✨gojo's Collarbones✨

┌─ “ ! „ MAGNESIUM

tw. noncon, blood, branding/marking, some pretty egregious dirty talk and degradation, threats, mirror sex, horror elements, knife play, manipulation, murder, little bit of gore, there be a dead body in here somewhere wordcount. 6.3k

a/n. ♡ commissioned by a lovely lovely person whomst im so grateful for ♡ i reallyyy liked writing sakusa a lot so i hope you like it and it is what you hAd IN MINDDD!! this was such a fun commission thank yoUU a ton seriously! mwUah ♡♡♡ i hopeee you enjoy!!! kiSsES once again a million million kisses to everyone who helped read through it when i was struggling you're the bestest ilY

sakusa kiyoomi x fem!reader

It’s almost impossible to believe that everything led up to - this. You’re slumped against the car door in the back, and though you’re not knocked out, you sort of wish you were. Instead you have to feel the hard glare Kiyoomi sends you through the rear view mirror each time his eyes flick up as he reverses out of the street. There’s tension so thick that you can’t just cut it, but it’s troubling the air between you two like polluted water. Silence drags on until you wrap your arms around yourself in an attempt to warm up.

“Where are we going?” You whisper. 

The man in front smoothly turns the corner, as an almost impalpable furrow moves his brow. It takes him too long to answer for your liking, as you shuffle in the leather seat, unable to get comfortable. “I don’t like fighting with you, but you always push me.” The dry tone and answer says everything his eyes can’t. “Tonight pissed me off, you know? I’m not ever gonna let you go.”

“All this because Atsumu complimented me?” You try, and when that doesn’t get a reaction - not even a blink, your hands clamp together. “He’s like that to everyone. He was calling Hinata ‘real handsome’ all evening.” Nothing. The Kiyoomi you fell in love with was a bit sarcastic and clumsy in his words, but he wasn’t ever cruel. Wasn’t ever purposefully standoffish. What seems left of him is only the brittle, icy void. You would’ve been better off breaking up days ago.

He also would’ve given the blond the benefit of the doubt.

You can basically feel the smile shine off of your face closing the billowing curtains against the golden light, looking back at the dark-haired beauty splayed out over your bed. You clear your voice. “So what’s the deal with your teammate- that Miya guy?” Kiyoomi’s brow raises a few millimeters. “He’s serious? He’s really like that all the time?”

“The whole flirtatious act?” Your boyfriend yawns into the question, before rolling over so that his muscular shoulders, pecks, and that pretty waist are even more distracting. It’s infuriating how good he looks. But you nod, and place yourself down on the edge - where he trails a lazy hand over the back of your hand. “Oh, yeah. He has this overflowing… charisma that you can’t help but get used to, and learn to appreciate.” He chuckles when you frown. “He drives me up the wall. But he’s a good guy.”

“Hmm?” Your pout is instantly enough to have him reaching around to pull you down onto him. “You’re not worried?”

You try to blink away tears, and stare out the window instead, at every light that flashes past. More to yourself than to him, you hiccup as you brush away the wobbly lines of heat down your cheeks. “You’ve been acting so— different.” He barely glances before turning too comfortably at the next lights, speeding up enough to make your chest feel tight. “I don’t know what’s happened, but I want you to go back to how you were.” That’s the only way you can put it. It’s like there’s nothing left.

Kiyoomi’s mouth corners drop at your confession, but he doesn’t speak. You’re not sure you want him to anyway. His free hand runs through his brushed back hair, long fingers sitting still against the steering wheel when they land. And they don’t move again as you sit in the quiet cold.

“Worried?” He repeats, calm expression changing into a grin. “Please, Miya fucking wishes.” You laugh when his lips start dragging down your pulse and he softly moans against you. “You’ve got way better taste than that. In neighbors - and,” his kisses get a little more hot and needy when his large hands glide down your body to grab your ass and pull you closer, “in boyfriends- and in perfume— you smell sexy, ‘s that new?”

You giggle harder, can’t help but get flustered when he gets so touchy. “I’ll get an inflated ego if you compliment me so much.” He shrugs, and positions you better onto his broad chest. But still. “How don’t you get jealous? I’m pretty sure I would if the roles were reversed.” His dark hair is splayed out over the pillow when he drops his head back, and those pretty eyes flick over your face for a second, thinking.

“I do,” he eventually breathes, “but not because of you, and definitely not with Miya Atsumu.” When you start giggling again, he frowns. “I mean, truly- genuinely-” You snort, and he stares at you with an affronted look. “If you wanna run into the egotistical, bombastic, borderline- pathetic sunset with that guy, I might have to take a long, hard look at myself. Wonder what horrible traits you’re dating me for.” His eyes fall back to you when you take a deep breath, and he goes a little bit softer as you nuzzle up under his chin. “You wanna leave me for a shitty dye job?”

“I don’t think so,” you whisper back. He looks much too at ease in the comfort of your now shared apartment.

The silence that once felt so comfortable, now squeezes the life out of you with all it’s got. Only after a few minutes, Kiyoomi’s voice reaches out, and the shiver down your neck seems to screw the icy collar down tighter.

“Y’know, I hate how that Miya looks at you. Makes me want to carve his fucking eyes out.”

+

About a week into living in Tokyo, you decide it’s not all that bad. Hauling along the giant box of fresh veggies and two more bags of groceries, you can barely look over enough to watch the elevator open, and hasten your steps. “Hold the door, please! There’s no way I’m doing the stairs today,” you sigh, and watch as the doors ping. You slide in just in time, and a deep chuckle follows when your arms start slowly folding with the weight.

“That’s … some collection you’ve got there,” the deep voice continues, “did I miss the call on doomsday?”

You manage to turn yourself enough to see the pair of warm, obsidian eyes staring down at you - soft curly hair freshly wet from a shower. The eggplants and pumpkins in your box start rolling toward the edge, so you shift the box onto your side with a struggling smile. “No, I- I like to buy in big batches and pre-chop everything to freeze. I don’t really love cooking so… that way I save- some time while still…” You fall quiet when he keeps your gaze without any reaction, and clear your voice. Most of his face is kept behind a black surgical mask, hiding what you imagine to be the rest of a handsome face.

But no one likes being stuck in unwanted small talk, do they. He nods though, right as you arrive on your floor and the doors slide open. “That’s smart. I’ll have to try that sometime.” The box starts slipping further. The noiret’s eyes go from your face to your white-knuckled grip, and then back. “Would you like some help with that?”

“Please,” you can’t say quickly enough, afraid that one wrong move will send the entire box rolling across the floor. It’s not like you to admit defeat so easily, but currently your pride could cost you a hundred on fresh produce, and— he doesn’t seem like the type to ask if he’d mind. Your neighbor doesn’t say anything, but his eyes crinkle a little with a smile. Aside from some very brief passings in the hallway, you haven’t had the chance to meet any of your building’s occupants yet. He doesn’t bat an eye when lifting the very heavy box out of your arms, and you fluster. “Sorry for the hassle.”

“No, it’s alright. I have the afternoon off - ‘s nothing. You’re the new 3B tennant, right?” He frees one hand just to slide his mask down when you nod your face towards your door. He’s probably the prettiest guy you’ve seen to date, strong jawline, full lips and an almost perfectly straight nose; dark curls framing smart, observant eyes. So not only is he tall and charming, he’s also hot. When you mumble a soft acknowledgement, he gives you a little smile, and you can’t help but feel a bit too seen. “I’m Kiyoomi.”

You think you like Kiyoomi.

+

The heat of hands shakes you out of sleep with a slight startle, and the surprise soon makes way for a wave of rolling pleasure mixed under a heavy layer of embarrassment - at the way Kiyoomi’s toying with your body like it’s his own, and the low chuckle he lets out when you let out a pinched whimper. One of his hands is two fingers deep inside your pussy by the time you can even blink the sleep out of your eyes, feeling the warmth flood onto your face. As slick gathers between your thighs, he pushes himself up above you, and squeezes your throat between his free fingers.

“Sorry for waking you up, baby.” There’s a sharp glint in his eyes that you can’t miss even with the low light, deep from within. His hand slides down the curve of your spine to settle around your hip, pressing you further into bed as your back arches when he curls his fingers without any mercy. Though you are leaving wetness all over his hand, the sudden invasion is still a little jarring, definitely when he starts sucking at your tits and bites down. “Omi, ow,” you breathe, and he only grunts as he nudges a thigh between your knees, spreading you apart. “Right now?”

“Shhh, just bear it for a bit,” he mumbles back, as his hand trails down your ribcage and forces your body to adjust to him when he hikes your leg over his shoulder. “Woke up so hard thinking of you, and- you were so cute just sleeping here next to me without a worry in the world.” His fingers are replaced quickly by the hot head of his cock, that is slid a few inches too deep right away, and your whimpering only drives him further. “Ah, fuck, there it is. Good- fucking- girl…” By the time he bottoms out there’s silvery slivers running down your face and you’re shaking your head as the ache has you moaning with pain.

But the dark haired man above you barely gives you any time to adjust, before he starts rocking himself against your center and rubbing himself deep enough to force your mouth shut. “You trust me, don’t you, angel?” He pants, stroking the inside of your thigh a few times, before starting a punishing rhythm that rocks the bed hard. The question takes you off guard, but it doesn’t seem like Kiyoomi needs an answer to keep going anyway, and you swallow down your whimper to hide your face in the pillow. He’s so big and rough and your body can’t keep up. “Oh, your pussy’s so fucking good. So tight and- warm, agh, fuck.”

Jutting out your lip into a little pout, you let out a little noise. You’re trying not to let the way he’s basically getting himself off inside you ruin your mood. After a moment, you blink up at him with wobbly vision. “Can you kiss me?” He takes a few seconds before the words register, fucking you harder each time he bottoms out— before his dark eyes go from your eyes to your lips like he’s having to debate it. And that hurts. He decides maybe against better judgment to lean in anyway, and presses his lips to yours with a low sigh, an almost moan that you suppose you have to be content with. 

He pushes your knee up to your chest as he gets closer, and the heavy pressure of his body on yours gets even more unbearable when his free hand wraps around your neck and presses until you’re gasping out. Your boyfriend’s eyes glint as they flick all over your face, and a small grin starts to travel up his lips. “Don’t you like me better like this?” You’re too distracted by the pounding in your head to answer, and whine out his name as your back arches off the bed. And Kiyoomi pants as he forces you to take each thrust. “I like you a lot. Wanna keep you.” You throw your head back, and reach around his wide shoulders to pull him even closer, trying to lock your legs around his waist with a sigh.

“Shit, you’re so fucking pretty, baby,” he pants into your mouth as he rocks himself into you, forehead to forehead as your nails dig into his skin. You feel bad, but you can’t help but pull him closer by his shoulders as the shower water trickles between you two and makes the entire room a steamy mix of pants and sweaty touches. “So-” he kisses messily, making you smile as his tongue swipes yours, “-damn pretty. I love your body so much.”

“And me?” You breathe back, letting your body tremble in his strong hands as he rocks himself so deep inside you that it’s making you breathless. Your little whine makes him stare, and nod.

“Of course I love you even more— don’t be silly- agh, fuck.” You move one hand to brush the wet tresses of hair out of his face and let yourself get moved up and down him, thighs wrapped ever so tight around his narrow waist. He breathes your name like the word itself is lovely, and you can’t help but moan a long whimper of his name when he hits the right spot so perfectly. “You feel so good, taking my cock right in there- that tight, little pussy. Drooling all over me, huh.” Another kiss as you swallow your mix of spit and rest your hand on his cheek. “You drive me crazy. I really- ugh- really love you, baby.”

Your tits brush up against his chest. “Promise?”

“Uhuh, mh-ahg. Promise. I can’t get enough of you.”

Sometimes you swear you can hear the house close in around you with heavy breaths.

+

The door to your apartment already hangs open when you notice the noise. The low thumping that is only audible when you slide the headphones off, a vaguely rhythmic noise that makes the hairs on your neck stand. You slide off the bed with a little frown, and smooth the wrinkles in your camisole as you peer into the open apartment area - which is empty. “Babe?” The door wobbles when the wind passes through, and your frown only digs deeper into your face when there’s no answer.

“Kiyoomi?”

The noise is louder when you walk towards the hall, and fist your hands into the bottom of the flimsy dress to pull it down. Only after a few moments of thought, your instinct drives you across the hall to pull open the door of the neighbors’, a young guy who moved in after you two did. Sure enough, your stomach drops as the scene splays out before you. There’s red all over the floor, Kiyoomi’s hands, and most horrifying - all over Ryouta’s nose and mouth as the barrage of fists lands over and over again— and you let out a horrified gasp. The damage has already been done, the brunet lays back with swollen eyes and is no longer fighting back, and you’re basically stunned in place as his knuckles crack on his cheek again.

When you manage the next breath, you force out a call of his name between tears. “Hck- Kiyoomi- w-what are you-,” your voice sounds too tiny to be your own, but any more volume doesn’t make it out of your throat, “please stop.” The last crack that resounds before he stops is even harder than any of the ones before— and he gets up without a word, smoothing his jersey back in place. He only quiets a moment, before turning over his shoulder to look at you. You, wobbling toward him like a baby deer.

Honestly, you don’t want to worry about him. But you can’t help but take his hands in yours to inspect the split knuckles, bloody and bruised— as if this is some bizarre dream. Kiyoomi’s precious about his hands. They’re his dreams, his passions, and his opportunities all in one, something to be cared for, rested gently like they mattered more than anything else. And now they’re bloodied like animals at the slaughter. When you look up at him- there’s no regret, no worry or care or concern. Just a blank sort of faux-understanding of your worry when he reaches out to brush your cheek.

