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@kashimopilled
bi // schizo // mixed kashimo’s savage girl // satoru’s little lamb
ᢉ𐭩 drabbles ᢉ𐭩 series ᢉ𐭩 SMAU navi: hinata rambles ᢉ𐭩 jjk drabble ideas for later ᢉ𐭩 hinata recs
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divider by @pepsipoet pictures from pinterest resources to topics closest to my heart: Amnesty International on torture CPGN on child abuse vs torture
heatstroke 𐔌՞. .՞𐦯 cw: disoriented!reader, incapacitated!reader, student!reader, protective!Satoru note: this is the soft launch and appetizer for a fic I’m writing, in which the reader is admitted to a hospital. hurt/comfort and I will be basing it on actual experiences of mine so avoid if it makes you uncomfy. i just want to analyze certain events in my life through the JJK lens. Lemme know if anyone would even be interested.
hurting you or hurting him? ૮(◞ ‸ ◟ )ა 18+, minors dni cw: senpai!reader, kohai!Megumi, dddne: graphic depictions of violence, torture, suffocation/waterboarding, implied kidnapping, blood, whump, hurt/comfort, near death experience note: based on this. Highly requested. This only contains Megumi x reader but I can do this for more characters if I have the time and you guys are comfortable with more. This fic is very personal to me.
The fingers curled around Megumi’s wrist are still keeping the tight grip. That’s good.
It’s the only thing Megumi can register at this point. His vision is too blurry, the blood throbs in his ears too loudly, he has to rely on purely tactile signals. He would rather be in your place. The depleting cursed energy, the mean remarks, they don’t hurt as much as this but right now, Megumi is focused on reading your body. The panic, the guilt, it can come later.
“Y-you’re doing really well,” he sniffles, though he’s sure you can’t hear him. His shadow is too thick.
It must be so scary. Dark, suffocating nothingness depriving you of air and most of your senses. Hard to tell how long you can last. For a moment, Megumi dares to glance back at the curse user. He sits on the chair with a bored expression, elbows propped up on his knees, a phone in one hand. A silly tune plays on low volume from the game the man is playing. That makes it even worse. You’re fighting for your life. He’s just playing a game. His other hand is seemingly free but his index finger points towards Megumi.
“You can stop when I die,” the curse user had said. Die, as in, in his stupid game. How fucked up is that.
You squirm on the ground, thighs parting and pushing back against the cool, hard ground. This is the worst part. When you really don’t have air in your lungs left and your body is overtaken by dread. Megumi hates this part the most. You’ve gone through three cycles of it already. A point comes when you’re truly out of breath and your body automatically gasps for air again, an instinct the human body can’t suppress. This is what makes it dangerous. Once you start breathing his shadow in, swallowing it like oxygen, your chance of survival plummets.
Tears and snot run down Megumi’s face as he braves himself against your back to keep you still. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry—“
Your nails carve small imprints into the wood, blood filling the cracks from how hard you’re trying to break free.
“Just a bit longer, I promise.”
In reality, Megumi has no idea when he’s allowed to stop. And he feels awful for comforting you through your torture, using the same words you had used to encourage him during missions.
Your nails dig into his wrist but as long as they’re not going slack, Megumi will keep his emotions in check. As long as your body isn’t doing that awful jerky thing…
He can’t even see your face. Maybe that’s a mercy.
If Megumi could see you, he thinks he would break.
Another violent shudder wracks through your body. Your shoulders strain against him, every muscle drawn painfully tight. The hand clutching his wrist spasms once, fingers digging in so deep he knows there will be bruises later. The thought that you’re fighting him—really fighting him this time—urges every cell in his body to stop what he has left of his technique. But then you’re both dead.
The curse user is not getting anything out of this, evidently so. His eyes are glued to the screen. Which means, someone else is giving orders. It’s not the sadism of one person, it feels purposeful. An agenda must be behind this. Still, in his situation, Megumi can’t come up with a good explanation.
All that matters is that he doesn’t lose you.
“You’re doing a good job,” he sniffles. Then, your grip loosens, just for a second, before you let go of him completely and use that arm to try breaking free from your kohai’s grip. It’s useless. Megumi’s front presses into your back, keeping you on your knees and your head on the floor. “Shit, no, don’t do that—“
You elbow into his ribs, he knows it isn’t personal, it’s natural and it doesn’t even hurt him that much physically. “I’m so sorry, we’re almost done…” He cries helplessly. No one is coming to save either of you. Gojo is sealed. Yuji is at the store.
Another glance at the captor. He’s looming over his phone with a hunched back, biting his lip. “Are you kidding me…?” The man mutters to himself. The phone starts buzzing. Immediately, he stands up and leaves the room like a flip has been switched. The door makes a soft clicking sound, the electronic lock activating. Must be an urgemt call. Megumi can only assume that means he can stop.
So he does. His technique turns off completely and the shadow on the ground disappears as your head comes up.
Your eyes are barely open and your throat works frantically as you gasp for air, wet strands of hair stretch into your face from both sides. Megumi holds your upper body, bending you slightly forward in case—
Foggy, sticky water is squeezed upwards in your throat, muscles convulsing. You retch, your stomach curls up into itself. A hand holds your hair back. About one big gulp of liquid lands on the ground, splattering all over the floorboards.
Your body shakes, then you lean back, head lolling onto Megumi’s shoulders.
“Hi, bunny…”
God. How Megumi hates this. He hates how your lips still curl into a weak smile, how you speak to him so softly. Don’t you know what he’s done to you? He isn’t your gentle bunny you always paint him to be. He’s a nasty wolf. Just look at you, your red-rimmed eyes with popped blood vessels, your frantically expanding ribcage, your slackened jaw.
Megumi refuses to respond to kindness he doesn’t deserve.
Your lips aren’t blue, that’s a good sign. No cyanosis.
“You didn’t swallow anything, right?” Megumi’s voice trembles from guilt and self-hatred. “Senpai, did you swallow?”
It would’ve been obvious if you did but making sure is important. You shake your head.
“No, bunny.”
Megumi exhales. Relief should come. It doesn’t. Now that you can breathe again, Megumi can finally see the full extent of what he’s done. Your chest rises in sharp, uneven pulls. Every inhale sounds painful, scraped raw from forcing your body to function without air for far too long. The blood vessels burst beneath your eyes stand out angrily against your skin. And still, you're looking at him, without accusation and without anger. You’re just looking like he’s a pretty painting in a museum. You’re checking if he’s okay. Megumi feels sick.
His hand is still tangled in your hair from keeping it away from your face. He lets go immediately, like he's been burned. You blink slowly.
"Bunny?"
Your voice is barely there. Megumi averts his eyes. The floor is covered in scratches from where you'd fought against him. There are bloody crescents carved into the wood. Marks that exist because you'd been trying to survive.
“He…he wanted to— I—“
“I know.” You blink once, twice, then your body goes limp against his, like you’re letting your guard down. “You had to. I know. It’s okay.”
Oh, how Megumi hates that you can give him this much grace. If you hated him, it would be easier. He shakes his head, sniffling and wiping tears into his own shoulder that have yet to arrive. The urge to touch his other shoulder as a self-soothing mechanism is strong but he has to hold you now.
“I’m so sorry, senpai,” he tries not to sound like he’s crying. “Please don’t forgive me.”
“Oh, bunny…”
“No, don’t say it like that, please.”
“Look at me.”
Megumi doesn’t want to. The floor is suddenly the safest thing in the world. It’s just wood and scratches and the faint echo of a door that already closed. If he looks at you, he’ll see it again—the way your body folded under what he controlled.
“Don’t,” he whispers, almost automatically. Your fingers shift against his sleeve.
“Megumi.”
His name in your voice sounds like the blessing it means. He forces himself to look.
Your face is a mess of exhaustion and blinking, slow awareness. But your eyes—your eyes are steady. Still on him.
“I’m looking,” he says.
“Good. Listen now. You saved us. You hear? You did.”
“But I…” He trails off, voice growing weaker, shakier. “And I was…”
You recognize that thing he does when too many thoughts are in his head and he wants to talk about all of them. Only the first part of each sentence leaves his lips. You inhale deeply, taking this moment to collect yourself. The curse user is gone but the door is locked. They haven’t named anything they wanted to have from either of you.
They could want ransom but their torture methods don’t make sense for that, minor amputations would be more likely.
You reach up to cup Megumi’s face, quieting him, palm warm against the boy’s cheek. His tired heart wants to reject your empathy.
“I…I know my moral compass is already messed up. I only care about a few people but those people… I have to keep those people really, really safe.”
The structure of his sentences becomes a bit childlike, that’s when you know just how helpless he feels. You nod, your cheek rubs against Megumi’s shoulder as you do. “I know, bunny. I know.”
“I really want to keep you safe, senpai.”
“I know. You’re the sweetest bunny, aren’t you?” You smile, turning your face to rub your nose against his Jujutsu High uniform jacket too.
“I should be comforting you. Can I try?” The boy asks. He knows comforting, affection, words of encouragement… they’re not his strong suit. This time, Megumi wants to be useful emotionally.
The problem is that every time you comfort him, you make it look easy. You always know what to say. He doesn't. His version of comfort usually consists of hovering nearby and silently solving whatever problem is making someone upset. Bringing an umbrella without being asked. Walking on the side closest to traffic. Making tea and pretending it wasn't specifically for them.
“I’d really like that,” you reply, closing your eyes, ready to be soothed by someone who clearly needs the act more than you do. You wait patiently, though the man forcing Megumi to hurt you could come back any minute. Megumi thinks about all the times you’ve comforted him, in the hopes that he can mimic that.
"Well..." He swallows. "You're alive."
You hum like this is already the equivalent of getting spa treatment, a very gentle one. “What else, bunny?”
“You didn’t… you didn’t swallow my shadow. That’s good.”
You let out a small, breathy sound that might be a laugh if your lungs were in any condition to support it. It turns into a cough halfway through, your shoulders jolting once against him. “Mm. Very good assessment,” you murmur, eyes still closed. “Good job.”
“I’m trying,” Megumi says, his voice tilting into a mewl at the end.
“I know.”
Megumi stares at the floor again, at the cracked wood and the marks left behind—evidence of his hands, his technique, his choices. He can still feel the shape of your wrist in his grip like a ghost imprint burned into skin. Even though he let go, nothing about it feels like it ended.
“Keep going.”
“I would like to have hot chocolate with you. When this is over.” It’s so easy to picture it. Curling up on that big, old couch with a fuzzy blanket. You never complain when Megumi wants to warm his cold feet between your warm calves. Your hot chocolate is the best in the world, you manage to make it look so fancy with the whipped cream and cinnamon dust on top. It sounds like heaven right now. Hot chocolate and a cozy, slice of life anime. Megumi isn’t even interested in those but right now, he just wants that mundanity . The food looks so good in those shows. Yeah, he’s getting hungry too. “Can we do that? When we’re safe?”
“We’ll do that,” you smile. “Whatever my bunny likes.”
A soft sniffle. It’s not you. Megumi hides his face in your shoulder this time. A second later, you feel him shake against you. “I want to go home.”
“I know, I know,” you coo softly.
Megumi presses his face deeper into the curve of your neck. “I really, really want to go home.”
You smooth a trembling hand through his hair. “I know.”
The pressure around your ribcage increases, more and more as Megumi hugs you so tightly, wishing he could squeeze the both of you into a different dimension. Your hand stays in his hair, combing through the tangled strands with slow, sleepy motions. If Megumi zones out enough, he can pretend he’s just hugging you after you took one exhausting shower. Soft breaths fill the room.
“Senpai…”
“Yeah?”
“When he comes back…”
“They don’t want to kill us,” you reply instantly. “I just can’t figure out what they want.”
You say it like you don’t expect Megumi to have any input. He’s smart, he’s come to the same conclusions as you but you take control of the situation, even though you’re the one who’s hurt. You guide him and he feels ashamed for needing that.
However, you’re the senpai, after all.
So, when the curse user comes back, the horrors will continue and you’ll help your bunny through it all. His scent envelops you completely now, a familiar air of shower gel and sweat. His shadow was your enemy moments ago and yet, you’d feel a sense of comfort, were your lungs to give out. Suffocation in him is much better than a stranger’s blade. Megumi doesn’t know that. He’s too proud to recognize the small mercy in a familiar death.
