Chat does anyone remember this Suguru x reader fanfic where I think he was reader’s college lecturer (English ) and I don’t think he taught her but I don’t remember also satoru was business professor reader was taking care of yuuji who played baseball and he was taught my Suguru who worked there past time (the arena was managed by nanami I think) megumi was also playing alongside yuuji
PLEASE FIND IT FOR MEE
Edit :ITS Sweet Lies by sukusskitty on ao3 thank you to the lovely person who found it!! 💗
Sukuna runs one of the most chaotic and unintentionally iconic TikTok and YouTube channels on the internet. It’s low quality. Grainy. Shaky camera. Just him—yelling, ranting, pacing like a man possessed. Half the time he’s shirtless. The other half, he’s mid-walk or mid-meal. There’s no structure. No intro. No outro. Just unfiltered fury.
And people eat it up.
His content is mostly him yelling at women to “do better,” “get better,” and some are genius advice on how to get your shit together.
But one video? One video broke the internet.
It was late at night. He seemed to be walking somewhere, maybe home, maybe to a convenience store. It was dark. The footage was low-res, shaky. A street light flickered overhead. His voice was already raised when the video started.
“YO,” he shouted. “I JUST MET A PREGNANT WOMAN.”
He’s holding the camera way too close to his face, already heated.
“She asked me if I could help her with the door. I say yes, of course, I’m a decent human being. AND THEN—I say, because I have manners, I say: ‘Oh! Congratulations to you and your husband.’”
He stops walking, looking around like he needs the world to confirm this madness.
“She looks at me weird. I’m thinking, okay, maybe it’s her wife. I’m inclusive. I’m respectful. I GET IT. So I say: ‘Oh—my bad—your wife, then?’”
He pauses. His jaw twitches.
“And this bitch… this—B I T C H—opens her mouth and says to me: ‘Oh, I’m not married. It’s my boyfriend’s.’”
He stares into the camera like it just stabbed him.
“BITCH. I’M—SORRY???”
His voice cracks.
“Not fiancé. Not husband. BOYFRIEND.”
He's beginning to unravel.
“You mean to tell me you’re making a whole HUMAN BEING with someone who still calls you ‘bae’ over text? Not even a fiancé? A boyfriend? That’s the 7-day free trial of commitment!. That’s a man who still says ‘we’ll see how it goes’ while you’re over here building his bloodline.”
He’s gesturing wildly now.
“You’re renting your womb to a maybe?? A let’s feel it out??? You’re putting your whole spine and hormones on the line for a dude who still wears basketball shorts in winter???”
He laughs—but it’s dry. Bitter. Unhinged.
“Get better. I’m BEGGING you. Bring shame back. Bring fear back. Bring STANDARDS back. I’m losing HOPE IN THE HUMAN RACE.”
The video ends abruptly.
And just like that, it went absolutely viral.
It wasn’t the lighting. It wasn’t the production. It wasn’t even the topic. It was the rage. The disbelief. The audacity in his tone. He sounded like a man who had witnessed a crime against nature and couldn't move on.
Because deep down, Sukuna wasn’t raised like this.
His father and mother are still married. Still happy. He grew up hearing stories about how hard his dad had to fight to earn his mom’s love—how he had to prove himself, earn her trust, protect her dignity. His father told him every day: “Your mother was never an option. She was the prize. Treat her like one.”
From a young age, Sukuna thought it was a given—women were proud. Women were sharp. Women were queens. That they demanded respect because they deserved it.
So the whiplash he got once he started growing up, stepping out into the real world, scrolling, watching, hearing—
It was like a bucket of ice water to the soul.
No one warned him that some people would settle for less. That dignity could be optional. That love could be replaced with vibes and commitment with a situationship.
And so now he yells.
Yells at his camera. Yells at his screen. Yells for those who still believe what he believes:
That love is serious. That women are worth everything. And that some of y’all are doing entirely too much for entirely too little.
-------
Video Two
This one was different.
A spiritual experience. A sermon. A digital relic passed down from the internet gods themselves—delivered by none other than Sukuna, in pain, half-naked, and furious.
The camera is angled awkwardly, propped up against a cup of water or someone’s phone. Everyone can see part of Sukuna’s tattoo artist in the corner, focused on inking something elaborate on his back. Sukuna’s shirt is off.
His body is tensed. And despite being in pain—he’s not flinching from the needle.
He’s flinching from the story.
His voice cuts through the buzzing.
“Nah. No. I’m done. I’m done. I cannot make this shit up.”
He leans forward slightly, muscles twitching under the needle, but he doesn’t care. The artist pauses. Sukuna waves them off.
“KEEP GOING. I want the pain. I deserve to feel this while I say what I’m about to say.”
He looks dead into the camera, voice rising.
“So apparently—APPARENTLY—this girl, right? 19 years old. Met some dude on a night out, starts seeing him casually—casually—for TWO. WEEKS.”
He raises two fingers. Then one hand clenched into a fist.
“Fourteen days, my guy. They haven’t even hit the third-week mark. Haven’t even had a proper fight yet. And she—get this—she walks into a tattoo parlor and gets his NAME. TATTOOED. ON HER BODY.”
He stares at the lens, horrified.
“NOT her dad’s name. Not her dead cat. Not her MOTHER WHO GAVE HER LIFE. Some dude who probably still has an active Tinder account.”
He throws his head back and laughs. It's a broken sound.
“She said it felt right. Said it was romantic. Said it was spontaneous.”
His jaw tenses. He points at the half-finished piece on his arm.
“THIS tattoo? Took me four months to design. It’s my great-grandfather’s war crest, my mom’s birthday in kanji, and a dragon holding my siblings’ initials. You know—real things. Things that matter. Things that STAY.”
He leans in. Voice drops.
“You tattooed a maybe. You inked a potential. You permanently branded yourself with someone who probably still says ‘I don’t like labels.’”
He glares, incredulous.
“What happens when he ghosts you, huh? You gonna tell people it's your cousin’s name? Your dog? You gonna turn ‘Jayden’ into ‘Judgment’ and call it a rebirth era??”
He slaps the tattoo bed in disbelief.
“Y’all think love is a side quest. It’s not! It’s the final boss. And you’re out here giving cheat codes to strangers.”
The tattoo artist starts again. Sukuna winces—but nods, letting it continue. He breathes deep, visibly restraining himself, before delivering the final blow:
“Bring hesitation back. Bring doubt back. Bring the fear of God back. Because some of y’all are out here branding yourselves with men who still say ‘lol’ in lowercase.”
He points one last time.
“DO. FUCKING. BETTER.”
----------------
The third video is sukuna just fed tf up. HE IS FED UP WITH all of us!
Sukuna’s car, at night, after a date with you. He’s still in date clothes, hair tousled, lip gloss smudged on his neck (yours, obviously). The glow from the dashboard light barely softens the unfiltered rage on his face. He's not yelling yet. But he’s right on the edge of snapping.
Sukuna’s already seated, hand gripping the steering wheel, eyes staring blankly through the windshield. He’s quiet for a beat. Too quiet.
He looks into the camera, tight-lipped. Furious.
"We just left that cute little Korean place, right? Me and my girl—we’re happy, full, she got that sparkle in her eye 'cause I ordered dessert without asking just to surprise her. That’s how I move."
He signed heavy and shook his head, running a hand over his face.
"Then I hear it. This table behind us, right near the register. Some girl’s voice—real small, real awkward—going, ‘Wait, so you want to split it?’"
He comes close to the camera now. silent for a moment. "I think, oh no. Not another one. But maybe I'm wrong. Maybe it’s mutual. Maybe she ate four appetizers and he got water."
He inhales sharply. "NO. This bastard—this demon in disguise—looks her dead in the face and says, ‘Well, you had the fries. That’s not really fair.’"
He posed before exploding. It's unbearable to him. "The fries, bro? THE FRIES?! That $4.99 basket that y’all probably SHARED?!"
He leans closer, his voice tightening. "You invited her out. Picked the place. Ordered a beer. Had steak. Then sat there—watching her nibble like a damn bird—only to bring up fries like they were gold-plated?"
His jaw clenches. You hear his ring clink softly against the steering wheel. "Be ashamed. Be humiliated. And don’t even get me started on the ‘well, it’s the 21st century’ argument. Shut UP. So is murder. Doesn't make it right."
His voice rises now, tone cutting. "Dating is not Uber Pool. It’s not a subscription service. You don’t get to go Dutch when you’re the one who begged for the date and said ‘I got you’ in the DMs. Grow a spine. Or don’t date."
He points at the camera, tapping it once. "You’re not proving anything by making her pay. Except that you’re broke in the wallet and the soul."
Then, softer. With contempt. "And ladies. Please. When a man shows you that he’s cheap with his money? He’ll be cheap with his effort. Cheap with his time. Cheap with his love."
-----
People were quoting "Dating is not Uber Pool” like it was scripture. Edits of Sukuna’s videos circulated with dramatic violin music, gospel choirs, and even K-drama slow-mo filters. His fans began calling him the “Messiah of Standards,” the “Father of Feminism,” and—perhaps most alarmingly—“King Behavior Incarnate.”
He doesn’t respond to the hype.
He just posts again. And again. More rage. More truth. More grainy footage with zero editing and 100% conviction.
Because Sukuna’s not trying to go viral.
He’s trying to save the world.
One furious, shirtless, late-night rant at a time.
So what if mama reader and baby go shopping and lads card declines (it can be a prank done by both mum and baby to see their reaction or maybe it happened due to an error and she pays via her own money) and the lads full on panicking for not being able to provide even for a second
𝒢𝑒𝓃𝓇𝑒/𝒲𝒶𝓇𝓃𝒾𝓃𝑔 ˙⋆✮ this is such a funny idea, im trying headcanons again, i missed you pookie wookie
> ࣪𖤐.ᐟ You and your babygirl decide to prank daddy
Masterlist
𝙍𝙖𝙛𝙖𝙮𝙚𝙡 °‧🫧⋆.ೃ࿔*:･
- You and your baby girl are in a pastel boutique buying matching sea princess dresses, and the card declines with a cheery “Please try again!”
- You frown. Your baby frowns. You both go, “…Rafayel.”
- You call him and go, “Baby, your card was declined…”
- He gasps like you told him someone died.
“WHAT? No. That card is a symbol of my devotion. How could she do this to you???”
- You hear him running. He’s literally sprinting barefoot across the estate.
- “Don’t move. Don’t spend your money. Not one cent. That’s not what pretty hands are for!”
- He bursts in dramatically, hair windblown, and drops to his knees.
“Have I… failed my beloved?”
- Meanwhile your baby is clapping, enjoying the chaos, and you’re giggling cause you paid already.
- You reveal it was a prank and he immediately scoops both of you up.
“That was a CRUEL performance but you played your roles so well… now we go home and you get pampered until your dignity is restored.”
𝙕𝙖𝙮𝙣𝙚 ⋆꙳•❅‧*₊⋆☃︎ ‧*❆ ₊⋆
- You’re out shopping for matching mother-daughter spa robes and silk pajamas when the cashier politely informs you, “I’m sorry, this card has been declined.”
- You raise an eyebrow, then lean down to your chubby babygirl with her two pigtails and whisper, “Let’s see how Daddy reacts when we tell him.”
- You FaceTime him from the store, all sweet and innocent. “Zaynie… your card declined. I didn’t want to use mine but—”
- His eyes flash with horror. “Declined? Are you safe? Where are you? Did you try another register? That’s impossible. I just, wait, don’t touch your wallet, I’m coming right now.”
- Leaves mid-surgery consultation, throws off his coat, barking at a nurse to call the bank.
- You try to calm him down like “Baby, it’s okay, we didn’t die,” but he’s already speed walking through the hospital, muttering, “Unacceptable. She shouldn’t have to lift a finger, ever.”
- when he bursts into the store 15 minutes later, out of breath and in scrubs, and sees you already paid, he looks at your card like it personally betrayed him.
- You finally crack and tell him it was a prank and he stares you down, then looks at his daughter and says:
“You’re in on this too, aren’t you? You’re just like your mother… dangerous.”
𝙓𝙖𝙫𝙞𝙚𝙧 ⋆⭒˚.⋆🪐 ⋆⭒˚.⋆
- You and babygirl are buying another absurdly expensive stroller (because why not?) when the platinum card is declined.
- You’re like, “Hmm, that’s weird…” and your baby (who’s sitting in her sparkly shoes chewing on your Chanel brooch) goes, “Uh oh.”
- You casually text Xavier: “Hey, baby. Did you forget to pay the bank?”
- He replies:
“Impossible. The card pulls from an intergalactic fund account with 37 digits.”
“I’m on my way.”
- He walks in 10 minutes later looking like a sleepy mafia prince, hands in his coat pockets, hair tousled from a nap.
- “Who told my wife no?” he murmurs with dead eyes.
- The poor cashier is shaking. You’re trying not to laugh because you and your babygirl plotted this whole thing, and she’s now pretending to pout, clinging to you like she’s destitute.
- You break the act and say it was a prank. He just stares. Long silence. Then:
“Fine. But you’re both banned from plotting against me until I finish this nap.”
𝙎𝙮𝙡𝙪𝙨 ✮ ⋆ ˚｡𓅨⋆｡°✩
- You’re in a private luxury showroom trying on a custom “Mama & Mini” power suit set, when they swipe his black card and the system says “declined.”
- You raise your brow and go, “Oh no. Is Daddy… poor?”
- Your baby girl looks up from her pile of tiaras and repeats, “Dada poor?”
- You call him on speaker. “Hey babe. We had a little… issue.”
- Instant silence. Then Sylus goes cold.
“What kind of issue? Where are you? Send me location. Did someone touch you?”
- You explain the card declined and you’re gonna just use your personal card, he snaps:
“Absolutely not. You don’t pay for anything. Ever.”
- Logs into 12 bank accounts, calls his finance officer, freezes the card just to be petty, then sends a guard and a suitcase of cash.
- Shows up later with baby’s favorite macarons, glaring at your bag.
- You confess it was a prank and he just breathes out slowly.
“You think you’re funny? Cute. Let’s see if you’re still laughing when I buy out the store and rename it after you.”
𝘾𝙖𝙡𝙚𝙗 ⋆｡ ‧˚ʚ🍎ɞ˚‧｡ ⋆
- You’re shopping in Skyhaven’s exclusive aviation-themed baby boutique (of course), and your husband’s military card declines mid-purchase of a custom ride-on baby plane.
- The baby is sitting on it going “VRRRMMMM” and you’re like “Oh no… we’ve been cut off.”
- You text Caleb and he replies with a 👍 and then calls you 3 seconds later like:
“What do you mean declined. Is someone threatening my family’s access to comfort?”
- He calls Skyhaven Command. Has the tech team reviewing all card activity, like you’ve just been hacked by a deep space terrorist.
- “Do not spend your money. Stay there. I’m sending my aide with an override chip.”
- Meanwhile, your baby girl is dramatically sighing and saying “Daddy fix it,” and you’re like holding back giggles.
- He bursts in 20 minutes later in full uniform, serious as ever, asks you quietly:
“…Did I fail to provide?”
And you just MELT cause this man really thinks he failed you for 15 minutes.
- When you tell him it was a prank, he chuckles a little but is like:
“Don’t joke like that… my heart’s still racing. I thought I lost my privileges as your provider.”
next part | ‘Wanna be sisters (?)’ Series | LaDS Masterlist
Synopsis: Just your regular incarnation story, or is it? What happens when MC, the one the universe of LaDS revolves around, suddenly becomes obsessed with you? And how will this affect the love interests?
Characters: MC, Caleb and Y/n (so far, I plan for more love interests later on)
Content warnings: AU, isekai, reincarnation, SFW (for now, will definitely be NSFW but I like laying down a base), angst, manipulation, obsession, possessiveness, poor terrorized you, use of Y/n, a little dubcon (Y/n is being tricked into kissing), semi-proofread (wrote this in a day and a half) - lemme know if I missed something.
Word count: 5k
Disclaimer: I don’t own any of the characters from the LaDS universe, except for Y/n. I wrote this because it’s been brewing in the back of my head for some time now. This is my first time I’ve put something I wrote out there so, yea, just wanted to say that. I am open to suggestions or constructive criticism.
Chapter 1
You didn’t think much of whatever happens when you die, you always just assumed you’d be slipping into nothingness, well definitely nothing had prepared you for what was about to come your way.
You were born to a run of the mill family. You weren’t poor but you weren’t rich either. Your parents travelled because of work so you moved around alot until you finally settled down and enrolled into a new school, you were 16 at this point. You never managed to make any close friends as you moved alot and you weren’t particularly extroverted so you were used to being by yourself. You sometimes felt envious whenever you saw a group of friends hanging out, but by now you had almost given up the idea.
I say almost because you still held on that little sliver of hope, that maybe it would be different this time around and you might actually get adopted by an extrovert, though you weren’t sure what you could offer other than your boring self. You sighed and stepped into the new class.
It was a day like any other, just like all the other times you transfered schools mid semester, well… until it wasn’t. As your skimmed the class, your eyes met and for a brief moment everything halted.
The second you locked eyes your breath felt like it was ripped out of your lungs and your head was flooded with images, your life literally flashed before your eyes, but it wasn’t this life, no, it was your previous one. A life you remembered nothing about, until now.
Your previous life was filled with hardships, from a dysfunctional family to failed relationships, long working hours with no career in sight, isolated with little to no friends, the only joy in life being a little mobile game called Love&deepspace. In that little universe, you found your peace. You lived through MC‘s experience and you loved through the love interests. You poured your heart and soul and your hard earned money into the game. It was a balm to your open wounds and a reason to keep on living. That life had left you too jaded for any actual relationships and you were quite content in that little world you lived in even though it ended fairly early, terminal cancer at the age of 40.
You never envied MC or wanted to be her, having suffered through enough heartache of your own, you understood and empathized with her. All you ever wanted was for them to be happy, MC and her love interest. You were more than happy to be a spectator. Anywhere outside of Love&deepspace, the intensity of such relationships and bonds terrified you, but here you could enjoy everything and step away at a second’s notice without being involved or sucked into it. That was your little freedom.
Yet here you were now, locking eyes with MC. You recognized her in an instant, and she was staring back at you, an intense feeling behind her gaze, a gaze you couldn’t read, but you felt a shiver run down your back, a silent warning to look away, turn around and run. You shook your head, trying to make sense of everything, your memories of your current life clashing with your past ones, but before you had any time to dwell on it, the class bell rung.
You broke her gaze and sat down in a empty chair as far away from her as possible. You didn’t know what this all meant, but it wasn’t anything good.
Over the next couple of days, you quickly understood something, this world revolved around her, everyone gravitated towards her by this invisible pull.
You tried your best at avoiding her, but to no avail. She kept popping up everywhere, trailing around you like a lost puppy. She was intent on becoming your friend regardless of what you wanted, it was if she couldn’t perceive not being able to get her way. You guys were besties, you just didn’t know it yet or at least that’s what she kept telling everyone.
You finally gave in, understanding that you had little to no choice in the matter to begin with and that was the beginning of this little spiral of madness you will end up regretting later, wishing you had resister more or at the very least tried to.
It started with little things, she started buying the same pens as you, the same products you used, the same clothes, then one day she showed up, having cut her hair and wearing it the same way you did. It got to the point where she insisted on you guys coordinating your outfits and fitting your schedules together so you could spend as much time as possible. Everyone found it endearing, from your parents right down to Caleb, who was indulging her in everything, but you already knew that about him, you knew how obsessive and possessive he was towards her in the game.
You finally understood how scary it was firsthand to be at the receiving end of someone so obsession but you never imagined you would ever be MC’s. You figured she would get bored at some point if you stopped resisting, but it only got worse from there.
You avoided going to their place as much as possible because you weren’t sure how Caleb was going to react to all of this, but if anything, he was enabling MC’s behavior. He slowly started getting overly friendly with you, self entitling himself as your older brother and getting downright hostile towards anyone who dared approach you or MC, under the guise of beying overprotective.
His newfound attention towards you, made you feel uncomfortable, but flustered, after all, he had been one of your favorite love interests while you were playing Love&deepspace. Of course, MC noticed this and made it her mission to push you and Caleb on spending as much time together as possible. God knew what was going on in her head at this point.
You finally got a piece of good news when your parents announced it was time to move again, which meant you were finally going to be free of MC, but it all came crashing down when she had managed to somehow convince your parents to let you stay with her and grandma Josephine, since you had finally managed to build a social life and put some roots. You pleaded your case to your parents, but it was as if they couldn’t hear you and instead had decided that MC knew better and now you were moving in with her and Caleb and grandma Josephine.
You had all, but given up at this point, it seemed like no matter what life you were in, you were forced to live somebody else’s story, forever the sidekick, never the main character, but even that feeling was short-lived when MC suddenly concluded one evening, during movie night, that it would be great if you guys became actual sisters and what better way to do that than you marrying Caleb.
She actually announced it while sitting right next to him, clapping her hands, all excited, like she had just had her best epiphany yet. You were horrified and your face showed as much, you turned to Caleb, eyes wide, ready to deny your heart out, but you were shocked to him eyeing you with a small grin while he hummed, he actually fucking hummed in agreement, like the idea was somehow appealing to him.
You stood up and excused yourself to the bathroom, you closed the door and leaned on it, your heart pounding in your chest. Your mind reeled, making an escape plan, but where would you go? You have no money, your family had moved far away and you didn’t have any other friends, because MC made damn sure of it. You felt like a mouse trapped in a maze.
It was at this point that you decided to finally grow a backbone or at least try to, and you started pushing back on MC’s requests and behavior, but you didn’t expect to be met with such resistance. You tried to distancing yourself from her, but that didn’t work since you were living together. You tried talking to other people, but every time you tried coming closer to other girls, they kept pushing you back to MC. You tried hitting on guys, desperate at this point, but they were all too terrified of Caleb to make a move so they ended up turning you down.
Again and again, the universe was reminding you that whatever MC wanted or whatever MC said was the way things were going to be. You didn’t have an option, it was either her way or no way.
You finally snapped and ran away from home only for Caleb to find you and bring you back not even half a day later.
Nobody yelled at you, nobody was mad at you, they only sympathized, poor you, you were obviously confused and needed to be shown the right way. You obviously didn’t know what was right for you and you obviously couldn’t make the right decisions, so it was up to MC to make them for you.
This was the point where you had decided to change strategies, instead of pushing back on her ideas, you pretended to agree with them while stalling for as long as possible, and making empty promises which seemed to appease her. You finally found a loophole. You were only going to be a teenager for so long, at some point, you would become independent and able to free yourself from her.
She wanted you to marry Caleb so you guys could be sisters? That was suddenly a great idea, but you should focus on the now and study together so you could make that happen in the future. After all you guys were going to be hunters together, or so she decided. She seemed to be satisfied with that and just left it be and things were quiet for a while, that was until one evening.
You guys were taking a break from studying, scrolling on social media together and deciding on what you were going to wear to this little party you were attending next week.
“Have you ever kissed anyone before Y/n?” MC randomly asked out loud, her brows furrowing.
You had, but not in this timeline.
“No” you turned to her and decided to answer truthfully, after all you never kissed anyone as Y/n.
“Have you?” you asked back, eyeing her reaction. You had wondered sometimes because she really was just as gorgeous as you remember her being while playing the game, albeit younger.
She rolled her eyes and sighed dramatically.
“No” she huffed and you thought that was that, subject closed, but she brought up the subject again the following night, seemingly out of nowhere while you were reading in your room and she was laying down on your bed scrolling away on her phone.
“There’s probably going to be cute guys at that party we’re going” she chimmed, still scrolling on her phone.
You hummed in agreement, only half listening, still highlighting important parts in your textbook.
She sighed and when you say nothing, she sighed again loudly and thumped her legs on your bed. You rolled your eyes and turned towards her, she always did this when she wanted attention, which was constantly. Her phone now abandoned she was playing with her hair while staring at the ceiling.
“What?” you huffed, waiting for her to spill whatever was on her mind.
“Oh nothing” she shrugged. It was clearly something. Damn diva. You just squinted your eyes at her.
”Ugh fine! I’m just worried ok? What if I finally get a boyfriend and he dumps me cuz I suck at kissing?” she bit her lip, her eyes shiny with what looked like worry.
You snorted, in times like these she really looked young and innocent, as if Caleb would ever let that happen. MC get a boyfriend that wasn’t him? Yea right!
Still the mere fact that she opened the subject again should have rung alarms in your head, you should have known better by now. You should know that she wouldn’t just say or ask things randomly. Poor naive you.
“You’re laughing at me” she pouted in a whiny tone.
“Am not! Nobody will dump you for having a shitty first kiss. I mean I hear you get better with practice, so I’m sure it’s gonna be smoother the second time around“ you offered with a small smile.
“You really think so?” She batted her eyelashes at you bashfully.
“Of course! You just need to find yourself a good teacher or practice buddy” you teased and that was when you saw the telltale glint in her eye, the one that meant trouble for you. Well shit.
“I know someone that can teach us!” she declared proudly. You did not like where this was going.
“Us?” you chocked.
“Yup, we always do everything together, don’t we? It makes sense we would be learning this together too, silly, since you also don’t know how to kiss” she giggled not so innocently. You were screwed.
She got up and pulled you to your feet by your wrist.
“Wait, wait” you stopped her. She pouted but waited for you to continue “You can’t just ask a random guy to teach you how to kiss, it could get dangerous” you reasoned, silently pleading with her to see how crazy she sounded right now, but she just gave you a bright smile.
“Oh, but he’s no stranger” she offered oh so confidently while leading you out of your room and towards a very familiar door.
Oh, oh no, oh no no no no no! You tried resisting, but she was mad strong, no question she was gonna make a good hunter one day, but it wasn’t helping your predicament right this moment. You tried scrambling for things to say but it was already too late as she just barged into Caleb’s room, no knocking no nothing. That’s when you realized this had been a set up all along, she had laid out a trap and you feel for it hook line and sinker. Your mouth went suddenly dry.
“Hey pipsquick, I told you how I feel about you barging in” tsked Caleb, looking up from his phone from where he was laying on his bed. “One of these days you’re gonna end up seeing more than what you bargained for” he teased with a half grin.
You briefly wondered if Caleb was in on this too or if he was gonna be just as surprised as you, but you needn’t wait long because MC was nothing if not straightforward.
“Teach us how to kiss” she barked at Caleb. You chocked on nothing seeing as your mouth was still dry. MC patted your back, waiting for you to calm down, all the while Caleb was openly chuckling and teasing, phone now forgotten.
“You ok there shortcake?” he eyed you with a raised eyebrow, you flashed him a thumbs up, still trying to get your breathing under control.
“That’s no way of asking your older brother for things, where’s the please?” Caleb tuted, making no comment on how crazy this whole proposition was in the first place.
MC rolled her eyes but complied “Pleaaaaaase” she batted her eyelashes at him.
Manipulative bitch, that’s how she got you.
Caleb seemed to contemplate it for a minute, his thumb and index finger stroking his chiseled chin and jaw. God, why did he have to be so good looking? He eyed you and you gave him a pleading look, hoping that for once he would actually save you from MC’s insanity. Surely he could see how absurd this whole situation was, right? He wouldn’t just agree and go along with it, righ-
“Sure” he shrugged, looking all laid back and relaxed, but his intense gaze told a different story story.
Well fuck you too Caleb. Of fucking course he would say yes, he gets to kiss MC, the literal love of his life! He sat up and patted the spot next to him on the bed. MC more or less skipped her way there while you were still frozen in the doorway.
“MC is the one who wanted to learn! I’ll just uh watch you guys and MC can just give me the rundown after” you rambled, trying to think of ways to get youself out of this. You already knew what the outcome was gonna be, she always got her way, you’ve already seen it happening way too many times, but that doesn’t mean you’re not gonna fight back on it.
MC all but growled under her breath and marched towards you, she pulled you by both wrists and basically manhandled you until you toppled face first in Caleb’s chest, all spawled on his lap. He laughed and helped pull you up, maneuvering you so you were straddling his thighs. You flushed instantly and tried to back up and off him, but he was holding your hips firmly in place.
You stared at him like a deer in the headlights, eyes all wide and blushing deeply. Fuck he was hot, even more so this up close. You could see the bright orange streaks in his purple eyes clearly. There was no discomfort in his gaze, just curiosity and eagerness. His eyes broke your gaze for a second to drop to your lips. You sucked in a shaky breath.
You broke out of whatever spell you fell into the moment MC plopped on the bed next to you, making the bed bounce under all of you. She sat her elbows on her knees, face in hands, grinning widely at you expectantly.
“Go on then. I wanna watch first” she urged impatiently.
You felt Caleb’s hand tracing the side of your face and your attention snapped back to him. He tucked a loose strand of hair behind your ear and you bit on your lip holding back a sigh. This was really happening.
He tskes and traces your lip with his thumb, pulling it from between your teeth.
“Don’t do that” he chided in a soft tone.
“Ready?” he asked searching your eyes for any rejection, your mind was coming up emtpy. He stroked your bottom lip with his thumb one last time, letting his hand drop down to the side of your face. His thumb was tracing your pulse before he leaned down slowly to brush his lips on top of yours.
Your mind argued for a brief second that MC should be the one in his lap, but all thought went out the window the second your lips touched.
The kiss was soft, his lips pressed firmly against yours, once, twice before moving against you at a slow pace coaxing your mouth open, giving you plenty of time to register what was happening, giving you space to pull back, but you were too far gone. You melted into his kiss, into his hold. When he felt no resistance, his tongue traced along your bottom lip tentatively and when you gasped quietly into his mouth he took that to mean you granting him acess to deepen the kiss.
You felt the hand on the side of your face slide to the back of your head, fingers threading through your hair, manouvering you in a more comfortable position. The hand on your hip slid to the middle of your back pulling you closer to him. Gone was the soft and tentative kissing, it slowly got hungrier, deeper, more urgent and you found yourself fisting your hands in the front of his shirt, holding on tight for balance. Your head was spinning.
He was grunting softly into your mouth each time your tongues rubbed firmly against eachother, you were trying to keep up with him, but he was dead set on devouring you. You whimpered when he sucked particularly hard on your tongue and he moaned when you bit his lip in relatiation.
What broke you out of your reverie was the giggle that registred in the background. You pulled back suddenly as far as you could, with Caleb’s hand fisted into the back of your head still trying to hold you in place, you panted hard against his mouth trying to catch your breath, your forheards touching.
You pushed against his chest, suddenly very aware of what just happened, you lowered your gaze and turned to look at MC sheepishly who was grinning back at you like the cat who ate the canary. He reluctantly let you put some distance between you, but his hands slid back down firmly to your waist, still holding you close. It’s like he knew you would bolt the minute he let go. Oh and you so would.
“Well, that was… exciting” she giggled.
“How was it? Is Caleb a good teacher?” MC peered at you curiously and you could feel Caleb’s stare on the side of your face. He was breathing hard in your ear.
You frowned trying to think of a smartass retort but your head was still fuzzy from the kiss.
“Good enough to render her speechless” teased Caleb, still a little out of breath.
Well that snapped you out of it. You pushed against his chest, trying to free yourself from his grasp, but he wasn’t letting you up.
“Hey, heeey, easy, don’t push so hard, your’re gonna end up falling backwards on your ass. It’s like I suddenly gave you cooties or something” he frowned and he guided you slowly off his lap to sit on the side of the bed, caged between himself and MC.
You wrapped your arms around your knees and burried your face in them.
“That looked intense. Was she any good?” MC mussed and your head snapped back up intending on shutting her up, but seeing Caleb’s reaction shut you up instead.
“Too good actually” he gritted, jaw clenching. His eyes narrowed, like something clicked in the back of his head, a dark realization. You could see his whole demeanor change, his nostrils flared, his eyes pinning you down with a furious glare. This was a scary side of Caleb you weren’t fond of seeing, it used to make you cower, but you knew by now he wouldn’t hurt you.
“Who was it?” sneered Caleb, hands fisting at his side.
You stared at them both, wide eyed, cursing in your mind, fucking mentally deranged step siblings. Is that something to be worked up about? He just swapped spit with his SO’s best friend, right in front of her, at her own insistence and this is what gets him angry? Seriously Caleb?
“Nobody! Who the fuck would dare kiss me? Guys won’t even come close within a 5 meter radius of me thanks to you” you spat at Caleb, throwing your hands up in the air, so done with both of them.
He blinked, instantly relaxed, the fury replaced by something akin to satisfaction, a small grin curling at the corner of his lip.
“Good, none of them are good enough for you” he grunted, crossing his arms on his chest.
You rolled your eyes and turned to MC.
“I thought you wanted to learn how to kiss” you urged her, better get this over with so you can go back to your room and pretend none if this ever happened.
“I changed my mind” MC chirped while shrugging. “Seeing you do so well on your first try makes me think I might not need a teacher after all” she added and hopped off Caleb’s bed and back to her room.
You sat there, mouth open, no retort, no nothing. What the fuck just happened.
“I think you got played Shortcake” Caleb chuckled next to you, bumping his shoulder into yours.
“Don’t you mean we?” you scoffed at him.
“Meh” was all that came out of his mouth. You started at him like he had lost his marbles, but he seemed pretty laid back about all this, as if he didn’t care, as if this didn’t affect him in any way. He gave you a quizzical look.
“What?” he bumped your shoulder again with his, the friendly Caleb smile you used to love while playing now adorning his face. His personality change was starting to give you whiplash.
Why wasn’t he mad about this? An opportunity to make out with his SO appeared out of thin air only to be ripped out of his grasp. He should be furious, shouldn’t he? Your brows furrowed, mind reeling again. You felt his index finger poke in between your eyebrows attempting to smooth the wrinkles, pulling you out of your thoughts.
“What’s cooking up there? Smells burnt” he chuckled wrinkling his nose playfully. You rolled your eyes and pushed his hand out of your face. You just couldn’t get a read on these two.
“So… did you wanna practice some more or are you good?” he teased in a low voice giving you another one of those interse stares that sent shivers down your spine.
You sat up straight so fast you almost stumbled.
“I’m good” you squeaked, but before you could bolt through the door he caught your wrist turning you to face him.
“Hold on sweetheart, I’m just teasing” his gaze softening. “You ok? Are we good?” he murmured, so quietly you almost didn’t hear him. You nodded not meeting his eyes and tried to leave but he was still holding your wrist.
“I need to hear you say it” he said firmly, louder this time, forcing you to look at him, eyes filled with something intense that you couldn’t quite pick up.
“Yes” you squeaked again, then cleared my throat and continued “We’re good” you nodded, although you didn’t know if you were good. Were you? At this point did it even matter? You just wanted to get the hell out of there.
He released your wrist raising his arms in surrender.
“As long as we’re good” he nodded smiling.
You left and went straight to MC’s room demanding answers.
“What the hell was that?” you whisper yelled glancing at the door, trying to make sure you weren’t loud enough for Caleb to hear.
“What was what?” MC raised an eyebrow, looking all innocently like she had no idea what you were talking about.
“You know very well what!” you threw your arms in the air.
“I don’t know what you mean. You’re being dramatic. Lighten up” pouted MC rolling her eyes at you, going back to scrolling on her phone effectively ignoring you.
You growled and shatched her phone from her hands.
“Hey, give that back” she hissed.
“No, not until you tell me what the hell you were thinking. You concoted this whole thing and for what. Whatever happened to you wanting to learn how to kiss for this imaginary boyfriend of yours? I wanna know what the purpose for all of this was” you spat.
She crossed her arms and kept pouting.
“Ugh like I said I changed my mind. Your’re overreacting, it was just a kiss” she sighed now peering down at the back of her nails, like she was done with this subject, like it was boring her, no longer holding her interest.
You wanted to bite her head off. You knew she was scheaming something. There was definitely more than she was letting on, but you also knew she was a locked vault when she acted like this so there was nothing you could do to get her to talk. You had to drop it for now and approch it a different way on a different day, but anger was boiling underneath your skin. You needed a way to blow off some steam.
“Fine” you grunted and turned to leave, but she grabbed your wrist quickly.
“Where are you going?” she asked in a tight voice.
Ever since you had ran away from home MC had been careful with how much she could get on your nerves before you snapped, but you weren’t gonna do that again. Not now, not until you became independent, not that you intended on letting them know, but you knew why she was asking.
“Relax, I’m just going for a run” you shook her hand off and she let you. At least in times like this she knew not to push it.
Running helped you clear your head, it helped you stop from overthinking, it was also a very good outlet for your worry and stress. You didn’t want to let it consume you before you managed to free yourself from her. In order to gain freedom you needed a calm mind, one that could execute your plans to perfection. You weren’t going to let this world dictate how the rest of your story would go.
You couldn’t stop the occasional creeping thoughts though, like today. Why was Caleb seemingly ok with all this? He hadn’t questioned her for a second. You thought back to the moment when she pulled you into his room, how he didn’t flinch, even though he complained that she barged in unexpectedly.
What if it wasn’t unexpected, what if he knew what she had planned already? What if they had discussed it the night before? He was way to quick to assume you hadn’t kissed anyone before, that was something only MC knew about. MC had asked him to teach you guys, she didn’t reveal your discussion from your previous night where you had admitted to never kissing anyone before.
You frowned, something was nagging at you, it might also be MC’s sudden change in attitude after you and Caleb kissed and her refusal to talk about it.
Argh this was all just too confusing, fuck them and fuck this, you just needed to hang in there, just a little bit longer and you would be free.
☾𖤓 Summary. She marries Satoru Gojo for the money—enough to keep her brother alive. He marries her to shut his clan up—no love, no strings, just a deal. But living together makes it harder to remember what’s fake… and what’s starting to feel real.
☾𖤓 Pairing. Reader x Gojo Satoru
☾𖤓 Warnings. Hurt/Comfort, Fake marriage, emotional suppression, slow burn, unrequited feelings, mentions of critical illness (sick sibling), power imbalance, violence.
a/n: Thank you so much for all your kind words and support! This series is my first attempt at publishing anything here so it's such a big confidence boost that the community is very appreciative of what I've been uploading so far. I hope you'll still get to feel the same rollercoaster ride of emotions in this chapter as you've experienced in the prev 4. Also, if you have any idea as to how you want things to go please let me know in the comments! Thank you again!
Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6
The next morning is quiet, slow.
It’s Saturday. The sun filters lazily through the kitchen windows as you pour tea into two mugs—yours plain, his sweetened just a bit, the way he never asked for but never corrected.
Satoru walks in minutes later, hair still damp from the shower, hoodie thrown on without much thought. He moves like he's still shaking off sleep—or maybe the weight from last night.
You slide his mug across the counter without a word.
He nods, murmurs a gruff thanks.
You hesitate a moment, fingers wrapped around the warmth of your cup. Then, casually—
“Are you busy today?”
Satoru raises a brow over the rim of his mug. “Why?”
“There’s that new theme park just outside the city.” You keep your tone light, conversational. “I was thinking we could check it out. See if it’s something the students might enjoy for a field trip.”
You don’t say I thought it might be good for you.
