Promises to keep

Fandoms make me smile. I'll post about things related to my favourite fandoms and ships.

[saltyinternetflower]

Moon Baek x Reader fic: Come Closer Part 3

Slow Burn • Angst • Romance •

Moon Baek is the precinct's quiet police artist who spends his days sketching suspects from witness descriptions.

Reader is a rookie police officer, working under the legendary detective Lee Do, her respected mentor.

Secret Santa

By the second week of December, the precinct was getting ready to welcome Christmas.

Paper snowflakes fluttered over the windows.

Someone hung fairy lights that flickered every few minutes.

Detective Kim declared that the Secret Santa exchange was "mandatory fun." Everyone must take part in it.

Officer Lee Do sighed.

"I hate mandatory fun."

"You say that every year, but you always get the best gifts for your elf!"

I laughed as I reached into the bowl to pick a folded slip of paper.

One name.

One gift.

Simple.

I unfolded mine.

Moon Baek.

For a moment, I simply stared.

"...Really?"

Detective Kim grinned.

"Who'd you get?"

"I'm not telling."

I folded the paper so quickly he laughed even harder.

-----------------------------------------------------

Buying a gift for Moon Baek turned out to be surprisingly difficult.

I didn't know his hobbies.

Didn't know what music he liked.

Didn't know if he drank coffee or tea.

I only knew that he worked late.

Skipped lunch more often than not.

And every morning, he arrived wearing the same worn charcoal jacket.

The sleeves had begun to fray.

One evening after work, I wandered through a department store.

Then I saw it.

A dark navy winter jacket.

Soft. Warm. Classy.

The sort of thing Moon would actually wear.

He's so tall, he'd look really good in it.

I bit my bottom lip to hide a amile.

------------------------------------------------

Secret Santa day arrived.

The gifts sat beneath a tiny artificial Christmas tree in the briefing room.

One by one, everyone opened theirs.

Laughter echoed everywhere.

Someone received socks with cute ghost prints.

Someone got expensive coffee beans.

Lee Do unwrapped a mug that read:

WORLD'S SECOND BEST DETECTIVE.

He looked around.

"Whoever bought this is getting overtime."

Everyone laughed.

Moon waited until nearly everyone else had finished...before opening his package.

He carefully peeled away the wrapping paper.

The navy jacket appeared.

He blinked.

His fingertips brushed over the fabric.

For several seconds...he didn't move.

"...It's nice."

That was all he said.

But I noticed something.

He kept touching the sleeve, almost absentmindedly.

As if he couldn't quite believe it belonged to him.

----------------------------------------

There was still one gift left.

Mine.

I looked around.

"So... who had me?"

The room erupted into teasing.

"Secret!"

"That's the point!"

"Guess!"

I rolled my eyes and opened the box.

Inside was a fountain pen.

Dark blue lacquer with silver trim.

It wasn't flashy.

It was beautiful.

Underneath it lay a small leather notebook.

The pages were thick, smooth, perfect for writing.

My breath caught.

I usually preferred hand-written reports.

I didn't think anyone had noticed.

There was one last thing inside.

A tiny folded piece of paper.

I unfolded it.

The handwriting was neat.

In case you ever need a sketch artist.

Below it...

A phone number.

No name. Just the number.

Heat rushed into my face.

----------------------------------------------

That evening I sat on my bed for nearly twenty minutes.

Phone in hand.

Call.

Don't call.

Call.

Don't call.

Finally...

I pressed the button.

It rang once.

Twice.

Then...

"...Hello."

Moon.

His voice was unmistakable.

"Hi."

"...Rookie?"

"You knew it was me?"

A quiet chuckle.

"I hoped."

I smiled without realizing it.

"I wanted to thank you."

There was a brief silence.

"...You figured it out."

I laughed softly, "...I don't think anyone else would write 'in case you ever need a sketch artist.'"

His laugh was almost inaudible.

"I'm glad you liked it."

"I love it."

The words escaped before I could soften them.

Another silence.

Not awkward.

Just warm.

"I saw you using cheap pens," he said quietly. "They leaked."

"You noticed that?"

"You write reports every day."

"I didn't think anyone paid attention."

"I do."

The sentence was simple.

Matter of fact.

But my heart stumbled anyway.

I looked out of my apartment window at the Christmas lights shimmering below.

"...The jacket suits you."

"I wore it home."

"I know."

"You saw?"

"You left before I did."

I smiled into the phone.

For a while, neither of us spoke.

Neither of us seemed eager to end the call.

Finally, Moon cleared his throat.

"...Merry Christmas."

"Merry Christmas, Moon."

It was the first time I'd said his name aloud.

He didn't respond immediately.

When he finally did, his voice had become impossibly gentle.

"...Goodnight."

"Goodnight."

The call lasted only eleven minutes.

Somehow...

It felt like the beginning of something neither of us was ready to name.

🔗 Previous Chapter 2

As promised, the story stays soft. More fluff and sweet torment in the next chapter ❤ See you soon...

[saltyinternetflower]

Moon Baek x Reader fic: Come Closer Part 2

Slow Burn • Angst • Romance •

Moon Baek is the precinct's quiet police artist who spends his days sketching suspects from witness descriptions.

Reader is a rookie police officer, working under the legendary detective Lee Do, her respected mentor.

A week after Christmas, I walked into the records corridor with a stack of case files balanced against my chest.

Moon Baek stood outside the forensic sketch room.

Across from him was Senior Officer Choi.

His voice carried through the empty hallway.

"...I've been thinking about this for a while."

Moon said nothing.

The older man folded his arms.

"Artificial intelligence can create composite sketches in seconds now. Better accuracy. Better speed."

I slowed my steps.

"Which means..." Choi continued, "...your position has become redundant."

The files nearly slipped from my hands.

Moon didn't argue. Didn't even flinch.

He simply listened.

"I don't think you need to come in from next week."

There it was.

Just like that.

Not a meeting. Not HR.

Not even a thank you for years of work.

Just...

Don't come back.

Moon lowered his eyes.

"...Understood."

Something inside me snapped.

"Excuse me!"

Both men looked at me.

Senior Officer Choi frowned.

"What is it, Rookie?"

I marched straight between them before I had time to lose my nerve.

"You can't do that."

"Pardon?"

"You can't dismiss someone without consulting the HR"

"This isn't your concern."

"I'm just stating the protocols we're all supposed to maintain"

His expression hardened.

"I said his position is no longer required."

"Then HR should review it."

He blinked.