You’ve gotten ahead of yourself. The man is not even in the room yet.
“I’m proud of—“
“Don’t,” Megumi cuts you off, “Do not finish that. I just want this to be over, okay?” His voice trembles again.
You’re about to reply when a distant rumble interrupts. It sounds like furniture being moved or something heavy being transported. It doesn’t matter. Both of you freeze, breaths catching and Megumi even whimpers softly. His muscles tense up hard around you and before you know it, he’s dragging you to the corner of the hotel room, determined to keep you safe in the haze of panic and fear. “No, no, no…”
“Megumi—“
Nails dig deep into your sides, he holds onto you for dear life. The unidentifiable noise quiets, replaced by footsteps nearing the door. Heavy, insistent.
“I don’t want it,” he mewls, curling up around you. “I don’t want this.”
You don’t have the strength to reassure him. It’s taking a toll on you too. With a soft exhale, you let yourself be held, your half-lidded eyes stay on the door. The handle is pushed down and the same electronic clicking sound signals the entrance being opened.
“Bunny…”
Megumi whines, squeezing his eyes shut. Blood pounds in his ears and for a moment, he thinks he might pass out, that his heart might stop working.
“Bunny, look.”
Megumi shakes his head and presses it further into your shoulder.
There are a few seconds of silence.
“It’s okay.” Yuji’s voice comes out raspy, rougher than usual. He’s out of breath, hands in tight fists and the collar of his shirt is torn. It’s not unusual for him to end up looking like he was put through a meat grinder, his sorcery involves a lot of close combat. To Megumi, the voice is like a choir of angels. His eyes open and he looks up at his classmate from behind you, with lowered eyelids and a curtain of messy, spiky hair. It’s really him.
“Itadori…” he mumbles into the fabric of your shirt. His mind is still catching up. The other boy waves hesitantly as he takes in the scene.
“Yeah.”
Megumi waits for your reaction, he needs you to confirm that thos is actually real. You just cough once and smile.
“There he is.”
Yuji doesn't move right away. For a second, he just stands there in the doorway, chest heaving, eyes darting between the two of you. The room tells the story before either of you can. The floor, your wet hair, the corner of the room.
“I,” Yuji begins, gesturing to his left clumsily, “I dealt with them.”
That was all the rumbling. Maybe the phone call had something to do with it too.
“Hear that, bunny? He dealt with them,” you repeat quietly, softly, like you’re coaxing a scared animal. The gentleness chips away at Megumi’s composure. He stares at Yuji for another second before something inside him finally snaps. The tension holding his spine straight dissolves. His shoulders cave. A strangled sound escapes him, then another and suddenly he’s crying, really this time. Ugly, helpless sobs that wrench out of his chest so hard they hurt.
“Oh.” Yuji’s face falls. “Oh, man.”
Megumi’s fingers bunch in the fabric of your shirt and suddenly you’re manhandled like you’re an oversized tissue for the river of tears. He turns you until his face is nuzzled into your collarbone. Everything he has been holding together for the last hour finally gives way. Gripping your sleeve with one hand, the hem of Yuji’s shirt with the other, he stumbles into the hallway. "He—" A gasp. "He made me—"
Another breath catches.
"I couldn't—"
You don’t fight it but as soon as Yuji’s gaze lands on you, you mouth a soundless “We have to go” at him. The boy nods. He doesn’t interrupt Megumi’s confessions. Floorboards creak as he approaches, while choppy gasps and words pour out of Megumi. The latter doesn’t notice that he’s being pulled to his feet, nor that you’re picked up by Yuji. Everything becomes a blur. He stumbles, halfway leaning against Yuji, following him blindly while still struggling. Hiccups every now and then.
He doesn’t hear you asking Yuji whether there’s still some hot chocolate left at home.
The next time your kohai registers something, he’s on a plush surface. Something with a backrest. A sofa. Just like he wanted. A blue, crocheted blanket stretches over his knees and there’s an extra source of warmth at his feet. Something with pastel color grading is on the TV— easy on the eyes. The clothes covering his skin are oversized, not his. The scent of his own shampoo climbs up his nose.
Two mugs sit on the coffee table, whipped cream decorating the top.
And someone is definitely leaning all their weight against his side. Your head is resting on his shoulder. One of your hands is trapped beneath the blanket between your bodies. The other is curled loosely against your stomach.
You’re still near him, even after all he’s done. You still made the hot chocolates. It’s… it’s over. Oh.
Instinctively, Megumi’s feet wiggle their way further between your calves. Your legs part to allow him closer. “Sh, s’okay,” you slur out. “You’re okay.”
The only reason Megumi stays put is because he’s decided he wants to be really good now. He wants to make things right and if it means accepting your trust in him, he’ll do that.
“Is senpai in pain?”
“Mh, no, I’m okay. Just tired.”
“Me too.”
“We can sleep a bit.”
“Is that okay?”
“Yeah.”
Slowly, Megumi sinks down into the couch with you. Your body goes limp the moment you’re horizontal. Then it’s just the satisfying pressure on Megumi’s body that matters. He’s not the cuddly type and he only tolerates you giving him nicknames because he doesn’t want to be a brat.
However, as the world softens around his tired limbs, he finds himself enjoying the proximity. Fingers tangle in your hair, more balanced this time and Megumi stares at the ceiling as he curls your locks around his thumb. There is a lot of damage to deal with. A lot of things to process. It’s still unclear what the point of all of that was. Just this once, can it be someone else’s problem? This is nice. Almost as if the even rise and fall of your chest, your peaceful exhaustion, they erased Megumi’s sins. A strong contrast to your thrashing body, and a welcome one too.
“Good night,” he mumbles, though it’s not even evening yet.
“Good night, bunny.”
૮(◞ ‸ ◟ )აall rights reserved. no translations, plagiarism, modifications, reposts, or ai feeding. disturbing comments will be deleted. english is not my native language.
@liveforkny @solarvulturematrix @crimsaints asked to be tagged
You make Sukuna cry :3 18+, minors dni cw: piv, praise, crying, squirting, mating press
You’d think it’d be impossible to make the King of Curses cry. He’s strong, mighty and… sensitive?
It hurts.
He’s going as slowly as he can. The drag of his cock inside you is painfully measured. He practiced beforehand. So many nights spent in his bed in tears as he tortured himself with his fist, trying to mimic the tightness of your cunt. Fragile little humans aren’t supposed to lay with beings like Sukuna.
The claws digging into the bed have already broken through the sheets, leaving holes behind. He’s trying so hard to be gentle for you.
A low curse escapes his lips when you clench, he almost collapses forward.
It’s pathetic what a human girl can do to him. Your pussy is strangling his cock ruthlessly, despite looking shy and innocent two minutes ago. You have the audacity to blink up at Sukuna dumbly, batting your eyelashes as pleasure overtakes you.
“Feels so good,” you giggle, lips parting with a glossy string of spit between them. “More, please!”
More? Have you gone mad? You even pull your knees back, opening yourself for deeper access.
Tears bead in Sukuna’s eyes. He obliges, with deep grunts, he manages to slide deeper but his sanity is breaking. All he wants to do is thrust into you, hard and fast. Your poor pussy would not survive that. So he bears it.
“Baby, you’re doing so well, oh,” you coo, planting cute kisses all over Sukuna’s face. He doesn’t reply. How ridiculous. He’s torn down villages. Destroyed nations.
Pussy is what defeats him.
Finally, his cock is buried to a hilt. He glances down. God. His monstrous length in your pretty little pussy. It looks like blasphemy, the way he’s splitting you open.
You look so blissed out. The first tear rolls down his cheek. Now comes the hard part.
“That’s so good, ah, ah—“
Sukuna silences you with a kiss, he can’t listen to you anymore without losing his mind. Nasty squelches fill the room. Sniffles and wet sounds of skin sliding against skin.
Sukuna is a good curse for his human.
You moan into his mouth, laughing even more as you squirt around the invasion. For a moment, the man above you has to stop, taking the sight of you so shamelessly enjoying the reactions his cock coaxes out of your body. A harsh bite into his own lower lip is what stops him from pounding into you. No, you’re so gorgeous. You deserve this. He’ll suffer for you. He just smiles and continues the slow thrusts, even when his strong thighs start going numb. “You’re beautiful,” he breathes. You really are. You take him like a champ. “Wanna cum?”
A rough grunt. “May I?” “Aw, of course, I’m always happy to take what you give.” Oh, you silly woman. Shouldn’t say things like that. “Deep breath for me,” you instruct and when you see Sukuna’s ribcage expand against yours, you pull your legs completely back into a mating press. “Fuck—“
“There we go.”
:3 all rights reserved. no translations, plagiarism, modifications, reposts, or ai feeding. disturbing comments will be deleted. english is not my native language.
forced separation - Kashimo ૮꒰◞ ˕ ◟ ྀི꒱ა 18+, minors dni p6 | p5 cw: sexual references, suggestive note: denial is a river in Egypt
☺️Hi
Do You think, as a person on the schizo spectrum, that Bachira is also on it? What is your opinion?
Hi! This is an interesting question. I haven’t read all of the manga yet so take my opinion with a grain of salt. Blue Lock has many metaphors. To me, it isn’t about soccer at all. I think it’s why sometimes, Ego’s explanations are non-sensical, even I can tell that certain things just don’t work like that irl. It’s as if the author was trying to make sure we know that the sport itself is just a tool for storytelling. I see Bachira’s monster as a metaphor for his standards and strength. He talks about what the monster would do on the field and complains about not having anyone who can keep up with the monster. This makes it hard for him to have friends and connect with people. They don’t see his genius. (I think this makes him similar to Kashimo btw) So, to me, the monster isn’t an actual hallucination but a yearning for teammates on his level. And of course psychotic illnesses aren’t just hallucinations and a general weirdness. Although, it is possible that the author is simply ignorant, does think of Bachira as schizo and reduces his illness to stereotypes. I’d be suprised though. Canon Bachira is not schizo in my opinion, however I don’t mind if anyone interprets him as such or writes a fanfic with schizo!Bachira.
hurting you or hurting him? ૮(◞ ‸ ◟ )ა 18+, minors dni cw: senpai!reader, kohai!Megumi, dddne: graphic depictions of violence, torture, suffocation/waterboarding, implied kidnapping, blood, whump, hurt/comfort, near death experience note: based on this. Highly requested. This only contains Megumi x reader but I can do this for more characters if I have the time and you guys are comfortable with more. This fic is very personal to me.
The fingers curled around Megumi’s wrist are still keeping the tight grip. That’s good.
It’s the only thing Megumi can register at this point. His vision is too blurry, the blood throbs in his ears too loudly, he has to rely on purely tactile signals. He would rather be in your place. The depleting cursed energy, the mean remarks, they don’t hurt as much as this but right now, Megumi is focused on reading your body. The panic, the guilt, it can come later.
“Y-you’re doing really well,” he sniffles, though he’s sure you can’t hear him. His shadow is too thick.
It must be so scary. Dark, suffocating nothingness depriving you of air and most of your senses. Hard to tell how long you can last. For a moment, Megumi dares to glance back at the curse user. He sits on the chair with a bored expression, elbows propped up on his knees, a phone in one hand. A silly tune plays on low volume from the game the man is playing. That makes it even worse. You’re fighting for your life. He’s just playing a game. His other hand is seemingly free but his index finger points towards Megumi.
“You can stop when I die,” the curse user had said. Die, as in, in his stupid game. How fucked up is that.
You squirm on the ground, thighs parting and pushing back against the cool, hard ground. This is the worst part. When you really don’t have air in your lungs left and your body is overtaken by dread. Megumi hates this part the most. You’ve gone through three cycles of it already. A point comes when you’re truly out of breath and your body automatically gasps for air again, an instinct the human body can’t suppress. This is what makes it dangerous. Once you start breathing his shadow in, swallowing it like oxygen, your chance of survival plummets.
Tears and snot run down Megumi’s face as he braves himself against your back to keep you still. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry—“
Your nails carve small imprints into the wood, blood filling the cracks from how hard you’re trying to break free.
“Just a bit longer, I promise.”
In reality, Megumi has no idea when he’s allowed to stop. And he feels awful for comforting you through your torture, using the same words you had used to encourage him during missions.