You pull back away to look instead at the young man on the floor, because if you think about it too hard, you might start sobbing. Your hands drop by your thighs and feel so heavy, tears drying on your face. “Why did you-”

“Got back from my run and he said he needed your help.” There’s a cold, detached resolution in his voice. “And I told him to forget it, and then he asked me what ‘the fuck’ my problem was.” You find yourself shrinking into yourself when his dark eyes shift to you, with that unreadable look in his eye once more. His hands are slid into his pant pockets with a soft sigh, but he still raises an eyebrow your way. “Why would another guy need my girl?” Ryouta’s been nothing but nice to you since he moved in. You believed, maybe mistakenly, that that niceness had extended to your boyfriend.

But staring at the poor, battered face of the guy on the floor— something tells you that even if it did, Kiyoomi no longer cares. It feels like really, he’ll take any excuse to lash out. Your eyes flick over his face again, before swallowing. “I don’t know. Maybe it was a misunderstanding.” For the first time since you’ve noticed this new side to him, you’re truly scared when he eyes you down. You’ve been upset, and worried, and angry before - but this is new. As the only sound between you two is the shallow rise and fall of your chest, you try to walk up and wrap your arms around his bicep. “I love you, Kiyoomi. I have only ever… loved you.”

He frees a hand to run it over your hair, before leaning down to rest his nose at your crown. “I know you do. You’re a smart little thing, that’s why I like you.” His training jacket still smells like mint and eucalyptus wash sheets, and it does absolutely nothing to soothe the aching pressure that makes its way between your ears and squeezes. And the soft kiss to your forehead doesn’t, either. “Get back inside. I’ll be right there in a bit.”

+

Your apartment is barely a shell of itself now. You realize it -truly realize it- when you toss and turn in your bed and can’t help but get stuck on little things that shouldn’t matter, but they do. The sheets are different, silkier somehow. Kiyoomi got new toothbrushes instead of the old ones with dolphins, and your entire apartment smells just different enough to make it pressing. Slightly bleachy, and too hospital-like. A blue haze is cast through the window by the moon when you softly slip out of bed, ignoring the way a soft puff comes from your boyfriend. He doesn’t stir as you move, though his empty hand seems to reach for the heat you left. Normally you’d wonder if he misses you when you go, but instead the reach just feels possessive. 

It’s like living with a brand new boyfriend all over again.

You don’t like it as much the second time, you realize, trying to choke down the bad air you’re breathing. As you wobble around in the dark, it’s hard to find your footing. The door clicks too loud for your liking when you brush it closed behind you, and slide down onto the couch as your eyes adjust to the dark. You feel like you’re hanging off the edge of falling apart as you look around the room— and try to think. That night when he came home, when he stared off into space and wouldn’t talk to you, your first thought was of another woman. Kiyoomi had never given you any reason to doubt.

He was handsome and intelligent and you were lucky to have him, but he always made it easy to trust him. If he wanted to be with you he’d be with you.

But as more and more days passed, small things got bigger. Not letting you call friends, not letting you dress how you wanted to, glaring at anyone who so much as looked up at you on the street. He’d never been so possessive when things were good. Still, you don’t want to mourn a relationship that isn’t even over yet. You cover your sniffles into your hand, and get up from the couch to go search through his jacket for his phone, or wallet. A stray bobby pin or earring, anything to make sense of the mess inside your head. You wouldn’t be proud of this in the morning - but your brain is eating itself alive. The apartment’s so quiet at night, and the old building pants and moans in the darkness.

The small closet is hotter than the rest of the apartment, more damp too. The jackets are piled high on the dryer, and though you shove your hand down every pocket, your search turns up empty. After a few seconds of turning the last pair of pockets inside out, you sink down into a crouch— and take a deep breath. Just a few weeks ago, you’d thought that you could see yourself marrying Kiyoomi. You’d spent hours by his side, convinced that no one in the world knew you better than he did.

A soft whistling noise sounds from behind the dryer, and makes you wipe your hand under your nose. There’s an old door to a bricked up stairway here, that you never got any use out of. Kiyoomi once stored some brooms there, you think. You don’t know what possesses you to slide your hands into the narrow space between the dryer and the wall and pull, but with some force- it moves. You strain to drag it aside until you jerk, scrambling up.

A track of blood.

Smeared over your normally proper linoleum, there’s a dried off-maroon that can only be blood, crusted onto the wood as a dark patch between the dryer and the door. Your chest caves. Instead of normal breaths, shallow gasps start making your entire body go solid and cold, and your throat dries up. This can’t … it isn’t real. Can’t be. Everything inside you tries to convince you that this is just a nightmare, but even as you pinch your arm hard, nothing happens.

Blood rushes to your bruised knees as you look around, trying not to panic too hard— instead put a shaky hand on the handle. It could be rusty water. A busted pipe. As you move at a glacial pace to open the door, it creaks, and you lick your lips. You can’t cry. You want nothing more than to explode into a dam of tears and unload, but it’s like your body refuses. Every second makes your body pump with adrenaline, until the door clicks open and reveals the narrow space - and in it, something that doesn’t make sense.

Blood pools on the floor, dulled, matted and a disgusting, sticky mess that has you gasping; only to hold back a gag. But in it, sits the slumped, unmoving body of your boyfriend.

The same boyfriend you were sleeping next to just a few minutes ago.

Every hair on your body rises when you choke on the smell, and sink down to press your fingers to his pulse— even when the off white pallor of his face says everything it should. “Omi?” You whisper, and when you breathe out, your throat closes up. You want to wake up. Your first coherent thought is that you can’t breathe; the next, to run. There’s no more heat in his skin, icy to the touch, and it frightens you so much that you jerk back and slam the door to the closet, stopping abruptly between the couch and the door.

It’s when the lights flick on that you do regret that.

Kiyoomi’s voice sounds deeper when you turn. As he stares at you, he brushes his messy curls out of his face. “What are you doing?” You don’t speak. Nothing but a shallow hiccup makes it out of your mouth, but you’re still holding out your hands like they’ve been burned, and maybe that’s enough for him to slide his eyes over to the closet. For a moment it stays quiet. So quiet that you can hear the blood rush beneath your skin, pumping with adrenaline you have no room for. Kiyoomi’s dead. Your Kiyoomi’s dead, isn’t he. “Ah.”

“I- I-”

“You weren’t supposed to go snooping, angel. You’re really making things difficult.” The noiret’s quiet calmness makes way for a slight smile, before he steps out of the doorway towards you. And you flatten yourself to the wall on shaky legs, but moving any more than that feels impossible. You’ve never been so scared in your life— literally frozen solid to the wall as your panicked hiccups send tears welling up in thick, childish bubbles that refuse to tip. He gives you an up and down, before pointing at you as he walks over to the closet, and sighs. “Don’t move.”

You couldn’t, even if you had the courage to. And you very much don’t. It’s so cold— you watch as he pushes into the small room only to drag the body you’d left there out of it. The heavy scraping noise of a limp body across the floor is almost enough to have you totally break. When he dumps the body in the middle of your shared living room, you manage to let out a few noises, strangled, pathetic noises, before you wring your hands together. “W-what did you do to Kiyoomi?”

“I am Kiyoomi,” he says back with enough certainty to shake you, and then smiles a little when finally the tears spill, and you shake your head left and right through your panic.

“You’re not—” is all you can squeak before he walks up to you too close and grabs your face, leaving sticky cold blood with his touch. Your cheek is almost held lovingly, but one glance up at his eyes convinces you that it’s anything but. It’s predatory, a mean glitter of amusement that plays in the darkness, and the harder you cry, the giddier it seems to get. “Let me go, p-please,” you sniffle, “let me go. I won’t tell, I just don’t wanna be- h-here.”

“Shhh, we might as well pretend I’m him still. You look so cute whining that name like it’s your fucking job.” He takes you by the hand after pressing a brief kiss on your forehead, and then sits you down onto the couch. And your chest still feels much too rattled to think about running anywhere, but when he pushes one finger into your mouth with a slight grin, you consider it. “Don’t know any better, do you?” He groans. You want to bite and run, and hide until everything stops pounding— but run where? Your boyfriend’s cold on the floor of your apartment. You can barely stop crying for long enough to take a breath, and the man above you pushes another finger down your throat. “Such a pretty little girlfriend I’ve got- look here-” 

You do - can’t help it when the pressure starts choking you, and whatever frightened look you’re giving him, is enough to make him groan long and hard. It fucks with your brain. It’s still your boyfriend- looks, smells, tastes the same- and if you stop paying attention for a few seconds, it’s almost like everything is back to normal. It’s almost like you’re safe as long as you pretend not to notice what’s going on around just you and the invasive touches that are forced onto you. “Man, you look so fucking wrecked, baby. Say my name, won’t you?” His grin is wide and cheshire-like when he leans in and starts nudging your top down your shoulders. “Say ‘please, Kiyoomi’.”

He doesn’t move his fingers out of the way to allow you. Instead you whimper around his fingers, and try not to choke as spit gets all over your chin and his hand. “Pwea-se, Kiy-oomi.”

“Hahah, you’re so fucking nasty, getting spit all over me. Drooling like a fucking dog while you’re being forced— You like whining and moaning for me?” He takes his fingers out to wipe them on your flimsy camisole and stands to start sliding down his boxers, pushing you back towards the couch. The small grin changes to a tight grimace when you try to grab at him for comfort. “Ah ah ah, don’t think so.” There’s a fistful of hair in his hand before you can apologize, as he shoves you face down towards the couch and holds you there, cheek pressed to the rough fabric. Until your face is hung just off the side, and you’re forced to face the trail of blood that ends in a familiar face.

It’s horrible, and the harder you squeeze your eyes shut against the wave of fresh tears, the deeper the image seems to force itself into your brain. “Kiyoomi~” You whimper pathetically, and he hums in response. Everything’s too close, too loud, his touch is too real and too pressing and warm— burning you from the inside out as he yanks your clothing the last bit down until it hangs around your waist and he drags his fingers up and down your slit through your panties a few times. It leaves the wet fabric awfully sticky against your pussy, and your cheeks get hotter. It’s not your fault, his fingers work you in ways that always work. That thought has your eyes flicking open, but the horrific sight has yet to disappear. “Mh-hck,” you start up again, and try to roll aside as he grabs your thigh hard to hold you in place. “I wanna stop. I wanna stop.”

“Aw, poor baby. Poor angel.” The dismissive tone is cooed as a loving mockery when he pushes you down between your shoulder blades and yanks your panties the rest of the way down. “You don’t even know what to do with yourself, huh?” He then yanks your head up so you’re forced to stare at your reflection in the window, unable to see anything else. You can’t close your eyes to hide from it. Kiyoomi’s grabbing you tight enough to have you unable to move. “I’ll give you a hint. You lay here and you take it. You just listen nice and sweet, ugh-” He groans low when pushing the hot head of his cock against your entrance, patting it with a patient sigh— only to push in with a force that makes you jerk.

Why does it hurt so much? You wanna cry harder when he forces all the heavy girth of his cock inside you and the wetness dripping between your legs squelches loud, but your throat’s too clogged to. Instead only a pinched moan comes out, and he grunts when bottoming out deep inside you. “Girls who don’t listen make me wanna cut them open and eat their insides out. Would you like that?” The pull on your hair forcing your head up is making you lightheaded. That, and the stinging, uncomfortable tightness inside your pussy, squeezing and clenching against the intrusion - still isn’t enough to drown out the horror of those words as he whispers them.

Almost instantly you shake your head left and right, and your muffled ‘no’s melt into a childish cry. “No, nonono, Omi- ‘yoomi- I, no~ pleas-hck- stop. Wanna stop.” He pulls back his hips for long enough to really let you feel the ache of your walls as they cling to his cock, but then thrusts back in and bounces you on his cock. He drops your head back to the side of the couch, and places a hand in the middle of your spine to anchor you down under his weight. 

“You don’t? I think you’re lying. You want to be treated like a sack of meat.” His hips make a loud sound when connecting with your ass. “You don’t like this?”

“Ow, oww, Omi- ‘hurts-” You’re fighting against the caving of your chest each time you exhale, and forced to take shorter breaths each time he fucks back into you. “Ah, ow.” And your pussy hurts, but the rolling of his hips and the stubborn, deep grinding is too overwhelming. You hate that you can hear the wetness of your cunt squeezing around the pumping of him inside, you hate the way he breathes above you, how you can feel him everywhere. It makes you sick. It’s all too much, and still it feels so fucking good that you’re hot in the face. “Mhm~ ‘m sorry. I’m sorry.” You blink through the tears to stare just a second at the trail of blood that he made from the closet to the couch— but you can’t make yourself look any closer. Instead you aim your eyes back at your reflection, and meet other eyes.

“You haven’t wanted to play with me much since I got here. ‘S your own fault that I’m all pent up now, stupid girl.” The steady rhythm in and out of your needy pussy is too much. It feels so good— and you hate it. You clench your hands into the couch as best you can and try to hang on, until your knuckles turn white. The noiret’s voice is back to taunt you, this time as his other hand reaches around to grab the soft of your throat and squeeze, shaking you back to him. “If you want your nice, reliable Kiyoomi, look- he’s right here for you.” You can’t. You can’t. Your tears well over in ugly rivers that you shut behind your lids, and Kiyoomi makes a noise.

You can’t tell if it’s a pleased noise or not, you don’t care. He rolls his hips, and your cunny accepts too eagerly. But it still feels so fucking good. And you can’t stop yourself from feeling like the worst person in the world. Your hands shake, and your head feels faint. Kiyoomi’s dead. There’s nothing else to know. Kiyoomi’s dead and you’re about to cum getting fucked— your whimper gives you away. It’s faint, but he hears it. “Hm, you don’t like him either now huh?” Instead of squeezing your throat, his hand moves to grab your tit instead, pinching your puffy nipple until you can’t help but make a noise. You’re so gross. And your pussy’s still pulling him back in, clenching to the pulsing heat as it fucks right into the softest part of your walls. “I- agh, f- I like bullying my pretty little cock sleeve to tears. So- f-fucking cute like this.”

