#*f: kaori

[its-to-the-death]

Battle of the Gingers Bracket F Round 2

Tigger (Winnie the Pooh) vs Inkling Girl/Kaori (Splatoon)

[2000mallow]

[offbeat-manga-ships]

KAMISAMA GA USO WO TSUKU. ( 神様がうそをつく。)

the gods lie. / Ozaki Kaori

Complete, with 5 chapters / 1 volume

F/M; Seinen, Drama, Romance + taller f x shorter m, open ending

SUMMARY: Natsuru Nanao, a 6th grader who lives alone with his mother, strikes up an unlikely friendship with the reserved and driven Rio Suzumura. Natsuru plays hookey from soccer camp that summer, and instead of telling the truth to his mother, he spends all his time with Rio and her kid brother at their rickety house, where a dark secret threatens to upend their fragile happiness.

MAL score: 7.87 AL mean score: 76% MU average: 8.5

PERSONAL SCORE: 9 out of 10

[nobbykun]

Artist - かおりくみこ・こおろぎ'73・コロムビアゆりかご会 (Kaori, Kumiko with Korogi '73 & Columbia Yurikago-Kai) Song - レッド･ブルー･イエロー (Red, Blue, Yellow) ["Space Emperor God Sigma" Ending Theme] Release Date - April 1980

Anime: 宇宙大帝ゴッドシグマ (Uchū Taitei God Sigma)

Listen 🎶

My blog: Showa Music Library https://nobbykun.tumblr.com/

[tiara-throne]

サイコソーダ2018

[starmapz]

what you know - ch14: trials || r. sukuna

❦ ryomen sukuna x f!reader [college au] [ongoing series]

❝ you've heard his reputation and you've seen first-hand the way he's late to class if he even bothers to show up. paired with him for the most important project of the year, you choose to give him the benefit of the doubt- but maybe that's more than he deserves when your perfect grades depend on him, or maybe there's more to the aloof and irritable sukuna than meets the eye. ❞

❦ cw ; mdni, 18+ only. contains explicit sexual themes and content. use of alcohol. use of cannabis. use of nicotine/cigarettes. angst. hurt/no comfort. hurt/comfort. minor injury. family trauma. smut. slow burn. anxiety. panic attacks. mentions of difficulty eating. legal drama (likely with inaccuracies). tags will be updated as series continues.

❦ additional tags ; college parties and themes. sukuna ooc warning as this is a realistic take on modern sukuna. reader is fairly preppy and implied to be smaller than sukuna, but he's 6"11.

❦ words ; 23.4k.

❦ a/n ; this serves as a bit of a part 2 to the previous chapter and picks up right where the previous one left off! sorry for the wild word count LOL. i'll see you at the bottom!

main masterlist || series masterlist || previous chapter || next chapter

Sitting in your passenger’s seat, Sukuna finds himself missing his old beat-up car. It clicked if you turned the axle too far and rattled at every stop light. One of the brake lights flickered but never quite went out. It was barely street legal, but it got him from one place to another.

It got his dad to appointments and hospitals. That was what mattered the most.

There was a certain sense of freedom that came along with having a car that Sukuna can’t help but feel he’s lacking now. Still, it’s not so bad being your passenger.

Although the ride is mostly silent apart from your music quietly playing, he finds himself able to sort through his thoughts while staring out the window. It’s not a particularly long ride, but it gives him the chance he needed to come to terms with the dirty game that Kaori is playing with this lawsuit.

Clearly she’ll stop at nothing to tear Sukuna’s life to shreds and take his brothers from him if it’s the last thing she does. Him and his lawyer just need to find an angle that lets them win without pulling dirty tricks like she is. The last thing Sukuna needs are more fees or even charges on his record.

He still can’t figure out Kaori’s angle, either. She isn’t on social media as far as he can tell, her name doesn’t pop up online. She doesn’t want the kids for the money obviously and he can’t wrap his head around the idea of her actually wanting her own kids.

Which is fucked.

His fingers tap on his thigh as he contemplates how this all stems back to one moment.

He wonders how different his life could have been had he not gone looking for Kaori at his grandfather’s funeral. Maybe even Choso and Yuji’s fates could have been different.

The car comes to a halt in a quaint strip mall parking lot, with only another car or two in the lot alongside yours. Sukuna blinks  as he glances around. He vaguely recognizes the area from when you’d first spent time together working on your project at your apartment.

It feels like a lifetime ago now that you listened to The Eagles on vinyl while working on your research project.

Getting out of the car, you stretch your arms up above your head. “I hope it’s good,” you comment, casting him a glance as you lead the way up to a plain door with the restaurant logo across the front. Sukuna hums in agreement.

Within the small shop, there’s a cozy and homely warmth that surrounds you, the smell of broth wafting through the air. The lighting is soft and warm with slats of vertical wood separating each small booth along a wall with ivy green paint beneath the wood. A couple of decorative lanterns adorn stylized chandeliers in each booth, and a counter with stools runs along the farthest wall.

A waitress approaches you both and kindly asks whether you’d prefer a booth or the bar. Sukuna gives you a nudge to let you decide, and the waitress leads the way to a small booth in the very back of the restaurant. The atmosphere is welcoming, though the booth provides enough privacy that you can comfortably converse with one another.

“This place is so cute,” you comment as you both shrug your coats off. You’d almost forgotten how painfully overdressed you are as you look down at your white blouse, which is equally as unfortunate. You’ll just have to be careful not to spill.

Across from you, Sukuna hums as he pulls at the knot of his tie before slipping it off and unceremoniously shoving it in his suit pocket. He can’t say he particularly cares about whether it has wrinkles or not. After all, the next time he wears it will be-

Shit. He’s not sure he’s ready to think about that, yet. After all, they need the house study back before they can prepare. He has time. He can relax and enjoy his time with you.

He needs to live in the moment and try not to think about the dull future that plagues his mind. He needs to let himself relax for the first time in what feels like months.

To keep yourself from watching the painfully attractive way that Sukuna pulls at his tie and undoes the first couple of buttons on his shirt, you busy yourself with the menu. “The tonkatsu sounds good,” you comment.

Rubbing his eye with the back of his knuckle, Sukuna finally picks up the menu, holding it back far enough to see it without squinting as he searches for what you’re talking about. “Sounds good,” he agrees quietly, casting a glance over the menu to stare at you as he struggles to find common ground to chat with you. It’s not like his curt answers are helping, but the small talk you’re spouting to fill the dead air isn’t doing either of you any favors.

Clearing his throat, he sets down the menu. “I’ll just get the gyoza.”

Flipping back a page to take a look at the item on the menu, you eye him suspiciously. “Sukuna, that’s the cheapest thing on the menu and it only comes with three. Get what you want,” you urge, finding it hard to contain your smile as he glowers when you see right through him.

“Fine,” he mutters. “I’ll get the curry ramen.”

“Good,” you hum, pleased.

As both menus are set down, the waitress returns to take your order before you find yourself staring at the soy sauce left at the end of the table. The dead air sitting stagnant between you burns at your skin, lapping like flames against the balance between you. Where once there was easy conversation, a void has been left in its place. Prior to your fight, there was rarely a moment where neither of you knew what to say. Even the silence was usually warm and inviting, but the trepidation left in the wake of uncertainty here doesn’t speak to what once was.

In an effort to fill the silence, Sukuna mutters out a question before he has a chance to think.

“How’s the conspiracy theorist prof been?”

Mild amusement pulls at the corner of your lips. “We had a whole class where we discussed the death of Edgar Allen Poe,” you chuckle as you lean over the table.

Blowing a breath of air out of his nose in a wry laugh, Sukuna leans his chin on his hand, his elbow bent over the table. “What’d she land on?”

“Rabies,” you shrug.

He hums. “More plausible than some of her other theories.”

“I still think it’s more likely to be-”

“Alcoholism.”

“- alcoholism.”

Sukuna’s lips quirk up at the corners as familiarity finally finds its place back within the void, filling it out just a little bit. You giggle as he finishes your sentence in the same moment that you do. “It’s the only cause that has any footing!” You insist happily, beginning to go over the ways that you claim it ‘just makes sense’.

Sukuna’s muscles relax as he listens to you, chiming in occasionally to offer his opinion or add in something his dad had once mentioned on the subject. His tongue glides across his lower lip as he watches the way your lips move as you speak, your eyes crinkling at the corner each time you giggle. He’s only pulled from his stupor when the food arrives.

A large bowl with chopsticks and a spoon is placed in front of each of you, the steam of the warm broth billowing in the air between you. Your mouth waters at the smell alone as you thank the waitress and pick up the chopsticks. Sukuna follows suit, taking a bite of some noodles.

“Everything you hoped for?” He gruffs between bites.

“Um-” you hesitate, “yeah, it’s good!”

“But?”

“It’s a bit salty,” you pout.

“It’s ramen.”

Your brow furrows, playfully offended at his dry tone, as though you don’t know that. “It’s saltier than I usually get, is what I mean,” you retort, raising your brow playfully.

His eyes flicker between your bowls before he pushes his towards you. “Try mine,” he insists.

Your lips purse, giving in without complaint. His food has a bit more of a kick to it and considerably less salt, but the flavor is downright divine. Your brow raises, and it doesn’t take a rocket scientist to figure out that you like it more.

Smirking, Sukuna pulls your bowl towards him, exchanging the dishes. “Keep it.”

“What? Are you sure? I really don’t-”

Sukuna takes a bite of your ramen and nods.

Your hands hesitate in the air, still not quite sure what to make of the switch. Sukuna’s never been one to particularly care what he’s eating, but this strikes you as just plain sweet. “Really, it wasn’t that salty-”

“Princess,” Sukuna sets his chopsticks down, finishing his bite of noodles, “eat your damn food.”

You shoot him one last hesitant glance before relenting. Your brow knits together, a shy smile finding its way to your lips. “Thanks,” you murmur as your cheeks heat up. Surely from the heat of the soup.

Surely.

Before you can insist on swapping food again or something else Sukuna would consider foolish, he brings up a new topic, something that’s been nagging at him since he realized how much of a dumbass he’s been, and continues to be. 

“How’s Toji?”

He’d seen and heard from Uraume fairly frequently, though he continued to keep them in the dark about the lawsuit. Every day that goes by, thoughts consume him about whether or not that’s the right option, and every day he struggles to find a reason why he continues to keep it a secret from them.

The truth is that he’s a coward. He can’t bring himself to tell them because it’s been so long that he fears they’ll find a reason to walk out of his life. Though his feelings surrounding Uraume differ greatly from those that involve you, he’s not sure how well he could manage without them either. He’s so deep in the hole he’s dug for himself with this lawsuit that he’s not sure he could blame them if they blew up at him for his spineless decision. Hell, he’d let Uraume dig the hole deeper for him and bury him alive if they so pleased.

Maybe Uraume and Toji could even tap their shovels together in a ‘cheers’ of sorts with the amount of secrets Sukuna’s kept from them both.

“He’s okay,” you shrug. “He asked me about you.”

Sukuna pauses, noodles dangling from his chopsticks as though he didn’t expect that in your reply.

“He was pretty upset,” you continue, hoping to share enough to help them mend their friendship while respecting Toji’s boundaries. Though you’ve grown closer to Sukuna’s childhood friend over the past couple of months, he’s definitely more of Satoru’s friend. You certainly don’t know him well enough to be confident recounting his exact words to Sukuna.

Setting his chopsticks back in the bowl, Sukuna stares down at his scattered reflection on the surface of the soup. “Shit,” he mutters simply, letting the silence linger.

Finishing up your bite, you tilt your head. “Can I ask you something?”

“Shoot.”

“Why didn’t you tell him? You two were best friends, weren’t you?”

Sukuna leans back in his booth, crossing his arms over his chest. The shoulders of his suit jacket crease as the sleeves pull taut and accentuate his muscles. “Dunno. We just didn’t talk about shit like that, and…” he shrugs, finding your gaze with no definitive reasoning to offer.

You frown, Toji’s reaction coming to mind when you’d parroted that exact phrase to him a couple of months ago. ‘That was his excuse?’ Over the course of two months, you’d thought maybe Sukuna’s response might change just as the man himself has. “Don’t you think he would have wanted to know?”

“‘Course he would’ve,” Sukuna agrees, shrugging. “I guess I just didn’t think about it,” he shrugs again, searching for some sort of reasonable answer where there is none. He just didn’t tell Toji. He didn’t want to be around Toji and he didn’t want to talk to Toji. There’s no grand reason why, Toji never did anything to upset Sukuna. The simple fact of the matter is that Sukuna had so much on his plate, that all reason fell to the wayside. It was never Toji’s fault, and had it not been Toji, it would have been someone else. Sukuna didn’t want to be around people at the time.

Sensing that you aren’t getting anywhere with this conversation, you bring up another question that’s been plaguing your mind since Sukuna brought it up at the case conference. You pray it doesn’t piss him off for one reason or another but he’s been more reasonable lately so you don’t feel like you need to step on eggshells around him as much. “Hey, Kuna? Um-” You pause, setting your chopsticks down. “Where did you find Kaori at your grandpa’s funeral?” You query, watching the way his eyes snap to you at the mere mention of the question.

His jaw clenches as he sits up, fiddling with the bottle of soy that sits between you. He stares at it like it’s done a disservice to his family, huffing as he explains in the simplest terms what had happened. “I was a kid, like fourteen or some shit. Kaori was…” he raises his hand, motioning at nothing in particular as he searches for words. “She was fine. She never really cared to be involved with my life, n’ my dad kept things pretty quiet between ‘em until she got pregnant and he proposed.”

He takes a moment, huffing at nothing in particular as he pulls his hand back from the soy sauce, his fingers curling into a fist. “Found her with her fucking-” Sukuna cuts himself off as his voice cracks, his expression hardening as anger courses through his veins at the mere thought of his step-mother. It’s been so long since he’s crossed paths with the thought of what he’d discovered that afternoon. He’d almost forgotten just how vividly his mind can still conjure that image, bringing with it the disgust and self-reproach he’d longed to forget for so many years.

You don’t hesitate for a moment to reach across the table, settling your hand over his fist the moment his distress becomes apparent. With one simple movement, you seem to dissolve the void between you. The uneasy silence tapers off as things become familiar once more.

He’s not sure he’ll ever grow accustomed to your kindness. How is he meant to convince himself that he’s allowed to be selfish, to take, when he has so little to give in return?

Yet even as guilt festers in his stomach and he scowls down at the place where your hands join, he still lets his fingers relax, flipping his hand upright to gently rub his thumb across the second joint of each of your fingers. Your skin is warm, soothing the chilling sensation of the memory.

Re-centering himself, Sukuna’s chest rises and falls in a heavy sigh. “I found her tongue-fucking my uncle in some corner,” he hisses, his nose wrinkling in disgust.

Your lips part in shock, the realization settling slowly as your stupor morphs to revulsion. Putting together his words from the case conference earlier, you blink in further surprise. “You didn’t tell your dad?”

Sukuna’s fingers glide through yours suddenly, his much larger hand finding a place around yours as he clasps your hands together, your fingers intertwined. Your gaze shoots to your entangled hands, unable to make heads or tails of the action as heat rises from the back of your neck to the tips of your ears. You can blame the soup all you want, but you know the truth.

You’re used to Sukuna seeking comfort within you, but there’s something deeper to this. Something you don’t know how to explore with the man, and something you don’t dare bring up as he’s opening up to you.

It doesn’t matter how fast your heart hammers in your chest, or the way that blood pumps loudly behind your ears. The mixed signals, the confusing push and pull that seems to go hand-in-hand with the brute across from you, none of that matters with the air heavy with the weight of a confession long kept behind bars, never shared with a soul.

Even Toji doesn’t know, of that you’re certain.

So, you swallow hard and put your focus into his expression, something akin to guilt, averting your attention away from the warmth of his hand as best as you can.

“I couldn’t,” he admits, a look of disdain clouding his vision. “Kaori was fine for the first few years that I knew her. She was a good enough mom to Cho and sometimes me when she wanted to be,” he shrugs, a bitter snarl tugging at his lips. “Funny. She had us all fooled.”

You nod slowly, just to tell Sukuna you’re listening.

“The week before my grandpa died, we had freshman year finals. I fucked up-” he breathes, rolling his eyes at his own stupidity. “Failed all four in my last semester. Wasn’t doin’ anything important, I was just bein’ a dumbass.” He shrugs, his grip on your hand tightening. “They were gonna hold me back n’ I didn’t wanna be apart from Toji or my friends, so him and I broke in.”

“To the school?”

He shoots you a look that you recognize. One that says obviously, though he keeps his mouth shut, continuing without answering your question. Now’s not exactly the time to be teasing you over what’s just your way of showing you’re listening.

“The plan was fucking stupid from the start. Thought we could change my grades without my dad or the school knowing. Dunno, I was a kid. It made sense to us back then.” He scoffs at his own ill thought-out plan. “I got arrested. Made sure Toji got away, didn’t want his family goin’ off on him so I covered for him,” he shrugs. “They had to call a guardian, so I gave ‘em Kaori’s number.”

Your head tilts and even in the midst of the heavy air, Sukuna wants to scoff at the way his blood pumps faster. “Weren’t you close to your dad? Why not call him?”

Sukuna nods slowly in acknowledgement. “We were close, yeah, but he was a teacher and I was smart, got good grades n’ shit. He was the type who didn’t really get mad, just disappointed, which was worse than whatever I thought Kaori would do.”

“What did she do?”

“Nothing,” he sighs, leaning his chin on the ball of his free hand over the table. “I never got charged, and she bribed the school into passing me, actually. It was cool of her at the time.”

Your lips purse as you listen intently. It’s a lot to take in, though you did always picture Sukuna and Toji being the type to pull a stunt like that given that you know about Sukuna’s days trying not to get caught with an incriminating can of spray paint.

“So, you didn’t tell him because she did you a favor?” You confirm with a furrowed brow. Favor or not, you’re not sure you could keep a secret like that from your parents.

But neither could Sukuna. “Fuck no,” Sukuna chuckles dryly, tensing his jaw. “I went to tell him the moment I saw her. It woulda been cruel to tell him at the funeral, but I thought it was worse to keep it from him.”

You nod intently.

“That-” His teeth are gritted as he cuts himself off, choosing his words wisely around you.

Though honestly, she’s deserving of the title he clearly wants to give her.

“She fucking blackmailed me,” he hisses. “Chased after me n’ told me she’d have the school charge me and fucking fail me,” he growls, the crease between his brows so harsh that you almost think he might give himself a headache.

Pulling his hand away from your grip, he leans back in the booth once more, throwing his hands up in the air in exasperation. “The fuck was I supposed to do, fail? I was terrified of disappointing my dad,” he shrugs. “I got my shit together the next year, but christ, she fucking played me. I didn’t know how my record worked back then either, getting charged with a crime when you’re fourteen or some shit feels like the end of the damn world.”

In a rare moment of genuine vulnerability, a look of innocence settles in his eyes, fleeting. You often forget just how young Sukuna was when his life got turned sideways. Even his teenage years sent him through a turmoil you can’t begin to imagine. With all his rough edges and hardened lines, it’s easy to forget that the man in front of you has a soft inside so full of a genuine love for his family and even for life. That flame got taken from him bit by bit before he ever got the chance to nurture it, stuck quelling his own desires in order to make ends meet.