Your nails dig into his wrist but as long as they’re not going slack, Megumi will keep his emotions in check. As long as your body isn’t doing that awful jerky thing…
He can’t even see your face. Maybe that’s a mercy.
If Megumi could see you, he thinks he would break.
Another violent shudder wracks through your body. Your shoulders strain against him, every muscle drawn painfully tight. The hand clutching his wrist spasms once, fingers digging in so deep he knows there will be bruises later. The thought that you’re fighting him—really fighting him this time—urges every cell in his body to stop what he has left of his technique. But then you’re both dead.
The curse user is not getting anything out of this, evidently so. His eyes are glued to the screen. Which means, someone else is giving orders. It’s not the sadism of one person, it feels purposeful. An agenda must be behind this. Still, in his situation, Megumi can’t come up with a good explanation.
All that matters is that he doesn’t lose you.
“You’re doing a good job,” he sniffles. Then, your grip loosens, just for a second, before you let go of him completely and use that arm to try breaking free from your kohai’s grip. It’s useless. Megumi’s front presses into your back, keeping you on your knees and your head on the floor. “Shit, no, don’t do that—“
You elbow into his ribs, he knows it isn’t personal, it’s natural and it doesn’t even hurt him that much physically. “I’m so sorry, we’re almost done…” He cries helplessly. No one is coming to save either of you. Gojo is sealed. Yuji is at the store.
Another glance at the captor. He’s looming over his phone with a hunched back, biting his lip. “Are you kidding me…?” The man mutters to himself. The phone starts buzzing. Immediately, he stands up and leaves the room like a flip has been switched. The door makes a soft clicking sound, the electronic lock activating. Must be an urgent call. Megumi can only assume that means he can stop.
So he does. His technique turns off completely and the shadow on the ground disappears as your head comes up.
Your eyes are barely open and your throat works frantically as you gasp for air, wet strands of hair stretch into your face from both sides. Megumi holds your upper body, bending you slightly forward in case—
Foggy, sticky water is squeezed upwards in your throat, muscles convulsing. You retch, your stomach curls up into itself. A hand holds your hair back. About one big gulp of liquid lands on the ground, splattering all over the floorboards.
Your body shakes, then you lean back, head lolling onto Megumi’s shoulders.
“Hi, bunny…”
God. How Megumi hates this. He hates how your lips still curl into a weak smile, how you speak to him so softly. Don’t you know what he’s done to you? He isn’t your gentle bunny you always paint him to be. He’s a nasty wolf. Just look at you, your red-rimmed eyes with popped blood vessels, your frantically expanding ribcage, your slackened jaw.
Megumi refuses to respond to kindness he doesn’t deserve.
Your lips aren’t blue, that’s a good sign. No cyanosis.
“You didn’t swallow anything, right?” Megumi’s voice trembles from guilt and self-hatred. “Senpai, did you swallow?”
It would’ve been obvious if you did but making sure is important. You shake your head.
“No, bunny.”
Megumi exhales. Relief should come. It doesn’t. Now that you can breathe again, Megumi can finally see the full extent of what he’s done. Your chest rises in sharp, uneven pulls. Every inhale sounds painful, scraped raw from forcing your body to function without air for far too long. The blood vessels burst beneath your eyes stand out angrily against your skin. And still, you're looking at him, without accusation and without anger. You’re just looking like he’s a pretty painting in a museum. You’re checking if he’s okay. Megumi feels sick.
His hand is still tangled in your hair from keeping it away from your face. He lets go immediately, like he's been burned. You blink slowly.
"Bunny?"
Your voice is barely there. Megumi averts his eyes. The floor is covered in scratches from where you'd fought against him. There are bloody crescents carved into the wood. Marks that exist because you'd been trying to survive.
“He…he wanted to— I—“
“I know.” You blink once, twice, then your body goes limp against his, like you’re letting your guard down. “You had to. I know. It’s okay.”
Oh, how Megumi hates that you can give him this much grace. If you hated him, it would be easier. He shakes his head, sniffling and wiping tears into his own shoulder that have yet to arrive. The urge to touch his other shoulder as a self-soothing mechanism is strong but he has to hold you now.
“I’m so sorry, senpai,” he tries not to sound like he’s crying. “Please don’t forgive me.”
“Oh, bunny…”
“No, don’t say it like that, please.”
“Look at me.”
Megumi doesn’t want to. The floor is suddenly the safest thing in the world. It’s just wood and scratches and the faint echo of a door that already closed. If he looks at you, he’ll see it again—the way your body folded under what he controlled.
“Don’t,” he whispers, almost automatically. Your fingers shift against his sleeve.
“Megumi.”
His name in your voice sounds like the blessing it means. He forces himself to look.
Your face is a mess of exhaustion and blinking, slow awareness. But your eyes—your eyes are steady. Still on him.
“I’m looking,” he says.
“Good. Listen now. You saved us. You hear? You did.”
“But I…” He trails off, voice growing weaker, shakier. “And I was…”
You recognize that thing he does when too many thoughts are in his head and he wants to talk about all of them. Only the first part of each sentence leaves his lips. You inhale deeply, taking this moment to collect yourself. The curse user is gone but the door is locked. They haven’t named anything they wanted to have from either of you.
They could want ransom but their torture methods don’t make sense for that, minor amputations would be more likely.
You reach up to cup Megumi’s face, quieting him, palm warm against the boy’s cheek. His tired heart wants to reject your empathy.
“I…I know my moral compass is already messed up. I only care about a few people but those people… I have to keep those people really, really safe.”
The structure of his sentences becomes a bit childlike, that’s when you know just how helpless he feels. You nod, your cheek rubs against Megumi’s shoulder as you do. “I know, bunny. I know.”
“I really want to keep you safe, senpai.”
“I know. You’re the sweetest bunny, aren’t you?” You smile, turning your face to rub your nose against his Jujutsu High uniform jacket too.
“I should be comforting you. Can I try?” The boy asks. He knows comforting, affection, words of encouragement… they’re not his strong suit. This time, Megumi wants to be useful emotionally.
The problem is that every time you comfort him, you make it look easy. You always know what to say. He doesn't. His version of comfort usually consists of hovering nearby and silently solving whatever problem is making someone upset. Bringing an umbrella without being asked. Walking on the side closest to traffic. Making tea and pretending it wasn't specifically for them.
“I’d really like that,” you reply, closing your eyes, ready to be soothed by someone who clearly needs the act more than you do. You wait patiently, though the man forcing Megumi to hurt you could come back any minute. Megumi thinks about all the times you’ve comforted him, in the hopes that he can mimic that.
"Well..." He swallows. "You're alive."
You hum like this is already the equivalent of getting spa treatment, a very gentle one. “What else, bunny?”
“You didn’t… you didn’t swallow my shadow. That’s good.”
You let out a small, breathy sound that might be a laugh if your lungs were in any condition to support it. It turns into a cough halfway through, your shoulders jolting once against him. “Mm. Very good assessment,” you murmur, eyes still closed. “Good job.”
“I’m trying,” Megumi says, his voice tilting into a mewl at the end.
“I know.”
Megumi stares at the floor again, at the cracked wood and the marks left behind—evidence of his hands, his technique, his choices. He can still feel the shape of your wrist in his grip like a ghost imprint burned into skin. Even though he let go, nothing about it feels like it ended.
“Keep going.”
“I would like to have hot chocolate with you. When this is over.” It’s so easy to picture it. Curling up on that big, old couch with a fuzzy blanket. You never complain when Megumi wants to warm his cold feet between your warm calves. Your hot chocolate is the best in the world, you manage to make it look so fancy with the whipped cream and cinnamon dust on top. It sounds like heaven right now. Hot chocolate and a cozy, slice of life anime. Megumi isn’t even interested in those but right now, he just wants that mundanity . The food looks so good in those shows. Yeah, he’s getting hungry too. “Can we do that? When we’re safe?”
“We’ll do that,” you smile. “Whatever my bunny likes.”
A soft sniffle. It’s not you. Megumi hides his face in your shoulder this time. A second later, you feel him shake against you. “I want to go home.”
“I know, I know,” you coo softly.
Megumi presses his face deeper into the curve of your neck. “I really, really want to go home.”
You smooth a trembling hand through his hair. “I know.”
The pressure around your ribcage increases, more and more as Megumi hugs you so tightly, wishing he could squeeze the both of you into a different dimension. Your hand stays in his hair, combing through the tangled strands with slow, sleepy motions. If Megumi zones out enough, he can pretend he’s just hugging you after you took one exhausting shower. Soft breaths fill the room.
“Senpai…”
“Yeah?”
“When he comes back…”
“They don’t want to kill us,” you reply instantly. “I just can’t figure out what they want.”
You say it like you don’t expect Megumi to have any input. He’s smart, he’s come to the same conclusions as you but you take control of the situation, even though you’re the one who’s hurt. You guide him and he feels ashamed for needing that.
However, you’re the senpai, after all.
So, when the curse user comes back, the horrors will continue and you’ll help your bunny through it all. His scent envelops you completely now, a familiar air of shower gel and sweat. His shadow was your enemy moments ago and yet, you’d feel a sense of comfort, were your lungs to give out. Suffocation in him is much better than a stranger’s blade. Megumi doesn’t know that. He’s too proud to recognize the small mercy in a familiar death.
You’ve gotten ahead of yourself. The man is not even in the room yet.
“I’m proud of—“
“Don’t,” Megumi cuts you off, “Do not finish that. I just want this to be over, okay?” His voice trembles again.
You’re about to reply when a distant rumble interrupts. It sounds like furniture being moved or something heavy being transported. It doesn’t matter. Both of you freeze, breaths catching and Megumi even whimpers softly. His muscles tense up hard around you and before you know it, he’s dragging you to the corner of the hotel room, determined to keep you safe in the haze of panic and fear. “No, no, no…”
“Megumi—“
Nails dig deep into your sides, he holds onto you for dear life. The unidentifiable noise quiets, replaced by footsteps nearing the door. Heavy, insistent.
“I don’t want it,” he mewls, curling up around you. “I don’t want this.”
You don’t have the strength to reassure him. It’s taking a toll on you too. With a soft exhale, you let yourself be held, your half-lidded eyes stay on the door. The handle is pushed down and the same electronic clicking sound signals the entrance being opened.
“Bunny…”
Megumi whines, squeezing his eyes shut. Blood pounds in his ears and for a moment, he thinks he might pass out, that his heart might stop working.
“Bunny, look.”
Megumi shakes his head and presses it further into your shoulder.
There are a few seconds of silence.
“It’s okay.” Yuji’s voice comes out raspy, rougher than usual. He’s out of breath, hands in tight fists and the collar of his shirt is torn. It’s not unusual for him to end up looking like he was put through a meat grinder, his sorcery involves a lot of close combat. To Megumi, the voice is like a choir of angels. His eyes open and he looks up at his classmate from behind you, with lowered eyelids and a curtain of messy, spiky hair. It’s really him.
“Itadori…” he mumbles into the fabric of your shirt. His mind is still catching up. The other boy waves hesitantly as he takes in the scene.
“Yeah.”
Megumi waits for your reaction, he needs you to confirm that thos is actually real. You just cough once and smile.
“There he is.”
Yuji doesn't move right away. For a second, he just stands there in the doorway, chest heaving, eyes darting between the two of you. The room tells the story before either of you can. The floor, your wet hair, the corner of the room.
“I,” Yuji begins, gesturing to his left clumsily, “I dealt with them.”
That was all the rumbling. Maybe the phone call had something to do with it too.
“Hear that, bunny? He dealt with them,” you repeat quietly, softly, like you’re coaxing a scared animal. The gentleness chips away at Megumi’s composure. He stares at Yuji for another second before something inside him finally snaps. The tension holding his spine straight dissolves. His shoulders cave. A strangled sound escapes him, then another and suddenly he’s crying, really this time. Ugly, helpless sobs that wrench out of his chest so hard they hurt.
“Oh.” Yuji’s face falls. “Oh, man.”
Megumi’s fingers bunch in the fabric of your shirt and suddenly you’re manhandled like you’re an oversized tissue for the river of tears. He turns you until his face is nuzzled into your collarbone. Everything he has been holding together for the last hour finally gives way. Gripping your sleeve with one hand, the hem of Yuji’s shirt with the other, he stumbles into the hallway. "He—" A gasp. "He made me—"
Another breath catches.