You don’t say You looked like you needed to get out.
You just smile. Simple. Easy.
“You’re good at pretending to have fun, right?”
Satoru exhales through his nose, setting his mug down with a soft clink.
“A theme park?” he repeats, like the idea personally offended him. “On my day off?”
You don’t flinch. Just sip your tea and shrug. “Thought you might want a reason to get out. But if you’re busy brooding in the dark all day, I’ll go alone.”
That earns you a faint smirk.
He doesn’t answer right away. Just leans on the counter, studying you for a moment too long.
Then—
“Fine.” A sigh. “But I’m not riding anything that spins, and if there are mascots, you’re dealing with them.”
You hide your smile behind your mug.
“Deal.”
The theme park looms over the hill like a castle built of color and noise. You buy your tickets at the gate while Satoru adjusts his sunglasses and surveys the chaos with mock dread. Children shriek with laughter, bubbles float in the breeze, and somewhere nearby, a jingle from a costumed parade nearly makes him flinch.
“This is field research,” you say, straight-faced. “You’re a responsible educator now.”
“Cruel,” he says, deadpan. “Unforgivable.”
But he doesn’t walk away.
In fact, the moment you pass through the gates and the scent of popcorn and artificial strawberry hits him, he tilts his head toward you and says—
“Alright. I’m buying us cotton candy. Don’t try to stop me.”
The morning is a blur of motion and color. Satoru stops in front of a ring toss booth, scanning the setup with a faint smirk.
“Rigged,” he mutters. Then he hands over a single bill, rolls up his sleeves with flair, and sinks the first toss clean through the narrow-necked bottle.
The booth attendant blinks. Gojo barely looks satisfied as he points to the biggest prize—the slightly lopsided stuffed fox with mismatched eyes.
“That one.”
He turns to you and hands you the fox.
You raise an eyebrow but accept the fox, lips curving despite yourself. “Show-off.”
“Naturally,” he replies. He points to a swinging pirate ship next.
“Come on. Let’s see if your stomach’s as unshakable as your poker face.”
You scoff. “You said no spinning rides.”
“This swings. There’s nuance.”
He ends up screaming louder than the kids behind you—and laughing harder when it’s over, his hair windswept and a little ridiculous. You laugh too, really laugh, and for a moment, you’re not playing roles.
You’re just… there. Together.
You settle into a quiet corner of the park after lunch, sitting side by side on a bench with a view of the artificial lake. Children toss bread at ducks. Music plays faintly from hidden speakers.
You cradle a cup of iced lemonade, watching the sunlight dance on the water. Satoru leans back, arms draped over the bench, legs stretched out, sunglasses slightly askew.
He’s relaxed in a way you’ve never seen. Not performative. Not distant. Just real.
“You’re having fun,” you say, voice light.
He hums. “Don’t tell anyone. I have a reputation.”
A pause. “...You needed this.”
He doesn’t look at you. Just tips his head toward the sky. “Yeah,” he says quietly. “I think I did.”
Something settles between you then. Not silence. Something warmer. You watch him for a second longer—how the sunlight catches the edge of his jaw, how his mouth twitches like he wants to say something but doesn’t. And you know: no one's watching you here. There’s no clan. No expectations. No act to maintain. So when he shifts, just slightly, and his shoulder brushes against yours, you don’t move away. You let it stay.
Later, when the sky turns gold and the crowds thin out, Satoru insists on one last ride—the Ferris wheel. You hesitate. Your eyes lift toward the slow-moving wheel, toward the way it creaks and rises high above the park, higher than you’d like to admit.
“You said no spinning rides,” you say, voice light but just slightly tight.
“It’s a gentle rotation. You’ll live.” He says, already pulling you gently by the wrist. You don’t argue—just walk a little slower, eyes flicking up every few steps. When the attendant closes the door of your car and it begins its slow climb, you fold your hands tightly in your lap. Satoru leans back casually, arms stretched across the seat behind you.
“You’re quiet,” he says, watching you.
“I’m fine.” But your shoulders are tense. Your eyes avoid the windows. He tilts his head.
“You’re scared of heights?”
You exhale, slow. “A little.”
He doesn’t tease. Doesn’t smirk. Just shifts subtly closer, his voice lowering.
“You know this thing’s barely off the ground yet, right?” That earns him a sharp look from you. He chuckles softly. Then, quieter: “I’m right here.”
You sit like that as the car rises higher, the park shrinking beneath you, the sky now stained with the deep orange of dusk. Satoru doesn’t press. Just lets the silence sit.
Eventually, when you exhale again, it’s looser. Your fingers unclench.
“You’re easy to be around,” he says, voice casual.
You glance at him, side-eyeing through still-nervous lashes. “Is that your way of saying thanks?”
“No,” he says with a faint grin. “That was me stalling while I figure out how to tell you I didn’t hate today.”
Despite yourself, you let out a quiet laugh. The car reaches the top of the wheel. The world stills. Satoru doesn’t look at the city.
He looks at you.
Satoru hasn’t said anything in a while. You think he might be admiring the view. So you risk a glance sideways—only to find his eyes already on you. Not briefly. Not in passing.
He’s watching you with a quietness that doesn’t match the version of him the world sees. No smile. No smirk. Just a stillness. As if he’s trying to figure something out about you he hasn’t dared to ask yet.
You meet his gaze, unsure who’s going to look away first. The air feels thinner up here, and not just because you’re high off the ground. There’s something in the quiet. Something fragile. A thread pulled tight between you.
He doesn’t blink.
Neither do you.
Suddenly, his phone rings. Sharp. Loud. Jarring.
Satoru sighs, shifts back, and pulls the device from his pocket. His expression changes instantly as he glances at the screen. “It’s work.” A beat. Then he answers. The conversation is brief, clipped. You can’t hear what’s said, but you see it in his face—everything pulled tighter. Alert. Focused. When he hangs up, he turns to you, already moving.
“Something’s happened. There’s a threat near Jujutsu Tech. They need me on-site—now.”
You blink, startled by the sudden shift in energy.
“Is it—?”
“The Star Plasma Vessel. Someone’s targeting her again.” His voice is firm, calm—but there’s something sharp beneath it. Controlled urgency. He reaches into his coat pocket and pulls out his phone again, firing off a message.
“I’ve called the driver. He’ll meet you by the entrance in ten. Just wait for him there, alright?”
You nod, more out of instinct than understanding. Then he turns toward the window of the car—already sliding it open. The wind rushes in, lifting his hair and snapping at the edge of his coat. You instinctively tense, heart stuttering at the drop beyond the glass.
He pauses. Glances back. And then—without saying a word—he slides the window shut again. Clicks it into place. “Didn’t forget,” he murmurs, like it’s nothing.
Then he’s gone.
A flash of movement, a gust of air—and the car sways lightly in his absence. You stare at the closed window, your heartbeat loud in the quiet.
He remembered. Even in the middle of an emergency. Even when he had somewhere else to be. He still made sure you’d feel safe. And somehow that unsettles you more than the height ever could.
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The Ferris wheel ride down is quiet without him.
You sit still, hands folded in your lap, eyes on the reflection of the city lights in the glass. You don’t let yourself think too much about what just happened—or what almost happened.
The car reaches the bottom with a soft lurch. You step off, walk past the crowds and food stalls now beginning to thin out, the stuffed fox tucked under one arm.
You’re just reaching the park’s exit when your phone buzzes.
Unknown number.
No—hospital number.
Your heart stops before you even answer.
“Hello?”
“Ms. Y/L/N?” The voice is rushed, clinical. “I’m calling about your brother.”
You don’t breathe.
“He’s taken a turn. His oxygen levels dropped suddenly, and we’ve had to transfer him to the ICU. He’s stable for now, but… it’s critical.”
The world tilts. Theme park lights blur in your peripheral vision. Laughter, music, conversations—all still going, all still alive, while yours narrows to a single point of panic.
“I’m on my way,” you say, already moving, already shoving the stuffed toy into your bag like it suddenly weighs too much. “Please—stay with him until I get there.”
“We will.”
You run through the park gates, through the people, through the end of what was supposed to be just a pretend day. By the time you exit the theme park, you’re pale, silent, and trembling. Not from fear of heights. From something deeper.
From the fear you’ve been carrying all along.
That no one—not even Satoru Gojo—can fix this part of your world.
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It’s well past midnight when Satoru returns.
He tosses his coat onto the arm of the couch and sinks into it with a quiet sigh, raking a hand through his hair.
No sign of you. The lights are off. No shoes by the door. No tea kettle humming in the kitchen. No sarcastic comment about him tracking dirt onto the floor.
He frowns.
“Y/N?”
Nothing.
He checks the kitchen. Empty. Your room—door open, untouched. No sign of you curled up with a book. The space feels… wrong. Off.
He pulls out his phone, scrolling through messages. Nothing from you. No updates. A thought strikes him—he’d arranged for the driver to take you home after the park.
He calls him.
“Sir,” the driver says, a little hesitant, “I waited at the front gate, just like you asked… but she never showed up. I assumed she made other arrangements.”
Satoru’s jaw tightens.
“You didn’t follow up?”
“No, sir. I didn’t want to overstep.”
Satoru ends the call without responding.
For a few seconds, he just stands in the middle of the living room, coat still on, phone hanging loosely in his hand. He tells himself you probably went for a walk. Or met a friend. Or just needed space. But his gut says otherwise.
His jaw clenches. He grabs his phone, opens your contact, and hits call before he can talk himself out of it.
One ring.
Two.
“Come on,” he mutters. “Pick up.”
Three rings.
Still nothing.
He calls again.
One ring. Two—
“Seriously, Y/N—”
The line picks up mid-ring.
“Hello?”
Your voice lands like a punch.
Not sharp, not angry—just… shaky. Raw. Like you haven’t spoken in hours. Like you’ve been swallowing tears until your throat burned.
He goes still.
The irritation he felt moments ago fades in an instant, replaced by something colder. He can hear it now—the faint echo of machines. Voices in the background. Hospital.
“Y/N?” His voice drops, the edge gone. “Where are you?”
Silence.
You inhale softly, then exhale like it physically hurts to let the breath go.
“I… I can’t tell you that.”
His brow furrows. “Why?”
“Because I don’t want you to come here,” you say, quietly. Not defensive. Just tired. That lands harder than he expects. But he doesn’t push. Instead, after a beat—
“Alright,” he says, voice calm. “Then tell me where I can pick you up. Later. When you’re ready.”
Another pause.
You don’t say yes. But you don’t say no either.
And for now, that’s enough.
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The soft hum of vending machines buzzes behind you. Fluorescent lights spill over the sidewalk, pooling at your feet like moonlight caught in a puddle.
It’s well past 2 a.m.
You sit outside the convenience store, elbows on your knees, eyes fixed on the ground like it’s the only thing holding you together.
You hear the footsteps before you see him. He doesn’t say your name. Doesn’t ask where you’ve been.
Just quietly sinks onto the stool beside you, hands in his pockets, gaze forward.
You sit in silence for a minute. You don’t speak, and he doesn’t push. But after a while, he leans back slightly, tilting his head toward the store window.
“You know,” he says, voice casual, “if we stay out here any longer, they’re gonna think we’re either loitering or planning a heist.”
You blink. Slowly.
And then, like something heavy shifts just slightly inside you, you let out a quiet, tired chuckle. It's small—barely there—but real.
“You’re terrible at reading a room,” you murmur.
“In my defense,” he says, glancing at you from the corner of his eye, “this is a sidewalk.”
Another pause. Another breath. Your posture doesn’t change much. Your eyes still feel hollow. But something softens around the edges—like the weight you’re carrying, just for a second, doesn’t crush you quite as hard.
You don’t talk about where you’ve been. He doesn’t ask and you’re quietly, deeply grateful for that. The silence settles again, but it’s lighter now. Not so suffocating.
You shift slightly, pulling your knees closer, your voice soft.
“The Star Plasma Vessel…” you begin, still not looking at him. “Is she okay?”
Satoru glances at you. You’re not asking because you’re curious about the mission. You’re asking because it’s easier to ask about someone else. Easier to care from a distance than explain why you’re here, sitting outside a convenience store at two in the morning, shattered behind your eyes.
He gets it. “Yeah,” he replies after a beat. “Scared, a little scratched up, but she’s safe. We got there in time.”
You nod slowly. You don’t say I’m glad. You don’t have to. Then, a little quieter—
“Good.”
Satoru watches you for another moment. Then looks away, his voice lower this time. “I wouldn’t have left if I knew...”
You cut him off gently, a small shake of your head. “I know.”
He doesn’t try to apologize again. But somehow, sitting side by side in the glow of a cheap vending machine, you understand each other just enough.
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The ride back to the Gojo compound is silent.
You lean against the car window, Satoru’s coat still wrapped around your shoulders, your face turned toward the blur of passing lights. Your body slackens slowly, bit by bit, until your breathing evens out.
He glances at you just once.
Asleep.
Your fingers remain loosely curled, still holding the hem of his coat.
When you arrive at the compound, he doesn’t wake you. There are still too many eyes during the day—elders, handlers, aides—but at this hour, the halls are finally empty. Quiet.
He slips out of the car and opens your door carefully.
“Y/N,” he says softly, just in case you stir.
You don’t.
So he bends down and lifts you into his arms. You’re light. Too light, maybe. But you don’t stir except for a faint shift of your head against his shoulder, a breath catching quietly in your sleep. He walks the familiar path back to your shared guest room inside the compound, passing closed doors and quiet corners. The old wood creaks under his feet, but no one wakes.
Inside, the room is dim—just one warm light glowing from a corner lamp left on earlier in your rush to leave.
He lowers you onto the bed gently, carefully pulling the blanket up over you. You shift faintly, murmuring something incoherent, your brows tightening for a moment. A flicker of whatever had followed you from earlier. He hesitates—then reaches out to brush a hand lightly across your hair, smoothing it back without thinking.
You exhale slowly, tension easing again.
Satoru stands there for a second too long.
Then he steps back, sits on the edge of the other side of the bed, and pulls off his jacket. He doesn’t turn off the lamp. Doesn’t climb in beside you just yet.
The room is dark now, save for the soft glow of the moon cutting across the floorboards. You’re asleep beside him, your breathing even and quiet, barely a whisper in the stillness.
Satoru lies on his back, eyes fixed on the ceiling, arms folded loosely behind his head. He hasn’t moved in a while. Can’t. Not because he’s comfortable—but because moving would break the fragile calm he’s pretending still exists.
He glances sideways.
You’re curled toward him, just slightly, one hand tucked near your face. The line of tension in your brow is gone now. The exhaustion hasn’t left your features, but for once, you look… at peace.
And it bothers him.
More than it should.
He sighs quietly and closes his eyes. But sleep doesn’t come. All he can feel is the weight of your presence. The echo of your voice on the phone. The way you didn’t want him to see you like that. The way you still thanked him—without ever saying the words.
This wasn’t supposed to happen. It was supposed to be clean. Controlled. Useful. An arrangement. A lie. No attachments. No mess. No room for feelings.
And yet—here he is.
Lying next to someone who was never supposed to matter. Feeling things he knows better than to let grow.
He presses the heels of his hands against his eyes, breath shallow.
"This is a mistake," he mutters to no one. Not because you’re the problem. But because he is. Because feelings are dangerous. Because he knows how it ends when he lets people close.
He turns his head and looks at you again.
A reluctant tenderness rises up in his chest, sharp and unwanted.
Maybe it’s time to end it. The arrangement. The act. Before it starts becoming something he can’t pull away from. Before you give him that quiet smile one more time and make it even harder.
But as he lies there, the words catch in his throat. Because the truth is—he doesn’t want to let go.
Not yet.
. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ ⟡ ݁ . ⊹ ₊ ݁. . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ ⟡ ݁ . ⊹ ₊ ݁.
The next morning unfolds in hushed movements.
The compound is quiet, the staff respectful, the air still.
You find Satoru already seated at the low table in your shared quarters, hair still damp from a shower, dressed in a plain black shirt. A half-eaten bowl of rice sits in front of him. He doesn’t look up when you enter.
“Morning,” you offer, voice tentative.
He gives a faint nod. “Morning.”
That’s it.
No teasing. No lazy grin. No offhand comment about your bedhead or the way you always squint at the light.
Just silence.
You sit across from him and begin eating slowly, glancing up every so often. His eyes are trained on his food, but his mind is somewhere else.
You don’t ask.
Then, out of nowhere—
“We’re moving back to the apartment tomorrow.”
You pause mid-bite.
“The new barrier system’s installed, wards are reinforced. I checked it myself last night.” A beat. “It’s secure. You’ll be safe there now.”
Your gaze lingers on his face, searching. There’s something clipped about the way he says it—efficient, cold, like he’s listing mission details. You nod once, slowly, but the words feel like a weight in your chest.
Something’s different. Pulled back. Sharper around the edges. You don’t press. Don’t ask if anything’s wrong. But the quiet between you stretches long and wide—louder than any answer could be.
And breakfast continues like that, two people sitting side by side, the same as always.
Except somehow, it isn’t.
. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ ⟡ ݁ . ⊹ ₊ ݁. . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ ⟡ ݁ . ⊹ ₊ ݁.
Evening settles like a hush over the compound, soft gold bleeding into pale gray.
Your things are mostly packed—orderly piles by the door, everything ready for the move back to the apartment. Satoru moves through the room with quiet efficiency, folding, zipping, double-checking everything with practiced ease.
You watch him from across the room, arms loosely folded.
He hasn’t really spoken to you all day. Just short replies. Nods. The kind of presence that feels more like absence with a face.
You walk over, stopping a few feet behind him as he shuts the last suitcase.
“Satoru?”
He straightens, still facing away. “Yeah?”
“You’ve been… quiet.”
He glances at you over his shoulder, unreadable. “Tired.”
You nod. Try to believe that.
But you know better.
“Is something wrong?”
He shrugs once, turning away to crouch beside the suitcase. “Just a long week.”
You watch his shoulders tighten faintly.
“Okay,” you say quietly, though everything inside you feels far from okay.
He doesn't respond.
You stand there a moment longer, waiting for something—anything—to break the silence, to let you back in.
But Satoru zips the last bag, gets to his feet, and dusts off his hands.
“We’ll leave after breakfast tomorrow. The car’s set to pick us up at nine.”
“Okay,” you say again.
He offers a tight nod and brushes past you, heading toward the other side of the room without another glance.
It hits you harder than you expect—that shift in him.
Like he’s already pulled away, like he’s decided something but won’t say it aloud.
The distance is quiet, but it fills the entire room.
And for the first time since all of this began, you feel like you’re truly alone beside him.
. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ ⟡ ݁ . ⊹ ₊ ݁. . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ ⟡ ݁ . ⊹ ₊ ݁.
The apartment is just as you left it—neat, modern, impersonal.
The sun filters in through half-drawn blinds, casting muted light over the familiar furniture. The kitchen hums faintly. The faint buzz of the city outside leaks in through double-glazed windows.
You walk in first, setting your bag down in the entryway with a quiet sigh. Satoru follows a few steps behind, his keys jingling as he drops them into the ceramic bowl near the door.
No words are exchanged.
No welcome home.
Just silence and shoes being slipped off.
It’s almost jarring how quickly the rhythm falls back into place.
Two rooms.
Two routines.
Two people under the same roof, each occupying just enough space not to cross into the other’s.
You don’t say it aloud, but it feels like everything between you—whatever fragile, warm thing had started to grow—was left behind in the compound.
At dinner, you eat separately.
You reheat leftover soup in the microwave while he pours himself cereal. You pass each other in the kitchen like strangers in a hotel. He hums something tuneless under his breath. You don’t ask what it is.
Later that night, your door is closed.
His is too.
The walls between you feel thinner somehow, and heavier at the same time.
And for all the ways things have “returned to normal,” you lie awake in the quiet and realize:
You don’t miss the quiet.
You miss him.
. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ ⟡ ݁ . ⊹ ₊ ݁. . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ ⟡ ݁ . ⊹ ₊ ݁.
It starts innocently enough.
A Jujutsu Tech function. Some casual, semi-formal gathering arranged by Shoko—part staff meeting, part social hour. She had insisted Satoru bring you. He nodded.
When he asked you the night before the function, you nodded too. Said nothing.
The venue is low-key—lanterns hanging over a garden courtyard, students milling around the edges, a few elders pretending to enjoy themselves. You keep to the fringes, glass in hand, eyes drifting.
You don’t know most of these people. You don’t need to.
And then you see it.
Across the courtyard, Satoru’s talking to someone.
The Star Plasma Girl, Maiko—tall, elegant, beautiful. She laughs at something he says and lightly touches his arm. He leans in a little. Smirks. Says something else, that easy Gojo charm on full display.
He smiles at her. The kind of smile you’ve only seen once—maybe twice—and always when he thought you weren’t looking.
It cuts sharper than you expect.
You look away. It’s stupid, you tell yourself. It’s nothing. But your chest feels tight. You press your fingers to the base of your glass, trying to ground yourself. You can’t even name what you’re feeling. Just that it’s unfair. That you were the one losing sleep over him. That you’re the one who knows how quiet he gets when he's tired. That you’re the one who—
You stop the thought. It doesn’t matter. Because none of it’s real. It never was.
And when Satoru finally walks back to you, drink in hand, still half-smiling from whatever flirtation he’s left behind, you force a small smile and accept the glass he offers.
“You okay?” he asks, not really looking at you.
“Of course,” you say with practiced ease.
And if he notices the shift in your voice, the slight crack in your smile, he doesn’t show it.
Later that night, as he drapes his jacket over the back of a chair and vanishes into the bathroom, you stand alone in the dark kitchen and admit it quietly to yourself—
You wish you were the kind of woman Satoru smiled at like that.
The real kind.
Not the arrangement.
. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ ⟡ ݁ . ⊹ ₊ ݁. . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ ⟡ ݁ . ⊹ ₊ ݁.
The evening has begun to wind down.
The courtyard is quieter now, the lanterns glowing softer, casting long shadows across the stone paths. Satoru steps away from the crowd, phone in hand, pretending to read a message. In truth, he needs air. Space. Something to clear the fog from his head.
You’ve been quiet all night.
He’d noticed your distant smile, the slight edge in your voice, the way you didn’t meet his eyes. But he couldn’t afford to dwell on it—not with half the jujutsu world watching.
“Still escaping your own party, I see.”
A familiar voice. Satoru turns. Maiko. She steps toward him, heels clicking against stone. “We never finished our conversation,” she says gently, resting a hand on his arm like it belongs there. She steps closer.
Too close.
Before he can stop her, she leans in—eyes half-lidded, breath brushing his cheek, her lips nearing his like this has been inevitable all night.
Satoru doesn’t move at first. Not out of desire, but disbelief.
Then, calmly but firmly, he lifts his hand and presses two fingers against her forehead.
“Don’t,” he says quietly. “This isn’t happening.”
She blinks. A little thrown off. She pulls back, visibly irritated.
But before she can say anything—
Footsteps.
A presence.
Satoru turns just in time to see you standing there at the edge of the path, frozen.
You don’t say anything.
You don’t have to.
Your expression says enough.
Wide eyes. Hurt flickering like a crack across a glass pane. You turn without a word and walk away.
“Y/N—” he calls after you, stepping forward.
But you don’t stop.
You disappear around the corner, head low, shoulders rigid.
Maiko raises a brow. “I didn’t realize she was the jealous type.”
Satoru’s jaw tightens. “She’s not.”
But his voice lacks its usual ease.
And as he watches the space Y/N vanished into, that tightness in his chest—that sharp, sudden ache—tells him: She might not be jealous. But she’s hurt. And that’s worse.
. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ ⟡ ݁ . ⊹ ₊ ݁. . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ ⟡ ݁ . ⊹ ₊ ݁.
Satoru sees her across the party.
Y/N stands near one of the drink tables, half-listening to a conversation she clearly wants no part of. Her eyes flick briefly toward him, then away, like she hadn’t been watching him moments before. Like she hadn’t seen what she wasn’t supposed to see.
He breaks away from a group of colleagues without excuse, crossing the courtyard with quiet urgency.
She notices.
Her posture stiffens when he gets closer, but she doesn’t move—doesn’t turn away. That alone feels like forgiveness he doesn’t deserve.
He opens his mouth—
BOOM.
A deafening crack splits the air.
Screams erupt as a wave of energy slams into the far end of the compound. Dust plumes into the lantern-lit night as intruders breach the perimeter with cursed weapons drawn, chaos scattering the gathering into a frenzy.
Y/N flinches instinctively, ready to run to the safety of Gojo’s presence.
“Stay there.” His voice is sharp where he stood several meters away from her, all warmth gone, replaced with immediate command. “Don’t run. I’ll come back for you.”
She blinks up at him, startled. He softens just slightly. “I swear, Y/N.”
Then he turns—and she sees where he goes.
Straight to who he wagers the attack was aimed at. Maiko, the Star Plasma Vessel.
She’s in the middle of the commotion, a blade aimed for her throat. Without missing a beat, Satoru flash-steps between her and the attacker, deflecting the blow with a curse-wrapped hand. His back shields her entirely, shoulder to shoulder with her as the fight escalates.
Y/N doesn’t move.
She stands there like he told her to, the crowd parting around her in panic, her ears ringing, eyes locked on the one man who told her he’d come back—
and is now fighting for someone else.
For someone who touched his arm.
For someone he almost kissed.
Her hands tremble but She doesn’t run. She doesn’t cry. He’ll come back for me. She repeats to herself.
But her chest feels like it’s caving in, and she thinks—maybe for the first time—that staying might have hurt more than walking away ever would.
The moment he turns away, everything moves too fast.
Y/N stays where he told her to—at the edge of the courtyard, tucked by the low stone wall. The guests scatter around her, some screaming, others pushing past in panic. Jujutsu sorcerers engage the intruders midair, cursed energy flashing like lightning across the sky.
She clutches the edge of the wall, heart pounding. Eyes on Satoru.
He’s brilliant—blinding. Fluid. He tears through enemies with unshakable ease, always three steps ahead. Every movement is deliberate. Controlled.
He doesn’t look back.
Not even once.
And that’s when it happens.
One of the intruders, flung by a burst of energy, crashes into the wall just a few feet from her. He grunts, bloodied and dazed—but not unconscious. He sees her.
A non-combatant. Alone. Vulnerable. He rises, blade in hand, limping toward her. Y/N’s eyes widen. There’s no one close enough. Everyone’s preoccupied. She can’t scream—her throat closes up. Her limbs freeze.
And then—
A flash.
Pain.
Blinding, white-hot pain across her side as she tries to scramble back, too slow, too late. The blade slashes deep across her ribcage, and she falls, breath ripped from her lungs.
She hits the ground hard.
The noise of the battle becomes muffled, distant, like she’s underwater. Blood pools beneath her hand as she tries to apply pressure, vision swimming.
She tastes iron.
Feels cold.
And in the haze, she wonders—not why she stayed, but why he never looked back.
. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ ⟡ ݁ . ⊹ ₊ ݁. . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ ⟡ ݁ . ⊹ ₊ ݁.
He doesn’t realize she’s hurt until the fight is over. Until the last attacker drops. Until someone calls his name—urgently. Frantic.
He turns and that’s when he sees it.
The blood. The torn fabric. The stillness on the ground near the wall.
His heart stops cold.
He doesn’t remember running to her. Only the silence in his head as he drops to his knees beside her, shaking hands brushing her cheek.
“Y/N?”
Her lashes flutter weakly. Her lips part. She tries to speak, but no words come out.
And in that moment, surrounded by the wreckage of a battle he won, Satoru realizes— He told her he’d come back.
I dont remember much about it except for few details like reader was the middle sibling of sukuna and yuuji was their little brother(still a toddler) reader is in college and was the primary caregiver of yuuji I also think there was an instance yuuji was acting out and she calls sukuna for help ig sukuna was in some sort of military? And i think the pairing was of suguru x reader and there was some angst trope involved in it the last i’ve read
TOMORROW IS GONE ౨ৎ Part One ⊹ ࣪SukuGo x Female Reader
Synopsis: When the past claws its way into the present, Sukuna is left standing in the wreckage of a fate he swore he’d never repeat. A part of him died screaming the name of one he loved, and now, in a cruel mirror of history, you and Gojo are slipping through his fingers the same way—another lesson that love, no matter how fierce, is never enough. As blood stains his hands and regret poisons his soul, one question lingers: was he always meant to lose, or was his name the curse that doomed him from the start? ( AO3 )
Content Warnings: Med student SukuGo x female reader, bicurious/bisexual sukuna and gojo, polyamory, college setting, heavy angst minimal comfort.
Trigger Warnings: 18+ content, MDNI. Descriptions of illness and hospitals, toxic family/friendship dynamics, alcohol and drug use, body dysmorphia, sexual harassment.
series masterlist next chapter
The administrative office was one of those places you had subconsciously ignored for months, half out of laziness and half out of sheer disinterest. It took you nearly a year to find it—nearly a year of wandering through halls, asking for directions, and giving up halfway before you finally ended up here. And now, standing at the entrance, you weren’t sure why you ever thought you needed to. The air smelled faintly of old paper and stale coffee, the walls were a shade of beige that could only be described as “government-issued,” and the woman at the front desk looked like she had seen far too many students come and go to care about one more. But you weren’t the only one here.
Sukuna stood at the counter, a furrow between his brows as he gripped his schedule like it was an offense to his entire existence. He had an air of frustration about him, the kind that made the receptionist’s fingers slow down on her keyboard, her voice dipping into something almost resigned. “You’re enrolled in eight courses,” she said, barely looking up from the monitor. “Yeah, that’s the problem,” Sukuna deadpanned.
“I signed up for five.”
You blinked. That was odd. If you had to guess, you’d think Sukuna would be the type to take extra classes, not less. In lectures, he was always the first to answer, his tone flat and uninterested but efficient—like he had better things to do. Then he’d be the first to leave, slinging his bag over his shoulder before the professor even finished dismissing everyone. You watched as he adjusted his rimless glasses, the movement so quick and practiced you almost missed it. They didn’t suit him—not because they looked bad, but because they sat at odds with the dark tattoos that stretched over his skin. They framed his face, carved sharp and intimidating, but no one ever said a word about them. They wouldn’t dare.
Sukuna wasn’t the kind of ‘nerd’ people bullied. No, he was the kind who could shut someone up with a look, the kind who carried himself with an ease that made his intelligence seem more like a weapon than a quirk. He was built like a tank, broad shoulders filling out his sweater, a hint of softness at his waist hidden under layers of fabric. He never seemed to care about how he looked, never spared a glance in the mirror, but people still watched him. Followed him. The other ‘outcasts’ gravitated toward him like he was some kind of messiah, and you could see why. He didn’t go out of his way to include anyone, but he never pushed them away, either. He was the kind of person people just wanted to be near—like being in his presence alone was enough to make things feel less… bleak.
And maybe that was why it startled you when his eyes flickered to you.
For a second, he hesitated. The papers in his hand crinkled under his grip, his jaw tensing. Then, as if deciding it wasn’t worth discussing in front of an audience, he brushed past you, his shoulder nearly knocking into yours. He smelled clean—something deep and woody, but not overwhelming. The administrator barely looked up. “Come back if there’s an issue,” she called, but he was already gone.
You exhaled. The receptionist raised a brow, unimpressed.
“Next?”
-
The next time you saw Sukuna, it was somewhere you never expected—inside the small, fluorescent-lit pharmaceutical store tucked between the campus clinic and a convenience store. The place smelled sterile, a mix of rubbing alcohol and something vaguely minty. Shelves lined with neatly arranged medicines and hygiene products stood like silent sentinels, and the low hum of a refrigerator filled the quiet space. You had been standing near the register, shifting from foot to foot, hesitating.
It wasn’t that buying pads and painkillers was embarrassing—it was just awkward. And seeing Sukuna standing at the counter, tapping his fingers against the glass display case, only made it worse. You thought about waiting for him to leave, you really did. But your cramps had other plans, gnawing at you in slow, insistent waves. So, with a resigned sigh, you stepped forward and muttered your request to the pharmacist.
Sukuna didn’t react.
Not when the cashier rang up the items, not when he pulled out his wallet, not even when he casually slid the bag across the counter toward you. It was smooth, efficient—like this was something he did all the time. “Total?” he asked, as if buying pads and painkillers for you was the most normal thing in the world. You stared at him, fingers hesitating over the bag’s plastic handles.
“You—”
“It’s fine.” he barely glanced up as he handed the money over, his face set in its usual unreadable expression. You thought he might say something about the administrative office. Maybe a passing remark about the scheduling mess, some acknowledgment that he had seen you before. But he didn't. He didn’t even look at you properly—not in a way that felt like recognition.
Just a face in the crowd.
You weren’t sure why that thought stung. It wasn’t like you two had ever spoken. You shared a class, sat in the same room, but that was all. Still, you had assumed—no, hoped—he would remember. But he didn’t. And you couldn’t decide what hurt more: the fact that he had helped you so easily, or the fact that, to him, it was just another errand.
-
Sukuna, as a matter of fact, does know who you are.
How could he not? You were the only one who made him feel like there was a tight coil wound up in his stomach, something uncomfortable and unfamiliar. It annoyed him at first. He wasn’t the type to dwell on people, to let fleeting interactions fester in the back of his mind. But with you, it was different.
It had always been different.
He saw you first, months before you ever noticed him, on a day much like any other. The school was noisy, filled with the shrill laughter of children and the exhausted murmurs of staff trying to keep up. Sukuna had been waiting by the gate, hands stuffed into the pockets of his hoodie, when he saw Choso dart toward you. “High-five!” Choso had grinned, holding up a tiny hand, and you—without hesitation—had smacked your palm against his.
“Oowww,” you exaggerated, shaking your hand like his hit had been anything but soft. “You’ve been working out, huh?” Choso beamed, giggling, before running toward Sukuna. You didn’t even glance in his direction. He doubted you even realized he was there. But he saw you.
You, the student volunteer who had crouched down to tie a kid’s shoelace without being asked. You, who always lingered a little longer after activities, chatting animatedly with the staff. You, who smiled like it was the easiest thing in the world. Sukuna should have forgotten you. But he didn’t.
He didn't have time to entertain things like this. His days were rigid, structured around class, assignments, and taking care of Choso. It wasn’t like he minded—but Choso wasn’t just a responsibility. He was his little brother, left in his care because the Kamos were too busy moving around to take him along. They sent money every month, an automated transaction with no warmth, no questions, just numbers on a screen. It was a clean, methodical process, and sometimes, when his phone pinged with a deposit, it felt almost mocking. Choso, too young to understand, would ask meekly, “Did Papa call?” and Sukuna—because he was good at fixing things, at making sure Choso never had to feel unwanted—did what he could do best.
He wrote.
Letter after letter, careful and practiced, as if Noritoshi himself had penned them. He bought envelopes, stamps, made sure they were sealed just right. Every Sunday, he’d hand Choso a fresh letter, watching as his eyes lit up, tiny fingers fumbling with the paper, reading words that were never really written for him. He spent extra money on those stamps, even though they’d never reach a destination. But it was worth it. Just like seeing you again had been worth it, even if you didn’t think he remembered you.
-
Sometimes, you’d ask Gojo about Sukuna—not because you were desperate for information, but because it was easy. Casual. Gojo took the same courses as Sukuna, purely by coincidence, which meant he saw him more than you did. and Gojo being Gojo, never just summarized. No, a passing comment about something Sukuna said in class would turn into a full-fledged, word-for-word recollection, complete with exaggerated impressions and hand gestures.
"He said," Gojo would begin, voice dropping into something low and mocking, "'If you can’t even grasp the fundamentals, then why are you in this class?'" he'd scoff, pushing up his glasses. "Can you believe him? Such a condescending bastard. Almost as condescending as me. Almost."
Sometimes you’d think Gojo was the only one who could match Sukuna in brains. Brawn, though? Not so much.
Gojo liked to claim he had a “lean, sleeper build,” a phrase he used with utmost confidence whenever the topic of strength came up. But you knew better. You had known him long before he became the loud-mouthed, effortlessly brilliant guy everyone saw now. You knew him from sleepovers as kids, nights when he'd collapse on the floor, unable to move, his body betraying him in the cruelest way possible.
Rhabdomyolysis. Rhabdo, for short.
It wasn’t fair. It never was. Just when you thought he was getting better, he’d push himself too far, ending up in unbearable muscle pain that left him unable to do anything but grit his teeth and wait for it to pass. But that was what you admired about him—no matter how many times it knocked him down, he got back up, thrice as strong, twice as stubborn. He studied and studied, pouring himself into his work, determined to get into med school. His mother had asked you to look out for him before you both left home. It was a simple request, spoken softly but weighted with unspoken worry.
"Make sure he doesn’t overwork himself," she had said. But how were you supposed to do that when Gojo lived to push his limits? Rhabdo came from overworking muscles, and Gojo did exactly that—gymming to prove a point, lifting heavy boxes just to impress whoever was watching. He tried too hard, stretched himself too thin, all because he didn’t want to be seen as just a ‘nerd.’
It made you wonder. Why was he so ashamed of his intelligence? Why would someone like him, who had knowledge in abundance, ever think it was something to hide? You just hoped that, in his pursuit of finding friends, he didn’t lose himself.
Sometimes, you’d try to talk to him about it. About the late nights at the gym when he should’ve been resting, about the way he pushed his body past its limits like he had something to prove. "Satoru," you'd start carefully, voice threading the needle between concern and hesitation. "You know you don’t have to do this, right?"
He'd barely look up, stretching out his arms like he hadn’t been deadlifting a weight that could snap him in half. “Do what?”
“This.” you motioned vaguely—at the gym bag at his feet, at the faint tremor in his fingers, at the exhaustion lurking beneath his grin. “You already have enough on your plate, why are you pushing yourself so hard?”
Gojo scoffed, rolling his shoulders as if shaking off your words. "Why wouldn’t I?"
"Because it’s hurting you," you said, and for a split second, something in his expression wavered. Then, just as quickly, it hardened.
"Look," he exhaled sharply, adjusting his glasses. "I don't want to be strong in just one way. You think I like how people look at me? Like I'm just some brain on legs? I want to be the strongest. Not just in brains. In brawn too." His voice was sharp, edged with frustration, but beneath it, there was something raw. Something that made your chest ache. But how could you tell him that it was impossible? If you took this from him—this goal, this driving force—what would he have left to fight for? That very thought scared you.
So you hesitated. You let it go.
But a voice inside nudged you.
Just try.
So you did.
"Satoru," you murmured, softer now, "You don’t have to prove anything to anyone."
His head snapped toward you so fast you almost flinched. His porcelain skin flared up with anger, jaw tightening as his hands curled around his glasses, gripping them so tightly you thought they’d snap between his fingers. "You don’t get it," he hissed. "We’re not kids anymore. You don’t have to run behind me like some duty-free nanny."
The words landed like a slap, sharp and unexpected. And then—just as suddenly as it appeared—that fire in his eyes died out. "Shit," he whispered, like the air had been knocked out of him. His hands trembled as they loosened around his glasses, and he reached for you, fingers barely brushing your wrist before stopping short. His voice cracked when he spoke again.