Though he pulled away from your hand, you find his foot beneath the table with yours, gently nudging it. “You didn’t tell him after she left?”

He uselessly throws his hands up in a shrug, his tired expression increasingly obvious in the warm overhead light of the ramen shop. “I didn’t have the heart to tell him. I think…” he trails off, inhaling sharply, “at some point I realized he was gonna die, and I didn’t want him to think his wife didn’t love him at the end.”

Your lips part, jaw hanging slightly ajar at the weight of his confession. His sorrow grips your stomach, twisting it as your expression falls. “I’m so sorry, Kuna.”

He eyes you for a moment, choosing not to reply.

The silence stretches on, your hand remaining where he left it on the table when he leaned back. A part of you wishes he would take it again so that you can offer him silent comfort, pushing down the lingering yearning that comes with such a tender action. His mind seems to be elsewhere though, his eyes glazed as he stares distantly at the decorated wall beside him.

Letting the moment linger, you find yourself pulling your hand back to stir your nearly forgotten soup. It’s still mildly steaming thankfully, which you’re grateful for given the cold weather. Less fortunately, your stomach wrenches at the thought of eating under the weight of Sukuna’s admission hanging heavy in the air.

“Do you think you could bring that up at the trial?” You query quietly. Although the judge had shut it down today, it does have pertinent information about Kaori’s character.

He shakes his head. “Nah, it doesn’t look good on either of us. I shouldn’t have brought it up in the first place, was just pissed,” he grumbles, scratching his jaw. With a deep sigh, he returns to his soup as well, taking small sips of the broth in an effort to not let the food go to waste, though he’s equally as uneasy as you are.

“Was she like that a lot? Blackmailing you and… stuff?” You wave your chopsticks through the air as you both pick at your food.

“Somethin’ like that. She just stopped pretending to give a shit, I guess,” he shrugs. “Wasn’t just me, either. Choso too,” he sighs, his brow tugging into a scowl. “Mother of the year,” he grumbles with a dramatic wave of his chopsticks in mock celebration.

If anything, it only leaves you with more questions about why she’d want the kids. Sukuna makes it sound like she didn’t care back then, what could have changed now? Of course, there’s the possibility that Sukuna could be wrong, but it seems unlikely given Kaori’s track record and her behavior earlier. The lies she’d told under oath at the courthouse may have slipped past the judge, but you saw through her.

The way she looked at you, as though you were a pawn in some game sends a shiver up your spine.

Nudging his foot as he sips a spoonful of broth, you catch his attention again. “Is she always so… ” You trail off, coming to the realization that you don’t know exactly how to describe the way Kaori acts.

He hums questioningly. “What, fake?” He asks, watching as you raise your spoon to your lips.

“Yeah, like…” You pause, holding your spoon out in front of you. “I don’t know, too sweet and caring?”

Sukuna scoffs, a hint of amusement skirting the edges of his tone. “Since the funeral, yeah.”

Poking the inside of your cheek in thought, you contemplate whether any details from Sukuna’s past could be used in the trial, but Kaori or her lawyer always seemed to have some well thought-out refute for every time Sukuna attempted to bring up her track record.

It’s almost strange, in a way, to think about how easily the judge seemed to decline any objections from Sukuna’s lawyer.

Nudging your foot to bring you back to the present, Sukuna gruffs out a “hey,” catching you off-guard. As your body jolts in surprise, your spoon tilts and the broth spills across the front of your painfully white blouse, the warmth seeping through the material. The squeak of shock that you let out sends concern rippling through Sukuna’s entire being like lightning.

“Shit,” he breathes, standing abruptly and offering napkins as he averts his gaze from the outline of your bra that’s now startlingly obvious. His gaze rounds the table as though in search of something that might fix the situation. “Fuck, did it burn you?”

Blinking as the initial shock passes, you shake your head. “Oh- um, no! No, it’s just warm.” And thank god for that, had you not waited a bit before eating, this likely would have been a hell of a lot worse. Reaching for the napkins Sukuna offers, you dab at the stain, chewing on your lip at how glaringly obvious it is, and even worse, how see-through your blouse is. You consider putting on your winter coat, but between the warm soup and heated building, that just might melt you.

Great.

Coming to the same conclusion that you have, Sukuna slips out of his suit jacket without thinking, wordlessly handing it over to you. Gratefully taking it from him, your cheeks heat up once more at the sight of his jacket draped over you. You can’t help but giggle at the way it absolutely dwarfs you in size. The sound of your laughter puts the man across from you at ease.

Between how painfully cute you look giggling in his suit jacket and the smile he has to physically fight off at the sight of you adorned in his clothes, Sukuna finds himself able to take a seat, leaning on his elbows with his hands clasped in front of his mouth.

He’d be lying if he said blood wasn’t flowing south too.

A thought crosses his mind. Something that he’s been running from, but he sets it aside. He shouldn’t even be considering the implications behind his heart’s pounding or the smile he finds himself chewing on his own cheek to fight off as he hides behind his hands. What he needs to focus on right now is your well-being.

At least, that’s what he’ll tell himself as he keeps running from that familiar thought. He knows it’s cowardly, but he’s not sure he’s in the right state of mind to face it.

“You alright, princess?” He asks from behind his hands, composing himself.

“Hm? Yeah, don’t worry! It wasn’t hot. Sorry I wasn’t paying attention,” you reply with a small smile, unbothered.

Your friend hums from across the table. “You have an unhealthy relationship with hot liquids.”

Your brow furrows as you hold his jacket around you to prevent the see-through patch from being visible. “Since when?” You can’t recall another time you’ve spilled around him. 

“The oil,” he reminds you.

Your lips purse as you scour your memory, brow shooting up as the image of an employee passing you with a bucket of oil passes through your mind. The feeling of Sukuna’s arm effortlessly holding you off the ground sends an equal amount of heat through your cheeks as the embarrassment of the near-incident itself. “Oh yeah,” you murmur, quickly scowling to deflect his accusation. “That was so long ago!”

“Maybe,” he shrugs, no longer hiding his smirk now that he’s fallen into familiar territory with you. “Ya still needed to be rescued, though,” he pokes fun at you.

Groaning playfully, you give him a light kick to the shin under the table, causing his smirk to shift into a full-on grin as he chuckles at your expense. “You’re such a dick!” You insist.

“Mm, tell me somethin’ I don’t know.”

Rolling your eyes, you return to your ramen, careful not to spill, lest you get teased further.

Though the more you think about it as you catch glimpses of Sukuna’s mild and easy smile as he eats, maybe you wouldn’t mind making a fool of yourself if it means he’s in a good headspace. Especially given the day he’s already had, there’s satisfaction to be found in seeing Sukuna laugh.

The real Sukuna.

The one that makes your stomach flutter and your heart flip.

It hurts in a way that you’re not quite prepared for, a way that’s painfully lonely in spite of being across from the person that you never quite stopped loving.

Bittersweet, you keep the tone light as easy conversation settles between you once more. Even if you hold onto your cautious inhibitions, there’s relaxation to be found in the shared warmth. “Toji told me you used to do a lot of graffiti.”

He scoffs, amused. “Been a while, but yeah.”

“He said you used to tag all the basketball courts you hung out at.”

Humming, Sukuna nods as he slurps up a noodle. “Mhm. Courts, tunnels, n’ old trains.”

“So what did you usually tag things as? Like, your name?”

Sukuna’s content smile falters, a pale pink shade dusting his cheeks. “Somethin’ like that.”

A grin slowly spreads across your lip. “Is it embarrassing?” You ask, leaning in. He glances up at you, pointedly taking another bite to avoid your interrogation. “Come on, it can’t be that bad. You know I named myself ‘Flower’ in Animal Crossing.”

His brow raises. “Weren’t you like five when you played that shit?” He retorts.

“Yeah, but…” you trail off with a shrug. “Come on, please Kuna?”

And when you tilt your head like that, your eyes gleaming like he’s a masterpiece to behold, who is he to say no?

With a drawn out sigh, he pinches the bridge of his nose. “The King,” he murmurs, keeping his eyes shut to avoid your judgement. And for good reason as you fail miserably at fighting your grin.

When you don’t reply, he finally peeks an eye open, regretting it immediately when you break, a fit of giggles taking over.

Clicking his tongue, he rolls his eyes dramatically. “It’s not that bad,” he grumbles.

“It’s not, it’s not!” You insist between giggles, coughing in an effort to cover them as he stares at you in disdain. “It’s just… so you.”

“The fuck does that mean?” He gruffs.

“Just-” you pause, covering your lips as if he won’t be able to tell you’re still struggling not to laugh. “- I don’t know! It’s just exactly what I’d expect from you.”

“Then what’s so funny about it?” He scoffs, glowering across the table.

“Kuna,” you stare at him expectantly, as though he should just know. “Come on, you were- what? Sixteen? When you came up with that, right?” You query, met with a hum of agreement. “It’s just- it’s cute!” You insist as Sukuna continues to scowl at you. “It’s just- funny to picture a little Sukuna who thought he was really cool for that.”

His brow twitches, his hardened expression cracking. Of course Sukuna thought he was cool. He couldn’t just be ‘King’ either, no, he had to be The King. He snorts at the thought, bringing a hand up to cover his face as he chuckles. Your giggles turn into a full blown outburst of laughter that’s even contagious for Sukuna as he finds himself hunched over the table at the thought of a time long past.

Your shared laughter is musical, filling the air with a fondness that’s been missing from your lives for so long you both thought it was lost. Each moment spent basking in it, you find yourself slowly letting your guard down just a little bit more.

“I wish I could have seen one of your tags,” you grin, eyes crinkling at the corners in delight. “I guess it was a long time ago though.”

His tongue runs along his lower lip, teeth digging into the flesh to stop himself from smiling and giving away his secret.

“No way.”

He stares at the wall, his cheeks now painted in a pale rose as he leans on his elbow. His hand muffles his words as he attempts to cover his smile with it. “I think there’s one that’s still there.”

“Sorry, what’s that?” You tease.

Shooting you a knowing look from his peripherals, he makes a show of huffing. “You heard me, princess.”

“Where is it?”

“Doesn’t matter,” he dismisses.

“Come on, please?”

“No,” he grumbles behind his hand, turning to face you finally as if in a challenge.

“I’ll ask Choso.”

His confidence falters as the gears visibly turn in his mind. He actually can’t remember if Choso knows, but there’s a very real possibility that he does. Sukuna wasn’t exactly the model brother and Choso was there for a decent chunk of his time spray painting random alleys and trains. Choso was just happy to be there with his brother, unaware of the criminality of his older brother’s actions.

With a sigh, he drags his hand over his face in defeat. “Y’know the skate park two stops past work?”

“I think so.”

“I figured out how to tag the ceiling under the bridge, it’s probably still there.”

“Oh my god, we have to go after work sometime,” you gasp in delight.

He opens his mouth to say no, but the words die in his throat at the sight of you grinning with stars in your eyes. This is the most normal things have been with you in the past couple of months, and now you’re the one asking to hang out. Not out of pity or to help his brothers. Not for work, or school. Blowing a puff of air from his nose, he relents. “Yeah, alright. If that’s what you want,” he grumbles, though even for all his grumbling, the warm look in his eyes says otherwise.

That same warmth spreads to his chest as you beam at him with a triumphant ‘yesss!’, one hand clutching your spoon as you return to your soup while the other holds his suit jacket over yourself. It drapes over your body like a dress, it's so long. The shoulders of the jacket droop, your form nowhere near as broad as his, yet somehow you make it look intentional. As though his jacket belongs to you and it always has.

His bowl of ramen sits empty as he finds his attention drawn to you. As you finish what’s left of your soup, his mind wanders. The reality he’s been running from seems to draw closer, seeping into the edges of his mind with each passing moment.

But along with it comes a guilt that settles like stones in his stomach.

“You’re still bein’ too nice to me,” he blurts out.

When you meet his gaze with a raised brow, you shake your head. “Is that a bad thing?”

He knows it’s a rhetorical question, your kind way of telling him that you want to be nice, but self-sabotage is his closest friend. “You’ve always been too nice to me. After all the shit I pulled, you’re still-” he just shakes his head, his gaze drawn to the small remaining pool of soup at the bottom of his bowl. In the depths of the dish, he finds his reflection staring back at him once more, distorting each time either of you shuffle or knock the table.

With each distortion of his own picture, he finds himself frowning. It makes him look older, somehow. As though he’s grown weathered and worn. It’s been so long since he lost himself that each glance at a mirror serves as a reminder of the missing pieces of himself, fracturing in the ripples of the soup beneath him.

Maybe that’s why he clings so desperately to you and his brothers. You carry pieces of him that he recognizes, while he’s nothing more than a shadow of what once was.

“Kuna,” you scold lightly as you recognize the look in his eyes, giving his foot a nudge and capturing his sharp gaze. “Stop it.”

You know you don’t need to elaborate, he understands. He knows the multitude of meanings behind your words. The guilt boiling at the pit of his stomach isn’t so easily swayed, though. “Just thought you’d learned your lesson.”

You laugh lightly, humoring him. “Oh, I did,” you affirm. His brow raises, the distance in his eyes clearing just enough to find intrigue in his gaze. “If you’re a dick on purpose again, I’m not sticking around to be treated like that,” you smirk, your tone too warm for the words that slip past your lips.

Amused at both your choice of words and your confidence, Sukuna snorts. “Good,” he hums, shoving his bowl aside in hopes that his dreary thoughts will go along with it. “Keep it that way. The confidence looks good on you, princess.” No matter the circumstances he finds himself in, he knows he wouldn’t- couldn’t- dare to say such outright hurtful things to you again.

Heat rises up your neck like a wildfire, averting your eyes in an effort to fend it off. Luckily, the waitress returns to the table and shields you from Sukuna teasing your shyness as you ask for the bill. She returns a moment later and lets you know to pay at the front.

“Ready?” You hum, bracing your hands on the bench. When Sukuna nods, you push yourself out of the seat, brushing down Sukuna’s suit jacket before handing it back to him with a sweet ‘thank you’ as you throw your winter coat over your stained blouse.

Heading to the front of the shop, you pull out your card as the waitress prepares the keypad, but before you can move a muscle, Sukuna slots his card into the reader.

“Sukuna, what? No-” you reach out in an attempt to pull his card away. “I told you I’d pay. Ah-!” An involuntary squeak leaves you as Sukuna pulls your hand away from his card and uses a strong arm around your shoulders to slot you against him, holding you away from the machine. Even as you claw at his bicep and struggle against him in a fit of giggles and protests to let you go, he effortlessly holds you in place.

It’s such an obvious display of his muscles and you’re painfully sure he can feel the heat radiating from your skin given how close his arm is to your collar and neck. And really, how are you not supposed to think about his stupidly buff arm when the veins are right in your vision?

Asshole.

When he finally releases his grip and you stumble forward, fixing him with a pout, he just smirks at you.

“I was gonna pay!” You insist.

He shrugs. “Ramen won’t break the bank. It’s worth it for you.”

Any protests die in your throat as all you can do is blink at him. Your lips purse, his words settling in your mind.

Had he just said that it’s worth it, you wouldn’t have thought twice about it, it’s the way he specified that it’s worth it for you. Sukuna returns to his business like it’s nothing, tucking his card into his wallet and shoving his hands in his pockets, but it takes you a moment to follow after him as he pushes back out into the cold.

The brisk air hardly even hits you. Sure, it’s gotten a bit warmer, but that’s not what you’re focused on when the intonation behind Sukuna’s words only leaves you shocked, and worse, confused. You know your friendship with him runs deeper than most that he bothers to foster and you hold a place within his life that he’s willing to fight for, but this strikes you in a way that your usual banter and nudges don’t.

It brings you back to the way you’d been stunned when he intertwined your fingers in a way that felt so real.

You remember his rejection all too well, and yet… Now you’re not so sure how he feels. Maybe you’re reading into things too much, maybe this is all part of him earning your trust back, but your racing heart wants to think otherwise.

Maybe it’s all just a sick delusion.

Swallowing hard, you push aside your thoughts as you crawl back into your shell, the sudden realization of something altogether confusing leaving you scared. “Do you need a ride?”

“Nah,” Sukuna replies, the face of stoicism. He digs into his pocket, setting a cigarette between his lips. “Gonna walk to the kids’ school n’ wait. It’ll give me some time to think,” he gruffs, his voice muffled from the cigarette. His lighter clicks as it ignites, the ashen edge of the cigarette glowing like a firefly.

“Sounds good. I’ll see you Tuesday?”

“See ya, princess.”

–

The office is quiet come Tuesday. Even Yuki only stole about ten minutes of your time, mostly to complain about the fact that she’s still not done with Baby Whale, and she’s absolutely sick of it.

And really, who can blame her?

Finishing up your work, you send it over to Yuki for review and approval, met with an immediate pout from her as your email pops up in her inbox right away. With an innocent smile, you’re just about to offer to take something off her plate since you’re a bit ahead of schedule when Maya pings you with a request to come see her.

Excusing yourself, you make your way over to her office with dread twisting your gut.

She likely just has a question, but there’s something stressful about being summoned to your boss’ office no matter the occasion.

Or maybe that’s just how your brain works, finding worries in the least likely of places.

Knocking, you push into Maya’s office with a polite smile, casting a glance to the side at the sight of Sukuna manspreading in a chair across from Maya’s desk with his arms crossed over his chest. Your eyes fall to his forearms, the veins protruding over rippling muscles with his sleeves pushed up. God, he’s distracting.

His aloof stare falls flickers to you before he fixes his attention on Maya again.

“Hey,” she greets, sitting up and clasping her hands professionally. Something about the momentous air in the room doesn’t settle your nerves as she addresses you. “Sorry, Sukuna and I were just finishing up his one-month review,” she explains as she hands him some paperwork. You can’t make out how it went based on either of their expressions. “While I have him here, I figured I’d call you in as well. The client pushed the due date forward on Lee’s Adventure. How far along are the edits and cover? They want them by tomorrow but I don’t want to push either of you,” she explains.

“I finalized the edits this morning, Yuki just needs to review. I can take some of her work to balance her workload,” you offer.

“Gimme an hour and the cover’s done,” Sukuna replies mildly.

“You two are lifesavers, thank you,” she sighs in relief. “I swear, as soon as we finish this, I’m done with this agent,” she grumbles. “Send me the cloud file once it’s uploaded, Sukuna. I’ll wait for Yuki and let her know you’ll take something from her.”

Once dismissed, you stretch your arms overhead as you make your way out into the main office. The moment Sukuna shuts Maya’s door, he turns towards you. “Coffee?”

Huh, you hadn’t even realized he didn’t bring you one today. “Don’t you need to work on the cover?”

“I finished it last night,” he dismisses with a smirk. “Come get coffee with me.”

You can’t help the bubbly laughter that comes with the realization of why he asked for an hour, nodding. You both make pit stops at your offices before making your way out the front door. The snow has mostly cleared and it’s finally warm enough to be in a spring jacket rather than a winter one. With the weather finally easing up, it’s nice to be outside again. No breath billowing out in front of you as your ears and the tips of your fingers freeze, just a light breeze that rustles your hair.

There’s a shop only a couple of blocks from the office that you’ve only tried once when you got to work a bit early that you had enjoyed. It’s not Sukuna’s usual choice, but his order is about as simple as it gets, so surely it can’t be too bad no matter where he goes.