"I couldn't—"
You don’t fight it but as soon as Yuji’s gaze lands on you, you mouth a soundless “We have to go” at him. The boy nods. He doesn’t interrupt Megumi’s confessions. Floorboards creak as he approaches, while choppy gasps and words pour out of Megumi. The latter doesn’t notice that he’s being pulled to his feet, nor that you’re picked up by Yuji. Everything becomes a blur. He stumbles, halfway leaning against Yuji, following him blindly while still struggling. Hiccups every now and then.
He doesn’t hear you asking Yuji whether there’s still some hot chocolate left at home.
The next time your kohai registers something, he’s on a plush surface. Something with a backrest. A sofa. Just like he wanted. A blue, crocheted blanket stretches over his knees and there’s an extra source of warmth at his feet. Something with pastel color grading is on the TV— easy on the eyes. The clothes covering his skin are oversized, not his. The scent of his own shampoo climbs up his nose.
Two mugs sit on the coffee table, whipped cream decorating the top.
And someone is definitely leaning all their weight against his side. Your head is resting on his shoulder. One of your hands is trapped beneath the blanket between your bodies. The other is curled loosely against your stomach.
You’re still near him, even after all he’s done. You still made the hot chocolates. It’s… it’s over. Oh.
Instinctively, Megumi’s feet wiggle their way further between your calves. Your legs part to allow him closer. “Sh, s’okay,” you slur out. “You’re okay.”
The only reason Megumi stays put is because he’s decided he wants to be really good now. He wants to make things right and if it means accepting your trust in him, he’ll do that.
“Is senpai in pain?”
“Mh, no, I’m okay. Just tired.”
“Me too.”
“We can sleep a bit.”
“Is that okay?”
“Yeah.”
Slowly, Megumi sinks down into the couch with you. Your body goes limp the moment you’re horizontal. Then it’s just the satisfying pressure on Megumi’s body that matters. He’s not the cuddly type and he only tolerates you giving him nicknames because he doesn’t want to be a brat.
However, as the world softens around his tired limbs, he finds himself enjoying the proximity. Fingers tangle in your hair, more balanced this time and Megumi stares at the ceiling as he curls your locks around his thumb. There is a lot of damage to deal with. A lot of things to process. It’s still unclear what the point of all of that was. Just this once, can it be someone else’s problem? This is nice. Almost as if the even rise and fall of your chest, your peaceful exhaustion, they erased Megumi’s sins. A strong contrast to your thrashing body, and a welcome one too.
“Good night,” he mumbles, though it’s not even evening yet.
“Good night, bunny.”
૮(◞ ‸ ◟ )აall rights reserved. no translations, plagiarism, modifications, reposts, or ai feeding. disturbing comments will be deleted. english is not my native language.
@liveforkny @solarvulturematrix @crimsaints asked to be tagged
hurting you or hurting him? ૮(◞ ‸ ◟ )ა 18+, minors dni cw: senpai!reader, kohai!Megumi, dddne: graphic depictions of violence, torture, suffocation/waterboarding, implied kidnapping, blood, whump, hurt/comfort, near death experience note: based on this. Highly requested. This only contains Megumi x reader but I can do this for more characters if I have the time and you guys are comfortable with more. This fic is very personal to me.
The fingers curled around Megumi’s wrist are still keeping the tight grip. That’s good.
It’s the only thing Megumi can register at this point. His vision is too blurry, the blood throbs in his ears too loudly, he has to rely on purely tactile signals. He would rather be in your place. The depleting cursed energy, the mean remarks, they don’t hurt as much as this but right now, Megumi is focused on reading your body. The panic, the guilt, it can come later.
“Y-you’re doing really well,” he sniffles, though he’s sure you can’t hear him. His shadow is too thick.
It must be so scary. Dark, suffocating nothingness depriving you of air and most of your senses. Hard to tell how long you can last. For a moment, Megumi dares to glance back at the curse user. He sits on the chair with a bored expression, elbows propped up on his knees, a phone in one hand. A silly tune plays on low volume from the game the man is playing. That makes it even worse. You’re fighting for your life. He’s just playing a game. His other hand is seemingly free but his index finger points towards Megumi.
“You can stop when I die,” the curse user had said. Die, as in, in his stupid game. How fucked up is that.
You squirm on the ground, thighs parting and pushing back against the cool, hard ground. This is the worst part. When you really don’t have air in your lungs left and your body is overtaken by dread. Megumi hates this part the most. You’ve gone through three cycles of it already. A point comes when you’re truly out of breath and your body automatically gasps for air again, an instinct the human body can’t suppress. This is what makes it dangerous. Once you start breathing his shadow in, swallowing it like oxygen, your chance of survival plummets.
Tears and snot run down Megumi’s face as he braves himself against your back to keep you still. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry—“
Your nails carve small imprints into the wood, blood filling the cracks from how hard you’re trying to break free.
“Just a bit longer, I promise.”
In reality, Megumi has no idea when he’s allowed to stop. And he feels awful for comforting you through your torture, using the same words you had used to encourage him during missions.
Your nails dig into his wrist but as long as they’re not going slack, Megumi will keep his emotions in check. As long as your body isn’t doing that awful jerky thing…
He can’t even see your face. Maybe that’s a mercy.
If Megumi could see you, he thinks he would break.
Another violent shudder wracks through your body. Your shoulders strain against him, every muscle drawn painfully tight. The hand clutching his wrist spasms once, fingers digging in so deep he knows there will be bruises later. The thought that you’re fighting him—really fighting him this time—urges every cell in his body to stop what he has left of his technique. But then you’re both dead.
The curse user is not getting anything out of this, evidently so. His eyes are glued to the screen. Which means, someone else is giving orders. It’s not the sadism of one person, it feels purposeful. An agenda must be behind this. Still, in his situation, Megumi can’t come up with a good explanation.
All that matters is that he doesn’t lose you.
“You’re doing a good job,” he sniffles. Then, your grip loosens, just for a second, before you let go of him completely and use that arm to try breaking free from your kohai’s grip. It’s useless. Megumi’s front presses into your back, keeping you on your knees and your head on the floor. “Shit, no, don’t do that—“
You elbow into his ribs, he knows it isn’t personal, it’s natural and it doesn’t even hurt him that much physically. “I’m so sorry, we’re almost done…” He cries helplessly. No one is coming to save either of you. Gojo is sealed. Yuji is at the store.
Another glance at the captor. He’s looming over his phone with a hunched back, biting his lip. “Are you kidding me…?” The man mutters to himself. The phone starts buzzing. Immediately, he stands up and leaves the room like a flip has been switched. The door makes a soft clicking sound, the electronic lock activating. Must be an urgemt call. Megumi can only assume that means he can stop.
So he does. His technique turns off completely and the shadow on the ground disappears as your head comes up.
Your eyes are barely open and your throat works frantically as you gasp for air, wet strands of hair stretch into your face from both sides. Megumi holds your upper body, bending you slightly forward in case—
Foggy, sticky water is squeezed upwards in your throat, muscles convulsing. You retch, your stomach curls up into itself. A hand holds your hair back. About one big gulp of liquid lands on the ground, splattering all over the floorboards.
Your body shakes, then you lean back, head lolling onto Megumi’s shoulders.
“Hi, bunny…”
God. How Megumi hates this. He hates how your lips still curl into a weak smile, how you speak to him so softly. Don’t you know what he’s done to you? He isn’t your gentle bunny you always paint him to be. He’s a nasty wolf. Just look at you, your red-rimmed eyes with popped blood vessels, your frantically expanding ribcage, your slackened jaw.
Megumi refuses to respond to kindness he doesn’t deserve.
Your lips aren’t blue, that’s a good sign. No cyanosis.
“You didn’t swallow anything, right?” Megumi’s voice trembles from guilt and self-hatred. “Senpai, did you swallow?”
It would’ve been obvious if you did but making sure is important. You shake your head.
“No, bunny.”
Megumi exhales. Relief should come. It doesn’t. Now that you can breathe again, Megumi can finally see the full extent of what he’s done. Your chest rises in sharp, uneven pulls. Every inhale sounds painful, scraped raw from forcing your body to function without air for far too long. The blood vessels burst beneath your eyes stand out angrily against your skin. And still, you're looking at him, without accusation and without anger. You’re just looking like he’s a pretty painting in a museum. You’re checking if he’s okay. Megumi feels sick.
His hand is still tangled in your hair from keeping it away from your face. He lets go immediately, like he's been burned. You blink slowly.
"Bunny?"
Your voice is barely there. Megumi averts his eyes. The floor is covered in scratches from where you'd fought against him. There are bloody crescents carved into the wood. Marks that exist because you'd been trying to survive.
“He…he wanted to— I—“
“I know.” You blink once, twice, then your body goes limp against his, like you’re letting your guard down. “You had to. I know. It’s okay.”
Oh, how Megumi hates that you can give him this much grace. If you hated him, it would be easier. He shakes his head, sniffling and wiping tears into his own shoulder that have yet to arrive. The urge to touch his other shoulder as a self-soothing mechanism is strong but he has to hold you now.
“I’m so sorry, senpai,” he tries not to sound like he’s crying. “Please don’t forgive me.”
“Oh, bunny…”
“No, don’t say it like that, please.”
“Look at me.”
Megumi doesn’t want to. The floor is suddenly the safest thing in the world. It’s just wood and scratches and the faint echo of a door that already closed. If he looks at you, he’ll see it again—the way your body folded under what he controlled.
“Don’t,” he whispers, almost automatically. Your fingers shift against his sleeve.
“Megumi.”
His name in your voice sounds like the blessing it means. He forces himself to look.
Your face is a mess of exhaustion and blinking, slow awareness. But your eyes—your eyes are steady. Still on him.
“I’m looking,” he says.
“Good. Listen now. You saved us. You hear? You did.”
“But I…” He trails off, voice growing weaker, shakier. “And I was…”
You recognize that thing he does when too many thoughts are in his head and he wants to talk about all of them. Only the first part of each sentence leaves his lips. You inhale deeply, taking this moment to collect yourself. The curse user is gone but the door is locked. They haven’t named anything they wanted to have from either of you.
They could want ransom but their torture methods don’t make sense for that, minor amputations would be more likely.
You reach up to cup Megumi’s face, quieting him, palm warm against the boy’s cheek. His tired heart wants to reject your empathy.
“I…I know my moral compass is already messed up. I only care about a few people but those people… I have to keep those people really, really safe.”
The structure of his sentences becomes a bit childlike, that’s when you know just how helpless he feels. You nod, your cheek rubs against Megumi’s shoulder as you do. “I know, bunny. I know.”
“I really want to keep you safe, senpai.”
“I know. You’re the sweetest bunny, aren’t you?” You smile, turning your face to rub your nose against his Jujutsu High uniform jacket too.
“I should be comforting you. Can I try?” The boy asks. He knows comforting, affection, words of encouragement… they’re not his strong suit. This time, Megumi wants to be useful emotionally.
The problem is that every time you comfort him, you make it look easy. You always know what to say. He doesn't. His version of comfort usually consists of hovering nearby and silently solving whatever problem is making someone upset. Bringing an umbrella without being asked. Walking on the side closest to traffic. Making tea and pretending it wasn't specifically for them.
“I’d really like that,” you reply, closing your eyes, ready to be soothed by someone who clearly needs the act more than you do. You wait patiently, though the man forcing Megumi to hurt you could come back any minute. Megumi thinks about all the times you’ve comforted him, in the hopes that he can mimic that.
"Well..." He swallows. "You're alive."
You hum like this is already the equivalent of getting spa treatment, a very gentle one. “What else, bunny?”
“You didn’t… you didn’t swallow my shadow. That’s good.”
You let out a small, breathy sound that might be a laugh if your lungs were in any condition to support it. It turns into a cough halfway through, your shoulders jolting once against him. “Mm. Very good assessment,” you murmur, eyes still closed. “Good job.”
“I’m trying,” Megumi says, his voice tilting into a mewl at the end.
“I know.”
Megumi stares at the floor again, at the cracked wood and the marks left behind—evidence of his hands, his technique, his choices. He can still feel the shape of your wrist in his grip like a ghost imprint burned into skin. Even though he let go, nothing about it feels like it ended.
“Keep going.”
