloppily trying to keep up with the cock in your mouth and just barely succeeding. 

He groans behind you, shuddering 

"That's incredible," He praises, and it feels so good to hear him saying something so overtly kind you don't know if you want to laugh or cry "Your pussy is fucking incredible. Shit."

"You hear that? You gotta. Pussy's twitchin' like crazy. Ass is too, how cute." 

"Feels sho good," You slur, brain clear of any and all rational thought as a string of saliva drips down your chin "Please fuck me, please,"

"You heard her teach."

Toji lets go of you and returns back to where you are. He pulls his cock away from you, instead holding you up and cupping your mouth open. He kisses you, after everything - with all of his pre-spend in your mouth before spitting into it harshly and kissing it again.

"Such a pretty face you're makin' right now." He says, something of a warm and unprecedented affection to it "So excited to get your pussy filled up."

He leans you on him, lets you wrap around his midriff, and squeeze tight while he pets the back of your hair in a strange streak of affection. You don't know what to make of anything. All you can feel is the long cock pounding into you without any mercy. Razor-sharp thrusts, nudging against your swollen g-spot and pounding into your cunt with immeasurable force. A man so much older than you is fucking you, pounding your pretty little pussy, and turning you into a complete mess. He's meant to be a mentor to you, but he has his cock imprinting itself inside of you over and over and over.

Your stomach feels hot again, but some other feeling takes you over as Toji cradles you - watching you just as intently. He talks you through with confidence you can't entirely understand.

"Yeah, that's it. Tighten up for him, just like that. Feels good doesn't it? I know baby, I know."

You whine out in Toji's arms as he talks you through it. Behind you, you feel Getou's grip hold you tight as he pistons you. The sound of his thighs smacking against your ass is noisy, almost as noisy as your pussy. Slick wet, sounding each time he thrusts.

"I'm not gonna last like this, shit." He pumps into you a few more types before his hips stutter to a halt. He cums with his cock buried deep inside of you, filling you all the way to the brim. You feel his white, hot seed fill your belly, cock twitching as he unloads and makes your legs shake.

A sense of emptiness overwhelms you as Getou pulls out, landing a hit on your ass as he shakes. He kisses your spine. 

The two of them switch places without communicating with each other about it. Getou pulls out, and away - coming back in front of you and picking you up in his arms as Toji positions himself behind you. He spreads your cunt out with his fingers, examining the seed left over with a light laugh. 

"Gonna fuck into your sloppy little cunt, give you another load where you need it and make you cum." Toji says, not hesitating at all. You feel your breathing start to quicken as he takes the same positions as before. 

Toji doesn't neglect touching you as his arm curls around your waist, calloused fingertips brushing against your clit before his cock pushes into you. Your pussy takes him much easier, but even so - Toji is just so thick, you can't help but feel him all over again. This time, Getou has you in his arms, holding and guiding you. Your hands are curled around his bicep and lower spine as you're held up. 

Toji's thrusts are slower, but just as rhythmic - focused on bringing you to another orgasm. It's duller this time, the sensation more focused and spread. Toji is so big you feel it in your hips, your entire lower half tingling as he pumps his cock in and out of you. He gives you all of his attention, staving off his own orgasm as Getou encourages you with his own words. 

"Gonna cum again, pretty? Take another man's cum in you right after me? You want to, right? Take it all in, every drop. You've earned it."

You feel your insides tighten again, for a second time - in a miraculous span. Every muscle in your body tenses and contracts as both sensations work in tandem to bring you closer to your edge. 

Your nerves fire off a second time as you push yourself to the limit. Toji fucks you through another orgasm with ease, thrusting with each tremor until you've ridden out your high. His own orgasm and chase come not long after that fact. 

As soon as you've gone totally limp underneath him, he sheaths himself as deep as he can. Bent over you, he cums hard and deep, filling you to the brim a second time.

There's a brief moment of silence as Toji rides out his high, where all three of you sit in silence.

You find yourself limp as you lay there, Toji pulling out and Getou slowly letting you down before you look up with a tired expression. 

"...So, did I pass?"

Your professor laughs harder than you've ever seen him laugh.

"With flying colors."

[svtcrus]

where they like to kiss you || jjk men x gn!reader

JJK drabble / Headcannon

includes: Gojo , Geto , Nanami and Toji

disclaimer : slightly suggestive, read at your own risk, you have been warned

Gojo Satoru

satoru likes to kiss your neck. i mean what do you expect from him. after a long day and working hours on end of exorcizing and teaching, all he wants to do is to inhale your sweet scent. so whenever he comes home, he's hugging you from behind face buried in the crook of your neck. leaving lovebites while also peppering you with kisses. it leaves you tangling your fingers in his soft snow hair, longing for more.

"...missed your sweetness baby."

Getou Suguru

suguru is a tummy kisser. he loves your hips, absolutely loves how he can trace your lines and embrace your beautiful body. whenever he cuddles with you, his head is on your stomach as you play with his raven locks. he's pulling your shirt up to kiss your stomach. it leaves a ticklish feeling but it has you red every time he does it. he simply just loves you like that, and loves teasing you whenever he catches your pink face.

"you like it when I kiss you here don't cha?"

Nanami Kento

he's a gentlemen, always making sure he isn't making you feel uncomfortable or overwhelming you with his actions. with such respect, he loves to give you kisses on the back of your hand. sometimes when you're alone and he's holding your hand, he'll randomly just bring it to his soft lips so he can pepper little kisses. as he does so, he looks at you with a soft smile while your looking at him all flushed.

"I love you very dearly, darling."

Fushiguro Toji

he's addicted to your lips. god he loves your lips. why must he kiss anywhere else when your lips are there for a reason? he will always snatch an opportunity to live a peck on your lips, and when you're alone... well let's just say pecks lead to sessions that leave you breathless. he loves to kiss your lips because he can prove to those around you that your his, and only his.

"mmm, i love your lips honey."

━━━┅━━━━*✧·̩͙♧︎🫐♧︎·̩͙✧*━━━━┅━━

@svtcrus || 08.02.2023

©️ all rights reserved. do not copy / plagiarize or use my works.

[isatoru]

ok bro so i don't know how to make this post SDJFHSH and say hi hello i missed everyone without being awkward and facing cricket noises since it's been over a year since i’ve logged in LMFAO and ppl still following r gonna be like ??? but .... ASKDUSDL HELLO!!!!! 🙂‍↕️ to everyone that is still here ... <3

I MISSED YA'LL SM OMG ;---; i hope some of you still remember me so this won’t be too awkward 🙂‍↕️🙏

on that note!!!! i have returned because i have really bad gojo and isagi brainrot since rewatching/rereading jjk + getting into bllk fr this time LMAOO (also getou and rin... among others but currently mostly those!!) I AM ALSO CURRENTLY REWATCHING BNHA TOO AFTER SO SO LONG AND </3 getting back into that fs... shouto is currently hitting and i have not once thought abt him like that lmfaoo

+ i have so many fics i have completed that i want to post !!! i have been cooking in isolation and after much needed self growth and love in writing <3 ;v; (gojo, isagi, and nanami ones mostly lmaoo AND ALSO A SUKUNA SERIES I WANT TO POST) AND IDK WHAT TO POST FIRST LOL

also bro i want to yap about characters and arcs analysis sm lmao... i've gotten into just. writing analysis of stuff i read and get into -- i might even make a separate blog for that since i'm like heavily into berserk (like really bad bro, i willingly sat and wrote essays for fun during finals week just bc of berserk KJSDFH) and souls games too rn LMAOOO (bg3 as well perhaps if anyone is into that too!! i love shadowheart a lot... 500+ hours... and ow <3 1k+ yikes) i mostly just rlly wanna yap about blue lock and jjk and bnha somewhere even if it's to the void on here lmfaooo

also to the mutuals (that remain... <3) please do not be alarmed if u see me in ur notifs reblogging fics for my current faves and yapping in ur tags 🙂‍↔️ like in the next few days LMFAO i have been deprived of reading good fic for soooo long bruh and now im like. I NEED TO READ FOR GOJO AND ISAGI SO BAD…. i missed fic so bad...

would ya'll be chill if i posted writing out of the blue here lmao and changed my username ??... it wouldn't be too awkward ?? 🙂‍↔️ (for the username i will change it in a few days despite my impatience so i give everybody like a chance to get used to me being on their dash so it won't be too alarming LMAOO)

[houndsclaw]

white rabbit

pairings: ieiri shoko/reader, minor past gojo satoru/getou suguru word count: 2857 rating: explicit warnings/tags: medical kink, extremely dubious consent, yandere!shoko. substance use/smoking, vaginal fingering, vaginal fisting, overstimulation, manipulation, mild/implied somnophilia. notes: this one goes out to @seoafin. unedited and unbeta-ed. That’s how Shoko likes you. Compliant, she says. Helpless, you think to yourself. read on ao3

Shoko keeps her stash of cigarettes well-hidden. It’s important to keep any smoking habits discreet at a high school, even one with a morgue in the budget. Later, as Shoko tells you: you should have known better.

At the time, you had thought to yourself: it's late. Shoko had still been hours from leaving work with you, still busy autopsying the last batch of transmogrified corpses from Satozakura to reveal what secrets they may have held in life for her in death. You had been bored. Worse than that, you had missed her. These days, whatever stolen seconds you can get with Shoko are precious. She’s responsible, dutiful, meticulous to a fault. The morgue might as well be a temple and her a monk. On the busiest days, you wander down to the morgue if only to catch a glimpse of her. More often than not, you're greeted with her hands deep in the pleural cavity of an ill-fated colleague.

Shoko keeps her bay of examination tables clean and ready as a rule, which is a feat in and of itself. The curses are only getting more powerful, and the stream of missions is relentless. Even the veterans have been coming back in multiple pieces, if there's anything left to recover at all. You’ve never seen this much traffic here in your years as a sorcerer. For your own part, you're in the field more often than not. That means you find yourself in Shoko's office on business more and more often these days, citing lacerations and hematomas and sprains. You watch the dark circles wax under her eyes as she erases damage with a spark of cursed energy and a smile for you alone. Shoko likes to be solely responsible for your medical care. Who’s better than me? she says.

There’s a better chance than not you'll be laid out on her table one of these days. It’s something that you two don’t talk about; it’s best to keep that type of curse tucked under the tongue.

Shoko’s old tray had been out on her desk with the last half of something hand-rolled and pungent. In high school, she would lay with her head in your lap before exams and smoke tobacco-heavy spliffs with Suguru until Satoru wrinkled his nose and complain even his infinity couldn’t mask the stink. Just bitter you get anxious, Shoko would tell him. You remember Suguru leaning close, letting smoke flow from his mouth to hers like a waterfall; watching Gojo’s ears go crimson until jealousy nipped him too hard and he stormed off. Suguru was a giggler when he was high; you and Shoko would get philosophical and touchy. Shoko would give you a lazy smile rendered only more beautiful upside-down from the vantage-point of your lap and offer up the spliff like a poorly-kept secret. The best nights were when it was just you and her. You would pass the spliff back and forth, fingers brushing more and more as you burnt it down to the filter. Those nights, you would hope the indirect kiss from her lipstick ring would transfer to your mouth.

Nostalgia is a bitch. It had been late, and you had been lonely. What had she expected, sitting you in her office with a perfunctory kiss to the cheek and nothing but your reports left to do?

The sensation hits like a bullet between the eyes. One minute you’re idly contemplating the report you have left to submit to Yaga. You hear yourself exhale like an echo, the last vestiges of ivory smoke curling out into the small office. Your lips tingle as if someone had just given you a thorough kiss. Heat pours from the top of your head to your toes. That’s where the trouble starts. The room spins around you in slow arcs, the shadows collecting at the corners of the room pulsing as though the lights were flickering. It's not just the smoke obscuring your vision. It feels like a domain expansion rolling out around you, something hungry with you in its claws. A cold weight settles in your chest at the unbidden thought. Had you carried something back with you from your mission?

When you step out of the office, Shoko is nowhere to be seen. A light is on overhead down the bay, haloing a long black bag, but there is no sign of the doctor herself. The morgue is freezing cold; stinks of lemon antiseptic and chemical cleaners. For a wild second, you think of pulling the zipper open, peeling the plastic away to see what pitiable thing took precedence--

You startle at the hand on your shoulder, your name rasped into your ear. Shoko’s breath smells like she’s been chewing gum, or maybe one of those menthol lozenges she keeps promising you she’ll try. As close as she is, her face is half-obscured with purple shadow. It must be that strange haze still swimming across your vision. The heat intensifies with no warning, pooling in your belly, throbbing between your thighs. She’s so pretty.

You lurch closer to Shoko, but she catches you around the shoulders. Her fingers are cold when they catch your chin, lifting your too-hot face up to inspect it. There’s something almost smug about her tone. “Did you smoke what was in my desk?”

“Uh-huh,” you tell her, leaning closer. Maybe she’ll give you a kiss. You can’t stop looking at the sly curve of her lips, the tiny mole underneath her heavy, dark eyes.

Her cold fingers slide over your hand, up your forearm, your shoulder. You can trace the bones with her: phalanges, carpals, metacarpals, ulna, olecranon, humerus. Lingering over the acromion before her nails scratch over your clavicle. It’s impossible to focus on anything except for her touch, a neural pathway going wrong in your brain. You shiver at her touch, almost-pleasant chills going up and down your spine in contrast to the fever. She doesn’t keep her nails long— hospital hygiene and personal preference keep them neatly clipped— but they’re painted a deep purple. She has beautiful hands.

“Now I’m sure the lightweight wants my help,” Shoko accuses, but there’s something fond about the pejorative coming from her. That’s how Shoko likes you. Compliant, she says. Helpless, you think to yourself. You really want her to kiss you.

“Shoko,” you sigh, slurring, already folding to the deceptive strength of her hands as she peers down into your face.

Her nails dig into you hard enough to make you gasp and lean back, but she follows you with a step into your space. “Ieiri-sensei,” she corrects, soft as a dream.

You know that when you look later, she will have left a touch of that deep purple color in your shoulder. She likes to leave artifacts of herself on you. The grey wend of her cigarette smoke in your apartment; a fine scarf knotted around your neck that smells of her perfume; her lipstick on your cheek, your coffee mugs, painting your lips when your own lipstick is smudged at a party. There’s nowhere you can go that doesn’t remind her of you.

“Ieiri-sensei,” you start again. She rewards you with a small smile at her title, a gentle brush of her chilled thumb over your thundering pulse, your hot chin. The world has collapsed away to her and you. Her morgue could be an izakaya, a cafe, a love hotel. “I feel hot.”

“Your pupils are dilated,” Shoko says instead, slow and thoughtful. “Maybe I should check you out.” Her hands are blessedly cool on your cheeks. You nod jerkily. Anything to keep her touching you.

The steel exam table is covered in pale lavender paper that does nothing to remove the chill when Shoko helps you up onto it. You’re dizzy. Every brush of her skin against yours sends static fizzing up your dorsal roots. None of the other tables have paper on them. You feel hazy, like someone stuffed your head full of gauze. The shadows from the stark overhead lights smudge. All you can focus on is the slight musk of her skin, the solid warmth of her standing between your legs as she snaps black nitrile gloves on and scrubs disinfectant over them. Even the sting of the rubbing alcohol in your nose does nothing to dispel the stupor you're in. The heat has settled in a blood-rhythm, pulse heavy between your thighs.

“Am I dying?”

Shoko’s laugh rasps. “Silly girl. No one’s died from smoking too much.”

Lung cancer, you would argue if your tongue would move in your overly dry mouth. Instead, you’re fixated on where her stethoscope is warming against your chest. Shoko tells you to breathe in for her, so you breathe in. Tells you to breathe out, so you exhale. Her cool fingers press at your radial pulse. Your breathing quickens the longer her touch lingers. You hope she doesn’t notice, too focused on your vital signs. When she leans over you to put her stethoscope down, her thigh presses between your legs. You arch without meaning to, a low gasp escaping from deep inside your chest. The pressure makes you clench around nothing, rock up against her leg like a creature in heat. The sensation is the cherry at the end of her cigarette; phantasmagorical relief cascades through your body at the solid press of her thigh against your aching cunt. Some dim part of you realizes what's happening, but you can't make yourself stop.

Very near and very far away, Shoko cocks her head. “So it’s like that, is it?”

Your face goes hot; your vision swims in mortification. Your hips jerk into her, desperate for any stimulation at all. “I,” you stammer out, struggling to find words. This is the pharmakos that you need.

In the half-light, you see Shoko’s smile curve like sutures. “Don’t worry. I’ll take care of you.”

You need her help. You need her. The truth is so simple. Shoko’s hands pull at the waistband of your pants, and you clumsily arch your hips up to help her. The paper crinkles under your clumsy eagerness, but she doesn't seem to mind. The weight of her brown eyes is tangible. She instructs you to lay back, encourages you to shimmy your hips to the edge of the table. You’re so wet that you cringe away from her when you feel her gloved fingers peel your panties away from your slick skin.

“Stop that,” Shoko says sharply, even as she presses your knee back open with a gentle hand. “I can’t perform the examination with you wiggling around.”

You mumble an apology the best you can; do your best to stay still as she takes your panties off your ankles. Then, there you are, bare for her from the waist down. Shoko is silent, contemplating you. You try not to whimper, try to stay as still as you can. You’re sure she can see your clit twitching and swollen beneath its hood, your cunt squeezing and winking without any touch at all. If she as much as breathed on it you think you'd scream. You brace your arms better under your shaky knees. The thin paper crinkles loudly enough that you wince. 

“Could be a lust curse if I didn't know better,” Shoko says, although the words are clearly not directed to you. You fight a twitch as nitrile slips down the curve of your dripping labia. “Pulse elevated, respiration fast, febrile. I won’t even need lube.”

You feel your cheeks go hot again.

“You're always too curious for your own good. You did this to yourself.”

When you glance up at her, her eyes meet yours, darkness yawning open. The mole under her eye morphs into a bloody thumbprint. She could blow you away as though you were nothing more than a breath of smoke. One of her elegant fingers slides deep inside of your cunt with no warning. The cut of sensation is intense. You slam back into your too-hot body as though she’s summoned you there. Salt fills up your mouth and you squeeze your eyes shut, dispelling the crimson vision of her and her scalpel.

“Quiet,” Shoko reminds you, just in time for you to bite down the sound that threatens to escape your throat. There’s that smugness, again, subtle but unmistakable. It hasn’t ever felt like this before. You know your body well, and you usually need someone to touch your clit to make you cum. You can feel the mess between your thighs— worse, you can hear it, the slick sounds of your cunt clenching around that single, perfect finger. You can’t even look at Shoko. It’ll send you careening over the edge. It might already be too late.

“I’m s-sorry, Ieiri-sensei,” you gasp over the roaring in your ears, pinpoints of light wheeling behind your eyes as you shut them tighter. Her face fractures in your mind’s eye like you were looking through a kaleidoscope. You cum with nothing more than her finger inside of you, whimpering as you struggle to hold your legs up.

“Don’t apologize,” Shoko tells you, blood-warm, while colors still split behind your eyes. “I’m taking care of you, after all.”

She shifts her finger inside of you, sending the breath shuddering out of you; introduces the second with nothing more than your agonized whine. She presses right up against your G-spot, hooking the pads of her fingers against the ridge of tissue until you’re trembling open for her again. You’re bruising the outside of your thighs with your grip. Drool wets the corner of your slack mouth. “Please,” you gasp, not even sure what you’re asking for except that you need more to make the infernal fever stop. "It hurts."

Shoko hums. Finally, she rolls her slick gloved thumb against your aching clit, a slow pressure back and forth to match her fingers inside of you. Your head drops back on the exam table and sends the paper crinkling again, your voice stuck in your throat. Loose nerve endings light up like red phosphorus matchsticks. She has to have another finger inside of you from the stretch-- maybe two. She doesn't stop rubbing your clit. The pleasure keeps cresting, building until there's nothing but fire and the shape of Shoko's voice talking you through the fever. You could be there for two minutes or two hours. It feels like the edges of the world are wrapped up in gauze, impossible to focus with any sort of clarity, only stitched together by Shoko's tender mercies. She fucks you on her fingers until your legs come crashing down, arms too weak to support them. You know that it should hurt, that you should be trying to squirm away from her in overstimulation. There's something far more important than the signals your body is throwing at you: Shoko likes you compliant.

“Feels like you’ll let my entire fist in,” Shoko whispers into your ear, the hungriest creature you’ve ever let so close. “You’d let me, wouldn’t you?”

The silent question etches itself behind your closed eyes: what would you let her do to you? The answer rushes to your tongue just as quickly.

“Anything—“

She leans down and spits where she has you split open. You haven’t really stopped cumming since she put her third finger inside of you, but your cunt makes another valiant spasm around her fingers. It’s unnecessary, the black latex soaked with your fluids, but finally, as the widest part of her hand slips into you, you drop into oblivion.

You’re still on the table when you wake up. Time has passed, but you're not sure how long; don't really care. The high is still buzzing through your body, but you don’t feel feverish anymore. Your pants are pulled up and buttoned, the space between your legs no longer a sticky mess. Shoko is carding her fingers through your hair, her warm breath puffing against your cheek. Her voice is low and tender. "That's better, isn't it?"

You still don't have a vocabulary, let alone syntax, so you make a sound of agreement. After another slow, syrupy moment, Shoko presses something to your lips. You take a sip of cold water, swishing the liquid around your dry mouth before swallowing gratefully. Shoko keeps caressing you, hungry little touches down your neck and cheek. You've lost the feeling in your toes, all pins and needles. You smell the faint sweetness of tobacco still wafting through the air. She must have just finished a cigarette.

“Why don’t you rest a while? I still have work to finish.”

Your eyelids are leaden. Your cheek touches the wrinkled paper, the steel of the table beneath it still cold to the touch, the stickiness of your spit. You float back to that quiet place, the edges of the world curling soft around you. In a different realm, Shoko is kissing the corner of your mouth, smoothing out your mussed hair.

Somewhere behind you, you hear a soft beep as the recorder starts. “October 1, 2018. 1:16 AM. The body is presented in a black body bag...”

[seravphs]

ੈ♡˳·˖✶ — NANAMI x FEM READER 

Nanami Kento’s only sixteen when he kills for you. He’s only twenty four when he dies for you. What was supposed to be his final sacrifice play, a life for life, goes awry when he ends up haunting you. 

wc — 13.5k 

tags — major character death, jjk typical violence/fights, mild(?) body horror, grief, betrayal, ghost marriage, Gojo my favorite deus ex machina Satoru, title from song of the same name by good dog 

There’s nothing worse than standing on the sidelines of a major battle. 

Of course, those fighting in the battle might disagree. You’re sure that any number of sorcerers would gladly trade places with you to be in the safety of Jujutsu High. But for you, missing out on watching Nanami fight is agonizing. 

You’re the perfect complement to his cursed technique. Where he finds the chink in the enemy’s armor with his 7:3 ratio, you shore up your own defenses. While other techniques are aggressive, prioritizing attacking first and early, your skills are more suited to a war of attrition. In terms of endurance, no one can outlast you besides Gojo, who’s sheer strength simply eradicates all obstacles in his path. 

Like Shoko, you’re a special case of sorcerer. 

Gojo was rare, prized, and the strongest, but he was anticipated. He was simply stepping into a role that had already been played out over and over again, just by different men. The arrival of Getou, Shoko, and you was what truly rocked the boat. Two special grades in one generation, an innate reverse cursed technique user, and a barrier specialist all in one class - a guaranteed success, if not for the fact that one of you went crazy. 

75% was still passing, if just barely. 

Though you loved Shoko, Getou, and even Gojo, narcissist that he was, you understood that you would forever be a fringe member of that class. As a trio, there had been no room for another. For a while you were content with that. It was enough just to be counted among them, to be special like they were. No other Jujutsu technique was as well suited to defense as yours, able to fortify the Achilles’ heel of your target. If Nanami could find the perfect opening for a weakness, your talent was to do the opposite. 

It was that very talent that had thwarted Getou time and time again, preventing him from entering sacred ground. Jujutsu High was as close as sorcerers could get to hallowed ground. It was their sanctuary, their first home, the place that had nurtured them to become killers so they wouldn’t be killed first. You couldn’t allow it to be desecrated, even by an old friend. 

So you stayed, and Nanami went. 

The worry was constant, the first few hours. It had been a while since you and Nanami hadn’t been paired together on a mission. Without you, he was simply a first grade sorcerer - nothing to scoff at, but not comparable to even the weakest special grade. With your protection, however, he was a monster. The two of you could achieve special grade status together, whereas apart, you would remain first grade only. 

It was a fact that had earned you many a partnership with him on missions that all other special grades were too preoccupied to take. The elders’ budget special grades, if you will. Cheap copies could work just as well, utilized the right way. 

But eventually, as it always did, your fear faded to a steady, constant hum behind your rib cage, but no more. You were always afraid for Nanami when he left your sight, since the first day you had met him and become inseparable. As if your techniques had been an indicator, it was like two magnets locking into place. 

Nanami has more than earned your trust over the years. He’s survived many missions without you just fine. He made it to first grade status without your technique’s protection in the first place. In many ways, he was the one who protected you. It was how your relationship began. 

Years earlier, back when you had been just students, you had been ordered to take Nanami with you to observe how upperclassmen dealt with curses. His patently obvious gratitude that Gojo wasn’t his mentor for this mission was further amplified by the fact that you were the anti-Gojo, the sweet senior. You couldn’t help doting on your underclassman, so uncorrupted by Jujutsu society. You remember when you and the trio had been pure children like that. 

No Jujutsu sorcerer was truly pure, child or not. It’s not a curse that threatens to take you out, not with your ridiculously sensitive detection field or your perfect armor. It’s another human, a bounty hunter without a cursed energy signature for you to pick up on. He lunges for your heart, just like another curse user will years later. Nanami cuts him into ten pieces before he reaches you, seven parts sliding left and three parts sliding right. 

Nanami killed a man for you when he was sixteen, and the blood shed that day has tied you to his side ever since. The two of you have a bond forged in iron and mutual understanding. 

He will always come back to you. 

For now, your duty is to make sure he has a place to come back to. If the worst comes, Jujutsu High will be the final battleground. You have no intention of losing an inch of the front line before the last battle even begins. 