"The department head should review it. There should be written notice, documentation, reassignment options. That's literally precinct policy."

"It's an internal matter."

"Exactly." I met his eyes. "Internal policy."

Officer Choi fell silent.

"I don't know much," I admitted. "I'm still new."

"But I do know you can't tell someone who's worked here for years not to come back next week because software exists."

Officer Choi looked irritated now.

"You're overstepping."

"Maybe."

I swallowed.

"But if someone treated Officer Lee Do like this, the entire precinct would object."

His jaw tightened.

"This isn't the same."

"Why?"

No answer.

"Because Moon Baek is quiet?"

Silence.

"Because he won't defend himself?"

Moon shifted beside me.

"...Rookie."

His voice was almost a whisper.

"It's alright."

I turned to him.

"No."

The word surprised even me.

"It isn't."

Officer Choi sighed heavily.

"I wasn't finalizing anything."

"You just told him not to come next week."

"I was... speaking hypothetically."

I stared.

He looked away first.

"I'll discuss staffing with administration."

He cleared his throat.

"Nothing has been decided."

Without another word, he walked off down the corridor.

The moment he disappeared around the corner, my heartbeat caught up with me.

My knees suddenly felt weak.

Moon was still standing beside me.

Quiet.

The hallway seemed enormous.

I rubbed the back of my neck.

"...I'm sorry."

His brows knit together.

"I probably made things worse."

He looked at me for a long moment.

Then, very softly...

"No."

His voice carried that same calm I'd heard on Christmas Eve.

"You didn't."

I laughed nervously.

"My hands are shaking."

"I noticed."

I looked down.

They really were.

Moon reached into his satchel and pulled out a folded tissue.

He held it out.

"For the sweat."

I stared at it before accepting it with an embarrassed smile.

"...Thank you."

He nodded once.

Then, after a pause that felt carefully chosen, he said,

"No one's ever stood up for me before."

I didn't know what to say.

So I smiled.

"You would've done the same."

For the first time since I'd met him, Moon smiled without trying to hide it.

It was small.

Gentle.

And somehow...

It made the whole grey corridor feel warmer.

🔗 Previous Chapter 1

🔗 Next Chapter 3

Liking it so far? Thanks for reading 🥰 Another soft chapter coming soon. Your comments are most welcome because they'll guide me in the right direction 🤗

[saltyinternetflower]

Moon Baek x Reader fic: Come Closer Part 1

Slow Burn • Angst • Romance •

Moon Baek is the precinct's quiet police artist who spends his days sketching suspects from witness descriptions.

Reader is a rookie police officer, working under the legendary detective Lee Do, her respected mentor.

Into a soft, sweet beginning...

Christmas Eve

Moon Baek was the precinct's police artist.

Witnesses sat across from him, fumbling for details.

"His eyes were... kind of sharp."

"The nose was longer."

"No, the scar was on the other side."

And somehow, with nothing but hesitant words, Moon brought strangers to life.

Faces emerged from blank paper as though he had reached into someone's memory and borrowed it.

I thought it was magic.

My mentor, officer Lee Do called it observation.

"Drawing is easy," he'd once said while we watched Moon work through the interrogation room window. "Seeing is the difficult part."

I was only three months into the job.

Everything fascinated me.

Everything terrified me.

Lee Do was legendary. Every rookie in the academy knew his name before joining the force.

Calm under pressure.

Brilliant investigator.

The sharpest shooter.

Never raised his voice unless it mattered.

Working under him meant making twice as many mistakes because I wanted to impress him twice as much.

So I barely noticed Moon Baek.

He drifted through the station like a passing shadow. He came when he was needed, filled pages with impossible faces, nodded once when someone thanked him, then disappeared into his tiny office.

No one chatted with him over coffee.

No one invited him to lunch.

He never seemed bothered.

Then Christmas Eve arrived.

The entire precinct was louder than usual.

Someone had strung cheap tinsel over the filing cabinets.

Detective Kim insisted on playing Christmas songs through an old speaker that crackled every few minutes.

Someone brought fried chicken.

Someone else brought cake.

I had spent the previous night baking cupcakes.

They didn't turn out as I had hoped. The frosting leaned in questionable directions, and I might have gone a little overboard with the sprinkles.

But everyone took one anyway.

"Merry Christmas, Rookie!"

"Merry Christmas."

The box became lighter and lighter until only one cupcake remained.

I looked around.

Moon Baek was sitting alone at his desk, sketching.

Of course he was working.

I hesitated.

Then I walked over.

"Um..."

He looked up.

His eyes were darker than I expected.

Quiet, but not cold.

I held out the last cupcake.

"Merry Christmas."

For a second, he simply looked at it.

Then at me.

"For me?"

"I promise they taste better than they look."

I smiled, already feeling a little awkward.

The corner of his mouth moved.

Not quite a smile.

Just... the beginning of one.

He accepted the cupcake carefully, almost like it was something fragile.

"Thank you."

His voice was softer than I'd imagined.

"You should eat it before the frosting collapses."

"I will."

"...And if it tastes a little burnt..."

"I'll keep that to myself."

I grinned.

"Deal."

Officer Lee Do called my name from across the room.

"Rookie!"

"Coming!"

I waved awkwardly at Moon.

"Merry Christmas."

"...Merry Christmas."

I hurried away before I noticed him watching me.

The sketch in front of him remained unfinished.

Instead, he slowly peeled back the wrapper of the slightly lopsided cupcake.

He took one careful bite.

And for the first time anyone in the precinct could remember...

Moon Baek smiled.

🔗 Next Part 2

[saltyinternetflower]

Moon Baek Fic Idea

Okay... I think I've finally accepted that Moon Baek has become my muse. 😭

This man has been living rent-free in my head for weeks, and I have way too many Moon x Reader ideas floating around in my head. I wanted to throw one out here and see what everyone thinks.

Moon Baek: Charming, effortlessly cool, always wearing that easy smile, while quietly carrying the weight of a traumatic childhood. Fiercely loyal to the people he calls family, especially his best friend, Lee Do.

Rookie (Reader): A junior detective who's still finding her footing. Earnest, stubborn, and always willing to put herself on the line for the people she cares about.

Lee Do: Rookie's mentor. Calm, stoic, and one of the precinct's finest detectives. Moon's closest friend and the person who knows him better than anyone else.

Moving onto the plot now...

It's ridiculously dramatic 😁

Rookie is engaged to Lee Do.

Then Lee is kidnapped by a powerful drug mafia. Intelligence suggests the next target will be Lee's fiancée, both as leverage and to avenge something personal.