“I would like to have hot chocolate with you. When this is over.” It’s so easy to picture it. Curling up on that big, old couch with a fuzzy blanket. You never complain when Megumi wants to warm his cold feet between your warm calves. Your hot chocolate is the best in the world, you manage to make it look so fancy with the whipped cream and cinnamon dust on top. It sounds like heaven right now. Hot chocolate and a cozy, slice of life anime. Megumi isn’t even interested in those but right now, he just wants that mundanity . The food looks so good in those shows. Yeah, he’s getting hungry too. “Can we do that? When we’re safe?”
“We’ll do that,” you smile. “Whatever my bunny likes.”
A soft sniffle. It’s not you. Megumi hides his face in your shoulder this time. A second later, you feel him shake against you. “I want to go home.”
“I know, I know,” you coo softly.
Megumi presses his face deeper into the curve of your neck. “I really, really want to go home.”
You smooth a trembling hand through his hair. “I know.”
The pressure around your ribcage increases, more and more as Megumi hugs you so tightly, wishing he could squeeze the both of you into a different dimension. Your hand stays in his hair, combing through the tangled strands with slow, sleepy motions. If Megumi zones out enough, he can pretend he’s just hugging you after you took one exhausting shower. Soft breaths fill the room.
“Senpai…”
“Yeah?”
“When he comes back…”
“They don’t want to kill us,” you reply instantly. “I just can’t figure out what they want.”
You say it like you don’t expect Megumi to have any input. He’s smart, he’s come to the same conclusions as you but you take control of the situation, even though you’re the one who’s hurt. You guide him and he feels ashamed for needing that.
However, you’re the senpai, after all.
So, when the curse user comes back, the horrors will continue and you’ll help your bunny through it all. His scent envelops you completely now, a familiar air of shower gel and sweat. His shadow was your enemy moments ago and yet, you’d feel a sense of comfort, were your lungs to give out. Suffocation in him is much better than a stranger’s blade. Megumi doesn’t know that. He’s too proud to recognize the small mercy in a familiar death.
You’ve gotten ahead of yourself. The man is not even in the room yet.
“I’m proud of—“
“Don’t,” Megumi cuts you off, “Do not finish that. I just want this to be over, okay?” His voice trembles again.
You’re about to reply when a distant rumble interrupts. It sounds like furniture being moved or something heavy being transported. It doesn’t matter. Both of you freeze, breaths catching and Megumi even whimpers softly. His muscles tense up hard around you and before you know it, he’s dragging you to the corner of the hotel room, determined to keep you safe in the haze of panic and fear. “No, no, no…”
“Megumi—“
Nails dig deep into your sides, he holds onto you for dear life. The unidentifiable noise quiets, replaced by footsteps nearing the door. Heavy, insistent.
“I don’t want it,” he mewls, curling up around you. “I don’t want this.”
You don’t have the strength to reassure him. It’s taking a toll on you too. With a soft exhale, you let yourself be held, your half-lidded eyes stay on the door. The handle is pushed down and the same electronic clicking sound signals the entrance being opened.
“Bunny…”
Megumi whines, squeezing his eyes shut. Blood pounds in his ears and for a moment, he thinks he might pass out, that his heart might stop working.
“Bunny, look.”
Megumi shakes his head and presses it further into your shoulder.
There are a few seconds of silence.
“It’s okay.” Yuji’s voice comes out raspy, rougher than usual. He’s out of breath, hands in tight fists and the collar of his shirt is torn. It’s not unusual for him to end up looking like he was put through a meat grinder, his sorcery involves a lot of close combat. To Megumi, the voice is like a choir of angels. His eyes open and he looks up at his classmate from behind you, with lowered eyelids and a curtain of messy, spiky hair. It’s really him.
“Itadori…” he mumbles into the fabric of your shirt. His mind is still catching up. The other boy waves hesitantly as he takes in the scene.
“Yeah.”
Megumi waits for your reaction, he needs you to confirm that thos is actually real. You just cough once and smile.
“There he is.”
Yuji doesn't move right away. For a second, he just stands there in the doorway, chest heaving, eyes darting between the two of you. The room tells the story before either of you can. The floor, your wet hair, the corner of the room.
“I,” Yuji begins, gesturing to his left clumsily, “I dealt with them.”
That was all the rumbling. Maybe the phone call had something to do with it too.
“Hear that, bunny? He dealt with them,” you repeat quietly, softly, like you’re coaxing a scared animal. The gentleness chips away at Megumi’s composure. He stares at Yuji for another second before something inside him finally snaps. The tension holding his spine straight dissolves. His shoulders cave. A strangled sound escapes him, then another and suddenly he’s crying, really this time. Ugly, helpless sobs that wrench out of his chest so hard they hurt.
“Oh.” Yuji’s face falls. “Oh, man.”
Megumi’s fingers bunch in the fabric of your shirt and suddenly you’re manhandled like you’re an oversized tissue for the river of tears. He turns you until his face is nuzzled into your collarbone. Everything he has been holding together for the last hour finally gives way. Gripping your sleeve with one hand, the hem of Yuji’s shirt with the other, he stumbles into the hallway. "He—" A gasp. "He made me—"
Another breath catches.
"I couldn't—"
You don’t fight it but as soon as Yuji’s gaze lands on you, you mouth a soundless “We have to go” at him. The boy nods. He doesn’t interrupt Megumi’s confessions. Floorboards creak as he approaches, while choppy gasps and words pour out of Megumi. The latter doesn’t notice that he’s being pulled to his feet, nor that you’re picked up by Yuji. Everything becomes a blur. He stumbles, halfway leaning against Yuji, following him blindly while still struggling. Hiccups every now and then.
He doesn’t hear you asking Yuji whether there’s still some hot chocolate left at home.
The next time your kohai registers something, he’s on a plush surface. Something with a backrest. A sofa. Just like he wanted. A blue, crocheted blanket stretches over his knees and there’s an extra source of warmth at his feet. Something with pastel color grading is on the TV— easy on the eyes. The clothes covering his skin are oversized, not his. The scent of his own shampoo climbs up his nose.
Two mugs sit on the coffee table, whipped cream decorating the top.
And someone is definitely leaning all their weight against his side. Your head is resting on his shoulder. One of your hands is trapped beneath the blanket between your bodies. The other is curled loosely against your stomach.
You’re still near him, even after all he’s done. You still made the hot chocolates. It’s… it’s over. Oh.
Instinctively, Megumi’s feet wiggle their way further between your calves. Your legs part to allow him closer. “Sh, s’okay,” you slur out. “You’re okay.”
The only reason Megumi stays put is because he’s decided he wants to be really good now. He wants to make things right and if it means accepting your trust in him, he’ll do that.
“Is senpai in pain?”
“Mh, no, I’m okay. Just tired.”
“Me too.”
“We can sleep a bit.”
“Is that okay?”
“Yeah.”
Slowly, Megumi sinks down into the couch with you. Your body goes limp the moment you’re horizontal. Then it’s just the satisfying pressure on Megumi’s body that matters. He’s not the cuddly type and he only tolerates you giving him nicknames because he doesn’t want to be a brat.
However, as the world softens around his tired limbs, he finds himself enjoying the proximity. Fingers tangle in your hair, more balanced this time and Megumi stares at the ceiling as he curls your locks around his thumb. There is a lot of damage to deal with. A lot of things to process. It’s still unclear what the point of all of that was. Just this once, can it be someone else’s problem? This is nice. Almost as if the even rise and fall of your chest, your peaceful exhaustion, they erased Megumi’s sins. A strong contrast to your thrashing body, and a welcome one too.
“Good night,” he mumbles, though it’s not even evening yet.
“Good night, bunny.”
૮(◞ ‸ ◟ )აall rights reserved. no translations, plagiarism, modifications, reposts, or ai feeding. disturbing comments will be deleted. english is not my native language.
@liveforkny @solarvulturematrix @crimsaints asked to be tagged
[cw, angst, whump, torture] ok so imagine jjk characters being forced to hurt the reader as a form of torture for them
Megumi having to waterboard senpai!reader with his shadows. Satoru crushing bestfriend!reader’s ribs with his Infinity. Kashimo being told they’ll let student!reader live if he shocks her heart. Choso having to feed curse!reader his blood, thus poisoning her. The aftermath and hurt/comfort could be so good here, they’d probably have to take care of reader and they’d be facing the damage they’ve done. They’d all feel guilty in their own ways and they’d try to help but maybe reader becomes scared of them? Or, worse, she tells them it’s okay and apologizes to them for causing trouble.
Megumi x senpai!reader here
hurting you or hurting him? ૮(◞ ‸ ◟ )ა 18+, minors dni cw: senpai!reader, kohai!Megumi, dddne: graphic depictions of violence, torture, suffocation/waterboarding, implied kidnapping, blood, whump, hurt/comfort, near death experience note: based on this. Highly requested. This only contains Megumi x reader but I can do this for more characters if I have the time and you guys are comfortable with more. This fic is very personal to me.
The fingers curled around Megumi’s wrist are still keeping the tight grip. That’s good.
It’s the only thing Megumi can register at this point. His vision is too blurry, the blood throbs in his ears too loudly, he has to rely on purely tactile signals. He would rather be in your place. The depleting cursed energy, the mean remarks, they don’t hurt as much as this but right now, Megumi is focused on reading your body. The panic, the guilt, it can come later.
“Y-you’re doing really well,” he sniffles, though he’s sure you can’t hear him. His shadow is too thick.
It must be so scary. Dark, suffocating nothingness depriving you of air and most of your senses. Hard to tell how long you can last. For a moment, Megumi dares to glance back at the curse user. He sits on the chair with a bored expression, elbows propped up on his knees, a phone in one hand. A silly tune plays on low volume from the game the man is playing. That makes it even worse. You’re fighting for your life. He’s just playing a game. His other hand is seemingly free but his index finger points towards Megumi.
“You can stop when I die,” the curse user had said. Die, as in, in his stupid game. How fucked up is that.
You squirm on the ground, thighs parting and pushing back against the cool, hard ground. This is the worst part. When you really don’t have air in your lungs left and your body is overtaken by dread. Megumi hates this part the most. You’ve gone through three cycles of it already. A point comes when you’re truly out of breath and your body automatically gasps for air again, an instinct the human body can’t suppress. This is what makes it dangerous. Once you start breathing his shadow in, swallowing it like oxygen, your chance of survival plummets.
Tears and snot run down Megumi’s face as he braves himself against your back to keep you still. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry—“
Your nails carve small imprints into the wood, blood filling the cracks from how hard you’re trying to break free.
“Just a bit longer, I promise.”
In reality, Megumi has no idea when he’s allowed to stop. And he feels awful for comforting you through your torture, using the same words you had used to encourage him during missions.
Your nails dig into his wrist but as long as they’re not going slack, Megumi will keep his emotions in check. As long as your body isn’t doing that awful jerky thing…
He can’t even see your face. Maybe that’s a mercy.
If Megumi could see you, he thinks he would break.
Another violent shudder wracks through your body. Your shoulders strain against him, every muscle drawn painfully tight. The hand clutching his wrist spasms once, fingers digging in so deep he knows there will be bruises later. The thought that you’re fighting him—really fighting him this time—urges every cell in his body to stop what he has left of his technique. But then you’re both dead.
The curse user is not getting anything out of this, evidently so. His eyes are glued to the screen. Which means, someone else is giving orders. It’s not the sadism of one person, it feels purposeful. An agenda must be behind this. Still, in his situation, Megumi can’t come up with a good explanation.
All that matters is that he doesn’t lose you.
“You’re doing a good job,” he sniffles. Then, your grip loosens, just for a second, before you let go of him completely and use that arm to try breaking free from your kohai’s grip. It’s useless. Megumi’s front presses into your back, keeping you on your knees and your head on the floor. “Shit, no, don’t do that—“
You elbow into his ribs, he knows it isn’t personal, it’s natural and it doesn’t even hurt him that much physically. “I’m so sorry, we’re almost done…” He cries helplessly. No one is coming to save either of you. Gojo is sealed. Yuji is at the store.
Another glance at the captor. He’s looming over his phone with a hunched back, biting his lip. “Are you kidding me…?” The man mutters to himself. The phone starts buzzing. Immediately, he stands up and leaves the room like a flip has been switched. The door makes a soft clicking sound, the electronic lock activating. Must be an urgent call. Megumi can only assume that means he can stop.