Not that it will. For all your adoration of Nanami, the truth is, no one can compare to Gojo Satoru. With him on the scene, you’re confident the mess in Shibuya will be cleaned up soon. 

Shibuya, October 31st, 9 A.M. 

Bad news always comes in battalions. One hour after dawn breaks, the unthinkable happens. Terrible news flies on dark wings from Shibuya to the main campus. Ui Ui lands in front of the morgue in a panic. Black feathers fall around him, a remnant of his cursed technique and an omen all in one.  

Gojo Satoru has been sealed. 

At first, Shoko merely laughs her dry laugh. She pulls another heavy breath from her cigarette, her voice momentarily raspy before her technique heals any damage almost instantaneously. Smoke wreathes her head like a miserable angel. 

Ui Ui does not joke. 

With shaky hands, he presents Principal Yaga’s letter. The two of you are the only ones left on campus, deserted by all but dry leaves. There’s no need to read it out loud. Instead, you and Shoko stand shoulder to shoulder as you pore over the writing. No matter how many times you read it, nothing changes. 

Somehow, in one day, your world has been completely shattered. It’s like a law of physics has been broken, only more shocking because Jujutsu techniques are prone to ignoring natural law. No, this is more like if you had woken up and been told your entire life had been a hallucination. There can be nothing more real about this than if giraffes were suddenly unicorns because Gojo does not lose, but somehow it’s true. 

Gojo is out of commission. 

He’s been taken out by Getou Suguru, returned from the dead. 

There had been a time when you would have been happy to hear Suguru was alive and well. 

Now, you know almost instantaneously who Getou will target first. After Gojo, Jujutsu Society’s strongest line of defense is the sorcerer who can make Jujutsu High untouchable. Getou will burn to ash as soon as he steps so much as a millimeter within the barriers you’ve erected around the campus perimeter. 

Immediately, you start plotting, comparing pros and cons, running possibilities. If Gojo’s already out of the picture, you cannot let yourself fall under any circumstances. You’re the campus’ final bastion. 

You’re good in a fight. Watching Nanami’s back for years had taught you how to think on your feet, finding and removing potential for injury before the enemy notices. In a tricky situation, you can even use your technique offensively, using your barrier to inflict damage. However, none of this is what you really excel at. 

Given adequate preparation, you could build a city with walls that no curse or curse user could penetrate without fear of instant death, and it’s been years. You’ve been working on the campus barrier since your arrival at Jujutsu Tech, letting your power bleed into it a little each year until it had become glutted on a wellspring of cursed energy. It was now so powerful and so well maintained it could run off nothing but scraps for centuries, completely impenetrable. 

If this is truly Kenjaku, however, he has you beat in preparation by a few thousand years. 

Gojo is your classmate, your friend, but also, as it was so easy to forget, your savior. He was the keystone of Jujutsu society. Without his effortless strength, things feel hopeless. 

But even impossible battles must be fought, and you were willing to take it to the bitter, bitter end. From your vantage point on the farthest point of campus as you could get without straying outside of the protection of your barriers, you see your allies start to trickle in from the horizon. Without Gojo to simply teleport people in and out if and when he felt like it, they walk, run, and crawl their way towards safety, chased by mortal danger. 

Sometimes you’re close enough to help with a conveniently placed ward. Other times, you pray that someone else is in the right place at the right time. Irritation with the elders and the three clans with their petty power plays wells up within you. If you all want to survive, the sorcerers will have to close ranks. There can be no weakness within when danger looms so close on the outside. 

Inumaki gets in first, Yaga half carrying the boy across the threshold before he immediately leaves to find the rest of his charges. Panda and Maki stagger through together. Nanami brings up the rear, rounding up the last few stragglers. Casualties are more than you’ve lost in one year alone. You’re horrified by how thin your numbers are. 

All the more reason why your technique is so imperative at this critical moment. 

Yaga declares a state of emergency as soon as the immediate community is within the safety of headquarters. All other rogue sorcerers and stragglers, the few who have made it to retirement, those out of the country, and notably, Yuki Tsukumo are to return immediately. War is breaking out. 

The loss of Gojo Satoru is a heavy blow to your forces. Thus, the first plan of action is to get him back. It’s a harsh reality, but the truth of the matter is you only have a few real sorcerers left at your disposal. 

Yaga is working overtime making new dolls to patrol campus. Mei Mei and Ui Ui are currently your only contacts with the outside. At the moment, they’re trying to locate Hakari and Kirara. Nanami, Utahime, Shoko, Nitta, and Takuma make up what’s left. 

Ijichi and Kusakabe were lost at some point during the retreat from Shibuya. You can only hope they’re alive somehow. Then there’s the matter of Yuuji’s curse of an older brother, which no one seems willing to touch quite yet. Yuuji himself seems unsure of how to deal with him. 

The children are desperate to be of help, but it doesn’t take Shoko to see how traumatized they already are without taking an active role in the war effort. Survivor’s guilt has its claws in some of them already. The rest have their own little problems. 

And Nobara - you swallow down bile.

Nobara is dead. 

She was just a girl. Even worse, there’s no time to grieve, though she deserves a proper goodbye. One more thing war has taken from you. 

One more friend Getou owes you. 

If he tries to enter campus, you’ll make sure it’s painful. 

The three great clans have chosen to consolidate forces on their own rather than, in their words, come running to you. Their delusions of strength or more likely, their pride, won’t allow them to owe you any favors even when facing down the threat that took down Gojo. No matter - you don’t want them here anyways. 

Strong as they are, infighting would only make matters worse at this point. They’ll come to you when they’re desperate. You’re not above using that for leverage. 

Yuki is on her way home, racing back from Latin America, where she’d been doing more research for her goal of eradicating curses at the root cause. Having her here would set your mind at ease. Even if she’s not Gojo, any special grade is a blessing. Besides, with your barriers to counterbalance her mass’s weak points, she might be strong enough to put up a fight against Kenjaku. All your hopes are banking on her. 

For now, all you can do is wait. 

Nanami finds you in the kitchens at 4 am, slumped over a bowl of melting ice cream. He slides in next to you easily, slotting into his place. 

“Are you still working on that or can I have it?” 

“It’s gross now,” you sigh, finally uncurling from your hunched position. “Like ice cream soup.” 

Nanami shrugs half-heartedly and takes a bite, though it’s more like a sip. He makes a face. 

“Told you so.” 

“Some things have to be experienced, not told.” 

You’ve been together long enough to be able to recognize the telltale signs of a lecture. “Not now,” you plead. “I’m exhausted.” 

It only takes him a moment to give in. He’s always weak when it comes to you. Scooting closer on the bench, his shoulder bumps into yours. Warmth spreads through you where his shoulder is touching yours; his body a furnace. After scanning the room, he lets his head drop onto your shoulder. 

Neither of you can afford to show weakness in front of the students, but this is an unprecedented catastrophe. You know he can feel it as well as you can. You lean in too, letting his soft hair tickle your cheek. Taking his hand into yours, you reinforce the point where you’re conjoined, just to remind yourself that he’s safe and with you. 

He stirs. “Don’t waste your energy.” 

Even with Shoko��s constant healing and pre-prepared wards, guarding campus takes a lot out of you.

Although you know this, you can’t help the need to reassure yourself. Gojo had seemed so infallible. In the way one only appreciates what one had once it’s been lost, you wonder if you had all relied too heavily on Gojo. To let society crumble because one man has been taken out was pure foolishness. What else have you taken for granted that could so easily fall from your clutches? 

When you speak again, your voice is hesitant, though you know Nanami would never judge you. He already knows everything about your past. 

“Do you believe in ghosts?” 

Your breath ruffles his hair when you speak. 

“Like your village?” He’s blunt. 

“I’ve been thinking about Getou. There’s no way he came back. It’s impossible. How do you live through Hollow Purple?” 

Nanami’s laughter is wretched and serious. “This is Jujutsu. Anything is possible.” 

There’s just the slightest hint of emotion in his voice, indistinguishable if you didn’t know him well. You’re both thinking about her. 

But Nobara wasn’t a special grade, wasn’t the beloved of the strongest. 

Even more shocking than Getou’s return from the dead is his betrayal, which is a testament to the bond the strongest duo once shared. 

“I didn’t think he would haunt him,” you muse. It is a haunting, isn’t it? Even if Getou’s physical body is present, he’s a dead man. He belongs elsewhere now. What he is currently is an abomination, a perversion of nature. 

The mountain village you hailed from had been prone to superstition and folklore. Legends of ghosts had lurked in every corner, spirits born of resentment and unfinished business. Though it makes sense for Gojo to be Getou’s tether to the earthly realm, you can’t imagine the two to be so at odds that Getou would haunt him. Even now, it’s hard to accept. Regardless of how divided they were at the time of his death, Getou loved Gojo too much for that. 

At least, you thought he did. 

Nothing is certain in this world anymore, certainly not matters of death. 

Perhaps that’s what Nanami’s thinking about when he whispers into the cold silence of the cafeteria, “If something happens to me, I promise I’ll leave you in peace.” 

You tighten your grip on his hand, wishing he wouldn’t offer something he couldn’t promise. You know he’ll try. Nanami would never haunt you willingly. Ghosts aren’t always what they were living, however. Getou is proof enough of that. 

Instead of voicing your doubts, you just hold onto him tighter until Megumi finds the two of you. You’re grateful it’s him and not Nobara, who would’ve no doubt teased the two of you. The memory of her brings fresh pain. 

“Ui Ui and Mei Mei have news.” 

You’re a little surprised he came to you, but he shrugs. 

“They said to get Yaga after you.” 

The brother and sister duo have been your only form of contact with the outside, as Yaga locked down campus. Only those two, with their ability to shift between spaces, were allowed to venture out. 

If Gojo was still here- 

If he was still here, you wouldn’t be hiding at all. There’s no use fantasizing about the impossible - is what you would think if it wasn’t occurring before your eyes. 

Sitting behind the Principal’s desk in his office is Gojo Satoru, feet propped disrespectfully on his desk. In lieu of his usual sunglasses, his blindfold has returned, perching precariously high on his forehead, almost like a headband. It makes him look like a douche. 

Nanami freezes beside you. In a way, it almost makes sense. If anyone could escape the Prison Realm, it would be Gojo Satoru. Your heartbeat is calm, not a single instinct rebelling against the scene playing out in front of you. Despite your body’s lack of warning to the man sitting in front of you, as if it truly is him, alarm bells are ringing in your head. 

He cackles at the dumbfounded look on your faces. “Come on! You didn’t think that stupid little box was going to keep me trapped, did you? Even made time for a detour for mochi.” 

He makes his point by popping one of the little green balls of rice flour he loves so much into his mouth. You want to smack him. Everyone was worried sick, and he went to get snacks? 

But you don’t. None of your barriers have been ruptured, so this must be Gojo. If it was anyone else’s curse energy signature, you would know. Getou shouldn’t be able to set foot on campus. 

“Relax,” Mei Mei says, sitting on the edge of the desk. Ui Ui clings to her adoringly. “I found him picking out his sweets in-“ 

The wall behind her crumbles, a clear number line emblazoned on it for a second before it falls. Mei Mei has already dodged the attack, standing slightly to the left. She raises an eyebrow. “What do you think you’re doing?” 

Nanami hefts his blade and works his shoulder. “I don’t know what game you’re playing at, but you’ve got Gojo wrong. He’s a fool, sure, but he’s a soldier. He wouldn’t stop at a mochi shop before returning to find his students.” 

Gojo sighs. “And here I thought an incorrigible, selfish bastard was all the depth there was to him. Guess that’s true friendship for you, huh?” 

“Getou?” All of this is happening too quickly for your brain to catch up. The bandages-

He makes a hand seal and you flinch, expecting his dragon or another one of his nasty little curses to pop out, but nothing happens.

Nanami is already putting two and two together, being most familiar with the technique used. “You let Mahito take away your sorcery,” he breathes. 

Your blood runs cold. The idea of someone tampering with your brain stem and taking away your technique sends chills down your spine. Willingly letting someone perform such an invasive procedure is horrifying, but the limits Getou will go to seem boundless. He must’ve used idle transfiguration to look like Gojo, too. They had been around the same height. You can see the scheme unraveling before your eyes which means- 

“Traitor,” Yaga says in the doorway, looking at Mei Mei with a hardness in his eyes you’ve never seen before. He’s panting, having run all the way here. You can’t imagine how it feels, for the student you raised to have turned her back not only on you, but every ideal you’ve ever held dear. 

“I can’t believe-“ 

Yaga’s voice is full of surprise and betrayal before it’s cut short by her scythe. You want to move, but are rooted to the spot at the sight of your teacher, throat carved open. 

“Sorry, sir. It’s nothing personal. I’m just joining the winning side. You understand, right? You raised me to be practical.” 

“Mei Mei?” 

“Come here, Ui Ui.” 

For potentially the first time in his life, Ui Ui doesn’t obey his sister. 

“What’s this? You’re getting too old for a rebellious phase now, kid. Don’t you trust me?” 

When she reaches for him, he darts past her hands and into your arms. You shove him behind you. A look of hurt confusion flashes across Mei Mei’s face, clearly unused to anything but perfect obedience. 

“Go!” You urge him, trying to push out the door past Yaga’s body. Taking a quick inventory of the situation, you ascertain your chances. Yaga’s down for the count. You don’t know how serious his injury is. Nanami’s still fresh for a fight, but Ui Ui is dead weight. You’re dangerously low on cursed energy, but not near the bottom of your reserves quite yet. 

You don’t need to speak for him to catch onto the plan. Immediately, Nanami engages Mei Mei. Getou may be the evil mastermind, but he’s a non sorcerer for now. Ui Ui is the priority. 

“Go! Tell the others!” 

By the time you spin around, Getou has his fingers around your throat. Your barrier flares against him, leaving him scrabbling at nothing. Light shines in the space between the two of you. Across the room, you let your cursed energy block a blow from Mei Mei right above Nanami’s navel. 

Already, fighting with him feels so familiar, a song and dance you’ve done since you were students. He leads Mei Mei towards you until you’re back to back. 

It’s so familiar to defend while he attacks. Nanami’s sharp eyes find that elusive chink in their armor while you adjust to cover your weak points. You drop back when he slashes forward. He ducks while you throw up a ward so strong Mei Mei and Getou stumble back. In every way, you’re winning, yet it doesn’t feel like it. 

Getou’s calm is an ineffable as it was when you knew him, but his face- 

His face is unsettling. It’s another boy’s. He smiles, so horribly close to the Gojo you knew that your heart breaks, both because something so familiar has become so twisted, and also because you know at that moment that you’ve made a mistake. 

“You got it wrong,” Getou says softly. “I didn’t use idle transfiguration. I used a binding vow to seal my cursed energy for twenty four hours.”

The horror sinks in as you realize he hasn’t been weakened at all. The binding vow has made him stronger, twenty four hours of repressed cursed energy roaring to life in one minute. 

Your barrier pulses around you and Nanami, dying light fighting to keep the two of you safe. 

That’s when Getou pulls out his trump card. 

Backing away from the barrier, he pulls the Prison Realm out of one pocket, and a cursed weapon in the other. He’s dangling it in front of you like the world’s most obvious mouse trap. 

To get the Prison Realm, you’ll have to take down the shield.  

You, or Gojo?

The choice is obvious. 

At least Kenjaku is facing you and not Nanami. 

With a burst of cursed energy, you slice straight through bone. Blood spurts from the stump of Kenjaku’s hand as it clatters into your palm, the Prison Realm along with it. 

You expected getting stabbed to feel cold from experience, adrenaline numbing the sensation. This time, the burning starts immediately. Maybe fatal wounds are different? By the time you were in high school, your technique had improved enough that you couldn’t remember what those felt like. 

The Prison Realm slides into your hand effortlessly. The blood coating your side doesn’t matter anymore, because you have Gojo. 

When you hear the gargle of air in Nanami’s lungs, you immediately know what happened. There’s a jagged cut across Getou’s front, in the shape of his signature ratio. A barrage of cursed spirits forces you back. Desperately, you cling to Nanami as you shield the two of you with the flickering embers of your cursed energy. 

“We have to go,” Mei Mei snaps at Getou. 

He’s not listening, advancing towards you. A mistake, because you’re going to kill him. Your vision is red with blood and fury. With shaking fingers, you arrange your hands into the right shape.

“Domain Expansion-“ 

Mei Mei pulls Getou back, her crows beating a hasty retreat. She half runs, half flies down towards the boundary, taking him with her. 

You’re throwing every attack in your limited arsenal at them, but every single hit is absorbed by the body of a crow, leaving a trail of corvids behind. She leaves you with your dead best friend and a horde of children to protect. 

Nanami was dying for nothing. You can’t even open the Prison Realm. 

You’re crying against his neck, hunched over him. Even as he lay dying, you’re looking for comfort from him and you despise yourself for it. He’s fighting to get words out. You press closer to him to hear it. 

“I won’t haunt you,” he breathes against your forehead. 

“Nanami,” horrible, shuddering sobs rip themselves from your chest. You’re desperately trying to hold him together, blood making your hands slippery. You’re afraid you’re making it worse. 

“Don’t say anything,” you plead. “Save your strength.” 

You hear it when he takes his last breath, rattling, painful. In the distance, you hear a horrible noise, as if even the earth is mourning with you. Dimly, the realization comes moments later. 

That’s not the wind, that’s you. 

“Hey!” 

You can’t look at the voice, so consumed by your grief. You can’t even tell if your barriers are intact. 

“Pull yourself together! I need to know what happened!” Someone is slapping your cheeks lightly. You can’t register the sensation. Nanami is gone. You only react when they try to pull you away from him. Howling like a wild animal, you cling to his body, but even by instinct, you know it’s not the same. He may as well be a cut of meat now. Nothing that made Nanami, Nanami remains in this cold lump of flesh. 

Yuki Tsukumo was just fifteen minutes too late to save the day. She arrived right as Nanami’s body was starting to cool, and has been holding the crumbling remains of Jujutsu Tech together while you’ve been inconsolable. 

You wonder if the guilt is eating her up inside, just like the resentment you’re trying to keep a handle on is devouring you even as you know it’s irrational. 

In one attack, Kenjaku has taken out Yaga and Nanami. As the strongest, Yuki automatically assumes leadership, and she has an ambitious goal. 

“We’re going after Gojo Satoru.” 

Although you’re hesitant to split up, you admit that her plan has the most chance of success - not that it means anything, anymore.

Yuki will take Choso and hunt down Kenjaku with the goal of retrieving Gojo.

Yuuji’s team comes in for the second half of her strategy. He’s going to be sent with the other students into the Culling Games to seek out Angel, one of the few who can free Gojo since he destroyed all of the objects that could have saved him like the idiot he is. 

Utahime, Shoko, and Ui Ui are going to serve as communication and healing for either team. Ui Ui’s transportation will allow him to move in and out of the Culling Game, as well as bring Shoko to whoever needs her most. Utahime will guard them while Nitta and Takuma will continue gathering allies. 

Your role is to maintain the campus as a headquarters and safe house. You react, as Yuki predicted you would, explosively. 

“Am I to understand that you want me to sit here and allow children to risk their lives for me?” 

Yuki’s gaze is, as always, light-hearted steel. It’s not that she’s unreasonably confident, but simply that confidence is embedded in her DNA. There is no questioning Yuki because such a thing might as well not exist. Such is the cost of strength - it’s a quality Gojo also shared. 

“You are to understand that if you want these children to have a home to come home to, you must defend the campus. What happens when one of them is injured? We’ll have no safe house to take them to recover. What happens when we need somewhere to fall back? You might think you’re noble for offering to take their place in the culling games, but all you want to do is relieve yourself of guilt. Is that selfishness worth their lives? The world?” 

“The rest of the world can go to hell! We’ve given enough - let the children grow up here. I can protect them. Let Getou come for them if he dares.” Your blood boils at the idea. You’re ready for it, spoiling for a fight. 

“Is that what Nanami would’ve wanted?” 

That’s unfair. 

“Nanami would’ve wanted them to be children!” 

Yuki slams her hand down on the table. “How can they grow up as children knowing the threat of Getou will always be there? You can’t protect them! You already failed once!” 

Your heart clenches painfully at the mention of Nanami. For a minute, you can’t speak. Yuki softens, also reminiscing about Nanami. She had already graduated when he had just joined Jujutsu Tech. Perhaps she’s remembering the little blonde boy who used to beg her to spar when she says, “Besides, I’m the strongest you have right now. If you stay, you’ll free me up to fight elsewhere. Otherwise you’ll force me to stay and defend Tengen. Of the two of us, we both have duties we’re better suited to. Trust me.” 

Defeated, you can’t even verbalize your assent, you just nod. 

Yuki’s pity only makes you feel worse. You turn away as she outlines the rest of the plan. While she captures Mei Mei and takes all the information she can offer, Takuma and Nitta’s first contact will be Hakari and Kirara. Yuki will turn Mei Mei over to them to guard while she goes after Kenjaku with Ui Ui’s team as backup. 

Worst case scenario, she’s to retreat at any cost so Shoko can fix her up. If it comes down to it, you’ll abandon campus and Tengen to support her, leaving the students and Hakari to watch over it in your place. With your barriers, Yuki’s one weakness will be safely covered for. But in that scenario, you’ll need to end the Culling Games first to retrieve the students. 

Every aspect of the plan hinges on pulling off some miracle, pushing past your limits. It requires a Gojo level of skill and insanity, but it’s the only choice you have. 

Yuki’s teeth are bared in a grin as she ends the meeting. “Sleep well, everyone. Tomorrow I’m going to discipline a traitor.” 

She grabs Yuuji’s older brother by the collar with a hooked finger and drags him in. He looks startled. 

“Then we’re going to go get Gojo back.” 

It’s a fool’s plan. Gojo is as good as dead in that prison of his, completely helpless, and someone who could beat the strongest is a complete wildcard. Yuki is brilliant and powerful, but where she measures up against the oldest and cruelest sorcerers from another time is unknown. 

Still, it’s Yuki, the woman whose trump card is the most terrifying natural phenomenon known to mankind. If there was anyone on the current team who could get Gojo back - and you needed him back - it would have to be her. 

She packs her bags and is ready by nightfall to start hunting her prey. Choso is already waiting just outside the barrier as you say your goodbyes, having walked her to the edge of the perimeter. 

Impulsively, you pull her into a hug. This close, you can smell her strawberry shampoo. Her bangs tickle your cheek when she jolts, startled. Slowly, she relaxes and hugs you back. 

You’re almost scared to let her go. Tears are forming in your eyes. Watching so many of your friends disappear in front of your eyes makes you wonder if you’re about to let one more slip between your fingers. Yuki is so reckless. Yaga had always been afraid she’d die young. 

“Come back, Yuki.” 

Don’t let this be the last time you see her alive. 

“Stop that,” Yuki says gently, slapping your arm. “With Gojo out of the rankings, I’m the strongest. Don’t worry so much.” 

Neither of you say what you’re thinking. 

With Gojo out of the rankings, the spot of number one is a power vacuum that many would be dying (or killing) to fill. 

Time is ticking. Every minute is another minute Getou plots, but still, Yuki hesitates. The realization that she’s looking at you with pity is not a welcome one. 

“Are you going to be okay all alone?”

You force a cheery smile to your face. “I’ll be fine. I think I prefer it this way, anyways.” 

Putting up a brave front for Yuki is easier than confronting the actual situation. As soon as she leaves, campus feels eerie and desolate. There’s an unwelcome chill at your back - even at its quietest, Jujutsu Tech has never been home to just one sorcerer before. In just a few days, everything has gone horribly wrong. 

Sitting on the sidelines is as awful as it normally is. This time, instead of waiting for Nanami to come home, you feel the awful lurch of forgetting he died. Every day you wake up without the memory of it, only to feel that abyss open up beneath you over and over again at random moments throughout the day. 

When you make the curry he liked, when you have to jump for a book he would’ve gotten for you easily, when you roll over to cuddle into his warm body after waking up cold - all of these little instances are accumulated paper cuts: miserable, mundane, and multitudinous. 

You thought you’d be happy to have alone time to grieve, but the absence of Nanami is only compounded by the lack of your other friends. The last time you’d lost someone so dear to you, everyone had grown even closer, all piled all over each other like a litter of puppies. You had curled into one another, seeking warmth and companionship instinctively. 

You had been inseparable, sleeping together in the common area, eating together, even showering together. There had been no understanding of the naked body as something to desire, just the sense that if one of you were to be left alone, you would crumble. 

The pain of those days had been unbearable, but you miss the comfort of it too, like the sweet ache of a day-old bruise. Getou’s death had faded into a familiar hurt that could be suffered. Remembering those bygone days now brings the memory of Nanami rising soap out of your hair, or being sandwiched between Utahime and Gojo in sleep, his leg slung over the both of you, your face pressed against her back. 

Now you’re alone, having outgrown the nest. Or rather, it appears that everyone else has flown the nest and left you behind. You remain in Jujutsu central, holding the line as you always do. 

You break surprisingly fast. Perhaps Yuki knew you better than yourself. Like her dragon shikigami, she was almost half animal. Beautiful and feral, with a pleasure that came from obeying only herself - like a beast, she could sniff out the truth in you. 

Everyone was gone. You were lonely. You turn to the one friend you had left. 

For hours you sit with the Prison Realm, grimacing at the almost tacky feel of its strange skin. Your fingers slip over everything but the stitches, as if it repels you. The eye blinks patiently as you probe it with your technique. Even if you don’t have Nanami’s offensive technique, you can still find its weaknesses. 

You see none, but that doesn’t stop you from trying. For days, you try to pry it apart with brute strength. You pore over the archaic, arcane scrolls in the catacombs, throwing the contents of text after text at it. You’ve taken every cursed weapon in the armory to it. 

You listen for Gojo’s voice, still disbelieving that someone like him could be trapped in such an unassuming object. If anyone could escape, give you direction on how to help him, it would be Gojo. You fantasize that he has enough power to simply force his way out, or at least send you a hint in the real world. 

He stays quiet, slumbering. 

Talking to the Prison Realm is a surprise. You don’t mean to, it just happens naturally. In his place, you treat his prison as if it were him. You cart it everywhere with you, from laundry to patrol, cracking jokes and telling stories. 