"I—I didn't mean that."
Of course he didn’t.
Because Gojo, for all his bravado, had never been good at watching his words when he was scared. And right now, he was terrified.
Terrified that he had pushed you too far, that you’d finally had enough, that this—the only thing he was sure of—would slip away.
But you wouldn’t go. You could never go.
Because he was your best friend.
Because you only had each other.
So you exhaled, slow and measured, before placing your hand over his.
"I know," you said simply. "But you have to stop doing this to yourself, Satoru."
He swallowed hard, but didn’t pull away.
Maybe he wouldn’t listen now. Maybe he never would. But at least he knew you weren’t leaving.
-
Sukuna knew of Gojo. Not just because they shared multiple classes, but because Gojo was impossible to miss.
White hair, piercing blue eyes, skin so pale it almost looked translucent under harsh fluorescent lights—he somehow fit the conventional beauty standard for men while simultaneously sticking out like a sore thumb. Sukuna had seen him in class, answering questions with an ease that was almost infuriating. Where sukuna would take a split second to process, Gojo would already be speaking, words spilling out like they had been waiting on the tip of his tongue.
But Gojo never noticed the brief glances Sukuna threw his way. Never noticed the way Sukuna, seated at the back of the room, would lean back just enough to watch him.
Gojo surrounded himself with people who seemed eager to bask in his brilliance but unwilling to match it. Sukuna saw them for what they were—leeches. People who, if they tried hard enough, would wring Gojo dry for notes, explanations, anything to make their lives easier. But Gojo didn’t seem to mind. Maybe he even liked it.
But Sukuna knew a different Gojo, too.
He saw him once at the gym, attempting a deadlift well beyond his capacity. Sukuna had expected him to fail. Not because he doubted Gojo's strength, but because he had seen too many people try and fail at the same thing—pushing past their limits just to prove a point.
But Gojo did it.
Somehow, through sheer force of will, he lifted the weight. Held it. His hands trembled violently by the end of it, but he still slammed the bar down with enough force to rattle the plates. Then, without a word, he stormed into the locker room.
Sukuna followed shortly after, towel slung over his shoulder, fully expecting to see Gojo hunched over in exhaustion. But instead, as soon as their eyes met, Gojo straightened, flexing as if that was the reason he had come here in the first place. "Not bad, huh?" Gojo grinned, still slightly breathless. His voice carried its usual arrogance, but there was something else beneath it. Something less sure.
Sukuna had seen this before.
People pushing themselves to extremes for validation, for praise, for their masculine ego. But this wasn’t just about validation. This was about approval. About being seen.
Gojo wanted acknowledgement.
So Sukuna gave it to him.
"Not bad," he said simply, drying off his face with his towel.
It was barely anything. Just two words.
But Gojo’s fingers twitched slightly, barely noticeable, before he turned away to grab his bag.
Sukuna didn’t miss the tremor in his hands as he walked out.
-
Sukuna sat in front of his home altar that night, after putting Choso to sleep. The apartment was quiet, save for the distant hum of traffic outside and the rhythmic ticking of the wall clock. He exhaled slowly, rolling his shoulders, the fabric of his ratty t-shirt stretching slightly before settling back into place. It barely fit him now—too tight across his chest, too loose at the waist. A weird, unbalanced fit that he should probably care about, but didn’t.
He used to, once. Back when he was a teenager, obsessing over online gym influencers, starving himself to get the perfect cut. But life had softened him, just a little. The kind of softness that clung to a body despite the strength underneath. Now, he didn’t care if there was a bit of pudge, didn’t punish himself over it. He was past that, or at least he told himself he was.
He cleaned the altar with slow, deliberate movements. Wiped down the framed photo. Lit the incense. Set down a bowl of noodles, still steaming faintly, the scent curling around him like something almost familiar, almost comforting. And then, finally, he looked up.
Yuuji.
His younger brother. His bright, beaming, sunshine of a little brother, frozen forever in the photo before him. The four-year-old with a grin wide enough to split his face in half. The kid who used to grab the nearest marker and scrawl on his own cheeks, lines crooked and smudged, just so he could match Sukuna.
"Look, ‘Kuna! S’like you!"
The words echoed in his head, so clear it was like Yuuji had just spoken them. His chest tightened.
"Yeah, yeah, dumbass," Sukuna had grumbled back then, rubbing at the mess Yuuji had made with a sigh. "You got it all wrong. Here, lemme do it properly."
He'd taken the marker from Yuuji’s tiny, eager hands, the tip cool against his baby-soft skin as Sukuna traced the lines carefully. Yuuji had giggled, scrunching his nose when the ink tickled, eyes crinkling in that way that made everything feel weightless.
Sukuna could still feel the shape of his little brother’s face under his palm. Could still see the way Yuuji had reached out to return the marker with those trembling hands—hands that shouldn’t have been shaking at all. He should’ve known. Should’ve seen the signs.
But he hadn’t.
The viral infection that led to Rhabdo. The fever that burned too hot, too fast. The weakness that shouldn’t have been there in a boy so full of life.
"‘Kuna... one more? Please?"
His voice had been so small. So unlike him.
"You dumbass," Sukuna had muttered, uncapping the marker, ignoring the sickly pallor on his brother’s face. "Fine."
He never finished the last line.
Because Yuuji’s body had slumped forward, eyes fluttering shut before Sukuna could even realize what was happening. Before he could scream his name.
Before everything fell apart.
His hands curled into fists, nails biting into his palms. Gojo's trembling hands flashed before his eyes. The way they shook after the deadlift. The way he flexed to cover it up. The way he reached for Sukuna’s acknowledgment like it was something vital. It was too similar. Too close.
Sukuna’s throat felt tight.
The incense burned low, curling in on itself, the faint scent of sandalwood thick in the air. But Sukuna didn’t say goodnight. He stood up, turned away from the altar, and left the room without looking back.
-
The next day, you saw Sukuna again.
His rimless glasses were fogged up from the weather, condensation clinging to the lenses as he stepped out of your shared English class. He didn’t seem to care, though. Didn’t bother wiping them off, just adjusted them with a casual push up the bridge of his nose before shoving his hands into the pockets of his baggy pants. You should’ve just walked away. Should’ve focused on anything else. But your mind, traitorous thing that it was, dragged you back to that night at the pharmacy.
A simple transaction. Nothing more.
So why did it replay in your head every time you sat behind him in class, watching the slow rise and fall of his broad shoulders as he shifted in his seat? Why did your gaze always drift to the way his fingers tapped absently on the desk before he spoke, answering questions with that same calm, clipped confidence? It was driving you mad.
But you didn’t talk to him this time either.
Just like every other time, you let him leave, let him walk past without a glance in your direction, and you told yourself it didn’t matter.
But then your gaze flickered past him, to where Gojo sat at the back of the class, surrounded by those same people—the ones who laughed too loud at his jokes, who clung to him like his presence alone could elevate them. And then there was Sukuna, head tilting ever so slightly in Gojo’s direction.
Watching. Not speaking. Not interacting. Just observing, like he always did. Gojo probably didn’t even notice.
But you did. And that realization made something settle uneasily in your stomach.
Because as much as you hated even formulating the thought, you were jealous of Gojo.
Gojo, who got Sukuna’s attention, even if it was just a fleeting glance. Gojo, who didn’t have to wonder if Sukuna saw him, because Sukuna always did.
You hated it.
So you stood outside class after it was over, lingering near the hallway, watching from a distance as Gojo continued to talk, his voice carrying over the chatter of students filtering out.
You watched him laugh with people who didn’t care for him the way you did. Who didn’t know the late nights spent studying, the way his body ached after pushing too hard at the gym, the exhaustion he tried so hard to mask. They didn’t know him. Not really.
But Sukuna was still watching him.
And you didn’t know which hurt more.
-
Gojo always found you after class.
For all his cocky bravado, for all the laughter he surrounded himself with, he always ended up here—beside you, slinging an arm around your shoulders, pressing his weight into you like you were the only solid thing in his world.
"Man, did you hear that guy today?" he huffed, his voice light, teasing. "He really thought he had that answer, huh? God, Sukuna looked like he was about to hurl his textbook at the wall."
You let out a soft chuckle, shaking your head. "You always notice Sukuna."
"‘Cause he’s always looking at me," Gojo shot back, grinning, "like I personally ruined his day just by existing."
You didn’t reply. You didn’t tell him that Sukuna wasn’t just looking at him—he was watching him. You didn’t know why you kept that to yourself, but you did.
Gojo's arm was heavy around you, and you should’ve been used to it by now—the sheer presence of him, all six feet and something of him, always larger than life. But something felt off today. His shoulder, where it pressed against you, was sharper than you remembered. The bone jutted out just a little too much.
He was getting thinner.
You swallowed, keeping your expression even as he kept talking, hands gesturing wildly, voice brimming with excitement over something you weren’t even fully hearing.
"And then I said—"
But you could feel it, even if he didn’t say it. The exhaustion. The weight he wasn’t carrying properly.
"—and then he just stared at me like I had six eyes! Can you believe that?"
"Totally," you murmured, forcing a small smile. You wondered—would he ever tell you? Would he say something if you asked? Or would he just laugh it off, throw another joke at you, distract you with that brightness of his, the same way he always did?
So you did what you did best.
You listened.
You allowed yourself to smile, just a little, as he cracked another joke, his laugh ringing through the chilly afternoon air. And as his arm draped over you, you leaned into him just enough to keep him steady. You hoped—no, prayed—that he’d keep leaning on you, that he’d never think he had to bear it all alone. Because people looked up at the starry sky and saw the universe. But you? You saw it in Gojo's eyes. And you’d be damned if you let anyone take that universe away from you.
"You’re making that face again."
Gojo's voice jolted you from your thoughts, and when you turned to look at him, he was grinning, sharp and teasing, like he had you all figured out.
"What face?" you asked, playing dumb.
"That face," he said, gesturing vaguely at you. "The one where you overthink so hard I can hear the gears turning. What's up? You didn’t even react when I said I'm going to a house party tonight."
"That's because I don't think you should go," you admitted, crossing your arms.
"Awwww, come on," he groaned, tilting his head back dramatically. "Don’t be a grandma about this. I need to socialize! Be young! Make questionable decisions!"
"Satoru," you deadpanned. "You’re literally three chapters ahead in every class, you barely sleep, and you push yourself to the limit every single day. Do you really think a house party is what you need?"
"Yes!" he said, beaming. "And for your information, I sleep plenty. I had a whole two hours last night. Very refreshing."
"Oh my god." You wanted to strangle him. Or shake him. Or both.
"Look," he said, throwing an arm around you again, "I get why you’re worried, but I'm a big boy, yeah? I can handle myself."
"Can you?" you countered, raising an eyebrow.
"I can," he said, then smirked. "But I love that you’re worried about me. Makes me feel special."
You rolled your eyes, pushing his arm off you. "I'm serious, Satoru. You know what these parties are like—drugs, alcohol, fights. You—"
"I won't drink," he cut in.
"You say that now," you muttered.
"I won't," he insisted, poking your cheek. "C’mon, don’t you trust me?"
You exhaled, shaking your head. "Of course I do. But I also know you."
"So you know I'm very responsible."
"That is literally the last thing I'd call you."
"Ouch," he said, clutching his chest. "You wound me."
You bit your lip. There was a part of you that wanted to just say it—to tell him to stay, to stay with you instead. But what right did you have? Didn’t he deserve the full college experience too?
But then a traitorous voice whispered in your mind—at what cost?
"Satoru," you said softly. "Just… promise me you’ll be careful?"
His expression shifted, just for a second—so quick you almost missed it. Something softened in his eyes before he gave you a lopsided grin.
"I promise."
You wanted to believe him. You really did.
-
The music was deafening, the bass thrumming through your bones like an impending sense of doom. The air was thick with sweat, alcohol, and something suspiciously smoky, but none of it mattered. None of it registered, not when your eyes were locked onto the scene before you.
Gojo Satoru, your best friend, was wasted beyond belief.
His usual porcelain skin was flushed a deep, terrifying red, his glasses skewed on his face as he wobbled dangerously on his feet. The crowd around him whooped and hollered as he laughed—too loud, too bright, too fake—before stumbling forward to lift yet another girl into his arms. She squealed, giggling, pressing a kiss to his cheek as he staggered, his grip unsteady.
"Gojo, Gojo, Gojo!" the jocks chanted, banging their fists against the counters, urging him on. You felt something hot and ugly curl in your stomach.
This wasn’t him. Not the Gojo you knew.
The Gojo you knew didn't need lipstick-stained validation. He didn’t need to prove himself to a bunch of people who wouldn’t even remember his name tomorrow. But here he was, drunk out of his mind, chasing approval like a dying star chasing its last bit of light.
And then he swayed—his knees buckling slightly, his grip on the girl faltering. The crowd jeered, booing, throwing crumpled napkins and shot glasses onto the table. "Aw, c’mon, Gojo! Don’t quit now!" someone shouted.
That was the final straw. You pushed forward, shoving past the sweaty bodies in your way until you reached him, grabbing his wrist in a bruising grip. "That’s enough," you snapped. Gojo blinked down at you, his pupils dilated, sluggish, unfocused.
"Wha—"
"I said that’s enough," you repeated, tightening your grip.
He yanked his arm away. "Get off me," he slurred, his voice sharp, venomous. "I'm having fun."
"Yeah?" you challenged, your jaw clenching. "Because it sure as hell doesn’t look like it."
He laughed, the sound bitter and mean. "Oh, what—now you’re my mom?"
"No," you said. "I'm your best friend. And right now, you're acting like an idiot."
His expression twisted, and for a second, you swore you saw something crack—something real. But then it was gone, replaced by drunken bravado as he threw his arms out dramatically.
"Well, excuse me for trying to live a little," he spat. "Not all of us can be perfect little worrywarts like you."
The words stung, but you didn’t let them show. Not now. Not here.
"We’re leaving," you said instead, grabbing his arm again.
"Like hell we are!" he barked, wrenching himself free so violently he almost fell. "Who the fuck do you think you are, huh?"
Your stomach twisted. In all your years of friendship, he had never spoken to you like that. But you pushed past it. "I'm the only person here who actually gives a shit about you," you said, voice steel.
His breath hitched, but before he could say anything else—before he could throw another drunken insult your way—you pulled him forward, ignoring the protests, the boos, the groans of disappointment from the crowd.
"Party’s over, Satoru."
He cursed at you the whole way out. You just hoped it’d be the last time he ever did.
-
The sound of glass shattering against concrete snapped you out of your daze. You whipped around just in time to see Gojo toss an empty bottle of vodka into someone’s backyard, his fingers still twitching from the force of it. "Are you fucking kidding me right now?" your voice wavered, barely above the sound of the crickets chirping in the distance. Gojo just laughed—sharp, bitter, nothing like the laughter you knew. "What? You gonna scold me now?"
"You promised me, Satoru," you said, stepping closer, your hands shaking at your sides. "You fucking promised me."
"Yeah? Well, maybe I lied."
The words hit like a slap to the face.
"Why are you doing this?" your voice cracked, but you didn’t care.
"Doing what?" he threw his arms up, nearly stumbling over his own feet. "Having fun? Being normal? Sorry, babe, not everyone wants to be a fucking saint like you."
"You think this is normal?" you gestured wildly to him—to his red-rimmed eyes, his trembling fingers, the way he swayed even while standing still. "You think blacking out at some shitty house party, letting those assholes use you, is normal?"
"You don’t get it," he muttered, voice slurred as he ran a hand through his already-messy hair. "You never get it."
"Then help me understand!" you grabbed his wrists, forcing him to look at you. "Talk to me!"
But instead of answering, his lips curled into something ugly. Something cruel.
"You wanna know why I drink? Why I do this shit?" he leaned in close, his breath hot and reeking of alcohol.
"Because it’s the only time I don’t have to be fucking alone."
Your breath caught in your throat.
"You’re not alone—"
"Bullshit," he snapped. "You—you think you know everything, don’t you? Think you know me so fucking well?"
"I do know you," you pleaded. "Satoru, please—"
"No, you don’t," he shouted, yanking his hands away. "You don’t know what it’s like! To be—" his voice cracked, his face contorted with something too raw to name. "To be the smartest guy in the room and still feel like a fucking idiot! To have everyone watching, waiting for me to be perfect—"
"No one is asking you to be perfect, Satoru!"
"Oh, yeah? Then what the fuck do you want from me?!"
"I just want you!"
Silence.
The only sound was the ragged breathing between you two, the wind rustling through the trees, the distant hum of the party still raging behind you. Gojo's lips trembled, his hands balled into fists at his sides. And then, before you could stop him—
"Fuck you," he spat.
Your stomach dropped.
"Fuck you for always thinking you know what’s best for me. Fuck you for always trying to fix me. Fuck you for—" his voice broke, but he kept going, as if he couldn’t stop. As if the words were being ripped out of him unwillingly. "For making me feel like I matter when I fucking don’t—"
You couldn’t hold it in anymore. The tears spilled, hot and relentless, and the worst part? Gojo was crying too. Cursing at you, hurling insult after insult, but his hands were shaking, his entire body trembling like he was trying to hold himself together and failing miserably.
"You do matter, Satoru," you whispered, voice barely audible over the wind.
"Don’t lie to me," he choked out.
"I'm not lying," you said, gripping his arm again, tighter this time. "And you know I'm not."
He let out a shaky, bitter laugh, wiping at his face harshly, as if trying to erase the evidence of his tears. But you didn’t let him hide. Not this time.
"We’re going home," you said firmly, dragging him away, away from the party, away from the people who didn’t give a shit about him.
He didn’t fight you this time.
But as you walked, your hands still gripping his, you realized something. You and Gojo both lost a piece of yourselves in that house tonight.
-
The neon glow of the pharmacy sign flickered against the inky darkness of the night, the hum of a faraway streetlamp buzzing in your ears as you half-dragged, half-supported Gojo toward the entrance. You didn't even know why you had come here—maybe it was the light, maybe it was the silence, or maybe it was the simple fact that you had nowhere else to go. "Just—just sit here for a second, okay?" you muttered, trying to ease him onto the curb.
"Nah, fuck that," Gojo slurred, shoving you away with an alarming lack of coordination. He stumbled, nearly face-planting onto the concrete before catching himself. "I can stand. See? Perfectly fucking fine."
And then he banged on the glass door. Loudly.
"Satoru, stop—" you hissed, grabbing his wrist, but he just laughed.
"What, scared the big bad pharmacy guy’s gonna come out and bite me?"
The door creaked open before you could respond.
Sukuna stood in the doorway, his rimless glasses perched low on his nose, eyes flicking between you and the disheveled mess of a man you barely managed to keep upright. His lips parted slightly, as if to say something, but then his gaze fell on Gojo's slumped figure, the uncoiling tension in his shoulders almost immediate.
"Shit," he muttered.
"I'm so sorry," you started, your words spilling out in a rush. "I know it’s late and we shouldn’t be here, I just—he’s—"
"Hey," Sukuna cut you off, voice even. "Stop apologizing."
You swallowed hard.
Gojo, meanwhile, groaned, leaning his full weight against you. "Why're you talkin' to him?" he grumbled, his breath hot against your neck. "He’s—he’s a fucking narc, y’know that?"
"Satoru, shut up," you whispered harshly.
"Nah, seriously," Gojo slurred, tilting his head up toward Sukuna with a lopsided grin. "You—you think you’re better than me, huh?"
Sukuna stared at him, expression unreadable.
"I don't think anything," he said simply.
"Bullshit," Gojo scoffed, shoving at your shoulder weakly. "See? See how he’s looking at me? Like—like I'm pathetic or some shit."
"Satoru—"
"You do think that, don’t you?" Gojo laughed, voice cracking. "Fuckin’—fuckin’ ‘oh, look at Gojo, the big dumb idiot who can’t even hold his liquor.’” His hands trembled at his sides, fists clenching, unclenching. "God, I hate this. I hate you. I hate—"
His voice wavered. His legs buckled.
And before you could catch him, Sukuna was already there, arms braced beneath Gojo's shoulders, hoisting him up with practiced ease. "C'mon," Sukuna said, nodding toward the parking lot. "Let's get him out of here."
You blinked at him. "Wait—"
"You’re not dragging him all the way home," Sukuna deadpanned. "I have a car. Use it."
You hesitated, glancing at Gojo—his head lolled against Sukuna’s shoulder, breath uneven, the fight in him slowly fading.
"Okay," you exhaled shakily.
Sukuna silently led you toward a slightly beat-up Toyota Corolla, the headlights flickering as he unlocked it. Together, the two of you maneuvered Gojo into the backseat, his long limbs sprawled across the worn fabric. As you shut the door and stepped back, Sukuna leaned against the roof of the car, watching you. "He always like this?" he asked, voice low.
You hesitated. "Not always," you murmured. "But…lately? Yeah."
Sukuna didn’t say anything. He didn’t need to. The understanding in his gaze was enough. "Let's get him home," he said finally. You nodded, and as you slid into the passenger seat, you couldn’t help but wonder—why did Sukuna care? And why did it feel like, for the first time tonight, you weren’t the only one?
Gojo's breath hitched in the backseat, his chest rising in uneven, shallow gasps. His head lolled back against the seat, unfocused, half-lidded eyes rolling as if struggling to stay present. His body twitched weakly.
"Satoru?" your voice was barely above a whisper, but it cut through the silence like a blade.
He didn’t answer. Didn’t even flinch.
Your fingers curled tightly around Gojo’s glasses, the sharp edges digging into your palm as if they could anchor you, keep you from spiraling. The lenses were smudged, still warm from his skin, and yet the weight of them felt wrong—felt heavy, like something final.
"Fuck," Sukuna muttered under his breath, the first real sign of frustration you’d heard from him tonight.
You barely processed the car speeding up, the streetlights blurring into streaks of white and yellow, the world outside moving too fast while your mind remained stuck, frozen on the image of Gojo’s unfocused, half-lidded eyes rolling back, his body twitching weakly against the backseat.
"’Toru," your voice cracked as you turned in your seat, reaching for him, but he wasn’t coherent enough to respond. His breathing was shallow, uneven, each inhale rattling in his chest like a loose screw threatening to give out.
"Shit, shit—" you whimpered, a tremble running up your spine.
"He's gonna be fine," Sukuna said, but his voice was too tight, too forced to be reassuring. His grip on the wheel was white-knuckled, jaw clenched so hard you swore you could hear his teeth grind. Gojo groaned again, his whole body shuddering like it was rejecting itself, and your hands clenched into fists so tight your nails bit into your skin.
"He promised," you whispered, blinking rapidly, your vision going blurry. "He fucking promised me he wouldn't drink."
Sukuna didn’t say anything. Didn’t offer any empty platitudes, any reassurances that would have only made you cry harder. Instead, he pressed down harder on the gas pedal, his jaw set, eyes fixed on the road ahead like it was the only thing keeping him grounded.
The hospital entrance came too soon and not soon enough.
You barely registered the screech of tires as Sukuna parked, barely processed the way he was already out of the car, yanking open the back door. It all felt unreal, like you were watching from outside your own body as Sukuna hoisted Gojo up without hesitation, barely even wincing when Gojo suddenly convulsed, his body going rigid before he retched all over Sukuna’s sweater.
"Fuck—just hold on, alright?" Sukuna hissed, more to himself than to Gojo, adjusting his grip as he strode toward the ER doors.
You wanted to move. Wanted to run after them. Wanted to do something. But your legs refused to cooperate, refused to carry you forward as you stood there in the parking lot, clutching Gojo’s glasses to your chest like they were the only thing tethering you to reality.
You were useless.
You barely noticed when Sukuna disappeared into the hospital, when the doors swung shut behind him. All you could hear was the phantom echo of Gojo’s laughter from earlier tonight, distorted and slurred, bleeding into the sound of his broken cries as they rushed him to the ICU.
You stood there for what felt like hours, but in reality, it was only minutes. Minutes that stretched on like an eternity, the weight of your failure pressing down on you until you could barely breathe.
You don’t remember how you got here, only that one moment you were outside, clutching Gojo’s glasses so tightly your knuckles went white, and the next, you were sitting beside Sukuna in the dimly lit hallway, the sterile scent of disinfectant and the faint beeping of heart monitors pressing against your senses.
Sukuna sat opposite the ICU doors, his sweater now stuffed into a disposable hospital bag, his phone screen casting a cold glow on his face as his thumbs moved across the screen. There was something unnervingly delicate about the way he held it, as if the device was a fragile thing in hands that were anything but.
The moment you sat down next to him, he put the phone away. No hesitation, no lingering glance. It was a simple movement, but something about it made your throat tighten. He exhaled sharply, running a hand over his face before slipping his glasses off and hanging them on the front of his shirt—a worn Nirvana tee, washed so many times the design was beginning to fade.
You hadn’t ever seen him without a sweater before, and the sight of him like this—bare arms, broad shoulders, a body that spoke of quiet strength but with an undeniable softness—made something clench inside you.
You weren’t sure if it was the exhaustion or the sheer absurdity of the past few hours, but your lips twitched into the ghost of a smile. Fleeting. Fragile.
Sukuna didn’t acknowledge it, but he didn’t ignore it either.
The silence between you both stretched on, heavy but not suffocating. Your ears strained, trying to pick up anything from the ICU, but the only sound was the distant hum of the hospital, the occasional murmur of nurses passing by.
"Sorry," you finally said, your voice raw, barely above a whisper.
Sukuna let out a low, almost exasperated grunt, a sound that could have been a scoff if it wasn’t so tired. "For what?" he muttered, tilting his head back against the wall, eyes half-lidded.
"For—" you gestured vaguely, feeling absurdly helpless. "For dragging you into this. For—"
"Don't," he cut you off, voice rough but not unkind. "Not your fault."
You swallowed hard, looking down at your hands, the frames of Gojo’s glasses digging into your fingers. You wanted to tell him everything—about Gojo, about yourself, about how this felt like a nightmare you’d had before but never woken up from. But you didn’t. Instead, you let the silence settle again, let the exhaustion press down on you like a weighted blanket.
Your body ached, your mind felt too full and empty at the same time, and when your eyes slipped shut, you didn’t fight it. Sleep took you like a warm embrace, and somewhere in the haze before unconsciousness fully claimed you, you thought you felt something—an arm shifting ever so slightly, the air moving beside you, the briefest hesitation of warmth before it disappeared.
You didn’t dream.
-
The first thing you noticed when you woke up was warmth—an unfamiliar, solid warmth that wasn’t yours to have. The second was that your head was resting against something firm, the slow rise and fall beneath you steady, grounding.
Sukuna.
You jerked back almost immediately, your pulse spiking as your head left his shoulder. Your absence made him shift slightly, his frown deepening, but he didn’t wake up. Arms crossed over his chest, his head lolled slightly, pink hair mussed from sleep, strands sticking up rebelliously despite his efforts to smooth them out the moment his eyes fluttered open.
You swallowed hard, trying to fight the mortifying heat creeping up your neck. Your fingers twitched towards the crinkled fabric where your head had rested, some ridiculous impulse telling you to smooth it out, to erase any evidence of your momentary weakness, but before you could, a voice cut through the quiet.
"Excuse me, you’re here for Satoru Gojo?"
The doctor. middle-aged, tired eyes, clipboard in hand. You scrambled to stand, Sukuna following suit, his presence now feeling suffocatingly close, too solid beside you.
"Yes," you managed, voice hoarse.
"Are you his immediate family?"
"No, but—"
"But we’re the only ones here," Sukuna interrupted, voice steady, unimpressed.
The doctor sighed but didn’t argue, flipping through his clipboard before glancing back up. "He has a history of Rhabdomyolysis, correct?" you nodded, the word hitting like a familiar gut-punch.
"His current episode was exacerbated by excessive alcohol consumption and exertion. His CK levels were significantly elevated on admission—over ten thousand U/L, which is dangerously high. We administered IV fluids aggressively to prevent acute kidney injury, but he’ll need close monitoring. His creatinine was elevated, but not enough to indicate severe renal impairment yet. However, another episode like this could push him towards irreversible damage. He needs to avoid alcohol completely, and any strenuous physical activity should be moderated. He was severely dehydrated, which worsened the muscle breakdown. Do you understand?"
You nodded, but you didn’t. Not really. The words were running together, tangling in your head like a mess of wires, sparking against your rising anxiety.
"He'll also need to monitor for any signs of compartment syndrome—persistent pain, swelling, decreased sensation. If he experiences any of those symptoms, bring him back immediately."
You barely registered the way your breathing was starting to quicken, your vision blurring at the edges.
"Got it," Sukuna said beside you, voice clipped, sharp. The doctor nodded once, glancing between the two of you before turning on his heel. "He’s stable now. You can see him."
You weren’t sure how you moved, weren’t sure how your legs carried you down the hall, but suddenly, you were there. The sight of him nearly knocked the air from your lungs.
Gojo, hooked up to IVs, his skin pale, lips cracked, dark bruising under his eyes.
But worst of all was the stillness.
He’d never been still. Not when you were kids, not even when he was sick. You blinked rapidly, trying to force the image away, but your brain, cruel as it was, offered another instead—
"It's super juice!"
Gojo's voice, high-pitched with childhood excitement, his chubby fingers tapping against the IV line in his arm, legs kicking at the hospital bed as he grinned at you.
"S’gonna make me a superhero. Just watch."
Your eight-year-old self had believed him. You had nodded solemnly, clutching his tiny fingers in yours as if he’d slip away if you let go.
But superheroes weren’t supposed to be fragile. Superheroes weren’t supposed to collapse in the arms of people who barely knew them, weren’t supposed to have their bodies betray them time and time again.
The first sob tore out of you before you could stop it. You pressed a hand to your mouth, the weight of everything, the years, the worry, the helplessness, slamming into you all at once. Sukuna exhaled sharply beside you, and you didn’t fight it when his hand found the back of your head, fingers curling, firm but not forceful, grounding you as you broke.
-
"It's super juice!"
The words echoed, reverberating in the empty, sterile white of the hospital room. His eight-year-old self swung his legs back and forth, IV taped to the crook of his arm, a beaming grin splitting his chubby face.
"S’gonna make me a superhero. Just watch," he declared, looking at you expectantly.
You, sitting beside him, tiny fingers curled around his even tinier hands, nodded solemnly, as if you were his trusted sidekick. "Duh, ‘course it will," you said, ever the believer, the unwavering supporter.
Satoru grinned wider.
"You still got my Superman?"
Your eyes lit up, and you practically scrambled for your backpack, the zipper catching as you yanked it open. "Yeah, yeah! I kept it safe, promise!" you pulled it out with both hands, presenting it proudly.
Except—
Satoru blinked.
That wasn’t Superman.
His tiny fingers reached out hesitantly, wrapping around the plastic figure, the shape familiar, the weight just right. But when he turned it over—
Not Superman's chiseled jaw, not his perfect spit curl, not the familiar "S" crest on his chest. Instead, two thin black lines slashed across the figure’s cheeks, the eyes a sharp, knowing red, the unmistakable look of—
"Sukuna?"
His voice came out small, confused. He looked at you, expecting the same confusion, the same disbelief, but you just smiled.
"Yeah, he’s strong, isn’t he?"
Satoru's stomach churned. His grip tightened on the figurine, the hard plastic biting into his palm.
"But he’s not Superman."
The words barely left his mouth before the figurine started to melt, its face warping, the red eyes sharpening, almost glowing. The smirk stretched, curling up unnaturally wide, the plastic softening, twisting, until—
"Satoru."
His name was spoken, deep and distant, like an echo through water.
His body jolted.
A sharp inhale, eyes snapping open—except they didn’t. Not fully.
His eyelashes fluttered, the world around him too heavy, his body sinking into the mattress, into the IVs, into exhaustion. His breath came slow, sluggish, as his gaze drifted, unfocused. A burly figure sat just outside the ICU, salmon-colored hair catching the dim, artificial glow of the hallway lights. Beside him, smaller, curled up, the hair color Gojo oh so loved. His lips barely parted, the thought an exhale—
"How bizarre."
And then, the pull of exhaustion won, dragging him back under.
Gojo knew the sound of your crying like the back of his hand.
It was the sound of late-night movie marathons when the protagonist died and you cursed the director through choked sobs. It was the sound of stifled laughter in class until your tears dripped onto your notes. It was the sound of allergies when spring rolled around, your voice thick with complaints about pollen and your own body betraying you.
But this was different.
This wasn’t a sound he knew, and he hated it.
His throat was raw, his body weak, but the words spilled out instinctively, the ghost of a smirk on his lips as he rasped—
"You cryin’?"
He hoped it was in the voice you loved, the playful lilt, the teasing edge.
Your head snapped up instantly, eyes wide and glassy, and for a second he thought you might break all over again. But then relief flooded your face so fast it made him dizzy, your breath hitching as you let out something between a sob and a laugh. "You asshole," you choked out.
He tried to chuckle, tried to match your laugh, but the pain punched through his ribs like a fist, dragging his breath into something sharp and broken. And that’s when he noticed it.
Sukuna’s arm, heavy around your head, the way your body curled slightly into his side. Gojo's vision blurred—not from fatigue, not from painkillers—something else, something he refused to name.
"So," he coughed, swallowing down the dryness in his throat, "You two get cozy while I was out?" He meant for it to be a joke, but his voice wavered, weaker than he wanted it to be.
Sukuna, who had been quiet this whole time, only tilted his head, crimson gaze unreadable. "Yeah," he said, voice low and lazy, "So don’t do it again, dumbass."
Gojo wanted to snap back, wanted to roll his eyes, but all he could do was watch as Sukuna’s hand, the same one curled around your head, reached forward and ruffled Gojo’s hair. “Seriously," Sukuna muttered, "Don’t scare her like that again."
Gojo blinked, disoriented, but before he could process anything, Sukuna leaned back against the chair, arms crossed, eyes shutting as if nothing had happened. And you just reached for Gojo’s hand, gripping it so tightly, he thought he might actually feel strong again.
You didn’t know when Sukuna left, only that at some point, the weight of his presence had disappeared from the room. Maybe it was for the best. Maybe he knew you needed this moment alone with Gojo.
Gojo, who was trying so damn hard to act like nothing happened. Like this was normal. "So," he started, voice scratchy but still trying for that usual lilt. "I didn't do anything too stupid, right?"
Your fingers curled slightly in the sheets. You stared at his hand, pale and bandaged, IV hooked into his arm, feeding him strength he no longer had on his own. How could you tell him? Tell him about the things he said? The way he spat curses at you, sharp enough to wound, drunk enough to forget? The way he shoved you, both physically and emotionally, as if he wanted to break you just as much as he was breaking?
So you didn't. You forced a smile, the kind that didn't quite reach your eyes, and said—
"Nah. Don't worry about it."
Maybe he’d never remember that night. Maybe you’d never tell him. Maybe that was enough.
Meanwhile, outside the ICU, Sukuna let out a quiet breath, running a hand through his hair before pushing his glasses up his nose—a nervous tic he hated, but couldn’t quite shake. He typed out a quick text to his neighbor:
Thanks for watching Choso longer than expected. Will be back soon. Owe you one.
He didn’t expect his pharmacy shift to turn into... this. And just when he thought he could breathe, the doctor from earlier approached him again, clipboard tucked under his arm, mouth pressed into something unimpressed.
"You the guardian?" the doctor asked, voice dry.
"No," Sukuna replied, just as dry.
"Could’ve fooled me," the doctor scoffed, flipping through the chart. "You’re the only one asking the right questions."
Sukuna stayed silent, adjusting his glasses again.
"Kid’s got a history of exertional Rhabdomyolysis, probably exacerbated by alcohol consumption. His CK levels were through the roof when he came in—classic case of severe muscle breakdown. Creatinine levels showed acute kidney strain too. Not to mention dehydration, electrolyte imbalance—"
"Yeah," Sukuna cut in, "I read the labs. Is he gonna be fine?"
The doctor raised a brow.
"You in medicine?"
"Pharmacy," Sukuna muttered.
"Figured," the doctor said. "He’s stabilizing. IV fluids are flushing out the myoglobin, kidneys are responding well. But if he pulls another stunt like this, he might not be so lucky next time."
Sukuna exhaled through his nose, nodding slightly.
"Keep him away from alcohol, heavy lifting, and anything that’ll push his body too hard for a while," the doctor continued. "Not that kids these days ever listen."
"I'll make sure he does," Sukuna said, voice steady, final. The doctor hummed, giving him one last look before walking away.
Sukuna pushed his glasses up again. He didn’t like being in the middle of things, never had. But if it meant keeping you and Gojo from falling apart, then he’d take the brunt of it.
-
You held your breath as you peeled the hospital gown off Gojo's frame, the fabric slipping too easily over his frail shoulders. He wasn’t supposed to look like this—Gojo Satoru wasn’t supposed to look small. Weak.
The staff had been hesitant, but between your persistence and Gojo’s insufferable whining, they eventually caved. Sukuna had driven you to Gojo’s house to grab his clothes, and when he dropped you back at the hospital, he didn’t say much—just a curt nod before heading back to wait outside.
Gojo looked down at himself, rolling his shoulders as he flexed his fingers, examining his body like it was foreign to him. And then he clicked his tongue.
“Damn,” he said, patting his stomach with a frown. “Gotta start bulking again. Gym every day. Soon enough, I'll be strong enough to lift you, too.”
"Satoru." your voice was quiet, hands tightening on the sweater you were about to help him into.
"What?"
You didn’t know how to answer. You didn’t know when he was serious anymore, when his jokes were actual jokes or just flimsy shields to deflect reality. Was he just saying this because he wanted to move past what happened? Because he thought he could pretend like nothing was wrong if he made you laugh?
Except you weren’t laughing.
Gojo frowned, catching the way your shoulders curled inwards, the slight tremor in your fingers as you bunched up the sleeves of his sweater.
"You’re mad," he said, softer now.
"I’m not mad, Satoru," you exhaled, looking up at him. "I just—" you swallowed, struggling to find the words.
"—I don't wanna do this again."
He knew what you meant.
For a moment, he didn’t say anything. Just let you help him slip the sweater over his head, his fingers brushing against yours when he went to pull it down. The fabric smelled like you. He didn’t say anything about that, either.
Because if he did, he might be the one to start crying instead.
-
The busted Corolla rumbled beneath you, the engine sputtering like it was trying to clear its throat. Outside, the world passed by in a blur of brightly lit streets, but inside the car, it was just the three of you—Gojo snoring in the backseat, you in the passenger seat, and Sukuna at the wheel, his fingers drumming against it as he drove.
It was cruel déjà vu, the way Gojo was sprawled out in the back, except this time, his snores rattled through the car, louder than the engine itself. His glasses sat skewed on his face, dangerously close to falling off, and the Digimon sweater you picked out for him was riding up slightly, the fabric bunching in on itself. He'd regret that later when the print stretched out weird.
You should fix his glasses.
You didn’t.