“You go first,” he urges as you arrive, letting you tell the cashier what you’d like. He steps forward and requests a black coffee, playfully shoving you aside in the process because he knows you well enough to know you were about to try to pay.

“You have to let me pay for something,” you groan in mock disdain.

He shrugs, not even offering any words.

Sighing, you shake your head. “Thanks, Kuna.”

He hums in acknowledgement, handing your drink over as it slides across the counter.

Once his arrives, he leads the way to a table and slides down in the chair, taking a sip of his coffee. He sighs at the familiar taste, grateful to finally get some caffeine in his system to keep him awake.

“So, how’d your review go?” You ask, taking slow sips of your warm drink.

“Pretty good,” he nods, glancing off to the side in thought. He seems tired again, though given that you both thought the trial was last Thursday, the kids probably did too, which really would only extend Sukuna’s troubles. “I guess the fucker who thought you were his personal assistant complained, but other than that she seemed pretty happy.”

Shaking your head, you roll your eyes. “Reggie’s the worst. He’s so full of himself.”

Yawning, your friend shrugs again. “Whatever. She didn’t really seem like she cared that he complained.”

“That’s good at least. I don’t think anyone really likes him, so-”

You cut yourself off as Sukuna begins digging in his pocket abruptly, scowling at his vibrating phone as he processes the name on the caller ID.

“Hello?”

From your perspective, he continues to glower at nothing in particular as he listens to whoever’s on the other line. He hums or grunts in reply, though he doesn’t offer much for insight until something seems to catch his attention.

“What?” He growls, hackles raised as he’s suddenly sitting upright. “It shouldn’t be ready for weeks.”

More silence as Sukuna runs a hand through his hair, tousling it. “The f-” he cuts himself off, adjusting his phrasing, “what does it say, anyway?”

You take a sip of your coffee, trying to give him privacy, but it’s hard when you left your phone at the office and have no distraction beyond your surroundings.

He sighs heavily, waving his hand uselessly through the air in exasperation. “Gotta be kidding me, of course it does.”

Huffing as he continues to listen to the caller, his frustrations quickly explode into full-blown fury. “How? You said we shoulda had fuckin’ weeks, how is that fucking possible?” He barks.

Your eyes widen at the sudden change in tone. The tattooed man casts a glance around the cafe before abruptly standing and pushing out the door to continue his conversation outside. Choosing to give him privacy, you stay in your seat, watching with concern as he throws his hands in the air in disbelief from outside the window. It takes a few minutes before he hangs up and dumps his phone into his pocket. He throws his head back, dragging his hands over his face and remaining there for a good minute before swinging the cafe door back open with enough vigor that it meets the wall behind it.

Sukuna plops down in the chair across from you, picking up the coffee he’d left on the table and downing it in one go. Your brow raises as you regard him with concern.

Before you can voice your concern, Sukuna speaks up. “What’re you doing tomorrow morning?” He asks tersely, his gaze fixated on the paper cup in his grasp that he’s struggling not to crush in his own bout of irritation.

“Um-” you hesitate, scouring your mind for anything important. “Just classes, why?”

“The fuckin’ trial’s tomorrow.”

You recoil in horror, eyes wide. “What? How?”

“Fuckin’ Kaori,” he hisses. “Fucking snake put an urgent push on the date and I guess it only needs twenty four hours’ notice,” he growls, the cup in his hand fracturing under the weight of his hold. He sets it down on the table before whatever liquid’s left in the paper cup drips onto his gray slacks. “Can’t believe they’re letting her get away with this shit.”

“Wouldn’t she need, like, evidence or something to make it urgent?” You shake your head quizzically, trying to make sense of the sudden weight placed on Sukuna. It had only been a handful of days since he’d come to terms with the fact that he had more time and now the rug is being pulled out from under him as fast as it had been laid out.

Sukuna shakes his head and shrugs at once. “I don’t fuckin’ know.” His tone is disdainful as he harshly rubs his hands over his face. “She paid for a rush on the house study and it should have been done in a few weeks instead of months, not a few fuckin’ days,” he snaps, not directed at anyone in particular.

“You don’t think…” you trail off, chewing on your lower lip as you bring up something that’s been gnawing at you.

“Yeah, I do fucking think this shit is rigged,” he finishes your thought, pushing a hand through his salmon locks. He exhales heavily, eyes alight. “Fuck, I just told the kids things were okay and now I’m a fucking liar, and she’s fuckin’ cheating somehow, I- I don’t-” his anger and anxiety begin to blur, the lines separating them beginning to converge as his leg bounces beneath the table.

The fire in his eyes is quickly extinguished by fear as he considers what his next twenty four hours will look like.

You can’t watch despair take over without stepping in. Reaching across the table, you offer your hand. “I’ll be there. Class doesn’t matter. What time?”

He turns his attention to you, his eyes flickering between your face and your outstretched hand. “Ten thirty,” he grumbles, cautiously reaching out to squeeze your hand. “Thanks, princess.”

With a sympathetic smile, you nod.

“Shit, I gotta…” he trails off, inhaling sharply. “I gotta get home n’ meet with the lawyer,” he mumbles, his day immediately cut short by none other than Kaori.

Squeezing his hand reassuringly, you capture his attention again. “Do you want some tea or something before you leave?” You offer, recalling how fast he downed his coffee.

Sukuna nods hesitantly. “Another coffee would be nice,” he mumbles, standing before you can move. “I can get it, though.”

“Let me get you this,” you plead as you push to your feet.

He takes a moment to examine the determined gleam in your eyes before giving in. “Sure.”

With a new cup of coffee in hand shortly afterwards, he thanks you quietly as you begin the short and tense walk back to work. The morning had seemed so easy barely a half hour ago, and now you can’t help but think that you took that sensation for granted.

Silence follows you as you let yourselves back into the building, quietly following Sukuna to his office while you stand in the doorway as he begins packing up.

“Don’t forget to send that cover to Maya,” you remind him.

He mutters a curse under his breath, the dark circles under his eyes painfully apparent as he pulls his laptop back out and quickly sends the files over to your boss.

Once he’s finished packing up, his coffee in-hand, you stop him before the door with a hand on his forearm. He regards you with a look that breathes only exhaustion.

“It’ll be okay,” you reassure him.

Despite the swirling anger and anxiety living within the crimson oceans of his irises, something stronger breaks through when he steels himself as he replies. “I know. I won’t let her fuckin’ win.”

You offer a smile, grateful for the resolve that he continues to nurture despite his own doubts. His brothers need him, and he’ll play the role he needs to in order to win the trial, no matter how much he feels as though he’s at his wit’s end. You can only pray he holds himself above water long enough to keep himself from drowning.

“Good luck, Kuna.”

He examines your expression for a moment, simply nodding as he pulls away from your grasp and slips out the front door without a word.

–

Your stomach churns uncomfortably as you stare in the mirror. It’s funny, the way you’d felt so prepared for this day for so long, but now that it’s here, it sits like a molten lava in your stomach. It churns and sears at your insides, unsettling you to your very core. If this is how you’re feeling as a bystander, you can only imagine the way Sukuna’s feeling right now.

They’re not your family, not your brothers, but they’re dear to you. All three of them.

Running your hands down the front of your black pencil skirt, you nod to yourself in the mirror. Fiddling with the sleeve of your (now stain-free) white blouse, you gather your keys and throw on a nice coat and professional plain black heels.

Even the thought of listening to music doesn’t seem right on the drive to the courthouse. Your mind is filled with trepidation, your finger tapping idly at the leather steering wheel as you opt for silence on the way there.

The world around you seems to hold its breath as you step out of your vehicle, your heels landing on fresh pavement. The birds overhead are silent, although a pair of crows eye you from their perch atop a tree. The air is suffocating, and you long for the relief that the end of this hearing will surely bring.

Your gaze falls on the large wooden doors at the front of the familiar stone building with flags at either side. The sheer size alone is imposing enough as is, but the cool and smooth exterior of the monotonous building does no favors to ease your stress. You would almost think they want you to be nervous upon arrival.

Pushing through the doors, you’re reminded that the inside is no better. After making it through security, there are very few windows, the artificial overhead lighting beating down on you as though it’s passing its own judgement. A large reception desk sits at the center of the room, alongside a pair of hallways on either end of the lobby. Evaluating the vaguely familiar room, you find the person you’re searching for fairly easily, his hair standing out in the waiting crowd with Ms. Harte sitting silently beside him.

The click of your heels alerts Sukuna to your presence before you take a seat beside him. He’s dressed to the nines, but you don’t have the luxury of appreciating just how good he looks given the gravity of the situation. When he lifts his head, you find yourself frowning regardless. His eyes are little more than an endless sea of doubts, stress, fears, and misery. There’s a distance glazed over his eyes that suggests he’s not all there right now, hanging on by a thread.

He’s worn so thin that even the sight of you doesn’t ease any of the thoughts running through his mind. He’s gone over the case so many times with his lawyer in the past twenty four hours that he’s not sure he even can be any more prepared, yet he still finds himself feeling vastly underprepared. The short notice in particular claws at the very flesh of his being, as though Kaori is personally taunting him.

“Hey.” Your voice is soft as you offer him a smile, but your nerves are evident in the twitch of your brow. His pupils slide slowly from your face down to your wrist, where he can faintly see the red and purple twine bracelets hidden beneath your semi-translucent sleeve. You may be here in part to support him, which he appreciates more than you could ever know, but he knows the gravity of this situation affects you too, given how much you adore his little brothers.

He almost regrets ever dragging you into this part of his life. The only reason he can even dare to put the word ‘almost’ in that thought is because if he ever dared to express that, you’d chew him out. He thinks he’d let you without so much as batting an eye either, because he needs you.

“Sukuna?” You softly call out to him and his gaze finally raises from your wrist once more to meet your eyes. He examines you for a moment, his finger twitching as he longs to reach out. He longs for the comfort the warmth of your soft skin brings him, but his own self-doubt plagues him down as though he’s wading through mud. He barely has enough strength to keep himself afloat, let alone to dare ask for something.

He knows he’s made leaps and bounds of progress in your relationship over the last few weeks, but as he braves the fog of his mind, he can’t seem to make sense of the lines that separate you anymore. He can’t bear the thought of overstepping.

As is, there’s already a risk he loses his brothers. He can’t lose you, too.

Not again.

Clearing his throat, he gruffly pushes out a reply. “Hey.”

Your brow furrows, “Do you need some water?” You offer, sure you can find somewhere to get him some.

He shakes his head. “Nah. I’m fine.”

You both know well that it’s a lie. Neither of you are fine.

The dejected tone he speaks in doesn’t do him any favors, either. To think this is the same man you met so many months ago almost seems like a joke. Usually so full of pride and bravado, the world has stomped out every last flame that once made up the stubborn brute. He seems almost like a shell of his former self.

It’s strange, when you consider what you’d just told Shoko last week, that Sukuna seems more like himself. The more you think about it, now you’re not so sure. It’s as though his own life is beating him down into a person that you wonder if he even recognizes.

Your heart twists at the thought that somewhere along the line, the man sitting beside you lost himself.

He lost you, he lost himself, and now he’s at risk of losing what’s left of his world.

It only makes you more furious with his step-mother. You don’t see her or her lawyer on this side of the waiting room, and thank god for that. The look of control she always bears makes your skin crawl.

“How are Choso and Yuji?” You keep your voice low as you check in on your friend and his brothers.

Sukuna sighs quietly. “Uraume’s with ‘em. Couldn’t get them to go to school. When I told ‘em what was going on, Choso…” He just shakes his head, rubbing his eyes with a thumb and forefinger.

“He shut down?”

Sukuna hums in thought. “No, I think he’s tryin’ to listen to you.” He shuffles in his seat, sitting up. Tugging at his collar and tie uncomfortably, he cracks his neck. “I just dunno what to do. He’s outside my door tryin’ to talk every few minutes, but I-” With a shrug, he shakes his head again. He knows you get him. He doesn’t need to tell you that he doesn’t have a way with words, you know.

“He just needs you to be there for him. You don’t have to say anything.”

The crimson of his eyes seems to swirl with doubts as he examines you, but he finds it in himself to nod, slumping back in the chair once more.

“How’d the house study turn out?” You query, hoping that will at least help his case.

Shakily sighing, he tilts his head in a ‘so-so’ manner. “No issues with the house,” he states, his gaze fixated on an empty chair in front of him. “But they looked at the kids’ mental health as well, and Yu’s went fine but Cho…” he shakes his head with a sigh, knowing he doesn’t need to spell it out for you. “Good news is they gave us a record of what both kids said and asked ‘em both about me and Kaori.”’

“That should help,” you agree, thankful that even if Choso is too young to testify, at least the kids’ opinions are taken into account to some degree.

“Yeah…” He agrees, though he doesn’t seem to share your optimism, his gaze still painfully distant with the weight of his ambivalence.

Unable to keep his mind on-track for a conversation, he inhales sharply as the tense silence of the courthouse surrounds you both. The closer the time strikes to ten thirty, the more the air seems claustrophobic despite the high ceilings and large, open lobby. With each second that passes, Sukuna finds his leg bouncing quicker, his mind racing faster, and his heart damn-near pounding right out of his chest.

Every muscle in his body is rife with tension, and his chest could implode at any second given the burden that claws at his lungs. He can only sit with his hands clasped in his lap, acting as though the taste in his mouth isn’t so vile that he could wretch.

Quietly drowning, he doesn’t dare to even cast you a glance. As though every mistake he’s ever made with his brothers isn’t already crashing through his mind like a wave, he can’t bear to consider the ones he’s made with you.

But you’ve always been too sweet to him.

In a silent show of support, your fingers glide across the skin of his clasped hands, settling atop them. You run your thumb gently over his knuckles, the warmth of your skin soothing the frigid water that threatens his lungs. The sympathy on your features would frustrate him if you were anyone else, but from you, it doesn’t taste so bitter.

He takes a deep breath, shutting his eyes. His leg gradually stops bouncing as your thumb continues to softly brush his skin. He casts you a grateful glance despite his silence, too afraid of ruining the moment and losing the one thing keeping him sane.

It’s funny, really. Or maybe funny isn’t the right word. But Sukuna remembers a time where nothing scared him. He remembers being the type of kid who would dive headfirst into a fist fight with someone bigger than him just because they bumped into him.

He’d even gotten off lucky once when he’d thrown a punch at some rich kid tattling on him for skateboarding in a park where it was prohibited, but he’d narrowly missed and slammed his fist into the wall. Why is that lucky? Because the money Jin had to spend fixing Sukuna’s fist is nothing compared to the money he could have spent on a worthless lawsuit. That was also one of the first times Sukuna had ever experienced the true shame in being at the center of Jin’s disappointment.

It’s also the single moment in his life that decided that he would call Kaori rather than Jin when he was arrested.

But Sukuna’s world has flipped on its head, and that’s not who he is anymore. He doesn’t have the luxury of throwing reckless punches at the wall.

He needs to be better, for his brothers. He wants to be better and build a world where they can have what Sukuna couldn’t.

He casts you a glance. You’re part of that world, too, though he struggles to identify what role it is that you play.

“Case number 2493, Sukuna versus Itadori.”

Sukuna’s head whips up to face a man in a full suit standing at the edge of the waiting area with a woman dressed equally as pristinely at his side. He recognizes them as the bailiff and court clerk, ready to lead the way to the family courtroom and staring expectantly at the waiting crowd.

Ms. Harte gets to her feet, leading the way with a confident gait. She greets the court clerk and bailiff with a professional smile while waiting on Sukuna who’s much slower to get to his feet. He pulls his hands away from you, brushing his suit down and adjusting his tie. He loosens it slightly, but the choking feeling he’s experiencing isn’t the tie at all.

Swallowing down the lump in his throat, he glances back over the chair as though he might be forgetting something, before following after the lawyer. Although your nerves are more subtle than Sukuna’s, you find yourself following his lead, brushing down your outfit as though your presence has any bearing on the case.

From the opposite side of the waiting room comes Kaori in a flawlessly fitted suit and pencil skirt with a new obvious display of wealth sparkling in the overhead light as it dangles from her neck with matching earrings to boot. Her confidence is picturesque with not a single hair out of place. Her lawyer, Mr. Cahn, stands as proudly as ever beside her in a navy suit, equally as prepared as she seems.

You’ve only seen her once before, for such a brief period of time as she drove Sukuna through hoops in an effort to take her children from him, and yet were this not a courthouse, you would have words for her. Choice words. You didn’t know back then the lengths she was willing to go through to ruin Sukuna’s life, and now you can only wonder what more is in store.

You’re not one to raise your voice, nor start fights, but she’s caused so much needless pain and suffering to those three brothers, that you find yourself wanting a fight. You can only imagine how Sukuna feels about her as you catch a glimpse of the daggers he’s sending her way.

She’s lucky his lawyer warned him to stay on the judge’s good side this time around.

In your mind, she’s the textbook definition of a monster, so her kind and somewhat sympathetic smile cast in Sukuna’s direction as she approaches immediately strikes you as fake. Much like every other nicety she’s thrown his way over the past week.

Sukuna’s hands ball into fists at his sides as the clerk ushers your parties to a courtroom simply labeled as ‘four’. The clerk pushes his way into the small room, helping both parties get situated at separate tables before the judge’s bench as he and the bailiff take their own seats.

The room is smaller than what you’ve seen in the movies. There’s very little room to move around and apart from the flags that hang at the door, the small room is painted only in dull and somewhat dark tones of cream and walnut. There’s still no windows, the sterile overhead lights being the only source of light and painfully so. The artificial feeling of the room does no favors for your nerves.

The clerk leads you to the small section of gallery seating behind Sukuna as the only viewer of the case, though you suppose that family law likely doesn’t get many spectators, so it figures that you’re alone. Still, the uncomfortable chair doesn’t add any layer of comfort.

Both lawyers quietly discuss the case with their clients while awaiting the arrival of the judge. Ms. Harte emphasizes courtroom rules to Sukuna before quickly going over the points she expects Kaori to use given the documents that had been provided by the opposing lawyer during their latest disclosure of evidence and the case conference last week. Among the evidence is a variety of photos, school records, and much to Sukuna’s dismay, evidence of every transgression plaguing his troubled childhood.

Every. Single. One.

His lawyer had assured him she didn’t see this being an issue given how old most of the documents are, but he’s still little more than a hulking mass of tension, while the opposing party on the opposite side of the room is the picture of confidence. That serves to make you more nervous, but Sukuna’s been the kids’ guardian for so long that there’s no way he can lose.

The door to the courtroom creaks open as a tall man in a gray suit enters the room. As Sukuna recognizes that the trial is about to begin, he inhales deeply, casting aside as many of his doubts as he can to present himself as one thing: determined.

For a moment, you even think you see a glimpse of the confident bravado Sukuna once wore back when you first met. It may be a mask he wears to keep up the appearance of his resolve, but a sliver of that mask bears a resemblance to the Sukuna you recognize.

He can do this.

The bailiff stands at the entrance to the room, straightening as she presents the judge. “Please rise. The Honorable Judge Martinez is now presiding.”

The judge runs a hand through his graying hair, which seems as though it may have been black once, as he takes a seat at the head of the room. His calm and authoritative emerald eyes slide across the room, taking in the scene before him and lingering a moment too long on Sukuna for your comfort. You can only hope he isn’t judging Sukuna’s ability to parent his brothers by his appearance.