Of course, it doesn’t respond as Gojo would have. There’s no raucous laughter or snide remarks. Instead, the unnerving eye of the Prison Realm blinks steadily at you. But this fragment of Gojo is all you have left of your scattered friends. 

And you miss him. 

Even though you had belonged to the same class, and in fact he was younger than you by a few months, Gojo had always felt like a certainty in your world. It was as if you had been born knowing him, like you knew the sky was blue or that water was essential for life. The Six Eyes was one of the laws of the natural world. Even disagreeable as he was, he had a way of reassuring you. 

If he had never been captured, Nanami- 

You choked. 

Nanami would still be alive. 

You were forever the last line of defense, the second choice. Your only job was to step up if Gojo failed and you hadn’t. The eye of the Prison Realm blinks in annoyance as your salty tears seep into it. 

A cold breeze brushes the back of your neck, almost like fingers, and you shudder. The Prison Realm’s eye seems to hold eye contact with you for a second, or something slightly to the left of you, but when you turn, there’s nothing there. It might have been a trick of the light, or a figment of your imagination, but you could’ve sworn there was recognition in that eye. 

Can Gojo hear you? 

The event shakes you so badly you put the Prison Realm away for the day and continue on with your chores. You maintain the barriers, you look after Tengen, and you keep updated on the status of everyone’s missions. You do such an admirable job of avoiding the Prison Realm that you almost forget about it until you see it lying on your bed. Your blood runs cold instantaneously.

You shriek when you feel it again, the breeze that shouldn’t exist. Spinning to face your assailant, you almost drop the Prison Realm - and yet there’s nothing there. Your technique returns nothing too, but somehow you know the truth as if by heart. 

“Nanami?” 

The air stills around you. Even the whistles of the birds in the trees outside are muted. The crawl of frigid fingers up your arm returns, now unmistakably familiar. Even the whorls and ridges of the pads of his fingers are known to you. 

Half of you is relief, half of you is dread. 

You did this to him. 

You cursed him. 

He nudges you towards the bed and sets the Prison Realm down on your lap. His fingers are cold but gentle as he tries to pry the box open. The eye looks uncomfortable. 

“Nanami, stop. It won’t work.” 

He arranges your hands into the shape of a seal, though of course, it does nothing without your cursed energy flowing through it. The intention is clear - he wants you to use your barrier technique. But you’re not Nanami. You can’t exploit weaknesses, you can only defend them. Hypothetically, you could try to reverse it, but the chances are unlikely. 

Still, if Nanami wants you to, you’ll try, even if every attempt you’ve thrown at it before has failed to even budge it. 

Nothing.

His disappointment stings. 

Again, he folds your fingers into the right shape. Again, you pour cursed energy out through the right channels, letting it wrap around the Prison Realm. Again, its boxy shape is silhouetted in white, as you find its soft underbelly. 

Nothing short of Hollow Purple could burst through it. 

Nanami lets you go. 

It’s as if it’s storming outside. Wind batters the windows until the shutters slam forcefully against the walls. The very foundation of the house groans in pain. 

“Nanami, stop! Please!” 

Almost immediately, the breeze dies down, as if Nanami is mildly ashamed. He’s more volatile as a dead man, easier to anger in a way he was never in life. You loved that about him, his patience, his goodness.

“I know you’re upset. I am too, but I promise we can-“ 

Can what? Fix this? You can’t promise that. 

You jump at his hands on you again. You’ll never get used to them being so cold. 

“Enough,” he writes against your arm, his finger tracing the letters over your skin. “I’m sorry.” 

You think Tengen might be scared of ghosts. He hasn’t been out much since you discovered Nanami’s presence, though the two of you used to discuss barrier techniques. You think Yuki might have told him to look out for you. 

There’s no guidebook to being a ghost. After that first day, you and Nanami experiment to see what he is and isn’t capable of. 

He can’t be more than a room away from you. Physically can’t. He describes it as a wall, except the wall is indeterminately high and wide. There’s simply no space for him to move to that isn’t less than twelve feet from you at all times. 

He’s only able to interact with the living world through you. If he wants to move a glass or close the blinds, he has to tug on you until you move where he wants to before he can put his hands over yours to complete the task. 

It’s strange, at first, living with a roommate you can’t see. In the early days, you forgot his presence often, and would be startled by the soft brush of cold hands against yours, then again when your hand moved of someone else’s volition to catch whatever you had dropped. 

Like all things, it becomes normal over time. Now Nanami is just Nanami again. You play chess on both sides in the afternoon while you wait for more information from the teams on the outside. 

Sometimes it feels like a snow globe, as if you’ve been preserved in time. Everyone keeps fighting on the outside, yet you only grow more and more removed. These days life is starting to feel like a dream. Nanami worries over you like he did when he was alive. You wish he wouldn’t, though it’s partially your fault. He keeps catching you sitting on the porch with the Prison Realm in your lap, staring off into the distance as you stroke its strange flesh and dream, dream, dream. 

In some ways, you’re beginning to understand Gojo, even appreciate him a little. Caring about life when you’re on a plane removed from existence is surreal. You have to remind yourself every day that you love Yuki and the kids, that you want to protect them and do your part. You loved Nanami, too. This is for him. 

He tries to keep you here and lucid. When you get too lost inside your own head, his hands shoot up to your face, roaming over your cheeks until the icy thrill sinks in and you remember what task you had been doing before you zoned out. It happens more and more often these days until eventually, even the coldness of his body stops startling you and he has to resort to gentle pinches. 

Yuki sends a letter during the first winter, when snow blankets the campus and muffles any sound. You barely hear Ui Ui’s footsteps when he enters the kitchen. Has he gotten taller? Children grow so fast. You hear from Megumi and Yuuji, but they don’t tell you about their heights, only if they survived and carried out the next step of the plan. There’s enough humanity left in you still to worry for those children. 

Would Nobara have grown too, if she still lived? The pain in your heart is muted, not as sharp as before. Nanami doesn’t think this is a good thing, but you can’t bring yourself to care. 

Ui Ui barely stays to wolf down the dinner you’ve prepared before he disappears in a cloud of black feathers again, shuttling the two teams to each other. Yuki’s notes are brief things scrawled on any available paper. This one is ripped off a hotel’s memo pad and reads: 

Getou is Kenjaku from the Meiji Era, returned to life. 

I’m not sure if I can beat him. 

Getou was never Getou at all. Even as a villain, he stirred up lingering emotions in you that you couldn’t help. For the second time, you mourn your friend. It’s a cruel trick fate plays on you, to subvert death over and over again in all the wrong ways. Each time, those you love return to you wrongly. 

You feel the brush of hair against your cheek, as if Nanami has placed his head against yours. You’re equally grateful and miserable he’s here. 

He’s just another one of your dearly deceased that have been cursed. 

Supplies are running low. One day, you’re picking radishes from the garden when you think to ask him: “What’s it like?”

He pauses before he answers, but never lies. His fingers scrawl out the message, quick and dirty, like he wants to get rid of it. “Cold. And dark. I can only feel you.”  

Your blood freezes in your veins. 

You had thought you could have him back. It was a selfish dream, a child’s dream. It had been a miracle at first. 

Sure, he wasn’t the same. 

He was cold-blooded now, ran quiet and passive except for when you goaded him to move. You were his tether to life. Guilt roils in the pit of your stomach. You had seen nothing wrong with it even when he could only move through you. 

Already, Nanami is no longer the same. You wonder if this decay will continue the longer he remains stranded on earth. The first day you reunited with him, he had been different, darker. Has it gotten worse? 

Perhaps this is your form of a curse, to have Nanami rot along with the body that once held him. 

Nanami didn’t deserve this half-life. 

Alarmed, he taps your arm rapidly for your attention before writing out, “What’s wrong?” 

“Let’s go to Malaysia when all of this is over,” you suggest more lightheartedly than you feel. 

“So suddenly?” You can almost see his wry smile. 

After Malaysia, you can put him to rest. He deserves one thing he wanted before you have to let him go. 

Getting in touch with Yuki is getting harder and harder. Every fight comes with increasingly narrower odds, so it’s a while before Ui Ui can make time to get to campus between transporting students to Shoko. 

It takes even longer for Yuki to respond. 

The message the sealed envelope contains is a simple ‘Yes.’ 

Preparations are immediate. Kenjaku isn’t going to come just because you want him to. Thankfully, after a few years of hunting this elusive beast, Yuki has a few clues to how it ticks. 

She wants you to pretend to use your technique to forcefully pry the prison realm open. Immediately, you shoot the idea down. 

“It’ll never work. Kenjaku’s too smart not to know that my technique alone won’t be capable of breaking the seal, especially not if my specialty is defense.” 

“Are you alone?” 

All special grades are the same, you think in frustration. You’ve often witnessed Megumi on the receiving end of this from Gojo, being led around by the nose. Everything is a teaching moment to them so they can bring you up to their level, but sometimes you wish they would just say things outright. 

Nanami spells it out for you. On your forearm, he writes, “She means me.” 

“How-“

“One step ahead of you, sweetheart. Remember how I went after Mei Mei first?” Yuki’s smile is fanged. “She’s going to leak information of Nanami Kento’s miraculous return.” 

You aim for the battle to happen on home territory. It doesn’t matter anymore - if you lose, there’s no way Jujutsu Tech will still be standing by the end of all this. 

Sitting quietly on the main road that leads to campus, there’s a strange sense of peace permeating the air. The knowledge that this is your final stand almost brings you comfort. No more running. No more hiding. 

You end this here, or you die. 

It’s so simple. 

Nanami’s presence helps, too. Each breath slips you deeper and deeper into a semi-meditative trance. His hands run lightly up and down your arms, as he did in life. Even now, freezing to the touch, it’s grounding. It soothes you as you wait, eyes trained on the horizon. 

You have to time this just right. 

Kenjaku is just cresting the hill when you press your palms into the Prison Realm and start pouring your cursed energy into it. Nanami treats your body like a conduit. The familiar symbol of the 7:3 technique hovers over the Prison Realm like an old friend. 

“What’s this?” Kenjaku is, for the first time since he exploded onto the scene and ruined your life, confused. He scans the scene, looking for one Nanami Kento, very much missing in action despite his obvious presence. 

“Did you cannibalize your friend's technique?” 

You hate how he seems almost impressed with the idea. Ignoring him, you simply reinforce your barrier. He’s not getting to you or the Prison Realm. You’ve just realized you can access the reserves of Nanami’s cursed energy as well. They feel different now that he’s dead, but they’re still there. 

Predictably, 7:3 fails to pierce the Prison Realm. Kenjaku looks relieved. It must seem like your last bet had failed, a miraculous resurrection that went wrong. If only he knew that wasn’t the plan at all. 

Yuki’s infinite mass slams into him with enough force he goes careening sideways. He barely manages to catch himself against the ground with a hard grunt while she lands gracefully on her feet, not winded at all. Her curtain of blonde hair whips around her face in the wind, making her look like an ancient goddess. 

She doesn’t let up, going after him before he can even catch his breath. Yuki is a brawler at heart, matching her full physical fortitude against Kenjaku’s masterful use of technique. Her first blow catches him right in the cheek, pulverizing teeth and spraying blood. Her next lands square on his arm, snapping the bone clean through. 

When Kenjaku tries to fall back, Yuki rears back and kicks Garuda, curled into a ball, so hard into him he goes flying once again. She’s a wild beast - beautiful and feral. Kenjaku can’t give himself breathing room as she hammers him with attacks. Every time he gets too far, Garuda occupies him until she can get him in close quarters once again, where she specializes.

For a second, it seems like Yuki is winning. 

Then, right when Yuki has him cornered, Kenjaku grabs her arm and pulls her in, almost as if embracing her. He places one hand at her stomach, right where her vital organs are, and summons a mini Uzumaki in his hand. 

You realize with horror that he’s going to tear her to shreds right in front of you. 

Your reaction time doesn’t catch up quickly enough, but your technique instinctively senses what he’s about to target and throws a shield over her - if you hadn’t, she’d be dead. There’d be a gaping hole blown in her side.

You can’t count yourselves lucky just yet. 

Kenjaku takes advantage of Yuki’s loss of momentum to use his gravity technique, pinning her and you to the ground. Your shields are up, but knowing Kenjaku, he has something else up his sleeve. Every second you’re down is another second for him to unleash a new, worse weapon. 

Yuki moans in pain, her arm ruined. It’s bent at an awkward angle. Her reverse cursed technique is working overtime to heal her injuries enough that she can keep fighting. She’s a true monster, tanking hits like that at close distance even with your help. 

“Tsukumo!” Yuji’s voice is worried.

Somehow, the students are here. 

You close your eyes. The momentary relief you feel at hearing Yuji’s voice, safe and sound, is quickly overtaken by fear. Even if you can get back up for your fight now, Yuki can’t unleash her trump card while the students are here. Her black hole would suck them in at this close of a range. 

Whatever support they could’ve provided for this fight is heavily outweighed by the cost it’ll force Yuki to bear. Special grades fight best alone. You know this from watching Gojo. Everyone else drags them down. 

Choso had fallen back while Yuki was thrashing Kenjaku, likely because she had told him to. Now, Megumi and Yuji rush to him as he duels Kenjaku, severely out of his depth. They can buy him some time, but you’re not sure how much. Will it suffice to get Yuki back up again? 

Can Yuki even adjust to fight alongside them? 

Yuta peels away from the pack of students and heads towards you. “No time to explain! 

A disfigured figure lopes towards you, grinning horribly. You cringe at the sight of it, which instills some primal fear in you. “Is that-?” 

Yuta nods. “Yuji said we should bring him here. I’m sorry, there’s no time! You’ll just have to trust me!” 

Splitting your attention between five different bodies that need your shields is agonizing. You’re breaking out in cold sweat, fully aware of the fact that any lapse in concentration could mean the end of someone you care deeply for. Already, Yuji’s only avoided two near death experiences because your shield slid over him just in time. Yuki pulls Megumi back just as Kenjaku tries to drop a cursed spirit on him, and demolishes it with Garuda. She shoves him hard towards Yuta who’s stolen Mahito’s technique and is now employing it against him with a sense of almost childish wonder. 

That’s when a sixth person joins the fray, adding to your already buckling mental stamina. This one flies and is calling out to Megumi. 

Very quickly, the situation is only growing worse. Yuki pushed Megumi out of the fight because Yuji has lost control. She’s now on her own against Kenjaku and Sukuna, barely fending them off. Your shield cracks and reforms, only to crack again under a relentless onslaught of blows. You taste copper in your mouth, but you can’t stop. Nanami strokes your hair, trying to offer some relief as blood dribbles from your nose under the pressure of your technique being pushed further than it ever had before. Even tapping into his reserves, you’re finding that you’re about to run dry. 

Megumi’s friend dive bombs Sukuna from the air with a scream of rage. 

“Angel, don’t!” Megumi screams. 

For a second, you don’t think she’ll really do anything. After all, she’s with your students. You’re sure she won’t hurt Yuji’s body, but when she strikes with the intent to kill, you throw another barrier around Sukuna’s body just in time. It drains you to the point of collapse. Now Nanami’s physically holding you up, the phantom sensation of his strong arms around your waist keeping you from falling. 

Angel is furious, raining blow on top of blow on your shield. In your one second lapse in concentration, you drop Angel’s shield by accident. Sukuna grabs hold of her and tears her wings off her back before Megumi summons Nue to pull her back. Dropping Angel, once again safely enclosed in your shield at the cost of feeling like your skin is on fire, Nue heads to support Yuki, who’s losing her battle. 

Beside her, Megumi shoves the Prison Realm into her hands. She must realize she can’t win a fight with Sukuna, because she makes a miserable face. Megumi closes her hands around the Prison Realm and urges her on. You feel faint. You wish he would talk faster but finally, finally, he gets through to her. 

At her touch, it unfolds in a way it didn’t for you or Nanami. Gojo Satoru returns to action in a literal blaze of glory. The light pouring out of the Prison Realm is so bright it’s blinding. 

His face is sterner than you’ve ever seen it. Unobscured behind his blindfold, his eyes are blue chips of ice. He neutralizes Sukuna immediately and turns to deal with Kenjaku. 

“Wait,” Kenjaku says. 

Gojo doesn’t hesitate. 

“I have something you want.” Kenjaku bargains. At a gesture, Mahito, crushed by Yuta, pulls something out of his pocket. 

It’s Nobara, her form mangled into something tiny and unrecognizable. She’s missing an eye. Mahito must have used idle transfiguration on her. 

Your stomach turns. All the students are horrified. Yuta’s face has gone stony with anger, but Megumi turns to the side and gags. He fights and fails to keep from retching into the grass, down on his hands and knees. Weak yourself, you crawl to him to wipe the cold sweat from his brow.

Whatever Kenjaku was trying to accomplish with that little show fails. Gojo goes berserk. Kenjaku’s existence is simply deleted from the face of the planet as if he never existed at all. Such is the power of a god. 

You remember lines from a text you read long ago, as a student.

Through heaven and earth, I alone am the honored one. 

Mahito is wiped from the earth just as effortlessly, too. It’s too late for you to throw a shield in front of him. Even your scream is too late - Gojo is simply unmatchable. 

Your heart breaks. “We needed him,” you sob. “He’s the only one who can fix Nobara.” 

“We didn’t.” Gojo’s as cool and level headed as ever when he nods Yuta over. “You know what to do.” 

“I don’t know if I can,” Yuta says nervously. 

“Just give it a shot. Be greedy. Let your cursed energy take the shape it wants to.”

Yuta startles. He’s so used to control, keeping Rika on a tight leash. Still, he trusts Gojo immeasurably. 

Nobara’s resurrection is violent. You turn Megumi and Yuuji’s heads away. Her flesh unravels back over fresh bone growth. Her frame elongates and stretches. Yuta assiduously tries not to concentrate, and that tiny doll pops back into Nobara like it had been stretched out and wrangled back into the right shape. No sooner does he finish then Megumi and Yuuji wriggle out of your grasp. 

They wrap their arms around her, a three headed monster weeping. A few feet away, Yuki has forced herself into a sitting position, blood seeping from a cut over her eye. All around you, your friends are battered, but alive. Gojo saved everyone. 

All, but one.

One person he was too late to save. 

Gojo’s brow furrows. 

“Where’s Nanami?” 

A cool breeze touches your cheek as you feel the first drop of rain touch your cheek. The sky opens up above you, and soon the ground is soaked, so wet the soil has darkened. 

Gojo knows just by looking at your face, but he needs to hear it. 

“Nanami’s dead.” 

It’s cruel. It’s unbelievably, unbearably cruel. It’s a cosmic joke, because Gojo just lost Suguru, and now he’s confronted with the death of another old friend.

He never falters. He’s the strongest. But there’s just the tiniest wrinkle between his eyebrows as he helps usher all the students back inside the safe doors of the main building. 

His time in the Prison Realm doesn’t leave him. Although he’s mostly normal, and certainly does his best to act like it, tiny cracks show in him. He’s lighthearted and blithe about all of it, blowing off your concerns, but you know him. 

He develops a dangerous tendency to self-isolate and stew in his own emotions. Too volatile for meditation before, claiming he was prone to boredom, now he remains stuck in place for hours at a time. He doesn’t drink, he doesn’t sleep, he doesn’t eat - it’s like he’s frozen. 

He treats meditation like a chrysalis, trying to ascend to an even higher plane. But already at the top, he has nowhere else to go. Still, he sits cross legged on the stone floor in the heart of the catacombs snaking under the campus, dreaming for days on end. 

He’s searching for peace. 

You are, too. 

Perhaps that’s why he suggests funding your trip to Malaysia. You have a mutual understanding. You’re loath to leave him and the kids in this state, but Utahime promises to watch after them all. Thank god - Shoko and Yuki weren’t meant to be caretakers. 

The latter had already skipped town, claiming that being in one place for too long made her antsy. Still, the bonds of that hard fought war seem to hold her just as tightly as everyone else. She returns home every few days, Gojo’s twin in hollow eyed fake happiness. Ever the world traveler, she marks out a careful itinerary for you and Nanami. 

Malaysia is a good life, a peaceful one. You live for Nanami; you let him live through you. In death, he can be selfish as he never was in life. You spend days on beaches, sun bathing and hoping he can feel the warmth of its rays. 

You don’t forget how he told you once, in that voice like he would never recover, how cold it was to be a ghost. He told you later that it was like extended hypothermia, a chill that seeped into the bones and stayed there. 

You read the books he likes and eat the pastries he enjoys. Every time you check in, the hotel managers will worry over you traveling all alone, but you aren’t alone. You sleep wrapped in solid arms, with your back pressed to his chest. His breath tickles your ear when you sleep. Sometimes you wake up crying because it all feels so real, having him next to you. Every morning is a fresh heartbreak, but you savor it because it means he matters. You savor everything he gives you, every press of skin or gentle kiss, knowing it’ll be gone before you know it. 

All too soon, it’s time to go home. 

The fact of the matter is, he’s still a ghost. You can’t change this. Nanami’s life is already gone. You’re just clinging to borrowed time, trying to extend your debtor’s card to mark out just one more day, one more hour past what you were allotted. 

You can’t help wishing you had more time. In that quiet place in your heart where you keep secrets you can’t admit to anyone, not even yourself, you want Nanami to stay. 

In the real world, you start preparing to lay him to rest. 

It’s a complicated practice. You’re not sure how to bring Nanami peace when you’ve never had a ghost before, at least not a true, recorded one. You rely on old legends from your village and an ancient text Shoko unearthed from the library to figure out which ceremonies need to be performed so Nanami can finally leave this plane of existence. 

Nanami protests the idea of a ghost marriage. He doesn’t want you to be a widow so young. 

“Married to a dead man! Think about it,” he pleads. 

“I already thought about it. This is what I want,” you tell him stubbornly. 

In a way, it fits. Malaysia hadn’t shaken the urge for you to give Nanami everything he still hadn’t experienced in life. Grief is a permanent lump in your throat. He had died so young, too young. 

Your marriage will be a happy event, at the very least. All your friends will be there to celebrate. This way, everyone can let Nanami go with a warm memory. 

It starts with a feast. 

Say what you want about Gojo, but the man knows how to party. He’s not shy about throwing around his massive wealth to host the most lavish of dinners. In fact, he’s acting almost as if he’s giving away his own daughter. You’ve never seen him so absorbed in anything as in wedding planning. Flyers litter his room, and you have to stop him from demanding every item the caterer can supply on more than one occasion. 

It’s a night of merriment, the kind Nanami would’ve wanted - not the partying, but the effusive joy on his friends’ faces. He probably would have gotten it, if he had lived long enough to marry. Gojo drags Shoko and Utahime onto the dance floor where they do a strange three legged hop to the beat of the music. Nobara is enjoying the delicacies ordered on Gojo’s money. 

All around you, the people you and Nanami loved most are happy. You feel him rest his head against your shoulder. He turns your hand over so he can write on your palm. Your skin tingles with the ticklish sensation.

“Are you happy?” 

“I am. Are you happy?” 

“So much so I could die,” he writes back with his characteristic dry humor. 

Normally, it would make you laugh, but tonight it just chokes you up. 

“Sorry,” he writes after a second. 

You just bring his immaterial hand to your face and kiss it in lieu of words, hoping he knows how you feel. 

A ghost marriage is half beginning and half ending. Like a snake eating its own tail, it devours its own happiness. There’s no need for an official announcement. As the night wears on, the mood grows somber on its own. You know when it’s the right time. 

After the glorious, bright joy of the marriage ceremony, the funeral rites start. 

In a roundabout way, god is the closest thing you have to a priest. Gojo lights a simple, unscented candle taper solemnly. Dressed in all white, he doesn’t look like the friend you know. He looks otherworldly. 

You kneel in front of him. He chants an old prayer. The flame leaps with his words. You bow once, twice, three times, feeling your heart rise in your throat. Nanami’s presence is all around you, closer than you’ve ever felt him. When you press your head to the floor for the final time, Gojo’s voice is barely a whisper. He presses a gentle kiss to your forehead as he helps pull you to your feet. This is what almost breaks you, after everything, this kindness from an old friend.  

When you rise, it’s time for the candlelight vigil. Your friends file out of the room silently. Yuki, surprisingly, does not leave. When Gojo stares her down, she only raises her chin. “I owe her.”

Only Gojo is left to lead you down into the catacombs, where you will meditate all night, thinking of nothing but Nanami, remembering his smile and laughter for when he’s gone. Yuki trails behind you. Nanami squeezes your hand as you walk, lending you his silent support. You squeeze back. 

Thus, two friends accompany you into the underworld. You will be the only one leaving. Gojo sets the candle in front of you carefully, making sure not to stir it with his breath. They leave silently, so it’s just you, Nanami, and a dying flame. 

The wax drips. 

Just before dawn, the candle burns out. It flickers, fighting, before it dies down into melted wax. You think you can feel the imaginary tether between you and Nanami be severed. A sigh escapes your lungs. 

“I’m still here,” Nanami taps out against your shoulder. 

It didn’t work. 

At once, relief and grief crash into you, a cocktail of emotions so complicated you threaten to hurl up your decadent wedding cake. The pain of knowing you’ll have to lose him all over again wars with the joy of having him even just for one more day, even at the cost of his own peace is striking. You feel horrible, but you can’t help it. 

You clutch onto Nanami’s hands, holding him tightly. For an hour, it’s just the two of you, weeping silently together. Sitting down next to you, Nanami pulls you towards him until he can cradle you with his body, the two of you skin-to-skin, so close the boundaries of your bodies blur. 

Your chest heaves in great sobs as you wail and claw at him. If you don’t concentrate, sometimes your hands slip right through him, hurting you all over again. You’re so overwhelmed by panic and grief, so much love you don’t know what to do with it, that you confess your secret sin to him right then and there. 

“I don’t want you to go,” you admit, tasting salt and ash in your mouth. You nestle in, calmer now that you’ve purged the bile infecting your system. It’s something Nanami used to encourage in you, refusing to let you bottle your emotions up. He knew you’d feel better once you let it out. 

He rocks you back and forth slowly, the action so comforting it almost lulls you to sleep, as exhausted and spent as you are. “I know,” he sighs, his breath stirring your hair as he rests his chin on top of your head. The circle of his arms tightens around you. “I know, sweetheart. I don’t want to go yet either. I want to live-“ 

Shocked, you bolt up and grab his face. 