He ruts into you until your belly feels hot and tingly, and you grind back against him on instinct. You’re getting so close, the pinching, the precise way he hits the needy spot deep inside you - you don’t even want to. “No, no- Omi, I’m- agh, please stop.” You really don’t. “I’m- I’m gonna—” But before you can stop it, your eyes squeeze shut, and your entire body goes tense. The tight ball of heat that’s been expanding all over your body with each pump, each time his heavy balls slap against you, explodes into a million pieces. “Kiyoomi, I love you, I’m so- sorry, I’m so sorry, it’s— all my fault.”

As he fucks you through the blooming heat and the white and black spots that play on your lids, he groans your name low and possessive. Your clenching only slows way after you’ve grinded yourself back against him and drooled all over the couch, until your tired body drops back into the plush. And Kiyoomi lets out a little chuckle. “Yea, it’s all your fault, stupid girl. You lay here and stay— I’ll be right back.” You barely feel the heat leave until it comes back, shoving some of the wetness from your sensitive pussy right back inside with a grunt, and a harsh tap of his hand to your pussy. The sting is sharp, and you glare through your tears as you look up. Not that he cares. “Here. Look. Kiss it.”

The sharp blade that’s basically shoved in your face glints when you hesitate, and suck your bottom lip into your mouth. “Come on. Or else I’ll put it to use on him instead, and you don’t want that, do you?” Your lips press against the cold metal, but your eyes stay resolutely on his face. Dark curls framing dark eyes and long lashes — you often told him he was the most beautiful man you knew. You wonder if he remembered it in the end. You suppose it doesn’t matter though, watching his mirror click his tongue.

“Good girl, such a good baby girl under all the crying and mess, aren’t you? Almost make me think you like me better like this after all.” You can’t answer, but the tears that wobble sadly along your waterline spill over in the silence— and your lip wobbles. And Kiyoomi only brushes a thumb along your lip, before shrugging. “No? That’s a shame. Because you are mine now. Mine. All of you.” He points the knife into the top of your leg, and leaves behind a mark that immediately wells up with dotted red. The immediate pain and sting of hot blood sears through your skin. “Tell me again what name you want me to write? Say it nice and sweet, angel.”

Your voice doesn’t shake as much as you think it should. “Kiyoomi.”

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Dabi x reader in squid game where they’re both players 👀 ✨

Squid Game AU - Player!Dabi x Player!Reader

Part 2, Part 3, Part 4.

Squid Game AU Masterlist

TW: Dabi is one of the scary players, Mentions of Violence and Murder, just a tiny bit of blackmail, implied dubcon.

30 minutes until lights out.

The clock hangs over the room, menacing streak of numbers that keep changing, leading you towards a nightmarish night, at best, and your painful death, at worst. Everyone knows what will happen; now that they're aware killing others in the dorms bears no consequence, the most violent of the players will wait until the lights are out to unleash their murderous fury in an atrocious blood bath.

And then there's you. Defenseless. Like a rabbit locked in with a pack of wolves. As much as you can rely on your wits during the game, you hadn't expected to be forced to fight for your life even at night, when there are no strict rules hanging over the participants and keeping them from hurting or killing others. There is no being smart when you're facing the sharp end of a knife or cowering under the fists of a merciless criminal, and as the numbers keep rolling above the beds, you know you have less than a 10% survival chance.

It feels unfair.

"Why do you keep looking at the clock? You scared or something?"

You raise your eyes to the man standing next to your bed, the knife hidden in the palm of his hand clicking against the metallic bars in annoying sounds. Still, your blood freezes in your veins at the sight of him; his black hair falling in front of cerulean blue eyes, the burn scars littering his face and body, the murderous fury alight in his gaze, waiting, expectant, ready to be unleashed as soon as the countdown strikes 0.

You don't know his name, and the number on his jacket is hidden under a blood stain, almost black now that it has dried, but you remember him, and more specifically the amused smirk that keeps pulling at his lips everytime he takes other players down in the games. He's among the worst ones, you know, among the criminals and murderers who are there because they need a bit of cash to escape from justice, far from the other poor souls forced to take part in such a game simply because they've been indebted after a few financial mistakes.

He's the last person you'd want to see near you when the lights go out.

Because of course, he's right. You're terrified.

"I'm not," you lie, and he barks a laugh. The sound makes you feel small, defenseless, weak, as if you were nothing but a prey cowering while the predator roars in triumph right before devouring them whole.

"Don't be so shy, princess. Want me to protect ya?"

You blink, surprised as he looks down at you, smug smirk pulling at his mismatched lips. You wonder what he did to earn these scars, if they're just the remains of yet another of his crimes, or if they're simply a red flag that you should take into account before accepting whatever it is he's offering.

It's not as if you have a choice, anyway.

And maybe he's just mocking you, playing with your feelings, giving you a sliver of hope before taking it away, but it's all you have, so you slowly nod, and whisper:

"Please."

His fingers are rough, calloussed when they gently stroke your cheek, as if you were a kitten that he'd been dying to pet. His digits slid under your chin before raising it, forcing you to look into his eyes. Blue, beautiful, and yet there's a sparkle of something scary burning in the cerulean irises.

"Alright princess, I'll be your bodyguard for the night. And, don't worry..."

His thumb rises along your chin, lingering a few seconds on your lower lip before slightly pushing until your mouth opens and he can feel the warmth of your tongue on his skin as it slips inside.

He smiles, and you don't think you've ever seen anything so terrifying.

"We'll talk about the price in the morning."

-------

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𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒘𝒉𝒆𝒏 𝒉𝒆 𝒘𝒂𝒏𝒕𝒔 𝒚𝒐𝒖…

+ itoshi sae x f!reader | wc 2.5k | content: fluff, pining, mentions of fake dating, jealousy, reader is kind of an idiot, sae loves to tease, best friend otoya, cussing

notes: hello hello i’m on board the sae love train once more , are you guys still with me ^_^

summary: what do you do when your best friend kind of sort of forces you to confess your two-year long crush when you’re not ready to? pray and hope for the best.

“i could just tell him for you.”

“eita, fuck no,” you throw him a warning glare as you chop the vegetables up with scary precision despite not having an eye on them. only because you know if you don’t explicitly tell him not to, that he’d think it’s no big deal and do it anyway.

and let’s say, you’d rather die than let that happen.

sure, you and sae had been closer back in high school; he sat behind you and entertained the secret notes you passed to him, he used to ruffle the top of your head whenever you pouted, he used to buy food for you during breaks.

but that’s all in the past and somehow, the both of you had drifted since then.

otoya deadpans, an unamused pair of eyes looking back at you from their spot across the island. “it’s been what, four fucking years since you graduated? grow a pair,” he retorts, attempting to steal a carrot but getting a slap on the back of his hand instead.

“bold of you to say that to a girl with a knife,” you snap at him, pointing the blade at his face.

to which he merely rolls his eyes, using two fingers to push it aside. “not like you’re that good at using it.” but he sighs when you silently turn your attention back to chopping vegetables. “does that mean i have to put up with your miserable face even longer?”

you and otoya continue to bicker, and you’re beginning to wonder how you’ve tolerated being best friends with him for the past four years. he’s a real piece of work.

“fine, fine,” otoya grumbles after you’re done with lunch, bangs over his eyes. “i promise i won’t tell sae anything, okay?”

that’s after you threatened not to let him hijack your house anymore for food. for someone who’s earning big bucks being a famous soccer player, you can’t make sense of why he won’t just get food delivered. maybe he just likes to annoy you.

“good. or else i’ll kill you.”

your crush on itoshi sae has been somewhat dormant for the past few years. and by dormant you mean that you haven’t tried making any moves because you’re too scared.

itoshi sae. one of the most famous international breakout stars in soccer. one of the most talented playmakers the world has ever seen. that comes with its own sets of pros and cons.

pros? he definitely doesn’t seem like he has much trouble doing anything he wants. he gets paid for every game. he gets paid for gigs. he gets sponsorships all over the place. which basically means that financially, he doesn’t need to give a shit.

cons? the media can be brutal. sae does something that’s remotely questionable and they’re all over it. he doesn’t thank a waiter that one time? automatically labeled as a rude brat by the paparazzi. and not to mention—the amount of girls he’s forced to fake date just for the sake of publicity.

you’re mostly pressed on that last part though, because they’re all supermodels or olympic stars or rich socialites. and compared to them, well, you’re just someone who happens to be in the same friend group and hang out together every once in a while when he’s back in japan. sae doesn’t even hang out much with the group, to your dismay.

it’s a pain, or so he says.

you wonder how you drifted in the first place. maybe it’s just the fame. you wonder if he thinks of you too sometimes.

must be your wishful thinking.

kind of makes you wonder whether he does have a secret girlfriend that he’s keeping from everyone. you wouldn’t really put it past him. it’s not like he has any super deep emotional bonds with any of you (that you know of). eita says he’s definitely single, but you think he’s just saying that to appease you. he already has his hands full having to watch you mope whenever you see news of sae and another girl and yet another dating rumor.

just as well. you think sae could do better than you, spending your friday nights at home, washing dishes at the sink and looking out at the tokyo skyline instead of out partying and living life with countless friends.

you don’t think you’re too shabby though. you’re a fresh graduate with a job at one of the most prestigious companies in tokyo you can think of. it’s not bad. but you can’t help but feel it’s worlds away from the one sae lives in.

the doorbell rings, snapping you out of your thoughts, nearly dropping the white marble plate you’re washing. your eyes snap to the clock in the living room. it’s almost 9pm—right about the time when eita usually comes knocking and asking you for supper.

groaning, you wash whatever’s left of the dish soap away from your hands and sloppily dry them against the bottom of your shirt, grumbling out loud about how you really should stop coming here whenever the fuck you want, eita while you stomp over to the front door.

you open the door, messy hair and bare face and baggy clothes, fully expecting to smack some sense into otoya eita when you feel yourself freeze up at the pair of eyes looking back at you.

they’re teal and framed by pretty long lashes and definitely don’t belong to your best friend.

what the fuck is he doing here?

this is one of the rare times that you’d actually prefer to see eita at your front door instead.

sae raises a brow, giving you a once-over. of course, he’s never seen you in this state—hair disheveled, clothes wrinkled, not a trace of makeup on your face. you’d made sure that whenever there was a possibility that sae would see you that you dressed yourself up as nice as possible. if you’d known he was coming over, you’d have at least dressed decently. definitely not baggy shirt and pants that you can barely see.

“uh… w-what are you doing here?” stupid, but the best you can manage.

he has his hands in his gray sweat pockets, and fuck him for wearing a black compression top. you can just make out the outline of his abs under there, the muscles on his arms already much too obvious with those short sleeves.

“dunno, eita said there was an emergency and i needed to get here,” sae says, wholly unbothered, monotonous as usual. he lets himself in, toeing his shoes off at the entryway, positioning them neatly beside your everyday sneakers.

fucking eita.

judging by what you know, sae was probably on his way for an evening jog when otoya called him. he still has his wireless earbuds in. you wonder if anything’s even playing.

sae takes it off once he catches you staring.

he’s not carrying anything. it’s just him. you wonder if anyone managed to catch him coming over. is his most recent pr stunt already over? won’t do either of you any good if he’s labeled as a cheater.

“so? what is it?” sae asks you, again, while he walks himself inside, curious eyes looking around your apartment, and suddenly you’re hyper aware. you hope to god you didn’t leave any of your inner wear lying around at random places.

in a panic, you rush over to him, blocking his path inside, both hands on his chest as you attempt to push him back to the front door. unfortunately for you, sae’s much stronger than you are, his body not budging an inch.

“it’s nothing, he made a mistake,” you sigh, giving up when you figure that sae’s only going to move of his own accord. “he’s probably just playing a prank on you, that’s all.”

you’re hoping, praying, wishing that sae will just take your word for it and go. because that’s what he does; he doesn’t hover much, doesn’t care about anything much at all. you don’t even know the last time he’s asked about how any of your lives are doing.

the world must hate you though, because sae only offers a grunt in response before looking towards your kitchen (you’re internally sighing in relief, glad that you cleaned your kitchen up before this). “i’m thirsty, you have anything to drink?”

you blink at him, stumped that sae is wasting his precious time in your apartment, but who are you to say no to sae, of all people?

“yeah, sure, juice?”

sae shrugs, “whatever.”

you turn your back on him, slowly taking your carton of apple juice and finding the nicest glass that exists in your cupboard, cursing yourself internally for not preparing for unexpected guests enough. you do this slowly partly because you’re trying to calm your stupid heart down, still not fathoming why on earth sae’s wasting his time with you.

carefully, you rehearse yourself in your head, where you’re going to step, how you’re going to walk over to him—you really are just hopeless. count it your bad luck that the moment you turn around, you nearly drop the glass because you’re forgetting a really fundamental issue here: your merch.

“no no no, uh—” you leave the glass on the countertop, scurrying over to where sae’s staring and thumbing at something on your coffee table.

sae looks at your flustered reaction, giving you way to grab your things off the table and stuff them in the drawer where they’re out of sight. he blinks at you, a slight amusement bubbling inside him.

“wow, big fan, huh?”

you don’t know what’s worse: you being your most unpresentable self right now or that sae just caught you having some of his merch.

“so you have some of eita’s merch lying around too or is it just mine?”

you could die of embarrassment right now.

back still turned to sae, you desperately search your brain for answers. thinking on the spot doesn’t seem like your strong suit right now.

“it… was a gift.” believable, right?

sae hums, as though he’s contemplating. “why just mine then? why not oliver’s or my brother’s?”

fuck.

“i don’t know, maybe yours was the only one that wasn’t sold out.”

“ouch.”

you didn’t mean to indirectly insult him but what’s a drowning girl to do?

sae sighs when you keep quiet, still staying out where you are, trembling too much to move. “didn’t know you were in love with me.”

this time, you whip your head around to face him—that same stoic expression of his unchanging on his face. “am not!”

his brows shoot up. “but you bought some of my merch.”