That presumes anything but a fair trial, and given that Sukuna already suspects some sort of foul play on Kaori’s end, that doesn’t bode well for him.

Everything about this experience seems to differ from your expectations, as though everything you’ve seen in movies and TV isn’t quite right. Or maybe that only applies to family court, you can’t be sure.

The judge pulls a pair of glasses from his pocket, setting them on the bridge of his nose as he reads a brief summary of the case before him. As he wasn’t present during the case conference, all evidence will be new to him, which works in Sukuna’s favor as well given his outburst towards Kaori.

“Please be seated,” comes the bailiff’s instructions. Crossing your legs, you bite your lip as the hearing begins.

Judge Martinez addresses the room.  “The court is now in session. We are here to address case 2493, Itadori versus Sukuna, for custody over the children Choso Itadori and Yuji Itadori. This is in regards to social file number 34785-98. I will be directing this case myself.”

Sukuna’s stomach flips in dread. Coming up on four years of taking care of them on his own and it all led to this. He wants to spew curses at his step-mother, to chew her up and spit her out wounded and bleeding, but he doesn’t dare break his calm facade. As far as anyone in this room needs to know, he’s a picturesque guardian to his brothers.

“Ms. Itadori, as the applicant in this case, we will open with your counsel’s statement.”

Kaori’s lawyer rises, bowing to the judge. He runs a hand through his well-kempt beard before beginning. “Thank you, Your Honor. My name is Richard Cahn and I will be representing the applicant, Ms. Kaori Itadori. My client is applying for full custody of these children as the biological mother of Yuji Itadori and Choso Itadori. Due to unfortunate circumstances regarding her health, Ms. Itadori was unable to care for the children after the passing of her husband, Jin Itadori, however she has since fully recovered and is now capable of providing for the children.” Her lawyer pauses, casting a glance at Sukuna, who keeps his eyes straight ahead in an effort not to break. “We acknowledge the important role Mr. Sukuna has played in their lives as their half-brother, however his actions have demonstrated that he is still young and not fit to take care of two children at this time.”

Judge Martinez nods in acknowledgement to the opposing party, motioning to Ms. Harte on Sukuna’s side. “I would like to hear from the counsel for the respondent.”

Sukuna’s lawyer stands, and you’re grateful for her confidence, because you’re struggling to share it. At least Sukuna is keeping up his confidence. Ms. Harte introduces herself in the same manner as Mr. Cahn, before beginning her statement.

“Your Honor, my client, Mr. Ryomen Sukuna, is the older half-brother of Yuji Itadori and Choso Itadori and they have been in his legal care for the past three and a half years. Mr. Sukuna has raised them since Mr. Itadori fell ill and you will find that he has successfully provided stability, a safe home, and a positive environment for them over the years. While we acknowledge Ms. Itadori’s blood-relation to the children, they have shown an overall preference for their older brother, and I would like to ask that you consider what is in their best interest for this case.”

The judge nods upon hearing both opening statements. He scans the legal paperwork beneath his hands before rattling off a series of legal rules to the room. He goes over the procedures for the hearing, making a point that he would not like either party interrupting, and that he will direct the conversation. He explains that he will begin with the applicant, to have the respondent act as such- a responder.

After ensuring his instructions are clear, he allows the bailiff to call the first witness to the stand, Kaori herself. Sukuna had inquired about having you be a witness, but his attorney advised against it as your relationship with one another wasn’t set in stone or easy to describe and could serve as a detriment against an opposition like Kaori. As such, both parties had disclosed that their only witnesses would be the two guardians themselves.

There’s no witness stand for Kaori to move to in the small family courtroom, so she simply gets to her feet. Politely clasping her hands, she takes a vow to tell the truth, swearing herself in, and bows to the judge.

With Kaori now prepared to answer questions, her lawyer rounds the table to stand closer to the judge as he presents himself to the grander room. “Ms. Itadori, please explain the reasoning behind your inability to take guardianship of your children upon your husband’s passing.”

With a nod, Kaori smiles politely. “When my husband passed away, I had recently taken a job overseas to help provide for our family. It was a difficult decision to leave, however I felt it was for the best to prepare for our future. I was made aware that my husband was sick after my departure and we spoke daily, however I didn’t receive any notice that he had passed away for quite some time. I tried to reach out, but never heard back.”

Sukuna’s nails dig into his palms beneath the table at the blatant lie, but he does everything he can to keep his expression neutral. At the end of the day it’s her word against his, he can’t afford to tarnish the judge’s view of him.

“I had booked a flight back when I didn’t hear back after a couple of days, but I became quite ill out of nowhere. Um-” She pauses, her mask of confidence slipping for just a moment as she glances down at the table before her. “Here are my medical records and the flight ticket receipts.”

Her lawyer takes the documents, presenting them to the judge, who lays the paperwork out before him. He scans them briefly, motioning with his hand. “Please continue.”

“Thank you, Your Honor. I only recovered late last year, otherwise I would have started this process much earlier. I love my children and I regret missing such a large portion of their lives.”

Mr. Cahn nods in approval at her testimony. “Please testify to the statement made that Mr. Sukuna is unfit for guardianship.”

Kaori nods, clearing her throat. “Of course. My step-son didn’t reach out when my husband passed away, and I was distraught to find that he had taken custody of my own children after learning of my husband’s passing. I helped raise Mr. Sukuna since he was nine years old, but he always caused problems. I have school records as evidence of his poor grades and misdemeanors.”

Her lawyer passes the documents along to the judge as she continues

“And here’s a photo Ryomen took with my son Choso which shows him trespassing in a train yard committing property damage. Not only is this inappropriate behaviour, but my son is very impressionable and this unacceptable.” She clasps her hands in front of herself, keeping up her responsible and caring appearance. “How is Mr. Sukuna meant to be trusted as a guardian, when he has demonstrated his poor abilities to care for my children as a babysitter?”

Sukuna’s mask of neutrality begins to break as he’s just about ready to pull his own hair out. A fucking selfie from when he was sixteen. Come the fuck on. Although he’s already seen all of her evidence, it’s hard not to be irritated with the woman when she’d held onto his records all these years later. He’s certain she did it for no other reason than to hold them over his head if she ever needed to.

“I’m aware these are older, however I don’t believe his behavior has changed. Before serving him with this case, I was going to talk to him about discussing this in a more civil manner, however I didn’t feel safe leaving my kids with him when I found him smoking outside of his apartment with someone while my kids were alone upstairs.”

Sukuna shuffles in his seat, but he can’t recall whatever Kaori is talking about. It’s not like he would have left them for long, he was right outside. If he were to guess, he was likely with Uraume if he was smoking with someone and it was before the lawsuit. It probably wasn’t you.

Kaori glances back down over the evidence on the table in front of her. “I would also like to bring attention to Mr. Sukuna’s employment. His lawyer provided us with his records, and he was working two jobs, while also attending college. This is irresponsible for my children’s well-being and wouldn’t allow him any time to be home with them. He would need to leave them in the care of other people, or even alone, rather than being with them himself.”

The worst part about this trial for Sukuna as he’s forced to sit in silence, is not being able to scream from the top of his lungs that at least he was there at all. Kaori can claim she was sick all she would like and Sukuna can’t refute that, but he sees through it.

“For those reasons, I would like to suggest that full custody is returned to me, as their mother. My husband and I have prepared rooms for both boys and we have the money and time to provide for them.”

Sukuna’s head whips towards Kaori, scanning her left hand. Sure enough, a rock as extravagant as the necklace she’s flaunting sits around her ring finger. Husband? Since when? That hadn’t been in any of the documents that had been provided to Sukuna and Ms. Harte. How had she had the time to get married if she was supposedly so sick?

He swallows hard, staring at the table in front of him. Surely the judge can see the holes in her logic just as Sukuna can.

Does she really just hate Sukuna that much that she can’t bear the thought of having a conversation with him to solve this?

That’s a useless thought, though. After everything that’s happened with her, Sukuna wouldn’t have handed over custody. It’s not what his brothers want, and he can see now more than ever that this isn’t in their best interest. He’s been trying to convince himself for months now that he’s a good guardian, but for the first time it’s glaringly obvious. Kaori is lying through her teeth, even after taking an oath, but Sukuna can’t refute any of her lies, he has no proof of anything.

Every word from Kaori is coldly calculated to take Sukuna down and his gut twists with each lie she tells.

He can’t figure out for the life of him what her angle is, either. What does she want them for? She clearly didn’t want them to begin with, so what the hell changed?

And worse still are Sukuna’s fears that Kaori is somehow manipulating the outcome of the trial. He needs to put his faith in the system, but it’s not easy when he has to watch her lie so outlandishly with such confidence, only to receive a nod from the judge.

Before her lawyer can speak, Kaori chimes in one last time, tilting her head towards Sukuna as she feigns motherly love for her step-son. “I appreciate everything Mr. Sukuna has done for my children, however he’s young, he has no support, and he has no experience raising children. Mr. Sukuna has always struggled with his emotions, as documented by his school records, and I don’t believe he can provide the emotional support my children require, particularly Choso.”

Emotional support. There it is. It always comes back to that, doesn’t it? Like she knows just how to hit him where it hurts.

The weight on Sukuna’s chest bears down harder on him as she points out his shortcomings. He knows. He knows. Fuck, he knows. But it’s still better than what she can offer. It takes every ounce of Sukuna���s concentration to keep reminding himself of that. He won’t deny that he’s young and inexperienced in raising children. He won’t deny that he was horribly ill-prepared at first.

But he was there. He wasn’t perfect, he still isn’t. But he was there and that has to count for something.

“Ms. Itadori, can you comment on the urgency of this case?” Mr. Cahn pushes.

“Absolutely. We pushed for a rush of the house study due to my concerns for my oldest son’s mental well-being which that study confirmed, however upon being on the receiving end of my step-son’s behavioral issues last week during and following the case conference, I felt that it was important to place an urgent rush on this trial.” She grimaces as though this is some sort of grave and unfortunate ordeal for her.

Her lawyer nods in approval once again, all lines from both people in their party clearly rehearsed to a T. “That is all, Your Honor.”

The judge motions to Ms. Harte accordingly. “Thank you, Ms. Itadori. I would like to invite the respondent’s attorney to cross-examine the witness.”

Ms. Harte stands, confidently rounding the tables. Her heels click across the hardwood floor as she finds a place before Kaori. “Ms. Itadori,” she begins, “you claim that my client did not reach out upon your husband’s death, can you comment on the records that I provided your party detailing his efforts to reach out?”

“May I see these records?” The judge chimes in.

“Of course, Your Honor,” Ms. Harte agrees, handing over the paperwork.

“I do see here that Ryomen reached out, however none of my contact information here is right. I had moved recently and swapped to company-owned devices when I received a promotion at my job,” Kaori confidently explains. Her drawl carries an air of arrogance, as though nothing could possibly break her air-tight testimony.

“How could that be? Why would your step-son not have your proper contact information?”

“As I mentioned previously, Ryomen has a record of delinquency and I didn’t feel it was appropriate to step in and police how my husband chose to parent him,” she explains with ease. “We communicated very rarely after I left, and I didn’t have his number on-hand to reach out when Jin wasn’t replying.”

Sukuna’s lawyer pushes further. “Can you still say that you helped to raise Mr. Sukuna and know him well if you weren’t willing to step in as a parent?”

Kaori nods. “I did everything I could to appeal to Ryomen. I was there for every holiday, I took him to his driver’s test, and would take him shopping. My husband and I decided it was for the best that I tried to only create good memories with him since he wasn’t fond of me for a while. I believe for a while, he saw me as a threat to the attention he received from his father.”

Ms. Harte doesn’t so much as stutter as she continues to question Kaori. “If you weren’t willing to step in with Mr. Sukuna, why should the court believe you’ll do so with Choso and Yuji Itadori?”

“Those are my children. I’m comfortable parenting them how I believe is best, and I know their needs well.” she attests, her form straightening. “My children need their mother.”

Ms. Harte shakes her head. “Can you say that you know their needs well when the house study details not only that neither child remembers you, but also that their preference is for my client’s guardianship?”

The judge flips through the documents submitted to the court laid out in front of him, nodding in acknowledgement once he’s skimmed the children’s statements.

Yet Kaori always seems prepared. “I acknowledge that they were both young when I took a position overseas, and I have reason to believe that the preference towards Ryomen that they have stated is purely for that reason. Given the opportunity, I know they would thrive in my care,” she states confidently. “They’ve only chosen Mr. Sukuna as they don’t know what it means to be outside of his care.”

Sukuna’s lawyer mentally resets as Kaori rebounds easily. Addressing the room as a whole as she continues. “In addition, I would like to request that the documents provided by the applying party regarding my client’s educational misdemeanors be disregarded, as nothing is dated within the last four years.”

The judge regards Sukuna quietly for a moment before nodding. “Sustained.”

Ms. Harte bows politely. “Thank you, Your Honor. Additionally, I would like to ask that claims of Mr. Sukuna being seen outside of his apartment are disregarded as hearsay, as my client does not recall this.”

“Objection, Your Honor!” Kaori’s lawyer speaks up, taking a stand. “I would like to ask that the court considers that a guardianship case is primarily hearsay, especially in circumstances where the children are too young to testify. Would Mr. Sukuna’s claim that he doesn’t recall this moment not be equally considered hearsay?”

The judge takes a moment to consider this, before clasping his hands together. “I agree. Your request is overruled,” he addresses Ms. Harte. Sukuna rolls his shoulders in his seat, crossing his arms to mask his irritation.

It’s not like there haven’t been small wins and pushes in Sukuna’s favor, but the cards seem to fall ever in Kaori’s favor, no matter how hard Ms. Harte and Sukuna fight.

“Very well, Your Honor,” Ms. Harte relents, clearly frustrated by this outcome. “In any case, I would like to ask that Ms. Itadori provides further information on this claim.”

“Of course,” Kaori smiles easily. “I arrived from overseas on September 4th, and went to visit my step-son on the sixth in the evening, which is when I witnessed him smoking with someone.”

“Do you have any evidence the children were home at the time?” Ms. Harte queries.

Kaori hesitates for a moment, the first crack in her confidence that sends a wave of relief through both you and Sukuna. “No, but I have no reason to believe they were somewhere else either.”

Ms. Harte nods, moving along. “You mentioned that you and your husband will be able to provide for the children. If you were unable to reach your phone due to illness, when did you have time to be married after your husband Jin’s passing while ill?”

Kaori cracks once more, hesitation crossing her features for the briefest of moments. “We met prior to Jin’s passing, and he supported me through my grief and sickness. Our ceremony was days before I returned to see my children in September and our honeymoon has yet to happen. Everything has happened very quickly,” she explains.

Sukuna sits upright in his seat, blinking at the realization that while she may not have admitted it, there’s no fucking way she didn’t cheat on Jin. Again. Sukuna grits his teeth hard, the pressure in his jaw tightening until he’s physically holding back a snarl. Sukuna can live with the ways she wronged him, but to smite Jin in his final days? He wants nothing more than to put her in her place.

But all he can do is sit in silence while Ms. Harte moves along, Kaori’s response is too sound to question further. “Ms. Itadori, you claim that Mr. Sukuna’s work schedule wouldn’t give him much time to be with the kids, however as outlined in the documents provided to your lawyer, you can see that Sukuna has recently taken a new position to allow himself more time with them.”

Kaori shoots a glance at the paperwork in front of her, nodding. “I see that, however his resume doesn’t give me confidence that he’s able to keep that job. He doesn’t seem to hold onto anything for much longer than a year, and that same document says that he recently dropped out of college.”

Unperturbed, Sukuna’s lawyer presses. “He put the children first over his own desires. Does that not show a dedication to these kids?”

Kaori considers this for a moment, casting a glance at her lawyer, though he nods confidently as though they’ve gone over the possibility of this coming up. You wonder if she’s even speaking in her own words, or if everything is a premeditated response, practiced. “It does, however I’m concerned for his ability to provide for my sons if he’s unable to hold a job or schooling. By dropping out, he’s also limited his career options,” she points out. “He doesn’t seem to have the qualifications for his current position, either.”

Sukuna stiffens at the mention of college, his leg inadvertently bouncing again under the table. He’s not sure if it ever stopped shaking, really, or if he’s just now noticing it again.

“There are more ways than just school to climb within the workforce nowadays, Ms. Itadori. Additionally, my client has proven more than capable of providing for the children financially by any means necessary. He’s shown his willingness and dedication to them through his actions,and has never once been unable to pay rent, keep food on the table. I do hope that the court will consider that money isn’t everything.” She turns to face the judge, politely bowing. “That is all, Your Honor.”

Ms. Harte returns to her seat beside Sukuna, where he’s waiting with white knuckles as he braces himself on the arms of his chair, preparing to testify.

The bailiff thanks Kaori, willing her to sit. She then turns her attention to Sukuna, giving him the opportunity to testify as well.

Sukuna turns to his lawyer briefly for assurance, before he pushes to his feet. Rolling his shoulders and smoothing down his suit, he takes the same oath of truthfulness as Kaori. He prays that neither the judge, nor the opposing party can hear the shaky breath he takes before Ms. Harte pushes him to begin his statement.

“Your Honor, Ms Harte,” Sukuna addresses the judge and his lawyer as he begins, hesitantly shifting from foot to foot as he stares down at his hands. Clearing his throat, his chest remains tight, his voice low as he speaks. “I- uh- I’ve been taking care of my brothers since my dad died. I got us an apartment, started workin’ and have letters from my employers to show my work ethic,” he pauses to hand these to his lawyer, “and I found a babysitter my brothers like.”

Sukuna’s gaze shifts up to the judge as the letters are passed along, straightening as he feels the scrutinizing glares of his step-mother and her lawyer in his peripherals. His own voice sounds unfamiliar to him as he tries to match the formal tone of the courtroom.

“I taught myself how to cook their favorite foods, I read to ‘em,” he wracks his brain for more details. “Learned how to change diapers, and I make sure they stay in school.” He sighs quietly as he scowls down at the table before him in thought. Every hardship and distant memory of the difficulty of teaching oneself to take care of children seems to weigh him down as he recounts each and every way he taught himself to step up.

He may have been forced into this life, but in every lifetime he’d do it over again if it means his brothers are happy.

Steeling himself, he fixes the judge with a determined gaze. “I stepped up. I did what I had to when I couldn’t reach their mom, and I’m still here. My little brothers are happy, they got food on the table, a roof over their heads, n’ they’re in school with friends. I’ll do anything for my brothers, and I’ve always been there for them, even when their mother wasn’t, no matter how much that affected them.” Sukuna finishes his statement, making a point of dragging down Kaori without being disrespectful in an effort to make a point about Kaori’s disingenuity.

Turning his expectant stare towards Kaori and her lawyer, he keeps his head up and gaze certain. The minute shake in his hands is well-hidden by the determination that keeps him looking at ease.

There was a time where his confidence wouldn’t be so thinly veiled. Shit, if he was testifying on any other subject, he’s sure he would be the picture of confidence itself, unperturbed by the goings on around him. It’s dejecting to know that he’s been reduced to a shadow of his former self by the very same woman who Sukuna knows openly rejected her own children’s calls.

The woman who wouldn’t step up and be a mother to him is now the woman tearing him down through legal means rather than having a conversation.

She’s selfish.

She’s a coward and an asshole and it pisses Sukuna off to no end to know what he’s become because of her. He hardly recognizes himself.