“Nanami! Why? If you didn’t want to be exorcized, we would’ve never- '' Confusion boils under your breastbone. You’re already exhausted from a night of vigil, and somehow you can’t string the connections together for any of this to make sense. 

“Because you deserve better than to have me leech off your life. There’s no place for a ghost in the future.” 

You’re overcome with longing and misery, and then Gojo opens the door. The question is in his eyes. 

Nanami lifts your hand with his and waves. 

Gojo almost smiles, albeit ruefully. “Should’ve figured you would cling on. Guess you’re not so weak after all, Nanamin.” 

In Yaga’s absence, Utahime has taken over as de-facto principal, though you’re sure you’ll remain in her position after everything has been worked out. The only reason the other clans haven’t challenged her yet is because the far worse option is Gojo, and they consider her the lesser evil. She abuses her authority to place you on a mandatory break. 

“I’m fine, really!” You insist, even as she tuts at you. 

“You,” Utahime says sharply, “have been running yourself ragged. Has your body ever gotten out of our fight or flight reaction to Kenjaku? I get it, we need to help Nanami, but you won’t help like this. You need a break.”

“Malaysia-“

“Malaysia was another thing you did for Nanami! Don’t argue with me. Whether you like it or not, I’m pulling you off all missions. If you don’t relax, I’ll extend your sentence.” 

Utahime is a very strict jailor. Your days pass peacefully, with long walks underneath the flowering trees. You come to realize one of your friends is with you at all times, but you don’t mind. Even if they’re babysitting you, it’s good to have them around. In a way, Utahime shouldn’t have worried. 

No one is more adamant about finding a cure than Nanami, but you’ve lost your fire with his confession. You don’t mind if Nanami stays with you for the rest of your life, your ghost husband. You’d be lonely without him, haunting be damned. He could burn your life down to the quick to stay here, and you would let him. You’d do anything to keep him. 

The students are furious that their mentors are monopolizing you. One day, Nobara, Yuji, and Megumi sneak into your room. You hear them coming. Who couldn’t? 

“Shut up! She’s going to be back any minute!” As always, Megumi is trying to do damage control. You can practically see his eye twitching. 

Nobara tells him to shove it with all the authority of a girl people thought were dead up until recently. “We haven’t seen her in a week! It’s all Gojo’s fault,” she grouches. 

“Are we allowed to be in a girl’s room?�� Yuji says, oblivious as ever. 

You open the door. “Not really, but I’ll make an exception this time.” 

You barely finish your sentence before Nobara and Yuji leap on you, bringing you to the floor in a tight hug. Megumi is slightly more restrained, but when he embraces you, he almost crushes your bones. Fondly, you stroke his hair. You’ve known him since he was a child and Gojo took him in. 

“We missed you-“ 

“Gojo wouldn’t let us see you-“ 

It’s a cacophony of noise, Nobara and Yuji are talking over each other. Megumi pinches the bridge of his nose, already frustrated. You don’t know how he puts up with them when they clearly annoy him so much, though of course you do know - because he loves them. 

Yuji touches your sleeve. “Did Nanami-?”

They deserve to know. 

“He’s still here,” you say, your voice broken. Nanami squeezes your shoulder in warning, a silent plea to stop. 

Children shouldn’t shoulder these burdens. You pull yourself back together, but Nobara is clever and quick on the uptake. She picks up on your changed emotions immediately. 

“Does he still have to go?” 

“Nobara,” Megumi hisses. “Be tactful.” 

“No, seriously! The straw doll we used for the ceremony gave me an idea. I wasn’t going to bring it up if everyone still wanted Nanami to move on, but if not-“ she looks at you hopefully. 

You nod at her, expecting Nanami to stop you, but he’s surprisingly quiet and docile by your side. 

“If we combine my technique, Mahito’s, and Kenjaku’s, couldn’t we bring him back? If Kenjaku can stay alive, why can’t Nanami?”

Of course. 

Yuta’s more than happy to use his borrowed techniques for Nanami’s sake, but as you’re all gathered in the morgue, you can tell from all the grim looks on the adults’ faces that this is something you can’t come back from. Resurrecting the dead isn’t just taboo, it puts a target on your backs. Everyone will want to bring their loved ones back, not just you. 

Is this a risk you’re willing to take?

You look around the room at all the determined faces. Yuji is deathly pale with restrained hope. Utahime, prim and proper, is guarding the door. 

You know instantly that everyone in this room is willing to take this secret to the grave. 

Yes, this is a burden you’re all willing to shoulder. 

Nanami is worth it. 

Yuta starts by using idle transfiguration on the doll. In front of your very eyes, the image of the doll seems to melt away, only to be replaced by Nanami. He looks like he was sculpted out of wax, still beautiful, but cold and stiff. All hints of life are absent. 

Wrapping Kenjaku’s technique around himself, Yuta grabs ahold of Nanami, whatever he is now, and pins him against the doll. Nobara strikes down through the center of its chest with a nail. Her face is set in determination. 

You feel Nanami begin to peel away from your side. Nobara pours more energy into the nail. Everyone is watching, transfixed, as your small team of sorcerers performs a miracle. 

Then it starts to hurt. Just a little bit, at first, like a paper cut until the pain grows so intense you can’t ignore it. Utahime is at your side instantly as you gasp. 

“Something’s wrong,” you say, voice horrified. “He’s slipping away.” 

Gojo, for the first time in his life, looks helpless. His jaw is clenched in rage that has nowhere to go. Strength means nothing in this situation. 

“Let go,” Nanami urges. His voice is barely more than a whisper. “It’s okay. I wish we got more time - in the next life. I promise. I’ll find you in the next one, whatever it takes.” 

His voice is breaking. In the distance, Gojo is barking orders like, “Hold on!” and “Just a little longer!” 

“Nanami, please,” you’re crying. Cold fingers freeze your tears on your face and brush them away. “I don’t want you in the next life. I want you in this one.” 

Your mouth is suddenly stinging cold, but you welcome the pain. This might be the last kiss you ever get from him. 

Nobara roars with rage and strikes a nail into the doll with such force her hammer shatters. Her eyes are feral with an emotion you’ve seen before in Megumi and Yuuji. It seems like she’s hit her tipping point, just as they did. 

Cursed energy surges from her into the doll. Black roses climb up her arms, twining their thorns up her throat and over her face. Still, her cursed energy output keeps building until the doll simply disappears. The nail stays in Nanami’s body, glowing with blue fire until it too melts into his chest, the hollow cavity where his heart was. 

Nanami’s return to life is quiet.

You’re clutching his face, fingers near frozen to his cheeks when you first feel the faint signs of life. Slowly, his skin gains color and heat flushes through his body, warmth bleeding into your aching bones. You can’t let go, or won’t, still cradling him. 

Nanami opens his eyes with a gasp that sounds painful. It takes another second, then his chest heaves, two more and he’s breathing, miraculously breathing, gulping in great inhales of air. You nearly weep, hauling him upright, pressing your forehead to his. He’s so beautiful, so alive. 

“There you are,” he says, his voice raspy with disuse. “I missed you.” 

Epilogue !

Yuji is visiting today, so you’re just finishing up the last touches on dinner. You’re making his favourite, steak so raw it’s practically mooing, on top of rice with an egg on top. You shake your head even as you grill the meat, letting Nanami’s and yours cook a little more. 

There’s a great measure of joy in being a hostess. If you hadn’t been a sorcerer, you think you might have been a party planner. Nanami says it’s not too late, but you’re content to keep your abilities confined to just your circle of friends for now. Utahime and Gojo came by just last week, doing the same old song and dance they’ve been doing since they were teenagers. Yuki has bets on when they’ll get married, Shoko says never. In your opinion, this is just their thing, and if they enjoy it, who are you to protest? 

You hear the patter of footsteps on the porch. There Yuji is now, off to bother Nanami before his mission, no doubt. Even now that Nanami’s too old to go on missions with him, as a result of Utahime’s newly implemented retirement strategy for sorcerers due to the drop in cursed spirits, it soothes Yuji to see Nanami before missions. 

“Whatcha doin’, Nanamin?” 

“Reading the news.” 

“You’re boring,” Yuji grouches. 

“I think we deserve to be a little boring sometimes,” Nanami says. 

“Yeah, yeah. I’ll be back for dinner! Can you-“ 

“I’ll make sure your meat is so bloody we can’t stand to watch you eat, you little rascal.” 

Yuji’s laugh is bright as he runs off your front porch down to the car where Megumi and Nobara are waiting. You come out to wave goodbye to him. 

Somehow, sitting on the sidelines isn’t so unbearable anymore, not when Yuji has grown so strong and capable. You know you can leave the world in his capable hands. He’s been raised well. 

Watching him leave, back straight and proud - looking so much like Gojo your heart aches, you share a loving smile with Nanami. He lifts your hand to his mouth and kisses the golden band on your finger. Peace and crows feet are beautiful on him, as on you. 

[sorrowsdespair]

Contains: Kenjaku is not Geto, saintness reader, not proofread, written as notes, multiple characters x reader was in mind, Gender neutral reader but male reader was the original format so please kindly point out any he/him pronouns address the reader that I missed

Inspired by House Of Alphas by Sadistic-kiss

Imagine:

A Modern era mix with medieval themes. Major clans upgraded to kingdoms but the main focus will be Ryomen ruled by Sukuna, Zen’in ruled by Naobito, Gojo ruled by Satoru, Kamo ruled by a Kamo.

Neutral grounds that belong to Tengen as they are what’s preventing the cursed lands from spreading, protecting each kingdom from the mindless, and had paths built connect each kingdom to another.

Everyone is alive, curse techniques and the schools exist. Jujutsu is in Gojo kingdom, as the Kyoto is in the Kama kingdom. Riko Amanai and Yuki Tsukumo are Tengen’s disciples called the Star Plasma those who have similar abilities as Tengen. Toji hides in the Gojo kingdom and has a deal with Satoru to protect his kids in exchange he’ll act a Satoru’s lapdog. Suguru is Satoru’s husband. Yuji and Choso are Sukuna’s sons.

Kenjaku will be using the body of Getou’s ancestor. He’ll be the antagonist as he’s the embodiment of the Cursed lands. Maihto Jojo dagon and Hanami will be his creations. He blends in with society as long with his four children.

There’s a difference between Curse spirits that roam the world and the ones that live in the kingdoms. Sentient Curses are basically like Yōkai and they mainly from Sukuna’s kingdom. As for Mindless Curses are unknown spirits that will kill humans and Sentient Curses for their negative cursed energy.

Mindless Curses get stronger for killing someone with cursed energy even if someone contains little of it. Mindless Curses aren't created by humans but by a another factor. In the cursed lands that remain untouched due to the overwhelming numbers of Mindless Curses and by a strange force that will turn anyone who step onto the lands into a mindless curse.

The leaders of each kingdom go to Tengen’s place to have a meeting about the mindless and what to do. Yuki brings up some old prophecy she found of a Saintess that will have the power to combat the mindless and enter the cursed lands taking down the barrier that prevents anyone from entering further, Gojo is the only one who can enter the cursed lands due to his infinity but cannot destroy the barrier, Tengen refuses and reveals that to summon a Saintness requires a heavy sacrifice but if done incorrectly will have dire consequences as it was done once a long time ago and they had witnessed the catastrophic events. By the end, they had made a vote and it ended up as the majority voted to attempt summoning the Saintess. Unknown that Kenjaku was disguised during the meeting.

The summoning required a vacant virgin body of someone who died that very day for the Saintess to host. It must take place at night with a full moon and clear skies with no clouds in sight.

Kenjaku sabotaged the summoning towards the end but he was too late as You are transported into another body of someone who died that same day.

Tengen expected the night stars to fall towards them just like what they witnessed but nothing happened. They realized that the summon must have work and that the Saintess must be in another body.

You are confused when opened your eyes seeing that you are in a wooden box, realizing it is a closed coffin. Of course, this prompts you to start screaming and banging on the coffin until someone opened. It was during the original host(OG) funeral, OG’s family, friends, plus others are overjoyed to see you up. This starts a rumor about You being blessed by the gods

You questions who they are and where you are causing OG’s family to freaking out when the pastor(?) calmly explains that it possible for him to have amnesia as he was dead for hours.

[lemonlover1110]

The Insincerity of the Stars

Suguru Getou

[Chapter 25] Moving On

← Previous Chapter - Story Masterlist

Pairing: Suguru Getou x f!Reader

Chapter Warnings: Angst, Mentions of Stabbing

Discord +18 - Twitter - Ko-Fi

*Can't believe this is the end, I had so much fun writing this

Suguru doesn’t come to your apartment that night. You’re thankful for the loneliness because it helps you figure out what you want to do. You’re obviously going to leave him, but you’re not sure how. Do you want to leave town again, or do you want to stay and attempt to move on?

You work together, so leaving seems like the best option. But running away feels like what you always do. You learned that Suguru will find you anyway. Maybe you can move on, find someone new and start over right here. It also seems like a sweet method of revenge. Suguru watching as you move on. But that thought leaves your mind quickly. You don’t know if Suguru even cares for you, plus moving on just to get revenge isn’t good for you.

Thinking about yourself is what you should do. Getting revenge should be the last thing on your mind. Moving on with your life, and trying to be happy– Whether it’d be by yourself or with someone else, here or in the middle of nowhere. 

The raging side of you wants to break it off the worst way possible. Have Suguru catch you cheating on him with some other guy, however, that won’t end well. You don’t want Suguru to look down on you for that, in fact, you want him to end things somewhat well so he’ll forever think about how severely he messed everything up. You’ll confront him, and that’s it. That’ll be the way you end things off.

Just thinking about it makes you feel as if your heart is about to beat out of your chest. Your blood boils while tears flood your eyes. You knew Suguru would mess up, just not like this. You never expected Suguru to betray you with another woman.

You can’t sleep that night, you toss and turn on your bed until the sun is nearly out again. That’s when your body can finally fall asleep. You wake up around four hours later, extremely tired but even more nervous about how you’ll deal with everything today. You know that he’ll show up here soon. He’ll show up, apologize for everything, and then ask what’s wrong. You can already hear him ask where your engagement ring is. Just that mere thought fuels you up, and you grip your toothbrush a little too hard when you brush your teeth.

You find it hard to get ready that morning, but you refuse to stay in your bed and cry for him. You won’t waste your day nor your tears on him.

You want to text Shoko, but you know better. She was opposed to the relationship since it began, so you doubt you’ll hear words that will make you feel better. You have no one to comfort you at this time, and it’d be one of the things that pain you the most, if it weren’t for the fact that your fiancée has literally been lying to you for the past six months. He’s becoming a father.

You sit on your couch, just looking out the window. Feeling lifeless. You shouldn’t even be feeling like this because you swore you were ready to take it when Suguru would screw up again.

You’re so lost that you fail to hear the door open. You feel him kiss the top of your head, and you feel nauseous. You regret giving him a spare key to your place.

“Good morning, my love. How are you doing?” Suguru asks, and your jaw clenches. He takes a seat next to you, and he grabs your left hand. He immediately notices your engagement ring missing, you never take it off. “Where’s your ring? Did you forget to put it on?”

“I gave it away.” You answer, not bothering to look at him while you take your hand back. Just touching him makes you want to puke. You have to scoot away from him because he’s too close for your liking, and his cologne is a pungent smell. “I was thinking about selling it and going on a nice vacation, but I saw this homeless woman and thought about how she needs it more than me. I have enough money to go on a vacation.”

“What? Are you crazy? That was my mother’s ring. A very expensive ring, dare I tell you.” Suguru sounds agitated when you respond. You stand up and begin to walk to your bedroom. He stands up and begins to follow.

“Yeah, I know it’s expensive. That’s why I gave it away.” You nonchalantly reply. You begin to look through your drawers for your scissors, and when you find it, you go through your closet. You pick Suguru’s clothes and begin to cut them up, and Suguru’s eyes widen.

“What the hell has come over you?” He asks, trying to take the scissors out of your hands when he sees you cutting up one of his favorite shirts. It’s why you picked that one to start on. “What the hell?!”

“Over me? I’m fine, Suguru!” You raise your voice when he takes the scissors out of your hand. You push him away since he stands too close to you, “What the hell is wrong with you?! You really thought I wouldn’t find out?!”

“Find out what?” Suguru questions, attempting to act confused but you can’t buy it. Even if you tried, you couldn’t. Your bottom lip quivers and you can’t even look at him. You’re not going to break down in front of him, “Find out what?!”

“Don’t play dumb, Suguru! I’m so fucking tired of your shit. Why did you get back with her?! Is this some kind of joke to you?!” You yell at him, and Suguru freezes. He’s been caught. “You know what? Congratulations. You’re becoming a father.”

“Baby… Please. Let’s talk about it.” Suguru changes his voice so it’s so much more gentle. He takes a seat on the side of your bed, scratching his head. “It’s not what you think–”

“That baby is yours, isn’t it?” You ask him. Suguru doesn’t respond until you raise your voice, repeating the same question, “That baby is yours, isn’t it, Suguru?!”

“Yes! It’s mine but–” He begins but you cut him off as you laugh in utter disbelief. 

“Take your stuff and leave. You’re a fucking idiot. What were you even planning on doing in marrying me? Were you planning on leaving me at the altar?” You question, your voice breaking as you speak. This is much harder than you thought. Suguru just thinks of what to say, and the silence slowly kills you. “Answer!”

He grabs your hand and pulls you closer to him, before wrapping his arms around your waist. You try to push him away, but he won’t let you. “Let go of me, Suguru.”

“I love you so much, please…” He begins and your hands go to his face, only for your nails to dig into his skin. It hurts him, but he isn’t going to complain when bigger issues are on his plate. “Please… You’re the love of my life. I wanted to get married fast so we could move away and forget about everyone and everything here. I landed a job in a town that’s two hours away, and that was going to be my excuse. Let’s move away and pretend as if nothing happened.”

“Suguru, you cheated on me. You don’t understand how big that is. I can’t just look past that.” You respond, a million thoughts flooding your head. “How can I even trust you after you left me last night just to meet up with her? Who do you even love?”

“I love you. Just you. I’d die without you. Let’s just move away.” His voice is so soft while speaking to you. He looks up at you, his eyes so tender, and there’s a spark behind them. He isn’t lying, but at this point what the hell do you know.

“Move away? You’re becoming a father… What are you planning on doing? Abandoning your child?” You’re baffled. You furrow your eyebrows while looking down on him, as you remove your fingernails from his face. You’d almost feel bad for the bit of blood that comes out, but Suguru deserves that and more “Abandoning your child for what?”

“I love you. You’re the only person I need in my life. I’m sure he’d grow up fine without me.” He responds.

“I’m the only person you need?” You scoff. “Then why did you go back to her when we started dating? Don’t fucking lie to me.”

“My mother asked me to! She asked me to see her for a while and see if I wanted to get back with her. I was planning on leaving her after a month or two but she got… Pregnant.” He ends up confessing. “But we can leave, baby. Just me and you. We’re all we need. We can start our own little family somewhere else and–”

Instead of cutting him off by speaking, you cut him off by spitting on his face. When he feels your saliva on his nose, running down, he can’t speak. He finally lets go of you and wipes it off. “You’re an idiot if you think I’m ever starting a family with you.”

You begin to look through the closet again, picking out his clothes and throwing them on the floor. He stands up and gets in front of you before getting on his knees, tears welling up in his eyes and they spill when he begins to talk.

“Please… We can work this out.” He begins and instead of throwing the clothes on the floor, you throw them directly at him. You’re trying your best to make it hurt. “Can we please talk about it?”

“Suguru, if you’re not out of this apartment in five minutes–” You pick up the scissors that he tossed aside. “I’m stabbing you.”

“Baby, please… Let’s give it some time.”

Suguru wasn’t out of your apartment in those five minutes, and you stuck to your word. He ended up going on a trip to the hospital with a pair of scissors in his abdomen. A random pair of scissors he ran into, magically; or at least that’s what he told the doctor and nurses. His now ex-fiancée had nothing to do with it.

Afterwards he tries to talk to you about it, but you refuse to see him. You don’t share an office anymore so ignoring him is fairly easy. He tries to tell you how much he loves you, then he tries to guilt trip you. This time he realizes he’s lost you, and it pains him more than anything.

His last attempt to talk to you is by leaving the ultrasound picture of your baby, a picture he has carried around for years. In the back he wrote the name he wanted for the baby, and then how much he loved you. How he needed to talk to you so desperately. But it didn’t work.

On the contrary, you were gone the very next day. 

-

Five years go by, and Suguru just looks out the window, hoping that he’ll see you again. He hopes to randomly see you, but he doubts that he’ll ever find you in the suburbs. He still holds onto that hope though. 

He’s a father now, and he’s also married. He wishes he could say he loves his life the way it turned out, but he truly doesn’t. If it weren’t for his son, he’d absolutely hate it. He doesn’t like his home life, so he spends most of his time working. He adores his son, but Suguru holds this resentment– Which isn’t his child’s fault, but often he wonders what could’ve been. He wonders where he’d be right now if he had gotten to marry you. If you had chosen to leave with him.

Whenever Suguru gets home, he tries to do so as quietly as possible. He doesn’t like drawing the attention to him to then be bombarded by questions by his wife. None of them about his day, just nagging about things he has to do. It feels like he married his mother, and he hates it. He often thinks about getting a divorce, but that’s just dumb. He’s lost everything, he might as well stick with this.

“Daddy!” Suguru hears, and he smiles. That’s all Suguru has. He picks up the five-year-old that comes running to him, and Suguru kisses his forehead.

“How are you? How was your day?” Suguru asks, and as soon as he says that, he hears his name. A sigh escapes his lips before he puts his son down on the floor. “What?!”

“You got some mail!” His wife yells from the kitchen, and Suguru walks to the kitchen. He goes to the counter and grabs the opened envelopes. There’s truly no privacy in the house, and he hates it. “Who is Shoko?”

“Shoko?” Suguru responds, furrowing his eyebrows. He looks for the envelope that might have something containing anything from Shoko. He finds it, and he finds a wedding invitation. He feels his heart stop, thinking that you’re getting married to Shoko. But he sees the other name, and it’s not yours. “She’s an old friend…”

“Really? How long ago because I’ve never heard of her and she’s sending you a wedding invitation.” She says, making Suguru sigh. He wonders why she’s doing this. Shoko hasn’t bothered to communicate with him in the past five years. She doesn’t have to show off anything since she isn’t marrying you so… Why did she decide to send an invitation? “Suguru? Aren’t you going to answer? Don’t you think I forgot that little stunt you pulled while I was pregnant.”

“Shut up, you’re so irritating. I just got home.” Suguru ends up walking away. His brain is going a thousand miles an hour. He reads the invitation over and over again while he walks to the living room, and his son follows behind him. His son sits down beside him on the couch.

“What’s that, daddy?”

“Just got something from an old friend, buddy. Nothing fun.”

-

Suguru decides to go to Shoko’s wedding. He has nothing to lose, and he came to the conclusion that maybe he’ll see you there. Maybe he can convince you to leave with him this time. It’s been five years, you’re definitely less mad than before. Although his plan isn’t so easy. His wife wants to join him. 

His plan seems nearly impossible to accomplish when he doesn’t see you in the ceremony. You’re not the other bride, and he doesn’t see you sitting around anywhere. His wife sees how he’s searching for something, but she doesn’t get any kind of answer when she asks what he’s looking for.

At the reception is when he finally sees you. Looking as beautiful as ever, wearing a navy blue dress that’s outshined by the beautiful diamonds on your neck, your wrist and your ears. His heart skips a beat, and he feels his face get warm. And then he realizes that Shoko arranged for you to sit together. It feels like Shoko and the universe are on his side. 

You blatantly ignore him when you take a seat, and that’s what he focuses on until the blond man takes a seat beside you and kisses your cheek. His wife is glaring at you, remembering you as clearly as yesterday, while Suguru holds back tears realizing that you’ve moved on. But then he thinks about Hiromi and how he managed to scare Hiromi away, why can’t he do that with this fool.

“Kento, I have to use the bathroom. I’ll be right back.” You stand up and begin to walk away. Suguru takes a hint, or he thinks he does and ends up standing up. He’s thinking about his engagement party, and the very fun events which he thinks about way too often. 

Suguru walks into the bathroom, and locks the door behind him so no one else can come in. You’re the only one occupying a stall. When you finish using the bathroom, your eyes widen when you see Suguru leaning against the sinks, waiting for you. You begin to wash your hands, trying your best to ignore him.

“You look really beautiful tonight.” Suguru says, and you ignore him as you wash your hands. You promised yourself that you wouldn’t talk to him ever again, even if it’s been five years since you left him again. But you have so many questions.

“Meet me outside in an hour or so.” You tell him while drying your hands, and he holds back a smile. 

-

Suguru waits outside, his hands in his pockets as he looks around for you. It’s the beginning of summer, so he doesn’t mind waiting outside because it’s warm. He hears the distant sound of the music that comes from the inside but it’s overshadowed by the sound of crickets. He takes a deep breath and looks up at the night sky.

“Hi…” He hears, and that’s when he sees you. With your date right beside you. Suguru weakly smiles as he greets you two. Your lips kiss your date before you tell him, “I’ll be back inside in a minute, baby. I promise it’ll be okay.”

Kento cups your face and kisses your lips, leaving his lips on yours for a long moment so Suguru will take the hint. Suguru doesn’t have all night, he told his wife that he needed a moment, and he knows she’ll be out here in a couple of minutes to bother him. Kento pulls away and walks away.

“Is he your boyfriend?” Suguru questions and you furrow your eyebrows at the question. Mainly because his initial thought was that Kento was a boyfriend and not your husband.

“Husband.” You answer. “I just wanted to see how you’ve been..” You lie. You don’t really care. You just want to see where he’s at in life, and the petty side of you wants to see if you’ve won. Although that’s not something you can measure. And maybe you want to brag. “How’s your wife? Your kid?”

“They’re… Fine.” Suguru replies. He can’t ask you to leave with him now because he’ll get rejected. He does have a question though, “Do you… hate me? I mean you did stab me and after that I never heard from you– Not that I didn’t give you a reason to hate me.”