“i told you, it was a gift.”

you need to get paid for still standing up on your own two feet right now. your head’s way too giddy from the interaction, considering.

“even that figurine over there?” sae’s finger points to a small toy just barely visible behind the nooks of the bookshelf. it’s a small figurine; something sold a few years back when sae was just first starting out. you’d bought it because, well, you’d thought chibi sae looked cuter than actual sae. (especially now when he’s just staring blankly at you.)

“that was…”

“a gift?”

you think he’s making fun of you now at this point.

“anyway, we’ve established that there’s no emergency here so why don’t you just go?” you’re pretty sure sae won’t ever talk to you again—not after coming across what he did tonight. he probably thinks you’re a freak, probably questions why he even considers you his friend (to which you’re now wondering if that’s even true at all).

you make a mental reminder to yourself to kill otoya eita tomorrow.

sae lets you push him towards the entryway, apple juice long forgotten on the countertop, collecting condensation with water pooling below the glass.

“you must like me a lot, huh?” he ponders out loud as you continue pushing him towards the door. you see a hint of cockiness in his stare now, the slightest tug of a smirk on the corner of his lips.

“i do n—”

“be careful what you say,” sae cuts you off, toeing his shoes back on, looking glamorous as ever and you nearly forget that he looks straight out of a magazine even in his sportswear. “‘cause i’ll believe you.”

part of you wants him to just go already so your knees can buckle under, but part of you wants to ask him what he means. what’s he insinuating? isn’t the answer clear enough.

but now it’s way past nine and he’s all ready to go yet he’s still standing at your doorway, waiting for your answer. you want to scream no, you want to keep your secret safe, you don’t want him to know about the crush you’d been harbouring. but he told you to be careful what you say because he’ll believe you.

“s-so what if i do?” you stutter, failing to look him in the eyes, your stare focused on the air in between you.

sae’s features soften ever so slightly, like he wasn’t expecting you to give in so quickly, but it isn’t one of disgust. it’s more like one of pleasant surprise.

after what seems like an eternity, sae finally opens his mouth.

“you must’ve gotten jealous a lot with all those girls i’d gone out with.”

your fist instinctively connect with his arm, his stoic finally giving way to a grimace, palm rubbing his triceps in pain. out of all the things to say, he chooses to say that? you think he deserves it.

“you know what, sae? you can go back to your fake girlfriends, i could care less,” you snap at him, pouting. you hate that despite how ignorant his words are that you can’t find it in yourself to hate him.

sae exhales sharply, chuckling softly when he sees your pout, and you feel as though it’s the first time you’ve seen him like this even though it’s not. his hand comes up to ruffle the top of your head gently, and you’re reminded of when he did this to you back in high school.

“can’t do that, can i?” he tells you, that soft disposition gone and the stoic mischief coming right back. “not when i’m in front of who could be my real girlfriend.”

your heart might’ve forgotten how to beat.

sae leaves you standing there, left to your own devices as he exits your apartment, fully aware of his effect on you.

not long after he leaves (while you’re still standing in the doorway), your phone buzzes in your pocket. you fish it out and see his name there for the first time in a long time.

you smile to yourself as you read his message. okay, so maybe you’ll spare eita’s life for now.

Infinite Rewind

Gojo Satoru x reader

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."

"Nice?" Satoru echoes.

"Yeah."

And then it's quiet again.)

Part two: Rewound Infinitely

Title: Going Live.

Pairing: Yandere!Nanami x Reader (JJK)

Word Count: 7.6k.

TW: Non/Con, Fem!Reader, Camgirl!Reader, Kidnapping, Physical Intimidation, Long-Term Stalking, Obsessive Behavior, Delusional Behavior, Slight Exhibitionism, and Panic Attacks + Disassociation. Dead Dove: Do Not Eat.

You were a lot of things to Nanami Kento – his world, his light, his love – but above all else, you were the reason he looked forward to getting home.

Calling it ‘infatuation’ would’ve been a disservice to the depth of his feelings for you. It’d been love at first sight; instant and wholehearted, a shackle snapped shut around his neck that he had no will or desire to escape. His eyes were on his watch as soon as he crossed the threshold, his coat shrugged off and abandoned along with his tie in the doorway. He didn’t bother turning on lights or taking off his shoes, doing anything to make his empty apartment seem more lived-in, his focus solely dedicated to reaching his home office with as few disruptions as was possible, with Gojo and the higher-ups still attempting to contact him about the curse he’d finished exorcising less than an hour prior. They could wait. You wouldn’t.

He was smiling by the time he collapsed into the leather-cushioned chair, his laptop still on his desk from the night before – the last time he got to see you. The motions were automatic, practiced to the point of reflexivity. One hand glided over the keyboard while the other found his phone, silencing it in the same motion as he tossed it haphazardly onto the desk, out of his view. He checked his watch one more time; 6:59. Good. He was early.

His grin brightened, as did his laptop. Your stream flickered to life a second later and with it, your smiling face. The relief was instant, pure warmth accompanying it. The bittersweet tinge – as subtle as it was prodding – came only a moment later, but Nanami did his best to ignore it.

You were the sole reason Nanami Kento looked forward to getting home. The center of his world, the sole light in his otherwise bleak life. The person he loved more than anything, more than everything.

It was only a shame, then, that you had no idea he existed.

One of his favorite things about you had always been your meticulousness. For tonight’s show, you were splayed out across the foot of a queen-sized bed, surrounded by pastel pink satin sheets and a fleece comforter of the same shade, a matching dormant hitachi vibrator (Nanami’s favorite and, guessing from how often it made an appearance in your shows, yours too) nestled between your thighs. Your outfit was aesthetically pleasing – a set of lacey, baby blue lingerie with white, knee socks – but paired with your set up, casual enough to give the impression that you hadn’t realized the camera you were posing in front of was actually on, as if you weren’t entirely prepared to be seen by a thousand or so strangers just yet. The fact that you didn’t start talking right away, only humming as you idly toyed with your hair, only added to the nonchalance of it all. You would make a good actress, if you ever decided to pursue something more, for lack of a more applicable phrase, legitimate.

Nanami’s attention drifted from you to your chat, slowly starting to fill with impatient viewers. Despite himself, he felt his absentminded smile waver, an irk of irritation momentarily tainting his bliss. He knew you weren’t entirely real, that he didn’t have any right to be possessive over a performer, but he loved you. It would’ve been difficult for anyone to watch someone they loved be exposed to so many prying eyes.

user34333: fuck she’s hot

hotbox420: looking good y/n!!!

lostandconfused: why does she still have her clothes on?

 The only silver lining was how oblivious you seemed to it. Another minute passed before you straightened, yawning slightly as you pushed yourself up, legs hanging over the foot of your bed. “Welcome home,” you started, with a quick stretch and a playful wave towards the camera. “Everyone’s already put the kids to bed, right? I’ve got a very special surprise I want to bring out a little later, so nobody’s allowed to leave early.”

Your tone was light, melodic, saccharine. Already, Nanami could feel his cock beginning to harden against his thigh, straining at the material of his pants. You were always mobile during your shows, prone to flitting from one position to another, but tonight, you almost seemed antsy as you pulled your legs back onto the mattress, tucking your knees underneath you and bowing your head, your neutral smile taking on a shy undertone. “I’ve been looking forward to this all day,” you admitted, speaking quickly enough for the words to blend together. Then, with more composure, “Who wants to get us started?”

Nanami’s hand was already on his keyboard, waiting for your cue. Somehow, he was still too late.

blueeyeswhitedragon sent 150 credits!

blueeyeswhitedragon: Bra first, pretty please.

You giggled as you raised your hands, leaning forward to give the camera a better view of your chest as you undid the clasp at the nape of your neck. Nanami’s breath hitched as the thin fabric fell away, revealing the soft curves of your breasts and your pretty, perfect nipples – already hard, already enough to make saliva pool underneath his tongue. The lower clasp was next, undone with more effort and more bouncing than what seemed absolutely necessary, but Nanami couldn’t complain, not when he was struggling to undo the fly of his dress pants without ever looking away from you. There was another giggle as the article fell away entirely, then a third as you cupped your chest with both hands, groping gently. “I used to be so shy about taking my top off on camera…” You trailed off, batting your eyes. “But, you guys think I’m pretty, right?”

Your requested affirmations flooded the chat in an instant. Nanami grinned, slumping back in his chair. He could compliment any part of you earnestly, but aside from donations, he rarely let himself participate in your chat. Speaking to you so openly, being one of a dozen people whose username you’d glance over in a second – that wasn’t what he wanted. Anonymous adoration wasn’t the shape his affection took.

Eventually, you collapsed back onto your bed. “Okay, okay, that’s enough,” you went on, as Nanami wrapped a fist around the base of his cock. “What next?”

There was another offer – 300 credits for your panties, 400 if you took them off with your back to the camera. You obliged, bent at the waist, inching the silken fabric down your thighs at an almost sadistic pace. After you finished, you seemed ready to move onto the main show, but another donation cropped up in your chat.

user34232 sent 75 credits!

user34232: for the socks pls

That, as far as Nanami could tell, seemed to catch you genuinely off-guard. He could see you blushing as you leaned towards the camera – or, he supposed, the laptop you had positioned underneath it, as if you’d misread something. “…my socks?”

Nanami stifled a grown, tightening his hold. With his free hand, he reached for the keyboard,

n. kento sent 200 credits!

n. kento: Don’t take them off.

You played your part perfectly, sighing as you let your head lull to the side. All it took was you batting your eye lashes while letting out the sweetest murmur of “Well, I don’t know if that’s fair, but…” for your chat to dissolve into a bidding war, donations ranging from five credits to five hundred. If you were making any earnest attempt to keep track of which side was winning, you clearly had no motivation to call it too early on – pulling your legs onto your bed and kicking your feet out playfully towards the camera. “Some of you guys ask for such weird stuff,” you went on, rolling your left ankle. “If someone doesn’t tell me what to do soon, I think I’m just going to have to change into another outfit.”

Nanami let out a breath of a chuckle, only half aware he was typing.

n. kento sent 1,750 credits!

n. kento: You look beautiful. Keep them on.

You laughed, and this time, Nanami chose to believe it was sincere. “I get it! We’ll move on.” You were already leaning back, rolling onto your stomach, giving your viewers a perfect view of your ass as you reached for something off-screen. “Normally I’d ask for a suggestion,” you said, as you brought what you’d retrieved back into frame – a pale pink rabbit vibrator, the penetrative half of the forked wand ribbed. “But I have something I’m kind of looking forward to. I promise, I’ll try to get past the boring stuff quickly.”

You thought too little of yourself. Arousal drooled from Nanami’s flushed tip as you positioned yourself on the edge of the mattress, legs spread wide and slick, glistening pussy fully on display. You were already wet, but he knew you would be. It was something you joked about often – how sensitive you were, how something as minor as a wet dream would have you soaking through your panties. Normally, he would’ve figured you were just playing it up for the sake of your viewers, but it was hard to deny the evidence in front of him.

A whimper slipped past your parted lips as you eased the head of the toy past your entrance, stretching yourself out on its bulbed tip. Now, now, he started to move his hand, pumping his fist over the length of his shaft in short, slow strokes, matching your tempo as you rocked your toy into your pussy. A dull hum fills the room as your thumb finds the switch built into the handle’s underside, and your expression immediately goes from dazed to pained, your tongue peaking out from between your lips and your eyes fluttering shut as your hips bucked against the vibrator. “It—It feels—” Your thighs threaten to twitch shut, but you hold them open, determined to give your audience the best possible view of your pussy clenching around your toy. “I really—I wanna get some bondage gear soon, so that I can—”

Whatever you might’ve said was replaced by a bubbling moan, and just like that, Nanami was fucking his fist without restraint. He knew how pathetic it was, but it would’ve been impossible not to imagine it was his cock sinking into your dripping cunt rather than an inanimate toy, not to wish it was your pussy clamping down around his length rather than his own fist. He wondered what you smelled like, if you wore perfume, what it would be like to have his face buried between your thighs. He was aware, vaguely, that your chat was the most active it’d been all night, people trying to catch your attention with donations and tips and compliments, but they didn’t matter. They weren’t watching you, not really, not the same way Nanami was. He knew you, well enough to know that you couldn’t think once something had been stuffed inside of your cunt. He loved you, enough to wish he was the one making your mind go so euphorically blank.

There was more moaning, more failed attempts to speak, but you didn’t let yourself cum. You were visibly trembling by the time you switched the toy off, and it took agonizing seconds to ease the wand out of your disappointed pussy – seconds Nanami watched with rapt devotion. More out of sympathy than anything else, he lets go of his cock entirely, gritting his teeth and attempting to ignore the pulsing ache forming in the pit of his stomach. What was next was better. What was next was worth waiting for.

You took a few panting breaths, your voice still airy by the time you managed to speak. “I have a—” You paused, grinned. Nanami smiled too. “I have a surprise for all of you, tonight. I think I mentioned that already, but— oh, right.” You perked up, playing excited. “We have to move to the floor, for this next part.”

You slipped off-screen, and a second later, the camera shifted to follow you – falling onto a corner of your room less staged than your bed, but just as pristine. Abstract, pastel tapestries obscured the walls, but the dark floorboards were left bare. On one side, most of a dog kennel was visible, decorated with string lights and clearly meant for one of your more niche shows, and on the other, he could make out the bottom corner of a poster – not for anything kinky, or sensual, or in any way suggestive, but an underground band, a local band. You probably hadn’t realized it was in the shot, let alone meant for it to be. You were usually more careful about giving away anything even remotely personal, but Nanami couldn’t be mad.

After all, it’d been that poster that’d let him find you.

He could still remember the first time he ever saw you – actually saw you, not through a screen, but in person. After he knew that you lived in the same city as him (the same district, even), it’d only taken a few more days to find your name, your age, your address. Still, he put off visiting you for weeks, telling himself that it didn’t matter, that you wouldn’t recognize him, that you wouldn’t want to see him. And, in the end, you hadn’t seen him at all – you hadn’t needed to.