To keep Rookie alive and safe, her close ones, and even the precinct seniors suggest that Moon and rookie get married on paper. It's temporary, only till Lee is found.

On their first night under the same roof, Moon makes her a promise.

"You're Lee's fiancée. You're my junior. I won't even look at you in a way that disrespects either of those things."

And he means it.

They become husband and wife only on paper.

Moon keeps his distance.

He sleeps on the couch.

Acts like the caring husband everyone expects to see, while never crossing the line.

Until Rookie slowly... painfully... starts falling for Moon.

One night, she reaches for her legally married husband, and one impulsive moment changes everything between them.

What happens if Moon finally succeeds in bringing Lee Do home?

(Yes, I know. This plot has enough melodrama to power an entire K-drama for sixteen episodes 😭)

Would you read something like this? 👀

[saltyinternetflower]

Sukugo Fic - The Most Twisted Curse Part 5

A seaside trip for the students of Tokyo and Kyoto Jujutsu High.

According to Gojo, it was a "bonding exercise."

According to Principal Gakuganji, it was "an unnecessary expense."

In truth, no one questioned it for very long.

Gojo's students had won the charity football match between Tokyo and Kyoto.

He then promptly announced he would pay for everyone to spend a weekend together in Atami.

Hotel, transport, meals, snacks...Everything!

He had simply shrugged and said, "Money exists to be spent on fun."

So, despite the grumbling from the adults and the barely concealed excitement from the students, both Tokyo and Kyoto found themselves standing beneath a brilliant summer sky, the sea stretching endlessly before them.

*********************************************

The afternoon sun shimmered across Atami Bay. Students raced through the surf, volleyballs flew overhead, and someone had already buried Panda up to his neck in sand.

Gojo stood ankle-deep in the water, trousers rolled to his knees, sleeves pushed to his elbows.

He smiled as Yuji and Nobara splashed each other.

For a little while...

He forgot curses.

He forgot death.

Forgot the impossible future waiting for them all.

"Sensei?"

Yuji jogged over, carrying a beach ball under one arm.

"...Your nose."

Gojo blinked.

"Hm?"

A warm drop rolled over his lip.

Then another.

Blood.

He wiped it away with the back of his hand before anyone else noticed.

"Oh."

He laughed.

"Guess my brain's leaking."

Yuji frowned.

"That's not funny."

"It's just a nosebleed."

Gojo shrugged.

"Dry air."

Yuji looked toward the sea.

"...Maybe you should rest."

Gojo slung an arm around his shoulder.

"And miss seeing you lot wipe out in the waves? Never."

Liar.

Sukuna felt it.

The pressure behind Gojo's eyes.

The pounding in his temples.

The tiny tremors in muscles already exhausted from weeks of pretending.

Gojo smiled anyway.

And he students believed him.

"Sensei!"

Maki called from the water.

"Stop hiding on the shore and swim!"

"Oh?"

Gojo grinned.

"A challenge?"

He kicked off his sandals and ran straight into the surf.

Cheers followed him.

Cold water climbed to his waist.

His chest.

His shoulders.

He dove beneath the waves.

The ocean embraced him.

***********************************************

For one wonderful heartbeat...

Silence.

Weightlessness.

Peace.

Then...

His vision blurred.

A dull ringing spread through his skull.

His heartbeat stumbled.

His limbs stopped obeying him.

...

Satoru.

No answer.

The bond between them grew strangely still.

Like a house whose lights had all gone out.

Reckless.

Sukuna stepped forward.

The body's eyes opened beneath the sea.

Blue.

Then crimson.

A pulse of cursed energy rippled through every muscle.

Water exploded around him as he cut through the waves with terrifying efficiency.

To the students, it looked as though their teacher had decided to race back to shore.

No one realized that Gojo Satoru had lost consciousness.

*********************************************

Hidden behind the rocky cliffs, Sukuna finally allowed himself a long breath.

The world...

Was different.

Because he was seeing through the Six Eyes.

...

For a heartbeat, he almost closed them again.

The light was unbearable.

The sky was no longer blue.

It was a thousand shades layered atop one another, rippling through the air like luminous rivers.

The sea wasn't water.

It was countless droplets, each reflecting the sun at a different angle.

Every grain of sand possessed shape.

Weight.

Texture.

The horizon bent with heat.

The wind had hues.

The world was drowning in information.

His hearing sharpened until individual conversations from the beach separated into perfect clarity.

Laughter.

Footsteps.

Heartbeats.

The wings of distant seabirds.

The tide scraping against stone.

His skin registered every shift in temperature, every thread of sea breeze, every bead of water rolling down his neck.

...

How...

His own voice sounded strangely small.

...have you endured this?

To exist every waking moment beneath such relentless perception...

To carry a universe inside one's eyes...

Madness.

Pure madness.

And yet...

Gojo laughed.

Every single day.

**********************************************

The changing room stood empty.

A single mirror reflected the man before it.

Sukuna looked up.

For the first time...

Nothing stood between himself and the vessel.

No shared perspective.

No borrowed glimpse.

Only direct sight.

White hair still damp from the ocean.

Broad shoulders.

Long limbs.

Saltwater glistening against pale skin.

Bruises revealed beneath summer sunlight.

Signs of a reckless kind of courage.

He studied the reflection in silence.

So this is the strongest.

Not invincible.

Simply unyielding.

The corners of his mouth twitched.

I have worn the bodies of kings.

His fingers rose.

Resting lightly against Gojo's own cheek.

Warm.

Soft.

His thumb traced the line beneath one brilliant eye.

Yet none possessed eyes worthy of envy.

The Six Eyes.

A divine blessing.

A merciless curse.

The very heavens had carved perfection into this body.

...Magnificent.

The word escaped before he could recall it.

Everything about this vessel was excessive.

Strength.

Sight.

Will.

Compassion.

Even suffering.

Everything had been granted in impossible measure.

His thumb moved lower.

Tracing the curve of Gojo's mouth.

The full lower lip. The corner where that infuriating smile seemed to live.

His thumb lingered there.

Barely brushing.

...So this is what it feels like.

He had known these lips from within.

He had felt them laugh until the body shook.

Felt them press into a thin line after nightmares.

Felt them whisper into the darkness, speaking to himself when no one else could hear.

Yet he had never felt their shape like this.

Until now.

*********************************************

His hand drifted to the throat.

He tilted the head back slowly.

The long line of the neck exposed.

That strong, elegant column.