The silence between you and Sukuna stretched, heavy but not suffocating. You weren’t sure what to say. You’d spent more time with him in the last twenty-four hours than you had since college started, but somehow, neither of you had really talked—not about what happened, not about Gojo, not about anything. It felt weird, like some sort of dirty little secret. You hesitated before finally speaking, voice quiet over the low hum of the radio.
“Thank you.”
You’d been apologizing too much lately—always looking at Sukuna with guilt in your eyes, whispering sorry after sorry like you owed him something for being here. But this time, you just thanked him instead. He didn’t respond right away, just tapped his fingers against the wheel in thought. Then, finally, he exhaled through his nose, almost like a laugh.
“You finally figured it out.”
You frowned. “Figured what out?”
Sukuna shifted slightly, one hand leaving the wheel to push his glasses up the bridge of his nose. In the dim glow of the sunlight filtering through the glass, you caught something softer in his features—something that almost looked like amusement.
“That ‘thank you’ sits better than ‘sorry.’”
You blinked. Then, slowly, you smiled. Gojo let out an obnoxiously loud snore from the backseat, and the moment was gone, but somehow, the silence that followed felt a little less heavy.
-
Monday came faster than you could prepare for it, and somehow, you felt more anxious about going to class than Gojo—who, by all accounts, should’ve been the one worried. But no, he was his usual self, strolling through the halls like nothing had happened, like he hadn’t ended up in the ICU.
“You good?” Gojo asked, glancing at you with an easy grin as you walked beside him. “You look like you just saw a ghost.”
“I should be asking you that,” you muttered, eyeing him up and down. He looked… fine. Not great, but fine. His usual oversized sweater swallowed him up more than usual, and there were faint bags under his eyes, but otherwise, he was just…Gojo.
He grinned. “I feel like a thousand bucks.”
“That’s not the saying.”
“Nah, ‘course it is. I'm not even expensive enough to be a full million.”
Before you could retort, a loud chorus of “AYYY, GOJO!” rang through the hallway, and your stomach dropped.
The people from the party.
“Party legend! You were insane, man!” one of the guys hollered, clapping Gojo on the back so hard he almost stumbled forward. “Can’t believe you carried all of ‘em! Thought you were gonna drop the last one, but nope, you powered through, my guy!”
Another girl whistled, grinning. “You gotta come again this Friday. We’re going all out this time—got some xans, some weed, and a hell lot more fun than last time.”
Gojo blinked, his confused smile wavering slightly. He waved at them, soaking in the attention, but his fingers toyed with the Digimon keychain hanging off his sling bag—a tic, one you knew all too well. He was overwhelmed. Before he could say anything, one of the girls shoved her phone in his face, and you saw whatever color was on his sickly complexion drain completely.
The blurry video was unmistakable—Gojo, chugging shots like water, his face flushed and his limbs loose as he grinned at the camera, girls screaming his name in the background. And then, the next clip: him picking girl after girl up, his movements growing sloppier, his body swaying, but the crowd cheering him on, girls kissing his cheeks, rubbing against him like he was a prize to be won. Your fingers twitched with the urge to snatch the phone and smash it against the tiled floor.
“Holy shit,” Gojo breathed out, his voice barely above a whisper. He laughed weakly, awkwardly, his fingers fumbling with the keychain. “I—uh—didn’t know I did all that.”
“You were a fuckin’ legend, dude!” one of the jocks whooped. “Gotta top it this Friday.”
“Oh, and don’t let your little babysitter here ruin the fun this time,” another girl teased, her eyes flicking toward you. “You don’t gotta pick him up again, babe. He can handle himself.”
“Yeah, let him have some fun, will you?” another chimed in, nudging you with a smirk. “We’ll take care of him if he blacks out. Promise.”
Your nails dug into your palm as your jaw locked. Gojo looked at you then, and it was like you could see the war waging in his head—this wasn’t how he wanted to hear about that night. This wasn’t how he wanted to remember it. But before either of you could say anything, the jocks pulled him along, dragging him to the back of the class as the bell rang. You stood frozen at the front, heart pounding, hands clenched at your sides, watching as Gojo—your best friend—got swallowed up by the very people who nearly destroyed him that night.
Your eyes flickered to the back of the room, where Gojo sat sandwiched between jocks and party girls, still fumbling with the Digimon keychain as if it could ground him. He wasn’t paying attention to the class. Neither were you.
You almost desperately sought out Sukuna instead.
Even in a lecture hall this large, he was always easy to find—broad frame, unmistakable pink hair, a presence that demanded attention even when he wasn’t speaking. He always sat at the front, where he could see everything, where he could be seen. But today, he wasn’t there.
Your stomach twisted.
You didn’t even realize you had gotten up until you were meekly approaching your professor at the podium, your voice barely above a whisper as you asked, “Uh, sorry—do you know where Sukuna is?”
The professor gave you a kind but tired smile, as if she had been asked this before. “Oh, Ryomen? He dropped the subject.”
Your heart skipped a beat.
“He—he what?”
She sighed, shaking her head. “Such a shame, too. He was one of my brightest students. Would’ve aced the finals with his eyes closed.” You stood there, stunned, barely nodding as you thanked her and returned to your seat.
Sukuna dropped the class.
Your mind reeled back to the last time you saw him at the administrative office, his voice low but firm as he argued with the staff about cutting down his subjects.
“Five. I'll do five, not eight.”
“But you’re more than capable of handling—”
“Five.”
You never thought to ask why. Would it be fair of you to ask now? It’s not like you were friends.
Whatever the past twenty-four hours had been, it didn’t change the fact that you weren’t in any position to question his choices.
But still—his absence left a weird pit in your stomach.
"Holy shit, holy shit, holy shit," Gojo wheezed, practically skidding to a stop in front of you, his glasses askew, white hair messier than usual, his entire face flushed like he had run a marathon. "You—you're not gonna believe what just happened."
You swallowed the bile rising in your throat. "Satoru—"
"They—" he cut you off, shaking his head in disbelief, hands gripping the straps of his sling bag. "They were teasing me. Under the desk. Like—like actually teasing me. You get what I mean, right?"
Your stomach turned. "Gojo, what—"
"Like, their hands—like, not just one, okay? Multiple." he laughed, breathless, exhilarated. "And they kept saying how much they loved me at the party, how they wanna see more of that side of me—"
Your fingers curled into fists. "Gojo, do you even hear yourself right now?"
But he wasn’t listening. "I mean—fuck, is this what college is supposed to be like? Because I get it now, I get why everyone hypes this shit up—"
"Stop."
He blinked, the grin on his face faltering at the way your voice cracked.
"What?"
You bit the inside of your cheek, hard enough to taste iron. You didn’t know what hurt more—the fact that he was telling you all this so excitedly, or the fact that he genuinely didn’t understand what just happened to him.
"They weren’t teasing you, Satoru," you said, forcing the words out. "They were violating you."
He scoffed, shaking his head. "What? No, they were just messing around—"
Your nails dug into your palm. "Satoru, do you even hear yourself?"
His smile faltered. "What?"
"They were touching you under the desk," you said, your voice eerily calm. "In the middle of class, while you couldn't do anything about it. And you think that's—what? normal?"
He scoffed, scratching the back of his head. "I mean, it's not that big a deal, right? It's just… college stuff, right?"
"No," you bit out. "It's not."
He frowned, shifting uncomfortably. "You’re overreacting."
"I'm not," you shot back, voice tight. "Satoru, you almost fucking died that night, and now they're acting like you getting blackout drunk and barely remembering anything is just some fun little game?"
He flinched. "Okay, but—"
"No, listen to me." you inhaled sharply, forcing yourself to stay steady. "You don’t even remember half of what happened. They do. They remember everything, and they’re still joking about it."
He licked his lips, avoiding your gaze. "But it’s not like I didn't want it."
Your heart dropped. "What?"
"I mean—" he exhaled, voice uncertain for the first time. "I didn't say no, right?"
Your hands were shaking. "Because you didn't know what was happening, Satoru."
He let out a weak laugh, like he was trying to brush it off. "I mean, isn’t this just how it works? People drink, party, mess around—"
"Is that what you think this is?" your voice cracked, anger and something more bitter clawing its way up your throat. "Satoru, this isn’t some wild college experience, this is them taking advantage of you. You were drunk. Too drunk to even walk, too drunk to even stay conscious, and now they're acting like it was all just some… some fun joke—"
He rubbed his temple, sighing. "I don't know, okay? I don't know how this shit works. I've never—" he sucked in a breath. "It’s just… they liked me. They actually liked me. Isn’t that a good thing?"
Your vision blurred. "Not like this."
He blinked at you, expression crumbling, like he was just now realizing the weight of what happened. His fingers fumbled with the Digimon keychain on his bag, the way they always did when he was overwhelmed.
And for the first time, he didn't have anything to say.
-
Gojo was late.
Not because he woke up late—he never did. Not because he got lost—impossible. But because he was stuck in his own head. Your argument from English class still clung to him, cloying like the remnants of a bad dream.
"Oh, so now you care?"
"You always do this, Gojo. You joke, you push, and then when people actually need you—"
"That's not fair."
"Yeah? Well, neither is this."
His jaw tightened.
So when he walked into Bio, he was already on edge. He just needed a distraction.
And if anyone was good at giving him one, it was Sukuna.
Which is exactly why he practically skidded to a stop next to Sukuna’s desk, breathless, grin stretched wide across his face. "Oi, where the hell were you?" Gojo ruffled his already-messy hair, glancing around as if waiting for Sukuna to tell him it was all a joke. "You weren’t in English today. That’s, like, your thing."
Sukuna didn’t even look up from his notebook. "Dropped it."
Gojo's smile twitched.
"Huh?"
"Dropped the class," Sukuna repeated, pen tapping against the page like he was already over the conversation.
Gojo blinked. "You—what? Why the hell would you do that?" He let out a huff of disbelief, his laughter awkward, forced. "Man, should I be celebrating? One less rival for me, huh?"
Sukuna finally glanced up, eyes dark and unreadable behind his glasses. "Sure."
Gojo's stomach twisted. He didn’t like that tone. He didn’t like the indifference, the way Sukuna looked through him instead of at him. He didn’t like not knowing what the hell was going on.
Before he could say anything else, a few voices from the back of the room called out.
"Yo, Gojo! Over here!"
He turned.
The leeches. They were grinning, waving him over like nothing had changed, like they hadn’t spent the entire morning joking about him behind his back, like they hadn’t made him the punchline of some twisted little game. He hesitated, and then—
A sharp exhale.
When he turned back, Sukuna was staring at him. Not with pity, not with amusement. Just… staring. Like he was waiting for Gojo to make a choice. Like he already knew what it would be.
Like he was daring him to sit in the back again.
Gojo clenched his jaw, his fingers curling around the strap of his bag.
He turned on his heel and dropped into the seat next to Sukuna.
The room felt different up here, the voices fading into the background. He could practically feel them staring, but he kept his eyes ahead. Sukuna smirked. "Thought you liked sitting back there."
Gojo exhaled through his nose, gripping his pen a little too tightly. "Yeah, well… I like keeping you on your toes."
Sukuna hummed, not saying anything else. But somehow, Gojo still felt like he had something to prove.
-
Gojo barely took two steps out of the classroom when Sukuna hit him with a question that made his stomach twist.
"So how long have you had Rhabdo?"
His grip on his bag strap tightened. A part of him itched to just wave it off, make a joke, pretend he had no idea what Sukuna was talking about. But Sukuna had seen him at his absolute worst this weekend—half-conscious, barely breathing, hooked up to IVs like some pathetic weakling. Lying was pointless. So he shrugged instead.
"Since I was eight."
Sukuna’s expression didn’t change, but something in his eyes flickered.
Gojo shoved his hands into his pockets as they walked, eyes straight ahead. "You know how it is. I was a sickly little guy, hospital trips, IVs, the whole deal. Doctors told me to be careful, to take it easy." he laughed, but it felt hollow in his chest. "But nah, I thought, screw that—I'll just get stronger."
That was what did it. Sukuna, previously listening with that unreadable expression of his, scoffed outright.
"You’re an idiot."
Gojo's eye twitched. "Wow, thanks, Doc. Real insightful."
"No, really, you're a goddamn idiot," Sukuna continued, looking at him like he was some particularly dense patient. "You think pushing your body past its limits is making you stronger? Rhabdomyolysis isn't some gym bro bullshit where you just 'power through' it. You're literally breaking down your own muscle fibers. Your kidneys can’t handle that kind of strain, idiot."
Gojo rolled his eyes. "Yeah, yeah, I know. Muscle fibers break down, myoglobin floods the bloodstream, kidneys overwork themselves, yadda yadda, renal failure." He waved a dismissive hand. "I'm not dead yet."
"You could be."
Gojo stopped walking. Sukuna had already turned to face him, standing there in that ratty Nirvana tee with his rimless glasses pushed up just enough that his eyes—dark, piercing, too damn knowing—could bore straight into him.
"Do you even hear yourself?" Sukuna asked, voice low, measured. "You’re playing chicken with your own body. Your muscles break down faster than they can repair. You think the answer to that is what? Doing more damage?"
Gojo's fingers curled into fists inside his hoodie pockets. "So what, you want me to just sit around and rot? Let it win?"
Sukuna exhaled sharply, rubbing his temples. "This isn’t a battle, dumbass. This is biology. Your body isn't some enemy to be beaten into submission—"
"It is to me."
That stopped Sukuna cold. Gojo clenched his jaw, looking anywhere but at him. "You don’t get it."
Sukuna tilted his head. "Oh, I get it just fine. You think you have something to prove."
Gojo scoffed. "I don't think. I know."
Sukuna watched him for a moment, then exhaled through his nose, gaze steady behind his glasses.
"Do you think you’re the smartest because you’re Satoru Gojo," he asked, voice quiet, but cutting. "Or do you think you’re Satoru Gojo because you’re the smartest?"
Gojo's stomach lurched.
Before he could respond—before he could even think of what to say—Sukuna was already walking away, hands shoved into the pockets of his baggy jeans, his tee riding up just enough for Gojo to see the hint of his waistband. He stood there for a moment, watching Sukuna disappear down the hallway, his brain rattling with something he didn’t want to name.
He was Satoru Gojo.
Wasn’t he?
The door creaked as Sukuna stepped into the apartment, exhaustion pressing against his shoulders like a deadweight. He rolled his neck, stretching out the stiffness from the chairs and the sheer mental load of the day, before kicking off his boots with a heavy sigh.
"S’kuna!"
Choso’s voice piped up from the kitchen table, where he sat hunched over his workbook, pencil gripped tight in one hand and his tongue poking out in concentration. Sukuna felt something in his chest uncoil at the sight—his little brother, safe, alive, chewing over arithmetic like it was the most important thing in the world. "You’re back," Choso said, blinking up at him expectantly. "Did Papa send a letter?"
Sukuna felt his stomach drop.
Shit. He hadn’t written one.
He rubbed the back of his neck, forcing an easy hum out of his throat as he walked over, peeking down at Choso’s workbook instead. "I'll check the post office later," he said, voice smooth despite the guilt curling in his ribs. Choso's expression barely wavered as he scribbled a neat answer beneath a problem.
"One hundred eleven."
"What?"
Choso tapped his pencil against the paper. "Twenty-two plus eighty-nine. It's one hundred eleven."
Sukuna let out a quiet chuckle. "Look at you, little genius." he reached out, ruffling Choso’s already messy hair. "Bet you’re gonna be better at math than me soon."
Choso beamed, tilting his head to lean into the touch, and Sukuna’s tired heart ached in a way he didn’t know how to name. He left him to his numbers, wandering toward his bedroom, but his feet hesitated as he passed by the altar in the corner of the living room.
Yuuji's altar.
It wasn’t much—a framed photo, a small cup of sake, a stick of incense long since burned down. But it was enough.
Enough for Sukuna to let out a tired scoff as he stared down at the grinning boy in the photo, hair a shade too bright, eyes wide with an innocence that made something curl in Sukuna’s gut.
"Still making sure I don't forget you, huh?" Sukuna muttered, running a thumb over the dustless edge of the frame. He exhaled through his nose.
He’d lost Yuuji. And maybe that’s why, even against his better judgment, even against the bristling irritation and sheer stubbornness of the brat himself, Gojo was making every last one of Sukuna’s protective instincts claw up his spine. Because if he could stop it—if he could stop someone from slipping through his fingers again—shouldn’t he?
But was that really his job? His jaw tightened, and he shoved the thought aside, heading for his room. Outside, Choso hummed quietly to himself, diligently writing out the next answer.
Sukuna’s room was everything about him and nothing at the same time. It had the bones of a lived-in space—the essentials of a person who had settled, who had chosen this place as home—but it carried none of the weight of belonging.
His desk, a second hand thing with chipped edges, bore the scattered remnants of job postings—cafés, pharmacies, gas stations, pet shops—places that didn’t require much beyond a working body and a willingness to show up. The papers were curled at the edges from handling, some with pen marks circling pay rates, shift timings, and benefits that never seemed to be enough.
His wardrobe sat half-open, revealing stacks of neatly folded clothes, the organization ruined by his own hands as he shoved fresh laundry into the shelves without much care. His bed was plain, a single pillow with a slightly flattened center, blankets that rarely got pulled up beyond his waist when he slept.
His walls were once a shrine to teenage tastes—old posters of bands that blasted from his headphones, rappers whose lyrics he scribbled on the edges of his notebooks. But now they were wiped clean, replaced with laminated periodic tables, skeletal diagrams, biochemical pathways. Sterile and practical. Just like his life had to be.
But sometimes, his gaze would drift to the guitar case leaning against the far corner of the room, untouched for months, maybe even a year. And sometimes to the wooden drawer by his desk, where a collection of fountain pens lay in their felt-lined case, waiting for hands that no longer had the luxury of holding them just for the sake of writing. He could indulge, maybe. But not now.
Not when an EMI still loomed over him, the weight of Yuuji's hospital bills pressing down on his shoulders even after all this time. It was going to be a year since his brother’s death, but the payments didn’t care. They still came, still drained his account month by month, a reminder that grief had a cost even after the funeral ended.
That was why he dropped classes. Not because he wanted to. God, he didn’t want to. But something had to give. And if it had to be something he liked, then so be it.
Sukuna sat at his desk, the dim yellow light from his study lamp pooling over the page, catching on the slow strokes of his pen as he wrote. The paper was thick, the kind that absorbed ink just right, the kind that made each word feel permanent. He tapped the edge of the page with his fingers, hesitating. A dark thought slithered into his mind, one that had come to him more times than he was willing to admit.
The allowance. It was always there, always replenished, sent for Choso under the guise of family obligation, of keeping up appearances. The Kamos were anything but poor—they wouldn’t notice if a little more was spent than usual, if Sukuna siphoned off just enough to make the monthly payment disappear.
It would be so easy. His grip on the pen tightened. But what kind of brother would he be then?
He had already failed Yuuji once. To fail Choso too—to take from him what little security he had, what little proof that their father even thought of him—would be unforgivable. His parents’ savings weren’t an option either. Dipping into that would only fuck him over in the future. And what then? He’d still be here, still slaving away, just to replace what he took. Sukuna scoffed under his breath, pushing his glasses up his nose in frustration, as if that could straighten out the mess in his head.
No. He’d do what he always did—he’d shoulder it. He’d figure it out.
He shook off the thoughts and focused on the letter in front of him. His handwriting was practiced, deliberate, written in the exact way he knew would make Choso’s face light up, even if just for a moment. The words were careful, warm, carrying the weight of a presence that wasn’t really there but needed to be believed.
"Choso, hope you're taking care of your big brother like you promised.
Japan's getting colder these days—I hope you’re wearing the sweater I sent you last time.
I have to tell you about this bakery I found, their melon bread is almost as good as the one we make. I'll send some next time if I can.
Study hard and eat well. I miss you."
He folded the letter neatly, sealing it in an envelope with a practiced ease. He reached into his drawer, pulling out a stamp, pressing it into place with the precision of someone who had done this a hundred times before. When he was done, the envelope looked authentic, as if it had traveled across oceans, as if it had come from somewhere distant, somewhere real.
Somewhere that wasn’t here.
Sukuna stood, shrugging on his leather jacket, the weight of it grounding him for a brief moment. He tucked the letter safely into his pocket, walking toward the front door. “I'm going to check on the letter,” he said casually, forcing his voice into something neutral, something easy.
Choso, still bent over his homework, barely looked up. “Okay! Tell me if it’s there!”
Sukuna nodded, stepping out into the cool evening air, exhaling softly.
Relieved.
Relieved that Choso still believed him.
Relieved that, for now, the facade was still intact.
-
The fluorescent lights of the store buzzed softly overhead, casting a sterile glow over the aisles. Sukuna moved on autopilot, feet carrying him towards the refrigerators at the back. His hand twitched as he reached forward, fingers hovering over the condensation-covered cans.
A beer.
For a second, it was pure muscle memory. All those nights in high school, leaning against some grimy rooftop ledge, cracking open a cheap can just to prove a point—to himself, to the world, to whoever the hell was listening. He scoffed under his breath, annoyed at the thought alone, and instead grabbed a can of Coke, rolling the cold aluminum between his fingers before heading to the counter. The letter stayed tucked securely in his pocket as he paid.
The automatic doors whooshed open, and he stepped out into the cool night air, exhaling a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. And that’s when he saw—
You.
You, standing under the dim orange glow of the streetlamp, arms crossed as you scrolled through your phone, the light bouncing off your features in a way that made you look softer, almost tired. Something in his chest lurched, but it settled into something quieter when you looked up and spotted him.
“Oh, hey.” your voice was warm, familiar, and it made something in him loosen just slightly.
He didn’t know why he lingered. Maybe it was the way you smiled at him—small, but real. Maybe it was the fact that you didn’t look like you were waiting for anyone in particular, and neither was he.
“You just get off work?” you asked, eyeing the way his sleeves were rolled up, the leather jacket hanging off his frame like an afterthought.
“Nah,” he replied, lifting the can of Coke as if that explained anything. “Just needed some air.”
You hummed in response, nodding as if that made sense.
It was quiet for a moment, but not uncomfortable. Sukuna took a sip of his drink, the carbonation fizzling against his tongue, before you sighed, rubbing a hand over your face.
“Gojo's stubborn,” you muttered, mostly to yourself.
Sukuna let out something between a chuckle and a scoff. “You’re just figuring that out now?”
You gave him a look, half-amused, half-exhausted. “No, but… it’s different when you see it from someone else’s perspective.”
Sukuna tilted his head slightly. “How so?”
You hesitated, looking down at your feet before shaking your head. “He’s not just stubborn with me, he’s stubborn with everyone. Including you, apparently.”
“Obviously,” Sukuna said dryly, thinking about the way Gojo had planted himself in the front row of biology today, how he had accepted Sukuna’s challenge with that damnable easy grin, despite everything.
The corner of your mouth twitched.
“He told me you called him an idiot.”
“Because he is,” Sukuna retorted.
You actually laughed at that, and Sukuna found himself holding onto that sound longer than he should have. But then the conversation shifted, the air between you both cooling ever so slightly as he admitted, “I know about the Rhabdo.”
Your smile didn’t fade instantly, but there was a moment—a flicker of something, so quick that if Sukuna hadn’t been paying attention, he would have missed it. But he was paying attention.
You froze for just a second before exhaling, lips pulling into something smaller, wearier. It wasn’t sad, not quite. It was resigned, and he hated it.
He hated the way you looked as if you had already accepted something terrible, as if you had made peace with a fight you hadn’t even finished fighting yet. Because he knew that look.
He had worn that look when he was eighteen, standing beside a hospital bed, watching a younger version of himself—of Yuuji—grinning through the pain, just as stubborn, just as reckless, just as determined to live on his own terms even if it meant shortening the time he had left. Sukuna’s grip on his can tightened for a second before he sighed.
“You’re just gonna let him keep doing this?”
Your shoulders stiffened slightly. “What choice do I have?”
“You make him listen.”
You scoffed, shaking your head. “Have you ever tried making him listen?”
Sukuna huffed, because yeah, fair point.
But still.
“So what now?” he asked.
You let out a humorless laugh. “What do you mean?”
“I mean, what’s your plan?”
“Plan?” you echoed, incredulous. “You’ve met him, talked to him. You really think I can make him stop?”
“You can try.”
You scoffed. “Oh, sure. And when he shrugs it off like he always does?”
“Then you try again.”
You gave him a long, searching look.
“Why do you even care?”
Sukuna looked away, running his tongue over his teeth.
Why did he care?
Because he had seen this before. Because he knew what it looked like when someone ran themselves into the ground, all while the people around them stood helplessly, watching it happen. Because—
Because it wasn’t his job.
He sighed, shaking his head. “Just… don’t let him push you out.”
Your expression softened, just a fraction. “You make it sound like I have a choice.”
He didn't have an answer for that.
-
Sukuna didn’t even get a chance to set his keys down before Choso practically lunged for the letter, snatching it with both hands like a kid being handed a golden ticket. He held it up to the light, squinting at the familiar slant of the writing as if it would reveal something extra if he looked hard enough. His little lips moved silently as he read, his brows scrunching in focus.
Sukuna didn’t comment, only watching as Choso, after a decisive nod to himself, ran to the dining table. He grabbed the nearest scrap of paper—one of Sukuna’s old worksheets from Biology class—and his blue crayon, already pressing it to the page with an eager grip.
“‘Kuna, how do you spell squirrel?” Choso asked without looking up, tongue sticking out in concentration.
“Just sound it out,” Sukuna said, stirring the soup he was throwing together for dinner. Choso muttered under his breath, scribbling something.
“S-q-u-r-l,” he announced proudly.
Sukuna huffed a small chuckle. “Close enough.”
The little one kept writing, pausing only to tap the crayon against his chin like a scholar deep in thought. He took this seriously, as if he were writing a letter to a king instead of a fabrication Sukuna had created for him. And when he finally finished, he hopped off the chair, clutching the paper to his chest like a secret treasure.
“Here,” he said, all but shoving the letter at Sukuna as he stepped out of the kitchen. His grin was beaming, the kind that made his dimples show. “Don’t forget to send it, ‘kay?”
Sukuna took the paper carefully, ruffling Choso’s messy hair in response. “Yeah,” he muttered, voice quieter than before. “I won't forget.”
Choso beamed once more before running off, mumbling something about finishing his addition problems.
Sukuna exhaled, turning the letter over in his hands before heading to his room. The paper was warm from being held so tightly, the edges slightly crinkled. He shut the door behind him, sitting on the edge of his bed as he finally unfolded it, the glow of the bedside lamp casting sharp shadows on his face. The letter trembled slightly in his hands, but only because he was gripping it too hard. He forced himself to ease his fingers, flattening out the creases in the paper.
The crayon-scribbled letters were large and uneven, but neater than before. Choso’s handwriting was improving. Sukuna should have felt proud, should have smiled at the little details—the way Choso still switched his lowercase ‘b’ and ‘d’ sometimes, the way he made his ‘g’ too round like a balloon.
But that last line.
dear papa,
i did math today. 22 plus 89=111. my teacher said i am very smart. she gave me a star sticker, but it was pink. i wanted a blue one. next time i will ask.
today i saw a squrreal. its fur was crazy like when you wake up and forget to comb your hair. it was eating a nut and looking at me like it knew a secret. do squrreals have secrets?
i ate biscuits today. the round ones with sugar on top. you said too much sugar is bad, but one is okay, so i only had five.
i watched wicked yesterday. areeanna grandday sings nice. the witch was not a meanie. i think she just needed a hug. do you think bad people are really bad, or are they just sad?
also i asked my teecher why do people go to heaven. she said god misses them so he brings them back to him. i think god should miss me too. then i can meet yuuji again. i miss yuuji.
love, choso
His chest ached. A quiet, dull throb. His tongue pressed against the roof of his mouth, jaw clenched so tightly it felt like his teeth would snap.
"I think God should miss me too. Then I can meet Yuuji again."
His fingers traced over the letters, smudged slightly where Choso had gripped the paper too hard. In the dim lighting, the deep blue crayon looked almost black, the pressure of the strokes making the paper feel rough under his fingertips. His throat tightened.
For a brief second, he considered grabbing the letter and heading straight back to Choso’s room, waking him up just to—what? Tell him that God doesn’t miss people? Tell him that missing someone shouldn’t mean wanting to disappear?
Instead, Sukuna pressed the heel of his palm to his forehead, exhaling through his nose. He closed his eyes for a second before refolding the letter with careful, precise movements.
Then, he reached over to his nightstand, opening the drawer where every single one of Choso's letters lay stacked, neat and safe. He placed this one on top.
He should write back. Tell Choso about his day, tell him that squirrels probably do have secrets, tell him that bad people are usually just people who hurt too much. But not tonight. Tonight, he just needed to sit with it.
-
Your room was dimly lit, bathed in the soft amber glow of your bedside lamp. The fairy lights strung along the wall flickered faintly, casting uneven shadows over your cluttered desk. Your chair was still pulled out from earlier, a half-empty mug of tea beside your closed laptop, the steam long since disappeared.
A couple of books were stacked haphazardly by your pillow—ones you kept meaning to read but never got around to. A Digimon plush, a stupid little gift from Gojo years ago, sat beside them, its wide embroidered eyes staring blankly ahead. And then there was your phone, still warm from the call, resting in your palm as you stared at the screen.
“Listen, I know I was acting like a little shit,” Gojo started, voice softer than usual, a little hesitant. “I'm, like, marginally self-aware, y’know?”
You snorted, shifting against your pillows. “Yeah, only marginally.”
“Shut up,” he whined, dragging out the last syllable.
You could almost see him, sprawled out in his bed, tangled in his sheets, glasses pushed up onto his forehead as he stared at the ceiling. “But, uh, really,” he continued, voice quieter now. “I just—I dunno, I don't think those girls meant anything bad, y’know? They were just messing around.”
You sighed. “Gojo.”
“Satoru,” he shot back. You rolled your eyes, rubbing your temple. “Just because they didn’t mean anything bad doesn’t mean it wasn’t. You were uncomfortable, right?”
He was quiet for a second. “I mean…”
“Don’t ‘I mean’ me,” you huffed. “You told me yourself you didn’t even remember most of that party, and now you’re gonna defend them?”
Gojo groaned dramatically. “Ugh, why do you have to be right?”
“Someone has to be.”
“Wow.”
“Mhm.”
A beat of silence passed, comfortable enough, until Gojo suddenly piped up, “Anyway! I'm not going this Friday.”
You blinked, sitting up a little. “You’re not?”
“Nah,” he said, so casual, so him. “Rather spend my friday night with my favorite girl, playing Digimon.”
Your breath hitched before you could stop it, heart clenching in a way you didn’t recognize. You swallowed. “Satoru—”
“Ah-ah-ah, no need to get all emotional on me,” he teased. “Just let me kick your ass in peace.”
You scoffed, shifting your phone to your other ear. “Please, you wish you could beat me.”
“Nah, I’d win.”
And when you said your goodbyes, when you finally disconnected the call, you stared at the ceiling for a long time, phone resting on your chest. Satoru still had a long way to go. And maybe, so did you.
series masterlist next chapter
Hello everyone, it's been a hot minute 🙂↕️ This was supposed to be a Valentine's day release (dedicated to my lovely mutuals) I started working on from January onwards, but one plotline turned into another and eventually here I am, writing it as one of my first full-length fics. A bit hesitant to post it on Tumblr, but I hope you enjoy :)
the love of my life @nanamiskentos <- aka the best proof-reader and hype woman on this site. i love you so much, thank you for giving me the audacity and confidence to share my fics with the big wide net and making me and my work feel seen <3
no gojo post is complete without @gojao <- my favorite gojo girlie, forgive me for gatekeeping this fic from you but you know i had to keep this one a surprise >⩊< i love u so very much you brighten up my dash with every single post you make
my beautiful gorgeous wife from the other side of the world -> @nkopurin, i know this is not a toji post but i still want to dedicate this to you, you've been such a light and my fav writer to work with /ᐠ > ˕ <マ ₊˚⊹♡ thank you so much for helping me always
my favorite desi girls and possibly the only women who hard-carry the community... @baepsays @deathofacupid and @fushitoru. i may not be at your freakuency when it comes to your writing <- because it's just that good, but it doesn't hurt to try :P
my iya -> @chososcamgirl, wrote all this bone-crushing angst thinking about you...i hope you're doing well when you see this ( •̯́ ₃ •̯̀)
my baby who inspires me to be a better writer -> @emphistic in another life we are soulmates sitting besides each other as we write our fics. i love you and your work so very much <3
i could not end this without tagging trish <- @starmapz and kale @to00fu, your works inspired me to take up this project again after abandoning it for nearly a month. thank you so much for your contributions to jjkblr and to my motivation as well (ɔˆ ³(ˆ⌣ˆc)
Obligatory taglist mention, thank you for your interest in my work <3 @poopooindamouf @paradisestarfishh @voideddd @deathofacupid @uselessbitch8008 @jayathelostdragon @sukubusss @starmapz @your-mum3000 @sukunaslilsocks @aaazade @jeonwiixard @skyxxx17
Synopsis: Instead of dying, you are sent 13 years in the past, but this isn't your face. "Let's cut the shit." The white-haired kid grins. "Who are you and what're you doing in Suguru's body?"
Part two: Rewound Infinitely
Word Count: 18.1k
(Warnings: slight yandere, death, murder, inaccurate Tokyo geography, blood, violence, mild gore, obsession, unhealthy relationships, child abuse/neglect, time looping(?), fem!reader) Ageless blogs that try to follow me will be blocked
First, you saw a monster.
It was big and horrible—nasty teeth. You heard screaming. People. Running as fast as they could away from the creatures. Pain.
And then, you saw a bright, clear sky.
The sun was blaring down at you. It was so hot. Wasn't it December? How was the sun out at night?
"Hey, you good?"
A girl is looking at you. Short brown hair. A high schooler, judging by the uniform. How is she wearing all black when the weather is so hot?
When you don't respond, her eyes squint.
"Suguru, are you okay?"
That's not your name; your mouth moves faster than your brain.
"I-I'm fine." That wasn't your voice. It was deeper. More masculine. What the fuck happened to your voice?
The girl gives you another strange look but you're too busy freaking out over your new voice. Your hands are different too. A completely different skin tone, larger.
And then you're fumbling with your pockets, clothes you know you didn't buy. The girl is calling for you again but you're too busy pulling out a fucking flip-phone and looking into the black screen, the only thing you have for a mirror.
Purple eyes stare back. These aren't your eyes. This isn't your nose. This isn't your hair. This isn't your face. You blink. He does too. You open your mouth. So does he. You pinch your cheek. In the reflection, he winces.
Oh, you just fucking bodysnatched someone.
ⴵ
Ten minutes later, you conclude that your name is Geto Suguru, you are a 16-year-old boy, the year is 2006, and you attend a religious academy.
"You're finally acting normally again." The girl-newly discovered as Ieiri- says. "No more weirdness."
You don't blame her, considering you grabbed her by the shoulders, asking ridiculous questions like: what year is it, who am I, why am I here, who are you, am I dead, is this Hell, etc. For a teenage girl, she took your outburst well.
"Sorry," you say and by now you've gotten used to your voice, "it must have been the stress from studying."
She just hums, continuing to walk beside you. Though, Ieiri had a point. You were definitely calmer, and it was mostly because you figured it out.
You were dreaming.
You were lucid dreaming, to be more precise. Your brain was conjuring up a weird setting and you just happened to be placed in another person's body. You heard about this happening before. You were just so freaked out because this was the first time anything like this had happened to you.
An impulsive part of you wants to tell Ieiri that this is just a dream, but you've heard weird things happen after a lucid dreamer tries to break the illusion. It's best if you just let it just play out and see where this goes.
“Excited?”
“Hm?” You ask. And Shoko rolls her eyes.
“For the mission you have this evening. Special grade. Sounds scary.” She says, her sarcasm evident.
Mission? Special grade? You don’t know what those words mean but it sounds like a school field trip. Shoko takes your hesitance as something else.
“Ah,” she says, “so you forgot.”
“I didn’t.” You reply on instinct.
“I expected this from Satoru, not you. You should stop hanging out with him, he’s starting to rub off on you.”
You give a sheepish laugh, and it’s enough to quell her questions.
She leads you into the school, all through the winding halls and through an office door. You couldn’t be more grateful, it’s not like you would have known where to go. It’s a teachers room. Two people are already inside.
“Wait, for once, I’m early?” The boy with sunglasses asks, voice dripping with amusement. He’s leaning dangerously on a chair. You stare at him. You’ve never seen someone with white hair before. It can’t be real.
“He forgot.” Shoko pipes up and the boy cackles.
“That’s hilarious. I’m starting to rub off on you.” Ah, this must be Satoru.
You give a nervous smile. “Haha, yeah.”
The boy stops rocking in the chair. Three pairs of eyes look at you. Your uniform feels itchy.
“Gojo, stop making such a ruckus.” The man, presumably his teacher, gruffs. "You two got the briefing yesterday. Do your job and for the last time do not leave your assistant manager behind again."
Gojo groans, and you delve into more confusion. Before you can say anything, the kid is hopping out of his seat before lazily striding out the door. Shoko and the teacher look at you expectantly.
Oh, you were supposed to follow him.
Not wanting to make a scene, you catch up to Gojo. He's tall, his footsteps are long and wide. But you're tall now too, so it's easy to keep up with him. This new body of yours has a lot of pros.
"Yaga's so annoying," Gojo suddenly says, "constantly nagging us like that. It's not our fault the assistants can't keep up."
What should you say? You clear your throat.
"He just wants what's best for us."
Wrong answer.
"Where'd that come from?" He snorts. How charming. "I know you agree with me. You're just tryna' act like the nicer one, again. It's starting to get a little old."
Is that how 16 year-olds talk? Rude, but also strangely off-putting, like he can see straight through you. Or more accurately, he can see straight through Suguru. How close are these two, anyway?
Why did any of these questions even matter? This is a dream! You need to wake up already.
On the campus grounds, a sleek black car waits outside for you two. Along with a miffed man in a black suit. This must be a very rich school for a field trip to have a chauffeur. Where were you two going again?
Gojo hops in the back, taking one of the window seats. You take the other. In your own body, you would've fit nicely. But Suguru's legs are long, and the spacious car feels cramped. You should've taken the passenger seat. How do tall people live like this?
The ride is quiet. Out the corner of your eye, you catch Satoru type away on his flip phone. A moment later, yours beeps. You still have no idea how to use Suguru's phone or his password, so you ignore his message. Satoru groans.
Quickly, you learn that Satoru has a very low attention span. When looking out the window gets boring, he bugs the chauffeur. When the chauffeur ignores him, he starts bugging you.
"Hey heyyyy," Satoru says, "when this is all over, we should go to that new ice cream place. Like you said, we should."
You look at him. "Uh, sure." You say.
"And you should pay for it, 'cuz you said you owed me last time."
Fine, whatever. "Sure thing."
He grins. You can't see his glasses, and it makes his smile even more unnerving. This kid.