“Hmm… I don’t.” You respond. “For a long time I thought I did. But then I met Kento. I got a mother-in-law who loves me. A husband who used to put me above anyone else. I thought I still hated you until I got married, and on my wedding night I realized that if it weren’t for you, I wouldn’t have met the love of my life.”

“He used to put you above everything?” Suguru asks, sticking to one part of all you said. He’s trying to paint Kento in a bad light. “What happened? Shouldn’t he always put you above–”

“We had kids. We had our daughter and then our son. He puts them above everyone and everything else. I want him to. I don’t need a man that puts a woman above his own kid.” You interrupt him, and Suguru bites down on his lip, knowing that your last sentence is meant to criticize him.

“You’re a mother now? Congratulations. That’s so nice to hear.” He feels the tears welling up in his eyes, feeling hurt that you’ve moved on. Hypocritical. He chews on the inside of his cheek before he blurts out, “Are you happy?”

“I never thought I could ever be so happy.” You smile. “How about you?”

“No.” He ends up shaking his head, his voice breaking and a tear escaping his eye. You end up pouting, almost feeling bad for him. You wrap your arms around him and he returns your hug. You pat his back while he says, “I miss you so much. I love you. I hate life without you.”

“Aw…” You say, holding back on smirking, knowing that in the end you won. “This is what you chose Suguru. Maybe you should’ve thought twice before deciding to make your mother happy.”

“I know, baby. I know. I think about you all the time. About our life.” He tells you as you pull away from the hug, and he tries to hang on because he’s not ready to let go. 

“Shouldn’t you be happy? In the end you’ve made your mother happy by marrying her.” You respond, holding back on smiling. “This is what you chose. You should be happy. I know I’m over the moon with what I chose.” 

“I just… I miss you so much.” 

“I know.” You tell him. “I should get back inside. Kento is waiting for me. Plus, I promised Shoko I’d dance with her.”

“Okay…” Suguru awkwardly says, watching as you walk away. He tries to stop the tears before walking back inside, and while he does so, his wife walks out.

“Why– Are you okay?” She notices how he wipes away his tears. 

“I love her.”

🏷 @witchofoe @cactustattoo @hayatxlife @dearsunaa @dmnbby @mykyoon @luvs-wrld @b3ast1706 @crispmarshmallow @matchabluebeiry-for-nanami @nobody289x @brownskinnedgirll @watyousayin @lilith412426 @cloudsinthecosmos @todoroki-slut @pinkfilmcamera @nothisispatrick300 @lilithlunas @tojianddabisslut @thisbicc @rumi-rants @chloee0x0 @megumisemo @ingenii-supra-modum @shartnart1 @oi-loverboy @peachtrbl @didy-na @katykat71114

[sakuraryomen01]

Valentino.. /Sukuna Ryomen x Female Reader/ .o2

warnings: asshole sukuna, college prep. school (aka bitch u at an expensive ass school), former friends to lovers, slow burned love, yuji is sukuna's little brother,

reader: female reader; 23 years of age, college prep.

plot: It's been years since you've moved from country life, since you've forgotten about all the things you used to love about your hometown and where you grew up from... you didn't think it'd chase you to college in the city after almost a decade..

words: 1.413k

fanfic masterlist: .o1 .o2 .o3 .o4 .o5 .o6 .o7 .o8 .o9 .10 (will be updated..)

a/n:: dear lord, i didn't know a new fanfic would have this kind of attention so soon! i love it, but it's really unexpected ^^ anyways, here's chapter two, and i hope i can keep the pacing of chapters the same~

~~

Thank you for reading this bit! Enjoy~

. . .

Should I?

It had felt like a few hours by now since you had first seen Sukuna at your class, when in fact, it's been days. You had been too scared to actually try and talk to him, to see if you could make things right.

What would he say? How would he act?

You didn't know, it was just a matter of time till you worked up the guts to speak to him. Constantly glancing over at his spot where he sat, simply trying to gain a glance from him.

He knew you were here, so why didn't he come say hello to you himself?

"That's all for today, class," Toji announced, running a hand through his hair and making a few students gush in the background. "You may leave a little ahead of time so have some fun before going to your next classes. Be sure to do your homework this evening too, it's twenty-five percent of your grade."

As the commotion of students standing and gathering their things buzzed around the room, your eyes fell onto the back of Sukuna's head again. He was currently packing his things in his bag as yet another suitor waddled over and began talking to him.

He seemed uninterested in the girl's tactics, as he simply stared and shook his head when they asked for a date and number. Sukuna didn't say anything as he put on his jacket and bag and then left.

This would be your only chance, you told yourself as you quickly grabbed your things and tossing your bag over your shoulder.

Rushing out of the room, you headed into the direction Sukuna left and stood confused in the middle of the hall, students and other teachers walking past you as you looked around. Sukuna had simply disappeared into thin air.

Damn, you sighed, fixing your bag up and heading towards your next class. Maybe next time.

. . .

One whole month. Still hadn't talked to Sukuna.

"You mean that little punk-ass kid you liked when you were little?" Getou asked, his weekly visit to your roomies being interrupted by your ranting.

"He wasn't a punk," You said, your cheeks flushed pink. "And it was just a little crush, get over it."

"That's my line."

Getou took a sip from his soda can, clicking to another channel on the T.V. as he waited for your roommate. "Shouldn't you just say hi?"

"I can't," You let out a groan, laying down on the couch next to Getou. "I'm nervous. I haven't seen him in over a decade.. it's insane he's here anyway!"

Getou gave a low chuckle to your little rants, listening calmly until your roommate called on him for her sexual needs. Sighing, Getou crushed his empty drink and stood, petting your head as he walked away.

"Hey, just go talk to him," He said as he tossed his can away, already undressing his torso and undoing his hair pin. "He probably misses you as much as you miss him.. or whatever cheesy romance movie you think you're in."

"I don't think I'm in a cheesy romance movie, asshole," You grunted, turning on your side and pulling up the couches decorative blanket.

Getou soon disappearing into your roomie's room and the sounds of a creaking bed soon echoing throughout the dorm rang loud as you grab the paper with Sukuna's dorm number on it. You quickly grabbed a few other things like your phone and a necktie and exited the, now noisy, dorm.

Quickly tying the tie to the doorknob, you looked up directions for your campus on your phone as you went down the dormitory hall. There wasn't much noise this week, most of your neighbors had practice or were nursing hangovers from their previous party the night before. It was a Friday. Normal behavior for them.

Not you though.

You weren't the average party goer, but you have been to a few with Gojo and Getou, and didn't really enjoy your time shared on scene. Most girls were hooking up with the closest thing they could grab, Gojo being one of the obvious targets and leaving the party with at least two women strapped to each arm.

You understood his charm, though it never worked for you.

"Why don't you just let me?" Gojo would often ask the moment he was drunk enough, his lips a pretty pink as usual with some type of alcoholic beverage tainting his normally minty breath.

"Bet I'd make that pussy cream so hard too~.."

And around then he'd earn a one-way ticket to getting his ass kicked. You were always reminded of how much of a man whore Gojo was during the weekends and breaks for school. Playing with more than one persons heart and ending up with another phone number under his belt.

Though, in your mind, Sukuna's behavior seemed different from Gojo's.

He was quiet and rather harsh to any girls that had wanted to "date" him during his younger years. If you'd even consider dating at such a young age.

Anyways, you had finally made your way into the men's dormitory. A weird smell hitting your nostrils that you assumed was a 'man's smell', though you choose to ignore it as you make your way to the second floor and try to find Sukuna's dorm. It wasn't long until you were stopped by some drunken boys that made you sigh and explain your situation. Though, it fell on deaf ears and you pushed past them to the next floor.

Third floor: No luck.

Fourth: No luck.

You were about to give up when you saw the long awaited number of Sukuna's dorm. With a relieved and nervous sigh, you gave yourself a proud smile and slowly walked up to the door. You didn't hear anything from inside, but you knocked all the more and waited patiently.

After a few agonizing minutes, the door clicked open and you saw a messy haired and sleepy Sukuna. His eyes were dazed and droopy, some indents of the bed sheets he was probably sleeping on imprinted on his face and arms. His shirt was messy and his sweats were not really much different except for their grey color.

It had been so long since you saw him, and it was strange to see such a difference in him.

He didn't have any bandages on him that'd signify that he was just in a fight, minus a band-aid that was on his finger. Sukuna also appeared more mature, and grown. Nothing like the boy that you left behind in the Sticks.

"Ah- H-Hello, Sukuna.." You mumbled to yourself, unable to take in the cute sight of Sukuna being tired. Maybe he just woke up?

"Hmmph.." He responded, rubbing his eye and trying to take in who you were. What was your name again?

"Wait.. Y/n?"

Sukuna's voice let out a croak, coughing as his eyes began to focus on you. There was little hesitation before you smiled even brighter and blushed a little, waiting for a hug from him, even if it was brief.

But what you expected wasn't what you got.

"What are you doing here?" Sukuna asked, his eyes narrowing and his posture changing. He went from tired and leaning against his door frame to arms folded and full attention on you.

It wasn't in a friendly manner either.

"I-I was asked by our Economics professor to come see you!" You stuttered out, feeling a small pit of sadness well inside you at what little recognition he had towards you.

Didn't he miss you? Not even a little bit?

"Well, you can go now," Sukuna huffed, his eyes more red than when he was little. "I'm doing fine."

Such harsh words. Not even a hello?

"Wait, don't you miss me?" You asked, your voice strained, that childish flutter in your heart. "It's been so long, don't you want to get to know each other again?"

"Not really."

Why were you so persistent? It was strange, you've never wanted to see someone this badly. And it had been years since you've even had a thought about Sukuna.

Were you coming down with something?

"Is that all?" Sukuna asked, his voice weak and tired, rubbing the tiredness from his eyes once again. "I want to get some sleep before classes."

"Um.. y-yeah," You mumbled, your heart aching as Sukuna closed to door on your face and left you confused.

Why didn't he miss you?

a/n: already so much attention?! i love it but wow, i was expecting it after a few days not this fast! anyways, idk when i'll be posting the next chapter but i thought i'd tag a few extra ppl that i thought would want to read this fanfiction, but if you wish to not be tagged, tell me. i don't want anyone uncomfortable ^^ i cannot believe it took so long to make this chapter! i'm sorry, i've been working on my Kinktober things! (i plan on posting ten drabbles for the last 10 days of kinktober so i hope i get those out soon>&lt;)

Chapter Song Theme: — bei maejor - lights down low // slowed + reverb

taglist: @mageyboo, @mzladyd, @mysticwonderlandangel, @sukunaspersonalfleshlight, @kawaiipenguin20, @k-indie, @okkotsufav, @cafeinthemoon93, @pulchritxde, @bontenbunny, @deepinballs, @kleeboomed, @fallenfeversstuff, @fiierytearzx, @wo-ming-bai, @ririkaxbz, @instantgalaxysheep, @watyousayin, @z3r0art, @sukunaobsessed, @lik0, @sukunasfirstlove, @princesstiti14, @nemoyr, @ladywolf44005, @cat-mak20, @coffee-on-a-rainyautumn, @hxlalokidottir

last chapter || next chapter

[kakashisthickthighs]

i am thinking about if getou and gojo really did continue talking afterwards and like the tiny intricate details and logistics of their lives.

they part in 2007. they had flip phones.

getou dies in 2016. they had iphones, instagram, snapchat, and dog filters.

when getou first goes rogue, shoko and gojo probably still have his number and are blowing his shit up. he probably has his phone off for the first days of it and turns it back on after. there’s no need to trash it out of a want to stay hidden—he won’t die unless they send an army or gojo himself.

when he turns his cell back on, he’s half-tempted to delete all his photos of jujutsu tech, with shoko, with gojo, and he gets as far as deleting maybe 15 of them in a heavy-breathed rage before convincing himself that maybe he doesn’t need to delete these. these are mementos of the said pinnacle of jujutsu, and they’ll come in handy when there are no non-sorcerers left.

he’s about to put the cellphone away before it rings. it’s satoru. he sighs. he calls once every day. it’s relentless, six or seven calls at minute intervals. getou almost laughs at it—the world’s strongest, desperate.

a month after his disappearance, he calls every night at ten. sometimes the pixels on his cell read 10:04, 10:21, the latest was 10:42. it becomes a ritual, agonizing every night wanting to finally beat gojo at something, to make him lose. but suguru finds himself holding his breath as 10pm wanders by every day, breathing easy only when his phone stops buzzing.

maybe one night he’s yet again alone in his shoebox apartment, assorted belongings littered about, convincing himself this was the best path for him. not jujutsu tech, the horrible missions, the loneliness, the taste. it feels better here, where no one else is happy.

he’s lost in a daze when his phone rings. it’s been three months and satoru won’t let up. every night. he scoffs and flips his cell open just to sneer and make a point, to feel powerful in his own mind, but once the line connects, he’s silent, mouth agape and eyes wide that he actually picked up.

he hears static from the other side, a shift of fabric, a shaky inhale. “suguru, you fucking idiot,” gojo sneers, loud on the other end, “what’d ya pick up by accident?”

getou can’t help but laugh from the bottom of his heart. his abs are burning and tears are falling by the time he contains himself, and memories flood back. selfies, dumb finds, food pics, phone bills crazy all from hours on the phone together. there’s satoru’s voice, and then there’s lofi samsung static-lined satoru’s voice. both sound like home.

“suguru—“

“satoru,” he breathes, and this is what it feels like to talk again. he’s lived in this apartment in silence for the past three months, voices only coming from his saved videos.

“come home, suguru.” they both know it’s impossible.

getou chuckles again into the speaker. he can almost see it, satoru’s spindly form, one leg propped up on a chair, elbow resting on it as he holds the phone in distaste. or maybe he’s completely prone, jolted awake by a voice he hadn’t expected to hear.

“satoru, you’ll be fine,” he chimes, hanging up. he squeezes his eyes shut and swallows a sigh, and just like that, he’s left home again.

three years later the calls have stopped. the iphone 4 comes out, and the world is awash in touch screens, app stores, and missing charging cables. it’s time for an upgrade, and getou powers off his flip phone—his youth—one last time and tucks it gingerly into a shoebox. he starts completely anew with no data to transfer.

gojo meticulously transfers every contact and double checks only one number. it’s the first call he makes on his new phone.

the number you have dialed is not in service—

he hangs up and slows his breathing. he doesn’t delete the number. suguru, the contact reads.

you’ll be fine.

[seiyasabi]

A Night To Die For

(Happy Halloween lol, this is a Scream AU with Getou and Gojo :PPP

TW: !noncon!, !murder!, violence!!!, use of kn*ves in a harmful manner!, takes photos of u w/o ur consent!!, creampie!, double penetration!, use of zip ties!!!, degradation!, your friends are no longer w us, cat v mouse!, choking!, slaps you across the face!, etc.. 

Please proceed with caution!!!)

The world goes by in a blur, as you sprint through the quiet house. The house party from an hour before is clearly gone; the music that practically vibrated the walls and the voices of your college classmates silent. 

You can hardly hear the footsteps behind you, but the man’s heavy breathing is what truly alerts you of his presence. 

Him. The killer. The one that slaughtered all of your classmates in cold blood. 

Shit, you’re really in for it now. 

Rounding a corner at top speed, you almost trip over the body of a classmate. There are a few bodies scattered throughout the kitchen, almost completely blocking the way to the back door. So, with bated breath and partially closed eyes, you hop over their bodies, trying not to slip on the copious amount of blood on the ceramic tile below. But, with a brief glance behind you, you see that the killer doesn’t give as much grace. He practically stomps down on each of the deceased, causing a disturbing chorus of noises throughout the silent home. 

Deciding not to dwell on it, you push forward, hopping right in front of the locked door, and unlocking it with quick fingers. Shoving it open, you leap over the back stoop, and continue to run. Maybe if you get to the main road, you can live. 

The green foliage around you blends into a blur, as your boot clad feet slap against the dirt road. You try to run in a zig zag fashion, as if you’re running from a pissed off gator, hoping that the man behind you would make a dive at your feet and miss, possibly giving you a bigger head start. 

But, he keeps up with your pace, and you can’t help but think that he’s doing it on purpose. It seems like he’s dragging out the inevitable, which makes the entire situation even worse. 

Luckily, it seems that luck is on your side! A familiar car suddenly comes speeding down the road, screeching to a halt just beside you. Without thinking, you tuck and roll inside the backseat, slamming the door behind you, and forcing down the lock. Your breathing is ragged, as if you just ran a 5K and won. But, you need to tell the driver what just happened. 

“Holy shit! We gotta get out of here, there’s a psycho chasing me!” Glancing up, you realise that the person in the driver's seat is a classmate who wasn’t in attendance; Satoru Gojo, “Oh my god, Gojo, you’re so lucky you weren’t there! The masked killer showed up to the party, and-“ The other door of the backseat opens, as the masked figure climbs inside. Your hands slap at the door you just locked, quickly flicking up the lock, only to try the handle, and for it not to open. You practically throw your entire weight onto the door, yet it doesn’t budge. The child lock must be on, “What the fuck, what the fuck-“ 

The masked man sits on the seat without issue, letting out a laugh through the voice modifier in his mask, “You just don’t know when to stop, do you?” 

Gojo lets out a condescending giggle, fingers tapping against the steering wheel, “Nope, she doesn’t! Isn’t she just so adorable?” 

Your eyes practically pop out of your head as you size up the situation. Was there possibly two killers? That would make a lot of sense. But, who the fuck is the second killer?? 

You don’t get to ask, before you’re snatched up by your hair, and in one swift motion, the masked man forcefully zip ties your hands together. You try to kick at him, shouting curses at him and the white haired man, but it’s to no avail. Your hands and feet are bound, and the plastic digs into your skin uncomfortably. 

Without much effort, you’re dragged into the unknown man’s lap, held like an unruly cat who constantly escapes their owner, “Stop trying to run off- we caught you. That’s the end of it.” 

You all but hiss at him, “Fuck you! I’m not going to die without a fair fight! Take these off and I’ll-“ 

“You’ll what, sweetheart? Beat him silly?” Gojo teases in a sing-song fashion, “I don’t think you’d win, he’s like a man-sized bear.” 

That draws a chuckle from the man your currently thrashing on, which pisses you off even more, “Fuck you too! Who the hell decides to be the getaway driver of a spree killer? He just killed thirty of our classmates and you don’t even care!” 

The white haired man pretends to think upon your words for a moment, before speaking again, “Well, that’s because I don’t. They had it comin’, only usin us for our kickass parties and free booze.” 

You let out an incredulous scoff, before trying, and failing, to headbutt the masked man you’re currently on. This results in an earth shattering smack being delivered on your cheek, causing a loud yelp to echo throughout the car. Gojo tuts at you like a disappointed parent. 

“No need to be mean, sweetheart. We’re not going to hurt ya, I swear.” 

You rub your now injured cheek with your bound hands, tears gathering in your eyes, “As if I’ll believe that. You’re both responsible for killing-“ 

“Nevermind that,” The masked man grunts out, a large hand practically bruising your hip within his grip, “We’re taking you back, and it’s within your best interest to behave yourself. Satoru may let your behaviour slide, but I won’t.” 

You try to bite at him, but this time, a large hand grips your neck, completely restricting your airflow. Your bound hands try to scratch him, but the leather gloves on his hands stop your ministrations from working. 

“You just don’t learn, do you?” His grip seemingly impossibly tightens, causing your eyes to practically roll into the back of your head, “Now, maybe a nap will do you some good.” 

Gojo quickly intervenes, putting the car into park and almost coming out of the driver’s seat in one big motion, “Now, I know our princess is actin kinda bratty, but there’s no reason to give her brain damage, Suguru.” 

Of course his accomplice is Getou. That asshole was always a mean spirited person, as he took it upon himself to bully you all throughout High School. 

He releases your throat, causing you to take in a large gulp of air with a gasp. You fall forward a bit, hitting your head on the passenger side front seat, and slumping onto the backseat. Your chest rises in quick succession, causing both men to look at you in mild interest. 

“If you’re going to kill me, you might as well just do it now.” 

Your voice is hoarse and breathy, as you’ve come to accept the reality of the situation. These two fuckers are going to kill you, and there’s nothing you can do about it. 

Gojo climbs into the backseat, lifting up your top half, and settling himself behind you, sandwiching you between himself and the bully. 

He settles his hands against your waist, shoving his head between your neck and shoulder, “We’d never, sweetheart. We only want to keep you.” 

You let out a humourless laugh, “What, like a pet?” 

Getou’s glove-covered hand returns to your neck, giving it a small squeeze, “Precisely. Now, be a good girl, and stop fighting us.” 

Before you could give a smart quip, Gojo shoves the front of your dress down, exposing your breasts to the ghost-face masked man in front of you. You give an indignant shout, trying to turn onto your side to block the man’s view, but the masked man grabs your shoulders to hold you steady. 

“Don’t hide from us,” Suguru practically growls, shoving your dress up and over your hips, exposing your black lace panties. Reaching towards his hip, he pulls out a Polaroid camera. Gojo grabs your shoulders, holding you still and not allowing you to block yourself with your bound hands. The bright flash of the camera blinds you momentarily, and the sound of a printing photo practically echoes throughout the car. 

“You don’t mind if we take photos do you?” Gojo asks in a joking tone, two fingers coming down to pinch one of your nipples. You jump, writhing and glaring at the men. 

“Fuck you! Just let me go!” 

“Oh, we will,” Getou says.

 “Fuck you, he means,” Satoru grins. With that, the dark haired man yanks off your panties, lifts up your legs, and drapes them over his shoulders. Your ankles are still bound, making this very uncomfortable, due to how broad he is. 

“Let me Go! Let me go! Just kill me already!” Tears bead your waterline, dripping down your face in thick streaks. 

Gojo brushes his hand (over your scalp/ through your hair), shushing you, “Don’t panic, (Your Name), we’ll take good care of ya.” 

With that, Getou doesn’t hesitate to grab you by the fat of your thighs, using a few fingers to spread your pussy open. Gojo tweaks one of your nipples, whilst the other goes down towards your cunny, gently swiping against your clit. 

You let out a small gasp, as his rough fingers play with your perfect cunny. Closing your eyes, you try to pretend like this isn’t happening, but the rapid wetness growing between your legs begs to differ. Both men watch in fascination as you choke back moans. 

Getou releases a thigh to grab the Polaroid camera, taking another picture of your defilement. A few tears continue to fall down your face, as you let out a small whimper. 

“Fuck, you’re getting so wet,” Gojo dips two fingers into your pussy, massaging your clit and gspot all in one go. A sweet moan finally escapes your lips, as both men all but moan themselves at your cute reaction. 

The white haired man slips in two more fingers, stretching you in a way that had you bucking against his fingers. 

“This is better than that time we watched her hump her pillow,” Getou murmurs, pinching at the fat of your thigh. You’re unsure how he’s able to see so well out of that creepy mask, and just the thought of them not only stalking you and killing your friends has you snapping out of the pleasure filled haze you were just in. 

“No more, please, no more. You’re scaring me-“ 

“Good,” Gojo rips his fingers from your dripping slit, pushing you farther up than before, as he slides underneath you. He makes quick work of his pants, pulling out his cock and slapping his mushroom shaped tip against your slick cunny. Without warning, he bucks his way in, causing a shrill scream to escape your lips. 

His hips stutter at the feeling of your walls massaging him so perfectly, he rewards two fingers massaging your clit. 

“How does she feel?” Getou is practically drooling at the sight of your cunny being fucked, he wants to share you so badly. Mold your pussy into the shape of both of their cocks. 

“Like heaven. Ya need to feel how she’s milking my cock,” Satoru slurs, using his free hand to grab the dark haired man by his costume, and drag him farther towards you. 

The masked man shucks his costume over his hips, unbuttoning his own pants and pulling his prick out. He presses forward, trying to squeeze his way in underneath the white haired man’s cock. 

“No! Stop, it won’t fit!” Gojo releases Getou, only to throw your bound hands over the black haired man’s shoulders, joining your bound wrists. 

“It will, I’ll force it in if I have to,” Getou grits out, somehow menovering Gojo’s cock out of the way a bit to slip inside. You choke on air, eyes practically popping out of their sockets. 

You feel so full, like you’re being choked from the inside out. Both men let out their own moans, relishing the feeling of you squeezing down on them. 

Without warning, both start to move at their own pace. Gojo continues to rub your clit, causing your hips to jolt against your own wishes. More moans pour from your lips, as you bounce from each thrust. Getou’s gloved hands squeeze your tits, paying special attention to your sensitive nips. Satoru bites and suckles your neck, leaving dark love bites over the bruising strangulation marks. 

“Your pussy is perfect, sweetheart, practically choking my cock.” 

“I knew you were the right one for us. You’re the surviving girl, the heroine in this story.” 

You don’t like the dialogue, but the feeling of your impending orgasm has you moaning like a bitch in heat. Your eyes are rolling, mouth hanging open. Gojo’s free hand reaches up and cups your jaw, turning your head in his direction to give him a sloppy kiss. 

You try to pull away, pleading, “Stop, oh my god, im gonna-“ 

Gojo cuts you off with a smirk, “You gonna cum? Go ahead, cutie, we’ve been waiting for this all night.” 

With that, your hips practically slam down on them, pussy creaming and squirting all over the two of them. 

Both men moan, as Getou pinches one of your nipples, causing you to clamp down even more, thus throwing him over the edge. He cums deep inside of you, coating his and Gojo’s cock. 

“Fuck, this pussy is magical,” Satoru whines, as Getou pulls out. The masked man removed your wrists and ankles from behind his head, rolling his neck until it cracks. Sitting up from his hunched position, as he and Gojo reposition your body. Your legs are now behind Satoru’s back, leaving you in missionary. Your head is in Getou’s lap, his cock resting against your face. 

“What’re you doing? Aren’t you done?” More tears fall down your face, but Gojo continues to smile.

“I haven’t cum yet, sweetheart! Ya wouldn’t blue ball me, would’ja?” 

“I-what? Just kill me already, stop this torture!” 

Getou grabs your wrists, lacing all ten of your fingers with his, “We already told you; we aren’t going to kill you.” 

You shake your head, not believing their words. 

“Don’t worry, (Your Name), you’re our final girl! And we’re gonna keep you forever,” Satoru practically sings, as he starts to buck his hips again, “Fuck, even after fucking you stupid, you’re still so tight. I’ll never give you up, sweetheart, and neither will Suguru. Even if you try to get rid of us, we’ll always come back!” 