It’s strange. The person he sees in the reflection of the judge’s glasses doesn’t feel like him. He’s accustomed to the dark circles and pale reflection he sees, but the anxiety and doubt that cloud his vision taints his perspective of himself.

Sukuna is confident. He’s sure of himself. He’s brash, bold, and egotistical. He’s a hothead and a bit too quick on the draw to jump to conclusions. He’s smart, cunning, and hard-working, but under all those layers is a man who cares very much about those dear to him.

But the man who stares back at him is scared. In fact, he can’t see any of the qualities that seem to make him Sukuna aside from a set of tattoos that his father sighed at when he saw them.

He considers for a moment your presence behind him as well, and the version of himself he’s trying to be. He strives to be better. For you, for his brothers, and even for himself.

But the real difference between his step-mother and you is that you still want the version of Sukuna you saw before his step-mother tore him to shreds. You still want his confidence, his boldness, even his ego. You like his sharp-tongue and cunning remarks, and you’re willing to work through his emotions with him when he gets a little bit too impetuous for his own good. You’re even willing to help him through the unfamiliar territory that amounts to what he’s become after Kaori’s meddling.

You only ever ask him to treat you with the respect you give him. You want him to be himself, while being conscious of others.

Ms. Harte nods, shooting Sukuna a kind smile of reassurance before falling easily back into her role. “Thank you, Mr. Sukuna. Can you provide further information on how you reached out to Ms. Itadori upon your father’s passing?”

Sukuna swallows the lump in his throat at the mention of a time he still can hardly bear to think about without guilt, shame, and grief washing over him. “Yeah. Got her number from Jin’s phone and tried his and my phone to call her, I had lawyers calling and writing, we sent letters from Choso and I, and emails to any contacts I could find.”

“Did your lawyers attempt any other method of contact?”

Sukuna nods. “Yeah, they pulled a-” he pauses, brow furrowing in thought. “A land title, I think, to try to find her new address, but nothing came up.”

Ms. Harte nods. “Thank you. Can you confirm you had no knowledge of Ms. Itadori’s illness prior to this case?”

“I didn’t,” Sukuna gruffs in confirmation, shooting a glare at Kaori as he still doesn’t believe her for a second.

“Can you attest to your connection with the children?”

Sukuna nods slowly. “Choso n’ I have been through a lot and I’ll always be there for him. I taught him how to cook and he wants to be a chef when he grows up, he even wants to take classes when he’s older,” Sukuna explains, inhaling sharply. “I’ve been there for all of Yuji’s firsts. First words, first steps, that was all me. He’s like my own kid n’ I know how to raise him and what he needs just fine.”

“Thank you, Mr. Sukuna. Can you speak to your work ethic, please?”

“Mhm,” he hums, taking a moment to mentally reset. “I worked two jobs ‘til I was able to find one that pays well enough for less hours. I did what needed to be done while I got my footing and now I’m stable and spend almost every night with my brothers.”

“Do you believe that having a babysitter affected your ability to care for your brothers?” Ms. Harte queries.

Sukuna’s thankful for this portion of the questioning, as this is all rehearsed. “No. They like their babysitter a lot and I still spend all my free time with ‘em.”

Whether he’s talking about you or the kind woman across the hall you can’t be entirely certain, but you get the feeling it’s you. Even in the midst of the stressful trial, you find a minute smile pulling at the corners of your lips at the thought.

“Can you speak to the matter documented in the case conference last week in which Ms. Itadori states that you lashed out?”

Sukuna shuts his eyes briefly, taking a deep breath to keep himself composed. “It’s been an emotional time, I don’t want to lose the kids.”

“Thank you, Mr. Sukuna. No further questions,” Ms. Harte nods, bowing to the judge as she takes a seat. With Mr. Cahn taking her place, Sukuna feels a chill run up his spine at his hardened disposition.

“Mr. Sukuna, would you not agree that it’s important for the kids to have a motherly figure in their life?”

Sukuna’s jaw tightens. “They have lots of good influences in their life other than their mother.”

“Do you believe you’re one of them?”

Sukuna’s eyes narrow slightly as he blows a breath out through his nose. If he weren’t in a courtroom, he’d have choice words for the man in the navy suit. “I do.”

Mr. Cahn presses harder, sensing Sukuna’s mounting frustration. “Would you not consider your nicotine addiction to be a detriment to the children’s health and your ability to uphold a positive influence in their lives?”

It takes everything in him to keep his tone neutral as he replies. “I don’t smoke around the kids.”

Unfortunately, Sukuna doesn’t realize the angle that he gives the man across from him. “So you admit that what Ms. Itadori saw when she intended to visit her children could be a possibility?”

Sukuna’s brow furrows, casting a glance at his lawyer who shoots him a signal to simply tell the truth, whatever he believes that to be. “I usually smoke on the balcony. I don’t like leaving my brothers alone,” he decides after a moment, swallowing the lump in his throat.

Kaori’s lawyer examines his expression as though reading him like a book, moving along. “You claim that you had to teach yourself to cook for them and learn their preferences, were you aware of the needs of children when you became their guardian?”

Sukuna shifts. His patience for this man is on thin ice. As is, he hates that he’s sharing his life with a group of strangers, his step-mother included, but to be grilled over his decisions and abilities is downright insulting. He may be a shadow of his former self, but he’s competent and he won’t let Kaori take that away from him.

“I looked after Choso when my dad was still around, so I knew a bit. I had some growing to do when I took over, but I figured sh- things out,” he replies, crossing his bulky arms over his chest.

“But wouldn’t you agree that their mother is better suited for the position of their guardian? Her ability to care for them is borne into her instincts as a mother.”

“No,” Sukuna replies immediately, his lip curling as he snarls his response. Momentarily forgetting to hold his tongue, he barks angrily, “maybe if she ever reached out or tried to be a mother to them I’d change my mind, but she was gone for four years without a word.”

“Mr. Sukuna,” the bailiff warns in an authoritative voice.

Sukuna shoots the bailiff a sharp glare, physically biting his tongue to prevent himself from speaking out.

“Mr. Sukuna, I’d like to remind you of my client’s illness. She was bedridden for a majority of the years you speak of, unable to even sit up, let alone use a phone. On top of that, she spoke to her husband and Choso weekly at a minimum before Mr. Itadori passed. She attempted to call his phone, but you never picked up.”

Sukuna mutters an inaudible ‘whatever’ under his breath, fixing the lawyer with his harsh stare. Of course he didn’t pick up the unknown numbers calling his dad’s phone while he was grieving. That was the last thing he needed.

Chewing on your lip, you pray Sukuna can keep his frustrations under control. Given Kaori’s urgency to push the trial forward and her statements against his attitude, you can only guess he’s hurting his argument.

“Moving along, how do you balance your full-time position with taking care of the children?”

“I work while they’re in school,” he answers easily.

“And do you make enough to support them with that position alone?”

Sukuna nods slowly, lacking total conviction. “I pick up the occasional shift at an autoshop if I need to, but it’s enough.”

“And would you not agree that this allows you less time to ensure that the children are taken care of and that their needs are met?”

“Their needs,” Sukuna barely keeps his tone neutral, his teeth grit. “Are met. They have a good babysitter who they love. They’re happy.”

Ms. Harte casts a glance up at him, her expression unreadable. The judge may keep a straight face through the conversation, however you can practically see the way he’s passing silent discernment over the burly man each time he struggles to keep himself in check.

“Mr. Sukuna, a house study took place last week, correct?”

“Yeah.”

“Detailed in the documents provided to the court,” he gestures towards the broader room, “it mentions that Choso Itadori is not only quiet, but seems as though he’s struggling emotionally. Have you been unable to meet his emotional needs?”

Sukuna swallows hard.

Time after time after time, it always seems to come back to the ways in which Sukuna has failed Choso. As though his own guilt isn’t enough, even those around him seem desperate to choke his failures out of him.

How the fuck is he meant to answer? ‘No, I haven’t been able to’? What good will that do him? How the hell is he intended to deflect the question without lying, the one thing his lawyer drilled into his head over the past couple of months?

Sukuna purses his lips, searching desperately for anything to appease a court. He’d been specifically advised against mentioning you due to your complicated relationship, could he take credit for the ways you’d gotten his little brother to come out of his shell?

Unfortunately for him, Kaori’s lawyer is a vulture waiting to strike. He takes Sukuna’s drawn out silence as his opportunity to address the judge. “Mr. Sukuna does not possess the emotional maturity to provide for such young children. I would like to advise the court to consider Choso Itadori’s mental well-being and struggles when making decisions on their guardianship,” he advises without so much as a stutter.

Kaori’s lawyer takes a pause, staring down Sukuna as the older man feels he’s beginning to wear through Sukuna’s shell.

Clearing his throat, he addresses the judge once more. “While I recognize that Choso’s statement reads that he’s particularly fond of Sukuna’s care, I also want to point out that he’s young and impressionable. He has no frame of reference for any other care and it’s important to take into account the fact that he’s suffering under his current care.”

If he hadn’t already been shushed by the bailiff, Sukuna would have burst. He would have thrown down every way that Kaori failed not only his brothers in the past four years, but all the ways she’d failed him growing up.

He wants to lash out, scream about the school events he only attended to make his dad proud, only for neither of them to show up because she was too busy getting her nails done and forcing Jin to wait. He want to lay out the way she forgot about him at Toji’s place, instead opting to take Choso to a movie, or the way she chose not to attend his high school graduation in favor of a girls’ day with her friends.

It was one of the very last events his father ever got to attend before Sukuna became little more than his father’s personal ambulance as the brutish kid was forced to watch his father deteriorate- alone. Whatever energy Jin could muster was used up on taking care of Choso and Yuji in order to alleviate Sukuna of the duty.

If only Jin could see what had become of his family now.

Sukuna seethes with rage at the thought.

All these years and he’s never once thought to try to get his father’s phone records, bills, anything to prove that Jin wasn’t consistently speaking with Kaori. He’d never considered needing to keep receipts or records that would prove that the woman sitting on the opposite end of the courtroom from him isn’t what she claims.

But now every last detail of their lives is nothing more than hearsay. His word against hers.

It’s the word of an exhausted and scared older brother, against the formal documentation of an overly confident mother and her disgustingly expensive lawyer.

His hands ball into fists at his side as he flashes a snarl at the opposing lawyer. “I’m perfectly capable of providing for them. Including mentally,” he retorts, strained as he finally finds some form of footing.

“Your Honor, I would like to call an additional witness to the stand,” Kaori’s lawyer speaks up as though taking Sukuna’s words as an invitation to speak.

“Objection, Your Honor!” Ms. Harte roars as both her and Sukuna tense. “There were no additional witnesses previously disclosed to my client, we haven’t had the opportunity to prepare.”

Judge Martinez adjusts his glasses on the bridge of his nose. “Can the counsel for the applying party provide some insight on why this witness was not previously disclosed to the respondent?”

“Your Honor, we were only made aware of concerns of Choso Itadori’s mental health upon receiving the house study, which we received yesterday morning. Upon review, we felt it was necessary to contact Choso’s school for further analysis of his mental health. We only received word back last night that his teacher would be able to testify.”

You can only sit and watch, your mouth agape in horror, as the judge replies. “Objection overruled. Given the short notice, I understand that there was no time to disclose the witness, so I will allow them to testify. I will allow a small break after the testimony to give the respondent time to prepare for the cross-examination.”

Sukuna’s rage may as well manifest in the form of smoke blowing out of his ears with how furious he clearly is. He takes a seat with a drawn out, frustrated sigh as he begrudgingly holds his tongue.

You want to cry out that this is Kaori’s fault to begin with, that Choso wasn’t always like this. You want to shake her by her shirt collar that probably costs more than your entire car and blame her for everything that’s happened to this poor family, but one word from you will surely have you thrown out of the room. The most you can do is shoot Sukuna a reassuring look when he casts a fearful glance at you.

Whether it eases him or not, you can’t tell.

The court is hushed, murmurs between each lawyer and their clients are the only thing that can be heard as the bailiff retrieves the newest witness. You recognize Choso’s teacher, who likely has no real idea what’s going on, and thinks this is what’s best for the little boy, as she makes her way to the side of the opposing party’s table. Her brown hair is done up in curls, her long skirt pleated from where she sat as she awaited her part in the trial.

The bailiff has her introduce herself as Ms. Donovan, Choso’s teacher of several years due to the shifts in the school system, and she takes an oath to tell the truth, before she’s allowed to give her testimony. Mr. Cahn pushes for her to give a broad statement.

She doesn’t seem entirely comfortable in the courtroom setting as she begins. “Choso Itadori has been a part of my class for the past few years, and I currently teach him with a class of twenty three other students. I’ve known him for about five years, and he’s been an absolute pleasure. He’s bright, and he seems to enjoy learning.”

Your heart warms as she praises him, however you dread the ‘but’ that you know comes next.

“However, I’m concerned for his well-being. He got really quiet out of the blue about four years ago, though I’m aware that’s when his father passed away. He came out of his shell bit by bit and began to excel in science and math, and made some good friends, but a couple of months ago, it happened again.”

She adjusts her blouse, sending a sympathetic glance at Sukuna, though he only feels betrayed. Of course, she doesn’t know the mess she’s entered into, but what the hell is he meant to do in response to this? He can only pray his lawyer is as good as Hiromi had mentioned.

No, he knows she’s good. He really needs to pray that the judge didn’t have his mind made up from the beginning. While real trials differ greatly from the scenes he’s accustomed to on television, one thing stands the same between both.

The system is flawed and favors the rich. It favors those with power, and if Sukuna’s being honest, he doesn’t know a damn thing about the capacity of Kaori’s wealth. She always brought money to the relationship with Jin that she worked for, but everything seems different now, and she covered her tracks well. Sukuna hadn’t been able to track down any information on her online despite the status she clearly has.

“I don’t think I’ve heard Choso say a word in the past couple of months,” Ms. Donovan continues. He doesn’t seem to pay attention anymore and his grades are slipping. I know he’s young and he has time, but I’m more concerned for his mental health. On top of that, his attendance was perfect until recently. There have been a couple of weeks this year where he hasn’t shown up at all,” she adds with a frown.

Fuck. That was meant to be a positive break for the kids, and now it’s ammunition against Sukuna’s own case.

“Lastly, Mr. Sukuna has been late to pick them up on multiple occasions. He’s usually only a few minutes late at most, however there was an occasion where he didn’t show up at all.”

“Thank you for addressing your concerns, Ms. Donovan. No further questions.” Kaori’s lawyer takes a seat with an overly pleased look on his face.

The judge leans back in his seat as he addresses the court room. “I’ll allow twenty minutes for discussion and break, before we resume.”

Ms. Harte sighs, running her hands over her face as she faces Sukuna. You can’t hear her words from the viewing area, though you can feel her exasperation.

“That certainly puts a wrench in our argument,” she sighs, tapping the table. “But we still have an angle. Choso’s behavior changed when he became aware of the lawsuit, correct?”

Sukuna, desperate for a break, a cigarette, anything, grunts. “Yeah.”

“Right. We use that, and advise that Kaori’s interference in the childrens’ lives is what’s negatively affecting his health,” she nods, remaining confident. Though Sukuna doesn’t share the same confidence as his mood shifts and fear dwells in the corner of his mind, he agrees with a small nod, putting his faith in her.

You can only shuffle uncomfortably in your seat as Sukuna and Ms. Harte prepare for the cross-examination. Their murmurs are the only sounds filling the silence that clings to your lungs like water, drowning you in uncertainty.

Casting a glance at Kaori, you can’t help but notice the way she confidently crosses her arms over her chest as she discusses details with her own lawyer with a goddamn smile. You wonder if the judge sees through her innocent and sweet grins just as you do, but you fear that hope is misplaced.

Just as you’re sure Ms. Harte and Sukuna suspect something, you can’t help but wonder if there’s manipulation of sorts going on behind the scenes. Everything feels skewed and even if the balance of the court is only off-kilter by a couple of degrees, it’s enough to catch your attention. But what can you do? There’s no way to prove your theory.

While you can understand the judge’s decision to allow an additional witness, something about the whole situation seems to play into the idea that something is wrong and the system is failing before your very eyes.

What’s Kaori’s angle here, anyway? You can understand being sick, but the details don’t add up given what you know about her. But that’s just it, she has an excuse for everything. It’s as though this is nothing more than a routine. Hell, even Ms. Donovan speaks with a practiced air of confidence that makes you wonder if her speech was equally as fake as Kaori’s. Her argument is painfully air-tight.

Is that all this is to Kaori, a game? Are her own children pawns in some scheme you can’t put your finger on? If her love for them is as fake as her love for Sukuna clearly is, then what does she gain out of this?

You can only hope to never be sure as the court returns and the bailiff announces that the hearing is back in session, allowing Sukuna’s counsel to begin the cross-examination.

“Ms. Donovan, good morning,” Ms. Harte stands, greeting the young woman. She returns the lawyer’s greeting with a genuinely sweet smile. “Can you confirm when Choso Itadori’s behaviour took a turn for the worst again?”

Chewing on her lip, the teacher takes a moment to consider the question. “It was early in January. The first week, I believe.”

“Thank you. Can you confirm that the change in his behaviour has been similar to how it was around four years ago?”

The teacher nods. “That’s right.”

“Your Honor, Choso Itadori’s mental health has taken a turn at two pivotal moments in his life. The first is when his father passed away, which coincides with a time where the child thought his mother had chosen not to return. Much like my client, he had no way of knowing his mother was ill,” she points out, pacing somewhat closer to Sukuna. “The first week of January is when Mr. Sukuna informed the children of this trial. He is raising them to be mature and responsible and did not believe that keeping information from them was wise. They’re smart children,” Ms. Harte points out.

Sukuna breathes out a sigh of relief at how strong of an argument his lawyer makes in his favor.

“I would like to advise the court to take into consideration how a revelation of that gravity would affect a child. Each time that my client chose to keep the children back from school was in order to preserve their mental health. While school is important and Mr. Sukuna is well-aware of this himself, he puts an emphasis on taking breaks when necessary and teaching the children to manage their mental health.”

Turning to face the judge, Ms. Harte stands confidently in the center of the room.

“Ms. Itadori herself is responsible for Choso’s declining mental health, whether it was her intention or not,” she claims, leaving the possibility open-ended so as not to make accusations she can’t back up. “Mr. Sukuna has proven he is capable of nurturing Choso’s mental well-being, as detailed by Ms. Donovan. She confirmed that the child’s attitude improved over the months following his father’s passing, a time when only Sukuna was present in their lives. My client cares a great deal about the children and would not allow their health to deteriorate without taking the appropriate steps to care for them.” She bows. “No further questions.”

Judge Martinez directs his attention to the applicant party. “Does the counsel have any further questions?”

“Yes, Your Honor.” Mr. Cahn adjusts his tie as he pushes to his feet. “Ms. Donovan, does the school offer the children any tools to manage their mental health?”

The teacher nods slowly. “We offer a limited range of programs to assist, but Choso hasn’t been receptive to anything.”

“Can you confirm whether the faculty has made any suggestions to Sukuna in order to manage Choso’s mental health?” Mr. Cahn pushes.

With a hum of thought, she clasps her hands as she replies. “When Choso’s grades began slipping, we suggested it may be worth having him evaluated by a mental health professional. I’m not sure if that happened.”