This doesn't feel like a normal field trip at all. Why did you stop in front of some rackety house that looked as though it were about to collapse? You turn back to the only adult in the vicinity, but he's out too. He takes out a lighter and a cigarette. In front of impressionable children, too. Wonderful.
"I'll wait out here." He says, though his tone is uncaring. "Since we're out in the country, there's no need for a veil. Do your best."
Veil? What? Gojo's already going off again and you've already decided to be his chaperone, so you follow. You reluctantly trail behind him. Feet crunch the leaves. The house grows bleaker and bleaker.
"Okay, I have a plan!" Gojo exclaims when he gets through the squeaky door. He's so loud, can't he be quieter? "I check upstairs and you check the ground floor and the basement. Got it?"
Check the house? Were he and Suguru electricians in training or something? That still wouldn't explain why a grown man decided to drop off two teenagers in front of a creepy mansion. And why in God's name did Gojo want to split up?
"I-I don't think that's a good idea," you say, "shouldn't we try to stick together?" Or, better yet, leave.
He clicks his tongue. "Ugh, you're so lame. Not like Suguru at all."
Wait, what did he say? You're about to call out to him when he climbs up the stairs, disappearing from view. Unbelievable.
This kid was starting to get on your nerves. Enough, you were leaving. You could have a nice dream where you met and fell in love with Zendaya, not babysitting some teenager, whilst possessing another person's body. You were going to wait outside with the man and hope your dream finally came to an end.
Except, you couldn't go outside. The door was gone.
It-it was right behind you, right? The entrance was right behind you. You couldn't have gotten turned around so quickly? What the hell happened? Or maybe you had gotten turned around? Considering how distracting that Gojo kid was, you might not have realized it.
You look around the house. Looks like it'd been abandoned for a while. There's dirt on the shelves. Chairs were toppled over and left to rot. The wooden floorboards dangerously creaked beneath you. Just what had happened here?
There's no patio door. No door leading to the outside. At the same time, you hadn't explored everything yet. Each door led to a room. The only door that didn't, led to a basement. And no, you weren't going down there.
When you got back to where you started, you noticed something had changed.
There was a person. Seated right at the base of the stairs?
Gojo? Was he done with urban exploring? Maybe he knew the way out. He stands up, reaching to his full height, then higher, then higher.
Gojo was tall, but this thing was taller. Gojo was human. This thing wasn't.
What the fuck you can only mouth because your voice is stuck in your throat when it takes a shaky step towards you. It's a black husk of a figure, too skinny but too tall and twitching fingers. You don't know how you could've mistaken this for the kid.
Another step. You're running, back into the house, leaping over the fallen shelves and creaky floorboards. It gives chase, and you can hear it groan behind you. It's deep and rumbly and terrifying. It just motivates you to go faster.
It's slower than you. That's good, but it seems to realize this. You can barely celebrate your advantage before something heavy is smashed into your back, sending you toppling to the floor. You and wooden chair crash on the ground.
It hurts.
Everything hurts.
Dreams aren't supposed to hurt. Because this wasn't a dream.
This was real. You were stuck in the year 2006, stuck in another person's body, about to get mauled by a monster.
You were going to die.
You aren't even fighting anymore. How pathetic is that? The shock numbs your body as the thing grows closer and closer, all you can do is reach your hands up, protecting your face.
And then the creature explodes.
An implosion. It's skin and bones twist in a way no one should. There's a shriek, something wrong and high and inhuman before it's gone. Like it never existed in the first place.
After all that, he's still smiling. Like the cat that just caught the mouse.
"I guess we're not pretending anymore, are we?" Gojo asks, stretching his arms. "That's good. That game was starting to get a little boring, anyways. Now, then."
He folds his glasses, tucking it on his uniform. Blue, his eyes are. As blue as a clear sky.
"Let's cut the shit." The white-haired kid grins. "Who are you, and what're you doing in Suguru's body?"
ⴵ
Contrary to your belief, Gojo Satoru is a good listener.
There's never an interruption. Not even once. Every once in a while, he nods, a hand on his chin. It's probably because he can't interrupt. You just keep going on and on. Word vomit.
He only speaks when you pause to catch your breath. "So you are from the year 2017, and you went back in time to body-snatch someone. I had a feeling your technique had something to do with possession."
You look at him warily. "Wait, you knew this entire time?"
You two hadn't moved from your earlier spot. You were still sprawled on the floor, still feeling the adrenaline surge through you. Gojo had transitioned to squatting on the floor. He scratches his neck, still so casual.
"I have good eyes. Don't worry about it." He shrugs. "Anyway, you seem pretty harmless, and as annoying as it is not having Suguru around, I doubt killing you would do any good." Why is he being so nonchalant about murder? Is this kid really sixteen?
"I think we gotta' just wait around until your technique reactivates." Gojo whistles. "2017. That's like a decade away. I wonder what happened for your technique to show up."
You blink, trying to remember the date.
"It was Christmas Eve..." You glance at him. "And then I was here."
He thinks for a moment. "Yeah, I got nothing." Of course.
He sighs, before sprawling on the dirty floor, belly up. You grimace at his antics but choose to keep your mouth shut.
He doesn't seem very worried. At the most, he looks mildly inconvenienced. Why isn't he worried about his friend?
When you ask him, he just snorts.
"Sorry, but you're not that scary. Besides, I don't have to worry about Suguru. He's strong."
Well, that's nice to know, but one other thing still bothers you.
"You speak so casually to me," you mutter, "You know I'm older than you, right? I'm 22."
He laughs. "22? Damn. You're old, man."
"That isn't old!" You argue. "You have no concept of age since you're just a teenager." And why did he assume you were a man? Oh right, you were trapped in a teenage boy’s body. Of course.
"I mean, technically, I'm older than you, right?" Gojo ponders with a grin. "If you're 22 in 2017, that makes you what—11 in 2006?"
You say nothing because you have a feeling that if you continue to argue with him, he'll just drag you down to his insanity.
"Technique, you've said that a couple of times." You look at him. "That's what you call your 'powers', right? Does Geto have one too?"
"Yeah," Gojo says, "but you can't use it. You have zero cursed energy. Honestly, it's at the same level as a plant. A bit lower than regular humans. It's a little impressive, actually." For one second, could he stop being so condescending?
"What's his technique?" You ignore his comments. "Could it be related to how I got here?"
He gives you a look over. "I doubt that, but Suguru's technique is curse manipulation. Uh, you remember that thing you saw earlier." You nod. "Yeah, he can control and absorb them."
He sounds pretty awesome. You look at your hands. Not your hands. Geto's hands. They're paler than yours, and a lot longer. This isn't your body. Your soul can feel it. You can feel the guilt too.
'I'd give it back if I could,' you think, 'I just don't know how.'
Gojo's getting up. He stretches. He was lying on the ground but you can't see a speck of dirt on his uniform.
"Okay, then. No use mopping around." He grins down at you. "Maybe Yaga can do something about you. Let's get you back to jujutsu tech."
You blink up at him. His hand is outstretched, reaching out to you. He's still grinning that insufferable grin but his eyes have slightly melted.
"Okay." You say, barely touching his fingertips. "Let's-"
And then Gojo's gone. And then, you're standing. And then it's cold.
You're wearing a coat; weren't you wearing a uniform before? There's no clear sky. It's nearly dusk.
You were standing on the sidewalk, where people bustled all around you. You fumble through your jackets, putting out a phone. An actual iphone. You flick on the screen.
December 24th, 2017, 7:06.
Holy shit, you were back.
Was it because you touched Gojo? That makes no sense, but how could you explain anything else that happened so far? God. You rake a hand through your hair. Your hand. Your hair. You can't believe how much you missed yourself. It felt so good to be back.
Your mind is spinning, you had no idea what the fuck just happened.
For now, you just wanted to turn your mind off and grab a drink.
You know there was a bar not too far from your location. Along the way, you pass by the bustling town. There's a couple walking side by side, giggling over something you couldn't hear. Right, it's the 24th. You remember your empty bed with no one to share it with, and you cement your desire to drown yourself in alcohol today.
Your self-pitying session is almost how you nearly miss him. His shoulder brushes past you. You're about to apologize when you hear his voice. It's familiar.
It used to be your voice.
It's all there. Black hair, but it's longer this time around. Of course it is, he's had years to grow it out. He's tall, he must've grown since highschool. His broad back is the only thing you see, you're almost afraid to reach out to him.
"Suguru...?"
He halts in his tracks. When he turns around, it's like looking into a fractured past. He looks older, no longer a youthful teenager. You should have paid more attention to his eyes, how scrutinizing they were, how condescending his fake smile was. All that you could think of was that it was actually him.
"Do I know you?" He tilts his head. "Apologies, but my girls and I are quite busy."
You don't notice the two young ladies beside him until Geto points them out. Teenagers, maybe just around the age when you first met him. He was a father now.
You're so swept up by the emotions that you barely notice they've continued walking. You stumble behind, ducking behind the alleyway they went into.
"Wait! Geto!" You call. "Please! We need to talk!" You still needed your answers. You didn't know care how desperate you came off as.
In hindsight, you should have noticed that they looked more annoyed than worried about a stranger chasing them across the street.
The one with the ponytail scoffs. "This one talks an awful lot. How annoying."
Geto sighs. He leaves his daughters, finally standing in front of you. This is what you wanted, right? A chance to talk to him.
Still, you can't help but feel wrongness within you. His smile is off.
"Most monkeys are just that, unfortunately." You don't move. You can't. Not when he places a hand on your skull. "I suppose it'd be humane to put this one out of its misery."
Geto Suguru crushes your skull. And then you die.
ⴵ
Again. You died again.
This is the second time Geto has killed you. Fuck, you should've realized.
"Back again, Greeny?" Gojo asks.
He and Suguru were sitting outside in the grass. Satoru's holding up a few playing cards. You look at Suguru's hands and find yourself doing the same.
Not again.
"What year is it?" You ask warily. "And what did you just call me?"
Gojo grins with teeth. You remember he compared you to a plant before, didn't he? He's so clever with nicknames; someone should give him an award.
"Welcome back to 2006!" Gojo beams. "It's only been a couple of days since you left. And why are you so grumpy? I'm the one who just lost a player."
You weren't grumpy, you were pissed. You figured out what's been going on with you, and it's all because of the asshole you're possessing right now.
The look on his face when he killed you. Like you were nothing more than an animal. A monkey. Now, you feel a lot less guilty about possessing his body.
At least you figured out two things. You know how your technique works. Whenever someone kills you, you are sent back in time to take over their body. But you can go back whenever you touch Gojo, or perhaps just another sorcerer.
Secondly, you have access to Geto's memories.
It didn't happen the first time you died. It must have been because the kill wasn't direct (from Getos curse, rather than himself), but milliseconds after Geto split your skull in two, your brain was overwhelmed by his past, his present, as well as his future.
Geto was set to die on December 24th, 2017. At the hands of his best friend, Gojo Satoru.
Fuck him. Let the bastard die. You didn't give a shit.
You reach over to touch Gojo's arm, ready to leave. He pulls back with a snicker. Ugh, the brat must've figured out your technique, too.
"Stop messing around." You tell him. "I need to go back to my timeline."
"Sure, sure," he says as though speaking to a time traveler is just another Tuesday. "But first, finish the game with me."
"No." You tell him before leaning out even further. He isn't moving away anymore, but you still can't reach him. Fuck, he must've activated his technique.
Despite your annoyance, you decide to keep the future away from Gojo's ears. He doesn't need to know that he'll be the one to kill Suguru. He shouldn't. Not at his age. He's just a kid.
"Just one game! I promise!" He pleads. "Then I'll let you go. Suguru never lets me beat him, I want an easy opponent to boost my ego."
You roll your eyes, but you settle down, picking up the cards. You already know the rules; you have Geto's memories, after all.
It's silent, save for Gojo's humming. When you place down your King of hearts, you ask:
"Hey, is my cursed energy different at all?" You ask.
"Not really." He squints. "Wait, it has grown a little. Aw, Greeny sprouted!"
So, every time you die, your cursed energy increases. That, or your cursed energy, increases every time you time travel. It doesn't matter either way. Does this mean you can use Geto's technique now? It couldn't hurt to try, right?
There's a demon-no, they're called curses you know that now- floating beside you, just a little ways away. Small. Barely fourth grade. You stick your hand out, calling out Geto's power. There's a pull, a rush of energy.
A blue ball drops into your hand.
"Holy shit." Gojo leans forward. "So you can use his techniques." Surprisingly, there's no wariness in his voice. Just awe.
"Yeah." You breathe before glancing up at him. "Shouldn't you be focused on your cards?"
He shrugs, tossing the cards away. "What cards?"
You sigh before staring at the ball. Well, you captured the curse. All that's left to do is swallow it, right? You can do that. You open your mouth. Gojo is still staring. You scowl.
"Look away."
He rolls his eyes. "It's not like I haven't seen you do this before. Well, not you, the guy that you bodysnatched."
Ass, you keep that in your head as you hold your breath. You swallow the ball down.
Instantly, you choke.
It's horrible. Like a rotten carcass on the highway, oozing blood and oil and pus. You start dry-heaving, suffocating, spit dribbles down your chin. Nothing comes out. You've already absorbed it. The taste of a cursed spirit no one knows. Like swallowing a rag that was used to wipe up vomit and shit. Exorcised. Ingested. Exorcised. Ingested. Exorcised. Ingested. Exorcised. Ingested.
"Is it really that bad?" Gojo observes you. "That guy swallows them down, no problem."
Because Suguru was used to this taste. He was used to the responsibility. The hoarding mass of distraught absorbing a curse comes with. It was a disgusting art. Something he'd perfected to mask for years. Until he couldn't take it anymore.
Fuck, you might have lost your mind, too, if you kept having to eat this. To protect people who were happy you failed.
You snapped out of it. Suguru's memories were affecting your own. That's probably a sign that you need to get out of here. No way would you be sympathizing with someone so monstrous.
"Hopefully, I never do that again." You slowly recover, wiping your spit away with your hand. You lean back on your hands, exhausted.
"Something I've always wondered." You call out to Gojo. "What did Suguru ever think about someone possessing his body."
Gojo laughed. "Funny thing. He never knew."
"What?" You look at him. "No gaps in his memory? Nothing?"
"Nope," Gojo said, "he remembered what happened in the house, but he thinks he did everything. And then he said something weird."
You perk up at that. "What did he say?"
Gojo tilts his head. Then, he shrugs.
"I forgot." Typical.
You pinch your nose bridge. "So, did you tell anyone else about...this?" You gesture to yourself.
"Wait, you're supposed to be a secret?" You look at him in alarm. "In my defense, I didn't know, but I haven't gotten the chance to tell anyone. After the mission, Suguru and I went to the arcade, and then I kinda' forgot about it."
Well, at least Gojo's arrogance works in your favor sometimes. You can't let anyone know, especially anyone connected to the higher-ups. From Geto's memories, you know they don't like anything new. It's best to stay under their radar.
"Good, well, from now on, we're keeping it a secret. Got it?"
"What are you two keeping a secret?" A new voice pops up. You jump.
You know him—at least from Geto's memories. Haibara beams at you. He looks so alive in the sunlight, smiling and with bright eyes.
He'll be dead within a year or so.
Gojo takes advantage of your shock. "The bodysnatcher wants me to promise that I won't tell anyone that a curse-user is possessing Suguru's body."
"What the hell? You just promised that you wouldn't tell anyone!"
"Uh, technically, I didn't promise anything yet." Gojo retaliates. "But okay, fiiiiine. I won't tell anyone....except for Haibara." You groan.
"What's going on?" Haibara's smile fades. "Wait, Gojo, is this not Geto? Is this person actually a curse-user!?"
"I'm not a curse-user." You correct. "I'm not a sorcerer either, for the record."
"You just used a curse technique to travel back in time to take over someone's body." Gojo enunciates. "Sounds like a sorcerer to me."
"Wait, you're a time-traveler, Mr. Not-Geto?" Haibara asks and you are genuinely impressed he's able to keep up.
"The name’s Greeny, Haibara." Gojo supplements. Haibara nods, still a bit unsure.
"So...do we fight Greeny?"
"It's not my name." You get ignored.
"Nah, it's all good. Greeny's harmless. Just a weakling, don’t worry about it." Rude, but you don’t think you’d want Gojo to take you as much of a threat, not after knowing what he can do.
"Oh, okay!" Haibara instantly relaxes. The kid's really trusting, huh?
"Okay, fine, but no one else can know, got it, Gojo?" This promise doesn't matter. It's not like you're planning on returning to the past anytime soon. As soon as you return to the present, you are leaving Tokyo and escaping the night parade of 100 demons. Fuck that. You don't want to die again.
He waves you off. "Yeah, yeah."
He's so insufferable. You don't know who's worse: the genocidal maniac or this brat.
"Give me your hand. I want to go home."
Haibara looks confused. "Wait, why does Greeny need your hand?"
"It's how the curse technique works," Gojo explains. "Greeny gets sent back in time, and then my true-love's touch sends him careening forward into the future." You frown at his comment, but he turns to you before you can say anything.
"Which reminds me, Greeny: ever figure out how your technique works?"
No way are you telling a kid that their best friend killed you....twice. Instead, you just shrug.
"Haven't figured it out yet."
Gojo stares at you. "Huh." He responds. "Well, if you ever figure it out, lemme' know."
Sure you will. You hold up your hand. Gojo, finally holds his own up. Out of the corner of your eye, Haibara waves. And then you're back in your own body, on December 24th, 2017, 7:06 pm.
You waste no time. You push at the crowd, squeezing through the hoards of people. You need to get out. You need to leave before the death parade starts, before you're trapped in that terrifying cycle of death again.
You need to leave.
Exorcised. Ingested.
No no no. Shut up. This wasn't you. This was Geto's memories.
Exorcised. Ingested.
You need to leave.
Exorcised. Ingested.
You need to survive.
The taste of a cursed spirit no one knows.
You stop, right there in the middle of the sidewalk. People glare, cursing as they move around you. They don't know this place will be a bloodbath in a matter of minutes. They'd all die. But you could stop it.
If only if you hadn't accessed Geto's memories. If only if you hadn't eaten that damn curse. If only if you hadn't sympathized with a murderer. Maybe you'd have the courage to escape your future.
But you'd felt that taste. Horrible. If you eat enough, you could go insane. If you were lonely enough, that would do it too.
The taste of a cursed spirit no one knows. No one except for you.
At 8:06 the screams start. The monsters come out to play their song. You close your eyes, forgive Suguru, and you die once more.
ⴵ
For once, when you open your eyes, Gojo isn’t there with you.
You’re still on the campus of Jujutsu tech. Suguru was just about to grab his soda from the vending machine. You finish his job. The can feels cold. It feels refreshing on your tongue. It’s a momentary distraction to the fact that you have no clue what you’re doing.
You understand your cursed technique, but you still struggle with the application. Fuck, what did you do? You were utterly fucked. You’re playing a dangerous game. If you died- if Geto died- here, what would even happen?
The worst part is that you can’t even think of the hypothetical because there’s no other choice. You needed to do this. To not only save the people in Tokyo from the Night Parade, but to also save Geto Suguru. The man who has killed you three times now.
Geto’s dissent starts to worsen at Riko Amanai’s death. If you could prevent that from happening, you could probably change history. But Geto’s true fracture begins with the curses themselves. They were rotting him from the inside.
You grimace, but you have to do it. You have to eat every single curse that Geto couldn’t swallow down himself.
One was coming up. In less than an hour, Yaga will call you and Gojo for a mission. It’ll be a special-grade grave-type curse. Dispatching it will be simple, but Geto would be the one to exorcise it, ingesting the screams of all that the curse devoured. You needed to prepare yourself for that.
Maybe you should save some of this soda to wash the taste off later.
“Geto!” Someone cheers, you jump, but Haibara’s already poking his head around the wall. He grins.
“Hey! Oh, you’re not Geto, aren’t you?” He tilts his head. “Greeny?”
“Keep your voice down,” you whisper, “wait, you can recognize me?”
He nods, after checking to make sure no one’s around, he says, “yeah, your eyes are different? It’s hard to explain.” He tells you.
Huh. Interesting.
“You’ve been gone a while.” Haibara beams. “It’s been a few weeks. I’m glad you’re back, Gojo was starting to get cranky.”
It’s probably because he had no one to mess with. Poor him. He has all your sympathies. Ass.
“I’m glad to return as his punching back.” You mutter.
Haibara shyly shuffles his feet.
“So, are you really from the future?” He asks. “Was Gojo telling the truth?”
You nod. “Haibara, you haven’t told anyone, right?”
“Of course not!” He instantly says. “Not a soul. Not even Nanami, and I tell him everything! Your secret’s safe with me.”
“And Gojo, too! I know he doesn’t look very trustworthy, but me and him have kept it under wraps.”
Reluctantly, you can’t help but agree with the kid. Gojo is annoying, but so far, he hasn’t done anything super harmful.
“So anyway, Greeny.” He clears his throat. “Considering you’re from the future and all. Would you mind telling me what my future will be like?”
You blink at him. He takes it as a sign to continue. “Nothing much! I just wanna know what I’ll be doing in 2017. Will I finally be a grade 1 sorcerer?”
You think of Geto’s final memories of Haibara. A child burying another child.
“Sorry,” you lie through your teeth, “but I didn’t know you in my future. Again, I’m not really a sorcerer.”
Haibara nods, disappointed but still very excitable. He asks you about other things about the future, and you try to answer to the best of your ability, but you can’t shake off his dead glass eyes, staring at you from the morgue.
“Another thing, we should have a code word.” Haibara exclaims.
You blink. “A code word?”
“If we ever meet in the future,” he explains, “y’know, in 'Groundhog’s day', he has to keep explaining what’s happening repeatedly? In order to prevent that, we should have a secret word between eachother so I instantly know who you are.”
Not the same exact situation, but it sounds like exactly something a child would come up with. You indulge him anyway.
“Okay, what did you have in mind?”
“Well, it can’t be anything too crazy, or we might attract unwanted attention.” Haibara puts a hand on his chin in serious thought. You smile.
“Got it! If you ever see me, just yell ‘brocolli head’ really really loudly. Then I’ll know.” Haibara chirps.
“Wait, why broccoli head?”
“Because broccoli heads are green!” Haibara chirps happily.
You’re starting to learn it’s best not to question his logic.
You nod, very amused. “Sure thing, Haibara.”
Someone calls out his name. He jumps before he waves to you. You watch as he joins with Nanami. They talk about something you can’t hear. Haibara laughs and you decide it would be a shame if his laugh was lost to death.
Gojo finds you eventually. You can’t hide from him forever. You were walking into the school when he caught up with you. He’d ran there. His breath was slightly ragged.
“Greeny, couldn’t get enough last time, huh?” You shoot him a look.
“What are you talking about? Doesn’t matter, we need to go, the missions coming up.”
Gojo’s smile dips ever so slightly. “How’d you know about that?”
It’s probably not a good idea to tell the guy's best friend that you’re possessing that you’ve unlocked his memories.
“Haibara told me.”
“Ah,” He replies, “let’s go then.”
The car ride is different this time around. Less tension. You aren’t as confused. Gojo is seated quietly beside you, watching the scenery go by. The assistant is too preoccupied with belting the radio to notice Gojo's words.
“Figured it out yet?” He asks. “Your technique.”
He's persistent about that answer, isn't he? You're sure the only reason Gojo cooperates with you is because he thinks you're inhabiting Suguru's on accident. How would he react if he knew you were doing it intentionally? It's best not to get on the strongests’ bad side.
“Oh, not really, but I think it’s random. I can’t seem to find a set pattern. Maybe Suguru calls out to me, somehow?”
“Maybe.” Gojo replies. His time is flat. Anxiety flips through your stomach.
“You’re different this time around,” Gojo says.
“Am I?” You ask. “I guess I’m just more determined today.”
He gives you a look over. "Oh yeah? What for?"
"The curse. I'll exorcise it, today."
You don't know how you wanted Gojo to react to that, but you're still disappointed when he turns back to the window.
"Do whatever, Greeny."
In the end, you do swallow the curse. You manage to hold your gags in this time.
It's worse than before. It makes sense. This curse was first-grade. Stronger. In terms of taste, it was like curdled blood and mold. You were so grateful for that soda.
Gojo only watches with a tilted head.
"You're getting better at that."
You give a weak grin.
"Practice makes perfect," you reply, "do you think I'll get strong enough to absorb a special grade soon?"
He doesn't like your question. You can see it in his stiff expression.
"Maybe. Why do you want to swallow up curses, anyway? Last time you were here, you were practically begging to go back."
His response wasn't exactly hostile but far from his usual playful attitude. You knew you'd have to confront this eventually. Despite how nonchalant he acted, it's clear Satrou doesn't enjoy watching someone prance around in his friend's body like this. If he starts to dislike you, it could rupture your entire plan. You need his cooperation, more than anything, to save Suguru.
A little bit of the truth. Just a bit. It can't hurt, can it?
"Curses taste horrible," you say, looking at the ground. You can still taste the remnants of it, "it's the worst thing in the world. I can't even explain how wrong it feels to eat one. I thought...while I'm in his body...I could maybe help Suguru a little. I could ingest the curses in his stead, so that way, he still gets to absorb it." But it'll lessen the trauma it has on his mental state.
You can't see how Gojo feels about that. Those glasses of his cover everything. But you know he's staring at you. The six eyes are taking you apart, observing you whole.
"Did you know Suguru in the future?" He asks.
"I didn't." The man that killed you. The man that will keep killing you. And you'd forgive him each time.
Another beat of silence.
Finally, he just sighs. "You're the kind of person who'll jump in front of a truck to save a kitten, right?"
You give a sheepish laugh.
"That isn't a compliment, by the way. You're just really reckless. And maybe stupid, Greeny." His tone isn't mean.
"My name still isn't Greeny." You tell him.
"Oh yeah, what's your name, then?" He's reverted back to that teasing lilt, and it almost makes you relax if you don't note the curiosity underneath.
So far, you've been lax giving away information regarding the future, but you don't think you should continue that. What if you're too careless and the future changes in a way you didn't intend? A name, personal information, that could be way too dangerous.
"Actually, just call me Greeny. I like that name a lot better."
"You complained about it all the time, though?" Gojo argues.
"It's starting to grow on me." You grin. "Grow? Get it, because you compared me to a plant and-"
"Stop stop, you really are an old man." Gojo groans. You just grin wider. Then, you grimace.
“I can still taste it.” You complain. “I’d kill for a cigarette right now.”
“I caught our assistant manager smoking a while back,” Satoru suggests. “Maybe you could go and beg him for one.”
You toss him a look. “Suguru doesn’t smoke, and I’m not giving a teenager a nicotine addiction.” You have found lighters inside Suguru’s pockets, but you have a feeling it isn’t for his own cravings.
"Hey, could you do me a favor?"
He gives a wordless hum.
"Maybe after this, could you take Suguru out to a cafe'? I can taste the aftertaste of the curse." You shudder. "Just get him something to wash it down."
Also, Suguru couldn't go back to his dorm after this. Suguru dissented because of his fractured relationship with everyone, not just with Satoru. You'd try to bridge the gap between him and his peers as much as you can. You go through Suguru's flip phone, asking Shoko if she wants to join the two.
When you're done with that, you snap the phone closed.
"Okay, I'm done here. You two have fun, okay?" You raise your hand.
Gojo just huffs, amused. "Sure sure. By the way, someone wanted to thank you."
You blink at that. "What?"
He shakes his head. "Don't worry about it."
He gives you a high-five, and then you're back in 2017 in your own body.
Temporarily. So far you figured out that you get sent back an hour before the night parade happens. 8:06. Considering you have a couple more minutes to kill before you’re killed, you reach into your pocket for that cigarette you’ve been craving. You pick the first out of the box, cherry burns just out of corner of your eye.
You notice things now. The children giggled to their parents. Old couples gingerly held hands with sweet smiles. You'd save them, but first, you need to save Suguru.
And do really do that, you'd have to save Riko.
Easier said than done. You could go back in time, but you can't really control when to go back in time. It's been random, but your trips are typically two days away from each other. You can work with that.
But in order to get to Riko's death, you'd have to die...a lot. Absorbing curses made Suguru lose his mind, but how well would you fare with dying over and over again?
"Hungry?"
Someone looms over you. A woman. She's pretty, with short hair and bangs. In her hand, she holds a bag of chips.
"The vending machine gave me an extra." She gives a laugh. She kind of sounds like you. "Would you like one?"
"Oh." You take it. "Thanks."
"Don't mention it." She trots off into the crowd. You watch her.
A stranger's act of kindness. She didn't even know what would happen to her soon. You grip the bag, it crinkles in your grasp.
It didn't matter how well you'd fare with dying over and over again. You'd get over it. So many innocent people depended on you. You can't just abandon them like this.
You're the kind of person who'll jump in front of a truck to save a kitten, right? It's aggravating how accurate he is, honestly.
The screams start up again, and you forgive Suguru.
ⴵ
It takes a few cycles to finally reach the day Amanai Riko is assassinated. Whenever you deem yourself too early, you often accompany Gojo on a mission and exorcise a special-grade curse. Your overall plan is working, bit by bit. Each time you return, Suguru's memories swarm you. Each curse he remembers as less painful.
It's why you get worried when you get there a little too late.
"Something wrong?" Riko asks.
You've stopped in the middle of the hallway, and of course, they're looking at you strangely. You know this place. Tengen's barrier is just an elevator ride away. Suguru, Riko, and Miss Kuroi were all almost there.
Fushiguro Toji has already arrived.
In the first timeline, Geto leads the girls all the way down to Tengen's barrier. He puts his trust in Gojo. Of course, he would. They're the strongest. And in the end, Gojo does kill Toji.
But the kill comes too late. Riko still dies, and the fracturing happens.
You thought you'd have more time. If you had arrived a bit earlier, you could have fought with Gojo, and the chances of defeating Toji would have significantly increased.
What do you do?
"What's the matter?" Miss Kuroi asks. She's supposed to die today, too.
"Sorry, ladies." You smile. "But I need to go back for him."
You don't answer their calls, running back up the hallway. The sun's bright, shimmering beautifully in the sky.
It contradicts the blood dripping all over the stone floor.
Gojo's lifeless body is draped across the rubble. It's a horrifying sight. Eyes that were once like the sky are just this empty blue. A dead sea. He isn't breathing. You know, if you touched his wrist, you wouldn't feel a heartbeat.
"Hate to break it to ya', but the Gojo kid's dead." Toji's right behind you. You can feel him grinning.
You know Gojo isn't dead. At least, he won't be dead for a while, but seeing the boy who used to tease you, annoy the shit out of you, laugh at you, be so....it made you freeze. Falter.
You were wasting time.
"Sorceror killer." You say after a minute. You almost can't bring yourself to turn, to look at him. The man who kills Gojo. The man who could've killed Suguru, but chose not to. "You certainly live up to your name."
Toji's grin widens. The only man in the world with zero cursed energy. It'd be awe-inspiring if it weren't so terrifying.
It's funny. You weren't afraid of dying, not anymore. You were afraid of failing. Failing when you were so close, when victory was just a blink away.
"The flyheads." You mention to the swarms of curses all around you. "That's really smart." It gives you an idea or two.
You have Suguru's memories, but they aren't always concrete. You just have snippets. A general idea of what happened within a certain event. It makes sense. Humans can't remember everything.
But regarding the memories of Suguru and Fushiguro, everything is crystal clear. It's almost like you were there when it happened.
It also means that you know Suguru, at this current level, won't be able to defeat Fushiguro.
But Suguru doesn't need to beat the sorcerer killer; he just needs to hold him off.
Currently, Suguru's body contains 368 curses: 3 special grades, 24 grade ones, 33 grade twos, 103 grade threes, and 205 fourth grades.
You release all 368 of them.
In another timeline, these curses would look to you as something to devour. Today, these curses have a new target.
It won't stop Fushiguro. You're not dumb enough to think that. But it should give you time. Hopefully, it'll be enough time.
Your knees hurt when you collapse next to the corpse. Gojo's so beautiful, even when he's dead.
"Gojo." You shake him. Nothing happens. "You need to wake up. Gojo."
Nothing happens. You don't know what caused Gojo to become the strongest, Suguru wasn't there. For once, you are blind to the past.
"Riko needs you. Wake up. You-you need to go and save her and Miss Kuroi."
His body's so cold, and you know he's dead because when you touch his skin, you don't wake up in the present. You push against his body, and he falls limply right back to place. You're sure this sight will haunt you for the rest of your life.
"Satoru." You beg. "It's Greeny. Please, please, please wake up."
Nothing happens.
Everything happens.
The brightest blue you've ever seen. It's heavenly. A glow that warms and chills your skin. It takes a while for you to see again. When you do, Satoru is standing.
Somehow, his eyes are even brighter. You don't think you're looking at a teenage boy anymore.
You're sitting in front of God.
"Greeny." he states, voice flat. "You're late."
You manage to smile.
"Sorry."
You’ve seen Satoru fight before. He’s always calm, body relaxed as he practically floats in the air. Those fights differed from Suguru’s memories—post Satoru’s awakening. There’s always this twinge of desperation. An aftertaste of bloodlust.
But seeing it for yourself is something else entirely. Even with Suguru’s heightened senses, you still can’t follow him. He’s barely a mirage. One milisecond you can see a blue flash, the next you see nothing.
It's barely a fight. Not this time around. Fushiguro is completely unmatched. There's a flash of purple. And then, it's over.
Fushiguro is in shambles. You didn't realize he was human until he started to bleed and shatter. Parentage over labor. It's sobering, in a way.
Satoru's mouth moves. You're too far away to hear anything. They stand there for a few more seconds until Fushiguro slumps. Then, he falls.
You wonder when you got so desensitized to death.
Gojo stands there. You should let him compress, but the clock is ticking. You need to do one more thing before you can let Suguru go.
"You need to go." You say when you're close to him. He doesn't acknowledge you. "Riko's about to enter Tengen's barrier."
He looks at you right then. His eyes. They're so bright, but they're strangely lifeless. Like he can't process you, your words.
"I can see you now," he says, "it was so foggy before, but now, you're crystal clear."
Six eyes look at you. You don't think you're hiding behind Suguru's face anymore.
You clear your throat.
"Gojo." You remind him. "Riko. You need to stop her."
He blinks back into focus, rising from his high.
"Oh," he says after a moment, "right."
You stop him before he can walk any further. You hold out your hand.
"You and Suguru."
For the first time in a while, Gojo hesitates to send you back. You wait a couple seconds longer.
"Yeah," he finally says.
His skin still feels cold.
ⴵ
This death is a lot more painful than the others.
The curse that's holding you is more intelligent than its predecessors. It keeps you alive, tearing at your skin, feasting on your flesh. Blood is everywhere. You scream until it rips out your vocal cords. It's almost a mercy to just die.
You forgive Suguru.
ⴵ
Time skips a lot faster now.
You stand in 2006, four months after the death of Fushiguro Toji. It takes a second for Geto's memories to kick in. What you see makes you nearly cry in relief.
Gojo and Geto made it in time. You can still remember the tears spilling down Riko's cheeks, the smile on her face when Geto asked her if she wanted to go back. They were safe. They were home, with each other.
You did it. You actually managed to pull it off.
But you can't celebrate, not yet. From what you can gather from Suguru's memories, Geto defects after four years. You've just held off the eventual.
It's nearly the middle of December. The air feels a bit chillier. You stay on that bench where Suguru once occupied. He was finishing his lunch. Usually, he'd eat with Satoru, but Satoru wasn't on campus these days.
Right, you weren't finished with your work, yet. There was still one other issue. Suguru went on missions alone these days. Swallowing curses, letting them fester and rot in his body. It's isolating and grueling work. You might have been able to help him with the absorption, but your aide won't be enough to prevent his eventual downfall.
You'll have to deal with his natural isolation. To do that, Suguru will have to make friends with people who aren't Satoru.
Suguru does have friends, but he's the closest to Satoru. Considering Satoru is getting busier each passing day, Suguru needs to broaden his horizons a bit.
It's a good thing this school is filled with such colorful characters.
Haibara and Nanami were sitting in the back of the school. From Geto's memories, their dynamic was interesting. Haibara was definitely more outgoing than the two, but Nanami seemed to have a good head on his shoulders. They looked out for each other, in that way.
Ah, Shoko was there, too. You haven't seen her since your first day. Her hair's grown longer. It lightly brushes her shoulders now. The cigarette in her hand burns a cherry red.
Your reaction is rooted in Suguru's instinct than anything on your part. You reach out, taking the cigarette and stomping on the embers.
"You shouldn't smoke in front of kids." You tell her, hoping she didn't read too much into your action.
Shoko scoffs, but to your satisfaction, she doesn't take out another one.
"We're just one year below you." Nanami retaliates, but he looks more at ease now that the cigarette's out.
"Did you finish lunch already, Geto?" Haibara asks kindly, then he takes a closer look. "Greeny?"
You suck air through your teeth, giving Haibara a scathing look. Instead of looking exasperated, Nanami looks confused.
"What's Greeny?" Nanami asks, and Haibara weakly laughs.
"It's-uh-my new nickname for the tree that's growing over there!" He wildly points to something just behind you. "'Cuz it's so...green!"
"Of course." You note the hint of affection laced within his tone.
"When'd you get back?" Haibara recovers with eagerness.
"Recently." You grin. "Nice to see you again."
"You saw him this morning," Nanami interjects, and you shrug. When he frowns, you know you pulled off a perfect Suguru impression.
Suguru melds into the conversation perfectly. Haibara says something funny, Shoko and Suguru agree, Nanami disagrees. It's a lovely little cycle that ends when Nanami grumbles and picks himself up to go. Shoko starts to follow suit when you stop her.
"Your hair's nice." You tell her.
She hums, grabbing a strand to study it. You can see hints of dark circles beginning to form under her eyes. She looked livelier when you first met her. Curses have been popping up left and right since Fushiguro's death. Everyone is overworked, but Shoko looks like she's getting the brunt of it. She's one of the only people who can use RCT on others, and there aren't many healers on her level. All of the strongests share one thing in common it seems.
"Pretty soon, it'll be longer than yours," Shoko replies. You smile in response.
"Where are you going?" You ask.
"Dorm," she replies, "I'm behind on paperwork."
You had a feeling she always was. You gave a look of sympathy, but misery loves company.
"I have some work too," You 'remember' the piles of papers lodged on Suguru's desk, "Maybe we can do it together later. The cafe right next to campus? It'll be my treat."
She looks at Suguru. Her eyes are a pretty color.
"Sure." She shrugs. "see you then."
You feel your heart thump twice in your chest and decide that your work here is done.
Haibara stares at Shoko's disappearing back. The forehead flick comes from both you and Suguru.
"That hurt." Haibara whines.
Good, you inwardly think.
"Sorry." You tell him. He rubs his head, and you wonder if this is how kicking a puppy feels like.
Luckily for you, Haibara recovers quickly.
"You've been gone for a while." Haibara tilts his head. "What happened?"