That night, he’d watched your show from the rooftop of the building opposite of yours, straining to see you through a bedroom window left carelessly open. Even now, the guilt was almost tangibly agonizing, the shame practically unbearable.

Almost as unbearable as the temptation to go back.

But, that part would come soon enough. You were on screen, again, holding something he recognized.

“I have some exciting news,” you chirped, as you kneeled on the floor, holding a pitch-black dildo, a suction cup attached to the base. Despite its color, Nanami could make out defined veins running down the silicone shaft, a noticeable girth to the base. A perfect mirror of the cock currently pulsing for attention in his lap.

He felt himself grinning, as you went on. “I got my first real fan gift!” You held up the toy to your cheek, like a child showing off their first stuffed animal, before planting it on the floor between your thighs. “It’s so big, too,” you said, showing off its size, where the blunt tip rested well above your navel. “Everyone say thank you, Daddy Kento!”

Your chat was instantly flooded with predictable responses, but Nanami couldn’t look away from you. You were enjoying yourself, clearly. You must’ve thought you were so smart, renting out a P. O. box, going on and on about how grateful you were to your dedicated fans when he reached out to ask if you accepted physical donations, and you were smart. It was only a shame that Nanami loved you enough to look past all of your attempts to keep him away.

As you began to move onto your knees, he allowed himself one more intervention.

n. kento sent 3,000 credits!

n. kento: Take it to the hilt.

It was cruder than he usually cared to be, but as your eyes flickered towards your monitor, your lips quirked into a slight smile. You didn’t respond verbally, but you nodded, and sunk down onto his cock.

Immediately, his hand wasn’t enough, but he tried to make do – matching your agonizingly slow pace, imagining what it would feel like to have you lower yourself down onto his real cock, rather than a cheap imitation. Trails of iridescent slick dripped down the dark silicone, your camera positioned strategically to catch every bounce of your breasts as your breathing hitched, to provide the optimal view of your pussy stretching around the tip, then the head, then the shaft as you lowered yourself slowly. “It—It’s so big,” you repeated, bringing a hand up to your stomach while the other remained on the floor, keeping you stable. “I mean, I knew it would be, but—fuck—” Another inch, Nanami’s fist moving over the same part of his cock. You let out an airy laugh. “Just be thankful I’m so tough.”

“I am,” Nanami muttered, his voice echoing off the bare walls of his office. “You’re perfect.”

“I really wanna cum on this one, too – to, like, christen it, or something. Been keeping myself pent up all day for it.” With a pitchy keen, you brought yourself a few inches higher, then dropped. Your free hand shot away from your stomach and back to the floor as you continued to bounce on the toy’s length, getting just a little deeper each time. “Welcome it to family, y’know? Maybe make it a regular, for you sadists out there.”

Nanami stiffened at the thought of you fucking yourself on a replica of his cock in front of thousands of people twice a week; drooling and panting as you told your viewers how big he was, how good he felt inside of you. With his restraint brought to its limits, he fucked his fist carelessly, his attention fixed on the steady movements of your hips as you rode his toy. Your eyes didn’t flutter closed, this time – they clenched shut, and you couldn’t seem to keep your voice under control, little mewls and half-conscious whines bubbling up from your chest as you struggled to take that much more of him with every thrust. When you did manage to speak, your voice was uneven, whiney, so sweet it made him want to dig his teeth into something and tear. “I’m so close,” and then, as you brought yourself back down, so close to bottoming out, “I wanna cum!”

“You will,” Nanami whispered. He knew you couldn’t hear him, but it was true – you would, and if he’d been able to, he would’ve made you. He would’ve let you fuck yourself on his cock whenever you asked, would’ve woken you up every morning coming undone on his tongue and made sure you fell asleep with his cock buried inside of you. If you were with him, you’d never have to think again, never have to feel anything but pleasure – any time you wanted it, every time you wanted it. He’d make sure—

You didn’t moan as you reached the toy’s base, you screamed. One of your hands moved to the space between your thighs, two fingers rubbing quick circles into your clit as you nursed yourself through your orgasm. Nanami didn’t stand a chance, still chasing his fantasies as he spilled over his hand; searing hot cum pooling on his lap, soaking into the material of his shirt, spilling onto his desk. He didn’t stop moving his hand, though, not until you went limp – bending at the waist, bracing yourself on the floor. Finally, you managed to raise your head, flashing that brilliant smile towards the camera. Of course, Nanami smiled back.

In a daze, he watched you ease yourself off of the toy and wrap up your stream, so familiar from your script that he would’ve been able to recite it with confidence. Even after you signed off, the screen going black, he didn’t move, only letting his head roll to the side with a shallow sigh.

It was pathetic, just how much he loved you. It was painful, being so far from someone who made him feel so irrationally happy.

He could only count the days until he wouldn’t have to limit himself to only watching from a distance any longer.

~

There was a man in your apartment.

A man you didn’t want to be in your apartment, just to be clear. You’d heard the front door open, seen a bulky silhouette moving through your living room, and now, you were listening to him riffle through your bedroom as you hid in the en suite bathroom – crouched in the smallest corner you could find with both hands locked over your mouth, trying to stifle the sound of your own breathing. The door was locked, but that didn’t matter. You didn’t want to find out how much a thin sheet of wood would do to protect you. You didn’t want to give him a reason to acknowledge you at all.

As far as you could tell, there was only one intruder. You could only hear one pair of muffled footsteps, with second-long gaps between every little movement. The air caught in your throat as you heard him edge closer, closer, then pause. There was a dull clack, the sound of metal clashing against plastic, and you relaxed, sighing into your palms. Your filming equipment. It was expensive, but nothing you couldn’t replace. If you were lucky, he’d take what he could carry and leave.

And that was what he seemed to be doing, too – more rustling interrupted every so often by a few moments of heart-wrenching silence. Soon enough, you heard the intruder start to move again, his footsteps edging closer to the bathroom door as he moved to leave your bedroom entirely, and—

“(Y/n)?”

Fuck.

You didn’t say anything, holding your breath and digging your nails into your cheeks, willing yourself not to move, not to think. You didn’t make a sound, you couldn’t have, and yet he kept talking.

“I know you’re in there. Please, come out.”

He couldn’t know. He couldn’t know. You’d kept the lights off, and you hadn’t moved in minutes, and—

He tried the knob, and something cracked deep inside of your chest. There was an airy sigh, then a dull thud, like he was leaning against the door frame. “Please,” he repeated, sounding more exasperated than angry. “I don’t want to scare you.”

“Y-you can take whatever you want,” you stuttered, your voice unsteady, just a touch louder than it really had to be. That was fine. You didn’t have to pretend to be brave, so long as you made it out of this alive and uninjured. “I won’t call the police – I can’t call the police, I left my phone in the kitchen. You can take it, too. I… I don’t have a lot of cash, but my camera, it should be worth—”

“I don’t want your camera, love.” If you hadn’t known better, you might’ve thought he sounded wistful. “Come out, or I’ll break down the door.”

Honestly, it hadn’t occurred to you that he could.

It took a second to pry your hands off of your face, and another to push yourself to your feet – your legs shaking as you struggled to stand. Almost mechanically, you moved towards the door; unlocking it in the same motion as you pulled it open. Light from your bedroom spilled into the entryway, revealing—

God.

He was taller than you’d expected him to be.

Six feet at least, with a build to match. The sleeves of his dress-shirt were rolled up to his elbow, showing off arms so muscular, you wouldn’t have been surprised if he’d planned to tear your door off its hinges with his bare hands. He had a duffle bag slung over his shoulder, visibly full, but you could still see your equipment standing untouched behind him, and you couldn’t imagine anything else he would’ve wanted to take. His blonde hair was swept back, out of his eyes, and he was holding a butcher’s knife in his right hand, the blade wrapped in leopard-spotted fabric. Surprisingly, though, his weapon wasn’t what concerned you the most.

He was smiling. No, actually, that wasn’t right.

He was beaming.

“(Y/n),” he said, again. You didn’t let yourself wonder why he knew your name. “I—I’m sorry, I should’ve introduced myself earlier. I might’ve gotten a little carried away – I’m sorry if I frightened you.”

“…it’s okay,” you managed, your voice barely audible. “Are you going to kill me?”

His expression dropped. “No. Of course not.” And then, after a brief lapse, “I’d never hurt you. I…” You saw his right hand flex around the grip of his knife, and thought you might black out. “I’m a fan.”

Instantly, you felt the blood freeze in your veins.

Fuck. Fuck.

You knew you should’ve gone into accounting.

“I… You’re a fan?” You tried to smile, but it might’ve come across more pained than relieved. “I’m sorry, I’m not used to meeting people who’ve caught my stream. Should I know what to call you?”

And just like that, his grin was back, any momentary tension assayed. You wished he would’ve put down the knife, too, but beggars can’t be choosers. “Kento,” he said, and for the first time, you noticed the pink hue creeping over his cheeks. “Nanami Kento.”

You grit your teeth as you struggled to place him. After a second, it came to you.

Kento. Right. The dildo guy.

Somehow, knowledge provided little comfort. Still, you soldiered on. “It’s really nice to meet you, Nanami.” You clasped your hands behind your back, rocking gently on your heels. “I—I’m sorry, I wasn’t expecting any guests. If you want to step out for a couple minutes, I can change into something more comfortable, and show you how appreciative I am for your—”

“I’m not an idiot.” He cut you off, still grinning. “You’re coming with me.”

You didn’t let your smile waver, either. “And, if I didn’t want to go with you…?”

 “I’m afraid this isn’t about what you want, anymore.”

You meant to say something – opened your mouth and everything – but nothing came out. Your heart tightened in your chest, a not inconsiderable portion of your mind screaming for you to run, run, run. And yet, when he took you by the wrist in a feather-light hold, leading you through your own apartment and out into the hall, it was all you could do to smile and follow after him.

~

The first thirty minutes of the car ride passed in silence. Nanami – because you couldn’t stand to keep thinking of him as ‘that guy who bought you a dildo shaped like his own dick and paid you thousands of dollars to ride it live on stream’ – kept his knife in his lap, his hand falling away from the wheel and onto its hilt whenever you so much as took a deep breath. Eventually, your eyes fell to the clock built into his dashboard, and you broke through your paralysis with a nervous laugh.

“It’s a little funny,” you started, for lack of anything else to do. “I’d actually normally be getting ready for my stream, around now.”

Out of the corner of your eye, you watched him swallow, his jaw tensing. “I know.”

Great. Okay. Whatever. “I don’t mind, y’know,” you managed, before you could let yourself fully consider what you were going to say. “If it means we don’t have to go through with the whole kidnapping thing, I really wouldn’t mind sleeping with you – you can even take pictures, if you’d like that, or record, whichever you’d prefer.”

“That’s not what I—”

“I haven’t tried a lot of hardcore stuff, but I wouldn’t mind if that’s what you’re into. We don’t even have to go back to my apartment, you could just pull over, and—”

“That’s not what I’m interested in.” He didn’t raise his voice, but his tone left no room for protest. “I’m not going to… I’m not going to just fuck you once and leave you by the side of the road. I’m doing this for your sake.”

As if you’d willingly climbed into a maniac’s car. “I… I’m not following, Kento.”

“It’s for your own protection. Once I thought to look, it took me hours to find out everything about you.” He spared you a quick glance, that same uncanny smile. One of his hands left the wheel and, rather than moving to his knife, found your knee, squeezing gently. It took everything you had not to scream. “Imagine what someone could do with that kind of information. They could blackmail you, if they found your full name, or track you down if they pieced together your address. It’d be a miracle if they were only a stalker. It just wasn’t safe to let you keep going on that way.”

“Yeah,” you mumbled, more to yourself than to him. “They could even break into my apartment and abduct me at knifepoint.”

His gaze narrowed, but his smile only softened. Neither of you spoke for the rest of the journey.

After far too long and not nearly long enough, you reached your destination: a housing complex, leagues nicer (and more expensive) than your own rundown building. Calling them apartments would’ve been a disservice; they were more similar to free-standing condos, or miniature villas slotted just outside of the city’s more metropolitan districts. Without a word, you let him guide you into a relatively generic home, its only notable feature being the absolute lack of evidence of meaningful life within it. You wouldn’t have been surprised if it was a rental, leased exclusively to give him someplace to do… well, whatever he planned to do to you. It’d be more off-putting to know that someone actually lived someplace so vacant.

He led you through the empty halls and up a flight of stairs, keeping you in front of him and in his line of sight at all times. Finally, you reached the door he seemed to be looking for and, with a nod by way of instruction, let yourself inside.

Before you stood, puzzlingly, your own bedroom.

Or – the parts of it you could make out on camera, at least. The bed was the same size, the same model, made with the same sheets and littered with the same pillows, but the floor was covered in a harsh white carpeting, the surrounding walls soundproofed with suffocating black foam. Camera equipment identical to your own had been set-up at the foot of your bed, but an unfamiliar silver laptop replaced your own sticker-covered monstrosity. You didn’t see any chains, whips, or shock collars, which was good. You still didn’t know what the fuck was going on, which was bad.

Confused, you turned to Nanami as he crossed the threshold and rather conservatively, shut and locked the door. “There are clothes on the bed,” he explained, with a tone that made it difficult to tell whether or not he knew how weird this was. “A script, too. Memorize as much as you can.”

So he still expected you to stream. Or, that was what you hoped, at least – considering the only alternative was that he was planning to make an extremely elaborate snuff film. “I’m not used to using scripts.”

“You’ll manage.”

You didn’t bother trying to argue, only moving towards the bed and attempting to forget he was there entirely.