Suguru lightly smacks your bruising cheek, “Open up, kitten. I just know your throat will feel like a second pussy.” 

You’ve never felt more helpless than this very moment. 

Maybe it would’ve just been better if you’d died with the rest of your classmates. 

[ikemenomegas]

Getou Suguru x Reader

"Somewhere there is a simple life"

or "four sorcerers' day in the world of humans, four years after betrayal"

tw: omegaverse, geto typical murderous mentions? children being cute? hints of past satoxsuguxreader, mentions of pregnancy

Sometimes you wonder if things could have been different, if you could have had this happiness in some other time, in some other place. It doesn't matter now, you suppose. There are no other times, no other places. Suguru has made his choice, and you have made yours.

And you have chosen to have moments of happiness, just like this one, for as long as you can.

Morning light slants early and golden over the table. Mimiko is, as usual, quiet, but she is awake, responding in her breathy voice to your questions and tentatively padding around the kitchen with you. She takes small dishes from your hand and sets them on the table.

The table is filled with them. Many colors and a traditional set up of different kinds of vegetables, broiled fishes, salad, tofu and bean curds.

Nanako had tried to help, but she'd sat down and fallen asleep again with her head against the wall, phone face down on her thigh. She's drooling a bit, so deeply asleep, and it makes you want to laugh.

Mimiko catches your eye and you tilt your head to her sister. She rolls her eyes a bit, smile playing about her mouth and she silently sounds out "playing Ace Attorney" and goes back to working around her sleeping twin, rearranging the plates to her heart's content.

Suguru catches you on the shoulder, fondness in his voice when he says "We spoil them."

"Who spoils them," you raise any eyebrow at him and press your lips to the juncture of his jaw, breathing in his scent, still heavy and warm after taking an early call in your bed.

With Mimiko's back turned and Nanako still soundly asleep, you nip a little at the skin over his scent gland and make a low playful sound in your throat at the spark of mischief and warning in your mate's dark brown eyes.

"Everything okay?" you ask him.

His arm slips around your waist as he sags against your back. "Yeah, just some little remnants that don't want to fall in line. Toshihisa is going to handle it."

"Good. You promised to take a break."

"You promised to take me to ride the boats," Mimiko appeared in front of you and looked up at Suguru.

He crouched down, backs of his pajama pants touching the floor. You missed seeing him like this more often. He was usually in the priest's garb which still made him seem somehow untouchable. It wasn't just the clothes, it was the persona.

You'd never really though of Suguru as an actor before, but now he had a half a dozen faces he seemed to switch between and some of them were less pleasant than others. You never feared he would hurt you, but it hurt nonetheless to see his pain curdled to hatred the way it had.

He ruffled Mimiko's hair. "Soup, showers, sheets," he listed off on three fingers, "then the boats."

Mimiko puffed out her cheeks. She might be the quiet twin, but she was often the more stubborn. Sometimes you thought Nanako just complained for her and that was why she was louder. It was good though to see them loud.

Suguru had told you from the beginning what happened in the village and it hadn't surprised you that both of the twins had been quiet and anxious for almost a year.

"Ah, right, the soup," you murmured and left them to their staring contest.

As planned, once Nanako was awakened and everyone had eaten, the girls had showered, and new bedding had been placed in your room and the twins' room, a load of the laundry started in the washer, you all headed to the park.

The train was not as crowded now that rush hour had passed but Suguru still pressed close to you, a twist to the corner of his lips which he hid in your hair when anyone human brushed by him. You beckoned Mimiko and Nanako close as a pack of students pushed onto the train.

You leaned up to murmur something in Suguru's ear and accidentally caught the eye of a beta woman sitting in one of the seats.

She must have mistaken the stress in your eyes, because she carefully rose and offered it to Suguru.

The transformation was disquieting, the way Suguru's expression relaxed into a sheepish laugh and he tried to refuse.

The beta woman said something about having young kids and Suguru finally sat down, half to shut her up you suspected. Nanako clambered on top of him. You had seen her watch the exchange with attentive eyes and it seemed she had resolved to help Suguru play act.

You inclined your head in thanks to the beta and covered your mouth with your sleeve, laughing a bit at his expense. Suguru gave you a sulky look when Mimiko joined her sister, choosing to stand with her hand braced on Suguru's knee while you pressed close behind her to give the train car a bit more breathing room.

Upon exiting the train at your station, Suguru found a restroom to wash his hands and yours before you all found your way above ground again.

Everyone relaxed once you reached the park. Natural green spaces were places of relaxation and healing and seldom attracted as many curses as other gathering places. If they were present they were usually easily dealt with.

It was a little more difficult to carry your tanto around these days. It was harder to hide the residuals of a cursed tool, and it was dangerous to carry a blade in public. You also typically didn't need it.

Suguru collected so many curses now, you thought sadly. Your grip on his fingers tightened as you walked side by side, watching Mimiko and Nanako run along the paths and into the forest.

One of those curses, a cute thing that looked somewhat like a couch cushion or maybe that footrest from the movie with the singing furniture, chased after them, baring its teeth like a little dog at the birds that fluttered around the pavement.

The twins called for you two to hurry up, dashing back and forth as you made your way to the boats.

They had already chosen a pair of swans - one white and one a pale blue - when you made it to the docks. They were deep in the process of deciding which one of them would sit with Suguru when he went over to egg them on.

You shook your head, smiling while you paid the woman at the counter. She offered you a knowing sort of smile when Suguru grabbed the back of Nanako's collar, preventing her from nearly dashing into the water.

You clapped your hands, holding up the tickets. "Who's going to ride with me first? Ah, you've been giving Suguru so much attention, I think I'm feeling lonely. The kids must not think I'm fun anymore."

Nanako shrugged out of Suguru's grip. "Mimiko, you should sit with them."

"No way," Mimiko said quietly, "you didn't help set up for breakfast. You should spend more time with them."

Suguru looked up at your stunned face and laughed, his brows crinkling together and shoulders shaking.

"You're their teacher," you said to him, putting on a show of being hurt, "shouldn't you teach them better manners?" You put a hand on your chest, "My feelings are hurt, no one wants to sit with me and win the boat race."

"Boat race?" the twins looked up in tandem with the cursed spirit that was still running around their feet.

You sighed, closing one eye. "Hmm. I don't know if I want to anymore. Everyone seems to want a peaceful ride with Getou-sensei. Maybe I should just go find us some ice cream instead."

The sisters looked at one another and you smirked to yourself, meeting Suguru's eyes. Something flashed through them, troubled or melancholy maybe.

Maybe you were laying it on a little thick, imitating the kind of games that used to work to distract Satoru and pull Shoko out of her isolating distance. Now your heart gave a real pang which you brushed aside as the twins seemed to come to a conclusion and flocked towards you, pushing you into the white boat. Nanako had leapt in and was poking around in curiosity.

It had already been four years. You'd only been at the school for three.

A dull bang on the outside of the boat startled you from your thoughts. Suguru leaned through the window. "Do you know how to drive this thing?"

You looked down at the pedals below your feet. "It can't be that hard," you replied.

"And," you grinned at him, "it's not like I was planning on playing fair."

Suguru smiled back. "How funny, neither was I."

It was fun to stretch the limits of your power for once. Since living at Suguru's compound you didn't need to go and risk your life as often. Sometimes you went out to deal with matters that stressed his tolerance for human hypocrisy, but mostly people came to him.

You used your cursed technique to make the boat go faster while Suguru summoned a pair of water-born curses to pull his boat.

The twins laughed and cheered each of you on, clambering between boats in a manner that would have gotten you all yelled at if you hadn't made your way to a quiet part of the river.

Eventually they grew tired and the boats were returned. They were tired enough to be subdued while eating the lunch you brought but the food restored enough of their energy that they clamored to be carried home.

Suguru huffed under Nanako's weight when she threw herself onto his back. "I think it's time to find something big enough to carry everyone. You're getting taller."

Mimiko made the decision to keep a hold of your sleeve.

"Are you sure you don't want to be carried too?"

Mimiko looked up Nanako who grinned at her. When you crouched down, she carefully wrapped her arms around your neck before you stood up.

"Aren't we taking the train back to the temple?" she asked quietly.

You glanced at the back of Suguru's head but he gave no indication one way or the other. He'd do anything for the twins. They'd grown up in the countryside and the Tokyo trains in their massive stations could sometimes still be something exciting for the girls.

"Getou-sensei doesn't want to go down there with all the stinky monkeys," Nanako said, loudly.

"Na-"

"It's alright," Suguru said. "If you want to take a train back."

You felt Mimiko lean her head against yours. The girls were not quite yet nine. They would get heavy if you carried them for long, but you'd carried heavier.

"Let's walk for a bit," you said, drawing up to him so you were shoulder to shoulder, so the twins' knees would nearly knock together if it weren't for your mate's advantage in height. "Manami can come pick us up when we're done."

Suguru purred, in some kind of encouragement you thought, the deep sound rumbling out to encompass the four of you. You knew he hadn't brought it up because some of the curse users who were showing up were making you... territorial. Manami maybe wasn't entirely to blame. She was another alpha and had shown up when the bond-mark between you and Suguru was still new.

But Suguru had since made it very clear that she was lower in the hierarchy of the family than you were, which helped. A little. Enough that you were comfortable ordering her around for his comfort at least.

Manami still passed Suguru a tablet once she found you with a car. When you tried to glare at her in the mirror, he just handed it to you with a laugh.

Opening it filled you with dread. You didn't want to know what he was up to half the time. But it wasn't the worst thing you'd seen. And most of it was - oh.

"This is my project," you murmured, flipping through a document.

It wasn't very detailed. At best it could be called an outline of the information you'd sought, but you could fill in more of it.

Suguru leaned over your shoulder, pulling back from talking to the twins likely unwisely seated together in the front seat. He had rolled up his sleeves at some point and his skin where it brushed yours was very warm.

You glanced up at him, only for him to raise an eyebrow and hum in expectation.

You pressed your lips together and looked back at the tablet, slowly curling up with Suguru around it as he pointed out details and you made notes with a stylus.

He took it back when Manami said something you hadn't heard, but this time you let him, after giving him a stern look. "Nothing stressful," you reminded him lowly. Both of you knew it was more a hope than command, but he took it good naturedly.

He leaned forward to discuss a job with the other alpha and you leaned back, head on the sun-warmed leather seat, pressed thigh to thigh with Suguru, thinking of what was in the refrigerator to make for dinner, of how you would get around the school's - it was still weird to think of that as the marker for the sorcerer world, to be on the other side of "us and them" - monitoring in order to get the project going, wondering if it would be harder or easier to get Nanako to actually go to sleep after the day you'd had.

Who would have thought running off with a condemned criminal would turn out to be so domestic? It wasn't a new thought, but it certainly made it easier to pretend that this was not as bad as it could be. It was not as bad as it could be. Maybe there wasn't only blood at the end of the road.

Nanako called your name and you lifted your head up to see her squishing her head between the seat and the wall, hair all scrunched up against the plastic.

"Hmm?"

"Do you think Mimiko should dye her hair?"

"Does Mimiko want to dye her hair?"

The girls had decided on western style food for dinner and had finally quieted down enough that they were settled in front of the television with the workbooks one of the tutors Suguru tolerated had them working on.

Yet another reason to the move the project forward. For now, the girls had not yet divided the world around them into sorcerers and non-sorcerers. They were still receptive to genuine kindness from normal humans. But Suguru's distaste for the visitors was obvious to you and you didn't want to wait for the twins to start mirroring it to their tutors' faces.

You moved laundry from the washer to the dryer and filled the first machine up again while Suguru pulled ingredients down from the cabinets.

When you got back to the kitchen, it was your turn to sag against him, flopping to the floor and resting your head on his lower back when he went to rummage in the refrigerator for a drink.

"What?"

You let out a helpless giggle, all the thoughts you had quieted while in public rushing back now that you were back at home.

Suguru bit back a wide smile, the sort of genuine smile that reminded you why you'd left, made you glad that you'd followed him.

He sat on the floor at your side, arm propped up on one knee as he popped open a melon flavored pouch of vitamin jelly he'd found.

The sounds of Doraemon came from down the hall but neither of the kids made much noise. Still, you kept your voice low. "We're twenty-one with twin girls. I'm exhausted."

Suguru laughed, leaning over until his head was resting on top of yours. You just breathed in the scent of him, the faint remaining smell of sunlight and fresh water from the park which overlaid the traces of the inoffensive laundry soap you all used and over that his scent, shifting layers of pine and blackberry, mint, and white tea. You would know him anywhere.

You reached up and felt his forehead with the back of your fingers. Still warm, like you had worried it might be.

Suguru pulled your hand away, pressing his lips to your index finger and threading your fingers together on his lap.

"It's fine."

"Let me worry for you," you say. If there is no one else, let me be the one to remember you are human.

"Alright," he says, such a soft affirmation, using his thumb to massage circles on your still captured hand while he humors you.

All the words pile together at the base of your tongue, flooding up now that they are given permission. He's been working too hard - consuming curses from humans that make even you tempted to try your hand at the kind of murder that's more than just business, relocating to this temple in the last year, making sure that the operation is entirely under the radar so that he doesn't get caught before he's ready, managing the incredibly petty squabbling between the chairmen and leaders of the cults he's pulled together under his feet.

And it's not like you're not also stressed. You're not kidding when you say it's hard work parenting when you're technically still on the run. It's easy to transfer money so thankfully you don't have to do something as stereotypical and dastardly and inconvenient as drag actual bags of cash around, but at your insistence there are go-bags in your closet, one for each of you. You know Suguru has made that stupid little worm with the infinite stomach swallow things other than weapons.

Maybe there is money in there. Who knows. But the point is you're not the one that gets hit with dry heats on top of migraines and nausea so bad he can't eat, and you're not the one suffering through them just to make another point in front of the monkeys.

And you miss Satoru. You don't know why you're thinking of him so much today. Maybe because he always found a way to make Suguru laugh and it's getting harder and harder to do that these days. He spends too much time behind the faces he wears when he's in that stupid monk's uniform.

You eye the vitamin pack and Suguru rolls his eyes at you, squeezing more of the jelly into his mouth.

"We don't know if this one is going to go all the way," he reminds you. Which is probably why he picked that and not one of the calpico or canned teas. You swear he eats like an old man (or a child, you recalled Suguru and Satoru picking through bags of candy on the lawn, no middle ground). You'd learned to make shojin ryori dishes as a joke about the priest thing and because doing it calmed you down whenever you started panicking about what Suguru was doing at the rebranded Star Cult and what you were doing waiting at home like his stay-at-home alpha.

"The thing I hate most--" you hesitated but Suguru's clear apprehension spurred you on. "The thing I hate most is seeing you in pain."

He barely hesitates before he's pulled back enough to let you see the slightly licentious look on his face, a growl behind his words when he leans in close to your ear. "That's not what it felt like when you made me come screaming last time."

Immediately your face flares hot, rushing from your chest to the top of your head. You know he's trying to distract you. It doesn't stop you from whipping your head to the door and your breath going silent, shallow and quick. You're praying there are no approaching footsteps to match the rapid pattering of your heart in your ears.

There's nothing. Everything is right here in front of you, one hand clutching his stomach as tears of silent laughter spring to the corner of his eyes.

He's trying to be quiet as you are, cognizant of the kids not too far away, but a peal of laughter still escapes when he goes to take a breath. "Wish you could see your face."

It's very tempting to remind Suguru what his face looked like, flushed and panting, too strung out to look like anyone but himself, but you're not quite that shameless.

You're also not quite detached enough not to etch this face into your memory too. The one that looks like it comes from a different time and place entirely from anywhere you've been with Suguru before. You think that maybe this is what's on the other side of Suguru's poisoned dream.

Someone joyous and terrible, who does not need to understand their place on the altar of the world because it is already known, someone who understands without burden.

Yet it's distinctly immature the way he snickers at you trying to restore a bit of your composure by channeling the heat in your body away.

If anyone ever finds this memory, you will blame the impulsiveness of youth on the way you hiss out "maybe we should actually get you pregnant with twins and see who's laughing." It's not exactly fair to start something you can't finish - you can hear water boiling on the stove - but you can also hear the way the air catches in his throat and see red splashing across his cheeks like you've slapped him.

There's a tingle that goes down your neck when you watch Suguru shiver, even while your hands are already going to your mouth. "Sorry," you squeak out past your fingers.

Suguru coughed out a sheepish laugh, red slowly making its way to the tips of his ears. "Weren't you the one that just said two makes you tired? What are we going to do with four?"

Keep you out of trouble for a year?

"I don't know," you say instead, almost without thinking, still in shock at your own words. "People says babies are cute. We missed the twins' terrible twos so we'd get to do that."

"Who wants to experience temper tantrums?"

At that you scoffed your eyes, "Like you haven't seen someone way older through a tantrum before."

The red was finally fading from Suguru's cheeks as he rolled his eyes in agreement. He sucked thoughtfully on the supplement pack, sitting back against the wall. You knew you were thinking of at least one of the same people.

He stayed on the floor when you got up and dumped a package of pasta into the now roiling pot, stirring it doubtfully. It wasn't what you had grown up eating and even following a recipe you weren't always sure you had gotten things right. The kids seemed to think it was good enough though so you left it after dumping more salt into the water.

You settled back down next to him. So rare were the days when you got him, just him, all to yourself. No robes, no swallowing down bitter curses, no cruel, empty shape to his face when he returned.

The sun was starting to set.

You pressed your forehead to Suguru's temple, caressing his cheek and pulling him as close as he would allow. Something in him fell away, resistance or tension. He gave the vaguest shiver once more when you used your other hand to slip beneath the collar of his shirt and trace your fingers around the bite on the back of his shoulder.

It wasn't a sorcerer's mating. Suguru accepted your distance from the cults' cursework but would not risk the hold on his power. He'd wanted the mark though. You were not sure why.

He still seemed less on-edge when the inevitable scuffle came down the hall and you pulled apart with one last nuzzle.

"Can I have a snack?" Nanako asked, but you could see Mimiko hanging in her shadow for a second before she brought her workbook up with her and set it down on the ground at your side.

Suguru offered Nanako the rest of the vitamin supplement and she just wrinkled her nose at him. His eyes were soft when he heaved himself up with a sigh, stretching to treat you with a flash of his toned stomach.

He just seemed smug when you tsk'd at him and he went to start cutting up an apple for the girls to share.

You brought Mimiko over to the table where you pointed out the correct strokes on her kanji practice.

Dinner was a more subdued affair, children tired but satisfied in their adventures. The twins recount the boat ride. It seems to have satisfied Mimiko's curiosity but now Nanako wants to go back. There's a zoo in your future apparently, but also she likes the water. And clambering back and forth between the boats. She's got a delinquent streak in her, a confident irreverence that makes it all too easy to imagine some other way for how she'd come into your life.

Mimiko cajoles her, already intent on imitating Suguru's surface level decorum. Nanako's power has to do with pictures but Mimiko is the one who watches with sharp dark eyes.

It's disrespectful to the food to be filled with such dark feelings but you again feel a pulse of hate for the villagers you had never met. The ones who had locked such bright young girls in a cage. The ones who had likely been involved in their parents' deaths.

You're not glad that Suguru killed them all but you are glad that they have you now. Spilling pasta sauce across the table and pouring their salad on top of it so they have a hard time finishing both things and all.

More dishes, more laundry, then the children to brush their teeth while Suguru showers and then you do the same right after while he reads to them, telling them sorcerers stories of spirits and old heroes. It's a rhythm that is all too easy to follow. There is always something to do in the house and Suguru refuses "monkey" servants in his living space so you two do it all yourselves.

If you wanted, it would be easy to forget just how far you've stumbled from the life you once thought you would live.

Suguru's hair is so long it is still damp when you pull a comb through it, sitting cross legged on the low bed. It's left a wet patch in the middle of his back and you pull the shirt from his skin so it dries faster. Your knuckles brush the soft skin at the back of his neck when you lift his hair but it's so typical you are in one anothers' space he barely blinks.

How strange to be sentenced to death but, in these moments, no longer feel destined to die.

You twist layers of Suguru's hair around your fingers to keep it from frizzing up while he reads to you, book lying open in one broad palm while he turns the pages with his left hand.

It's a book of poetry. Suguru claims that practicing the careful cadences helps him when he has to speak at the cult. There is something rhythmic and hypnotic, quietly powerful and passionately mad about the speeches he makes to the masses, stepping into that role. But you like listening to him read because he does it without flinching, without forcing himself to passionately hate the hands that wrote the words. He does better when he doesn't see normal people. You've not quite figured out how to bring up the fact that non-sorcerers do most of the producing in the world and you're not sure how he expects modern life to survive the purge.

You suppose he doesn't, expect it to that is.

"-here I choose to dwell, the world in which I live, men have named a 'Mount of Gloom'. The color of the flower has already passed away while I set my gaze on trivial things-"*

His black hair is heavy like silk in your hands when you tug it out of the way to begin kneading into his back. Suguru's always been so beautiful. His shoulders are broad, his arms thick with muscle, his waist is wide too. He has a strong, solid silhouette built from years of fighting. He has scars, including the faded remains of the cross Toji had carved into his chest.

Sorcerers in this world did not often get a life of happiness.

Suguru put down the book in favor of pressing a kiss to the inside of your arm, pulling your fingers away from the scar. "You know having kids hurts, right?"

You buried your face in the back of his neck with a snort, rubbing your face into the soft sleep shirt and his solid back to scent your mate as he stroked the soft skin where his lips had just touched, wrapping both of his hands around yours so it was engulfed in his warmth, dipping his head to press his brow to your wrist. The wrong kind of hurt, masked again by a poor attempt at humor.

With your free hand you pressed circles into the muscle of his lower back and hips. Suguru folded forward with a low hum. He let you go so he didn't pull you over his shoulder, but his hand chased yours, fingers still tangled together for a moment over his shoulder.

"You always get tight when you're stressed and then you get headaches," you murmured. Still the wrong kind of hurt.

Suguru called your name. He lay the book in its nook within his bedside table and twisted around so that he was looking at you.

Looking at you with one of those half-stranger faces, as he often did when he wanted to lie to you. Only for it to become him again, only him, a flicker of something through his eyes.

"I'm fine," he said finally. "We knew that achieving my dream doing was going to be difficult."

You hadn't gone with him to change the world together. You also hadn't gone with him knowing that you could love someone this much. Even through this madness.

His cheek was soft and his lips softer when you kissed him. "I know."

Suguru's soft expression was the last thing you saw before using your technique to turn off the light. He huffed in faint amusement but didn't complain. He had not released you and you did not want to let him go.

You were already half tangled together before you laid side by side in the dark but as you always did, you curled around one another. Even if you did not start out this way, as long as you woke in the same bed beside your mate, it always ended up like this - twined together like choking vines, legs slotted together, arms tossed around one another.

Tonight Suguru hooked you close by your waist. His head you tucked under your chin, slowly resuming running your fingers through his hair, massaging circles at the base of his skull and rumbling in pleasure when he purred low and sleepy in response.

Even though I cannot help you, thank you for letting me take care of you.

You didn't know what mask he would put on tomorrow, but you knew who he was right now. It felt like stealing, all these moments and days when he was just with you, young and laughing and finding out who he was without the weight of a new world on his shoulders. Forgetting for a moment the blood on his hands.

No, most sorcerers did not get a life of happiness, but you would take what you could get and tuck it tight to your chest. No matter if it took longer and longer to find Suguru, no matter if one day you could still lose him.

*the poems are the end and start respectively of tanka 8 and 9 (Kisen Hoshi and Ono no Komachi) pulled by happy chance from the Hyakunin isshu which was an anthology collected by Fujiwara no Teika in 1235 and translated in 1917 by Clay MacCauley.

[andypantsx3]

This is going to sound weird, but do you have any tips on how to gain traction as a fanfic writer? I've been trying for years and I get next to no interaction on my writing. I know I shouldn't care because I should be writing for myself, but it's still frustrating to see other writers get thousands of notes, and reblogs and asks praising their fics and I get maybe 20 likes. I've been looking into discord fandom groups but a lot of them don't allow people over 30, and I don't do well with busy groups anyway. I try to be active on my blog, and interact with other people and make myself approachable, but I'm getting so incredibly tired of talking to an empty space. Sorry, I think I ended up venting instead >_<

WARNING: DISCOURSE AHEAD

Omg hello my love!! First of all, I'm so sorry you feel this way! I have so many conflicting thoughts on this, let me try to get them in order for you!!

I guess, let me first start with some tips that I think actually answer your question, and then I'll just monologue about the ways I've been thinking about fandom recently, and you can skip that part if you wanna!

Part 1: Actual Thoughts on Your Question (lol)

I am possibly not in the best position to ask about this because I mostly happened to be in the right place at the right time, publishing my fics in the early part of the pandemic when people were more actively engaging in the fandom. But in my experience, outside of discord groups, other good ways to meet people and get your work out there are joining zines & collabs.

I'm not completely up-to-date with what the accounts are now that track these things, but there are several tumblrs and twitter accounts like BNHA Zines that exist to retweet & publicize zine posts. Look for zines that are in the interest check & application stages!! You can apply during the application phase and the good thing is that most zines will ask for an application piece and will judge you on your work rather than your follower count!!

Collabs are usually even easier because many of them are just open to whoever wants to join! I've only participated in server collabs but I've seen several posts cross my dash that are open to anyone. I'd probably monitor the collaboration and x reader tags on tumblr and join in on anything that looks fun!!

Another thing that I've noticed people do a lot is self-reblog their fics a couple times just to maximize their circulation. I've seen a lot of moots trying to make sure they hit good hours for different time zones and different days of the week to ensure their followers are at least aware that they've posted something if they don't have notifs on (I don't have notifs on so I'm grateful for these because otherwise I miss a lot!!). Even I have srb'd a time or two if I'm particularly proud of something lol.

And I think, if I also wanted to be a shark about things, I would try to get in on the ground floor of a fandom in its early stages!! For example, the second season of JJK is coming out soon and it's sure to bring a wave of new readers to the JJK fandom, especially for the characters like Gojo and Getou who look like they're gonna be the main focus of the season.