Sukuna stares at his hand as his grip on the arm of his seat tightens. He’d forgotten about that. She had mentioned it, but the thought had burrowed itself into the deep recesses of his mind and quite simply disappeared. He’d had so much on his mind, he’d figured he had time.

Constricting around his lungs, his guilt slices and claws into him once more, dragging the breath from his lungs.

“Thank you. Has Mr. Sukuna ever mentioned his reason for being late on multiple occasions?”

Ms. Donovan shakes her head, shrugging. “I don’t recall, sorry.”

“Not a problem,” Mr. Cahn moves along. “Have you witnessed Mr. Sukuna smoking around the children?”

“On occasion,” she replies without hesitation. “Never on school property, but usually right before class ends.” Sukuna grits his teeth. What bullshit that twenty minutes prior to class ending supposedly counts as smoking around his brothers.

“Thank you,” Kaori’s lawyer nods his head calmly. “One final question.”

“Do you have any reason to believe that Mr. Sukuna could be a negative influence on Choso Itadori?”

Ms. Donovan casts a glance at Sukuna. She seems to consider the question seriously. “I don’t think he’s a driving negative force in Choso’s life,” she replies. Sukuna breathes out a sigh of relief a moment too soon as the teacher continues, “however, I think Choso would benefit greatly from more guided care. In the six years that I’ve been teaching, I’ve never seen a child as withdrawn as he’s become, and he shows no signs of improving.”

“Can you describe his behavior?”

Fiddling with her skirt, Ms. Donovan nods. “Of course. Choso seems to look right through everyone, and often when I think he’s paying attention, it’s not until I address him that he seems to tune in to what I’m saying.” She swallows, shaking her head as she continues. “He turns in homework without issue, but any in-class work goes unfinished. His tests don’t have any rhyme or reason behind what he writes or what options he chooses in multiple choice and he doesn’t show his work, either. I don’t think he’s reading the tests at all.”

Sukuna’s brow furrows as his shortcomings are laid bare for him. He knew Choso’s grades were slipping, but the homework he’d been doing seemed fine whenever Sukuna looked it over. Sure, Ms. Donovan had advised him that she’d like to meet, but he’d pushed her worries away given the gravity of the upcoming trial. He’d been under the impression that he would win, and everything would be fixed.

It’s not that he didn’t heed the teacher’s warning that Choso needed help, but he thought he understood what was going on with his little brother. He wasn’t aware just how deep the roots extended into the little boy’s life.

Failure after failure after failure.

How many times would he need to fail Choso before he learned his lesson?

He’s always known school is important, there’s a reason it took Sukuna so long to give up on college, but he didn’t realize just how much Choso’s behavior in school painted a picture of how Sukuna is as a parent.

The room feels claustrophobic as Sukuna continues to listen to the witness.

“At recess, he’s completely closed himself off from the other students. He eats alone in the classroom and won’t respond to me if I try to engage with him in conversation. He’s always been quiet, but he had a good group of friends. They’ve all expressed their worries to me, as well.”

He stopped talking to his friends? Shit, why is Sukuna even surprised? The kid stopped talking to his brothers. Still, his heart drops.

“On a couple of occasions that he did leave the class- which is rare-” she continues, “I caught a couple of children bullying him. I don’t tolerate that, and have punished them appropriately, but this is new as far as I’m aware. His behavior seems to be making him a target for teasing.”

Sukuna’s shoulders drop to his sides as he stares across the room in wide-eyed disbelief. Choso was being…? Why had he never mentioned it?

Of course Sukuna wants to do right by Yuji, but he carries a deep conviction to do right by Choso. The eldest of his little brothers may not look like him, but Choso is a very obvious product of Sukuna’s shortcomings.

He just didn’t realize how obvious.

Sukuna struggles to remember the last time Choso even smiled. His heart twists as the image he conjures in his mind of his little brother is adorned with a frown and eyes that speak of unspoken battles that Sukuna’s incapable of helping him through.

There was a time, so far into the past now that the tattooed man hardly remembers it anymore, where Choso was much closer in personality to Yuji than to Sukuna. He’d always been a bit more on the calm side than his youngest brother, but he was filled with a genuine curiosity for the world, his eyes so filled with light.

He can’t say for sure when that light dulled and eventually flickered out.

Sukuna’s not sure he ever really came to terms with the fact that at the root of this issue, he became a father at eighteen.

A father.

He’s not sure he really understands the meaning behind the term, in truth. He can’t be sure where the line falls between brother and father, unable to clearly define the roles. The brother in him wants to teach the kids bullying his little brother a lesson. The father in him, whatever part of him that is, is lost. What do you do when the kid you’ve raised is being bullied?

What’s Sukuna meant to do? There’s no handbook for this.

Would Kaori know how to deal with this?

Would Jin have known?

He wonders if Jin’s watching this unfold somewhere on the other side. If he’s as torn up about his fractured family as Sukuna is. How would he feel to know his oldest son dropped out of college and has amounted to nothing more than another bill on an expensive lawyer’s docket?

Sukuna’s guilt towards Jin is misplaced, though, when Choso is sitting back at home. He thinks his remorse regarding his mistakes with Choso set in before he ever really realized what role he’d been forced into playing. It lingered deep in the recesses of his mind, back when he still grappled heavily with his grief, but it wasn’t until he’d processed his situation that he realized just how fucked he’d been.

Choso was so young. Sukuna was so young. Eighteen is old enough to legally be a guardian, but not to drink. What kind of sick law is that? To have that responsibility thrust upon him with no other options left Sukuna as a horribly bitter man suffocating from the weight of the pressure. Rather than asking for help, he chose to drown his brother in his sorrows, to bring them both down.

But could you even call it a choice he made when the reality is that they were both just kids?

There’s no guide for this sort of shit. No YouTube videos, no ‘For Dummies’ book.

What would that even be called? ‘How to Become a Father to Your Little Brothers for Dummies’?

How many times would he need to remind himself that he acted so childish back then because he was a child? Hell, sometimes he thinks he still is. The weight of his immaturity bears down on him harshly when he remembers forgetting to pay taxes just a couple of years ago because March and April were never tax season to him.

They were the beginning of skateboarding season, of paint sticking to walls and basketball with Toji.

Only, Toji wasn’t there anymore.

He just forgot to pay.

The worst memory he carries with him from that time is one that keeps him up at night. Worse than when he snapped at Choso when Kaori didn’t reply, and worse than relying on a kid to help him make it through a house study.

He remembers staring at Choso with resentment, seeing only Kaori in his features. He remembers the discussions with lawyers quickly turning into arguments. Choso was always on the sidelines, listening in. Sukuna had no real regard for him at the time, too caught up in his own issues. He recalls yelling about how he didn’t ask for any of the responsibility, he didn’t ask to be looking after his brothers like this.

“I don’t want them, or any of this shit!”

His words echo in his mind, burrowing themselves into his very being like a parasite.

He shuts his eyes briefly. If only Choso could see him now. See how much this really means to Sukuna. Just once, he wants to do right by his little brother. He can’t erase the past, but he can make up for it with a better future. He can show Choso that his misgivings in the past were a product of the misdirected anger of a delinquent child.

Like every other time he’s stumbled through life and learned as he went, he’ll figure things out this time too. He’ll scare off the bullies with a glare as Choso’s brother, and let Choso know to tell him if it happens again as his parent.

He’ll figure it the fuck out.

He faces straight ahead, his face hardened with resolve.

“Ms. Donovan, did you make Mr. Sukuna aware of the bullying?”

She hesitates, casting a glance in his direction. “This development is recent and I haven’t had the opportunity to, no.”

“Would you say it’s safe to assume that Mr. Sukuna isn’t aware of what goes on with Choso at school?”

She hesitates once more, her face falling as she watches Sukuna from her peripherals. “... Yes.”

“Can you confirm whether or not you’ve attempted to get his attention around your concerns with Choso?”

She nods again. “Yes, I have.”

Sukuna’s resolve shatters before it has the chance to flourish. Even Choso’s teacher thinks Sukuna’s failing.

As much as he wants to say he stands on equal footing with Kaori, fear crawls up his spine and grips him by the throat.

Is he losing?

He can’t lose, by all accounts he’s been there, he’s the living and breathing proof of what it means to care for someone. It doesn’t matter how many mistakes he’s made, he’s still learning. Maybe he is young, maybe he is inexperienced, maybe Choso needs more help than Sukuna’s been giving him, but he can figure that shit out.

It’s true that Sukuna didn’t ask for this responsibility. He didn’t want it. But he’ll fight for it. He’ll fiercely protect the family he recognizes now as the most important part of his life. The people who each hold pieces of him and make him who he is. Choso, and Yuji. His eyes trail back slowly to you, seated on the edge of your chair.

You look gorgeous. Even with your brow furrowed in concern and fear that mirrors his own, you look flawless. You hold a piece of him, too. A piece that he can’t bear to live without, for fear that he might completely fall apart.

He wants to scream from the top of his lungs that every person here is a damn fool if they believe any of Kaori’s words. He wants to list every single misdemeanor that she did that he could never tell his dad about. Yet, every single time he tries to lead the conversation in the direction that Kaori isn’t all she seems, they have some sort of concrete proof or evidence to say otherwise.

It’s fucked, and all Sukuna can do now is pray to whatever god will listen. His heart is in this and that should be what matters, because Kaori’s isn’t. If it’s obvious to him, it’s obvious to the judge. He has to cast aside his concerns of outside manipulation of the judge, because this is all he has.

“No further questions, Your Honor.”

As the bailiff dismisses the final witness, the courtroom becomes deathly silent. It penetrates through Sukuna like a banshee, ringing loudly in his ears. As closing arguments finally begin and Mr. Cahn rises, his words are a blur to Sukuna. His, Ms. Harte’s. They’re all the same, reiterating the points they’ve gone over already and emphasizing the importance of this case. Mr. Cahn makes a point that there’s a reason a rush was placed on this case, as Choso can only be put through so much, but Ms. Harte easily refutes that once this case is over, Choso will find his footing in the world once more.

As Judge Martinez requests a moment to consider his notes before delivering a decision, the silence bears down further on Sukuna from all sides. It threatens to suffocate him, clawing at his insides as the taste of iron floods his mouth when he bites down on his tongue a bit too hard.

He’s kept his fears so well-masked over the course of the past hour that his body seems to burst as he feels his hands physically shivering in his lap. It’s not cold in the room, if anything the sweat rolling down his jaw from his temple should spell out just how warm the room really is. 

He’d spent so many days preparing for this moment, so many hours on the phone with telecommunications companies for phone logs, putting in extra work to get letters from his employers, and pulling files out from the darkest depths of closets to prove anything.

Had this been a couple of years ago, he’s not even sure if he could have managed to get the files. Not because he wouldn’t have cared or wanted to, but because the sight of his father’s obituary tucked among all his bills would have sent Sukuna spiralling. He’s come so far over the past few years, he can’t let it be for nothing.

How had it come to this, in the first place?

When would karma come for Kaori like it had so often haunted Sukuna?

His attention snaps to the judge as the man addresses the room again. “I have carefully read through all of the provided evidence. After considering this and the testimonies from witnesses of both parties, I have reached a decision that I believe is in the best interest of the children and their mental well-being.”

Their mental well-being? Sukuna’s heart drops. No.

“I would like to start by acknowledging how much love is clearly being put on display for these children. I can very clearly see that both parties care greatly for them. My greatest consideration today will be to ensure the long-standing welfare of the children and ensure they have what they need in order to flourish int he future.”

On the edge of his seat, Sukuna clings to the table with white knuckles. This can’t happen. He has to interrupt.

“With that in mind, the decision I have made today is one that I feel will allow the children to heal from any prior transgressions. Concerns on both sides have been noted, and I believe both parties today will be able to understand where my decision is coming from.”

Sukuna’s gaze whips towards Ms. Harte, whose expression is grave. She knows too. He has to say something. He has to-

“The applicant, as the biological mother of Choso and Yuji Itadori will be granted sole guardianship. While I understand the applicant placed a rush on this trial, I do not believe that Mr. Sukuna places the children in any immediate danger and as both their half-brother and prior guardian, he will retain visitation rights. To allow the children a safe and easy transition, this will be effective as of Monday next week.”

“No! She doesn’t fucking care!” Sukuna barks in a desperate plea, losing control as he finally stands.

The bailiff stands immediately. “Mr. Sukuna! Order, please,” she requests, matching his fervor with confidence.

With venomous intent, he opens his mouth, but Ms. Harte places a hand on his forearm to catch his attention. “Please sit, Sukuna. I’ll work through this with you.”

Surely she has cause for a retrial or an appeal or something, right? He has to put his belief in her and her abilities right now, because it might damn be all he has left.

As he takes a seat, his vision closes in on him. White from all edges, he shuts his eyes and rubs harshly at them. The ringing in his ears is overbearing, his throat closing up on him as he struggles to sit still.

The trial continues on without him as Ms. Harte makes decisions on his behalf for the handover of the children on Monday morning. Sukuna can’t make out a single word being said. It’s nothing more than jumbled and broken letters, gibberish in his mind.

He feared this outcome so heavily, yet it never seemed like it could be a possibility. What happened here that Kaori had gotten away with so much deception? Where had these supposed hospital records come from?

What kind of dumbass is this judge? Did Kaori pay him?

On paper, the case was always tough, but the more evidence he pulled up, the more it leaned in his favor. Yet with each piece of evidence he compiled, Kaori had something up her sleeve to throw the balance off.

Would he spend a lifetime wondering what went wrong?

Kaori would never let him visit no matter his rights, would he not see Choso for six years? Would it be thirteen years before he sees Yuji again? Surely not, his lawyer has to figure something out. He’ll drain every penny he has to make it happen. He can’t let this happen.

He can’t fail Choso again.

And yet, he already has.

You sniffle from behind Sukuna, though he doesn’t move, he doesn’t seem to hear it. You want just as badly as he surely does to reverse the decision, to fight more, fight harder if you can, but it’s to no avail. You’re at a complete and utter loss. Your head feels horribly light as the decision truly sets in.

The bailiff adjourns the court, advising an exit of the room.

Wiping tears from your eyes and inhaling sharply, you cling tightly to the bracelets that round your wrist, forced to watch in horror as Sukuna stands abruptly, stumbling out of his chair with the scraping of wood across the floor. He clutches at his chest, anger ablaze in his eyes as he slams out the door while Ms. Harte attempts to reach out to him.

Your lips part as you call after Sukuna as well, but he’s gone before it ever reaches him. Whether he’s going to throw his unsuspecting lighter into another wall or to gasp for air out in the cool morning, you can’t say for sure, but one thing’s for certain.

It took Kaori only one hour and twenty four minutes to rip whatever remained of your dear friend to pieces.

Another tear rolls down your cheek and you find yourself choking back a sob as you hide your face on the way out.

main masterlist || series masterlist || previous chapter || next chapter

❦ a/n ; forgive me :')

trust, i promise this series will have a happy ending <33 i'm a sucker for angst though and you guys are subject to my whims 🙂‍↕️ LMAO anyway regardless of the angst and devastation, i really hope everyone is still enjoying the series! ty all for sticking with me, there's still much more to come! i never could have anticipated how long this series would be but i'm super grateful to be able to share it with you all

shoutout again to all the lovely and amazing people who helped me with the legal drama as well, it's been a huge help! if you see any legal process errors, no you didn't ;)

❦ taglist ; OPEN. please comment here or on the masterlist if you would like to be tagged. age MUST be easily visible on your blog.

@yenayaps @kunascutie @aiicpansion @fushitoru @gojoscumslut

@hellish4ever @cuntyji @theonlyhonoredone @catobsessedlady @timetoletmyimaginationfly

@clp-84 @coffee-and-geto @candyluvsboba @favvkiki @gojodickbig

@spindyl @ohmykwonsoonyoung @kyo-kyo1 @officialholyagua @jeonwiixard

@ieathairs @cinnamxnangel @nessca153 @aerareads @after-laughter-come-tears

@tillaboo @thepassionatereader @erencvlt @v1sque @a-girl-with-thoughts

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@privthemis @captainsarcasmandsass @ryomeowie @vitoshi @kunasthiast

@axxk17 @toratsue @bluestbleu @yuji-itadori-fave @totallygyomeiswife

writing & format © starmapz. art © 3-aem. dividers © adornedwithlight & cafekitsune

[unyversc]

𓂅⭒ ♡ yokoyama kaori 𓏲 ִֶָ

idade: vinte e sete anos. ocupação: assassina advogada. sexualidade: bissexual. FC: minatozaki sana. | F/M

‹ about ✩ character tag ✩ couple tag ›

[its-to-the-death]

Battle of the Gingers Bracket F Round 1

Inkling Girl/Kaori (Splatoon) vs Azazel (Yondemasu Yo Azazel-san!/You’re Being Summoned Azazel!)

[theelizamanelli]

Look at the Size of his Ego

Pairing: Aaric Graycastle x Female OC one shot Word count: 3.5k Rating: 18+, mdni Tags: golden retriever x black cat, fourth wing universe, enemies to lovers, fighting, blood and violence, dominant x submissive, explicit smut Summary: Aaric Graycastle is surprised to find that Evelina Stormbridge has discerned his true identity. After a night of guard duty Aaric finds that Evelina doesn't dislike him as much as she carries on. ao3 link

——————————————————————————————————

“As if I don’t know who you are, Aaric,” Evelina bit out, taking a step towards him.

“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” he avoided her gaze, staring past her towards the rush of students in the hall. His blatant disregard for her intelligence seemingly placing Evelina on edge. 

“I am a citizen of Navarre, do you believe I am so simple that I do not know what our Prince looks like?” she pierced him with an icy glare. 

He took no note of the warning in her tone, acting as if she were merely an inconvenience. “You have me conf-” seething, she stepped behind the pillar - shoving him against the stone. 

Aaric’s green eyes widened in surprise, briefly flashing with a hint of admiration. A small smirk threatening the edge of his lip as he leaned his head against the chill of the wall. 

“I would be careful of the words that come out of that pretty mouth next. I am unsure you are prepared for the consequences,” her face was angled upwards as she stared him down.

“I wouldn’t dare underestimate you, Evelina,” Aaric’s gaze dragged along the features of her face, hesitating on her lips, before returning to her eyes.

She faltered momentarily, her eyebrows creasing before she shoved his shoulder, “Ensure that you heed that advice for the remainder of your time at Basgiath. However short it may be, Your Grace.” 

Evelina adjusted the strap on her shoulder before starting towards Battle Brief, a slight warmth spreading along the tips of her cheeks. 

——————————————————————————————————

Aaric found himself unsure how a momentary slip up at the end of Professor Kaori’s class had ended with his back against the wall and the murderous glare of a pretty girl threatening to swallow him whole. 

He felt positive that despite valiant effort he would be seeing her lips the next time he showered. 

Evelina Stormbridge was a formidable opponent, he had taken notice of her tactics on the mat - they were admirable at best and agonizingly hot at worst. As a fellow first year it was vital to evaluate all of his competition, not just the ones with beautiful form.

She had been sorted into Fourth Wing Claw Section, bonding to a green daggertail which revealed to Aaric that she was notably intelligent but had an unpredictable temper. All five foot five of her had stood in front of him with the aura of a six foot seven man that had a hundred pounds on him.

He shook his head slightly at the thought, a smile playing on his lips at the reminder of her glare. 