The ‘clothes’ he’d left for you turned out to be lingerie – the nice stuff, too, white and lacey and bridal with a babydoll cut. You glanced over his script (which, disturbingly, didn’t exactly not sound like you) as you got dressed and fixed your hair, doing the best you could without any of your usual supplies. You wouldn’t be able to reapply your make-up, but you’d put some on earlier, and—

You almost laughed at yourself, stifling a chuckle.

You’d been kidnapped, and you were worried about your make-up. If you got out of this alive, you swore, you’d never touch foundation or a ring light or a camera ever again.

He didn’t have to tell you when it was time – you would’ve known by instinct alone. With Namami watching from an armchair pushed against the opposite wall, you clambered onto the bed and took your usual position, kneeling in center frame. He’d never asked for your credentials, and yet, when you glanced towards the laptop positioned just underneath the main camera, you found that your own profile was already pulled up, a miniature timer in the corner of the screen counting down the seconds until you went live.

As it reached thirty seconds ‘till, it occurred to you that you were in a soundproof room alone with the man who’d kidnapped you and was currently holding you hostage, and that no one could’ve possibly known where you were or, more importantly, who you’d been taken by.

As it reached fifteen, you realized you were being held captive and being forced to wear bridal lingerie that your kidnapped must’ve picked out with the occasion in mind.

As it reached five, for the first time that day, you thought you might actually start to cry.

And, as it reached zero, you put on your biggest, brightest smile and hoped beyond hope that you’d stop thinking entirely, eventually.

“Welcome home!” Skipping over your normal grace period only felt right. You didn’t think you’d be able to survive sitting in silent, motionless suspension for another second, let alone a full minute. “Sorry if I seem a little nervous tonight – to tell the truth, I kind of am. I’ve got a major announcement, and I just can’t put it off any longer.”

Reflexively, your attention drifted first to your own feed – you looked perfect, as always – then to your chat, moving quickly despite your sudden start. You caught a few of the longer messages in your peripheral.

secretary.lover: Is it just me, or does she seem kind scared lmao?

blueeyeswhitedragon: yeahhh i thought her room looked kinda weird too lol

justheretowatch: fuck ur pretty

rapidfire: let me guess, another fake dick?

“I know I probably should’ve given you guys more of a warning,” you went on, fighting the temptation to break, to yell for them to call the police, to give up entirely and make a run for it. “But…”  

You forced yourself to laugh, to beam, to clap your hands together in front of your chest like a schoolgirl – excited to tell her friends that she’d gone through with her first ever confession. “I’m getting married!”

You didn’t have a ring to show off, but you tried your best to preen regardless, to not let any amount of fear or discomfort or hesitation show on your shining expression. After a show delay, congratulations and well-wishes filled your chat (some genuine, others more reluctant), and you did your best to go on without letting the sizable knot slowly gaining mass in the back of your throat smother your voice entirely. “This is going to be my last stream – for a while, at least, until we get settled in. And…”

You tried to remember what’d been listed next in Nanami’s script, but your conscious mind was bogged down by a thick layer of buzzing static, your sense of improvisation dulled by a heavy dose of anxiety. Your eyes flickered to where Nanami was sitting behind your equipment, only to find that the chair he’d formerly occupied empty. You didn’t have time to panic before the edge of the mattress dipped under a new weight, and you remembered what you were supposed to say. “My husband actually wanted to cameo on my send-off show. I was a little hesitant—” Another dip in the mattress, this one much closer than the last. “—but he insisted. I thought you all deserved a chance to meet him, too.”

As soon as you finished, you felt a large hand on your shoulder, a sudden presence at your back. Your gaze fell back to your feed, your own image now accompanied by that of your captor – on his knees behind you, one hand on your shoulder and the other on your hip, the framing positioned so that his head was cut off just above the mouth. The lower half of his face was covered with a black surgical mask, and you had to stop yourself from frowning. You hadn’t expected him to be stupid enough to show his face on camera, but still.

Your heart dropped into your stomach as you felt his hand fall away from your shoulder, slipping underneath the lace camisole of your babydoll. You tried not to move, not to flinch, but you couldn’t stop yourself from jerking forward as you felt his hand slip under your bralette, the angular ridges of his knuckles visible through the thin silk. Despite everything he’d said about not hurting you, about doing this for your protection, he made no attempt to be gentle – the calloused pads of his fingers pressing into the curve of your breast with enough force to bruise. You bit back a whimper, refusing to give him the satisfaction of a sincere reaction. If you wanted to go home, you had to put up with this. He’d never said anything about pretending to enjoy it.

(In the back of your mind, you knew he hadn’t said anything about letting you go home, either. Still, you didn’t let yourself dwell on such discontinuities).

 You should’ve known better than to think he’d attempt to follow the normal flow of your stream, and yet, it still caught you off-guard when his unoccupied hand found its way to the waistband of your panties, then to your clothed sex. You weren’t overly sensitive, despite how you might’ve acted in front of your viewers, but you were still on edge, still panicked, and while the adrenaline being held at knifepoint might’ve sparked was beginning to fade, having your kidnapper grope you on camera was enough to bring on a fresh wave. Reflexively, you pressed your back into his broad chest as his thumb traced over the length of your slit, pausing only momentarily to press into your clit with a dull, oppressive sort of pressure, biting down on your bottom lips to stop anything vulnerable and pathetic from escaping. If Nanami was affected by your stoicism, it wasn’t enough to stop him from pulling the flimsy material to the side entirely and slipping two fingers into you, your now-slick cunt providing humiliatingly easy access. In the same motion, the heel of his palm pressed into your clit, the friction immediately too harsh, too much. It would’ve been too much if he wasn’t touching you at all. It would’ve been too much if he was still sitting alone in his dark, empty house – getting off to the idea of degrading someone he claimed to care about so publicly.

It didn’t help that you were wet. Not dripping, sure, but wet enough for there to be an audible, slick clicking-type noise as he pumped his digits into you, never taking the pressure off of your clit. You could feel his cock pressed into your ass, already hard, already too familiar not to be nauseating, but he didn’t seem to be in a rush to move past your exhibition; his pace measured and experimental, his fingers prone to spreading apart and curling inside of you. To distract yourself, you moved your attention back to your chat, trying to pick out the longer messages between donation notifications.

user84343: girl i call dibs when you’re done with him

hotbox420: no seriously y/n are you okay???

bunnygirl69: still can’t believe you’re leaving us for him </3 can’t say i don’t see why tho ToT

absolutely.soaked: Blink twice if you’re in danger lmaoooo

“G-guys, I’m totally—” Your breath hitched as he forced another finger into you, the stretch now a touch past ignorable. His other hand kneaded at your chest, blunt nails scraping against tender flesh, and momentarily, you wondered if it really would’ve been so bad to take your chances and let him kill you right away. “I’m totally fine, I’m just—” His nails bit into your skin by way of warning, and you allowed yourself a single, stilted moan. “I’m just so happy that I finally get to—to—”

You didn’t know what you were supposed to say, but it didn’t matter. Nanami’s hand dropped from your chest to your side, his arm locking over your midriff and hauling you that much closer. You couldn’t stop yourself this time – whimpering as the tempo of his fingers sped up, as tears started to prick at the corners of your eyes. You glanced around the bedroom, searching for anything familiar, anything you could use to stabilize yourself, anything that you could start to find comforting. Instead, your eyes landed on the duffle bag he’d carried out of your apartment, the zipper now partially undone. You couldn’t see much, but you could make out the handle of a pink hitachi. It wasn’t difficult to guess what the rest of the bag’s contents looked like, what he’d spent so long riffling through your possessions to find.

It wouldn’t been pointless to try and hold back the crooked, ebbing sob that leaked past your lips. This time, when you turned to face your camera, it was with tears just beginning to spill and absolute terror written across your expression. “Call the police,” you managed to spit out, making no attempt to be subtle. “I—I don’t actually know this man, and this isn’t my apartment, and—“

It happened too quickly – like he’d been expecting you to do something so obviously short-sighted. You processed that he was pulling out of your cunt as you felt his fingers entangle themselves in your hair, and then your face was being shoved against the mattress, your body folding over itself as he forced you down. You tried to yell, tried to scream, but your voice was muffled by your own fucking comforter as you heard fabric shifting behind you, as you felt something warm and stiff and leaking align with your entrance. You refused to put a name to it, but that didn’t help. Nothing would’ve helped.

His palm pressed into the back of your head, his body slotting against yours as he leaned down, lowering his head so that he could speak directly into your ear. “I’m doing this for your own good,” he whispered, his voice muffled but still painfully audible. “I’m doing this because I love you.”

You didn’t have a chance to response. He was already inside of you – his cock filling you to your breaking point.

You weren’t sure if your viewers could hear you, but you hoped they could. It would’ve been a pity to sob so loudly for the sole entertainment of the sick, sick man currently rutting into you, grinding into your cunt from behind with a kind of animalistic desperation – all desire and no control. It was a struggle to stay on your knees, not to go entirely limp underneath him, but you doubted it would’ve made a difference if you hadn’t, that he wouldn’t have fucked your limp body just as enthusiastically. Out of the corner of your eyes, you could just barely see the monitor – the miniature image of Nanami’s body moving on top of yours, his blond hair still obscuring the other half of his face, and then next to it, your chat. If you’d been thinking more clearly, you wouldn’t have let yourself look, wouldn’t have let yourself fully acknowledge that there were still thousands of people watching you, but you weren’t thinking at all, and you would’ve given anything for someone to say something that made you forget where you were, just for a second.

sniper727: so the bitch likes it rough? hot

callmeanonymous: FINALLY!!! I’ve been waiting for some cnc rp for actual years.

blueeyeswhitedragon: hey i think i might work with that guy

hotbox420: yeah no i’m calling the cops.

Predictably, your efforts were grotesquely unsuccessful.

Nanami didn’t seem as bothered. The weight on the back of your head disappeared as his hands found your hips, pulling up as he straightened his back. For anyone else, it might’ve been an awkward position – holding up your uncooperative form while bouncing you on his cock  – but no amount of unpleasant technicalities could’ve stopped him from burying himself to hilt with every stroke, keeping you in a constant state of mind-numbing fullness. You tried to talk, again, to call for help, but fractured mewls and pathetic whines drowned out whatever you might’ve said, and even those were put to an end as Nanami took you by the jaw, turning you to face him as his lips crashed into your – his mask either pulled down or discarded entirely, you couldn’t be bothered to check. The kiss itself was messy, rough, brutal, his tongue raking over yours as you sobbed unabashedly into his mouth – your connection only growing more chaotic as his hand once again found your clit and ground two fingers into the sensitive bundle of nerves. You knew what he wanted. You knew what he was trying to do.

And you couldn’t do anything to stop him.

With a ragged sob, you came undone around his cock, any strength you might’ve once had flooding out of your body and dripping down his shaft. Nanami groaned into your mouth, drawing back just far enough to bury his face in your neck and mouth meaningless nothings into your throat as he chased his own climax. He thrusted into you again once, twice, and then you felt pure heat pour into you – a new kind of torture that rendered you entirely senseless. You didn’t try to scream, again.

You were distantly aware of him moving, shifting, pulling something out of his pocket as he muttered a mix of ‘you did so well’s and ‘I love you’s into your skin. When you did finally manage to raise your head, you didn’t think to look toward the remote in his hand or your tattered lingerie or the cum slowly leaking out of your entrance. Rather, your attention landed on the same thing it always did during your streams – your monitor.

You’d never know why, but for whatever reason, you could feel your heart break in your chest as you realized that the screen had already gone black.

“give me another one, angel,” meian grunts out, gripping your waist with all the strength in his fingers as he rears his hips back and impales you with his thick cock. the sheets underneath you are wet and uncomfortable, evidence of the last two orgasms he ripped out of you. “i know you’re so close, i can feel you – nnhhh, shit –”

your hands move to cover your face out of pure humiliation, but meian won’t have any of that. the msby captain grabs your wrists and pins them above your head with one of his as he leans over your smaller figure and fucks you faster. 

and it’s deeper, god, it’s so deep, you can feel him in places you’d never been able to reach with your fingers and your head starts to feel hazy again. 

“what do we say?” meian’s eyes are trained on your spit-slicked lips and your bleary eyes, the way you can barely keep them open spurs him on more. he needs you completely fucked out for him.  

“thank you daddy,” you moan. you don’t intend for it to come out so desperate and drawn out, but the deep, fast thrusts are bringing you closer and closer – and quick. 

“gonna count to 5, angel. when i get there,” he groans, “you’re going to cum all over this cock.” you nod, nearly incoherent.

“5… 4… 3…” oh no. oh fuck. 

it’s completely involuntary, and it happens before you can stop it. your body convulses underneath his, hips bucking up and moaning as you squirt on him and the messy sheets. you want so badly to grab onto something, his shoulders, the pillow, anything, but your wrists are still pinned over your head.

he shakes his head in disappointment, but doesn’t still his movements, still adamant on fucking you until you forget your own name. “guess we’ll have to start over, angel. daddy’s going to keep fucking you until you learn how to be a good girl and control yourself.”

┌─ “ ! „ CADAVER

tw. wound fucking, blood, gore, don’t read this if you’re squeamish!!, somnophilia, oral, noncon, megumi is delusional in this, yandere, belly bulge but gross! , cannibalistic thoughts wordcount. 6.4k

a/n. this one,,, was me pushing myself to just go buck wild, and channel my inner junji, and i think i got somewhere with it... a select few of you will understand me when i say that ,, this is like my love letter to megumi fr ♡ like i said though, this one might be the one that has people a little yucked out but! it's basically my halloween fic, for the spooky month

fushiguro megumi x fem!reader

When the rattling of the stretcher finally quiets in the halls and the rising rate of adrenaline starts to flatten out, Megumi’s lost on what to do. Any of the other sorcerers can’t decide what the next step is either, it seems. Yuji with his back pressed against the glass and staring off into the empty part of the hall they just came from, and principal Yaga a stern quietness and arms crossed. Ieiri-san will do her best work today of any days if there’s anything to be done about it, but Megumi can tell. That uncertainty hangs over all of them as the faint breathing of a collapsed body grows more pitched and panicked.