I think if you wanted to be extra sharp about things, you might time a fic release with some of the first couple episodes of a new season where you can be sure more people than usual will be poking around in the tags!! And if your fic is published during the early stages of a fandom, it's going to have more eyes on it overall than a fic published towards the conclusion of the series.

Anyway this is what I could think of. I hope this advice is practical and useful!! Now onto me blathering.

Part 2: Resisting Influencer Culture in Fandom Spaces

This part might be kind of controversial. I want to first acknowledge how easy it is for me to think and say these sorts of things when I'm already more than pleased with the amount of engagement I get. And I want to recognize that it is so, so deeply human to want recognition, community, and support for the things that we write.

I think it is so completely natural that you want interaction on your writing. All of us totally do, otherwise we wouldn't be publishing it publicly. If our work was truly, singularly for us and us alone, we'd keep it in the drafts lol. We put it out there hoping for praise and appreciation and connection, and in my opinion there is no shame in that.

So, admission time: I also definitely compare myself to other writers, and I have several times thought about transitioning more towards the type of content that drives higher note counts on tumblr: smuttier one-shots usually under 10k! I can see a huge difference in terms of just my own work on how my one-shots typically do in comparison to chaptered fics. And I definitely see how fast smutty imagines shoot up there in terms of note count.

But I was listening to a podcast episode recently on trying to sort of transition away from a metrics-focused approach to fandom. In the podcast, they talk about how in trying to legitimize fanfic as a literary mechanism, we've also sort of accidentally subjected it to our capitalist-influencer-mindset, where we see fic as more legitimate the more kudos it gets or the more followers it nets you, because in traditional influencer spaces, those followers are potential capital.

I'm definitely not saying you or I see people as potential revenue streams, but I think probably neither of us are immune to the culture at large, and we both probably carry some of internalized sense of our own value based on metrics, reach, and influence. And that sucks!!!!

Fandom, of all things, is supposed to be a specifically anti-capitalist space. We can't make money off of fanfic or fanart (legally, anyway lol), and we're all not the owners of the franchises either so none of our takes are necessarily more "valid" or weightier than others!! We're all supposed to just be trading stories around a campfire with no thought to their literary merit or monetary value. We're just supposed to enjoy the stories.

So, I don't know what the right answer is about how to try to resist the influences of our capitalist culture at large; I'm hoping someone smarter than me will tell me. But I do know that in fanfic, the value of your story can absolutely never be determined by how much engagement you get. Because fandom is not about metrics, and there is no inherent value in metrics. There is only the fun you had creating the story, and the depth of the connection you made with someone over it--even if that's just one other person.

And so I personally am at least trying to resist the lure of transitioning to smutty one-shots even though I think a lot of people would like that. Because what I like doing is writing my little 30k multi-chaps; those are my fave kinds of stories to tell, I'm not letting my metrics tell me what I should be writing.

I hope, at the very least, you know that your worth and the value of your story is not defined by how many other people have read it. And if you ever wanna chat more about this let me know, I'm still figuring this all out myself and could use friends to explore it with!!

[aetherin21]

An Image of my last spring

Pairing: Getou Suguru x Reader

Genre: Angst with comfort, small fluff

Notes: Reader is a sorcerer turned office worker just like Nanami :) if I ever see mistakes here I'll change and fix it in my Ao3. This has been in my drafts for like 3 weeks I think and I just wanna post it now before I forget hahaha also this is inspired by Dr. Park's words of Suguru being Satoru's last spring of youth and the Promotional art of the Season 2 of JJK :)

5:35 PM

February 3, 2017

Shibuya Station

Soulless is the sound of steady tapping that echoes through the air while the floor gently vibrates to where I currently stood. Its constant rhythm encloses the area in its own little bubble, creating an ecosystem far beyond any person's reach. 

At the corner of my eye, I could see the sight of rushing bodies reaching the depths of where I hid as I waited patiently for my train to arrive. Like a glorified aquarium, splashes of muddy white, blues, browns and black mixes in with the current school of people. It's not hard to miss their colorful forms as they slowly turn into a raging tide of their own. Their gradual awakening signals the beginning of the evening rush hour. And soon, without a doubt I'll be caught by that wave of meat.

With that thought, being unable to escape from its nauseating grip could make me kneel and pray to no one in particular. Dragging my vessel to its epicenter, fully engulfed by the unpleasant sensation of rubbing flesh and hot breath fanning through the tiny bumps of exposed skin; consumed by its awful flow. It's much easier to swallow the idea of being executed in a horrific fashion than to be judged by their so-called righteous mallet and scornful eyes. Forever condemned by its world court and abandoned with no other island besides my own. Is what I initially thought anyway.

"Maybe I should have done some overtime again…" I mumble to myself.

Deciding to Ignore the countdown of my impending doom, I exhaled the bitterness within me. Fiddling at the small screen I held. Distracting myself had become a ritual of mine, a sort of coping habit that developed through the decade that was so unkind. Letting myself submerge to another aether, not allowing a single thought or emotion leak through the cracks of my stone shell. Pumping the veins etched in me with calm adrenaline as if I am in a state of a passing nirvana.

Funnily enough, it reminds me of that film Rocky. Particularly that famous scene where the protagonist trained intensely while the song 'Eye Of The Tiger' plays in the background. Capturing the essence of his perseverance, strength and hardwork. Just like him, I'll be entering my own very montage except the loud music blasting through my ears will astral project my soul to another dimension as my body turns into a human sandwich. Very dramatic. I know but I would rather meet my end in style than to... Huh — Weird. That last line sounds awfully too familiar. Ringing unusual bells in the depths of my mind. 

Did I used to say that? It feels out of character. Out of place. It's too cool and somewhat edgy for someone like me to say. Yet it tasted a little foreign and familiar at the same time. Scratching my chin in place of a brain, I could only conclude I might have gotten it from someone else. But where exactly?

Think, think, think…It can't be from my coworkers nor from my family. They're all too normal and boring to say something like that. I don't have many friends to begin with either so that’s out of the question. 

With how tingly my tongue is, the answer seems to be at the edge already. Maybe it came from an action movie that I had watched before? It is rather cliche in format.  If I repeat it, will it come out? 

To meet my end in style. To meet my end in style. To meet my end in — 

Chanting it like a spell, I summoned what lies beyond those lines. But all too quickly, the grinning image of a boy flashed before my eyes. Both falling and burning way too fast as it reached the ends of my fingertips. Only its ashes remain before I could even hold it in the palm of my hands.

The lighthouse that often watches over me, sensed my growing sorrow within. Casting a stream of yellows beyond the horizon, it guides my sight towards the answers I seek. I remember where that line came from. 

Satoru, the annoying gigantic furby, used to play good cop and bad cop with another boy his size. Both of them were enamored by western films they constantly watch a lot. Sometimes they would often repeat every written dialogue like some new gag. Meticulously pushing every button they can to see what tickles our funny bones. It was annoying to deal with but also endearing nonetheless.

How could I forget something like that?

Looking at the station clock, its hands seemed to move painfully slow. Taking lifetimes to reach the five thirty-eight mark. On the other hand, the esteemed crowd from earlier had displaced themselves where they were supposed to be. Leaving me lost and jaded at a memory that had long since faded. 

Truthfully, I no longer have the courage and strength to pick every bit and piece that used to be a part of me. I let it all wash away from the lonely shore and let it erase what used to be who I am. Yet from time to time, a photo would emerge and greet me as I stood in the infinite sands alone. Images of old crammy classrooms, buildings and statues mock me in silence as I had forgotten everything. Only to remind me once again of what I used to cherish and the foolish thinking of everything lasting forever. That and also the free rides the assigned windows give.

Now, it makes me wonder if it was ever like that to that estranged boy in those photographs? The commute, I mean. I am curious to know; Was he able to dodge the mangy currents of limbs easily? His height seems to suggest so. Towering so much at such a young age. It gives this sense that he was unreachable, untouchable and unattainable especially to someone like me. The aura he gives off as he perches above exudes mystery, intimidation and a strange selfish holiness. I imagine being that tall has a lot of privileges. To be able to see the world that no mortal could have. Or just easily avoid any unwanted circumstance if he wished to. It's unfair, really. Both him and Satoru. 

But God does not play favorites. In some way or another, in any shape or form it will come for you. To balance the rules of this reality, judgment will strike at any possibility. Cutting down both the fair and the unfair, continuously hunting down anyone it deems to be worthy of such. From the station platform where I stood to the streets of Shibuya, the supermarkets from the residential district and any place it wishes; there was no way to hide from it. Just like the sea of meat that ogles its new victim. But I guess he already knew that. Right?

Ah, since we're on that topic. What kind of sandwich would everyone be anyway? I just think it's funny since I am going to be one in a few minutes. I think, for one, I am probably like those cheap konbini ones that sometimes dupe you with no filling. Leaving you disappointed as you take your first and last bite. Why that of all things? Guess I am too small to even fill up the space, too insignificant but still ends up getting squished by the bread. 

Shoko would probably be like those freshly homemade ones. The type that rejuvenates the soul as they take a mouthful. The feeling of home that dawns on the crevice of their bones while gnawing on the crunchy lettuce and juicy tomatoes. And once the last bite takes place a sudden realization of life struck. They jolt back from their wake and once again walk to another reprieve. Ah, I miss her. I wonder if she still has that bad habit of smoking.

Satoru, on the other hand, would be those luxury ones that cost a fortune but leave you with a thought, 'That's it?' A wasteful value or some popular commodity that's hard to reach. Beautiful, intricate and praised all while the dreaded guilt binds the person in an awkward greed as they throw money away for just a simple taste. Sprinkle in gold and baby blue, they'll feel they mattered. Even though it's just a sandwich. Although, to carry such high prestige, one could only be proud for there is no replica that can copy such material. Thus becoming the greatest snack of all. I can't believe this guy is the same age as me. 

But the question is, what about him? The dark haired boy that lingers behind the shadow of the one and only Gojo Satoru. 

I suppose with his size and sense of morals, he would be one of those premium fast food chicken sandwiches. Where the bun can't hold him in place cause all the limbs will spill out from the sides along with its special sauce, creating such a goopy mess on your hands as you eat. But due to being the cheaper alternative than Satoru, hands are more eager to devour what it has to offer. Blinding and burning everyone who tasted his tender meat. Along with myself. Ha! It suits that boy, right? Right…

Giggling to myself, these silly little ideas brought genuine joy to my lips. The foreign warmth that spreads through my cheeks as my eyes form into crescent moons. I can't help but think, how long has it been?

Too busy investing in drawing crude pictures of human comparison to wheat delicacies, I had failed to notice the shadow of the looming casket over my very being. The cries of its brakes scratching at the conch of my ear ripped me from la la land all too suddenly. As if it was demanding my attention like a dog and their favorite toy. Except, instead of such an adorable view, it's replaced by a pristine, well kept wagon that regurgitates passengers from its belly. Of course, everyone around me had waited in anticipation for this moment. Too eager to leave this dreadful place and confine themselves in the better space of their home. Except for me.

With the same sentiment, I too readied myself as the last person left the metal doors. Lowering my gaze and refusing to meet any watchful eyes, I let my legs move in autopilot. After all, the thing that I have dreaded since the very beginning is coming to a climax. I could only pretend to be a criminal waiting for the noose and prostrating myself to an ever exaggerated ruin. But amidst such a forlorn play, a scent had caught my foot mid step. 

Candies, cigarettes, incense, and sandalwood. 

Such an odd combination painted the air like a wretched canvas and brought cold sweat onto my skin. The colors of red, blue, violet and yellow blurs around my vision while accompanied by a distinct joyous laughter, seemingly mocking me in my wake. The faint words of goodbyes and farewells also catches my attention as I suffer from gut retching nauseousness. 

As if I knew whose voices they were.

I covered my face with my own two hands as a hint of bile threatened the edge of my throat. Knocking me into a hunching posture, heaving in sudden agony. The raunchy taste of sharp yet tangy acid covered my palette in a short amount of time that it had me in tears. It did not help that I could feel onlookers watch with both worry and annoyance at my blocking form towards their so-called freedom. 

Forced to wave a feign OK, I unwillingly apologized for the mishap I had caused and stepped away momentarily from the line. Letting myself recuperate and expel the visceral sensation from my body with much cleaner air. Although, I can’t help a part of me be annoyed as well. Does this person not have etiquette at all?

Bugged by my consciousness, unable to let it go. I searched for the origin of such a revolting smell. Looking left to right not moving from my spot. Hoping to give a piece of my mind to their disturbing work of art. An artwork that for some reason I couldn't help but chase in strange yearning. But of course, with my luck, there was no one attached to its disembodied stench. The culprit had already fled the scene of the crime. Leaving me, the victim, vexed and perplexed. 

But based on the contents of the stupid fragrance, that person probably had an ingenious idea to spray such a strong perfume to get rid of the cigarette and incense attached to their person. Still, regardless of reason, my head lingers in the direction to wherever it may have come from. Even foolishly imprinting it in my lungs like a masochist. After all, it's absurd for that boy to — 

“Be here with you?” 

April fools is still two months from now. I am not sure if I know anyone who celebrates such a childish event other than Satoru. I doubt he’ll come for me in advance either. Our relationship hasn't been the best in these god awful years. The last notable conversation we both had was around December.

Surely this is just a small bout of insanity. A figment of my wild imagination conjured from my exhaustion. After all, weeks of overtime can do wonders to the brain. It explains my sudden obsession with sandwich analogies and weird feelings of extreme melancholy. Or…Wait. Don’t tell me the strange smell came from a curse? Was I afflicted by it? 

The more the people, the more negative emotions spill out. This platform is a perfect den to give birth to such abominable creatures. Especially with the amount of impoverished salarymen and women who often take this train, spilling their unwanted frustration and bitterness onto the floor tiles. That must be it. 

Confronting the glass window of the train, I braced myself for the sudden encounter. Clutching my sling bag close, a small cursed tool can be found deep in its pockets. Carefully tucked away for emergencies just like this. 

Thankfully, it's been drilled into my subconsciousness on procedures regarding random contacts: First, always confirm the target. Second, never forget to put a curtain. Third, exorcise it with caution. If worse comes to show, then there's the fourth option, run away and call for the real professionals. Whatever this creature is, even at my grade, I can handle it. Is what I believe.

Yet, it seems nothing can prepare me for the familiar silhouette staring back at me. 

Slightly obscured by the reflection of sandwiched passengers, there he stood in his full glory. Hair tied up in a neat knot with only a few stubborn clumps falling above his eyes. Ears pierced by deep black gems that glimmer under the artificial lights. Soft lips, ever so curtly forming into a thin smile as his obsidian eyes contorted into a tender gaze. Seemingly admiring the reflection of the both of us finally beside each other. He didn’t change at all. Still the same as I remembered.

“It's been a while hasn’t it?”

Beep

Beep

Beep

Beep

I knew from the bottom of my heart that this isn’t an amalgamation of people’s negative emotions. As foolish as it sounds even with Ms. Tsukumo’s explanation about curses and sorcerers, I knew with one look this is mine. I am cursed and this is my haunted house. Because here you are with me. Alone. Together on this platform, purposely making me miss my train home. 

“You never said goodbye.” 

Humming a low playful tune, he linked his slender finger gently with the small of mine as the subtle wind blew over us. Just with that small gesture, the orchestra nestled within me didn’t know what sheet to read. Too confused about what to play in front of its single audience. So Instead, to appease the lone watcher, it chooses to perform all of it at once. Anger, joy, sadness and everything in between. What a laughable performance. 

“I guess, I owe you an overdue apology.”

The drumstick hits the surface harder than it should, resonating through every crevice of my flesh with a loud bang. My head sharply turned to his direction, controlled by the awful strike. His nonchalant and unremorseful response baffled my consciousness. “Guess!? Am I a joke to you? Is that the only reason why you’re here? To give me pity?” 

Ten years, that’s how long since I’ve last seen his face. And all he could do is mock me with his boyish smile while giggling at my sudden outburst. How cruel can he be?

Filled with distrust, my body flinched as I watched his hand delicately tuck a piece of hair behind my ear. His eyes still filled with never ending adoration even as my body betrayed him. “So this is what you look like after ten years.” he said as he now traced my cheek, holding me in the palm of his hand as if time never separated us. "You haven't changed at all. Still very pretty." 

I hate this. I hate the feeling of such soft bass melting my skin into nothing but putty. Smoothing the creases of my face as I plead for more. How even such a simple yet cliche string of words dulls my senses and becomes high just from its mere echoes. Furious, I wish I could be at this moment but furious I was not. “You're insufferable, you know that?”

Chasing foolishly his warmth, my head leaned into his touch. Too starved from his affection. All while the course of the symphony in my heart changes its tune to match the sudden drops of tears from my very own lashes. "And I hate you." I said to him bitterly. 

Unfazed by those petty words, he only laughed again but this time more softly. “I know and you still love me for it.” 

With a small step, the boy hovered his immense stature over me with ease. Casting a long shadow on my form as if it was a cage I can’t escape from. I already know what he’s about to do so I only stood patiently like a good girl, ready for him to consume. 

“I miss you.” He prayed on my forehead. “I really miss you.” He whispered next, on top of my nose. “I really did.” He continued to edge at the corner of my lips, drinking my silent cries away. “And I still do now.” He said as he finally took my lips with his own. 

There we mended and molded back to each other's heated embrace. Hands desperately closing the space till there was none as we spoke in a language we both knew how to communicate.

Ever so gentle that he is, his tongue asks for my permission as we move further than just a simple dance of mouth. The wet sensation that swipes at the entrance had me reeling through my core as I let him do as he pleases. Basking in the warmth of him, the boy smiled as he conquered me. He knew I was easily intoxicated, how easily I get addicted and he knew the power he has over me. A special privilege only he could have. A privilege of having me.

However I am not the only one. The way his hand desperately moves over from my front and on to my back, rubbing at whatever clothed flesh he can latch on too. Dying for more skinship. Even the way his breath hitch and moan vibrated through my being, I could tell he too is drunk from this public display of debauchery. 

We were both hungry and that's the truth. But not in the sense of lust or desire but rather a deep yearning of forgiveness and loss of affection. Even our fervent moans turn to songs of devotion under the cathedral of us. My cries are the wine that cleanses his soul and his touch is the communion that renews my heart. Of course, such intensity always has an end. Too much and one could have drowned at the pits of insanity. 

So the second our lungs sync in need of oxygen, we parted our ways. Yet both our eyes still linger where our lips were once connected. Shamelessly wanting more than just a kiss but too embarrassed to share another. Instead with a compromise, our foreheads remained pressed together in content.

“Wow, public indecency? Really? You’re better than this.” The boy scolded mischievously, voice dripping in sweet childish passion. Very romantic.

Rolling my eyes, I broke from the intimacy. Just to slap his shoulder in retaliation. Knowing full well what his sense of humor is like, I laughed at his stupidity. “You’re the one who started it!” But even so, my cheeks couldn’t help turn into cherries as we continued our banter just like old times.

“Ow! Now, you're hitting me? That’s assault!” He whined, deliberately rubbing the harsh contact for emphasis. “I don't remember you being this mean!” Even adding a sprinkle of a pout to top off his shenanigans. Not gonna lie, it was cute to look at. But I won't let myself be swayed by his charming looks. So with gritted teeth, I said whole heartedly in jest. “I wish I could hit you more, you dumbass!”

After hearing that the plastered smile on his face seemed to grow playfully. My words had lit a fire within him. Laying down the school bag he carried on the ground, he spread his arms and puffed his chest for me to see. Apprehensive by his actions, I took a small step back and waited for his next move. Unsure what his true motives are. “Alright. I’ll let you. If you kiss the wound after.” He said jokingly.

Ah, I forgot how horny teenagers were…

Exhaling between my palms, a part of me wished to scream in silent frustration but that would honor him a win in this childish endeavor. Rather turning the tides to my favor, what better way to do than just simply comply to his own whims.

Winding my arm as far back as I can, there I summoned all the strength this body could muster at the edge of my fists. Fair and square I punched him straight in the face. Landing a mark on his apples while his pair of peaches lay splat on the floor as a look of utter shock adorned his sharp features. Of course, never in a million years the boy would think I could pull such a punch. After all, that wasn’t my forte to begin with. Jokes on him though, that was me from before and not the me of now. 

Before I could let him say a word, I crouched down to his level and left a tender kiss on his wound. Licking it for good measure. “Two could play that game.” I whispered, leaving a gentle blow to his now reddened ear. 

Putting a small distance, I observed my precious win. His face all heated up like a boiling kettle. It was his turn to cover his face. Gaze unable to straighten, looking anywhere else but me. It's such a delicious sight seeing him come undone by just mere strength alone. “Wh– when did you learn how to hit like that?” Oh, was that a stutter? 

A new sense of pride swells within as this is the first time I had an upper hand on him. Pursing my lips in feign innocence, I batted my lashes as cutely as I could. My head rested on the palm of my hand as a finger tapped in thought. “Who knows? It's been ten years since the last time we saw each other. A lot could happen.”

“That’s fair.” He sighed.

Rosy lips forming a thin line, he shuffled on the floor. Finding a more comfortable position sitting crisscrossed in front of me. Mimicking my earlier pose, his hand rested on his palm as well. Contemplating something within him as a tiny glint nestled its way to his marbles. Suddenly staring intensely at my figure, I blinked twice to decipher his actions. I presume it's another challenge? Or perhaps sulking under the weight of my victory? 

Yet a minute has passed by and no signs of unusual movement can be seen. Only continuing his unwavering gaze at my form. Still, I won’t back down for the next fight.  That is, until a loud horn and the sound of grinding wheels distract me from my spot. 

The next train had rudely arrived and it announced itself proudly in front of us, lowering my guard completely. To the scheming boy, this was his perfect opportunity. It was natural after all, when one sees an opening one would attack mercilessly. And that’s what he did. Stealing a small peck from my lips and holding two peace signs in front of my face. My eyes could only dilate from his actions as the grin grew as large as the half moon. “Gotcha. I win!” he said proudly. 

Too dumbfounded, I ended up bursting from laughter. Nodding my head I unanimously agreed to his victory and accepted my own defeat like a proper adult I am. “What do you want as a reward?” I asked, adoring his boyish facade that seemed to light up from something so trivial. “I’ve been giving a lot of kisses lately, I think it lost its value.” 

Humming in thought, the boy turned his head towards the train. Inspecting the unusual empty shell as if searching his deep darkest desire in its exterior. The bangs that covered his eyes gently sway from his movements as the glowing light from the fluorescent light cascades his porcelain skin. Framing his youth in a portrait that won't last. “Tell me a story then.” He said, looking back at me with the answer he had found. My palms could only turn to puddles as I anticipated his next words, a strange nervousness washed over me. 

“I want to hear everything that happened to you when we were apart.” 

“Okay.”

Is what I said as his hands now intertwined with mine while we sat properly on the platform bench. Our surroundings have long been abandoned ever since I missed my last train. I am not sure how many more passed by but there was no next wave of crowd that came from the entrance and exits. The whole area felt like it was our own little domain. Our own little ecosystem.

“Where do you want me to start?” I asked timidly. Knowing where all this was going. I am not a fool. It had already gnawed at the back of my head since the scent of his wafted through the air. 

“How about when you left the technical school?” he asked curiously. 

“Alright.” I said.

The moment I opened my mouth, stories flowed into the space we occupied. Transforming the scenery into a dream-like state found in one of those shoujo mangas. Blabbering this and that, and that and this. The text bubbles were empty yet its meaningful conversations reside in its containers for only our ears to hear. As pages turned to the next, our expressions filled each panel with comical laughter, shock, anger and tears. Together we both laid each other bare as our bodies mimed the years of what could have been. 

A part of me wishes this moment could last forever. But I knew that was impossible. God never plays favorites. All I could do is make the most of what was given. Savoring the comfort that is him. An image of my last spring. 

So I paused my words mid sentence, my body moved closer to his. This time it's my turn to trap him in my own little cage. Kissing his lips with the same intensity as the scorching sun. Biting, marking and clawing my way through a never ending longing, wishing more than I should. As words that are never spoken but only lingering between us leaves my mouth, I pray to his exposed skin: cheeks, ears, neck, wrist and palms all my shameless I love yous. 

With the wit of a hawk and sight of an owl, The boy had already noticed my silent fears dressed in growing affection. Manifesting them into words, he could only ask softly. “Tell me. Why won’t you say my name?” 

Frozen in place, I searched through his eyes what he had just said. As it sinks in, my brows furrowed, hoping for him to not inquire further. Yet what reflected back was his own silent plea. You are so cruel, you know that.

“I know.” he leaned in to whisper while his sharp nose nestled under my jaw. Always the mind reader this guy. “But I want to hear it from your lips.”

With such a request, I bowed my head in utter humiliation. Unable to look him in the eye. My lips quiver as I silently confess my sins to him. “If I say it, I feel like you’re gonna disappear again.” 

A faint touch raised my head to meet with him once more. The quiet desperation and the childish eagerness from earlier had disappeared. This time our kiss felt much slower and much sweeter. “Please look at me.” He begged. 

Yet I still refuse. 

As the stubborn man that he is, he continued haunting my lips. Tender touches became pleading ghosts and the blowing air cursed my trembling. “I need to hear it.” 

I could only peek from my lashes while my mouth shivers from the eerie peck that landed ever so lightly. Constantly being tempted like this just to adhere to his whims, I couldn’t help counting each one as he tried to make me submit. 

One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Six.

And at the seventh kiss, he deepened it.

My mind instantly went blank with the constant edging and the sudden ferocity of the kiss. All sense of control washes away, unable to restrain myself any further. I moaned his name in finality. The twist, the turn and the tap of each syllable at the chambers of my mouth felt freeing. I couldn’t hold back the tears that ran through my skin. Bawling like a lost child in front him. But he only embraced me in his arms, gently rocking us back and forth as I repeatedly called him over and over again. 

“Suguru. Suguru. Suguru.” 

“I am still here.” he said, breaking the evil spell that tormented me for such a long time. Catching all the photographs scattered in the ocean. One by one giving them back to me. It hurts. It hurts so much. 

“Why did you leave me?” 

“Why didn’t you say goodbye?”

“Why only Shoko and Satoru? Why not me?”

“Why didn’t you take me with you?”