So he does. His technique turns off completely and the shadow on the ground disappears as your head comes up.
Your eyes are barely open and your throat works frantically as you gasp for air, wet strands of hair stretch into your face from both sides. Megumi holds your upper body, bending you slightly forward in case—
Foggy, sticky water is squeezed upwards in your throat, muscles convulsing. You retch, your stomach curls up into itself. A hand holds your hair back. About one big gulp of liquid lands on the ground, splattering all over the floorboards.
Your body shakes, then you lean back, head lolling onto Megumi’s shoulders.
“Hi, bunny…”
God. How Megumi hates this. He hates how your lips still curl into a weak smile, how you speak to him so softly. Don’t you know what he’s done to you? He isn’t your gentle bunny you always paint him to be. He’s a nasty wolf. Just look at you, your red-rimmed eyes with popped blood vessels, your frantically expanding ribcage, your slackened jaw.
Megumi refuses to respond to kindness he doesn’t deserve.
Your lips aren’t blue, that’s a good sign. No cyanosis.
“You didn’t swallow anything, right?” Megumi’s voice trembles from guilt and self-hatred. “Senpai, did you swallow?”
It would’ve been obvious if you did but making sure is important. You shake your head.
“No, bunny.”
Megumi exhales. Relief should come. It doesn’t. Now that you can breathe again, Megumi can finally see the full extent of what he’s done. Your chest rises in sharp, uneven pulls. Every inhale sounds painful, scraped raw from forcing your body to function without air for far too long. The blood vessels burst beneath your eyes stand out angrily against your skin. And still, you're looking at him, without accusation and without anger. You’re just looking like he’s a pretty painting in a museum. You’re checking if he’s okay. Megumi feels sick.
His hand is still tangled in your hair from keeping it away from your face. He lets go immediately, like he's been burned. You blink slowly.
"Bunny?"
Your voice is barely there. Megumi averts his eyes. The floor is covered in scratches from where you'd fought against him. There are bloody crescents carved into the wood. Marks that exist because you'd been trying to survive.
“He…he wanted to— I—“
“I know.” You blink once, twice, then your body goes limp against his, like you’re letting your guard down. “You had to. I know. It’s okay.”
Oh, how Megumi hates that you can give him this much grace. If you hated him, it would be easier. He shakes his head, sniffling and wiping tears into his own shoulder that have yet to arrive. The urge to touch his other shoulder as a self-soothing mechanism is strong but he has to hold you now.
“I’m so sorry, senpai,” he tries not to sound like he’s crying. “Please don’t forgive me.”
“Oh, bunny…”
“No, don’t say it like that, please.”
“Look at me.”
Megumi doesn’t want to. The floor is suddenly the safest thing in the world. It’s just wood and scratches and the faint echo of a door that already closed. If he looks at you, he’ll see it again—the way your body folded under what he controlled.
“Don’t,” he whispers, almost automatically. Your fingers shift against his sleeve.
“Megumi.”
His name in your voice sounds like the blessing it means. He forces himself to look.
Your face is a mess of exhaustion and blinking, slow awareness. But your eyes—your eyes are steady. Still on him.
“I’m looking,” he says.
“Good. Listen now. You saved us. You hear? You did.”
“But I…” He trails off, voice growing weaker, shakier. “And I was…”
You recognize that thing he does when too many thoughts are in his head and he wants to talk about all of them. Only the first part of each sentence leaves his lips. You inhale deeply, taking this moment to collect yourself. The curse user is gone but the door is locked. They haven’t named anything they wanted to have from either of you.
They could want ransom but their torture methods don’t make sense for that, minor amputations would be more likely.
You reach up to cup Megumi’s face, quieting him, palm warm against the boy’s cheek. His tired heart wants to reject your empathy.
“I…I know my moral compass is already messed up. I only care about a few people but those people… I have to keep those people really, really safe.”
The structure of his sentences becomes a bit childlike, that’s when you know just how helpless he feels. You nod, your cheek rubs against Megumi’s shoulder as you do. “I know, bunny. I know.”
“I really want to keep you safe, senpai.”
“I know. You’re the sweetest bunny, aren’t you?” You smile, turning your face to rub your nose against his Jujutsu High uniform jacket too.
“I should be comforting you. Can I try?” The boy asks. He knows comforting, affection, words of encouragement… they’re not his strong suit. This time, Megumi wants to be useful emotionally.
The problem is that every time you comfort him, you make it look easy. You always know what to say. He doesn't. His version of comfort usually consists of hovering nearby and silently solving whatever problem is making someone upset. Bringing an umbrella without being asked. Walking on the side closest to traffic. Making tea and pretending it wasn't specifically for them.
“I’d really like that,” you reply, closing your eyes, ready to be soothed by someone who clearly needs the act more than you do. You wait patiently, though the man forcing Megumi to hurt you could come back any minute. Megumi thinks about all the times you’ve comforted him, in the hopes that he can mimic that.
"Well..." He swallows. "You're alive."
You hum like this is already the equivalent of getting spa treatment, a very gentle one. “What else, bunny?”
“You didn’t… you didn’t swallow my shadow. That’s good.”
You let out a small, breathy sound that might be a laugh if your lungs were in any condition to support it. It turns into a cough halfway through, your shoulders jolting once against him. “Mm. Very good assessment,” you murmur, eyes still closed. “Good job.”
“I’m trying,” Megumi says, his voice tilting into a mewl at the end.
“I know.”
Megumi stares at the floor again, at the cracked wood and the marks left behind—evidence of his hands, his technique, his choices. He can still feel the shape of your wrist in his grip like a ghost imprint burned into skin. Even though he let go, nothing about it feels like it ended.
“Keep going.”
“I would like to have hot chocolate with you. When this is over.” It’s so easy to picture it. Curling up on that big, old couch with a fuzzy blanket. You never complain when Megumi wants to warm his cold feet between your warm calves. Your hot chocolate is the best in the world, you manage to make it look so fancy with the whipped cream and cinnamon dust on top. It sounds like heaven right now. Hot chocolate and a cozy, slice of life anime. Megumi isn’t even interested in those but right now, he just wants that mundanity . The food looks so good in those shows. Yeah, he’s getting hungry too. “Can we do that? When we’re safe?”
“We’ll do that,” you smile. “Whatever my bunny likes.”
A soft sniffle. It’s not you. Megumi hides his face in your shoulder this time. A second later, you feel him shake against you. “I want to go home.”
“I know, I know,” you coo softly.
Megumi presses his face deeper into the curve of your neck. “I really, really want to go home.”
You smooth a trembling hand through his hair. “I know.”
The pressure around your ribcage increases, more and more as Megumi hugs you so tightly, wishing he could squeeze the both of you into a different dimension. Your hand stays in his hair, combing through the tangled strands with slow, sleepy motions. If Megumi zones out enough, he can pretend he’s just hugging you after you took one exhausting shower. Soft breaths fill the room.
“Senpai…”
“Yeah?”
“When he comes back…”
“They don’t want to kill us,” you reply instantly. “I just can’t figure out what they want.”
You say it like you don’t expect Megumi to have any input. He’s smart, he’s come to the same conclusions as you but you take control of the situation, even though you’re the one who’s hurt. You guide him and he feels ashamed for needing that.
However, you’re the senpai, after all.
So, when the curse user comes back, the horrors will continue and you’ll help your bunny through it all. His scent envelops you completely now, a familiar air of shower gel and sweat. His shadow was your enemy moments ago and yet, you’d feel a sense of comfort, were your lungs to give out. Suffocation in him is much better than a stranger’s blade. Megumi doesn’t know that. He’s too proud to recognize the small mercy in a familiar death.
You’ve gotten ahead of yourself. The man is not even in the room yet.
“I’m proud of—“
“Don’t,” Megumi cuts you off, “Do not finish that. I just want this to be over, okay?” His voice trembles again.
You’re about to reply when a distant rumble interrupts. It sounds like furniture being moved or something heavy being transported. It doesn’t matter. Both of you freeze, breaths catching and Megumi even whimpers softly. His muscles tense up hard around you and before you know it, he’s dragging you to the corner of the hotel room, determined to keep you safe in the haze of panic and fear. “No, no, no…”
“Megumi—“
Nails dig deep into your sides, he holds onto you for dear life. The unidentifiable noise quiets, replaced by footsteps nearing the door. Heavy, insistent.
“I don’t want it,” he mewls, curling up around you. “I don’t want this.”
You don’t have the strength to reassure him. It’s taking a toll on you too. With a soft exhale, you let yourself be held, your half-lidded eyes stay on the door. The handle is pushed down and the same electronic clicking sound signals the entrance being opened.
“Bunny…”
Megumi whines, squeezing his eyes shut. Blood pounds in his ears and for a moment, he thinks he might pass out, that his heart might stop working.
“Bunny, look.”
Megumi shakes his head and presses it further into your shoulder.
There are a few seconds of silence.
“It’s okay.” Yuji’s voice comes out raspy, rougher than usual. He’s out of breath, hands in tight fists and the collar of his shirt is torn. It’s not unusual for him to end up looking like he was put through a meat grinder, his sorcery involves a lot of close combat. To Megumi, the voice is like a choir of angels. His eyes open and he looks up at his classmate from behind you, with lowered eyelids and a curtain of messy, spiky hair. It’s really him.
“Itadori…” he mumbles into the fabric of your shirt. His mind is still catching up. The other boy waves hesitantly as he takes in the scene.
“Yeah.”
Megumi waits for your reaction, he needs you to confirm that thos is actually real. You just cough once and smile.
“There he is.”
Yuji doesn't move right away. For a second, he just stands there in the doorway, chest heaving, eyes darting between the two of you. The room tells the story before either of you can. The floor, your wet hair, the corner of the room.
“I,” Yuji begins, gesturing to his left clumsily, “I dealt with them.”
That was all the rumbling. Maybe the phone call had something to do with it too.
“Hear that, bunny? He dealt with them,” you repeat quietly, softly, like you’re coaxing a scared animal. The gentleness chips away at Megumi’s composure. He stares at Yuji for another second before something inside him finally snaps. The tension holding his spine straight dissolves. His shoulders cave. A strangled sound escapes him, then another and suddenly he’s crying, really this time. Ugly, helpless sobs that wrench out of his chest so hard they hurt.
“Oh.” Yuji’s face falls. “Oh, man.”
Megumi’s fingers bunch in the fabric of your shirt and suddenly you’re manhandled like you’re an oversized tissue for the river of tears. He turns you until his face is nuzzled into your collarbone. Everything he has been holding together for the last hour finally gives way. Gripping your sleeve with one hand, the hem of Yuji’s shirt with the other, he stumbles into the hallway. "He—" A gasp. "He made me—"
Another breath catches.
"I couldn't—"
You don’t fight it but as soon as Yuji’s gaze lands on you, you mouth a soundless “We have to go” at him. The boy nods. He doesn’t interrupt Megumi’s confessions. Floorboards creak as he approaches, while choppy gasps and words pour out of Megumi. The latter doesn’t notice that he’s being pulled to his feet, nor that you’re picked up by Yuji. Everything becomes a blur. He stumbles, halfway leaning against Yuji, following him blindly while still struggling. Hiccups every now and then.
He doesn’t hear you asking Yuji whether there’s still some hot chocolate left at home.
The next time your kohai registers something, he’s on a plush surface. Something with a backrest. A sofa. Just like he wanted. A blue, crocheted blanket stretches over his knees and there’s an extra source of warmth at his feet. Something with pastel color grading is on the TV— easy on the eyes. The clothes covering his skin are oversized, not his. The scent of his own shampoo climbs up his nose.
Two mugs sit on the coffee table, whipped cream decorating the top.
And someone is definitely leaning all their weight against his side. Your head is resting on his shoulder. One of your hands is trapped beneath the blanket between your bodies. The other is curled loosely against your stomach.
You’re still near him, even after all he’s done. You still made the hot chocolates. It’s… it’s over. Oh.
Instinctively, Megumi’s feet wiggle their way further between your calves. Your legs part to allow him closer. “Sh, s’okay,” you slur out. “You’re okay.”
The only reason Megumi stays put is because he’s decided he wants to be really good now. He wants to make things right and if it means accepting your trust in him, he’ll do that.
“Is senpai in pain?”
“Mh, no, I’m okay. Just tired.”
“Me too.”
“We can sleep a bit.”