“Uh, dude, we are plotting here. Care to join?” Ridoc leaned into his vision, his hand splayed in front of Aaric’s eyes. He swatted it out of his face before turning towards Violet. 

“I wouldn’t say we are plotting, more preparing for the inevitable crumble of our social structure as we know it,” she cocked her head slightly, pursing her lips.

“You should be a motivational speaker,” retorted Ridoc with a chuckle. 

“What an insightful message from our fearless leader,” Rhiannon shook her head. 

“I’m not the leader here - you are,” Violet pointed at Rhiannon before continuing. “Listen, all I am saying is that it’s a matter of time before they all turn on the Fliers. It’s our duty to keep them safe. We are going to divide all Fourth Wing out for guard duty.”

Aaric’s gaze darted to the front row where Evelina sat, writing in a notebook as Professor Devera entered the classroom. Her posture quickly straightened, her attention snapping to the board.

“Did you hear me, Aaric?” Violet inquired, her body slightly leaning forward over the desk.

“Heard,” he turned his attention to the front as Battle Brief began. 

——————————————————————————————————

The sparring mat spread in front of Evelina as she stretched, unsure of who she would be matched up with for the day. The recent introduction of the Fliers had been a welcome change, she had found herself in desperate need of a worthy opponent. 

Her only hope being that they all didn’t disappoint her.

Sitting down with her section, Evelina leaned towards Havana who whispered as she saw Catriona Cordella glaring in Violet Sorrengail’s direction. 

“If looks could kill,” she giggled before redirecting her attention to Emetterio who slowly announced the challenges for the day.

A laugh bubbled up from the Flame Section, Ridoc Gamlyn slapping Aaric Graycastle on the back as he continued his commentary. Aaric’s posture stood impossibly straight, his face refusing to feign interest in what Ridoc had to say. His gaze caught momentarily on Evelina who held his stare - her mouth tight as he threw a smile in her direction.

She huffed at his attempt at camaraderie, averting her eyes back towards Havana. The thought of the hunger in his irises as they lingered on her lips crossing her mind - the back of her neck warming.

“Aaric Graycastle and Evelina Stormbridge,” Professor Devera’s voice broke Evelina’s concentration as she gestured towards the mat.

She stood slowly before walking towards the edge of the sparring ring, careful to analyze Aaric’s movements in case they gave her insight to a weak point. She noted that his stride implied he was nimble for his size. Though she would never admit this out loud, she had found herself on a few occasions admiring his work on the mat. 

Aaric Graycastle was a formidable opponent, a smile threatened to spread across her face.

“Are you prepared for the consequences, Your Grace?” Evelina straightened before placing herself in a defensive stance. From what she remembered of Aaric he often played defense - she would attempt to draw him from his comfort zone.

“Oh, Evelina, I’ve been dreaming of it,” he smirked before mimicking her stance. 

——————————————————————————————————

What Aaric had not counted on was his opponent’s perfume driving him to distraction. He circled Evelina a few times, from what he had catalogued she had an offensive fighting style. He was attempting to calculate the perfect time to strike before she was able.  

“Are you waiting for permission to attack, Graycastle?” she asked, her eyebrows raising. 

Analyzing her side step, Aaric was unsure if she was attempting to manipulate his emotions - goading him into exposing himself by lunging too early. 

“I don’t seek permission to do anything, Evelina. I would think my presence here would make that clear enough for you.” He watched as the corner of her mouth ticked, her eyes darkening. 

She lunged in his direction to which he evaded quickly, attempting to strike her side. She rolled out of the way, breathing hard as she stood.

“That was…a choice,” he cocked his head to the side, darting forward in an attempt to catch her off balance. Dodging towards the ground she threw her legs out to trip him. Aaric jumped before kicking at her chest.

Evelina strategically fell backwards, rolling towards the edge of the mat. 

“I assumed any spoiled rich kid had to be told what to do. My apologies, Your Grace,” She fell back into pace with him, Aaric frowned before throwing a punch which Evelina dodged - grabbing onto his outstretched arm. Using his momentum she flipped him upside down - he landed hard on the ground.

Evelina stood over him, placing her hands on her knees as she bent down, “I see now that your superior upbringing only contributed to the weight of that ego - I am surprised you were able to stay upright for that long,” 

She smiled before retreating from the mat, wiping her hands on her pants. Aaric’s eyes lingered on her frame as she sat back down next to a dark haired girl from the Claw section. 

Breathing heavily, Aaric could feel a familiar tugging in his lower stomach.

——————————————————————————————————

The group of Fourth Wing members that had volunteered for Flier guard duty stood in the assembly hall, Rhiannon divided them into groups of two - assigning each to specific areas. 

“Aaric, you’re with Evelina ,” Rhiannon pointed to the two before turning towards the next. 

“Damn, now if she kicks your ass I won’t be able to watch,” Ridoc whined, shoving Aaric’s back.

Evelina leaned against the wall, her face void of emotion as she pushed from the stone and walked in his direction.

“Good luck, you’re going to need it,” Ridoc whispered before walking back towards Rhiannon. 

Aaric took a step towards her, gesturing in the direction of their assignment. She huffed, rolling her eyes before striding down the hall.

“I didn’t take you for a Poromiel apologist,” he stepped carefully in line behind her as they meandered through the area on guard. 

“I am not a blind follower,” Evelina retorted, her head on a swivel as they entered the academic wing.

“Neither am I,” Aaric continued down the hall, he noted that Evelina faltered slightly at his comment before bristling - returning to her previous rough demeanor.

A rough clatter to the ground caught their attention as they looked towards a classroom, Evelina threw the door open to find a first year tangled with a second year. Aaric bit back a laugh as pink spread through her cheeks, she began to speak but held her breath instead.

He pointed at the two who had startled at their entrance, “You two, back to your dorms - orders from the higher ups!” They quickly straightened their clothes before rushing out the other door. 

She stood in front of him, the burn present on the back of her neck. He leaned down - whispering in her ear, “Everything okay, Evelina?”

Goosebumps erupted along her exposed shoulder - the black tank top a stark contrast to the color threatening to consume the remainder of her body.

She swallowed hard, quick to move forward through the classroom. There was a glint of light streaking from underneath the desk, Evelina leaned down to grasp the object.

“She left he-” she paused as the realization of what she was holding dawned on her.

A pair of pink panties with silver metal hearts in the side gleamed in the moonlight.

“Oh, Evelina,” he murmured as she threw them back to the ground.

“I didn’t realize what they were!” she yelled defensively, turning in his direction.

“Of course you didn’t,” he responded with a sarcastic nod as he took a step in her direction, she shot him a pleading look.

“Please, as if I would even kn-” she paused, shaking her head. “I just mean, I wouldn’t want to pick up someone else-”

Aaric chuckled, taking another step towards her. Evelina retreated slightly, the back of her knees hitting the desk, “I am not explaining myself to the likes of you.”

He momentarily admired the moonlight streaming over her features, the pink of her nose as it scrunched in frustration. He dragged his gaze down to her lips, he could almost taste them - how soft they would feel against his own. 

Evelina squirmed slightly under his gaze, “Listen here, Graycastle. Let’s get one thing straight. I could easily take you down right here, right now if I wanted to.”

“Do you want to?” Aaric asked, his lips curling into a smirk.

She hesitated, noting how his sandy brown locks fell forward onto his forehead as he leaned towards her. 

“You know, Evelina. There are other things that this pretty mouth can do,” his breath was hot on her face as he neared her lips.

She swallowed hard, “We have a job to do, Your Grace.” Her eyes betrayed her - darting down towards his lips.

“Oh, please, Evelina. You haven’t thought about the job once in the last five minutes and we both know it,” she had fully backed against the desk, sitting slightly on the wood as Aaric occupied the space between her legs - staring down at her. 

He reached his hand out, one finger tipping her chin upwards, “Admit it. You want to kiss me as bad as I want to kiss you.”

Evelina licked her lips quickly, his green eyes boring into hers, “I abstain from the question,” her teeth clenched.

Aaric chuckled softly, “Why is that?”

She sighed before responding, “As a rule, I do not lie,” the realization flashed across Aaric’s eyes before his gaze darkened.

“Oh, fuck it,” he muttered before he pressed his lips hungrily against hers. 

——————————————————————————————————

Evelina gasped as he collided with her, his kiss desperately consuming her. Her eyes fluttered closed, she instinctively leaned her head back as his tongue swiped against the inside of her lower lip. 

A moan slipped from her throat, she flinched as he pulled away from her.

“I know you can do better than that, Evelina. Now lay back,” Aaric licked his lips, straightening. 

The haze of lust crowded her mind as she slowly pushed herself back onto the desk, leaning back on her hands as she watched him drink in her body.

His tall form bathed in the soft light of the sky, she could not help but admire how attractive he looked standing over her.

Though she noted that this was the only time she would ever let a man above her. 

“You’re so beautiful,” Aaric whispered, his hand sliding along the outside of her thigh. 

“Even when I am kicking your ass on the mat?” Evelina breathed out a small laugh as he slid his hands towards her hips, his finger tracing the bare skin exposed by her tank top riding up.

“Especially when you’re kicking my ass on the mat,” he murmured, a shiver sliding through her as his knuckle pulled the waistline down slightly.

Her breath hitched, “Lift your hips, Evelina,” he instructed - his eyes hazy with desire. 

Bracing her hands on the woods, she pulled her hips into the air as Aaric slid the fabric down her legs before throwing them onto the ground. He gazed down at her hungrily, sliding his hand along her bare thighs before placing his palms underneath her knees - pushing them back.

Evelina’s hands slid along the wood as he maneuvered her - her legs bent as she was splayed in front of him. 

“Exactly what I thought…beautiful,” his eyes dragged along her exposed middle - warmth spreading along her face as he licked his lips. 

He slid his hands along her inner thighs before tracing a finger down her heat, she tensed at his touch. 

“I thought you disliked me, Evelina?” he teased, “This suggests otherwise.”

“I don’t dislike you, Graycastle,” she replied softly, “Honestly, I respect you for turning against your own blood in order to stand up for what is right.”

Evelina paused, surprised at her honesty, “Tell anyone I said that and I really will kill you.”

Aaric’s features softened at her confession, his eyes analyzing her face before sighing. 

“Heard,” he slowly bent down to his knees, Evelina leaned forward to watch his descent. At his height he was eye level with where she regrettably wanted him most.

“Are you going to analyze my moves here, too?” he asked with a quirk of his brow. Evelina straightened her shoulders before opening her mouth to protest.

His tongue swirled around her clit in an agonizing circle, her words caught in her throat as her head slowly lulled backwards. 

Oh, fuck.

Aaric pressed his palms into the back of her thighs, forcing her legs further backwards. The angle change elicited a strangled moan from Evelina’s lips, she quickly pressed her hand to her mouth.

Pausing, he pressed his thumb to her clit and rubbed softly before straightening.

“Now, Evelina, take that hand off your mouth. I want to hear you,” his voice was deeper, husky with lust. 

She paused briefly, her eyes widening as he increased the pace - staring at her intently as she slowly dragged her hand from her lips. 

“Good girl,” he breathed before pressing his lips to the lower part of her stomach - sliding one finger inside of her.

Evelina jolted, arching her back with a soft moan. She could hear his low chuckle as he pressed a kiss to her inner thigh, a second finger slipping into her growing wetness. 

Aaric maintained a rhythm as he kissed the opposite thigh - feeling the reverberation of her trembling. 

He slowly licked her clit eliciting a sharp hiss before sucking it into his mouth.

“Oh, Gods,” Evelina moaned, gripping the edge of the desk.

“Your Grace,” he corrected before repeating the motion with his tongue. 

She bucked her hips against his mouth as his fingers continued in an agonizing rhythm that had her teetering on the edge. The familiar build simmered in her core as she writhed against his tongue. 

Aaric increased the pace of his fingers as he sucked her clit inwards, Evelina tumbled over the edge - grasping onto his hair as she arched backwards, “O-oh, fuck, Aaric.”

Breathing heavily, she slumped against the desk as he straightened - looming over her. He licked his lips before reaching his fingers in her direction, “Taste yourself,” he demanded.

Evelina sucked a breath in before opening her mouth slightly, he slid inside - she wrapped her lips on the knuckle before her tongue swirled around her wetness. 

“That’s my girl,” he murmured before sliding one hand to trace her neck and the other over her breast. He pulled the tank top down, exposing her nipple to the cool air. Aaric leaned down and sucked it into his mouth.

Evelina wrapped a hand around the back of his neck instinctively, arching into his touch as she moaned. He pressed a soft kiss to her neck before mimicking his previous action with her other breast. 

He groaned as she lifted her hips to drag herself along his pants, “Aren’t you impatient?” 

Aaric dragged a finger across her sensitive clit, she tensed against him with a hiss. 

“What a needy little thing,” he whispered before pressing his lips against hers, Evelina wrapped her legs around his waist before sliding her free hand into his hair. She was desperate for contact, sliding her tongue into his mouth as he pressed his hard length against her bare skin. 

She pulled away, her face flushed as she bit out, “Listen, Graycastle, if you don’t fuck me right now I am going to take matters into my own hands,”

Aaric smirked, “Next time, I am taking you up on that offer, Evelina.” he unbuckled the belt allowing his pants to fall to his ankles. 

Evelina swallowed hard as his length sprung free, cocking her head to the side at how big it appeared. 

No wonder he had an ego. 

She leaned back onto her elbows, pulling her knees back as she stared Aaric in the eyes.

He groaned at the action before grabbing her thighs, sliding her to the edge of the desk. He slid himself against her, gathering the wetness. She shivered at the friction against her clit, her body so warm that she felt as though she was going into a frenzy.

“Stop playing around, Graycastle,” she breathed, her eyes fluttering.

“I thought it was Aaric? Or is that only when I am making you cum?” he smirked before sliding himself inside - he hissed as she moaned. The slow spread rushed to Evelina’s head, the feeling of fullness increasing as she took him inch by inch.

“Fuck, you’re so tight,” he gritted out as he pressed his palms to the back of her thighs as he peered down at where they were connected. Once he was fully seated inside of her, he paused - his eyes fluttering closed before he sighed.

Aaric opened his eyes, staring down at Evelina’s flushed face as he began to slowly move inside of her.

She groaned as the pleasure spread from the edge of her toes to the tip of her nose, a slow tingle passing through her legs. 

His green eyes bore into hers as she tilted her head back, he increased the pace - pressing her knees further back. The angle change had him slipping deeper inside of her.

“O-oh, fuck, don’t stop,” Evelina moaned, desperately grabbing his hips.

“No intention of that, I promise,” Aaric gritted out, as his rhythm slammed into her. 

She tightened against him as the pleasure reverberated through her, her head dizzy as his pace was relentless, “P-please, fuck. Harder, Aaric,” she begged.

He shifted slightly and followed her instruction - her moans turning into whines as she fell over the edge again. Her legs shaking under his palms as he continued to pound into her, the sound of her wetness echoing through the classroom.

His movements became erratic as his groans deepened, Aaric’s voice raspy as his head fell to her shoulder - bucking inside of her, “F-fuck, Evelina,” 

Aaric breathed heavily, the warmth spreading inside of her as she let her head fall against the wood. He straightened slightly, his green eyes searching her own.

“No Your Grace?” Aaric inquired with a smirk, Evelina smacked him on the shoulder with a shake of her head. 

——————————————————————————————————

Note from the author: Unfortunately I have fallen in love with Evelina so let me know if y'all want more of these two or if a different pairing is what you want to see (I am pondering a Ridoc one shot but have to find a good female OC for him)

[moxanji-real]

Hey hey! Just circling back to a post I made earlier…after giving it some thought, I’ve decided I feel more comfortable sharing a few of my crushes/casual F/Os here! 💖 These are more low key for me, so I thought it’d be fun to talk about them a bit. I still love them like crazy though…but why I call them more crushes / more casual is because I’m not soulbounded to them and don’t think of them constantly like my main three soulmates. That’s why they aren’t on the same level. ^^

Crush / Casual F/O Dump incoming:

If any of these characters happen to be your F/O too and you’re a mutual who’s uncomfortable with sharing, feel totally free to DM me! I’ll respect your boundaries and won’t mention them on my page again—promise. I’m pretty sure I don’t currently share with anyone, which is why I felt okay posting.

I do have a tiny bit more, but they’re popular characters I’m not comfy sharing publicly right now due to possible doubles, so I’ll keep those to myself for now. 🫣

Anyway! From left to right, the characters I’m crushing or already casually f/oing on are:

💿 Daisuke Dishware (Date Everything)

🎤 Mira (K-pop Demon Hunters) Just a crush

🎀 Charlotte LaBouff (Princess and the Frog)

💥 Kaori Makimura & Ryo Saeba (City Hunter)

📚 Lysithea & Felix (Fire Emblem: Three Houses)

🌸 Jin (Samurai Champloo)

🧊 Himuro (Aggretsuko) Just a crush

🪓 Shin (Dorohedoro)

🌺 Viola (One Piece)

If you’re curious about any of them or wanna gush with me, feel free to ask! I have way too many thoughts and I’m always down to ramble. Also… if you think you can figure out my “type,” go ahead and guess 😭 I know I tend to fall for bitchy men with glasses and smooth flirts, but my taste in women is a total wild card. :3

[ohgodthevoices]

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･ Save point °❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

time skip kenma x f!reader

word count : 2922

Premise : You’re a concept artist who recently moved to Tokyo after a personal tragedy left you questioning your purpose. You take a low-key job at a new gaming studio, where you meet Kenma Kozume, the quiet yet sharp CEO. Initially, you clash—Kenma is reserved and brutally honest, while you’re more expressive but guarded. However, as you work together on a passion project, the walls you’ve both built around yourselves begin to crumble.

note : this fanfic will be on my ao3 >here< it might be more organized and easier to keep up with it but i will still upload the chapters here <3

chapter 1/ chapter 2 / chapter 3

Chapter one

The Tokyo skyline stretched endlessly outside the glass windows of the modest office. The sound of computers and the faint clicking of keyboards filled the space, a rhythm you’d grown accustomed to over the past few weeks. But today, there was an edge in the air—a tension you couldn’t ignore.

You adjusted your headphones, trying to drown out the growing sense of unease. You began to notice every little noise, the elevator opening and closing , the cars beeping outside, the messed up tie of the man walking past you, the ice melting in your cup of coffee.

“You’ll be collaborating directly with Kozume-san on the upcoming project. Effective immediately.”

Your stomach churned. You’d only been here a month, barely long enough to learn everyone’s names, let alone work with the CEO himself. You had joined this company partly because of its reputation for having a younger, laid-back workforce. It was refreshing to work somewhere that didn’t require stiff suits or stifling formalities. Here, you could stroll into the office in sweats, hair undone and no one would bat an eye. It wasnt simple allowed, it was the norm.

You worked in the artistic department, where your job was to bring life to the game’s visuals—character designs, environments, and UI elements. Your desk was a cluttered haven of sketches, color palettes, and concept art pinned to the walls.

It was the kind of work you’d dreamed about during late nights in art school, but the reality was far more demanding than you’d anticipated.

Deadlines were tight, revisions were endless, and creativity didn’t always come on command. Some days, the ideas flowed effortlessly, your tablet pen gliding across the screen as you brought fantastical worlds to life. Other days, you’d stare at a blank canvas, frustration bubbling as you struggled to meet expectations.

Your first impression of Kenma Kozume came in passing, and even then, he was hard to miss.