Sukuna traced the length of it with two fingers, unhurried, feeling the warmth of living skin under his touch.

The pulse quickens under his fingertips and something lurched in him...low, unfamiliar.

...Alive.

A soft sound left him.

His palm spread flat against the chest.

Heat greeted him instantly.

Beneath his hand, the muscles shifted with every breath, every heartbeat answering against his skin.

How many months had he existed inside this rhythm?

How many times had he mistaken it for his own?

But there was a distance.

A beautiful distance.

He could feel that boundary.

And he hated how much he wanted to erase it.

*************************************************

His hand moved lower.

The stomach. Taut, warm.

He traced the defined muscle slowly, learning each line.

He felt the body respond to the contact. The slight tension.

The warmth pooling low, rousing the body.

His warmth.

Sukuna's.

The thought struck with startling force, and the wanting that rose in him was enormous and helpless and entirely new.

His finger found the small dent of the navel.

Traced around it. Excruciatingly slow.

This, he thought. This hunger...

I want.

I want.

I want him.

He had never wanted without immediately taking.

He had never had to.

Sukuna stood in it now.

The wanting with nowhere to go, the heat with nothing to answer it...

Outside, voices drifted closer.

"Sensei?"

"Gojo-sensei!"

"Where did he go?"

Sukuna withdrew instantly.

The hand dropped and the warmth receded and he was back where he always was.

Inside.

Unreachable.

...Persistent children.

🔗 Previous Part 4

[saltyinternetflower]

Bollywood song by Arijit Singh x Glass Heart

[saltyinternetflower]

Sukugo Fic - The Most Twisted Curse Part 4

Your students are strange, Sukuna said at last.

Gojo laughed once. Wet and broken.

"They're extraordinary."

Even bigger idiots than you are, Satoru.

Gojo bowed his head.

And to think that you made the ultimate sacrifice to protect these little brats! Offering your body as a vessel to me, the King of curses?

Tell me, Satoru... do they even know?

Gojo's fingers stilled.

Do they know what it's costing you to keep me here?

Silence.

Every day, your body resists mine. Every day, your soul grinds against my cursed energy. Even you can't win that battle forever.

Sukuna chuckled.

You'll last another year, perhaps. His eyes narrowed. Less, if you're careless.

He continued, vaguely amused.

And those precious students of yours will never even know why you're gone!

A drop of tear landed on Gojo's lap.

Then another.

Then another.

He pressed a hand over his eyes.

His shoulders shook.

"I don't deserve them," he whispered into the empty room.

"They deserve someone who stays."

Pathetic.

Sukuna let out a low scoff.

What happened to the Strongest, Satoru?

Gojo didn't answer.

Why do you need anyone at all?

Sukuna continued.

You've spent your entire life looking down at the world. Everyone else was too slow, too weak, too fragile to stand beside you.

His voice grew sharper.

And now you're crying because a handful of insignificant teenagers decided to show you a morsel of affection?

Gojo's jaw tightened.

Sukuna laughed.

You, of all people. The man who could bend the world to his will. Reduced to this.

Silence.

Tell me, Satoru... when did you become so desperate for crumbs?

Gojo didn't argue.

He simply lay down on the bed, turning onto his side.

A single tear slipped from the corner of his eye, traced the curve of his temple, and disappeared into his hair.

He closed his eyes.

Minutes passed.

His breathing grew slow and even.

Sukuna clicked his tongue.

Tch.

The victory tasted strangely hollow.

For the first time, provoking Gojo felt less like entertainment and more like kicking at the ruins of something that refused to fight back.

How boring.

The cursed marks lingered around Gojo's chest, feeling the warmth beneath them, counting each heartbeat...

Thump.

Thump.

Thump.

One day, the rhythm would falter.

The final beat would come.

The thought should have thrilled Sukuna.

Instead, it stirred an uneasy feeling in him he wasn't prepared to name.

Tch.

🔗 Next Part 5

🔗 Previous Part 3

It sure was a painful chapter to write. Let me know if you're liking the fic so far.

❤

Teddy

[saltyinternetflower]

Sukugo Fic - The Most Twisted Curse Part 3

Gojo woke to voices.

Not loud.

The kind people used when they thought someone was sleeping.

His Six Eyes registered movement before his mind fully surfaced.

Three presences. Familiar.

One pacing.

One sitting cross-legged on the floor.

One standing near the window.

Gojo kept his eyes closed.

"He's really asleep."

Yuji.

"I can see that."

Megumi.

"He looks terrible. Is he even breathing?"

Nobara.

"Hey, watch it, Kugisaki. It's Gojo sensei we're talking about. The strongest sorcerer of this generation!"

Yuji sounded so sincere Gojo immediately felt a surge of affection rising in his chest.

"He missed class," Nobara said.

"Maybe he's sick."

Then Yuji's voice came closer.

"Do you think he has a fever?"

Movement.

A hand reaching.

Gojo activated infinity instinctively.

The air hummed.

Yuji stopped.

"Ah."

Gojo opened one eye.

Three students froze like they'd been caught stealing candy from Gojo's secret hiding place.

"Planning my funeral already?" he asked.

Yuji immediately pointed at Nobara.

"She said it."

"Such a rat, Itadori!"

Gojo groaned dramatically and rolled onto his back.

"I leave you unsupervised for one morning."

"You skipped class."

"I overslept."

Megumi looked unconvinced.

"You barely sleep three hours every night," He frowned.

Gojo sat up slowly.

"Well, my bones are getting old,"

He cracked his neck with an exaggerated wince.

The room tilted.

Just slightly.

Enough that he regretted the motion immediately.

Three pairs of eyes narrowed.

Dangerous.

Far too observant.

Inside him, Sukuna stirred.

They're watching you.

Obviously.

Like hunting dogs.

They're worried.

A pause.

Strange creatures.

Gojo ignored him.

"Alright," he announced. "Emergency mission.

Yuji, get my wallet from that table, please."

He dug into his wallet and held out a handful of bills.

"Buy mochi for everyone. Consider it my personal apology for missing the class."

"That's not a mission. That's bribery."

Nobara fixed him with a disapproving glare.

"You want mochi or not?"

Yuji accepted the money instantly.

"Let's go, Kugisaki."

"You are so easy to buy."

"Free mochi."

"Huh."

They headed for the door.

Megumi didn't move.

"Fushiguro, you coming?" Yuji called.

"You go ahead. I'll join."

Yuji nodded. Nobara looked between Gojo and Megumi, then dragged Yuji out by his sleeve.

The door shut behind them.