“Is that okay?”
“Yeah.”
Slowly, Megumi sinks down into the couch with you. Your body goes limp the moment you’re horizontal. Then it’s just the satisfying pressure on Megumi’s body that matters. He’s not the cuddly type and he only tolerates you giving him nicknames because he doesn’t want to be a brat.
However, as the world softens around his tired limbs, he finds himself enjoying the proximity. Fingers tangle in your hair, more balanced this time and Megumi stares at the ceiling as he curls your locks around his thumb. There is a lot of damage to deal with. A lot of things to process. It’s still unclear what the point of all of that was. Just this once, can it be someone else’s problem? This is nice. Almost as if the even rise and fall of your chest, your peaceful exhaustion, they erased Megumi’s sins. A strong contrast to your thrashing body, and a welcome one too.
“Good night,” he mumbles, though it’s not even evening yet.
“Good night, bunny.”
૮(◞ ‸ ◟ )აall rights reserved. no translations, plagiarism, modifications, reposts, or ai feeding. disturbing comments will be deleted. english is not my native language.
@liveforkny @solarvulturematrix @crimsaints asked to be tagged
https://www.tumblr.com/kashimopilled/818960801764360192/girl-wdym-topics-closest-to-my-heart-are-you-a?source=share
I’m so sorry about this! Is it okay to ask you questions? Like are you ever mad at writers who fetishize dark content?
You can ask questions. I don’t really care tbh. I simply ignore works I don’t agree with or dislike.
PS Yes I am working on requests, dw!!
girl wdym “topics closest to my heart” are you a torture victim or something ?😭
(referenced post here) yes.
are we gonna get a continuation of the forced separation kashimo smau? (* ﾟ∀ﾟ) im enjoying it a lot !
(referenced smau here) hi, yes, ill make another part sometime this week. glad you enjoy it!
fake nails actually do work in preventing me from pulling hair yippie new headcanon: Suguru pays for reader’s nails to support her fight against trichotillomania (under the condition that she wears his colours bc he’s a bit possessive like that)
related
Coming out to Yaga-sensei 𐔌՞. .՞𐦯 cw: bi!reader, emotional distress, internalized shame, reader is outed without her consent, possible homophobia, panic attack, angst/comfort note: happy pride. this isnt based on irl experiences at all !!!! im normal about parental figures !!!! to those who’s trust was betrayed, those who do not have their parents’ support, this is for you.
Little sniffles fill the room. Your phone’s screen lights up your face, the only source of light in the otherwise dark room. You’ve been moping in there for a while. Hoodie pulled down tightly over your forehead, your knees drawn up to your chest. You have to wipe your tears every now and then, the hoodie’s light gray darkens into a smoky tone where your snot seeps into the layers.
You’ve been staring at your phone for a while.
She told literally everyone :/
The notification of the message from your friend sits at the top of the display, persistent, mocking. You’ve made a terrible mistake and you want to undo it with every fiber of your being. Your free hand claws at your chest, wrinkling the hoodie into a fist like the material will absorb all the negative emotions overtaking your heart.
Shame, mostly shame.
You’re not even angry at the girl but rather at yourself. Every time you show vulnerability, you are punished. You should’ve known better. You only have yourself to thank for this.
A teardrop falls to the glass, distorting the letters under it. With shaking hands, you unlock the phone and immediately lock it again, bravery leaving you as soon as you see the messaging app’s icon.
Coming out to her was stupid. You should’ve never opened up.
She seemed so understanding in the moment and even told you she’d keep the secret. “I’m so happy to see you finally loosen up, darling,” she had told you, with a sweet, syrupy voice. “You’re so quiet, I’m glad I can get to know you.”
And you were glad to finally tell someone about this part of you. Now, everyone knows. You’re too busy hating yourself to see it as betrayal, or just a generally shitty thing to do.
Finally, you will yourself to open the app but instead of facing that conversation, you enter a different chat.
Hi! Can you tell Yaga I’m sitting this one out? I don’t feel so good. Must be the food from lunch.
Suguru responds, after about a minute.
Sure thing. Feel better soon :)
You assume that’s all it takes to have the situation handled. Suguru will tell Yaga you’re sick and you’ll be left alone for the afternoon. The best place to freak out in a familiar one, after all.
Shame returns in heavy waves that make you want to sink into the puffy pillows and soft sheets of your bed. Now everyone knows. You’ve heard how some people talk about girls like you.
In a way, you feel like a predator. You were having sleepovers with them and maybe you owed them a coming out, to be upfront, to be sent to change somewhere out of their sight. They’ll think of you as the female creep for always just quietly being there, getting to see their bodies. Not that you’re actually attracted to any of them. Based on their past comments, they’ll assume attraction.
In the end, you are the villain.
U ok?, comes the message but you don’t have it in yourself to reply. You need to process this horrible mistake first, spiral down into every possible outcome, make up worst-case scenarios, imagine all the things people are saying about you.
Suits you for coming out of your shell. Maybe it’s what you deserve for all your crimes. All those times you let the overly friendly girls hug you, all those times they touched your hair or complimented you. They must feel disgusted.
Dude wtf ure gay? The first reaction comes in.
Your chest heaves as a louder sob breaks free from your throat. The phone in your hand slips away as you curl up further into yourself. You want to reject this whole thing with every cell and shake your head, like that will undo it.
What you don’t see from your position is how your door creaks open and a tall man, roughly the size of a proper bookshelf, squeezes himself through the entrance. Only when the mattress dips under his weight as he lowers himself onto your bed do you gain awareness of your surroundings.
“Hey kid. Tell me about that—“
Yaga doesn’t get to finish. You launch yourself towards him like a clumsy frog, clinging to his arm for dear life. There is no time to question why he’s even bothering to check up on you, you’re too desperate for comfort at this point.
“I h-hate myself!” The words don’t ring as loudly and punishingly as you’d like them to, the stuttering and obvious crying weakens the effect.
Yaga freezes. For a moment, his hand hovers awkwardly in the air. The teacher is someone who can snap concrete in half with his bare hands but a crying teenager attached to him like a barnacle is what throws him off a bit.
“I hate myself.” The first time you said it, it sounded like an insult, this time, it’s just a statement. Your face presses hard into Yaga’s shoulder until the stars start appearing behind your eyelids.
His big hand lands between your shoulder blades, stiffly, firmly.
“What happened, kiddo?”
You shake your head again. Explaining it, saying the words out loud just makes it all the more real.
“I’m so— I’m so stupid! And disgusting! And…and now everyone knows,” you cry between sniffles and hiccups, your nails dig into the blanket bunching up between your knees. Poor Yaga, he has no idea what he walked into.
Your shoulders shake. Your eyes hurt. But nothing makes you disappear. The only thing that seems to keep you from being sucked into a panic attack is the mountain that is Yaga. You hide behind him. The hand on your back begins rubbing loose circles, hesitantly.
“You’re not stupid. You’re not disgusting.”
“Yes, I am,” you whimper. A damp patch grows against Yaga’s white sleeve as the tears keep coming. “Yes I am.”
Yaga sighs. It’s the long, deep kind, the same when Kusakabe tells him Satoru broke equipment again or when the higher-ups call in a meeting that definitely could’ve been an email. This is just another Tuesday for Masamichi Yaga. Meanwhile, your world seems to be falling apart.
“Look at me.” His hand trails to the nape of your neck, pulling the hoodie down and tilting your head gently with your hair tangling around his fingers. Your body doesn’t resist the movement and your red-rimmed eyes meet his. Your skin is red in uneven patches from all the crying, eyelids puffy.
“There you are.”
You don’t like how the man’s voice softens. He’s usually hard on everyone because he has high hopes for everyone. So what does it say about you that Yaga is now all understanding and gentle. He’s even about to call you— “Sweetheart.”
Your eyes well up again and a fresh wave of tears rolls down your cheeks.
“You’re a bright kid. You’re a good kid.” His thumb wipes your tears, one by one. “What happened, mh?”
Your mouth opens. Nothing comes out. Because saying it out loud means it exists. It means it isn't some awful nightmare you'll wake up from. It means Yaga will know too.
Many moments of silence pass. During that time, your brain goes down another spiral. Is it okay to tell Yaga? Is he safe? In that second, you really just want comfort from someone.
“Talk to me, sweetheart.”
Suddenly, all the memories of when Yaga was safe come to the surface of your consciousness, like a little collage of postcards you can look at fondly.
When he made a cursed corpse for you to hang out with during your first week at Jujutsu High. When he decided to let Shoko just stick to healing. When you got your period during a mission and he bought you pads without making it weird.
“I…”
When he caught you putting makeup on Suguru and he didn’t even bat an eye.
“I like girls.”
Silence settles, Yaga’s expression doesn’t change. There is no hitch in his breath or a dilation in his pupils. It’s hard to tell what he’s thinking and the uncertainty unnerves you.
“I also like boys but that’s not… not the issue,” you try to fill the uncomfortable silence and the way your muscles tense up, it’s evident there’s a ramble incoming. Before that can happen though, Yaga smiles, pulling the brakes on your messy swirl of thoughts.
“That’s okay.” He speaks so calmly. Less like a teacher, more like a… you don’t dare finish that. Masamichi Yaga thinks it’s okay? You’re bisexual and it’s okay?
“It is?”
“Mhm.” Both hands cradle your face now, so gently that the rough hands—more acquainted with punching faces—feel foreign on your skin. “You’re okay. Smart and mellow under that composure. Not stupid and definitely not disgusting.”
Your throat tightens and the sob that was about to claw its way up turns into an ugly, choking sound, making you want to curl into yourself again.
“…I…I told someone else and— and now all the girls know and—“ A wet hiccup makes you cut yourself off. In that moment, your phone buzzes again and you can assume it’s another appalled message.
“Are they mean to you?”
“…a little.”
Yaga nods to himself, as if filing away each detail.
“Listen, kid. You’re at Jujutsu High. You’re safe here. Focus on that for now, yeah?”
When you don’t respond, just stare at him, still sniffling, Yaga tucks a stray lock behind your ear. “Kid?”
“B-but…” Your lip wobbles. “But everyone knows.”
“Everyone?”
“A lot of people.”
“That’s not everyone. And I’m willing to bet that those who really matter, they would still love you.”
“But I’m… I’m gross, sensei.”
“You’re not. You feel a lot of guilt and shame. Right? Those can be icky feelings.” Yaga sighs again and slowly pulls you into a hug. His chin rests on the top of your head, arms curling around your shoulders. You give yourself over to the movement. “Oh, sweetheart, what am I going to do with you?”
Your blubbering quiets down into little whimpers. Your phone is still unattended but you try to do what Yaga told you. Focus on what you have at Jujutsu High. Suguru is nice. Shoko is chill. It’s all okay at Jujutsu High, the people in your phone can’t get to you.
Your breathing is still uneven, hiccuping in little broken waves that make your whole body jolt. Yaga’s hand stays at your back, slow circles continuing like he’s trying to teach your lungs a rhythm again.
“Alright,” he says after a while, voice lower now. “We’re going to do something simple.”
You blink against his sleeve. “W-what…?”
“Sit up a little.”
You hesitate, then reluctantly shift back. The loss of full contact makes panic flare for a second—until his hand moves to your shoulder and anchors you there instead.
“Good. Now breathe in.”
You try. It comes out shaky. “Again.”
After a few cycles, your chest stops feeling like it’s collapsing in on itself quite so violently. The wet trails on your cheeks start drying up.
“There,” he says quietly. “You’re still here.”
Your fingers are still clenched in his sleeve.
“I messed everything up.”
Yaga exhales through his nose, like he’s thinking carefully about every word before it exists.
“You didn’t mess everything up,” he corrects. “You told someone something about yourself. That’s not a crime. But you do need to learn to read people’s intentions better. You’ve always had trouble with that.”
His index finger boops your nose, though his voice grows rougher around the edges.
“I remember how easily non-sorcerer lies slipped away from you when you first started going on missions. You want to see the best in people don’t you? That’s not fair. You always want to see the worst in yourself.”
The storm in your head calms. It’s so peaceful when Yaga-sensei explains something.
“You’re a brave girl for telling me. Good job.”
You don’t quite know what to do with praise when you’re still half-drowning in your own head. The messages are still waiting.
“I should… I should apologize to them.”
“I don’t think you owe them an apology.”