You can't exactly control your technique, it's more like it has a mind of its own, placing you exactly where you need to be placed. Instead of answering, you sigh, leaning against the wall.
"Timeline gimmicks." You tell him tiredly. "It's hard to explain." He frowns, but he takes it as an answer.
"Do you know when Gojo's coming back?" You ask. "I think it's time for me to go back again."
In previous time travels, you and Haibara tried to see if any physical contact would be enough to send you back. No matter how many times you two high-fived, shook hands, or even held hands. Nothing worked. Only Gojo Satoru could activate your technique. It must have something to do with the amount of cursed energy another person has.
“He should be getting back later this evening.” Haibara muses. “But I’ll be happy to keep you company!”
It's nice to hear him chatter. If you'd let him, he'd go one and one. But you like hearing him talk about his sister. Apparently, she’s also a sorcerer, and his affection for her makes you smile.
"You remind me a lot of her, actually." He tells you. "Even though, y'know, you're a man." It's enough to get a laugh out of you.
“Do you have anyone in your family who can see curses?” Haibaracasks.
“No,” you answer honestly, “at least, not that I can tell. My dad never spoke of curses or strange powers when I was growing up.”
You think he would have said something; after all, you two were too close to have secrets from each other. Your father was a single man, who took to raising you himself after your mother passed away. He often said you had her laugh.
“Maybe you’re one of a kind,” Haibara suggests.
You agree with him.
Gojo finds you before you can find him. He comes up to you with a grin and a wave.
“Hey, long time.”
His sunglasses are tilted down. You can see his eyes. They’ve lost the mania he had in his fight with Fushiguro. You’re relieved at that. You still can’t shake off that strange thing he said to you.
Wordlessly, you raise your hand. Satoru frowned.
“You wanna leave so soon? You just got here.”
“I’ve been here for hours,” you tell him, “also, you aren’t very concerned that someone is using your best friend’s body as a puppet.”
“He’s been through worse,” Satoru tells you off with a wave. Some friend.
“Let’s go to the arcade,” he suggests.
“Do that with Suguru.” You tell him. “I’m not hanging out with a high schooler.”
“Right right, my bad. I keep forgetting you’re an old man, Greeny.”
“22 is not old,” you say with exasperation, “didn’t your birthday just pass? You’re just five years away. I’ll see your attitude change, then.”
He grows quiet. You feel like you messed up somewhere.
“How did you know about my birthday?”
Fuck, you keep forgetting about keeping Suguru’s memories a secret. It takes everything within you to just relax.
“Haibara told me,” you say, “blabbermouth. You know him.”
“Oh.” Gojo replies. “Huh.”
You shuffle your feet. Distantly, you wonder what shoe size Suguru wears.
“How did your mission go?”
“Horrible,” he’s instantly back to his usual self, whiny and complaint, “and the curse was so ugly too. It was oozing goo everywhere.”
You frown. “Sounds gross. But you won, right?”
He doesn’t even answer. You secretly admire his sheer confidence. You certainly weren’t that when you were at his age.
“How’s Amanai and Miss Kuroi?” You ask.
“Safe.” He tells you. “The higher-ups weren’t really happy with us after that; pretty sure all these sudden missions are punishments.” He frowns. “But they’re fine. Miss Kuroi officially adopted her, so she’s a Kuroi now, too.”
You smiled. You already knew all that, but it’s nice to hear it.
“You saved them,” he says.
You laugh, “I didn’t do a thing.” You tell him. “You and Suguru did all the heavy lifting. I just caused some property damage.”
“You did.” He replies. “I don’t know how, but things always manage to work out whenever you’re around.”
You don’t like how he phrases that, but you don’t react.
“You think so? Maybe I’m lucky.” It’s supposed to be a joke of some kind. Neither of you laugh.
“You really don’t know us in the future?” He asks.
Maybe you should’ve asked Shoko if you could have a cigarette.
“I really didn't,” you say, “Honest, I—I have no idea what’s happening. I’m just as lost as you. Hopefully, I can figure out how to control my technique, and you won’t have to see me again.”
You never stopped feeling guilty for doing this to Suguru. Controlling him. Forcing him to laugh with his friends, make decisions based on your feelings rather than his. But you’re so close. You promise yourself that once you fix everything, you’ll never cause someone this much pain again. No matter how many times they kill you.
Satoru’s fists tighten. He looks even more upset at your response.
“That’s not what I—” He cuts himself off. You wait. Satoru says nothing more.
“You’re annoying.” He tells you in the end. It’s clean and cut, but it sounds like him. More confident, less wavery. “And stupid too.”
You can’t help but smile.
“Thank you. Am I done entertaining you now? Can I go?” He grumbles, holding up his hand.
“Yeah, sure, Greeny.”
ⴵ
You forgive Suguru.
ⴵ
Something’s wrong.
You can feel it. Something’s wrong.
You look through Geto’s memories. There’s nothing. Everything’s going as it should be. Everything looks perfect. Then, why do you feel so wrong?
Currently, Suguru was finishing excorcising a curse. You absorb it, swallowing down the remnant like it’s a pile of rusted nails but even the disgusting taste isn’t enough to wash away the feeling of dread.
The walls of the hospital was empty. The auxillary managers had already cleared everyone out by the time Suguru had walked in. Maybe it was the silence that added to your stress?
You walk out. Nothing changes. One of the managers comes up to you with a clipboard.
“The curse was exorcised.” Suguru tells them. “It wasn’t first grade, it was special grade. It was still disposed of.”
He curses, scribbling something down on his clipboard.
“The wrong information again.” He hisses to himself. “If we keep doing this, someone will die. We need more people, we’re way too stretched out.”
Those words are familiar. Hold on.
“Wait, what day is it?” You ask the frazzled-looking manager.
Offhandedly, he responds. He says the date so casually, and yet his mere words feel like a bear trap, tightening on your leg.
No. You should have had more time. Why weren’t you given more time?
Nanami and Haibara have probably already been dispatched. You go through Suguru’s phone, finding Haibara’s contact. It doesn’t go through. Nanami doesn’t pick up either.
You won’t make it in time. Even using Suguru’s curses, you won’t be able to reach them until it’s too late. Suguru’s memory of that day is muddled and dark, but Haibara’s dead corpse laying on the examination table. The pieces of him that Nanami could bring back.
You wouldn’t be fast enough.
He picks up on the second ring.
“...What’s up?”
“It’s Haibara.” You spit the words out as fast as you can. “Satoru, you need to go and get him right now, he isn’t going to make it—”
“—Greeny?” The exhaustion in Gojo’s voice is gone. You can hear something rustle behind him.
“Satoru, listen to me.” You beg. “Haibara and Nanami were just dispatched on a mission, but Yu isn’t going to survive it. It wasn’t a second-grade curse; it was a first grade. Please, you have to go and save him before it kills him.”
It’s silent. It feels like hours have passed when you know it’s just three seconds.
“We’ll talk later, Greeny.” The line clicks.
You’ve lost the trust of the strongest.
ⴵ
The future has changed when you get to campus. Haibara’s status is still alive. Barely. But he’s still there. Shoko’s currently taking care of him.
Nanami remains quiet the entire time since he returned with Haibara’s battered body. The only thing you can think of to offer comfort is to pat his shoulder. He barely even registers it. It’s more for you than for him. You’re self-soothing, taking care of something else, so you don’t have to recognize your own panic.
If Haibara dies, right here, on this day, everything can change. Everything can go back to the way it was in your original timeline. Haibara, with his sunshine, smiles, and bright eyes. His death is so important, and you can’t even think of him right now.
Gojo Satoru knows you’ve been deceiving him.
This is bad. So very bad. If he starts to suspect that you know more than you let on, he might deem you enough of a threat to kill, regardless of whether or not you’re in Suguru’s body. It’s not like that hasn’t stopped him before.
Gojo Satoru is selfless. He’s selfless enough to kill his best friend, if he thinks it will save everyone.
But if Gojo kills Geto here and now, would that really be bad?
You’d lose your path to the past, but the threat to your life would be over. Even if you did die in Suguru’s body, at least the people of Tokyo will be spared the Death Parade. You’ll still get what you want. And it will be much easier than your current plan.
Nanami shuffles behind you and you instantly snap out of it. That wasn’t you. It couldn’t have been you. That same lack of apathy when Fushiguro died in front of you.
It seems like dying over and over again caused you to lose bits of your humanity.
Shoko comes out. Nanami stands up, a tall ball of nervous energy. Shoko removes her mask. Her dark circles have grown even more prominent. She’s only 17.
“He’s still alive.” Nanami sags. “But he isn’t responsive. I’ve done all that I can.”
She looks at Nanami, and then she can’t anymore.
“I’m sorry.”
“Don’t,” Nanami rasps, the most emotion you’ve ever seen from him, “don’t apologize. It was my fault. I should’ve taken better care of him.”
You swallow. It wasn’t his fault, you wish you could tell him that it was yours.
You wonder what Haibara’s younger sister looked like. A spitting image of him, perhaps. Shorter. Darker hair, bigger eyes. Their smiles would look identical. What would she look like when she’s told her brother died doing the profession he forbade her from doing?
You can’t do that to her. You can’t be the reason she loses her brother the second time.
You’re not sure if a God is even out there. How could there be? What kind of entity would do something like this to you? Still, you sit on that bench, right outside the room where Haibara’s body lay, and you pray for a God.
Gojo’s footsteps stop right in front of you.
It’s hard to get the words out. For a minute, he just stands there.
“Did you exorcise it?” You finally ask.
“Yeah.”
You lift your head up to look at him. Even in his school uniform, he’s regal to look at. Like a warrior of the sun, blessed by the moon, sent to vanquish beasts and monsters.
Now, his blood-soaked sword is pointed at you.
Make it quick. You can only think. Just make it quick.
“Not here.” You say.
Nanami was still shaking. Shoko was right beside him. So you stand, you drag yourself away from Haibara’s fading presence, and Gojo follows behind.
It shouldn’t be this pretty outside. The sun is bright, and the sky is clear. There should be rain. Enough rain to drown the Earth.
“I figured out your technique a while ago, y’know.” You don’t look at him. You can’t. “Dying. Death activates your technique. Each time you die, you’re sent back 12 years in the past.”
You grip the fabric of your uniform until your knuckles turn white. Satoru’s cruel enough to continue.
“But I never got why your soul kept possessing Suguru’s body. It always felt kinda’ random. Unless he was the one who was killing you. Over and over again.”
“Gojo. Stop.” You beg.
“That’s how your CT works. Every time you’re murdered, you go back in time so you can kill them when they’re at their most emotionally vulnerable moment. It’s a pretty powerful technique, all things considered. I might not even stand a chance against it. Assisted suicide, never expected that from you of all people.
But you never do. Each time Suguru kills you, you just come back and try to save him and everyone else your hands can reach. I can’t get why you did that.”
He steps in front of you so you can see him. The God that he is.
“Let’s cut the shit, Greeny. Tell me what future is so bad you’re willing to die over and over again to prevent it.”
The worst outcome you could have ever thought of was standing right in front of you.
Satoru was demanding to know his future.
And...you couldn’t.
You’re taking in a shaky breath. It’s not enough oxygen. The sky was close to crumbling, and you still couldn’t breathe.
“There’s nothing to know.” You try. “There’s nothing, I’m fixing it—”
“—by Suguru killing you, or is this considering killing yourself, now?”
“You don’t understand.” Your voice is cracking, so high-pitched that even Suguru’s vocal cords can’t keep up. “You don’t get it. You can’t.”
“Then help me understand.” His voice is as ragged as yours, he steps closer, you step back. “Tell me why my friend would do something like this to someone.”
It clicks right then. Satoru’s anger isn’t directed at you.
No, it’s directed at Suguru.
It’s even worse than you thought.
“He—he was better than me. He was supposed to be the best out of all of us. I wanna deny it all that I can but—but I can see the proof right here in front of me. And—And I don’t—” His voice breaks too much to continue.
You’re breaking, too. How many times have you been doing this, over and over again? All alone, with no one to support you. To comfort you.
The words are right there, threatening to bubble out. It’d be so easy to tell Satoru everything.
And maybe you would’ve, but then you looked at him.
Despite how disingenuous Satoru acted, you knew he was kind. The kindest person you’ve ever met. He’d sit there and listen, and he’d break every bone in his body to help. That’s just how he was.
Satoru was selfless, he was selfless enough to kill his best friend here and now if it meant he’d save the millions in Tokyo.
You can’t put another burden on the strongest.
You can’t do that to a kid.
“It—it isn’t him.” You manage to spit out. “He isn’t doing it on purpose. It’s not his fault.
It’s the curses. They were too much for him; they overtook his body. Suguru couldn’t control them anymore.”
He says nothing. It’s like you’ve put a spell on Gojo somehow, freezing him in place. Satoru can’t do anything but stare at the talking puppet that’s his best friend.
“He lost so many people.” You continue. “Riko, Miss Kuroi, Haibara. He couldn’t take it. It was too much. His body succumbed to the curses, and they took over Shinjuku. That’s how I keep...”
It’s okay to lie like this, you justify to yourself. Because the Suguru, you know—the one with fake smiles, beady eyes, and a broken expression—isn’t the one that Satoru knows. They’re two completely different people. Years—timelines—apart from each other. They aren’t the same.
Even then, you forgave both Sugurus a lifetime ago.
You’d get on your knees if you know that would make a difference. You’d plead and beg and cry if it would get Satoru to drop it. In the end, you can only stare at him.
“All I’m asking is that you trust me.” You whisper. “Believe that I’m making this right. Please, Satoru?”
His eyes. You can’t tell what he’s thinking. He’s gone quiet and dull. The same look he had when he fully awakened his technique. The day he became God.
But he’s not a God. God’s don’t cry.
He leans ever so closely until his head rests on your shoulder. His body shakes.
“You’ll save him, right?” He asks. Gone, is his aura of confidence and resilience. He’s nothing more than a shell. If you feel something stain Suguru’s uniform, you say nothing about it.
You smile anyway.
“I will.” You tell the truth. “I will save him.”
You think of something morbidly funny.
“I’ll die trying.”
His shoulders shake with quiet, genuine laughter, the kind that’s wet and sticks to the top of your mouth.
“That’s fucked up, Greeny.” He whispers.
You hum, reaching up to pat him on the back. It takes another minute before he gathers himself up. His eyes are shiny. Satoru blinks it away.
“Haibara will be okay.” He says with such conviction. “I’ll take care of him. I’ll take care of Suguru, too.”
He doesn’t get it, not yet. He doesn’t understand that Shoko and Satoru and Haibara and Nanami need him. He’ll get it soon, though. You managed to put Suguru on the right path.
For now, it’s all you can do.
“I know you will.”
He scoffs, right then.
“You’re really annoying, you know that? Next time, don’t piss me off like that. Just tell it to me straight.”
Rely on me. Lean on me.
“I’m sorry,” you say and you truly are, “I won’t leave you in the dark from now on. I guess I just forgot that I had a friend in 2006.”
His eyes get a little brighter. “It’s actually 2007—”
“Shut up.” He laughs and it sounds like him again.
You reach out your hand and his grin fades, the tiniest bit. He mirrors you, regardless.
This time, you hesitate.
“You should learn how to be selfish every once in a while.” You tell him. “I won’t fault you if you’re selfish. I don’t think anyone will.
He doesn’t answer that, but his touch is finally warm.
ⴵ
It hurts. It hurts so much. Blood seeps into the pavement. You can hear the curse laughing. It sounds like him.
You forgive Suguru.
ⴵ
It’s today.
You can feel it. You don’t even have to look at the date to know.
The catalyst for December 24th, 2017.
Suguru’s already dressed. You’re currently standing in front of a shotty mirror, watching your reflection.
He looks tired. His smile’s a bit muted. You notice a scar you hadn’t seen before. An unregistered special grade curse, Suguru’s memory gives.
He’s different from when you saw him a year ago, but there’s still a spark in his eye. You cling to that hope, as hard as you can.
You step out of the room. It isn’t Suguru’s. He’d rented accommodations with an older woman and her son for the mission. Their place smelled like home. It made your stomach turn.
She smiles when she sees you coming down stairs. She looks kind; she has the eyes of a mother. You’ll never understand how a person who raised children could do something like this to another.
“Mr. Geto.” She chirps. “I’m so glad you’re awake! Would you like anything to eat?”
“No, I’m fine.” Better get this done sooner than later. “I should be heading back now, anyways.”
Suguru had already absorbed the curse tormenting the village last night. You can feel the sticky aftertaste in your mouth. He should have left the village yesterday, but the people were insistent he stayed one last day as thanks, feeding him all they could.
Now, it’s obvious that it was a way to butter him up for today.
Her smile grows a bit nervous. She shuffles her feet a bit.
“If it isn't too much.” She starts. “The head of our village asked if you could look at something.” Her eyes darken into disgust.
You fight to keep your smile.
“Of course. Please, lead the way.”
It’s worse than you ever could have imagined.
You’ve seen this play out so many times in Suguru’s memories. He reminisces about this moment a lot. Because of that, you knew this scene too, like the back of your hand.
And yet, seeing two children huddled together on the floor. Nothing could prepare you for that.
The village head is saying something. The woman who Suguru roomed with is yelling at the scared kids, but you can’t hear any of that.
Their clothes were dirty and ripped. Their cheeks were hollow, and they looked like they hadn’t eaten for days. Himiko’s eye looks swollen.
The twins.
The first time you saw them, they stepped aside and let Geto kill you. There’s something oddly poetic about you being on the other side.
They tremble as they continue to look at you, flinch whenever that woman raises her voice. They must think Suguru’s here to kill them.
They’re too young to think like that. They’re too young to see the horrors of this world so soon.
It’s a mistake to look towards the end of their cell. Dirty water and dog food.
How could a human do this to them? How could a mother do this to them?
You feel red. It coarses through your blood, your veins, your soul. It feels like there’s lava right underneath your skin. Shuddering, tittering anger.
There’s more than enough fire to burn down an entire village.
‘Suguru,’ you think to your companion, your tormentor, ‘I think I’m starting to get it now.’
You reach for the bars of the cell. The twins shrink away.
“Ah! Mr. Geto, you musn’t get too close to them—”
“I’ll take them.”
“What?” The head of the village asks.
“The children.” You straighten yourself up. “I’ll take them off your hands.”
It’s pointless to do anything to these people. They’re delusional enough to think that they’re in the right. By torturing these children, they’re protecting their own. It’s fear. That’s all it ever was. Even without a curse, it’ll fester on and on until this village is nothing but abandoned homes. There’s no point to punish these people any further.
If you look at the adults a bit too long, you’re afraid of what you’d do, even without Suguru’s interference. Instead, you focus on Himiko and Nanako, looking into their wary gazes. Their hands are so tiny. You could protect them with your own.
When you got out of this backward village, you’d find them something to eat.
ⴵ
You go to Shoko first.
She looks surprised to see the twins. You can’t imagine why. Still, her voice is calm when she speaks to them, setting both of them up in the clinic room. Since you got them into the car, Nanako and Himiko seemed to calm down. Himiko even told you the name of her doll.
A little while later, Yaga comes for a visit. He’s the principal now. Usually, his voice is filled with gruff, but he’s oddly gentle when he speaks to them. Nanako cracks a shy smile.
You can’t escape the ‘we’ll talk later’ look he gives you. Inwardly, you sympathize with Suguru. But a harsh lecture is better than being branded a murderer.
He hasn’t come by, yet. With the twins aided for, you decide to go find him yourself.
Walking through campus feels a little nostalgic. The grounds of the infamous jujutsu technical college are a bright green. It’s summer again. You’ve met so many colorful characters since your time here. You’ve only seen snippets, mere seconds of their lives, and yet it feels like an entire lifetime.
He’s sitting on a bench when you finally see him, nursing a drink. He doesn’t acknowledge you. You have to roll your eyes at his childish behavior, plopping down beside him.
“Hey.” You say first.
“Heard you adopted two kids,” Satoru says, “Never thought Suguru would be a teen mom, but here we are.”
You laugh, light and breathless. The sky is so pretty today.
“I don’t think he’d have it any other way, personally.” You respond.
He reminisces on your words.
“This happened before too?” He asked.
It did. It was a lot less of a happy ending, however.
“Yeah,” you say regardless, “he took good care of them last time. He’ll do the same in this timeline too. I’m sure of it.”
And this time, he’d have help. Shoko, Satoru, his teachers. They’d all be there for him. Suguru’s memories haven’t changed yet, but you know the future you step into will be a different one.
“In any case, I’m glad I got to see jujutsu tech one last time. It’s a beautiful campus.”
“You act like you’re leaving,” Satoru says, uncaring. “You’ll just come back again next month. Or next year.”
You play with your fingers.
“I...won’t be doing that from now on.”
He pauses. Then, he looks at you.
“What?”
You can’t gauge his reaction, but he doesn’t look happy. You find this a bit hard to swallow.
“I fixed the future.” You smile at him. “I finally did it. Suguru won’t break. Himiko and Nanako won’t lose their father. You won’t lose a friend, anymore. There’s no reason for me to keep coming back. You’re all free.”
You phrased the last part as a joke, but Satoru isn’t laughing.
“Wait, you’re leaving? You’re...leaving leaving.”
You nod. “I can’t believe it either.” You still can’t believe you accomplished everything you set out to do. A task that seemed so impossible, now you’re standing on the other side of it.
It wasn’t truly over. Not really, but you were able to get Suguru through the worst of it. Now, you were sure Satoru and Shoko would take up your mantel, pushing Suguru through the finish line. Just like he’ll do to them.
Satoru’s quiet.
“You seem happy.” He notes.
“Well, I did just save everyone, I think I deserve to feel a little good about myself.”
For a moment, you want to ask if it’ll be okay to visit everyone in the future. To see how Shoko and Suguru and Satoru are doing as adults. You stop yourself. Of course, they wouldn’t want to see you. You needed to stop being so greedy.
This, was more than enough.
“Will you at least tell me your name?” Satoru asks.
“You know I can’t do that.” You tell him with a smile.
“Right right.” He laughs, it sounds hollow. “Time travel, bullshit. Makes sense.”
“I’ll miss you.” You tell him.
He straightens himself up.
“I’ll miss you too, old man.” He responds. “You were a lotta’ fun to mess with.”
For once, you aren’t offended by the old man’, comment. If anything, it feels somber.
“Can I ask for some advice?” He suddenly asks. “Y’know what they say, ask the old and wise or whatever.” Okay, now he was starting to push it.
“What is it?”
It’s his turn to shuffle with his fingers.
“What would you do if...there’s something you really want, but no matter how fast you run, you just can’t catch up to it?”
You glance at him. He looks earnest. Did something like that even exist for Satoru?
“Something I can’t catch up to?” You ponder out loud. “I guess I’d have to make a big enough ruckus to where it has no choice but to look back.”
He frowns. “That makes no sense. You’re growing senile.”
You laugh. You’ll miss this brat.
You wish you could stay more. You wish you could ask about Haibara, and Shoko, and Nanami, but the clock is ticking.
Suguru’s getting impatient.
“Bye, Satoru.” You reach out your hand.
He scrutinizes it, before clasping it within his own.
“Yeah, Greeny.”
Within a blink, you’re back again in the middle of Shinjuku. December 24th, 7:06 pm.
It’s the same as always. People bustle around you. Children’s laughter. Everything always repeats itself, but you don’t think you can ever get sick of it. You’ll savor this peace for as long as you can.
You reach into your pocket, flicking out a lighter and the first cigarette of the box. You don’t know why you always chose this one. Despite outmaneuvering time itself, perhaps it’s within human nature to follow what’s written stone.
You’ve relived this hour so many times that you can list everything that happens. Down to the exact minute. 7:08- a little girl wearing a red dress walks by. 7:09- a lady with short hair catches your eyes and smiles. 7:14-an old man and woman bicker with each other as they pass you by. 7:21- A little dog sniffs the bench you sit on. 7:34- Two schoolchildren run past you, babbling. 7:45- five construction workers grumble out their grievances. 7:58- a businessman talks loudly on the phone.
You wait. You sit on a bench and wait until 8:06.
Five seconds after 8:06. Twenty seconds after 8:06.
The clock clicks to 8:07.
You were expecting to feel something else. Celebration. Elation. You half-expected to cause a scene and jump for joy right there in the streets of Shinjuku.
None of that comes. There’s just a feeling of relief. A weight presses you down, and you slump in your seat.
It was over.
It was finally over.
How long do you stay like that? Hours? Days? When you feel like you can finally breathe again, it’s only 8:12. Time travel warped your sense of time.
You stand up, stretch, feel your bones crack and pop. In the second timeline, you wanted to get a drink to drown your misery of nearly getting killed by a curse and being alone on December 24th. It felt like a lifetime ago when being single was the worst of your problems.
Honestly, you’d stay celibate for the rest of your life if it meant you wouldn’t have to go through that ever again.
Tomorrow, you’ll decompress and devolve into hysteria over what happened.
Next week, you’ll check yourself into therapy.
Today, you decide to go home and sleep for a couple hundred years.
You must look like a zombie with the way you wobble down the street. Physically, your body is perfectly fine. You’ve suffered no bruises or cuts. Even the numerous times you’ve been killed leaves nothing on your skin.
Mentally, you’re in shambles. The indomitable human spirit within you is snuffed out.
The stairs to your flat is your last enemy that you must vanquish before you can reunite with your adoring bed. You cling onto the railing with dazed eyes. You don’t see the curse until you’re right before it.
Distantly, you wonder how often you’ve passed a curse and didn’t even realize it. It’s almost instinct to reach out with your hand, intent on absorbing it.
Nothing happens. You remember you aren’t Suguru anymore.
It’s a grotesque-looking thing. No eyes, too many hands, a gaping mouth. It turns and looks at you.
Strange. Its’ smile mirrors the one in the abandoned house.
Adrenaline. You feel it coarse through your veins, meld into your bones, explode in your skin. You’re stumbling back, nearly tripping down the steps in your haste to get away.
It screeches. Loud and clear and angry and you can almost feel its teeth chomp on your leg, ripping your muscles and skin to mere tatters.
You’ve died before. You’ve been skinned alive before. You’ve been eaten before. Yet, it all amounts to nothing compared to the fear you feel at the thought of the curse catching you.
It can’t have been nothing more than a third grade. If you were taller, larger, special-grade, you could have killed it immediately. But you weren’t, not anymore, you were at the same level as a plant. Useless. Helpless.
A dead man stumbling, tripping, running.
The streets were quiet. You supposed that meant there’d be fewer casualties. But it didn’t make you feel any better. And even if there were people around, no one would have been able to help you.
Your brain isn’t working as clearly. Fear is the only thing that guides you. You’re reduced to a rat scampering through a maze. Sooner or later, that rodent reaches a dead end.
The alleyway was blocked off. You felt the rough brick wall scrape your hands and even the feeling of your raw skin couldn’t assuage your heart pumping in your throat. When you whirled your head back, it was right there, and you knew you were dead.
Again.
It might kill you, if it’s feeling generous. It might cut your legs off and watch you bleed, if its feeling kind. It might eat you, if it’s a decent curse.
It shouldn’t be happening. You fixed it. You were supposed to have fixed everything. But clearly you didn't. There must have been some piece of the puzzle that you forgot. You need to go back. You need to fix things, but why do you need to why can't he just leave you alone—
You don’t see what happens. One moment, the curse is there. The next it isn’t.
“Those things are so annoying.” The newcomer complains.
No, not new. You know him.
You blink. He grins. It’s kind. A toothy smile that warms.
“You alright?” He asks in sympathy. “Curses are pretty scary, aren’t they? Are you hurt?”
It’s him. You weren’t in 2006. You were in the present, here and now, and he was here with you.
He actually made it.
“Ma’am?” He asks.
It wasn’t intentional. You just blurted it out, the promise you made to him. It was a decade for him. Mere hours for you.
“Um, broccoli head...?” And then you instantly regret it.
Haibara Yu takes a minute, eyes squinting like you just grew a new head.
Then, he gasps.
“Greeny?”
ⴵ
A few minutes later, you’re seated at a restaurant. Haibara has not shut up.
“—I—I can’t believe it? It’s actually you! I thought I’d never see you again ‘cuz Gojo said you weren’t gonna be around anymore, and—and then suddenly you pop up outta’ nowhere—not that I’m complaining— but—”
“—Haibara.” You interrupt. “Please, slow down.”
He stops himself, right when the server comes with drinks. He shoots the waiter a smile, and then he’s back on you.
“Sorry.” He scratches the back of his neck. “I—I got a little excited. And nervous. It’s just...well, I didn’t expect you to be a girl.”
That might have been your fault. Both Haibara and Gojo kept referring to you as a man, so you decided to roll with it. Earlier, you would have justified it by insisting the less they know about you, the better. Now, you just think you were being petty.
“So, how you’ve been? A whole decade...” You murmur to yourself.
“Fine! But what about you?” Haibara asks, concern etched into his eyes. “Where’d you go?”
Wow, he was actually worried for you. Despite being in Suguru’s body, you didn’t really feel like part of the group Shoko, Gojo, Nanami, and Haibara were part of. You felt like an outsider, being somewhere you didn’t belong. It's because you were an outsider. Nevertheless, it’s nice to know one person missed you.
“This might be a little hard to believe, but I just came back to 2017 two hours ago.”
Haibara gapes.
“Wait, so to you, that whole thing happened, today?” You nod. He leans back in his chair.
“Holy fuck.” You laugh at his awe.
“Thanks for saving me, by the way.” You change the topic. “From the curse.”
He waves it off. “I was just paying my debt. From what you did for me all those years ago.”
Ah, Gojo must have told him. Oddly enough, Haibara doesn't seem all that perturbed that he shouldn’t exist currently. At the same time, it feels just like Haibara.
He’s different from when he was younger. Taller. The baby fat is gone. His face is more built, just like the rest of his body. His eyes are less round, but they haven’t lost the spark. A few scars here and there, but he’s all in one piece.
You weren’t able to see what he looked like as an adult from Suguru’s memories, he’d never grown up. But now, you can see it for yourself. You can see the active change you made in his life, to his life.
“Haibara—”
“Yu—” He says seriously. “My friends call me Yu.”
A smile twitches on your lips.
“Tell me about everyone.” You scoot your chair closer. “You, Suguru. How is everyone doing?”
He perks up at that, clearly delighted to be talking.
“Great! Everyone’s doing great! You should totally come visit the school, sometime. They’d love to see you. Uh, even if they don’t technically know you, but I’m sure they’ll love to meet you!” He rambles, and it’s nice to know he hasn’t changed from his younger self.
“Let’s see, Kento’s teaching the first years. I teach the second years—”
“—You’re a teacher?”
He nods. “We all are! Except for Shoko, but she has her own thing going on. Anyway, Mimiko and Nanako have become second-grade semi-sorcerors. Isn’t that incredible? I’m just a first grade semi-sorceror, and at their young ages too! But Suguru wasn’t surprised, he kept saying his girls were prodigies. Oh! You probably want to know about Suguru too, right?”
You nod. Even if you hadn’t done anything, you don’t think that would have stopped his enthusiasm.
“He’s a teacher too! At least, for right now. Yaga’s been wanting to retire, and there have been talks of Suguru becoming the next principal. Principal Geto has a ring to it, right? Oh, and Shoko is currently planning the wedding. You’ll definitely be invited, of course! She said I could bring a plus-one. Oh, and—”
It goes on like that for hours, you think. Not that you mind. You listen to Yu babble on and on about his friends, his students. He talks about Nanami’s recent baking addiction, Shoko’s new office cat, Suguru’s favorite tea pot. It’s a never-ending surge of information.
Eventually, you catch on to the fact that he’s deliberately leaving someone out.
"Yu?" You interrupt him while he's talking about the prank the fourth year pulled on Nanami. "What about Satoru? What's he up to?"
Maybe you were overthinking things. Haibara likes to talk; perhaps he forgot to exclude someone else's story in his rants. But then, he grimaces. For the first time in this entire conversation, Haibara is reluctant to talk.
"Satoru is..." He winces, and your hands turn into fists.
No. No. You were supposed to save everyone. Why hadn't you saved everyone?
A warm hand grips your own. You'd been shaking.
Yu gives a soft smile, and you remember he's no longer younger than you.
"He's not dead." He assures you, but his smile fades. He straightens himself up, and his hand pulls away.
"Satoru defected from Jujutsu tech. We don't know where he is."
What? You must have misheard him wrong. Satoru wouldn't do that. That's not like him. This is some sick joke.
But there's no teasing grin on Haibara. His face is grave. You hate it more than anything.
"It happened when he was a fourth year. No one really knows what happened. Suguru refuses to say anything about it, but I think he's just as confused as the rest of us. It came outta nowhere."
Yeah, it definitely came out of nowhere. It's so random. Why would Satoru do that? The last time you saw him, he was so happy. He was smiling; he teased you. What happened? It made no sense.
"So, you haven't seen him for nine years?" You ask. "Not even a glimpse?"
Yu shakes his head. "Nothing but his residuals. That's how we know he's still alive."
Nothing computes in your brain. None of it made any sense. You saved Suguru. That was supposed to make everyone happy, including Satoru. Why would he turn around and do this? Defecting made no sense.
"We've actually been tasked to execute him. Since he’s been branded a curse user, all four of us. " Yu laughs with no humor. "Isn't that insane? I don't think any one of us could even fathom doing that, even if it were possible."
It wasn't possible. Gojo was the strongest. Nothing could go toe to toe with him. Once he put his mind to something, no one could stop him.
But maybe you could.
You're shutting that idea down immediately. You were done. You were done with dying and time-travel and strange powers. You wanted it all to be over. It'd be so easy to thank Haibara for the nice meal, to go home and sleep this entire day off. Satoru dug his own grave, he can go lay in it. You weren't responsible for someone else's actions. You wouldn’t. You can’t do that another time.
You're the kind of person who'll jump in front of a truck to save a kitten, right?
You hate that brat so much.
You close your eyes. Take in a breath. Then, you open them.
"Haibara?" You ask. "Did Gojo tell you how my technique worked?"
He shakes his head. You grimace because convincing him might take a while.
"Okay, well, I'll need you to do a tiny favor for me."
ⴵ
"What the fuck is wrong with you?"
"Oh, you're back already?" Satoru says casually, turning back to gaze at you. "I just left today. How did you convince Haibara to snap your neck? That guy cries after killing a mosquito.”
You’d caught him just as he was leaving campus. Yu’s body was less athletic than Suguru’s. Your breath was slightly ragged, pulled down by minor exhaustion.
It doesn’t weigh down your frustration for Gojo Satoru. The biggest pain in your ass you’ve ever met.
“Shut up.” You snap. “Just answer the question.”
“We haven’t seen each other for a year and that’s how you react?” Satoru ignores you. “That’s mean, Greeny. How ‘bout we discuss my treason over steak. Haibara can pay.”
“Satoru.” You beg, “Why are you doing this? What’s the point? Why is everyone happy with their life except for you?”
That seems to get him. His posture stiffens ever so slightly. You can see him work his jaw. He finally drops his act.
“You didn’t have to come back, y’know.” He murmurs quietly. “You could’ve just stayed in the future. Like you said, Greeny, everyone’s happy with their life. 4 outta’ five. That’s a passing grade.”
For once, you wish you could possess him. You wished you could open his brain and peer into his memories until he finally made sense.
“I could never leave you behind like that.” You say the truth just as quietly. “I’ll die a thousand more deaths than do that.”
He smiles. It looks genuine as it looks painful.
“Yeah, I know. I know you, Greeny. Always gotta’ play hero.” He gives a bitter laugh. “That’s why I defected.”
You stare at him. He’s a fourth-year now, even taller than before. You aren’t equal to him anymore in this body, now you’re starting to think you never were.
“Satoru.” You start because what he’s saying can’t be the truth. Your heart broke and broke. “Did—did you leave—did you leave everyone for a decade just so I’d come back? Why would you do that to yourself?”
He doesn’t say anything. Then, he steps forward, just a bit.
“It’s your fault,” Satoru says like it’s instinct to blame you for his actions, “this was your idea.”
What’s he talking about? And then memories of the two of you sitting on that bench just outside of campus.
What would you do if...there’s something you really want, but no matter how fast you run, you just can’t catch up to it? So that’s what he meant. You were an idiot.
“That’s not fair, Satoru,” you say regardless, “I—I never—I couldn’t expect you’d do this.”
“What choice did I fucking have, Greeny?” There’s rapid steps and he’s in front of you, desperate and wild. “You—you just left me here. You left me alone and I couldn’t even look for you because I know nothing about you. Your face, your eyes, your hair, not even your fucking name! How’s that fair?”
It’s true. It’s all true. As much as you tried to claim you tried to make everyone happy, you only focused on Suguru. And Suguru’s happiness enlisted space from the strongest. In a different timeline, things would be different between them. A button he never left behind. Words Satoru never said. That timeline held too much pain and suffering, so you scrubbed it from history. In this rendition, everything was changed. Suguru had Shoko. Yu had Kento. Who did Satoru have?
You saved Suguru in this timeline. But to save him, you neglected Satoru.
Satoru must have known. He must have known you intentionally distanced Suguru from him, but he allowed it anyway. Satoru’s selfless like that. Too giving. Too Godlike.
But he’s selfish too. Purposefully demeaning himself so he could get one more glimpse of you, uncaring if you went through hell for his sake. Too taking. Too human.
Once, you told him that if he was selfish, just once, you wouldn’t fault him. What a liar you are.
You forgive Satoru.
“I’m sorry.” Haibara’s voice is like your own. You step closer. His infinity lets you in. “I’m sorry Satoru. I didn’t mean to leave you alone.”
It’s hard to wrap him in a hug. The brat’s too big. He sinks into your touch like a tiger, filled with dangerous claws, retracted just for your sake. He shakes the tiniest bit; even now, he’s keeping himself as a pinnacle. If you hear a sniffle or two, you don’t comment on it.
It’s why your heart breaks to tell him the truth.
“I can’t give you my name.” You whisper in his ear. He pulls back. He doesn’t look at you.
“Yeah, I know. I know. time-travel bullshit—”
“For now.” You add. “I can’t do that for now.”
Three pairs of eyes look at you. You’re not hiding behind Haibara anymore. You’re not trying to.
“December 24th, 2017. 8:06. Tokyo Skytree.” You look at him. “Can you wait until then?”
For you, it’d only be an hour. For Satoru, it’d be a decade.
You expect him to reject it, to yell at you. You decide if he wants to be selfish; you’d let him.
“If you don’t show up, I’ll turn evil.” You laugh. His grin widens and he’s back again. “I’m serious. I’ll take over the world. I’ll throw the biggest temper tantrum ever.”
“You’re such a brat.” There’s no hostility in your tone. “I will. I promise.”
‘I’ll save you,’ You promise in your head because he’s too prideful to hear it.
“Is it still possible for you to go back?” You ask, the wariness present again. “The higher ups haven’t taken any action against you, right?”
He shakes his head.