Silence settled.

Megumi stood with his hands in his pockets.

Gojo sat on the edge of the bed.

For a moment neither spoke.

Then...

"Are you okay?"

Straight to the point, as always.

Gojo looked away.

"I've been better."

Megumi nodded once.

Like he'd expected exactly that answer.

"There was blood."

Gojo froze.

"Blood?"

"On the bathroom floor."

Gojo stared at him.

Megumi stared back.

Inside Gojo, Sukuna had gone very still.

He noticed.

Megumi notices everything.

That's irritating.

That's his way of caring.

Gojo rubbed his eyes.

"It wasn't serious."

"Gojo sensei..."

"Hmm?"

Megumi stepped closer.

His expression softened.

"You're a terrible liar."

Gojo lowered his gaze, unable to meet Megumi's clear, piercing eyes.

The floor suddenly seemed fascinating.

"Sensei, you've been acting strange."

His voice was quiet now.

Careful.

And somehow that hurt worse than anything Sukuna had said.

Gojo laughed weakly.

A terrible sound.

He sat quietly for a moment.

Then swallowed hard.

"Megumi chan, can you do something weird?"

"..."

Gojo looked down at his hands.

"Just once..."

A pause.

"Can you put your hand on my forehead?"

His voice sounded thin.

The room fell silent.

Megumi stared.

Confused.

Concerned.

Then he crossed the room, and slowly crouched in front of him.

His palm settled against Gojo's forehead.

Cool.

Steady.

Gojo shut his eyes immediately.

The contact lasted only seconds.

Yet it felt like standing in the sunlight after years underground.

Beneath the sensation was another awareness.

Sukuna feeling it too.

Not only the touch itself.

The meaning of it.

Someone reaching for Gojo without wanting anything.

Someone touching him simply because he was hurting.

Megumi frowned.

"You don't have a fever."

"No."

"Are you injured?"

"No."

"Then what's wrong?"

Gojo couldn't answer.

Because the truth was too large.

Too ugly.

Too complicated.

Megumi's hand lingered.

Then, unexpectedly, he leaned forward.

A brief kiss landed in Gojo's hair.

Nothing dramatic.

Just simple affection.

The kind children give to people they trust.

Megumi pulled back immediately, as though surprised by his own actions.

"Sensei, don't go crazy with all those powers," He murmured.

Gojo let out a shaky breath.

"Tsumiki needs you."

A brief pause.

"And me too."

Gojo couldn't speak.

Couldn't move.

Megumi stood.

The tip of his ears had turned red.

"Anyway, I better get going before Itadori and Kugisaki start another stupid fight over mochi flavors."

Then he retreated toward the door with as much dignity as the situation allowed.

The door clicked shut.

Gojo sat on the edge of the bed, motionless, for a long time.

🔗 Previous Part 2

🔗 Next Part 4

[saltyinternetflower]

Sukugo Fic - The Most Twisted Curse Part 2

The meeting with the higher-ups began at nine.

By nine-thirty, Gojo was considering homicide.

The elders sat behind their screens, hidden in the shadows.

Exactly where cowards preferred to be.

Gojo leaned back in his chair.

Smiling.

Listening.

Enduring.

"...your recent absences have been noted."

"Have they?" Gojo asked pleasantly.

Another elder cleared his throat.

"Your attitude remains a concern."

Inside his mind, laughter erupted.

Kill him.

Gojo ignored it.

"...and your students continue displaying troubling independence."

Definitely kill him.

His smile tightened.

"That's what happens when people think for themselves."

The room grew colder.

The elders did not appreciate jokes.

Unfortunately, Sukuna did.

You know, the curse mused lazily, I could solve this entire conflict in under a minute.

No.

Thirty seconds.

No.

Twenty.

Gojo folded his arms.

One elder was speaking again.

He hadn't heard a word.

Sukuna continued.

That one is afraid of you.

No response.

The one on the left hates you.

Still nothing.

The old man in the center dreams about your death.

A pause.

Gojo pinched the bridge of his nose.

The elders misinterpreted the gesture.

"Do you have something to say?"

So many things.

Most of them unsuitable for polite conversation.

Gojo smiled.

"No."

The answer came too quickly.

Several elders exchanged glances.

For a moment, the room fell silent.

Gojo's smile remained intact. Yet something in his eyes had changed.

The elders noticed.

One of them swallowed.

Another looked away.

Gojo saw it happen.

And so did Sukuna.

There.

The voice purred through his thoughts.

That's the face.

Gojo's jaw tightened.

The face they fear.

Stop.

The one that belongs to us.

The word struck like a blade.

Us.

Gojo rose abruptly.

The chair scraped across the floor.

Every eye in the room fixed on him.

"Meeting adjourned."

One elder sputtered.

"You cannot simply decide that.

"I just did."

His voice was calm.

Far too calm.

Nobody challenged him.

Gojo turned and walked away.

The elders watched him leave.

None noticed his hands trembling.

By the time he reached his room, his vision was blurring.

The walls stretched strangely around him.

As though he were viewing it through water.

The pressure inside his skull had become unbearable.

Every thought. Every emotion. Every instinct.

His and Sukuna's.

Grinding against one another.

Hour after hour.

Day after day.

Gojo stumbled through the door.

The moment it closed behind him, his knees gave way.

He caught himself against the desk.

Barely.

The room spun.

"Damn it..."

The taste of iron flooded his mouth.

A second later he lurched toward the bathroom.

Violently sick.

The force of it left him shaking.

One hand braced against the wall.

The other gripping the edge of the sink hard enough to crack porcelain.

Silence.

No laughter.

No mockery.

Gojo spat blood into the basin.

His breathing sounded ragged.

For several moments he simply stood there.

Waiting for the room to stop moving.

Waiting for his body to remember how to function.

Nothing happened.

Finally he slid down the wall and sat on the cold tile floor.

Exhaustion settled over him like a burial shroud.

Heavy.

The silence continued.

That frightened him more than the pain.

"Sukuna."

No answer.

His eyes drifted shut.

"Sukuna."

A long pause.

Then...

Idiot.

The voice was quieter than usual.

Gojo almost laughed.

You pushed too hard.

Gojo rested his head against the wall.

"Didn't have much choice."

Stop fighting me then.

The room faded in and out around him.

His breathing gradually slowed.

The pounding in his skull began to recede.

A little.

Not enough.

Another long silence.

Then, unexpectedly...

Sleep.

Gojo blinked.

"What?"

Sleep, Satoru.