Questions after questions flowed, aching for answers that I already knew but I wish I could hear from his own lips too. Punching him over and over his chest, I can’t seem to hate him. All I can do is accept what he has given. You’re so selfish. So unfair. 

Grabbing the next hit, he forced me to look him in the eye. The image that greeted me isn't the boy I once knew. Replaced by a man sculpted in righteous reverie, cloth cut from the edges of apathy. This man’s eyes are filled with never ending desires that seem to want to drown me in it. A strange thirst and hunger different from a beast, that no flesh and water can calm its currents.

This is a Suguru who I don’t know of. The Suguru I feared the most. The Suguru that I wish would turn back as I reached to him in my youth. But nonetheless the Suguru who I still ache for.

“I didn’t regret it. Only you.” he desperately professed as his fingers twitched at my skin. Seemingly wishing to touch more with the him of now and not the one from yesteryears. “I love you.” he said as he smiled from the bottom of his heart. “I still do and will continue to do so.” 

“Suguru.” Was all I could say. Not knowing what else to confess. 

I had been afraid to see the twenty-seven year old Geto Suguru till now. Too scared to confront the feelings that scattered on the lonely shore. Too scared that I would fall together with him too. I am too scared that my love is so deep that it will swallow everything in its path. But you’ve always known that, right? Of course you do. Cause you feel the same way too. 

Rubbing my eyes, tears still continued to fall. My snot also boldly joined along my skin. Mixing in with the currents under my lashes. It's so embarrassing to cry like this in front of Suguru but I can’t help it. Everything is too overwhelming and all I want is to be pampered in his loving arms. “Once again, you’re so insufferable and I love you so much.” 

Caressing my cheeks, he wiped my tears gently with his sleeves, even roughly getting rid of the sticky mucus that spilled out. He teased my whining. “You’ve only realized it now? You’re such a slow poke.” 

Ten years ago, he knew I would follow him to the ends of the earth. He knew we’ll both crash and burn. He knew it will be till death do us part. “But I didn’t want that to happen.” He said. “That would be too cruel even for me.” 

“You already are cruel, stupid.” Still sniffing away the sobs, I couldn’t help but retaliate the way I know how. 

“Oh? Says the girl, who’ll literally die for me.”

“Says the guy who already did, Dumbass.” 

Mouth forming into a thin line, Suguru sighed in defeat. “Touché.” 

Giggling childishly, even at that age he’s still the Suguru I love. The way his handsome face stayed the same, only this time more mature. His same old earrings are still there hanging tightly too and so are his stubborn bangs. Even when clothed in those sacred robes, it's undeniable that he’s still him. “My tall and very adorable dumbass.”

“Your tall and very adorable dumbass.”  He lovingly repeated back. 

Really, this is such a mess of a reunion. But I wouldn’t have it any other way. 

Beep

Beep

Beep

Beep

Jolting back from my seat, I woke up from the sound of train doors signaling its final call for passengers. Hurriedly, my body moved towards it. Hoping to finally leave this place. The smell of sandalwood that once surrounded me fades gently through the air along with the cold harsh winter. In the next month spring will come and the Sakura trees will finally bloom. 

You really did meet your end in style. Fading like the last snow of winter. 

Farewell my beloved Suguru, I love you and happy birthday.

[anxiousbabybird]

hi b! It’s so good to see you here! I’m sending you Geto for the mini game hehe

Hi Kale! It's good to see you too, I missed you!

Getou's kink of the day is somnophilia ♥️

He's getting off on how pretty you look sleeping in his arms, so innocent and helpless. When you had brought up that he could do this, he was more than excited. But he didn't want you expecting it, so he waited a few days, making sure it was during an evening you were so exhausted from work. You'd been sleeping several hours when he spread your legs and settled his tongue in your folds to prep you. You didn't wake up, even as your walls fluttered and you came hard on his tongue. He rolled you over onto your stomach, making sure your face was to the side (he was trying to fuck you, not smother you in the pillow lol). Then he slid slowly inside you, his body weighing heavy atop your own frame. He moved slow for the longest time, in and out in deep thrusts. When he started to get closer though, he couldn't help but to slam in and out of you more relentlessly as his other arm snaked around your body to hold you as close as possible and rub against your clit. You woke up right as your body shuddered with an orgasm and Getou let loose deep inside you. He just shushed you and rocked into you slowly, fucking you right back to sleep.

[seravphs]

ੈ♡˳·˖✶ — GOJO X FEM READER

Tradition dictates that your friends visit the lake during the first day of summer. Tradition does not dictate that you go skinny dipping with Gojo Satoru, but you do anyways. 

wc — 4.5k 

Tokyo summers burn. Like its own personal firestorm, the atmosphere of the city seems to form an oppressive dome that traps warmth. Heat rises and brings oxygen with it, leaving a devouring void behind that makes each breath a laborious fight. 

Summers are still your favorite, anyways. Non-sorcerers spend their whole year clawing their way to a break, and the relief that washes over the entire city when they finally make it brings the appearance of cursed spirits to the lowest it will be annually. 

Even when your back is damp from sweat and cicadas buzz incessantly outside your window, nothing feels better than this. This summer, however, brings with it a tension that didn’t previously accompany the years prior. 

Entering your third year at Jujutsu Tech feels like a door unmistakably closing shut behind you. It’s entrapment to a brutal world that demands your allegiance to protect non-sorcerers, yet claims the bodies of your friends one by one. Everyone can feel it. With the desperate strength of a drowning man who knows his fight only prolongs the inevitable, you cling to your last days before you’re thrust out into the viciousness of jujutsu society for real. 

Technically, Jujutsu High students graduated at the end of their fourth years, but by that time, they were already functioning sorcerers. Their education was in name only. The school only existed as a command center, of sorts. They slept in the dorms, but in every other way, they were true sorcerers, already working on missions. Gojo was viciously jealous of Utahime and Mei Mei, but you dreaded the day that would be you. 

You missed Utahime. She transferred to Kyoto last year on account of familial issues, but she’s been offered an opportunity to return this summer, combined with a stipend and a dorm. In exchange, she’s supposed to shadow Masamichi, ostensibly in the name of preparing her to become a teacher. 

You know privately that Masamichi just wants his favorite student back, and to keep everyone out of trouble. There was no need to pay for a babysitter if Utahime was there. With her presence, Gojo’s rate of unsalvageable collateral damage due to his sheer existence went down by 20% and Utahime’s blood pressure went up by 65%. 

A knock on the door startles you even when you expect it. Sliding open the screen door, you nearly walk into a wall of black fabric. 

Gojo and Getou both hit growth spurts last year at around the same time. Where once you would’ve at least been able to ruffle his hair without tip-toeing, now you stand eye-level with his chest. He’s ridiculously tall, lanky in a way he’s only just growing into. All his pants had to be thrown out and replaced with new clothes, not that it was difficult with the funds he has. Trust fund baby, you think affectionately. 

His glasses sit delicately on the bridge of his nose, those famous eyes peering down at you over the top of them as he grins, a flash of canines that’s too sharp, too much. “You ready? Poor Utahime’s going to be stuck there for hours if we wait any longer. You know the traffic sucks at 5:00.” 

Instead of answering, you steal his sunglasses off his face and slide them onto your own, leaving him to catch up to you as he walks down the hall. It only takes him three steps before he’s next to you, slinging his arm around your shoulders. 

Utahime looks pristine despite the sweltering heat. All around her, children are crying, parents are complaining, and conductors are trying desperately to pacify irate customers. People are more irritable than normal. Utahime, however, is as warm and personable as ever. By the time you reach her, she has just sent a child off with a lollipop. He promised her to be more careful in public, brushing off the dust on her nearly spotless skirt from running into her. His grateful mother thanks her again before she ushers her son off. Utahime was just sweet like that, easy to love, hard to anger. There was only one person that could infuriate her. 

Gojo reaches over and flicks her forehead, “Utahime!” He draws out her name, making it sound like Utahimeeeee. “How does it feel to be back in Tokyo?” 

She turns and looks at you. “I want to go back to Kyoto now. This was a mistake.” 

You laugh and lean forward to hug her. She smells like green tea and orange blossom and white chocolate, a curious mixture of the natural and artificial, but so homey and comforting. She smells like familiarity, and you drink it in, resting your cheekbone against her shoulder for a brief second before you pull back. Utahime gives you a surprised look that melts into tenderness. “Missed me, huh?” 

Gojo gags. “Get a room, you two.” 

When you smack his shoulder, he doesn’t even flinch. “Shut up, Gojo.”

You give yourself one more five second hug with Utahime. “It’s just good to have you back.” 

You don’t know how to explain how you feel. Having Utahime back means everyone is all together again, all the people you love most in the world collected in one place. They’re not too far out of reach, never more than an arm’s length away. You’re not clingy to the point where you can’t stand it when somebody has to leave, but it just always feels more right when the seven of you are together. Something settles back into your place under your breastbone, a feeling of mild but perpetual discomfort that had been present since she left melting away. 

“Come on,” Gojo calls. He’s already ahead of you, those long, long legs striding through the crowd with ease. There’s more than a few eyes on him, men and women alike watching in appreciation. “Everyone’s waiting in the car.” 

A man bumps into Utahime, nearly spilling her luggage. You steady her, and Gojo is already heading back. He shoots the man a nasty look as he takes her suitcase, and after giving your own purse a considering look, grabs that too. 

You laugh. “It’s not heavy, I don’t mind holding it.” 

“Oh,” he says. “I’m not doing this for you. It matches my shirt.” 

You and Utahime share a look. Narcissist. (You love him.) 

Utahime nearly slaps Gojo when she sees what he’s decided to drive today. It’s sleek and silver, a gorgeous beast built for luxurious speed. On the way here, you didn’t feel a single bump in the road, some ridiculous technology built into it prevented it. For all its beauty, it is, however, way too small. 

Utahime gives him a disbelieving look. “Are you serious? Are you an idiot? Are you insane?” She jabs a finger into his forehead and twists it.

He bats her away. “It’s fine, it’s fine, look! You can just sit on Nanami’s lap, and we’ll throw your luggage in the trunk with Haibara and he’ll keep it safe. It’s a win-win!” 

“You put Haibara in the trunk?” 

Gojo knocks on the top of the trunk instead of answering. 

“Yes, Gojo?” Comes the dutiful answer. 

Utahime looks horrified. “None of you said anything?”

Getou laughs. Everyone seems to forget that he and Gojo are best friends for a reason, and for all that he hides it, they’re just as bad as each other. Shoko wouldn’t expend her precious energy on something like this. Nanami’s making a face that says everything he doesn’t need to: would Gojo even listen to him? Utahime raises an eyebrow at you. 

“I called shotgun,” you say in lieu of an explanation. 

“Ugh,” she shakes her head. “Thank god I’m back.” 

She’s exasperated but smiling as she walks to the other side and pops the door open. Nanami’s hands hover over her hips when she gingerly climbs into his lap, clearly torn between keeping her secure and trying to be respectful. 

Gojo cackles. “Look at his face!” Nanami’s turning red, either from lack of oxygen because he’s holding his breath, or embarrassment. 

“First time you had a girl in your lap?” He jeers. 

“Stop that! I know you planned this just to tease him,” Utahime says. 

“Yeah,” you chime in. “Eyes on the road before you total your nice car.” 

“As if I couldn’t afford another,” he grumbles, but he does as you say. 

Shoko pulls out an earbud. “Oh, Utahime!” She hadn’t even noticed. “We picked you up! Wow, I was so sure Gojo messed up again and got the wrong station-“

“Hey!” 

“What are we doing now?” She continues, ignoring the driver’s protests. 

“Lunch,” Getou suggests. 

“I’m hungry!” Echoes Haibara, voice muffled. 

“Sure,” Gojo says, and the car accelerates a little more, the engine a smooth purr. “I’ll get us a reservation.” 

“Actually,” Utahime says. “As much as I love abusing the Gojo connections, I’m kind of craving breakfast right now.”

You check the clock on the dashboard. 6:15. 

“Where the hell do you think you’re going to get breakfast at 6:15?” Gojo asks, echoing your thoughts, though not as politely. 

Getou looks up from his phone, open to twitter. 

“There’s a chain restaurant nearby that serves 24/7 breakfast. It’s back there, though.” 

Gojo groans, but it’s Utahime’s first day back. He puts the car in reverse. 

Gojo’s car stands out in the parking lot when he pulls in. It’s purposeful, especially the smooth loop he does before he parks. He’s watching the group of teenagers outside gawking at the expensive vehicle. Everyone shares a long-suffering sigh. 

You all climb out and are halfway into the diner when Utahime shrieks. “We forgot to get Haibara!” 

A family of four gives you a terrified look when you pop the trunk and finally pull Haibara out.

“Don’t worry, I’m not kidnapped!” He hollers at them. You think it makes it worse. 

Surprisingly, he doesn't look like he’s been kept in a trunk for an hour. His collar is a little rumpled, but Utahime smooths it out for him. True to his word, he kept her luggage secure. 

The booths aren’t small by any means, but there’s eight of you. Gojo and Getou are over six feet already and Nanami’s shooting up like a bean sprout. At least Haibara’s still your height. 

“The little ones should go first,” Gojo teases, and  earns a kick in the back of his knee for his efforts. Still, Shoko obligingly crawls in, followed by Haibara, then Utahime. Getou and Gojo sit opposite each other, on the outside as always, which leaves you and Nanami to fill in the other side. It’s a cramped fit. Nanami is leaned as far into the wooden wall as he’s physically able, but you and Gojo are still shoulder to shoulder. To make more room, you nudge his stupidly long legs shut. He slouches further in protest. 

Getou orders for all of you and Utahime cuts up the meals. Everyone has their own idiosyncrasies. Gojo piles his waffles with powdered sugar and berry jam. Shoko, by contrast, hates sweets, and is wolfing down a smiley face made out of bacon and eggs. Haibara steals a bite from Nanami’s healthy, balanced plate of greens and protein. He receives no rebuke. 

You’re easily the loudest table there. Gojo and Utahime argue nonstop, while Haibara tries to break up the fights when he’s not busy pilfering everyone’s dishes. Shoko is fiddling with her phone, trying to find the right song, and one of her earbuds is out, sharing the tinny sound of the cheap speakers with everyone else. You’re a naturally attention drawing group, and even more so now. 

You leave a couple hundred dollars worth of a tip as an apology. Gojo’s bank account won’t feel a thing, anyways.  

Piling back into the car after it’s been baking outside under the summer sun is an ordeal, even though it’s night and the air is cooler. Gojo rolls down all the windows and the sun roof. The wind combs through your hair like the fingers of a lover, bringing the sweet smell of summer with it, burnt sugar and caramel. The radio is playing. Utahime leans over the console. Nanami makes a choked noise. Gojo’s eyes slide over to you, amused. Getou laughs outright. The seven of you play off each other so easily.

Utahime switches the station to something American, the soft strains of a melody achingly beautiful floating through the car. It’s some blonde pop singer, her voice strong and clear. Soon enough, you and Utahime are singing along to the chorus, not worrying about making it perfect. Off-key, scratchy, and hoarse, it feels good regardless. You reach through the sunroof to let the air resistance of Gojo’s car on the highway bat against your hands, letting the wind carry your voice away with it too. 

Utahime throws one leg over Shoko’s lap as she tips her head back, out the window. Nanami’s hand goes out, spooked; he settles it between the crown of her head and the outside world, as if to protect it. Eventually, Gojo joins in. He’s flawless, as always. The perfect pitch he discovered he had in violin class leads him to hit every note. 

“Stop!” Haibara calls out. Gojo breaks so hard the car squeals. You swear you can smell burning rubber as the tires spark against the tarmac. 

“What?!” Utahime’s already halfway out the door, distressed. In a minute, she would say that she told you so, it was a bad idea to let Haibara stay in the trunk no matter what he said. 

“I see a convenience store on Google Maps! Can we get ice cream? Please?” 

Everyone not in the trunk lets out a collective breath of relief. 

They scatter once inside, you included. Nanami and Haibara, joined at the hip, head for the ice cream. Shoko, Getou, and Utahime make a bee line for the slushy machine. Gojo disappears into the thin air. 

At first, you’re tempted to go for the slushy machine too, but you spot the snack aisle. Although you came in planning to get one or two items, not even five minutes in and you have to grab a basket. Whatever, you were planning to have a beach bonfire tonight to celebrate Utahime returning anyways. 

Someone presses up against the small of your back. Fingers dip into the curve of your waist. You flinch, but the flash of snow white hair out of the corner of your eye relaxes you. It’s just Gojo. You keep forgetting how much he’s grown now. 

He looks startlingly attractive under the fluorescent lights that wash everyone else out. His eyelashes are frosted in the cold glow of the blue tinted light, and his skin is perfectly poreless. Gojo is always the exception. The world would roll over itself to do him a favor. 

“What are you looking for?”

“Getou sent me a Tik Tok last night of these limited edition heart shaped chocolates.”

“These?” He pulls it off the shelf. 

“Yeah, thanks.” You make a grab for it. 

He holds it just out of reach, over your head. 

“Gojo!”

“Ask me for it.”

“Are you serious? How old are you?”

“Come on,” his voice drops an octave, becoming soft, quiet. Something for your ears only. His words feel like a caress. You’re tipping dangerously close to something the two of you have been dancing around all year, ever since Masamichi sent you two together on that overnight mission in second year. You’d shared a house, played at a family - or at least Gojo had. He liked to tease like that, sneaking up behind you and placing his hands over your eyes to announce he was home like a husband returning from work. But that wasn't the problem. 

The problem was that you’d caught him half naked, fresh out of the shower, in your shared bedroom, only a towel slung low on his hips. 

“I forgot my clothes,” he stammered uncharacteristically before you had jolted back to life and slammed the door shut. That image of him, hair damp, water trickling down his hip bones, had been seared into your memory. 

That makes this, whatever this is that he’s doing, dangerous. For both of you. 

Fighting to avoid his demanding eyes, you snatch a box off the shelf yourself.

“Guys,” Utahime’s voice calls, vaguely annoyed, “are you done yet?” 

“Coming!” Gojo calls back. He doesn’t pull away from you, in fact, he pulls you closer into his side as he tugs you towards the register where everyone waits. 

As you turn to leave, you spot a group of three boys watching you, clearly interested. Your eyes dart between them and Gojo, sudden understanding dawning as you place your items with the rest. 

It’s past midnight by the time you get back to campus. Everyone piles into Utahime’s room, too small for the mass of bodies inside. It’s a cramped, tight fit, but you’re all used to each other. A leg in a lap here, someone piled half on top of someone else there, and you make it work. Gojo and Nanami trade insults idly as Utahime unpacks, Shoko digging through her suitcase for souvenirs. She spots a bullet of maroon lipstick and snatches it up. 

Though it’s late, no one’s tired. The steady thrum of energy throughout the room is sustained by seven bodies. The minute someone flags, another is there to prop them up, almost as if Gojo’s perpetual six eyes now extends to the rest of you as well. This is how it always is, the first day of summer, and now it’s time for another tradition. 

Getou starts first, of course, everyone following his lead. “It’s hot,” he complains, and he means it, but he’s saying it just to say it. It’s the first act in a play that’s become routine. 

Shoko hums in agreement, then pulls a bikini out of Utahime’s bag. She yelps in embarrassment and tries to pull it out of her hands, but Shoko gapes and clings on to it, then presses it to Utahime’s body. 

“Uta! My god, that looks incredible on you!” 

Utahime blushes, the white strappy fabric falling as neither she nor Shoko make an attempt to hold it up. 

“It’s hot,” Gojo says again. 

Utahime pauses. “Lake?”

“Lake.” Nanami agrees. 

Just like that, everyone’s off to their own rooms, grabbing bags of clothes and towels. 

The lake is only a short walk from campus, surrounded by a dense crop of trees with an opening one has to know to look for. Above the lake is cloudless and starry, the moon’s gentle light making things appear as through a filter. Gojo’s white hair glows in the night, so he goes first, picking a path through the trees, easy to spot. He carries Shoko on his back. Utahime goes after, Haibara at her side, and Nanami on the other. One steep step in, and she’s already kept Haibara from twisting his ankle once. Getou insists on bringing up the rear, so you follow the rest, making your way towards the singular earth-bound star of bone white hair in the distance. 

The lake looks like another universe, reflecting the sky back at you, perhaps an otherworldly portal, if you were imaginative enough. Gojo steals a marshmallow from the supplies Utahime is setting out, meant to be reserved for the bonfire later, and is slapped in return. 

Everyone’s following an easy rhythm of old traditions falling into place, scavenging for wood or unpacking supplies. Gojo alone stands still in the chaos, an isolated island. There’s a wicked look in his eye that never bodes well for anyone. 

“Uh oh,” Shoko says warily. “What are you thinking of now?” 

“Let’s go skinny dipping,” he suggests. 

Utahime rolls her eyes. “Cute,” she says blithely, returning to her skewered marshmallow. 

Getou shrugs, his hair slipping off his shoulder. He’s already pulling his swim trunks off, unashamed of his body and the clear strength in it. The terrible two, always backing each other up. People seemed to forget they were two sides of the same coin. 

“Why not? Come on, Uta. It’ll be fun. Take a risk now and then,” he says, heading towards the dark waters. 

Utahime stammers, fingers toying with the edge of her bikini. Shoko goes next, undoing the straps of her top and sliding the bottoms down her pale, creamy legs. She goes to help Utahime with the ties of her own swimsuit, slipping it off the other girl, who’s blushing, but participating nonetheless now that Shoko’s clearly in. 

Nanami makes an expression of oh-what-the-hell and starts undoing the strings of his own trunks too, tugging them off. He runs down the dock and jumps into the water, submerged for a moment before he comes back for air. 

He gestures for Haibara, who follows him like a puppy. He shivers, but he climbs into the water, slipping his trunks off once he’s in and tossing them back on shore. Nanami shakes his head, trying to get the water out, slicking his hair back from his face. 

Gojo and you are the last ones left. You’re a little surprised by this fact, assuming it would’ve been you and Nanami or Utahime. Gojo has made no attempts to hide his body before, all lean muscles and sharp angles. 

Gojo looks over at you and arches an eyebrow. “You coming?”

You laugh, still thinking it’s a game, but you should’ve known better. Gojo takes it as a dare, because being the savior of the Jujutsu world comes with having an ego bigger than the moon. Very little genuinely gets a rise out of him. He thinks he’s above it all, and how could he not, when he so often physically is. But he picks the oddest moments to take offense to his pride, and somehow, your laugh provokes it. 

His hands slink towards his shorts, thumb dipping under the elastic waistband with a quiet snap. You know him. He never backs down from a dare. 

“Gojo.” You’re not sure how to continue, shrinking away from looking directly into his eyes. His were a peculiar white-blue. In a monochrome photograph, they would be a true negative, an empty space, a vacuum. 

It’s always hard to hold eye contact with him. You preferred him with longer hair. It softened him. Blurred out the edges and made the innate violence of his existence almost palatable. Last winter, Getou had convinced him to grow his hair out into a mullet. He had looked good, he always did, no matter what he did to himself. But for summer, he had cut it shorter. It was still long by most people’s standards, and soon his bangs would fall into his eyes, but it wasn’t enough to protect you from the piercing ice of his gaze. 

“You don’t want to come?” His voice is as if you’ve rarely heard it, speaking as softly as to a wild animal he doesn’t want to startle. He only ever uses this tone when he’s alone with you, too shy or embarrassed to allow the others to catch him like this. 

In a sudden burst of courage, you demand, “Only if you do it with me.” 

As he peels off his trunks, you shed your own swimsuit. This is more Gojo than you’ve ever seen in your life, swathes of moonlight pale skin that remains completely unblemished. Every sorcerer has scars, but not Gojo. 

You stand shivering, arms around yourself as the two of you face each other. 

“Come on,” he says, reaching out to touch your arm. “The water’s warmer.” 

You’re not shivering from the cold, but you obey. Utahime and Nanami are the strongest swimmers, and they’ve made it out to the middle of the lake, where they paddle in circles, testing each other. They race for the dock, then back out. Shoko and Getou remain on the edge, passing a cigarette between each other. They refuse when Haibara wants to share, too.

No one notices when you and Gojo slip into the lake a little further down, in a secluded area shaded by trees. 

He wades in just enough for the water to lap at his waist, his hips, the angular bones leading lower. Under the light of the moon, his skin glows with an ethereal blue that makes him look like he climbed out of a fantasy, highlighting his hair. You look away. 

You think this often: Gojo’s violently beautiful. Everyone knows it, most of all him. He’s difficult and terrible to look at, but his face calls for attention like a siren. In the water, more than ever the analogy rings true. 

“Why aren’t you looking at me?” He asks. 

The heat and exhaustion make you honest. You’re tired of fighting whatever unnameable force is pulling you and Gojo together like magnets. “You’re pretty.” 

He swims closer, his hands ghosting up your sides, or perhaps those are fish in the lake. The water ripples with his movements as he breaks the surface. He has nice hands, you notice, pretty like a pianist’s. He cups your cheek. 

“Am I?”  

“Don’t fish for compliments,” you murmur into the steadily disappearing space between the two of you. He’s too close. It makes it difficult to breathe. Gojo was always greedy. 

His technique manipulated space, made him capable of acting larger than life itself. When he walked into a room, he sucked all the air out of it, drew every eye. 

Now, in front of you, he blocks out the moon. All your senses are overloaded with Gojo and just him, superseding anything else you would have noticed. Your body catalogues what belongs to him and prioritizes it. His smell, his touch, even his taste when he finally leans in and brushes his mouth across yours delicately, only for you to lean forward and kiss him harder. 

He hoists your legs around his waist, still dripping water as he angles his head. He kisses like he’s got fever in his veins, burning and consuming and needy. He’s not careful enough. His teeth nick your bottom lip once, to your surprise, it feels good. You bring your arms up over his shoulders, pressing closer, closer, chest to chest. If Gojo’s a greedy god, you’re a willing sacrifice. 

“Gojo! Get back here, the s’mores are ready!” 

“Utahime,” he groans. 

In the distance, a bonfire glows. Your friends are waiting with marshmallows and chocolate, and yet, a part of you doesn’t want to leave this space with Gojo and lake water. It feels separate, somehow, from the rest of the world, almost as if Gojo’s technique is active. 

It’s a Tokyo summer, and the air is stifling. You can spare a few more minutes to cool off.