“I think Yaga might yell at me, but other than that.” He shrugs. “They’ll decide it’s teen rebellion and sweep it under the rug.”
You laugh again. Satoru shoots you a toothy grin.
When you reach out a hand, Satoru mirrors you. He clasps your hand in his. For once, you wonder how they’ll feel on your own.
“See ya’ later, Greeny.”
A blink. Satoru’s gone. Your hand is empty, and you’re standing in the streets of Shinjuku once again.
ⴵ
December 24th, 2017. 8:06, at the top of the Tokyo Skytree.
Why did you decide on that date and time for all the places? You were so fucking stupid. You needed to stop being so poetic.
It’s already 7:12 when you’re desperately waving down a taxi. The driver looks disinterested when you blubber out the location. When he tells you it’ll cost extra because Sumida City isn’t part of his route, you’re more than happy to fork over the money.
It’s already 7:35 when you stumble through the interiors of Tokyo Skytree town. It’s crowded. Fuck, it’s December 24th, of course people would be out and about.
At 7:44, you finally reach the observational building. And then you hit upon a snag.
It’s closed.
Renovations, the sign reads, accompanied by an irritatingly cute drawing of a cat, please come visit us next week.
Would this excuse be enough to satisfy Satoru? You’re only human. Surely he’d understand if you couldn’t make it because the entire building was shut down.
Or wait. Was this Satoru’s doing?
You look up at the tower. Lights were still on and flickering. No crowds. No people. No prying eyes.
Let it be known that you’ve never trespassed before, until you met Gojo Satoru.
With a guilty conscious, you step over the line. You justify it by convincing yourself you were saving the world because you know Satoru wasn’t joking a decade ago.
The elevators still worked. Thank God. Yet another hint he’s paving the way for you. You made the location, but it feels like you’re a mouse stuck in a human-designed maze. Even though you set up the game, he’s still managed to rig it.
You land on the first deck at 7:52. At 7:56, you reach the second observational deck.
It’s empty. You’ve never seen the skytree so empty before. Not a single soul is here except for you. Your footsteps echo across the floor. Were you early?
Out the corner of your eye, there’s a post-it note stuck on the window. A hand-drawn arrow. Up ahead, there’s another one.
You follow the next, and then the next. All the time you don’t know how to feel about him doing all of this just for an encounter. Something bubbles in your stomach. You’re pushing it down.
You follow the post-its until there’s one placed right on top of a door.
Authorized personnel only. Why does this brat continue to test you?
But it’s already 8:03; you’re far too deep to complain.
A service elevator greets you. If you press the button, it’ll take you all the way up to the broadcast equipment, the top of the Tokyo Skytree.
It’s different from the past two elevator rides. The service elevator isn’t all that polished. The wheels squeak a little too dangerously at times. It’s slower, too.
That’s bad, because now you’re starting to think.
That familiar feeling boils within your stomach, again. You’re anxious. It’s strange to say, but meeting Satoru through Suguru, meeting Satoru through Yu, it felt like you had a protective shell around yourself. You were free from his judgement, only invoking curiosity.
If you show yourself to him, how would he react? What would he say? Would he get angry that you made him wait a decade for such a blunder? Even worse, what if he doesn’t get angry?
What if—what if he’s disappointed by you?
Cold feet. It freezes your toes. You want to go back. You want the elevator to go back down, you want to go home and hide away.
But you promised Satoru. He deserves answers.
Pathetic answers are better than no answers at all.
Instead of your soul being protected by a sorcerer's body, it’s protected by your own. You’d steel yourself for whatever comes next. You could melt after.
It’s windy up here. That’s the first thing you notice. Icy wind cuts at your face and your eyes squint so they don’t dry out so quickly. It’s colder, too; your jacket is nice protection, but nothing helps your vulnerable hands.
But the view. Oh, what a view.
The sea of twinkling lights shines from the city. The sun has set, leaving Tokyo to do nothing but shine. She’s gorgeous like she’s picked the stars from the sky, burying them within her own soul. You could stay there forever, if she let you.
It’s 8:09. Satoru was late.
Or maybe he just wasn’t planning to show up.
You lean away from the railing. It’s just like him to make huge gestures and at the last moment, ditch everything. The balloon in your lungs deflates ever so slightly.
And then, you can feel hands.
Around your shoulders, caging you in. Large and warm despite the icy air. You know these hands. They’re familiar, even a decade later. His chest presses up against your back. His face settles in the crook of your neck.
His laugh tickles your ear, and you aren’t so cold anymore.
“Caught ya, Greeny.”
(“Did something happen to you, back there in the house?”
"Hm?" Suguru asked.
They were wading through long grass and overgrown weeds. Satoru glances at his friend. Suguru looks fine. His cursed energy has gone back to normal. That's probably good.
"You were just acting weird," Satoru said, "I mean you fell on your ass in front of a curse. Embarrassing."
Suguru huffed, a red hue across his cheeks. "Shut up, don't remind me."
'So he remembered,' Satoru thinks, 'didn't expect that.'
They're almost to the car when Suguru speaks again.
"Actually, I did feel a little strange," he says, "I felt like I wasn't really all there. There was this voice, guiding me along."
"Really?" Satoru shivers. "That sounds creepy."
So the entity within Suguru was a bad thing after all. He should try to get rid of it if it ever comes back. It might take a complex spell or something-
"Not really." Suguru said. "It's hard to explain, but it felt....nice."
Hi hi hi does any one has any recs for satosugu x reader where they make her feel left out or something similar where reader doesnt feel included as much and feel they are only with her out of compulsion or something can be a happy ending or not i just wanna have some hurt 🫠
summary: it's time to audition for the nfl cheerleaders! and you're absolutely fucking shitting it, you profusely debating if you even have what it takes to earn a shining glimmering spot at one of the nfl's most prestigious cheer teams. but while you're stuck wondering if you're enough for it... megumi is stuck wanting to be enough for you throughout this time, desperately wanting to give back for the immensely sweet support you have given him throughout his baseball career, and trying his absolute best to be there for you and be a pillar of aid to your anxiety filled little self.
warnings: MDNI. afab!reader, cursing, FLUFFF AFF YALL ALR KNOW, sexual themes, nsfw, SMUT hallelujah, p in v sex, unprotected sex (wrap it y'all), creampie mmm, LOVESICK megumi, DOMINANT megumi he's so rough yum, JEALOUS megumi oh my oh my, filthy dirty talk, barely any angst, grinding, mentions of drinking and alcohol, mentions of inebriation, pet names, mentions of injury, all characters are aged up, mentions of reader having ‘pink cheeks’ is only to amplify and over-exaggerate feelings of embarrassment, shyness, and everything in between, and not to be taken literally! this is a work of fiction, and you can imagine many things for yourself :)
word count: 10.7k
authors note: WELCOME TO PART TWOOOOOO thank you so much for still reading !!! :,))) i was literally fighting this app so hard bc i did NAWWTT wanna split this hoe into two parts <//3 but it won y'all... OH WELLL I LOVE YOU SOOO MUCHHHH MWAHHHH!!! <333 cutie heart divider by @/sisterlucifergraphics !!
i highly advise you to read the other parts of this series or else you won’t be able to understand some of the storyline and references :( you can find my mlb!megumi fushiguro masterlist here!
PART ONE of this fic is available here! please read that first :)
your football team ended up badly losing their homecoming game, and the result of that sent a rigid crack through the team’s reputation and down the path of your chances at getting to dance for the superbowl... but none of that really mattered to you besides the sympathy you felt for your new found friend yuta.
not as megumi gently wiped your tear stained cheeks, staying with you until you were okay enough to go back out there and finish off for the day, and definitely not as you spotted several fans recognizing and timidly walking up to megumi with crumbled up papers and pens asking for an autograph, little kids in particular ecstatic each time they saw him nod an accept— expressionless as he signed baseball cards and anything of the like, but you knowing deep down that your man was glad to do it. no matter how many times he was asked as you walked side by side back to the cheerleader’s locker rooms.
megumi's reputation and image had changed drastically ever since you came into his life, and he had come to realize more and more of that with every new baseball jersey or bobblehead he signed, as he once lived a life where he turned a gloomy eye to it all and simply didn’t.
“i’ll call you in once the girls are gone, okay?” you smiled sweetly at him from just outside the locker room double doors, him nodding and bending to plant a quick kiss to your head.
“okay.”
“there’s a lounge area just around the corner you three can go hang—”
“y/n!”
the two of you stopped and turned your bodies around, megumi’s brows furrowing upon seeing it was the same football player from before, sweaty and with a wobbly grin on his face as he beckoned you over from just a few feet away.
again? the fuck did he want with you so much?
you excitedly waved and stepped out, about to go over when you felt an arm sneak around your waist to gently pull you back, you faltering in the process and blinking up at megumi as he held your body to his.
“what happened gumi?”
he shrugged a little.
“nothing.”
you cutely tilted your head in confusion, and megumi felt guilt resurface in his chest once again.
but it quickly faded once his gaze flickered up to the football player— casually leaning against the wall and waiting for you without a care in the world.
did he not see that you were with him? that you were holding a bouquet of tulips that he obviously gave you?
“baby.” you rubbed a comforting palm up and down his chest, willing him to look at you again. “you’re tense what's wrong?”
“who is that.” you followed his eyes and looked behind you.
“oh! my new friend!” you smiled. “that's yuta he plays for the team we cheer for.”
“does he.”
“mhm! he’s super nice i met him back on the first day of auditions.”
shock crossed his face and he flicked his gaze back to you.
“auditions?”
so he’d been following you around for like— two months?
“uh huh! i got lost and he was sweet enough to help me find my way—”
he was sweet.
“y/n!”
your best friend poked her head out from the locker room doors.
“if you’re gonna talk to okkotsu do it fast babe, the coaches are calling us in for final announcements.”
megumi's focus stayed glued to your girl friend as you sputtered out hurried phrases and speedily kissed his cheek before bounding off, his eyes narrowing into slits at her smug little knowing look.
“you know okkotsu?” he asked.
“i sure do!” she cheesed. “why?”
“what does he want with her.”
she snickered, feigning innocence as she shrugged.
“beats me! maybe to ask her out?”
megumi's face dropped.
“i’m kidding! god you have jealousy issues...” she muttered, waving him off. “he’s a nice guy relax. they're just friends.”
as much as he wanted to listen to that and let it go... it was shamefully hard for him to.
and not at all because he didn’t trust you, because he did with everything he had and more... he just didn’t trust anyone else. much less a man who kept patting you on the shoulder and squirming under your kind gaze every time he conversated with you.
“my megumi... must be hard having to deal with a football version of ino now!”
the sudden twitching of his limbs and suppressed thundering fury made her reel over in a cackling fit, arms clutching her stomach as she pointed at him with glazed over eyes, megumi trying his best not to lose his shit over her annoying teasing and let it affect him too much.
because though he knew she was just trying to get a rise out of him... the possibility of that being true was very much fucking there, except this time he couldn’t personally be there himself like with ino to shoo him off any time he noticed him being freaking stupid.
“you’re— you’re too easy dude!” she deeply sighed and wiped at the corners of her eyes. “megumi do you really think that i wouldn’t bark and growl at any guy who tried it with her?”
he looked away with a tight jaw.
“you think i'd just let them flirt away and make her uncomfortable? knowing how you also get with anyone who even breathes down her neck?” she shook her head. “you keep it in well but god damn sometimes i feel like you’re about to kill every man alive. hypothetically... i think...”
megumi fidgeted. “no i don’t.”
she snorted, placing her hand on the locker room door handle and giving him a pointed look. “as much as you piss me off, i keep her safe in your stead megumi... so don’t worry while she’s here.”
his gaze slowly trailed back to her, feeling awkward and weird that your best friend was being somewhat decent for once with her reassurance.
“thanks.”
he watched as she gave him a singular nod and slipped inside, leaving him with his thoughts for a few moments before he started taking steps forward to walk up to you.
except he was reeled back and put in a stuffy headlock.
“oh god megs...” satoru breathed out. “i gotta get home my tummy hurts...”
megumi rolled his eyes, perching his dark shades up over his head.
“it’s because of all that shit you ate from the concession stand.” he grumbled. “you went back like four times for popcorn.”
“kettle corn meggy. kettle corn.” he hopelessly whined. “daddy gojo loves his kettle corn...”
megumi's face twisted in disgust. “don’t call yourself that how many times do i have to tell you.”
“because it’s who i am! accept me. accept who the ladies love.”
“what ladies.” he mumbled. “you scare all of them off every time you talk about your crystals.”
a little gasp broke through and they stopped.
“satoru are you okay?” you worriedly asked, megumi just now realizing you had ended your conversation with yuta and returned to him, hurriedly placing the back of your hand on his dad’s forehead. “you look so sick oh my goodness—”
“i am sick sweets!” he cried out, looping his arms over you instead and burying you in his chest. “i ate too much kettle corn... and megs is being mean to me about it.”
megumi's eyes widened. “no the fuck i'm not—”
you giggled and patted his trembling back. “you should go home and rest satoru! give your stomach a break from sweets for a little until you feel better, okay?”
he sniffled, nodding as he pulled back with a frown. “i’m really sorry i can’t stay and hangout sweetheart... i’m an old man...”
you quickly shook your head side to side in a panic. “no oh my god don’t be! thank you so so much for coming out to see me today.” you stepped forward and wrapped him up in another kind hug. “it meant the world to me satoru.”
“awww don’t make me cry now!” he grinned. “how could i not with an achievement like this? i wouldn’t miss it for anything y/n... and i'm sure there’ll be many more i'll have the privilege of witnessing right? so long as you’ll have me with megs?”
your heart warmed and throbbed as you nodded, looking up and locking with his icy blue gaze.
“of course! forever!” you beamed, and satoru gushed.
“awwwwuuhhh megumi i just can’t believe how you found such a sweet little thing!” he grabbed your shoulders and pushed you forward, showcasing you to a blinking megumi. “just look at her! an educated woman and a cheerleader?! the sun and the moon, the tide and the shore oh! who would’ve thought?!--”
megumi stared at you amidst of gojo’s hyperactive nonsensical blubbering... and he smiled, a soft and slow pearly one as it spread across his lips and made your heart beat a tad bit faster, your own big doe eyes savoring how at peace he looked in this moment as he held his hand out for you, you unable to simply look away from the rarity of it all as you questioned what he was thinking about that got him like this.
megumi was always proud of you.
and he hoped that you knew that as he watched yuji and your best friend carefully help a sickly staggering satoru out of the stadium doors at the end of the night, and as he patiently waited for you to call him into the locker room once the area had entirely cleared out, and again as he tracked your movements whilst you packed up, you happily chatting away about the events of today and the things you got to experience, him sat on a nearby stool— absorbing every word with ease.
he hoped that his pride for you was something you never ever had to question.
he hoped that he was being good for you.
“the coaches did tell us we’re getting a good three weeks off though!” you excitedly explained, megumi amusedly watching you try to stuff down a bunch of your things into your already overflowing suitcase. “that should— be enough time for me to— fuck— get caught up on homework—”
“you need help baby?” he stood from the stool and walked over, his hands splaying out over the surface of your suitcase and pushing down a little, attempting to make it easier for you to zip it up.
“i think... there might be too much in it.”
“nonsense gumi.” you hopped up and practically body slammed yourself on top of it, your designated vanity table shaking and a few of your products clattering about as you fumbled for the zipper. “i just needa— flatten it out and i should be good to—”
your elbow slipped from trying to force it and you fell back flat on your suitcase, a frustrated groan ripping through your throat as you huffed and stared up at the ceiling with your arms laid out, megumi pursing his lips to suppress his laughter.
“it doesn’t fit pretty baby.” he spoke. “let me take some things out.”
“that’s so funny because i’ve literally said the same about your cock and you never listen when i tell you to take it out—”
his jaw dropped and you set off into a fit of giggles, propping yourself up by the elbows to look at him better as he diverted his gaze away, the tips of his ears turning pink.
“very funny.” he mumbled, attempting not to look at how pillowy your godly tits looked in your top.
but you noticed that... a devious smirk stretching across your face with an even more devious plan forming in your horny stinky brain.
“yeah?” you murmured, tilting your head and playing with the very knot in your top that held your chest so well together. “you think i'm funny gumi?”
megumi picked up on the change of your voice quick, as he knew you often used it during the moments he had you spread so nice underneath him and stuffed full.
it was even sweeter and softer than what you already sounded like... and dear god was he sick in the fucking head over it, wholeheartedly believing you could get him to do anything with it.
“m— mhm.” he shakily hummed, you nearly laughing at how much he tried to avoid making eye contact with you.
you knew he wouldn't actually try to do anything with you here if it resulted in the chances of you getting in trouble, though you felt it was unfair seeing as he always freaking pinned you down and stripped you bare whenever you found yourselves alone in his locker room after practices or games, murmuring and buttering you up to let him feel you for just a little while.
so after what was weeks of him blue balling you for reasons that were endearing yet ridiculous... you felt like doing the next best thing!
giving him blue balls.
“you’re so far from me gumi.”
his dilated eyes moved to yours. “hm?”
you hooked a finger through his belt loop and tugged him closer, him stumbling a little as his hands caught himself on either sides of you on your vanity table.
“what?” you whispered gently, your other hand leisurely sliding up the fabric of his jacket and around his neck, both of your hands working together to press him further against your body, elated by the feeling of his forming bulge flush against your bare stomach.
“you don’t wanna be close to me?” you pouted.
jesus christ.
your noses brushed against each others, megumi’s unsteady breath fanning over your face as you looked at him through your fluttering lashes.
“you know that’s not true...” he murmured, half lidded dazed eyes trailing over your stunning features, his lips slowly moving down to graze over your soft cheek. “far from it.”
“then how come you don’t touch me anymore?” you faked a cute sulky expression, and it made megumi’s chest clench. “makes me think you’re getting tired of me.”
he slowly shook his head, pressing tiny repeating kisses to your cheek in the hopes of conveying that that was in fact the most bullshit thing he had ever heard come out of your mouth.
maybe he should just fill it to get you to understand—
fuck.
he couldn’t do that to you. at least not until tomorrow night if he— if he could get you to just be patient for one more night so you could rest today after being all over the place since four in the morning—
but your body just looked so insane in your uniform, and it was hard for him to think or consider anything rational while he had your silky skin pressed all up on him.
“my tits feel kinda tight in this gumi.” you pouted once more, letting go of his belt loop to then squeeze at your boob, megumi sucking a sharp breath in. “can you help me get it off please?”
“baby—”
you pulled at the loose blue fabric of your knot, and he watched it slide itself halfway undone before he quickly reached and caught your wrist, his dick feeling agonizingly heavy in his pants now as he held eye contact with you.
“i promise you if you wait until tomorrow i'll fuck you however many times you want—”
“you’ve been telling me that for weeks.” you mumbled, hand slipping out of his trembling grip and down to the buckle of his belt, pulling just the top strap free from the loops of his jeans. “propaganda i say...”
he snorted and humorously rolled his eyes, you letting out a few quiet giggles yourself as you tilted your head, pretty mischievous eyes glinting up at him, studying him and leaning in to delicately graze your lips over his.
“do you miss the way i feel?” you hotly whispered, the way you played and toyed with his loose belt strap nearly making him shudder. “i bet you do... it’s all soft and warm and empty without you to stretch me out gumi...”
god—
megumi swallowed the lump in his throat, scrambling at random straws in his mind to grant him the will to fucking look away from how sexy and bratty and erotic you were being with him, taunting him in the best ways you knew how just to rile him up and get him to cave.
and megumi was afraid to face the fact that he was already a goner, for your efforts were working from the moment he saw you in your full uniform at the start of the homecoming game.
scratch that— since the moment he stupidly swore celibacy from your perfect cunt.
“baby.”
your gaze flickered to his.
“yeah?”
“you have a filthy mouth.”
you giggled, a melody so cruel that it made his cock twitch— already so swollen and agitated that he didn’t think he’d ever experienced anything this torturous in his god damn life.
he hated being away from you. he hated not being inside of you.
megumi was so backed up and desperate and pent up... and he was starting to forget what compelled him to do this in the first place.
“because it hurts gumi.” you dramatically sighed and suddenly flipped over on your stomach, elbows still on the suitcase as you hauled the strap of his belt from behind you and drew his clothed hard on straight against the plush of your ass, megumi’s jaw hanging with blown out eyes.
you arched your back a little, perching yourself to rub up on him a tiny bit, each grind causing him to leak a little more and make a sticky mess in the inside of his pants.
“and i think your dick hurts a little too... right?” you looked at him from over your shoulder, the sweetest expression on your face that completely contrasted the absolute filth that was coming out of your pretty mouth.
god your mouth he missed it so much...
“i promise i'll be good if you just slip the tip in—”
megumi ripped his glasses from his head and chucked them on the table, your eyes widening slightly at the loud clattering as he grabbed your hips and rutted against your ass.
there was absolutely no way he was fucking you in your cheer team’s locker room you could— you could get in trouble and he wouldn’t be able to live with himself knowing that it was his fault.
but... could... he?
“what are you doing pretty baby.” he breathed out, chest pumping and head hung low as he rolled his hips against the annoying fabric of your shorts, the belt strap tight in your grasp and you leaving zero room or option for him to go elsewhere.
not that he would ever want to. he'd be a fucking idiot.
“loving on you.” you grinned, tilting your head back to pepper tiny cutesy kisses to the angle of his jaw, megumi feeling his throat close up with each drag of your precious lips as he screwed his eyes shut.
“i— i can love on you tomorrow night.” he panted, licking over his lips and continuing to rock. “please baby i swear on everything that i will. i just— don't want you getting in trouble n’ i want you to sleep—”
“but i don't wanna wait.” you pouted. “i’m all soft and wet now—”
fuck fuck fuck—
maybe if he just... pushed the tip in and made it quick. just like you said. right?
but unbeknownst to you, you had no idea of your boyfriend’s internal bargaining that was borderline teetering over the lines of giving in and giving you what you wanted, you wholeheartedly thinking with your entire chest that megumi would stick by his decision and remain in one piece, fully expecting for him to just press a kiss to the back of your head and pull his hard on away from you, gentle and sweet with his words to get you to pack up for the day and wait until tomorrow. just like you’d planned for all along.
megumi was levelheaded, reasonable, and calculated in situations that warranted it.
so when you let go of his belt strap— fingers slipping from the smooth leather material and helping yourself to stand up straight, you expected nothing of anything, ready to finally go back to his apartment.
“s’okay gumi! i get it no worries.”
you stuttered a bit then in remembrance of something, megumi silently watching your kind eyes darting around the room, his mind slowly coming back down from the intoxication of everything that was you, granting him a sliver of resolution of the situation.
and thank god, because he knew he’d feel remorseful and guilty for splitting you open at this hour and place—
“have you seen my phone baby? i wanna text yuta and make sure he’s okay—”
you felt him grip your hips then and shove you back down over the table, your hands splaying out in front of you for stability as your chest pressed flush against the surface of your suitcase.
“who the fuck is yuta okkotsu really?” he breathed deeply through his nostrils. “the one you keep talking to.”
“g— gumi?—”
you squirmed under his hold and you felt him roughly press his dick further on your ass in response, hard.
“you making me compete baby?”
“no!” you quickly shook your head, watching him through the mirror as he kept his head hung low, spiky bangs over his eyes with a ragged chest. “he’s— he’s just a friend i swear! it's not like that—”
“yeah? but you said he’s sweet.”
you only ever called him sweet.
since when did okkotsu receive that same right?
megumi worked his hips against the pillows of your ass, the tips of his fingers slowly inching to hook underneath the waistband of your white shorts, you going still.
holy fuck.
“thought i was the only sweet one for you...” he mumbled. “i don’t think this is very fair.”
“baby i promise you that yuta is good!— he— eeeeeeek!—”
you had attempted to straighten up a little to face him properly, to try and explain yourself and convey that your new football friend was positively nothing for him to fret over, when he pushed you back down and loomed his entire upper body over yours— front pressed to your back and his mouth nudging against your ear with heated breaths.
his mind was clouded again, except this time worse, completely fogged over and jammed with the thought of you giving someone else the time of your precious day, being sugary and polite when he disgracefully only ever wanted you to be that way with him.
and since that was the very thing that made him fall in love with you in the first place amongst other things, megumi was more than well aware that the same thing, the same effect, could happen with some other knucklehead.
it happened with ino. and whether it was because megumi hadn’t fucked you in god knows how long, or because the strain in his pants was painfully unbearable whilst he had you under him— so beautiful and pouty and worried over him... or because the memory of ino nearly kissing you was like a broken record in his mind, or because he was terrified of losing you once again to someone who seemed nicer than he was, better for you...
it made him completely unethical and blinded. shamefully acting out his repressed jealousy that he damned your best friend for being somewhat right about.
and he felt so much guilt for making you feel bad over something that wasn’t your fault at all...
so much so that he wanted to fuck it all better.
fuck okkotsu out of you.
“i don’t trust him.” he huffed in your ear, yanking your shorts and panties down to reveal the plush of your bare ass, eliciting a choked gasp from you as your cheeks burned a bright pink.
he snickered boyishly at that.
“cute.”
“g— gumi hold on—” he pushed his face further into your hair, your heart beating out of your freaking chest as you felt his fingers slowly graze over your skin, down to your soaked shuddery cunt. “yuta likes the— the photographer! he likes her not me i promise i just give him a lot of advice—”
“yeah? well he’s full of shit.” he spat, standing upright to then deliver a harsh smack to your ass cheek, your little yelp doing wonders on him and tenfold on you, the ache in between your legs embarrassing as you felt your own wet slick slowly dribbling down your inner thighs. “for all we know he could be lying to you pretty baby... to get you to talk to him and get you to be all sweet with him... he’s a stupid fuck.”
he delivered another sharp smack and you whined, tears prickling the corners of your eyes.
“i’m— i'm sorry gumi!” you sniffled. “i never wanna make you upset...”
his heart throbbed at that, leaning back over you to press a sloppy open mouthed kiss to your warm cheek, kneading at the reddened skin of your ass to soothe the sting.
“oh it’s not you baby... it's never you.” he took a small nibble at your cheek then, and you bit your lip to try and suppress another needy whine. “always such a nice little thing...”
he pressed another mushy kiss to your cheek before standing straight again, one hand holding you down by the small of your back as he started unbuckling the remainder of his belt.
your breath hitched, adrenaline and want shooting to your core.
was he actually going to fuck you here? now? the one place you swore up and down that he would never even consider, the sole reason as to why you decided to play a little slut for fun in the first place just so you could get to see him a little worked up?
but you had no idea of anyone’s whereabouts you— you had no idea if the door was locked or if management was going to pop in at any moment to do final sweeps—
“w— wait gumi—”
“hm?”
you heard his belt buckle clink, eyes shooting to the mirror in front and seeing him pull his swollen cock out, the tip glistening and already seeping with dribbles of cum as he gave it a few slow pumps, his own flat gaze dragging up to meet yours in the reflection, your thighs subconsciously clenching together over his targeting dead stare.
you felt like he was going to swallow you whole.
“i don’t know if it's a good idea for— for us to do it here—”
“don’t care.” you felt him line his tip with your puffy folds, and you mewled.
dear god dear god—
“but— but maybe!—”
“i’ll just do the tip... yeah?” he murmured, his entranced eyes locked on his tip spreading his leaked cum all over your cute slit. “just like you said baby...”
you gnawed at your bottom lip in thought.
just... the tip would be fine, right? it'd be quick and nice and barely a mess...
you slowly looked over your shoulder, timid doe eyes peaking up at him so lovely that it almost made him cum on the spot.
“just the tip?” you asked softly, and he quickly nodded, leaning down to press another sweet lingering kiss to the side of your head.
“just the tip. i promise.” he spoke in your hair. “i just wanna feel you around me for a little bit... i miss you baby.”
you nodded in a haze, ditzy and thoughts filled with how good it’d feel to have him stretch you out again.
“o— okay.” you licked your lips. “but just the tip gumi.”
megumi was a selfish man.
because just the tip turned into him secretly pushing in more inches little by little, both your desperate heaving moans filling the room as he gradually milked his cock inside of you, shuddering with each drag of his hips as he felt your soft gummy walls once more after being away for so long, your high pitched little whining spurring him on.
a delicious particular stretch made your eyes widen as you felt him bottom out completely inside you, breaking you from his dick spell and your head whipping around to see his toned pelvis flush against your ass, a vicing grip cemented on your hips.
“gumi we— hah— we can’t—”
he drew his hips back and gave one singular slam, a choked gasp tumbling through your throat.
“n’why not.” he mumbled, drawing back again to repeat his hard pistoning over and over as you jerked against the table, the rest of your makeup products and perfumes clattering about with you gripping on your suitcase, straining to keep yourself sane and not moan your whore heart out to how good he was fucking you.
“b— because—”
you couldn’t even speak or think straight about anything as he rammed his cock, completely overstimulated already, your eyes rolling to the back of your head as you heard how responsive and loud megumi was being— moaning and groaning and panting for breaths while he focused on ruining you and making you a mess.
he laughed then, squeaky as he shoved the suitcase off to the side and you gasped, landing on your stomach— forearms to the table keeping you upright as he reached, gently moving your hair away to reveal your neck.
“what’s wrong baby?” he huffed, leaning over and delicately ghosting his lips by your temple. “can’t even get it out can you? too fuckin’ stupid on my cock huh? needing me to make it better...”
his tone was sickly sweet and tender, you hiccupping and whining in reply as he opened his mouth and bit down on your neck, giving it a rough slimy suck after that made you clench around him hard and squirm in his hold.
“fuck yes squeeze me just like that—”
he splat his open palm to the mirror, fingers spread wide as he moved his other hand to grab at your shoulder, pinning you down as he picked up speed and split you the fuck open, his tip hitting your cervix with every single pounding— your slushy cunt gushing all over his cock and making a sticky mess that drove him insane.
“you’ve been begging for my cock all fucking month, teasing me—”
megumi moved his hand from your shoulder to grip at your face, cheeks squished in his fingers as he pulled your head straight back and made you look directly at him from an upside down view.
“—making me suffer while you had fun acting like a cute slut around my apartment, n’ you expect me to give a shit about getting caught?”
his eyes were crazed, blown out and hungry as he thrusted inside your squelching pussy, his state of mind entirely lost in your warm walls and pretty fucked out face under him.
“i think you owe me a little sorry hm?” he tilted his head. “for all the times you had me fisting my dick in the bathroom from everything you were doing to me?”
“i’m— s— sorry!” you sobbed, and he grinned, looming closer as you bounced.
“for what pretty baby.” he panted. “tell me exactly what you did.”
“for— for being a slut!—”
god he was so deep.
“uh huh.” he breathed out, his eyelids fluttering shut as he moved to push his face into your cheek. “and you know what else?”
megumi suddenly engulfed your upper body and yanked you up into his arms, you squealing in the process as your back firmly pressed against his front, hips jack hammering into you and your brain utterly dumb over him as he caged you in an embrace.
“tell your pathetic okkotsu that i don’t fucking share.”
you were seeing stars at this point, breaths caught in your throat as megumi continued to spew utter obscenities into your hair, his grip on you so pleasurably tight, almost as if he was afraid of you going away that he needed to suffice it by bullying your cervix with his fat tip instead, drawing mewls and chokes from you that you were certain could be heard from outside the locker room to whoever happened to pass by.
“m’gonna cum gumi!—”
he shook his head. “ask nicely— pant— you know better.”
“can— can i please please cum gumi i need it so bad i can’t— i want it—”
your babbles made him groan into your neck.
“you feel so fucking good.” he puffed. “can’t believe i didn’t stuff my girl for so long... made her forget all about me and— god— go for some football player who can’t take his eyes off her tits.”
you hiccupped. “but that’s— not true!”
“it’s not?” megumi hummed, on the brink of draining his balls straight into your sloshing loud cunt. “of course its not... you love me, right?”
you frantically nodded. “hic!— so much!”
“and you need me...” he continued to drill his cock deep inside of you, your moist damp bodies sticking together as you jolted. “yes pretty? forever?”
“mhm! yes yes forever!” you vigorously nodded, a sudden sharp high squeal ripping through your throat as a prickling numbing washed over your limbs, vision going white as your pussy drooled and came all over him through your babbles, the intense clench you had around him making megumi moan and hips stutter in rhythm, body tensing as he gave you one final slam and stilled his pounding hips.
you heaved in his arms, shuddering at the familiar feeling of his warm oozing cum spurting ropes and claiming rightful space, you completely sensitive and fucked out and thankful for it.
he panted and swallowed, the snug hold he had around you slowly loosening as his batted breaths fanned against the side of your sweaty cheek, his head coming down to tiredly kiss and rest on yours, the two of you desperately trying to let air back into your lungs as you slumped against each other.
“you okay gumi?” you breathed out, chest rising and falling, craning your head a little to get a look at him.
he nodded in a haze, brows pinching slightly through closed eyes.
“why’re you asking me baby...” he licked over his lips, lids languidly drawing open to lock on your pretty dewy face.
you pouted.
“are you really bothered by yuta?” you asked softly, fingers lifting to tenderly run through the spikes of his damp hair. “because if there’s anything i can do to make it better i'll do it.”
he quickly shook his head, firm as he stood a little straighter and fought through the dream that it was to let his cock stay nestled in your pussy, slowly drawing his hips back to carefully slip out and let you get comfortable while he put himself away.
“no absolutely not.” he whispered, helping in slipping your lacey panties back over the sticky puddle he made, shorts following after. “s’okay pretty girl i know... you’re allowed to have friends its okay. i don’t have a say in that.”
megumi was a sucker for letting his little pitiful jealousy out when it came to splitting you open and crying on his dick, but he vowed to never let it bleed through any other aspect of your life with him. it was unacceptable and unfair to you otherwise.
that wasn't to say at all though that he liked nor trusted okkotsu still.
until further notice he supposed...
you shifted to face him, a sweet little grin on your face as you clutched on his shirt and gently pulled him down for a kiss.
“as long as you’re okay gumi!” you smiled. “but i do mean it when i say he likes the photographer. he tells me all about it its the cutest thing.”
he reluctantly nodded, lifting a hand to tuck some of your hair behind your ear.
“tell me if he ever makes a move okay.” he murmured, his thumb delicately caressing over your cheek. “or makes you uncomfortable. don't be nice about it baby and come tell me.”
“i will!” you kindly reassured. “i promise you i will. he hasn’t done anything like that at all and i'm sure he won’t ever... so don’t ever worry.”
he gave you a tiny smile then, forehead coming down to settle on yours.
“i love you.”
and your smile grew, heart clenching and twisting around in giddy sentiment as you giggled.
“i love you.” you whispered. “forever.”
forever.
because with each day that passed megumi grew even more hopeful of the future that he wanted so badly to build with you... to live with you, to allow the privilege to take all for himself as you filled his days with everything good and warm that pulled him further and further away from the life he once lived without you, one he was terrified of and didn’t want to spare another millisecond thinking about with you by his side— pure hearted and steady, all smiles and silliness that soaked through his brooding soul and kissed over his healing scars every time you just glanced at him.
and the future he dreamed with you was something he was getting a taste of with yuji and your best friend, theirs unfolding right before your very eyes as you all planned and prepped for the proposal throughout the rest of the remaining week, working speedily and you shitting your freaking pants multiple times trying to keep secrets from your girl friend when almost nothing ever seemed to get past her.
but you knew your days living in sick anxiety and borderline torture at keeping your big mouth shut would all be worth it in the end, even when she was practically screaming her head off at you during the bottom of the last inning of the world series game, megumi’s team and the opposing nearly tied neck and neck, with megumi’s team taking the lead by just one point, rendering you in trembling jitters and torment about not only what yuji had instructed for you to do at the end of the game, but your man actually winning the world series and taking another trophy home for the fourth year in a row.
if the other team managed to get a hit in, and depending on the type of hit, they’d either have to go overtime and play for extended innings... or lose.
except what was more extraordinary about this game, was that not only was megumi one of the hitters alongside yuji, but the designated pitcher every time the team's switched sides, him throwing fast balls and splitters for nine innings straight without switching off with fucking anyone, you catching the way he just kept insisting and pushing through to bring the title home with every moment he stepped on the pitching plate again.
you felt like you were going to projectile vomit.
he must’ve been so exhausted...
“i swear to god this game better not go past nine innings.” your girl friend spoke over the roaring crowd, each and every single person in the stands exasperated over the game, as it had been the most insane and close knit one for years, usually megumi’s team demolishing right away any others who were lucky enough to earn their spot in the world series on the other end.
but this opposing team was putting on a fucking fight.
“dude i know...” you whined. “if it wasn’t for ino’s home run in the last inning we’d still be sitting here with a tie...”
you chewed on your bottom lip in angst, your eyes stuck glued to megumi as he prepped himself on the plate.
yuji's instructions for you were to get your best friend out in the middle of the field without you, which you felt was literally impossible as the two of you never went anywhere without the other and endlessly questioned it whenever one of you did.
but it was hard to think about that as megumi reeled his arms back and picked a knee up, chuking the ball out towards the opponent’s hitter and all of you watching as he took his first swing.
strike one!
“oh thank fuck!” you clasped your hands together in temporary relief, the crowd screaming in response as megumi shook his limbs out and repositioned himself on the dirt for the next throw.
they just needed two more strikes to win...
“aw i know yuji’s gonna be so upset if they lose.” your best friend pouted, and it took everything in you not to let a slimy little smirk slip across your face.
on the contrary actually...
megumi reeled his arms back and picked his knee up once again, twisting his body one way before hurling the ball and launching it from his base—
strike two!
you and your girlfriend fucking shrieked and clutched at each other in a panic, flailing arms gripping at one another's jerseys as you gawked.
“they’re so fucking cloosee!” you wailed, your cheek mushed with hers. “i can’t watch i can’t watch—”
“if your little leech doesn’t score a strike right now oh so god help me—”
“fuck what do i do?!” you exclaimed. “what if i— what if i flash him?! maybe it'll encourage him t—”
she gasped and whipped her head in your direction.
“ yes! oh my god you smartie pants do it that should work you have big fluffy titties—”
amidst the two of you yapping utter dumb nonsense and you fumbling for the hem of your jersey, megumi quickly prepared himself for yet another throw, repeating the same positioning and shooting the ball out—
when the opposing team’s hitter struck the ball and sent it flying towards megumi, the ball colliding painfully with his shoulder despite his fast attempt at dodging it.
the crowd fucking lost it.
“what the hell?!” you yelled over the railing, your heart thudding in your chest as you watched megumi clutch at his shoulder in pain, eyes screwed shut as he bent over and tried to keep it inside. “the fuck is that other dude doing?!”
the other team’s hitter exchanged a few barking words at megumi that made him snap his eyes open and spin around, immediately striding towards him and causing the stadium to holler a mix of cheer’s and boo’s and shrieks over the possibility of a fight.
your terrified eyes blew out.