The words sounded strange coming from Sukuna.

Gojo dragged himself to his feet and somehow reached the bed.

The mattress dipped beneath his weight.

His eyes closed immediately.

The darkness welcomed him.

Before sleep claimed him entirely, he heard Sukuna one last time.

Soft enough to almost be imagined.

You are no use to me broken.

Gojo smiled weakly.

"Too late for that."

For once, Sukuna didn't argue.

🔗 Part 1

🔗 Part 3

If the readers like it, I'll post more parts. The idea of a Gojo x Sukuna merger is fascinating to me. Let's see where the story goes...

[saltyinternetflower]

Sukugo Fic: The Most Twisted Curse

[It's gonna be a dark romance. Sukuna is in Gojo's body. The King of Curses has been detached from humanity for a thousand years. But after being one with Satoru, he's slowly learning the ways of the honored one. And Satoru, too, has found someone who sees him for who he is. A dangerous obsession begins...]

Megumi noticed it during third period.

No one else did.

Not Itadori, despite sitting in the front row for once.

Not Nobara, who was busy arguing with Gojo about a domain expansion technique.

Not even Maki.

Only Megumi.

Something was wrong.

Gojo-sensei stood at the front of the classroom, one hand tucked into his pocket, explaining domain refinement with the enthusiasm of a game show host.

"...and that's why blindly expanding your domain is a terrible idea."

He pointed at Yuji.

"Especially for people with the strategic depth of a goldfish."

"Hey!"

The class laughed.

Gojo laughed too.

The sound was perfect. The smile was perfect.

Everything was perfect.

That's the problem.

Megumi frowned.

Something felt... rehearsed.

As though Gojo was playing Gojo.

A flawless imitation. But an imitation nonetheless.

The realization unsettled him.

Gojo suddenly turned.

For a split second, the blindfold faced directly toward him.

Megumi froze.

"Fushiguro."

Megumi blinked

"What?"

"You're staring."

The class snickered.

Gojo grinned.

"If you're finally realizing how handsome I am, I'd appreciate a little warning."

A chorus of groans followed.

Normal.

Everything was normal again.

Megumi hated it.

Something was wrong.

He simply couldn't prove it.

By evening, Tokyo Jujutsu Academy had settled into silence.

Students returned to their dormitories.

Lights flickered on across the grounds.

The distant sound of training echoed through the trees.

Gojo walked alone.

Hands in his pockets.

Head slightly bowed.

The smile was gone.

No one saw him cross the courtyard.

No one saw him enter his room.

The door clicked shut.

Silence.

For several seconds, he simply stood there.

Motionless.

Listening.

Then he removed the blindfold.

Brilliant blue eyes stared into the darkness.

Tired eyes.

A slow exhale escaped him.

Finally.

The uniform jacket landed on a chair.

The buttons of his shirt followed.

Then the shirt itself.

And the room seemed to darken.

Black markings stretched across his skin.

Not scars. Not wounds.

Ancient symbols twisted over his shoulders, his chest, his ribs.

Etched directly into flesh.

They wound around his body like chains pretending to be tattoos.

Alive.

Swirling slowly.

Gojo glanced down at them.

For a moment, he looked helpless.

Then exhaustion swallowed it.

He sat heavily on the edge of the bed.

The marks pulsed and throbbed like heartbeats.

A laugh echoed somewhere behind his thoughts.

Low.

Amused.

Gojo closed his eyes.

"Not now."

The laughter continued.

You spent all day pretending to be you.

Gojo's voice was quiet, even pleading when he said:

"Let me have tonight."

The marks along his chest shifted.

For an instant, one curled upward into something resembling a grin.

Gojo lay back against the mattress.

The springs creaked softly.

Outside, the wind stirred the trees.

Inside, the room remained silent, but Gojo's mind wasn't.

"Just a few hours."

His eyes drifted shut.

"I'm taking back control for a while, Sukuna."

Silence.

Then, from somewhere deep within his own body rose a voice.

Are you asking?

The voice was smooth.

Dangerous.

Gojo smiled faintly despite himself.

"No."

A pause.

"I'm informing you."

The answering laughter followed him into sleep.

🔗 Part 2

[saltyinternetflower]

Sukugo snippet

(This is from a fic I'm drafting)

Sukuna looked at him and thought:

Magnificent.

Not because of his strength.

Not because he had broken Malevolent Shrine.

But because despite all that loneliness, all that grief, all that loss...

Gojo Satoru was still standing.

Still fighting.

Still refusing to break.

And suddenly, killing him no longer seemed enough.

Sukuna wanted something far more dangerous.

He wanted to possess him, body and soul.

Gojo Satoru, you'll be mine. Even if I have to wait another thousand years...

[saltyinternetflower]

Be unafraid to love 💖

The hottest scene in any romantic film ever.

[saltyinternetflower]

Odazai ficlet — Part 5

[Dazai is 22 here, Oda is 27. Both old enough to consent. Both old enough to fall in love. Just saying 😉]

Rain followed them home.

Yokohama shimmered outside the taxi windows in wet neon streaks while silence settled comfortably between Dazai and Oda.

Not awkward silence.

Dangerous silence.

By the time they reached Oda's apartment, the whiskey warmth had faded into something quieter. Heavier.

Oda unlocked the door first.

Same apartment.

Same dim light over the kitchen sink.

Same faint scent of cigarettes and old books.

Home.

Dazai stepped inside behind him and shut the door softly with one hand. Neither immediately moved further.

Water dripped from the edge of Oda's coat onto the genkan tiles.

“You should sleep,” Oda said eventually.

Dazai hummed.

Didn't move.

Oda sighed faintly and shrugged off his coat, hanging it beside the door. Dazai watched him the entire time with that unreadable expression again. Dark eyes heavy-lidded from whiskey and exhaustion.

Oda could feel it.

That gaze.

Steady enough to make his pulse strange.

“I'll make tea,” Oda muttered.

“Feeling cold?"

“It's the rain.”

"Mhmm."

Oda moved into the kitchen, reaching for the kettle more out of instinct than thought.

Behind him, he could hear Dazai wandering slowly through the apartment, shoes abandoned carelessly halfway to the living room.

Familiar sounds.

Comforting sounds.

Then silence again.

Too quiet.

Oda turned slightly.

Dazai stood leaning against the kitchen doorway now, sleeves rolled past bruised wrists.

The marks from the restraints earlier had darkened purple on his pale skin.

Oda's expression tightened.

“Come here.”

Dazai blinked.

“What?”

“Your wrists.”