“But—“
“No. Something was taken from you today. You deserve to rest.” When you don’t respond, Yaga continues. “Say it, sweetheart.”
“I… I deserve to rest.”
“Good job.” A soundless kiss is planted on the top of your head and you feel yourself crumbling into a million pieces. “Here’s what we’ll do. I’m taking Satoru on the mission and Suguru’s going to stay here with you.”
“What?”
“He won’t ask you about anything. You know how he is. I just don’t want to leave you alone right now. He’ll stay here and you’ll spar a bit or do homework, nothing too much. Okay?”
“Okay.”
Suguru is nice. You respect his opinion. You respect Yaga’s opinion. Knowing that he cares is the lifeline for you. Their words matter more. Yaga-sensei is probably the best teacher ever.
“Sweetheart?”
“Yes?”
“I’m proud of you.”
𐔌՞. .՞𐦯all rights reserved. no translations, plagiarism, modifications, reposts, or ai feeding. disturbing comments will be deleted. english is not my native language.
gojo back bc i was ovulating
meow meow
Coming out to Yaga-sensei 𐔌՞. .՞𐦯 cw: bi!reader, emotional distress, internalized shame, reader is outed without her consent, possible homophobia, panic attack, angst/comfort note: happy pride. this isnt based on irl experiences at all !!!! im normal about parental figures !!!! to those who’s trust was betrayed, those who do not have their parents’ support, this is for you.
Little sniffles fill the room. Your phone’s screen lights up your face, the only source of light in the otherwise dark room. You’ve been moping in there for a while. Hoodie pulled down tightly over your forehead, your knees drawn up to your chest. You have to wipe your tears every now and then, the hoodie’s light gray darkens into a smoky tone where your snot seeps into the layers.
You’ve been staring at your phone for a while.
She told literally everyone :/
The notification of the message from your friend sits at the top of the display, persistent, mocking. You’ve made a terrible mistake and you want to undo it with every fiber of your being. Your free hand claws at your chest, wrinkling the hoodie into a fist like the material will absorb all the negative emotions overtaking your heart.
Shame, mostly shame.
You’re not even angry at the girl but rather at yourself. Every time you show vulnerability, you are punished. You should’ve known better. You only have yourself to thank for this.
A teardrop falls to the glass, distorting the letters under it. With shaking hands, you unlock the phone and immediately lock it again, bravery leaving you as soon as you see the messaging app’s icon.
Coming out to her was stupid. You should’ve never opened up.
She seemed so understanding in the moment and even told you she’d keep the secret. “I’m so happy to see you finally loosen up, darling,” she had told you, with a sweet, syrupy voice. “You’re so quiet, I’m glad I can get to know you.”
And you were glad to finally tell someone about this part of you. Now, everyone knows. You’re too busy hating yourself to see it as betrayal, or just a generally shitty thing to do.
Finally, you will yourself to open the app but instead of facing that conversation, you enter a different chat.
Hi! Can you tell Yaga I’m sitting this one out? I don’t feel so good. Must be the food from lunch.
Suguru responds, after about a minute.
Sure thing. Feel better soon :)
You assume that’s all it takes to have the situation handled. Suguru will tell Yaga you’re sick and you’ll be left alone for the afternoon. The best place to freak out in a familiar one, after all.
Shame returns in heavy waves that make you want to sink into the puffy pillows and soft sheets of your bed. Now everyone knows. You’ve heard how some people talk about girls like you.
In a way, you feel like a predator. You were having sleepovers with them and maybe you owed them a coming out, to be upfront, to be sent to change somewhere out of their sight. They’ll think of you as the female creep for always just quietly being there, getting to see their bodies. Not that you’re actually attracted to any of them. Based on their past comments, they’ll assume attraction.
In the end, you are the villain.
U ok?, comes the message but you don’t have it in yourself to reply. You need to process this horrible mistake first, spiral down into every possible outcome, make up worst-case scenarios, imagine all the things people are saying about you.
Suits you for coming out of your shell. Maybe it’s what you deserve for all your crimes. All those times you let the overly friendly girls hug you, all those times they touched your hair or complimented you. They must feel disgusted.
Dude wtf ure gay? The first reaction comes in.
Your chest heaves as a louder sob breaks free from your throat. The phone in your hand slips away as you curl up further into yourself. You want to reject this whole thing with every cell and shake your head, like that will undo it.
What you don’t see from your position is how your door creaks open and a tall man, roughly the size of a proper bookshelf, squeezes himself through the entrance. Only when the mattress dips under his weight as he lowers himself onto your bed do you gain awareness of your surroundings.
“Hey kid. Tell me about that—“
Yaga doesn’t get to finish. You launch yourself towards him like a clumsy frog, clinging to his arm for dear life. There is no time to question why he’s even bothering to check up on you, you’re too desperate for comfort at this point.
“I h-hate myself!” The words don’t ring as loudly and punishingly as you’d like them to, the stuttering and obvious crying weakens the effect.
Yaga freezes. For a moment, his hand hovers awkwardly in the air. The teacher is someone who can snap concrete in half with his bare hands but a crying teenager attached to him like a barnacle is what throws him off a bit.
“I hate myself.” The first time you said it, it sounded like an insult, this time, it’s just a statement. Your face presses hard into Yaga’s shoulder until the stars start appearing behind your eyelids.
His big hand lands between your shoulder blades, stiffly, firmly.
“What happened, kiddo?”
You shake your head again. Explaining it, saying the words out loud just makes it all the more real.
“I’m so— I’m so stupid! And disgusting! And…and now everyone knows,” you cry between sniffles and hiccups, your nails dig into the blanket bunching up between your knees. Poor Yaga, he has no idea what he walked into.
Your shoulders shake. Your eyes hurt. But nothing makes you disappear. The only thing that seems to keep you from being sucked into a panic attack is the mountain that is Yaga. You hide behind him. The hand on your back begins rubbing loose circles, hesitantly.
“You’re not stupid. You’re not disgusting.”
“Yes, I am,” you whimper. A damp patch grows against Yaga’s white sleeve as the tears keep coming. “Yes I am.”
Yaga sighs. It’s the long, deep kind, the same when Kusakabe tells him Satoru broke equipment again or when the higher-ups call in a meeting that definitely could’ve been an email. This is just another Tuesday for Masamichi Yaga. Meanwhile, your world seems to be falling apart.
“Look at me.” His hand trails to the nape of your neck, pulling the hoodie down and tilting your head gently with your hair tangling around his fingers. Your body doesn’t resist the movement and your red-rimmed eyes meet his. Your skin is red in uneven patches from all the crying, eyelids puffy.
“There you are.”
You don’t like how the man’s voice softens. He’s usually hard on everyone because he has high hopes for everyone. So what does it say about you that Yaga is now all understanding and gentle. He’s even about to call you— “Sweetheart.”
Your eyes well up again and a fresh wave of tears rolls down your cheeks.
“You’re a bright kid. You’re a good kid.” His thumb wipes your tears, one by one. “What happened, mh?”
Your mouth opens. Nothing comes out. Because saying it out loud means it exists. It means it isn't some awful nightmare you'll wake up from. It means Yaga will know too.
Many moments of silence pass. During that time, your brain goes down another spiral. Is it okay to tell Yaga? Is he safe? In that second, you really just want comfort from someone.
“Talk to me, sweetheart.”
Suddenly, all the memories of when Yaga was safe come to the surface of your consciousness, like a little collage of postcards you can look at fondly.
When he made a cursed corpse for you to hang out with during your first week at Jujutsu High. When he decided to let Shoko just stick to healing. When you got your period during a mission and he bought you pads without making it weird.
“I…”
When he caught you putting makeup on Suguru and he didn’t even bat an eye.
“I like girls.”
Silence settles, Yaga’s expression doesn’t change. There is no hitch in his breath or a dilation in his pupils. It’s hard to tell what he’s thinking and the uncertainty unnerves you.
“I also like boys but that’s not… not the issue,” you try to fill the uncomfortable silence and the way your muscles tense up, it’s evident there’s a ramble incoming. Before that can happen though, Yaga smiles, pulling the brakes on your messy swirl of thoughts.
“That’s okay.” He speaks so calmly. Less like a teacher, more like a… you don’t dare finish that. Masamichi Yaga thinks it’s okay? You’re bisexual and it’s okay?
“It is?”
“Mhm.” Both hands cradle your face now, so gently that the rough hands—more acquainted with punching faces—feel foreign on your skin. “You’re okay. Smart and mellow under that composure. Not stupid and definitely not disgusting.”
Your throat tightens and the sob that was about to claw its way up turns into an ugly, choking sound, making you want to curl into yourself again.
“…I…I told someone else and— and now all the girls know and—“ A wet hiccup makes you cut yourself off. In that moment, your phone buzzes again and you can assume it’s another appalled message.
“Are they mean to you?”
“…a little.”
Yaga nods to himself, as if filing away each detail.
“Listen, kid. You’re at Jujutsu High. You’re safe here. Focus on that for now, yeah?”
When you don’t respond, just stare at him, still sniffling, Yaga tucks a stray lock behind your ear. “Kid?”
“B-but…” Your lip wobbles. “But everyone knows.”
“Everyone?”
“A lot of people.”
“That’s not everyone. And I’m willing to bet that those who really matter, they would still love you.”
“But I’m… I’m gross, sensei.”
“You’re not. You feel a lot of guilt and shame. Right? Those can be icky feelings.” Yaga sighs again and slowly pulls you into a hug. His chin rests on the top of your head, arms curling around your shoulders. You give yourself over to the movement. “Oh, sweetheart, what am I going to do with you?”
Your blubbering quiets down into little whimpers. Your phone is still unattended but you try to do what Yaga told you. Focus on what you have at Jujutsu High. Suguru is nice. Shoko is chill. It’s all okay at Jujutsu High, the people in your phone can’t get to you.
Your breathing is still uneven, hiccuping in little broken waves that make your whole body jolt. Yaga’s hand stays at your back, slow circles continuing like he’s trying to teach your lungs a rhythm again.
“Alright,” he says after a while, voice lower now. “We’re going to do something simple.”
You blink against his sleeve. “W-what…?”
“Sit up a little.”
You hesitate, then reluctantly shift back. The loss of full contact makes panic flare for a second—until his hand moves to your shoulder and anchors you there instead.
“Good. Now breathe in.”
You try. It comes out shaky. “Again.”
After a few cycles, your chest stops feeling like it’s collapsing in on itself quite so violently. The wet trails on your cheeks start drying up.
“There,” he says quietly. “You’re still here.”
Your fingers are still clenched in his sleeve.
“I messed everything up.”
Yaga exhales through his nose, like he’s thinking carefully about every word before it exists.
“You didn’t mess everything up,” he corrects. “You told someone something about yourself. That’s not a crime. But you do need to learn to read people’s intentions better. You’ve always had trouble with that.”
His index finger boops your nose, though his voice grows rougher around the edges.
“I remember how easily non-sorcerer lies slipped away from you when you first started going on missions. You want to see the best in people don’t you? That’s not fair. You always want to see the worst in yourself.”
The storm in your head calms. It’s so peaceful when Yaga-sensei explains something.
“You’re a brave girl for telling me. Good job.”
You don’t quite know what to do with praise when you’re still half-drowning in your own head. The messages are still waiting.
“I should… I should apologize to them.”
“I don’t think you owe them an apology.”
“But—“
“No. Something was taken from you today. You deserve to rest.” When you don’t respond, Yaga continues. “Say it, sweetheart.”
“I… I deserve to rest.”
“Good job.” A soundless kiss is planted on the top of your head and you feel yourself crumbling into a million pieces. “Here’s what we’ll do. I’m taking Satoru on the mission and Suguru’s going to stay here with you.”
“What?”
“He won’t ask you about anything. You know how he is. I just don’t want to leave you alone right now. He’ll stay here and you’ll spar a bit or do homework, nothing too much. Okay?”
“Okay.”
Suguru is nice. You respect his opinion. You respect Yaga’s opinion. Knowing that he cares is the lifeline for you. Their words matter more. Yaga-sensei is probably the best teacher ever.
“Sweetheart?”
“Yes?”
“I’m proud of you.”
𐔌՞. .՞𐦯all rights reserved. no translations, plagiarism, modifications, reposts, or ai feeding. disturbing comments will be deleted. english is not my native language.