“NO gumi!” you yelled once again over the railing, though you knew your attempts would be futile over the noise as your boyfriend and the hitter barked and spat at each other, each of their respective team’s on standby incase physical blows broke out, not yet clearing their benches as the umpires and coaches held them back for the time being.
“what the hell is going on?” your girl friend muttered. “i don’t think i've ever seen anyone target someone on the team since i've been with yuji...”
you were unbelievably worried, your bottom lip in pain from how much you were gnawing and pulling at it as you watched the scene unfold, praying that no one would swing and praying that megumi wouldn’t get hurt more than he already was...
“can— can they call break?” you quickly stammered. “or something i— i need to see if he’s okay—”
your best friend wrapped her arms around your shoulders and brought you in snug, squeezing you just as final words were exchanged between them all on the field, megumi shaking his head with a roll of his eyes and turning away to walk back to his plate, flipping the hitter off from behind that elicited louder roars from the crowd, your shoulders hesitantly— slowly relaxing at the deescalation.
why had the batter purposely hit megumi? and what did he say to him that made him so mad?
“its okay babe! don't worry see?” she pointed to the field, everyone getting back into position to continue the game. “i’m one hundred percent sure that megumi’s fine he wouldn’t keep playing if something was wrong.”
but he would though... that’s just who your man was in nature. resilient and stubborn and amazing at what he did, even if it meant reckless devotion to get his team where they needed to be.
“y— yeah...” you trailed off, trying to reassure yourself anyway that he was okay.
megumi got back into proper position.
“besides! if a fight did break out i think the batter would get his ass handed to him honestly.” she shrugged. “i heard megumi beat up a bunch of kids his grade in middle school from yuji and he didn’t come out with a scratch—”
“he WHAT?!—”
megumi drew his arms back and picked his knee up, twisting his body around, his face glistening in sweat and his spiky locks peeking from underneath his cap, chest pumping and eyes sharp as he sent the ball flying—
strike three!
the crowd roared and the stadium’s light’s began flashing and flickering in rhythm, megumi’s team signature song blaring through the speakers as everyone jumped up and down in bundles of celebratory shouting and wails, you and your best friend funnily sobbing for real now as you hugged each other, your men’s team flooding the field and running out with their arms extended, lovingly tackling megumi down from where he stood on the pitcher’s plate like they always did.
megumi's team were reigning champions once again.
and you had almost stupidly forgotten entirely what the hell you were supposed to do now—
“let’s go on the field babe hurry!—”
“NO!”
you shot your arms out and stopped her dead in her tracks, gripping on her shoulders as she looked at you dumbly.
“what?—”
“i— i mean!—”
your head snapped to the field and you locked eyes with a pale looking yuji, waiting for you.
“what happened y/n? did you lose a lippie?”
“yes!” you frantically nodded. “yes i did! go— go on without me i'm just gonna stay back and look for it heh! oh silly me i'm so fucking stupid—”
she sighed. “babe again? this is like the third time i'll help you look what shade is it—”
“NO!”
“y/n what is with you?!” her widened worried eyes made you feel guilty. “you’re starting to worry me.”
oh god oh god oh god—
“my— my stomach hurts!” you blurted. “just go on without me i'll meet you down there in a second!”
her eyes narrowed.
“what are you hiding from me.”
you gulped. “n— nothing—”
“spit it out.”
“it’s nothing! just go down there babe seriously ill catch up with you in a second—”
"no."
oh for fucks sake.
“fine!" you huffed in frustration. "let’s go let’s go they’re waiting—”
you snagged her hand and pulled her along, slipping through the remaining crowd that was lessening in numbers by the minute, your heart in your ass and kicking yourself for being unable to do something so simple, rapidly attempting to compute a different way to get her over without you.
“but your lip liner—”
you got to the bottom of the field and showed security your identification before slipping through the gates, megumi’s team still hollering and celebrating as they doused each other in foamy champagne and beer, the both of you approaching.
“it’s okay!” you smiled sweetly at her. “i’ll have megumi come help me look for it. let’s just get you to yuji, kay?”
but she shook her head, and you nearly wanted to tear your fucking skin off.
“babe that shit is the most expensive liner you own? and i doubt megumi is gonna know what the hell it looks like let’s just go back—”
“please just go to yuji i will look for it—”
“nuh uh—”
“PLEASE OH MY GOD—”
a pair of strong arms wrapped around your thighs and hoisted you up over their shoulder, your own hands flying for stability.
“why are you so stubborn?” megumi mumbled. “go to yuji i'll help her.”
oh thank god!
she quirked a brow.
“and who are you to tell me what to do?” she spat. “i’m a free independent woman thank you. i will help her look for it—”
“go idiot he’s waiting for you.”
“megumi you don’t know the difference between a lip liner and an actual fucking pencil so put my woman down or i'll start screaming for help—”
“babe please!” you wailed.
“can you just listen to me for once in your god damn life and go to yuji!” he barked.
“why would i listen to you?!” she crossed her arms and turned her head in defiance. “you still owe me that hot dog i was promised back at the lake we went to with gojo you lying scheming rat—”
without another word megumi booked it across the field with you, his grip tight on your thighs as he used his long baseball legs to practically fly to the other side away from your screaming gawking girl friend, your hair whipping through the cold wind and your eyes immediately watering up for what was to come.
you were fucking overwhelmed with everything that you were feeling— happy that your most treasured friend was getting engaged with a kind man that she deserved, happy that your boyfriend had won another world series and proved yet again that his hard work and efforts were worth it, happy that you were given the gift of baring witness to it all...
you wiped your eyes with the back of your hand just as megumi reached the gate, the field completely cleared off now as your girl friend had no other choice but to finally go up to an awaiting yuji, the rest of the team and management eager, on standby as they watched.
megumi gently set you down on your feet and you smiled up at him in gratitude, your sparkling teary gaze warming his eyes as he leaned down then, pressing a delicate kiss to your forehead.
he understood.
you wrapped your arms around his torso and set the side of your head on his chest, his cheek coming down to rest on the top of your head.
“you okay?” he murmured, and you nodded, barely audible tiny little hiccups escaping you.
“i cry over everything gumi it’s okay heh.”
he chuckled, knowing that the fact was preciously true.
because your waterworks grew tenfold when yuji got down on one knee, the crowd around you erupting into a bundle of cheers and whistles as your best friend brought her hands to her mouth, her shaking shoulders signifying tears of her own as she hunched over, words you couldn’t decipher coming from yuji for a moment before she eventually vigorously nodded, another round of claps and yells slicing through as yuji slipped the ring on her trembling finger, shuddering flashes of light clicking from reporters and media.
“SHE SAID YEEEESSS!” yuji shouted, comically bouncing on his two feet just before he picked your best friend up by the waist and spun her around, the team— including you and megumi— running back across the field to celebrate.
you didn’t think you’d ever cried so much as you embraced your girl friend through her own sobbing, as you all traveled out of the field together and brought the joyous occasion to the locker room— even more bottles of champagne and beer spritzing fucking everywhere and drenching every player and interviewer and person that happened to be in the wet zone.
it was a field day for the media, since not only were they reporting and getting stories on a world series win, but a marriage proposal from one of the best players on the team.
"let me see it let me see it!"
players banged their lockers or threw around more sprinkles of beer as your best friend excitedly showed you her glistening rock of an engagement ring, her face covered in tears.
"is that why you were trying to get me on the field without you?" she sniffled, and you both laughed through your crying as you nodded.
"yes you freaking dummy my god." you pulled her into a hug, your heart aching in the best way possible. "remind me to never try to get you to do anything ever again you silly girl."
"i'm sorry!" she laughed once more, giving you a squeeze. "i have attachment issues and i love you."
you jutted your bottom lip. "i love you! and i'm so fucking happy for you and yuji babe you have no idea i'm trying so hard not to lose my shit right now."
you both giggled and separated, looking at each other with the most fondest of expressions, staring at features that you'd known and loved since you were little girls, changing throughout the years and yet still all the same.
"thank you for everything." she nearly whispered, and you eagerly nodded, pressing a cutesy kiss to her cheek.
"always." you smiled gently before you raised a funny brow. "though i hope yuji boy is aware that i am still your priority..."
she scoffed. "the fact that you're questioning it is hurting me y/n."
you laughed with one another once again, your eyes catching yuji beginning to walk up to your best friend from behind with a warm smile.
"you should go with yuji babe." you wrapped her up in a quick hug. "i'll call you later tonight? if you're not getting freaky?"
"oh i'll be calling you regardless—"
"no you will not."
megumi came up from behind and you beamed, his hand snaking around your waist.
"you know what megumi? you're lucky i'm in everlasting engaged bliss right now and not in the mood to fight."
"good."
"actually i change my mind—"
you'd never seen the locker room so chaotic and bustling with people as you finally managed to drag your boyfriend away from your girl friend's wrath, the atmosphere incredibly lively with flashing camera's going off left and right, or several players chugging down alcohol from a keg stand as the rest of them howled them on, you and megumi partaking most of the celebrating by scarfing down sugary fluffy desserts from the dessert table.
you figured it must've been because this was the first year that megumi's team struggled to pull through a win with a team that was giving it their all... and yet they still remained shining champions in the end.
it felt incredibly earned this time around.
"gumi why can't you just tell me what that other player said to you?" you pushed exasperatedly before shoving a chocolate cupcake in your mouth.
"because it was nothing baby." he wiped frosting off the corner of your lips with his thumb before popping it into his mouth. "he was just mad."
you swallowed. "yeah but so were you. after he yelled at you. and hit you."
he took a bite of his honeyed pastry and shook his head.
"s'okay." he pressed a kiss to your cheek and swallowed. "i'm fine."
"guuumiiii!" you groaned, and he snickered, picking up a brownie then and offering it out to you.
"eat pretty baby."
you snatched the brownie from his awaiting hand. "don't pretty baby me you sexy man... i will be harassing you about this later."
he handsomely smiled, cheeks going pink at your comment.
drinks were flying practically everywhere you and megumi went as you chatted with other players and media personnel throughout the celebration, funnily trying to dodge more rounds of spilled over foamy beer while you and your man got excited over any new piece of pastry you'd spot to try, his arm wrapped secure around your waist as you happily traveled along.
and megumi wasn’t a drinker by any means, often picking a singular drink to hold on to and take the tiniest of sips from, hoarding it for hours and letting it get diluted by the mountain of ice within the drink before ditching it all together, him never having been the biggest fan of alcohol in comparison to you.
so when he'd decided to get a beer you didn't think anything of it, even when he'd finished it rather quickly and got another.
and then another.
and another.
and you'd never seen megumi drunk... until now.
“gumi!”
you'd lost track of how many beers megumi had chugged down since the moment you decided to partake in the drinking. he was fucking shirtless and you didn't even know how that happened, toned muscles and abdomen on full display and shiny wet from being sprayed with more champagne by his teammates, doing little to help you focus in getting your stumbling man around and help him not knock the dessert table over or anything else that was important.
“what.” he slurred, his face shoved in your neck as he slobbered and sucked all over your skin, your cheeks burning as your eyes darted around all the different cameras that could be capturing the raunchy scene before them.
megumi drunk was a sight to see.
he was sillier, more expressive with everyone as he loudly laughed and conversed, he was extremely forward and bold, and he didn’t give a fuck about anything as he had his curious grubby hands everywhere on you and squeezing at any meat he could get at... especially if cameras were pointed his way.
now the media had something else to report about.
“g— gumi there’s so many people—”
you gasped as he slid a greedy hand down your back and squeezed at the fat of your ass cheek, moving it up and down to make it jiggle.
you slapped his hand away and laughed.
“gumi you have got to stop harassing me.” you spoke in between giggles, taking his hand and attempting to pull him to sit down on a nearby bench.
but he was as solid as a rock, feet planted where he stood as he took another huge swig of his beer, cheeks cutely puffed up from the liquid before he gulped it all down.
“kiss me or i'll die.”
you laughed again and shook your head.
“baby i'm confused you don’t even tolerate beer—” you took a few steps and positioned yourself behind him, placing your palms flat on his back and pushing. “how is it that you just drank— fuck— like three bottles? four? i don’t even—”
“m’happy and celebrating.” he mumbled with a tiny hiccup. “and i want you so bad by the way.”
you giggled softly and halted your movements, poking your head out from his side to lock eyes with him.
“is that true gumi? you're happy?”
he was very happy.
his best friend was getting married, he won the world series again, he had the hottest woman he had ever seen in his fucking life loving him after he spent forever trying to get her...
life was great!
“mhm.” he hummed, finally letting you carefully lead him to sit down on an empty bench, him laughing at yuji’s frosting covered face from across the room along the way as you tugged.
“careful gumi watch your step—”
your man stumbled and tripped nonetheless over nothing as you guided him, trying your absolute best not to directly pass in front of any reporters that could potentially snag megumi for an interview, since that exact thing happened earlier and all he did was talk about how much of an idiot sore loser the opposing teams batter was for hitting him, and shove his tongue down your throat mid interview.
and besides megumi having a ball shaped bruise on his shoulder, he seemed relatively okay... so you opted to asking him about the words exchanged with the other player again in the morning.
gently, you helped him slump down on a bench, your eyes searching for a bottle of water before you spotted one in a cooler, quickly walking over and bending to grab it, making your way back after.
you bent down in front of him and uncapped the bottle.
“here gumi drink some water mkay?—”
megumi grabbed the bottle from you and proceeded to then yank you in by the wrist, water spilling over his hand as he lip locked with you so nastily— sloppy and a mouthful and tasting like beer.
“baby— mmpf!—”
“gorgeous fuckin’ girl...” he slurred against your lips before diving in again, your own heart stuttering as he swallowed you down. “be good and suck me off yeah?”
jesus christ.
you tore your lips away and wiped your wet mouth with the back of your hand, cheeks a deep rose as you nervously looked around to see if anyone had caught that.
“gumi my goodness.” you giggled breathlessly, helping in guiding the water bottle back to his mouth for him to drink. “we should start heading back to your apartment soon i don’t want you to start feeling sick here.”
he cutely shook his head side to side after taking a gulp, a drunken red hue to his face.
“don’t wanna.” he mumbled, a hazy quirk to one corner of his lips. “i wanna stay just like this.”
he pointed at you.
“with you like that.”
you couldn’t help but laugh so much at how silly he was being, leaning in to press a single sugary kiss to his warm cheek.
“you can have me like this at your apartment.”
he perked up. “naked?”
you gawked. “no gumi you’re way too drunk right now and you’ll probably be so hung over tomorrow...”
pouting, you pushed some of his sweaty hair away from his forehead, his loopy little eyes staring at you.
“will you be with me tomorrow?” he mumbled, hopeful, and you tilted your head in confusion.
“of course gumi i wouldn’t leave you while you’re like this.”
“...okay.” he nodded. “will you be with me forever?”
your eyes softened, heart squeezing as you instantly nodded and gave him the sweetest of smiles.
“uh huh! forever and ever... i promise.”
he was more than satisfied with that, nodding once more before sending you a drunken close lipped smile, the most precious you had seen yet as you fought your cuteness aggression and tried to focus on getting your big man up and out of here.
you stood straight again and he followed your every move, gazing up at you like you created the moon and stars yourself, you looking around and giggling once you spotted your best friend and yuji getting interviewed by a reporter, the both of them looking so happy as she flashed her pretty sparkling ring for them to see, her eyes finding yours and sending you a series of blowing kisses from a distance.
you hadn’t noticed when megumi slung an arm around your waist and turned you a bit, bringing the side of your body in to his chest while you continued to watch the rowdy environment around you, his drunk infatuated brain preoccupied entirely of you as he pressed soft pecks to your lower belly.
you looked down, smiling kindly and placing a hand to his head to rub.
“you ready to go?”
he detached his lips and mushed his cheek against your stomach.
“you look really bright to me.” he mumbled. “like... mr. sun.”
you paused.
“mr. sun?” you repeated softly.
how cuuuuteee!
“mhm.” he nodded against your skin. “sunny and pretty.”
you leaned over and kissed his forehead in the hopes of you not sobbing over his words.
“you’re sunny to me too gumi.”
megumi was the embodiment of what a special person was and looked like, and no matter how many times you’d already thought about it and knew... to have someone so selfless and generous support you as much as he did without batting a single eye, holding your hand through it all and easing— no— rejecting your idiot doubts and reminding you that something as grandiose as making your cheer team, as being with him, was never out of your reach.
it was always within. so long as you listened and took the risk.
“i think m’gonna be fucking sick.” he blurted, and you laughed.
“alright let’s go—”
"i'm in love with you."
you giggled. "i know that gumi i love—"
"no like its concerning sometimes i dunno what to do about it." he slurred.
"concering?" you cutely laughed again. "how baby."
"i wanna kill ino."
"gumi no!"
and how exceedingly lucky were you to have someone that believed in you as much as megumi did?
synopsis. only satoru gojo would be jealous of himself.
contents. fluff, lovesick!gojo, mentions of pregnancy, time travel inaccuracies probably, not proofread :x
you’re not quite sure how you ended up here.
one minute, you were curled up in bed, fighting a wave of nausea courtesy of the growing child of the strongest inside of you. the next, you were wandering toward the kitchen, wondering what was taking your husband so long to bring you the damn breakfast he promised — only to find him standing rigid in front of the stove, staring down…
himself.
you blink.
twice.
“satoru, what’s taking so long—”
your voice dies in your throat the second your eyes land on him. no — not him, but a younger, wide-eyed, hopelessly awe-struck version of him. standing in your kitchen, mouth parted, face pale, and gaze locked entirely on you.
you freeze.
he stares.
you stare back.
and then—oh no—he starts to smile. bright. dopey. disbelieving. there might actually be drool.
the younger gojo looks at you like you’re made of stars and everything he’s ever wanted in life, and you’re only in your husband’s oversized tee shirt.
he looks like he’s about to fall in love with you on the spot.
then comes your gojo.
he appears behind you like summoned by jealousy itself, pressing flush against your back, arms encircling you. his chin hooks over your shoulder as he narrows his eyes at his teenage self with all the warning.
“oi,” your husband growls low, “eyes off my wife, you brat.”
the trance breaks instantly.
“what the hell—she’s my wife too!” younger gojo snaps, voice cracking in disbelief.
“like hell she is,” your husband shoots back, his hand sliding possessively down to cradle the swell of your belly. “i put a baby in her.”
you choke on air.
teen gojo’s eyes drop down—
—and bug out.the younger gojo is practically gaping, his eyes wide in disbelief, as he stares between you and your husband. "y-you let this man impregnate you?!" he blurts out, the crudeness making you flush with heat.
you feel the immediate rush of embarrassment. “i—how— satoru, explain.”
both of them whip their heads around at the mention of his name, as if they were no more than dogs waiting for a command.
your husband rubs your back, “i guess my younger self must have managed to travel to the future.”
you’re gaping at the two men.
the younger version of him is practically wagging his tail, a wide grin tugging at his lips like he’s just won first place in something that actually mattered. he looks completely lost in his own world to understand his future self’s subtle jab, and you could swear you hear him whispering under his breath, breathless and giddy—“i did it, i did it, i did it.”
“ah,” you slowly try to rationalize. “satoru, i know this might seem strange, but—”
“no, no,” your husband cuts you off with a tight squeeze around your waist, leaning slightly into you. “i’m satoru. he’s just gojo.” his tone makes it clear who he thinks should have the honor of the name, but his attention never leaves his younger self, and the muscles in his jaw are flexing.
the younger gojo squints, confused, then his face contorts with a mix of irritation and amusement. “since when did i become so uptight?”
your husband snorts. "yeah, well, you have a lot of growing up to do."
the younger gojo mutters, crossing his arms and leaning back, his posture almost defensive. "i get it. you put on the blindfold and suddenly you're mr. 'i've got it all figured out.'"
the tension in the room thickens, palpable between the two men.
"yeah," the older gojo retorts, voice steady but tinged with a bit of pride. "and i also got the girl of my dreams."
the younger gojo’s eyes narrow, his voice rising, "she’s my dream girl too!"
the older gojo shifts, locking his gaze on his younger self. his expression hardens, becoming a little sharper. "she’s my wife. not yours."
you sigh, exasperated, stepping between them. “oh, for heaven’s sake. you’re both the same person. you’re arguing with yourself.”
younger gojo leans forward slightly, eyes fixed on you. “i could love you just as much as he does, you know.”
your husband scoffs, clearly unimpressed. “please. you don’t even know what to do with her yet.”
“try me.”
“enough!” you snap, your glare cutting through the air like a blade. there’s no mistaking the warning in your eyes, a silent promise that things are about to escalate if they don’t stop.
both satorus fall silent in an instant as they both straighten at your words.
“me and the baby are starving,” you declare, your tone laced with a hint of challenge. “and if neither of you plans on helping, i guess i’ll have to do it myself.”
the younger satoru’s eyes flicker to your growing belly, then back to you.
in an instant, they’re both at your side, moving in synchrony like two halves of a whole, each hand hovering near you, as if they could protect you from something, but you know the truth. it’s not about protection. it’s about proximity—about the excuse to touch you.
“you know,” the younger satoru murmurs, a playful glint in his eyes, “you’re even more beautiful now. who would've thought you could get hotter?”
your breath catches at the unexpected compliment, and before you can stop it, your cheeks flush, a warmth spreading through you that has nothing to do with the heat of the room. “t-thank you,” you mutter, not quite looking at him, trying to hide the effect his words have on you.
your husband, who’s been standing just behind you, makes no attempt to hide his irritation. his gaze sharpens, but his voice remains smooth, controlled—too controlled. “it’s no surprise, of course,” he says, his hand sliding around your waist in a possessive gesture, pulling you a little closer, a subtle but undeniable claim. “you’ve always been breathtaking. she’s glowing, don’t you think?”
you feel his lips brush against your temple as he says it, and though his words are directed at the younger satoru, they’re meant for you—just the two of you, wrapped in this small, intimate moment. his grip tightens ever so slightly, a silent declaration of ownership that you can feel in your bones.
“thank you, dear,” you say, trying to keep your voice steady, but there’s a flicker in your chest that betrays you—something more than just appreciation for the compliment.
as you open the fridge, you don’t notice the younger gojo’s subtle frown at the pet name, nor the way your husband’s chest puffs just a little, satisfaction practically radiating off him. but you do feel it. the electricity. the unspoken challenge. and you can’t help but wonder which of them will break first.
the clink of chopsticks and the sound of your satisfied hums fill the room as the three of you eat breakfast, the tension at the table simmering beneath the surface. the younger gojo eyes the older version of himself from across the table, suspicion flickering behind his sharp gaze.
he sets his bowl down slowly.
“so tell me,” he says finally, chopsticks tapping against ceramic. “how’d you do it?”
the older gojo raises a brow. “do what?”
younger gojo tilts his head pointedly in your direction. “get her. my [name] doesn’t want to do anything with me.”
your husband doesn’t miss a beat. he smirks, annoyingly smug, and drapes his arm around your shoulders, pulling you into his side like a trophy. “i charmed the living daylights out of her. obviously.”
you give him a flat look.
your husband ignores you. “she thought i was endearing.”
“i thought you were desperate,” you add with a sly smile.
he turns toward you, hand over his heart like he’s been shot. “desperation? is that what we’re calling devotion now?”
“you were on both knees when you proposed,” you point out, smug.
“i really wanted you to say yes,” he mutters, now clearly sulking. he stabs at his food like it personally offended him.
across the table, the younger gojo leans in, chin propped in one hand as he watches the two of you. there's something soft in his eyes now, envy tempered with awe.
“don’t listen to him,” you say with a playful smile, your gaze softening as you turn to your husband. “i only gave you a chance when i realized how big your heart is. how much you really care. your dedication to reshaping jujutsu society—that’s what made me see you weren’t just a nuisance.”
both gojo's eyes widen in shock, clearly not expecting that.
your husband, though, pouts, his usual smugness replaced with playful mock hurt.
“aww~” he whines, a teasing lilt to his voice. “i think you’ve got a little crush on me!”
you narrow your eyes, a warning simmering beneath your words. “satoru, i’m about to bite your head off.”
he grins, leaning in with that signature mischief. “don’t threaten me with a good time.”
the younger gojo’s eyes dart between the two of you. perhaps his future wasn’t too bad.
pairing ₊˚｡— isekai'd!gojo satoru x gf!reader x bf!geto suguru
cw ₊˚｡— NSFW, 18+ MDNI. modern AU (no curses), established relationship (reader x suguru), post shinjuku battle satoru, angst, domestic fluff, so much smut, multiple povs, love triangle (everyone is in love w everyone), jealousy, insecurity, past trauma, miscommunications, second chances, threesomes (m/f/m), unprotected p->v s*x, anal s*x, double penetration, more tags to be released w/ chapters!
summary ₊˚｡— new universe, same problems. satoru isn't dealing with special grade curses or cursed time-out realms, but he's still playing catch up to the same guy he always was. geto suguru is alive and well, and he's dating you. isn't isekai supposed to be about wish fulfillment?! it's supposed to be his chance to finally get things right, no curses and no crazy, beefed up assassins to fuck things up. but you, the pretty nurse with a quick wit who he might've flirted with himself upon his arrival, beat him to it. he wishes he could hate you—even just dislike you, but he can't. satoru and suguru are fated to share something by destiny, they shared their title in the last world, what would they share in this one?
playlist ₊˚｡ chapter index:
₊˚｡i. look both ways before getting isekai'd
₊˚｡ii. traveled through space-time and all I got was this stupid hospital gown
₊˚｡iii. lovers to friends, thats the trope, right?
₊˚｡iv. this universe sucks just as much as the last one
...and more to come...
a/n ₊˚｡— we have manga spoilers here so be warned!! ive been nursing this one for a while now and im so excited for it! comment to be added to the taglist ♡ also ohmygosshhh tysm for 2k?!? how are u all gonna fit in my house for satoru's bday party?? | art in the header by the talented @/srkork on twt, dividers by @/bbyg4rlhelps and @/cyberangel-graphics ♡
In an effort to hold onto the last threads of your dead relationship, Gojo catfishes you on a dating app as his best friend, Geto.
He's unaware that you've been fucking Geto behind his back since the break up.
satoru gojo x fem!reader x suguru geto
cw: catfishing, moral ambiguity, piv sex. full content warnings list can be found on the masterlist, or the ao3 tags. MDNI.
wc: 2.8k
DELICACY — WHERE YOUR FLAVOUR IS SAVOURED.
If the tin foil hats are right, and there is a government agent watching Satoru Gojo through his phone camera, they'd classify him as nothing more than a sad sack of shit right about now.
Pathetic. A cuck loser unable to live and let live.
There's a woman on his phone screen whose name is also a colour. 'Magenta' (25, Gemini, ESFJ, if you were wondering) loves long walks on the beach and men who make their beds in the morning. Gojo snorts, splayed put across the plush sofa in his living room—no need to make your bed when you sleep on the couch.
Or avoid your bedroom as a whole.
Magenta's profile is annoyingly normal. The little badge beside her name declares her 'Sweet & Tangy', whatever that means is lost on Gojo, but he scrolls through her photos anyways. She's pretty, seems to have her life together, definitely wouldn't put up with his piles of shit… and still, he's unimpressed.
You've spoilt him, really. Gone and rotted him from the inside out, given him high expectations and a refined palate to boot. You've ruined him, ruined the appeal of the domestic life, ruined shared meals and photo albums and sleeping in his own bed and you've surely ruined sex as well. Granted, he's not on the app to find someone to lay down for him, but he's also not on the app for anyone other than you. So… left he swipes!
Satoru works through the next few 'flavours' without much care. Sweet, salty, bitter… all of the works flash before his eyes, and every last one of them fails to pique his interest. He wishes he could feign interest and message a few women (or men) to attempt a new beginning, but doing so would be akin to the unforgivable sin in his eyes. Blasphemy.
What the hell is his problem? It's late and his eyes are heavy, and even having this app downloaded on his phone feels wrong, but a friend of a friend mentioned your being on Delicacy in passing, and Gojo's had an itch ever since. To see you again, maybe, even if it's in a way that's gonna hurt. Or maybe so that he can put an end to this.
He continues on with his left-swiping feat until he reaches his daily limit and pays an unreasonable amount of money to continue on with his search. It isn't until the late hours of night that you finally grace his screen.
The photo that frontlines your profile is one that he's never seen before. It's pretty, you're pretty, and god does he miss you. Seeing you like this, advertising yourself for people to shop for, makes him want to cry. Or throw up. He can't tell if he's lovesick or just sick-sick anymore.
But fuck, you look good.
Groaning at the way his pants tighten at the sight of you, Gojo's eyes travel over your profile. 'Ambiguous' is your listed flavour, which makes him laugh out loud in the vast expanse of his empty living room. He knows your flavour like it's his own, and it certainly isn't ambiguous. It's an art, how you taste—the salt of your skin and the sweetness of your core and the iron of a bloodied lip when you bite his too hard.
He's reaching down to palm himself over his pyjama pants before he can even register his own actions. His heart is so sick with regret and grief and every other emotion under the sun, but you've Pavlov'd the poor man into pure undiluted need at the bare fucking thought of you.
He hisses out a long breath, his cock twitching under his palm, and Gojo mouths a quick 'sorry' to the digital version of you on his screen before breaking the seal of his waistband and reaching in to stroke himself properly.
You never used to give him handjobs, though not for lack of trying. Gojo's always been a 'more more more' kind of man, and believes with his whole heart that using your hand he holds on dates for filthy things is an insult to the every last inch of your body that he could use and reuse, rinse and recycle, over and over again. That pretty mouth of yours. Your tits. Thighs. Cunt. Ass.
Maybe he's a masochist. Jerking himself off to the sight of you actively moving on would be tiered next to self-immolation on his big tier list of self harm practices, but you're so pretty and he misses you oh so much and his cock won't stir for anything other than you, whether you're his or not.
Maybe he's a cuck.
"Fuck," he groans, lifting his hips a little as his pace quickens. He swipes on your first photo to reveal the next, simultaneously smearing the precum beading at his tip all around. This new picture is… one he's definitely seen before.
A quick glance to the left gives Gojo a nice long look at the photo on his coffee table: the two of you after a long night out with friends, sitting side-by-side, hand-in-hand, heart-in-heart. Gojo's strokes quicken a little at the memory, and then come to a complete stop when he glances back to his phone, and it registers that he's looking at just half of the existing photo.
You've cropped him out.
"What the…" he squints, pulling his hand from his pants and using two fingers to zoom in on the photo. There, right at the edge of the frame, he can see a sliver of his hand holding yours.
Ha. Can't get rid of him entirely, despite your best efforts. Gojo takes pride in knowing that no matter what, there will always be some part of him left behind. Be it his fingers intertwined with yours in a photo, or one of the many pairs of socks he's left behind at yours, or the marks he's left on your heart and soul.
He's rock hard and throbbing, but his dick is forgotten in his pants as she swipes to your next photo, and then the next, and the next. Seeing you is hard but not foreign—hell, he has your photo as his lockscreen still—but seeing you actively moving on is… devastating? Heartbreaking?
It's doing something to him, is what. Something gross and tight in his stomach, like jealousy but a whole lot sharper. Satoru is sure that a simple Google search would gift him with fifty different statistics and news reports relating to dating apps like these and ill-intentioned perverts and philanderers and predators. How can he protect you when you're doing stupid shit like this? Parading your beauty and single status to men who most certainly aren't who they say they are.
They'll appeal to you: say the things you want to hear. Be the man you want to date and fuck and settle down with. Some other guy will know what it's like to have you beneath him. He'll feel your lips at his ear and your legs wrapped around his waist. He'll see your good days and bad nights and do as he pleases with your heart and mind and body. But how will you ever know who he truly is?
You could be talking to anyone.
Bad things happen when Satoru Gojo gets ideas. He's sitting upright on the couch and forgetting all about the leaking mess in his pants as soon as the thought strikes him. You could be talking to anyone.
Leaving your Delicacy profile on his home page so that he doesn't lose his chance to swipe right, Gojo navigates to his own blank profile. He had put a placeholder name in when he signed up, but Delicacy doesn't require photos to start swiping—he's a blank page. He's anyone.
He knows, of course, that you aren't naive enough to match with a blank page. He's sure of that much when it comes to you, but he doesn't know who you would match with. He's always been the only man in your immediate vicinity, and definitely the only man you've admitted to being attracted to.
Well… him and Geto.
"Shit," Gojo squeezes his eyes shut, pinching the bridge of his nose with his right hand before remembering where that hand just was and pulling it away. He can't do that. Gojo's odd obsession with your potential attraction to his best friend was the crumbling point of your relationship, and frankly, he's not sure he wants to know whether you'd swipe right on Geto or not.
It's a total breach of privacy, for both you and Geto. It's immoral and unjust and Satoru couldn't handle losing his best friend as well. Even if it is to hold on to the fine thread he has of you.
Even if Geto hasn't spoken to you since you and Gojo broke up, out of respect for his best friend's broken heart.
Even if neither of you ever had to find out.
-
There's a very strong moral argument against fucking your ex boyfriend's best friend. You think it might even be listed as a 'taboo' subgenre on most porn sites, and would most definitely get you a few ‘horrible person’ awards in an ‘Am-I-The-Asshole-for-having-regular-sex-with-my-ex-boyfriend’s-life-long-best-friend?’ post online.
But it takes two to tango, and you’re a single woman with no residual loyalties to Gojo. Geto, however, probably shouldn’t be balls deep inside of his best friend’s ex girlfriend. He’s even more bound by moral code than you are. So, if you’re going to hell for this, at least Geto will be burning up right beside you.
Plus, you’re pretty sure the third stage of grief is rebound sex. Or something like bargaining, but you’ve spent your whole life being told that everyone grieves differently, so you’ll take your third step as it comes.
Or as he comes.
You smile at your own joke and wrap your legs tighter around the waist of your tryst as his slow and deep strokes inside of you lull you into some sort of self-reflective trance. The first time you and Geto had sex, things were rough and fast and exactly the kind of distraction from your wrongdoings that you needed. But now, months into what was meant to be a one-night-stand, things have become softer and slower and have given you more and more time to reflect.
You try to dodge the thoughts that creep slowly into your brain, but once you’ve got that asshole’s face on your mind, it’s impossible not to think about Satoru. You wonder what he’s doing—if he’s laid down for someone new, or if he’s wallowing in his losses.
A rather large part of you hopes its the latter. The thought of him taking someone new makes your stomach curl, though that might be the depths that Geto is hitting inside of you.
You feel so fucking good, and so fucking bad, all at the same time.
Despite your inner turmoils, your body shudders with each drag of Geto’s weighty cock inside of you. He’s different to Gojo: thicker, a little less flexible in the hips, but dedicated to your pleasure nonetheless. Sometimes you wonder if he’s trying to prove something to you, trying to stake claim or stand on Gojo’s podium when it comes to making you come.
His long hair falls over your face, caging you in as he looks down at you. God, he’s pretty. You like watching him like this, all breathless and tracing the seam of pleasure that exists between the two of you. You like how his lips turn up in a smile, even as he’s balls deep inside of you—makes you forget that you’re doing something bad.
What makes him laugh, though, is when your phone chimes on the sheets to your left, and you turn under the weight of him to grab it.
“That is so unromantic,” Geto snorts as you thumb your phone open and try to get a glimpse at your screen from behind the thick vine of his bicep, which is keeping him perched above you. “You’re not doing a great job at wooing me right now, checking your phone when I’m about to finish.”
“You aren’t about to finish,” you lift your head a little, smiling up at him—he always speeds up before he comes, and he’s still taking his sweet time with you. “And I’m not trying to woo you.”
“I’m hurt,” your tryst speaks plainly, moving his arm so you can see your phone, and diverting his attention to covering your exposed neck in wet, open-mouthed kisses.
A notification from Delicacy, the dating app you downloaded on a whim a few days ago, greets you. Someone new likes your flavour!
You snort at the branding of the app and unlock your phone, navigating to the Delicacy app, but before you can see who your next true love is, Geto’s hair is falling into your face once again.
“We have got to get you a claw clip,” you turn your head to avoid getting a mouthful of his silken locks.
“Complaints, complaints,” Suguru bites your shoulder, which must make you tighten around him because he’s groaning in turn and raking his hips out to slam into you with a little extra force.
You slap his arm. “Let me on top.”
“Gladly.”
You’re being flipped around in seconds, almost losing your phone in the process, and before you can blink you’re sat nice and snug on Geto’s cock. Gravity is your best friend, pulling you down and filling you up even deeper in turn.
You close your eyes and take a moment, which Geto uses to appreciate his new eye-level view of your tits. He’s pawing at them with one hand, grabbing your hip with the other and slowly guiding you to ride him ‘nice and proper’, as he says.
Delicacy loads up on your phone as you hold it between the two of you. Geto shakes with another laugh when he sees it, which you punish him for by squeezing around his cock so hard he chokes on the laugh.
“So,” he sing-songs as you tilt the screen up and check your likes. “Who’s the lucky man that gets to savour your flavour?”
But the rolling of your hips stop, and Geto frowns as you still on his throbbing cock. Did he say something wrong? You bite your lip, and Geto tries for a glimpse of your screen to no avail.
“You are, apparently,” you say incredulously, half a laugh slipping from your lips as you turn the screen and shove it into Geto’s screwed-up face. “I think… I’m being catfished.”
Suguru likes you!
And there he is, staring back at himself on the face of a Delicacy profile labelled ‘sweet & salty’. It’s a relatively old photo, maybe scraped from his social medias, though all of his accounts are private and certainly not privy to anyone who’d want to catfish people online… right?
“Holy shit,” he blinks, and then smiles, unsure whether he should laugh at the absurdity of his being there while you get the like, or grow angry at his likeness being used for unsavoury activities like these. Then, he laughs at the pun in his head, and you give him a look that shuts him up.
“What should I do?” You ask.
“We could finish…” Suguru shuffles his hips a little beneath yours, the thought of delaying his release sending an ache through his balls already. You give him another Look Of Warning and he scrunches his face up. “Right, sorry.”
“I should report the profile, right?”
“That would be the wise choice.”
A moment of silence sits between the two of you, both staring down at the fake profile. A bad idea rolls into your mind, and you’re about to push it away and do the sensible thing, but when you glance up to Geto, he’s already grinning back at you.
-
Gojo regrets his choice the second he finishes building his profile into a mock-up of Geto’s major talking points, but he’s swiping right on your profile regardless.
He turns his phone off and throw sit onto the couch beside him.
He’s hoping for his ideal scenario to come true: you don’t see the like, because you don’t use the damn app. Gojo is in his own head about nothing, and you’re spending your nights tossing and turning in bed because of just how badly you miss him. Someday soon, you’ll reach out and tell him you forgive him, and love him, and want nothing more than to run off into the sunset together. You’ll get married, fuck into each morning, and then some more once the sun has risen.
The fantasy lasts all of five minutes until his phone pings, and he’s picking it up to a notification from Delicacy that makes his stomach pit.
Need your help finding a satosugu x reader fic where both satoru and suguru defects and i think reader gets the mission to go undercover as a defect too? I CANT FIND ITTTT :(