“It'll heal.”

“Dazai.”

That tone.

Dazai obeyed before realizing he was doing it.

He settled on a chair beside the low table while Oda disappeared briefly to grab the first aid kit.

When he returned, Dazai had already rested his chin against the tabletop, watching him lazily.

Like a sleepy cat.

Oda sat across from him.

Carefully took one wrist into his hand.

The apartment felt very small all of a sudden.

The kettle began to hum quietly in the background.

Oda cleaned the bruising with practiced gentleness, fingers warm against Dazai's skin.

Too warm.

Dazai stared at him.

No mask tonight. No teasing.

Just those dark eyes following every movement.

Oda's hands trembled once.

A tiny movement.

Dazai noticed immediately.

“You okay?" he asked in a soft voice.

Oda lowered his gaze.

“I thought...” He swallowed. “I thought I'd watch you die in front of me.”

Dazai's chest tightened painfully.

“You shouldn't care that much,” he whispered.

Oda let out a quiet breath that almost sounded frustrated.

“That's not something I can control anymore.”

The room went still.

Completely still.

Dazai looked at him for a long moment after that.

At the tired lines beneath Oda's eyes.

The damp hair falling slightly over his forehead.

The man who refused to kill for years, yet picked up a gun without hesitation when Dazai's life was threatened.

Because he couldn't lose him.

Something inside Dazai gave way quietly.

Slowly, he lifted his free hand.

Oda watched the movement, transfixed.

Dazai's fingers brushed against Oda's jaw first.

Gentle.

Tentative.

Nothing like the fearless executive the Mafia knew.

“Dazai,” Oda said softly. "What are you thinking?"

Dazai's smile flickered.

"Can't tell you that."

A beat of silence.

"Odasaku."

"Hm?"

"I can show you."

The words landed between them like a struck match.

Oda's brow furrowed slightly.

"Dazai..."

Dazai slowly leaned in.

Close enough to catch the lingering scent of whiskey on Odasaku's breath.

Smoke woven into his shirt.

"..."

"Don't freak out, okay?" Dazai whispered.

Something uncertain crossed Oda's face.

His hand shot out, fingers closing around Dazai's wrist before he could move any closer.

"Dazai. Look, we..."

Dazai could hear all the reasons hiding underneath it.

Age gap.

Morality.

The fact Oda had known him since fifteen.

The terrifying tenderness of this thing growing between them for years without permission.

Dazai glanced down at the hand around his wrist, then back up.

Odasaku finally met his eyes.

The concern.

The exhaustion.

The quiet affection he never seemed to realize was there.

Dazai's chest tightened.

Oda would never cross that line himself.

Dazai knew that.

Which meant if this happened, it had to be him.

His choice.

His sin.

His ruin.

He slipped his free hand into the front of Oda's damp shirt and pulled.

Oda's grip loosened in surprise.

"Daza..."

The rest of the sentence vanished.

Dazai kissed him.

Soft, cold lips.

A sharp intake of breath.

The faint taste of whiskey.

And one fractured heartbeat.

Part 4

Well well well their first kiss... But the biggest enemy to Oda's heart is Oda himself, so let's see for how long he stays in that moment...

P. S. I just realized two things: One, this is not a ficlet anymore. And secondly, the fic doesn't even have a name yet 😶! Any suggestions?

Thanks for reading 🥰

[saltyinternetflower]

Odazai ficlet - Part 4

The conference hall emptied in fragments. Executives leaving too quickly, subordinates keeping their heads lowered, armed guards pretending they hadn't just witnessed the emotional collapse of Port Mafia's most terrifying executive.

Mori was still smiling to himself like he'd discovered a particularly interesting wound to poke later.

Dazai looked ready to commit several felonies simultaneously.

Oda looked pale.

“C'mon,” Chuuya muttered, grabbing Dazai by the back of his coat. “You two are giving me a migraine.”

Dazai didn't even argue.

That was alarming enough on its own.

Rain still poured over Yokohama by the time they reached bar Lupin.

The city outside glowed red and gold through wet streets while jazz drifted low through the old bar downstairs.

Familiar place.

Quiet place.

One of the few corners of the world that didn't demand anything from them.

Chuuya led them upstairs to one of the private rooms.

Small table.

Dim lamp.

Worn sofa near the window.

Safe enough.

Without a word, Chuuya placed a bottle of whiskey and two glasses on the table.

Then he looked between them.

Dazai had gone frighteningly quiet again, sitting on the edge of the sofa with his gaze lowered.

Oda remained standing near the window, still carrying the ghost of that gunshot in his eyes.

Chuuya sighed deeply.

“I can't believe I'm about to say something sincere. This is disgusting.”

Neither responded.

Chuuya pointed at Oda.

“You...”

Oda blinked.

“Dazai's ruined.”

Dazai finally looked up.

“Chuuya,” he warned softly.

“No, shut up.” Chuuya looked genuinely irritated now. “I'm serious.”

Then he turned fully toward Oda.

“He's fucking gone for you.”

Silence.

Heavy.

Chuuya shoved both hands into his pockets.

“And honestly?” he muttered. “It's painful to watch at this point.”

Oda stared at him speechlessly.

Dazai looked like he wanted the floorboards to open and swallow him whole.

Chuuya groaned at both of them.

“Do something already.”

Then, before either could respond, he left.

_______________________________________

Rain tapped softly against the windows.

Neither man spoke.

Oda slowly removed his coat and sat opposite Dazai at the low table. Whiskey poured amber between them, catching gold beneath the dim light.

One glass.

Then another.

Dazai kept staring into his drink.

Usually, he'd joke by now. Deflect. Smile. Turn the whole disaster into something clever and untouchable.

Tonight he had nothing.

Because Mori had seen it.

Chuuya had seen it.

Worst of all, Oda had seen it.

The whiskey burned going down.

“You shouldn't have done it.”

Oda frowned faintly.

“You heard me.”

Dazai's voice stayed soft.

“That no-kill rule... It meant everything to you.”

His eyes finally lifted toward Oda.

“You held onto it all these years in the Mafia. That's practically a miracle.”

There was no teasing in him tonight. No irony.

Just something painfully sincere.

“And you almost broke it because of me.”

Oda looked at him like the answer should've been obvious.

“What was I supposed to do?”

Dazai said nothing.

Oda leaned back slowly in his chair, gaze darkening.

“Let you die?”

The words came out rougher now.

“I can't do that.”

Dazai's breath caught almost imperceptibly.

“Because it's...you.”