Megumi always sort of hated you. He didn’t like you from the second he first met you, and it just grew and grew and grew from there. He hates your stupid demeanor with your higher-than-thou morals and your sky-high milestones and that grin that could make even the coldest heart split in two. It doesn’t escape him that this is the same reason he always did enjoy Maki, but you were — more recognizable to him, and yet somehow much further away.

He always hated the way he’d catch himself watching the soft motion of your lashes, or how your mouth would form words, the heat that would carry color to your face. He always hated the quiet moments you’d sit by his side, rattling his heart out of his chest and laughing at him for his hot cheeks; and he always hated how you’d be the thought on his mind right after he’d made sure his own limbs hadn’t yet been blown to bits. But standing with his hands covered in a coating of blood that isn’t his, dripping onto the panes of the old flooring, he wonders what that hatred ever really got him. It never helped him understand you better, that for someone so alike himself, you were so much better at everything.

His chest is rising and falling too fast.

Gojo’s too late, always is when it comes down to the wire, Megumi thinks as the lankier man rushes through and stops a few feet away from them. Yaga’s brow pinches, before he lifts his head the slightest bit to acknowledge the white blond. “What’s the status,” Gojo has to ask, and before he has another conscious thought, Megumi’s furiously rubbing his hands over his sweater in an attempt to get the blood off while his teeth clack with how hard he’s clenching them. There’s a thickness between his ears that makes everything sound far off. The blood stains his fingers the more he rubs, and his face gets hotter and hotter as it lasts.

But he thinks he hears the principal explain.

How you had been pinned down and knocked clean out, head bashed against the concrete pillars. How Megumi had been too busy trying and failing to keep the uglier curse from blasting you both to shit, to notice. How the other special grade had picked you up by the neck and unceremoniously shoved something into your mouth and pushed until it went down your throat - until you started convulsing, spitting out blood and bile before he could reach you. Megumi hadn’t taken the time to look then, but he knows now what it was, slimy, decaying contents of a little vial that had gone missing a few months ago.

“The girl must’ve been a real good match.” Yaga pushes his fingers to his brow, as if forcibly trying to push the frown down. “Ieiri’s doing what she can.” It doesn’t make any of them feel better when Gojo clicks his tongue and aims his eyes at the door, before casting a quick glance at Megumi under thick, blond lashes. He wants to puke. He’d shoved his fingers down your throat for what felt like hours, trying desperately to get you to throw up the curse. Had carried you all the way back while you were sobbing and wailing in pain. Nothing.

If even the worst case repeats itself, they’ll have another incarnation on their hands, and the noose will be tightened around your throat. Yuji must have already realized this, because he’s yet to say anything since you’d been tied onto the stretcher with blood pouring out of your nose and ears and coughing up grime. Megumi’s not even sure if Ieiri would hesitate to put you down without a second warning before it gets to the same turning point. And he is pissed. At the situation, his friends, himself, you. He’s so angry his hands shake, and so angry tears start stinging behind his eyes, feeling like any motion might cause him to throw up. He hates you.

+

Your chest’s rising with big motions up and down, up and down, as you drum your feet on his bedsheets like an excited rabbit. Megumi grunts, snatches the book from your hands and tosses it back down with the others that were not-so-neatly stacked on his desk. Your shape on his bed makes a dent in his mind that he’ll have to keep replaying over and over when he closes his eyes, and it has a frown pulling his eyebrows down automatically. “So grumpy,” you yawn, and also roll over onto your stomach to tuck your legs to your core, lifting one hand to rest your face into it.

“This isn’t your room.”

“Might as well be,” you giggle back, and he watches for a moment as your hair falls along your shoulders in a gentle brush, making you look even more enchanting. You’re soft and parts of you are shiny like silk, seemingly oozing your rosy, peachy aura all over his stuff. You catch his eyes for just a few breaths, still rising your chest too distractingly, before you push yourself up and slide off the bed to walk up to him. He pivots to thumb through the notes on his desk again, to be farther away from your face probably, and his shoulders rise into an uncomfortable pinch when you approach, feet patting on his floor. “Megumi.” You say his name with a clear pout.

Then heat covers his skin at the base of his throat and he freezes, letting the way you drag your soft lips over his pulse fill him up entirely. His hands shake too hard to keep a grip on the paper, so he spins you around and shoves you back against the desk as you hiss at the sudden painful grip, his fist wrapped into the collar of your shirt. “I already told you to stop doing that.” He hisses, and your eyes are wide and glittering like diamonds, beautiful color peering up at him.

“But you like it when I do that,” you whisper back ever so softly, and his head feels like it’s splitting at the seams, cracking his skull under a non-escapable pressure. He can’t think, can’t even eat normally without the ghost of you hanging over him and shaking him up. It’s unbearable even when you’re not around. His fist unclenches from the flimsy fabric to instead grip your chin with his thumb, and his heart bangs against his ribcage harder than can be normal. Harder than is healthy. A little thought in the back of his skull begs to push. Just once, deny you from digging your claws deeper into him— but he’s already melted to your shape before he can blink.

His face drops like you’re magnetic, thighs pushing you further into the desk and also into him; and it’s truly embarrassing that his hands are still shaking like they do. You lean in when he does, and let your lips meet his hungry, treacherous mouth, other hand sliding to your waist to pull you closer. Your tongue brushes his and he implodes inside, and he swears it hurts to be this close to you.

Not that you care. Your arms wind around his neck to pull him even closer, and his blood feels like it’s boiling under his skin.

+

He finds himself wandering back to the quieter wing of the school when the sun’s already dipped far past the horizon, and the cold starts picking up. He’s dragging his feet, so he won’t fucking rush back to the room he finds himself thinking about so fast he stumbles. He’s glaring at the patterns in the floorboards so he doesn’t cry. You’re stable- quiet puffs of air escaping your nose every few seconds, but you’re still under surveillance. As far as the clans are concerned, they’ll put something sharp between your eyes sooner rather than later, before whatever’s slumbering inside you wakes up. But Gojo’s fighting for you. It makes him grimace to think about.

Knocking his knuckles onto the doorframe, he enters the dimly lit room. Nanami doesn’t stand when he spots him, but does uncross his legs as he takes a deep breath. Neither of them speak for a while, and the dark haired man takes that time to run his eyes over you. You’re not as dirty as you were when you first got back, shivering and shaking. You’re no longer dripping with blood, though he’s sure if he were to look close enough, he’d still be able to see flecks of it between your cracked lips. As he walks up, he finds himself thinking that you look strangely peaceful, and that doesn’t seem entirely right.

Save for the bloody mark that seems branded into your forehead, you look like you’re quietly sleeping on the metal slab that supports your body. After all the pain and agony you’ve caused in him, sleepless nights and long days of wondering, hoping you’d be okay. Why is it that he’s the one affected by you? Why is it that he’s the one who’s going to have to say goodbye again? He stares at your unmoving form as if that’ll give him an answer, but it doesn’t. And the pit in his stomach swells again. He’s just so angry all the time. Megumi breathes out. “It’s my turn to take watch for a while.”

“You’re early,” Nanami’s deep baritone chastises, but he gets up from the seat anyway. He smooths out the wrinkles in his suit, before slowly placing a hand on the other’s shoulder. The weight is heavy, and somehow doesn’t soothe him at all. But there’s an attempt, he guesses. He’s still not entirely sure why everyone is looking at him like he’s the one who needs it most, broken and disheveled and mourning. He’s been able to finish his tasks like everyone else has, and he can banish the thought of you when he’s supposed to focus on work— at least, mostly. He doesn’t need the fucking pity. “Want some coffee? Or green tea?” Nanami asks, letting his hand slide off when Megumi shrugs.

“No. I’m okay.”

The older man seems to hesitate, simply nodding when he walks past. Before closing the door behind him, he once again clears his voice, and Megumi turns over his shoulder. The blond has this look in his eyes, of pity, as he talks. “Megumi, there’s a chance she pulls through.” Why again - that fucking pity? “Don’t give up.” Though it makes him tingle with an unbearable sort of itch deep under the skin, he grits his teeth, and his brain’s hot and irritated when he responds.

“I wasn’t going to.” Nanami doesn’t seem to believe him, but still softly slides the door closed behind him, and when the footsteps grow softer and softer, Megumi allows for a second to collect himself. He braces his hands onto the metal as he leans in, close enough to feel just the slightest bit of your warmth on his fingers, and see the way you’re still breathing, though shallow, too faint for his liking. His brows pinch when he finds himself with his forehead pressed to your stomach, hunched over like he’s praying at your shrine or something. But he can’t help it.

As much time as he spent beside you with a frown on his face, it never feels enough. He can’t stay away, like it’s an involuntary thing— you leave him no choice in the matter. Even here in the darkness, whining softly into your wheezed breaths, it isn’t enough to be beside you. He can’t do anything from here at your bedside; and that uselessness makes him feel even more uneasy. He needs to be closer to you. Wants to be so close you two get stuck together and melt together like an inseparable entity, would want to crawl inside you if he could.

His nose presses into the clean shirt that smells like your laundry, as he clenches his fists so hard along the table edge they start to ache. His eyes are pressed closed tight when he allows him just a second to nose below your sternum, and that uncomfortable stinging sensation comes back to his eyes. “Fucking idiot,” his lips brush against your covered skin, taking in the lack of heat, of your smell and the way you sounded with his face buried there, “I didn’t mean it.”

+

“Aw, ow, ow, Megumi~” You pout with a pitched whine as his hand stays screwed around your knee for a little longer, keeping you trapped under his heavier, taller body so that you start wiggling. Your head falls back against his arm, and you lean to press a few kisses to his wrist that’s holding your own to the floor. “Be more gentle.” You pout when you pull back and flash him that fucking look that sends icy shivers down his spine, and exactly nothing else. “You can be gentle, can’t you?” Every other part of him flushes with heat under your doe-eyed, pitiful look, definitely when you start wiggling out of his grasp like you’re suddenly over the game.

You started it. He wouldn’t put himself in your range on purpose. When you’re about halfway out from under his crouched form, you sit up to be face to face; and you brush your hand past his ear, down his jaw and neck and trail his collarbones, all places he’s convinced are now stained a bright, obnoxious pink from his flush. You let your fingers linger when you tilt your head aside a bit so you can slot your lips over his into a sweet, little kiss, and you pull your lips into another pout. “Swear you’re doing it to hurt me sometimes. I’m never trying to hurt you, you know.” A few strands of hair fall over your eye when you sit below him, and he has to fight every single muscle in his body not to push it back for you.

He wants to see your eyes. He wants you to see him like this, pinned under you like the attraction you render him as— his body collapses on top of you as you start giggling all fucking cutely, and his heart races more than it ever has. Your heartbeat drums into his face when he buries it into your softness, chest against his cheek, too long for his own sanity before he drags himself off you. And it is a drag. His entire body starts feeling sluggish when you’re this close to him, close enough to drown himself in your scent. He won’t ever say it, but that scent gets him hard and awfully mellow all at once, his cock coming to life in his pants before he’s moving.

You look happy. Your eyes are those bright, gentle colors that rain down on him, and your lips are quirked into a soft smile, you must know what you’re doing to him. Setting him up for failure again. He huffs and pushes himself onto his back instead, knocking his head to the floor while you’re moving from the rug - splaying your knees either side of him before you nuzzle right back on top of his chest and make it even harder to get a breath, let alone catch it. He’s sure he’s panting a little when you leave your warmth draped all over him, and you don’t do anything other than be there.

His arms are still on the floor, his body rigid under you, but you’re softly giggling into his peck before he frowns down at you again when you catch his eyes. “What?”

“Your heart is beating super fast,” you admit, not proud, not gloating - just stating the fact, and heat overtakes his neck now too. Instead of letting you wind him up any further, he bucks you off and switches positions again, now with your two wrists caught in his hands as you squeak with the ache that probably lodges in your back.

“Can you get off of me?” He sits back on his feet, not letting go of your hands yet, before your eyes flutter and you grab him back. Well, brush your fingers over the skin you can reach, pawing at him just enough to tickle. “What’s with you today?” he bites back, and also snatches his hands back to escape the onslaught of feelings that wash over him. You don’t sit up this time, and from the tilt of your head, you’re considering your answer for a while before you speak out.

“Do you like me, Megumi?” Fuck. His room seems to collapse in on itself. Or, maybe it’s his body— because he gets a little more short of breath, and his thoughts short circuit as his mouth stupidly drops open. He’s choked up for long enough that he has to clear his voice to try an answer, and even then, he gets stuck. You’re studying him so closely it must show. The blaring warmth that fills him up and makes his ears bright red. After another second, your eyes seem to dim slightly, as you push your cheek to your shoulder, opening yourself up to even more attacks. “Love y’, ‘gumi.”

+

He straightens up with enough tightness in his chest to choke him, makes his eyes sting and his head blare cold, painful warnings— he grabs some of the glasses from the small table beside him, launches it straight into the wall until it shatters into a million pieces upon impact. The loud clang doesn’t do anything to settle his anger, where he fists his hands into his hair and pulls, in hopes the worry will somehow vanish.

“Why do you always have to be such a hero?” he hisses, even though you can’t answer now, “wouldn’t it have been enough to just stay here with me?!” He tilts your face to his and drops his lips to yours, and that familiar softness is enough to have him clenching his eyes shut again against the tears. He kisses you until your mouth opens a bit, then slides his tongue up against yours and grips your shoulders, pulling your limp body towards him more. “I’ll be better to you.” He pleads. You don’t move, and the breaths going over his cheeks are so shallow.

But he can’t stop himself from tangling your tongue with his, licking into your mouth and chasing the warmth until he runs out of breath. You’re so fucking pretty still. He kisses you again, bumping teeth, and grips your hip hard as he lays over you a little more, chest to chest and feeling it brush against him with each soft pant he lets out, each gravelly moan. It doesn’t hurt so much to brush his tongue against yours, to swallow your taste on his tongue until his lips numb — but while it doesn’t ache, it’s also not enough. Before he’s able to think about the morality of his actions, his thumbs are hooking under your shirt and pushing it up, over your soft belly and ribcage all the way up until it’s over your tits, where his lips travel to as soon as the skin’s exposed. You’re so soft still, too.

He’s not sure what he’s doing other than leaving messy, open mouth kisses onto you, kneading your skin between his hands as all the warmth in his body pools into his groin. Your tits are sucked into his mouth, one then the other, as he rubs his face into the doughy skin, then he’s pulling and pinching at your tits like he knows makes you whimper. The sound’s burned into his working memory, and it drives him on to run his face down your soft body to the part where your thighs meet. The skin just above your skirt of the softest, warmest, and he full on moans when his cock twitches hard in his pants and he reaches down to grab himself.

Normally you’d be blinking up at him now, sending him that little look with grabby hands, ready to wrap your puffy lips around him— it’s different when it’s his hand screwed around himself and not even moving yet. he can’t, or he’ll cum in his pants, and he’s not going to waste his cum like that when your warm pussy’s right before him. He’s shaky when he pushes the fabric up, flipping it over your tummy; and groans again when he licks down your panties and mouths at the seat of it. It tastes so much like you his eyes roll back, and his knees give a little, while more precum leaks out of him and into his pants.

He frees his hands momentarily to slide you to the edge of the metallic table, two hands gripping your butt and squeezing, then hooking his finger in your panties to just pull them aside. He doesn’t care about the chaffing he’ll have. Not even a second thought when your little pussy is in front of him, and he pushes his mouth to you for some open mouthed kisses, down to your pussy and back up. Wrapping his mouth around your clit, he sucks hard, and rubs the bud a few times with his tongue. He swears your breathing goes more pitched and heavier when he does, when his fingers trail down your puffier lips to rub the bit of wetness around.

His cock’s painfully hard in his pants, and after a few more times licking you up and down so that your slick covers the entire bottom half of his face, he pushes the zipper down and then takes himself out to watch how red and sore the head of his cock already is, oozing pre and coating both his boxers and his shaft. He spits into his hand to give himself a few tight-wrung pumps, tighter than he likes normally- if he doesn’t, he’ll spill all over your cute, little pussy. He pushes his fingertips inside your now wetter cunt, watching it wink and beg for something to fill, and groans when one finger slides in with ease.

Your soft walls are still soft and hot around him, giving mean licks over your clit again and again in a way that would normally overstimulate you too easily. You don’t whimper or whine now, take his finger nice and sweet inside your squelching, gooey walls, only making a little noise when he slides in a second and he can feel the slight bit of stretching you need. He’s dripping onto the table now, balls tight and heavy - imagines how you moan and look when you’re sucking on them and you smack your lips with each open mouthed kiss or lick. You between his legs is always enough to have his knees giving, and it’s no different now, he has to hold himself up against you before he thinks better of it.

You’re slid back on the table too easily, making room for him when he pushes one of your legs aside— and let out a slight gasp when he hoists himself over your body. He just wants you. So bad. It’s not so embarrassing when you’re not awake to see how fucking crazy he looks, flushed, cock twitching between his legs as he strains to kiss you again, lick over your tongue for more of your taste, and breathes your name. “Baby, fuck- I need to be inside you.” He wants to hide away in your safety forever. A crystalline, fucked up thought springs up in his mind for just a second, but he banishes that with a few blinks.

Instead he lines himself up over your hot, needy pussy and pushes inside just the head at first, grunting tightly at the softness that envelops him. His whole body shudders as he pushes in deeper, feeling that pit in his stomach expand with each inch that he goes deeper, tangles his fingers with yours when he bottoms out and fills you up so well. You’re curled into his touch, and he kisses you, his thoughts blanking as he pulls back, and snaps his hips back inside you. You’re hot and wet and it feels so fucking good, clenching your hand inside his larger one. It’s not fair. He’s losing his mind, and you’re always the end of him.

His cock rubs against your swollen insides with rough, imprecise strokes — he doesn’t mean to, it’s just that trying to focus on anything other than the heat as he slides in and out of your tight pussy is too much. You’re too much; you’re haunting him even now. He kisses down your face to your neck, sucks on your skin and bites down hard enough to make a serious mark, wanting to hear you cry. Normally, you’d cry out his name so pretty, dig your nails into his back until he’s letting you go and grinding back on his cock, but you can’t do that now. His cockhead bumps your spot each time he fucks himself into you further, but it’s not enough.

It’s never been enough. He wants to be closer to you, and that horrible image that was launched into his head creeps back up before his eyes, bloody and horrible. Maybe he always told himself that he hated you because - no matter how much he fought, he would never be able to stomach actually hurting you as much as it hurts him. But now, withering on top of you as his cock thumps with how much blood rushes south, everything else falls away. He wants to claw and bite and carve his way to your insides and make you pay just a little for his sins. His body is coated in a thin sheen of sweat, thighs pumping blood through his body to his lungs, his gut, his cock.

He pulls out of you to kiss down your tits and over your covered ribs, thumbing over the head of his cock and gliding it over your puffy clit, your wet pussy lips and flicking it just in and out of your drooling cunt— before he puts a sloppy few kisses there too, tongue coated in slick. The blood pumps through his head so hard he feels dizzy, pounding behind his eyes as the heat of your cunt overwhelms him entirely. It’s too hard to stay sane -he’s never felt less sane than now- when you’re laying below him like this, ready to leave him all alone. You wormed your way into his heart when he didn’t want it, and now, now that’s all about to end.

His mouth is dry, but he’s drooling as he grips your thigh and kneads the doughy skin of your tummy— looking so soft and warm and perfectly shaped for him. He wants -needs, needs it, to feel you swallow him, ruin him- to cut you open and eat your insides out with the sick force of what he’s feeling right now— he groans your name again, desperately trying and failing to get it out of his head— the more he tries the better it feels to think it. Despite having his fist around the base of his cock, stings of white shoot over your body as he crumples in on himself and paints you with his cum. He’s still hard though, painfully so, and as soon as he’s done cumming he can already feel the building urge to do it again, trailing his shaking fingers down to your clenching pussy and rubbing your clit until your body starts wiggling back just a little too.

Megumi wants to go, bury this urge down and never think of it again. He really does— but it’s like he’s possessed, drooling over your body and flicking his cock in and out of your pussy without sliding back in. He might’ve had it wrong this whole time, but if this is love - God, he loves you, he loves, loves, loves you so much he’s not ever going to have enough. Can’t ever say goodbye, not when his entire soul’s been bound to yours, has been rotted away into nothing like this. There’s only you, and him; and he can’t get close enough to make this fucking feeling go away.

With black spots swimming over his vision, he’s not sure what he’s doing until he’s knelt on the floor and shards of glass cut his knees open through his pants; he doesn’t feel it - just trembles as he gets one of the larger shards and crawls back to you, right between your plush thighs as he kisses your face over and over until he feels like he’ll be sick. “Forgive me when you wake up, baby.” It doesn’t really sound like him anymore, faint and messy as he ruts his cock against the inside of your thigh and stares at your face for a little longer. He paws at your tummy again, maybe it’s the lack of oxygen - he feels like he hasn’t taken a breath in ages - or the fact that all his blood is cleary in his swollen cock, hot and heavy.

He kisses you again, pants against your chest as he watches between your two bodies as one arm keeps him up, and the other drags the shard of glass below your belly button just hard enough to create a little cut. He just- just wants to be a little closer, you’ll let him, you’ll let him- he’s been so fucking mean to you and if he can just do this, he’ll make it up to you. Specks of blood well up that he swipes his thumb through to slide it into his mouth, get used to the taste of copper on his tongue. Sometimes he bites your lip hard enough to split it, and you tear up and whine, tangle your fingers in his hair.

He could cum on the spot when you yank like that, but the taste now isn’t enough. As he pushes the shard of glass into your skin harder, watching one layer make way for another, tougher tissue that still gives when he grids down a little- he waits for the moment where he feels bad, regrets and walks it all back- but the feeling doesn’t come. Your body looks so pretty like this, robbed of your innocence by his hands; and he doesn’t wanna cum yet, fuck. The adrenaline swimming in his head is pounding too hard to feel anything other than love for you, and the pulling, almost unbearable sensation of wanting to slide back into you. The blood pools around the hole as he slides along, hearing the skin squelch and snap, building a sweat along his neck and collar. Maybe you’d lick it up if you were awake.

The blood runs, covers his entire fist that’s wrapped tight around the glass, it creates little rivers that you’ll both be laying in soon. He coughs, before kissing you below your jaw, feeling the weak pulse beneath his lips— and righting himself to look at his work with a better angle, groaning. There’s both more blood and less than he expected, pooling in your belly button, all over your pretty pussy, his thighs and hands- his cock not yet. He drops the glass aside as he thumbs over the wound and sure enough- he’s cut through fat and muscle and sinew without too much struggle, because you’re soft all over.

He pushes the fleshy gash open more, thumbs over the clean cut he made with a strange sort of fascination before the hot, hot blood gets to be too much for his curiosity and he leans in to lick from your clit up, up, up until his tongue reaches the raised, tight skin— what has he done, what’s he doing, this, this isn’t — he can’t stand the heat that’s coming out of you for long, and it smells, but that isn’t what sticks with him right now. He’s never wanted to be closer. The gaping pouch of your belly’s drooling red for him. The head of his cock twitches when he feels the hot of your stomach coating him in blood, and coating you in turn. The cum from before’s all but washed away, but he’s sure he can give you another couple orgasms before he tuckers out.

He’s strung so high all of this feels like a dream, like his head is about to roll off of his neck; he pushes in with a garbled sort of sound that comes from deep, deep inside him. The skin doesn’t wanna give way at first, but he manages to push back hard enough before suddenly he’s inside, and it’s like nothing else. The pressure of a slab of skin taking him where it’s not meant to go— bleeding and whining out like this, it’s euphoric. He’s able to see his cock’s outline glide into you until it’s bulging your stomach, squelching and sucking him back in; feels like you’re taking him deeper than ever, letting him fuck his cock so deep he’ll hit your ribs soon. You’re so fucking beautiful, even like this, getting coated and letting him fuck it.

He doesn’t know what it’s like to feel like you’re dying, but the peace that washes him entirely clean might be close; he grinds his hips into you hard enough to rock your body under him as he laces your hands again. Both, this time, just chasing after an end that seems like it’ll never come.

He feels infinite. Your blood’s so hot it’s almost painful, and the tightness of the hole he carved into you is entirely different from your pussy, pushing back against him like you’re begging him to get out. He imagines you’d beg so pretty- but he’s inside you, finally inside and deeper than anyone’s ever been. He’s able to watch his cock blow up your belly and make it hollow when he pulls back, and God- he should feel worse than he does. He could swallow you whole if you’d let him. The feeling has him shuddering over you as he pants your name, makes your tits brush over his chest- and his balls smack against the smooth stretch of skin until he can’t feel his feet any longer.

Now he’s got you dirtied, he wants to ruin you too, leave you a mangled mess of flesh and swallow every last bit of you until he never forgets the taste. But that would require he’d stop fucking his hot cock into your bloody, little pouch, and that won’t happen. He’s panting, sweat running down his back from the effort, and his groin starts to feel a little raw too. He might’ve been going for hours by now, licking your mouth clean from his drool only to dirty you again. The head of his cock feels fucked raw inside you, and his thighs shake before his shoulders square over you.

Megumi speeds up his pace fucking into your guts -actually- until he clenches every muscle, is overcome again and reaches heaven inside you, spurting creamy white into the pouch he’s created for himself; “Fuck, fuck, fuckfuckfuckfuck,” his hand has to twist into an uncomfortable position to reach for your clit, but he wildly does it anyway— cramping up, until he’s collapsing on top of you and stilling inside. The stench of blood makes the entire room smell, as he thumbs over the side of your blood-coated thigh with one hand, and feels the shaking all the way up and down his spine. He pulls out so slowly, pumping the last bits of cum out with a throaty moan, before he slides off the table onto awfully shaky legs.

If he was any more lucid, he’d think twice before leaning by your side to kiss your eyes, your nose, your pouty lips as the tears that must’ve been building for a while run down your temple— and suppresses the need to actually eat you- for now, he rubs a softer hand over your exposed tummy, before folding the now blood-drenched fabric of your skirt back down to hide your puffy pussy, lest he be tempted again. He whispers his love into your ears, nuzzles at your hairline until the feeling comes back to his hands and feet and he tucks his spent cock back into his boxers, and goes about cleaning the mess he made of the floor.

It’s only when an uncomfortable scratchy sound comes that he notices the burning heat on his neck, the dried sweat painfully sticky— and straightens up beside you when you start to shake again. Immediately his worry is sky high. Even in the gross air of mixed blood and cum and the scent of sex soaking everything, his mind is just clear enough to hold your head when you thrash around a few times, and your chest rises wildly up and down. Then before his very eyes, the damage he’d done upon you slowly starts to stitch itself together, like weaving threads. Lacing you up until every bit of muscle, fat, and skin restores to it’s pristine glory before he ever touched you, with a little puff of cursed energy.

He bites his lip hard when the shaking stops, and your back lands back onto the metal with a soft clang. The noise is louder now it’s quiet in the room. Megumi waits for a bit longer before he brushes the hair from your face, and doesn't mind it that he’s leaving tracks. The darkness is filled with his tense breathing, and then — every sound at once. Your eyes shoot open with a cry, sobbing out like a baby for a few painful seconds. But then spot him thumbing your tears away devoted like he is -though he won’t admit it to you, and you let out a noise of pure relief.

It’s almost poetic, when you crash back into his arms and this time, he lets your arms wind around his waist.

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