Silence settled heavily between them.

Oda laughed once under his breath, humorless and tired.

“God, Dazai...” He rubbed a hand over his face. “I've known you since you were fifteen years old.”

Dazai listened quietly.

“The night you showed up bleeding all over my doorsteps.”

“The nights you burned up with fever and refused to stay in bed.”

Dazai's eyes softened.

“The first time you drank alcohol and threw up entire night.”

“That was Chuuya's fault.”

“You challenged him to a drinking contest.”

Dazai huffed the faintest laugh.

And Oda kept going.

“The first girl you brought to Lupin.”

Dazai groaned softly into his sleeve.

“She liked me.”

“She stole your wallet.”

Dazai finally smiled properly then.

Small.

Crooked.

Dangerously fond.

Oda's expression softened watching it.

“The first time you fired a gun,” he continued quietly. “The first time you fell asleep at my apartment. The first time you looked at me like...” He stopped himself.

Dazai tilted his head slightly.

“Like what?”

Oda looked away immediately.

Then he exhaled.

“Dazai,” he said quietly, “do you understand what you mean to me?”

Rain tapped softly against the glass.

“In this bloody, godless world we live in...” Oda swallowed once. “You're the one thing I want to protect.”

Dazai went utterly motionless.

Because nobody had ever said something like that to him before.

Slowly, he lowered himself further against the table.

His dark hair fell messily across his eyes.

And gently, he slipped his fingers into Oda's resting hand.

Oda startled immediately.

Dazai's touch was warm from the whiskey.

Their fingers threaded together beneath the dim light.

Dazai watched Oda the entire time.

Softly.

Openly.

Then, he whispers...

“Wanna go home, Saku-san?”

Oda blinked.

Completely caught off guard by the name.

“W-what?”

Dazai's thumb brushed once against his knuckles.

"Home."

He says, closing his eyes.

Part 1

Part 2

Part 3

Want romance or angst in the next chapter? You know how Oda would practically die before letting anything happen, so...

Do let me know, please. And thanks for reading 🤗

[allthingswhumpyandangsty]

[saltyinternetflower]

Why Odasaku why? 🥀

OC

[saltyinternetflower]

Odazai Ficlet Part 3

(Links to Part 1 and Part 2 are added at the end of this chapter)

The gun aimed at Dazai's head trembled.

Just slightly.

Enough for everyone in the room to notice.

Dazai himself stayed unnaturally still beneath the hands pinning him down. Four men held his arms and shoulders now, gripping hard enough to bruise. Not one of them looked comfortable doing it.

Across from him, Oda stared at the handgun still extended toward him.

Like it was something rotten.

“Pick it up,” Mori said mildly.

Nobody moved. The conference hall had become terrifyingly quiet.

Oda spoke first.

“No.”

Simple again.

Steady again.

But Dazai could see it now. The minute tension in his shoulders. The way his fingers curled once at his sides.

Mori smiled faintly.

“How stubborn.”

“Odasaku.” Dazai's voice cut across the room immediately. “Don't touch the gun.”

Oda looked at him.

That was the dangerous part.

Not the gun.

Not Mori.

The way Oda looked at him.

Like Dazai mattered more than the line he'd drawn for himself.

Dazai felt cold all of a sudden.

“Listen to me,” he said quietly. “It's fine.”

It wasn't.

Everyone knew it wasn't.

But Dazai would rather die than watch Oda destroy the one thing still keeping him human.

Mori sighed theatrically.

“You're making this unnecessarily difficult.”

Then he nodded toward the Mafia member holding the gun to Dazai's head.

“Shoot him.”

The man flinched violently.

“Boss...”

“Shoot.”

The operative's face had gone pale.

“This is Executive Dazai,” he said hoarsely. “I can't just...”

Mori's smile vanished.

Instantly.

Like a candle blown out.

“If you fail to obey,” Mori said calmly, “I'll personally shoot you instead.”

The room chilled.

The operative looked sick.

His grip on the gun faltered visibly now, panic creeping into every movement. Sweat rolled down the side of his face.

Dazai barely noticed him.

His eyes locked on Oda.

“Odasaku,” he said again, softer this time. “Please.”

It stunned the room more than the gun did.

Because Executive Dazai didn't beg.

Not for mercy. Not for help.

Not for anything.

But here he was, held down like an animal before slaughter, looking only at Oda.

“Don't kill for me.”

Oda's jaw tightened.

Mori watched the exchange with open fascination.

“How beautiful,” he murmured. “Two men trying desperately to protect each other from themselves.”

“Shut up,” Dazai snapped.

Mori ignored him completely.

“Sakunosuke-kun, the answer is simple.” Mori tilted the gun slightly toward Oda again. “One death or two.”

The operative near Dazai looked moments from collapse.

“Boss, please...”

“Quiet.”

Dazai struggled suddenly, hard enough that the men restraining him nearly lost hold.

“Odasaku!”

For one terrible second, emotion cracked clean through his composure.

Raw and naked.

“Don't you dare!”

The room froze around the sound of it.

Because Dazai sounded terrified.

Oda closed his eyes briefly.

Just once.

Then he stepped forward.

And took the gun.

A collective breath caught across the conference hall.

Dazai went completely still.

Oda held the weapon awkwardly, like something dragged from an old grave.

Mori smiled slowly.

“There you are.”

Oda ignored him.

His gaze stayed fixed on Dazai.

Dazai shook his head immediately.

Tiny movement.

Desperate.

Oda raised the gun.

The operative pointing at Dazai jerked in alarm.

“W-wait—”

BANG.

The shot exploded through the room.

Several gang members flinched violently.

Dazai's restraints loosened instantly as the men holding him recoiled.

Then silence crashed down.

Dazai stared.

No blood.

No body falling.

Nothing.

Oda's gun had clicked empty after the blank shot.

At the same moment, the operative's gun lowered shakily.

Also empty.

Realization spread slowly across the room.

Mori laughed.

Soft at first.

Then openly.

“Well done,” he said almost cheerfully.

Dazai's expression turned murderous.

Oda stood frozen, staring at the gun in his hand like he'd only just realized what he'd done.

Mori leaned back in his chair, eyes gleaming.

“You see?” he said smoothly. “You merely needed the proper motivation.”

Oda's fingers tightened around the weapon.

Mori's smile sharpened.

“A killer never truly forgets how to kill.”

🔗 Part 1

🔗 Part 2

After so much tension in the last three chapters, I want some quiet intimacy for them. Should I write another part? Please let me know... And thanks for reading 💗