The first time you saw him, he was slouched at a desk in the far corner of the office, hoodie pulled over his head, fingers flying across his laptop keyboard. He didn’t look up once, even as people moved around him, his focus unshakable.

The second time, you caught a glimpse of him in the break room. He stood by the coffee machine, staring blankly at the counter as it filled his mug. There was something oddly unapproachable about him, even in such a mundane moment. He had an air of detachment, like the world around him barely registered unless it directly affected him.

You’d never spoken to him, but you’d already decided he wasn’t the type to make small talk or exchange pleasantries. Still, there was something magnetic about him, something that made you wonder what went on behind those sharp, tired eyes.

You had learned that prior to you , Kenma was never really in the office , he was still a streamer more than a CEO , after all this game developement project is only possible thanks to his succesful gaming career. However recently , once he saw how sucessful his idea got , he was now more present in the office and hired more people , you included.

“Hey, Y/N!”

A bright, cheerful voice cut through your spiraling thoughts. You looked up to see Kaori, her vibrant pink hair catching the fluorescent light as she leaned against your desk. Her wide grin and colorful appearance were like a splash of sunshine in the otherwise neutral-toned office.

“Hey,” she said, tilting her head. “You okay? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

You blinked, the metaphor hitting a little too close to home. “That’s… not far off,” you admitted, gesturing to your screen. “I have to work with Kozume-san. On his project.”

Kaori let out a low whistle, plopping into the chair beside you. “Oof, that’s a big one. But hey, you’re amazing at what you do. You’ll be fine.”

You shook your head, frustration bubbling to the surface. “What if I mess up? He’s… him. He’s probably going to hate everything I do.” you bury you hand into the palm of you hands

“What if—”

“Nope.” Kaori held up a hand, cutting you off. “No ‘what ifs.’ You’re going to go in there, show him what you’ve got, and if he doesn’t like it, that’s his problem. Not yours.”

You couldn’t help but crack a small smile at her unwavering energy. “You make it sound so easy.”

“Because it is easy,” she said with a wink. “Just think of him as a moody NPC. He might be hard to impress, but you’ve got the skills to win him over.

That made you laugh, the tension in your chest loosening just a bit. “Thanks, Kaori. I needed that.”

“Anytime,” she said, standing up and flipping her hair dramatically over her shoulder. “Now, go slay that boss battle. You’re the main character, after all.”

As she walked back to her desk, her bright presence lingering in the air, you took a deep breath. Maybe Kaori was right. You could do this. You just had to believe it yourself.

You checked your schedule, hoping—praying—that there had been some kind of mistake. But there it was, glaring at you in bold letters:

Meeting with Kozume-san | 2:00 PM | Conference Room 3

Your stomach sank. It wasn’t just a casual check-in; you were expected to present your ideas.

You glanced at your tablet, where the rough sketches and concept notes for the project stared back at you. The game was a platformer with a futuristic theme, but Kenma had insisted on “keeping it simple.” That vague direction had left you stuck between creating something bold and eye-catching or playing it safe with minimalist designs.

The game you were working on was set in a post-apocalyptic cyberpunk world, a crumbling cityscape where neon lights flickered through the smog and towering skyscrapers were half-collapsed, their skeletal remains a testament to a world long past its prime. The streets were flooded with a mix of broken technology and rusted machinery, the last remnants of a once-thriving society. With game mecanics similar to The Last Of Us , the players would collects ressources and try to survive in groups.

Your characters were survivors—scrappy, resourceful, and filled with the grit needed to navigate this decaying world. You’d designed them to be mismatched, each with their own story written into their attire, their scars, their expressions. The environments were dark, gritty, and filled with the hum of malfunctioning tech, but you’d infused them with moments of color—neon signs, glowing graffiti, the occasional flicker of hope in the bleakness.

But now, staring at your designs, the doubt began to creep in. Was it too much? Kenma was known for his minimalist approach, and here you were, drowning in the chaos of color and detail. Would he see your vision as too loud, too cluttered for the world he had in mind?

The clock was ticking. You had less than a couple hours before the meeting.

You were so absorbed in tweaking the final details of your designs that you didn’t notice Kaori approaching your desk. Without a word, she set a takeout bag down in front of you with a soft thud, the scent of warm food wafting through the air. A thumbs-up and a smirk was the only indication she’d left before she walked away,

With a quiet exhale and a smile, you grabbed the food, letting yourself step away from the screen. For a few minutes, you allowed yourself to just eat, to breathe, to let the chaos of your thoughts settle.

————————————————————————

You stood in front of the conference room door, your heart pounding in your chest. The cold metal of the doorknob felt like a weight in your hand

You took a deep breath, trying to steady your nerves, but your hands were shaking. The designs you’d worked so hard on, the ones that felt like your heart and soul poured onto the screen, suddenly felt like they weren’t enough. What if Kenma didn’t get it? What if he didn’t like it?

You glanced down at your phone, checking the time. Five minutes. Just five minutes until you have to go in.

You reached for the doorknob, your fingers trembling slightly, but before you could turn it, the door suddenly swung open, and you stumbled back in surprise.

Kenma Kozume stood there, but he wasn’t alone. A sleek, black cat perched casually on his shoulder, its golden eyes eerily similar to his own.

His light blonde hair, slightly messy and falling over his forehead, gave him a perpetually disheveled look. He didn’t seem to care much about appearances, as his hoodie—gray and a bit oversized—hung loosely on his frame, paired with comfortable, worn-in jeans.

The cat let out a soft meow, and Kenma, unfazed, gave it a quick scratch under the chin before glancing at you. His expression was as unreadable as ever, but there was a faint flicker of curiosity in his gaze.

“You’re early,” he said simply, stepping aside to let you in.

Your eyes darted between him and the cat, trying to process what you were seeing.

Waaa the cat looks exactly like him!

You hadn’t pegged him as the type to bring a pet—let alone one so comfortably perched on his shoulder—to a meeting.

As you hesitated, the cat jumped down gracefully, landing on the conference table with a soft thud. It padded across the surface, tail flicking, before curling up near the laptop that was clearly set up for the presentation.

Kenma sat down without a word, as if this was all completely normal, and started typing on his laptop.

“You can start whenever,” he said, not looking up

Snapping out of your daze, you stepped inside, carefully closing the door behind you. The cat’s gaze followed you as you moved toward the table, its tail swishing lazily.

Your tablet felt heavier in your hands as you set it down, your designs still vivid on the screen. You glanced at Kenma, but his focus remained fixed on his laptop.

The silence stretched on, broken only by the faint clicking of keys. You cleared your throat softly, hoping to signal that you were ready to start, but the sound barely registered.

Instead, it was the cat that took action. It stood, padded over to your tablet, and plopped down directly on top of it, effectively blocking your work from view.

Your eyes widened, and you froze, unsure of what to do. “Um…”

Kenma finally looked up, his gaze shifting between you and the cat. For a moment, you thought you saw the faintest hint of amusement in his expression.

“Pudding,” he said, his voice quiet but firm. The cat flicked its tail but didn’t move.

“Pudding?” you replied before you could stop yourself.

Kenma leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms. “That’s her name. She likes warm surfaces. Just move her.”

You hesitated, not wanting to offend the feline—or its owner. Tentatively, you reached out, sliding your hands under the cat’s small frame. Pudding meowed in protest but allowed herself to be relocated to the edge of the table.

As soon as your tablet was clear, you turned it on and opened your designs. The glowing images of the post-apocalyptic cyberpunk world filled the screen, casting faint neon reflections onto the polished table.

Kenma leaned forward slightly, his attention finally shifting to your work. His golden eyes narrowed as he studied the sketches, the lines of his face giving nothing away.

Your heart raced as the silence stretched on, every second feeling like an eternity. You wanted to explain, to justify your choices, but the words caught in your throat.

Finally, Kenma spoke, his voice quiet but deliberate. “Why did you choose this color palette?”

The question was simple, but it carried weight. You swallowed hard, forcing yourself to meet his gaze.

“I wanted to balance the desolation of the setting with moments of vibrancy,” you said, your voice steadier than you expected. “The neon lights and glowing elements are meant to represent remnants of the old world—hope, even in destruction.”

Kenma didn’t respond immediately, his gaze flicking between the tablet and you. Then, without a word, he reached out and swiped to the next image.

The room fell silent again, save for the faint hum of the air conditioning and the occasional rustle as Pudding shifted on the table.

You watched as Kenma swiped through your designs, his expression neutral. You took a deep breath, trying to steady your nerves, before you began to explain your characters.

“These characters are survivors,” you said, gesturing to the designs on the tablet. “Each one has their own backstory, their own way of navigating this broken world. I wanted them to stand out in contrast to the bleak environment—each piece of their clothing, their scars, their accessories, all tell a story of where they’ve been and what they’ve had to survive.”

Kenma’s eyes flicked over the characters, his gaze flickering between the vibrant details of their outfits and the muted tones of the world around them. He didn’t seem to react at first, but then he spoke, his voice calm and direct.

“They’re too flashy for side characters,” he said, his tone flat but cutting. “If they’re meant to be secondary, the design needs to be more subtle. The world you’ve created is chaotic, but the characters should blend into it, not dominate it.”

You felt a sharp pang in your chest at his words. You had poured so much into these characters, wanting them to feel real, to feel alive in a world that had been stripped of so much.

“You’ve got a strong concept,” he said, his tone softer now. “Just need to refine the details.”

You nodded, trying to absorb his feedback. It wasn’t what you wanted to hear, but it was something you could work with.

The room felt quieter now, the air thick with unspoken thoughts. You couldn’t help but feel the weight of his criticism, but you also knew that this was the process.

You had to adapt.

Taking a deep breath, you swiped to the next character design, one of the more subdued ones. “I understand what you mean,” you said, your voice more composed now. “Maybe I went a little overboard. But these characters, they’ve lived through so much. I wanted them to feel like they’ve earned their place in this world.”

Kenma didn’t respond immediately. Instead, he reached forward, swiping through the designs once more, his eyes scanning them critically. Pudding, who had been lounging on the table, lazily swatted at the edge of the tablet, causing the screen to flicker slightly.

Kenma glanced at the cat, a flicker of annoyance crossing his face. “Pudding,” he muttered, gently pushing her paw away from the screen. Then, with a sigh, he turned back to you.

“You’re not wrong,” he said, his voice quieter now, almost thoughtful. “The characters do need to feel like they’ve earned their place. But if they’re secondary, they shouldn’t demand attention. The focus needs to be on the world. The players need to feel like they’re in the world, not just looking at it.”

You nodded slowly, taking in his words. The idea was starting to click, but it didn’t make it any easier to accept.

“I’ll adjust the designs,” you said, determination creeping back into your voice. “I’ll make them blend into the world more, but still keep their individuality. They need to feel like they belong, but also like they’ve got something to prove.”

Kenma nodded, his eyes flicking to the screen one last time before he stood up. “Good. That’s what I want to see. Take your time with it. The meeting’s over for now.”

your mind already racing with ideas for revisions. As you gathered your things, Pudding meowed again, hopping onto your lap before you could get up.

You blinked, surprised, but couldn’t help but chuckle.

Kenma gave you a small, almost imperceptible nod. “She likes you.”

You smiled faintly, the tension in your chest easing slightly. Maybe this wasn’t as bad as you’d thought. You still had a lot of work to do, but now you had a clearer direction.

As you walked out of the room, you couldn’t help but feel a little lighter. You had the feedback you needed. Now it was up to you to turn it into something even better.

You stepped out of the conference room, still processing Kenma’s feedback. The weight of the revisions hung over you, but you were determined to prove him wrong, to make the changes and show him you could do it.

As you made your way down the hallway, your phone buzzed. You pulled it out, it was an email from Kenma.

You paused, fingers hovering over the screen. Why would he email me?

You opened the message, your eyes scanning the short, direct note:

I want to see the updated designs by tomorrow. Come to my office at 5 PM.

Your heart skipped a beat.

His office? Tomorrow ? you didnt have much time…

Before you could process it, someone called your name from behind. You turned, only to find Kenma standing at the end of the hallway, his expression unreadable.

He was looking directly at you, his eyes piercing through the distance.

“Don’t be late,” he said, his voice low, and then, without another word, he turned and walked away.

You stood frozen, the weight of the email and his words sinking in. What was this really about?

[lilacxquartz]

THE LIFE YOU LIVED

kenjaku x future vessel f!reader

plot: being the daughter of an important public figure, you were already used to unwanted attention. however, nothing could have prepared you for this.

themes: yandere, unrequited feelings, angst, some horror, reader is not a sorcerer, pre-canon — a/n: so, this isn’t with geto as a vessel but it isn’t kaori either, think of it as an in between time.

part 1 of 7 • next chapter • chapter directory • masterlist • on ao3

Chapter 1: First Impressions

For Kenjaku, being involved with politics was either a prospect that he thrived in or one that he couldn’t wait to get out of, but for the most part, he simply disliked the interactions he had to endure. Unless something exciting was happening from the result of his meddling, he seldom cared, let alone invested himself in the trivial aspects of the ordinary world.

Having to dive into such an affair soon, though, there was a certain degree of apprehension that he felt. In his recent years, any attempt to dissolve the next holder of the six-eyes technique had failed, so he had to maintain his distance from the Gojo clan to avoid being found out a second time—while at the same time keeping close enough to remain vigilant of any significant developments.

This meant straying away from the tight-knit circle of Jujutsu for a while and instead seeking out an alternative means, such as infiltrating the clan from a distance, through the cover of a non-sorcerer.

The current holder of the six-eyes technique was still young, just a mere boy. From his current knowledge of the fact, the kid was strong enough to understand the basics of his technique, but not enough to fully grasp it. If he could therefore infiltrate the clan by phasing through a series of intricate connections, then that’s the route he would take.

This was where you come in.

You were the first step into accomplishing such a feat, and also quite possibly, the easiest role that he had to assume. From the surface, you were just another trust-fund socialite to him, likely spoiled too. He could probably have all sorts of fun in your body when he got his hands on it, since being both loaded and favoured in the eyes of the media meant that he could get away with a great deal of trouble before people started to point their fingers.

An amusing thought, indeed.

His primary target in mind was technically someone close to the current Prime Minister. On paper, this man’s role was purely ceremonial, though, but important enough that just knowing him would open up all sorts of doors. Kenjaku had it in mind, therefore, to infiltrate that clan and steadily gain access to the investors directly involved with the Gojo clan, because that was the easiest way in if from a non-sorcerer standpoint.

Kenjaku already had his eyes on you, too. You were flicking through the pages of some glossy magazine that had your face on the cover, with your brow furrowed at something written inside. You supposedly ‘worked’ in this building, but he had yet to see you do anything at all beyond lounging around, which to him painted an easily accessible front in his mind.

You were somewhere in your twenties, but he wasn’t entirely sure just how old you actually were. Surprisingly, the media coverage on your personal life was lacking. He supposed that if you were wealthy enough to consider what most thought to be a break as ‘working’, then you had the means to wipe clean any sort of database that might store any information on you—or at least make it difficult to find. He had you pinned at maybe twenty-three or twenty-four, given that you had graduated from university not too long ago. He remembered some coverage a while ago concerning a gap year, but he didn’t care enough to investigate further than he had to. That much wasn’t necessary just yet.

The only problem with his whole plan was, however, that it was surely risky to transfer his brain over to a non-sorcerer. For one, the margin for error was much higher, and any retaining techniques aside from his innate one had a risk of not passing through. The gravity technique that he adopted from Kaori would be significant to lose. He would mourn that. His reverse cursed technique, too, would be a hefty loss. He liked having that one, if only just for pain management and sealing away the scar quicker.

Those thoughts aside, Kenjaku grew somewhat impatient from watching you. All that he realistically had to do today was to gain an audience with you and make his first impression count. He considered what he knew about you before approaching you, forming a script in his mind. To just about everyone, your father was the frontman for Kabutocho—or as those overseas knew it better—Japan’s Wall Street. He was one of the most famous names who frequented the headlines for any such news relating to it.

Had the man in question been a couple of decades younger, he would have gone for that body instead, but at sixty-odd years old, he didn’t quite trust his chances in a body that was beginning to decline. It was always simpler to assimilate someone in their prime, such as someone in their twenties, thirties, or even forties.

Meanwhile, on your end, it didn’t take too long for you to notice the pair of eyes that were staring directly towards you, but you didn’t pay the guy any mind. It was somehow still a better deal than what awaited you up in the higher floors, where someone that you truly detested lurked. Indeed, you hated this place, secretly loathing having to keep up such a pristine appearance to the prying eyes of the world all so that your father could get away with the shit that he continiously pulled. God. Everything was so exhausting, and now, you had a potential not-so-secret admirer on top of everything else.

You wondered if you could get away with calling out his insistent staring, or if you would receive an earful from something so petty later on. You were caught up in something that was beyond complicated, after all, what with having to uphold the role of a pushover. You couldn’t stand a single second more of it. The pretending was draining; all of those dinners you had to endure with people twice your age who were always a little too handsy as they pretended to find you interesting.

You supposed that this made you sound ungrateful, or perhaps more brattier than you would have liked, because on the surface of everything, your luxurious life wasn’t all too bad. It was just that sometimes you wished that you could swap it around for something simpler—something normal—something private. It was never your choice, after all, to grow up under the prying lens of the camera just because your father involved himself in every venture he could.

So, you simply went with the flow for now, quietly keeping your opinions contained, even if you thought that they were entirely valid. Indeed, you begrudgingly succumbed to playing the part, attending all of those extravagant galas, shaking the hands of all of the old creeps in power just to keep your father happy. You did your part. You posed and smiled for the camera, you attended those daytime shows, and you laughed on the screen, maintaining a semblance of that happy-go-lucky woman you were forced to play the role of.

Kenjaku continued to watch you from that carefully measured distance all the while, completely unaware that you had long ago caught onto his staring. He let his mind wander already, ultimately deciding that you were the shortcut he needed to take to infiltrate the world he needed to get into. Or perhaps, if you weren’t a shortcut, then you were more so a decisive path of sorts. Power existed in all forms, after all, so social influence could be just as good; your face could get him into all of the right places.

For that to be be a success, however, just all those many times before—he had to be patient and remember to back off on occasion, to let you breathe if you needed to. Maybe he fumbled that much already, given that you were glaring daggers at him. Shit. Had you noticed him? He supposed that he wasn’t being exactly suble. Deciding to roll with it, he slipped on the mask of sweetness, eager to exploit the sheltered and spoiled—to utilise you for all that you were worth.

Indeed, he’d slip into your life as someone new but not unknown. His current cover was a a rising financier, though, perhaps not a successful one. He jumped the guy a couple of years ago under the allure of Kaori when she was making her way out of Jin’s life and back into the open. He didn’t mind playing the role of this guy; his face was forgettable enough which gave him the perfect opportunity to slip in between the cracks if need be.

“Reading anything interesting?” Kenjaku tried to open with, taking note that you seemed bored at what the page was open to. In his mind, you were looking for gossip about yourself which struck him as a little vein. He could likely play his cards right and flatter you if needed. Given that he was in the lobby without an issue, you should recognise him as someone who belonged.

You stiffened up slightly at the approach of the mystery man, already dreading the confrontation. You just knew that he was going to try and talk to you eventually—you had a sixth sense for people like that. You didn’t even look up, turning the page as you replied to him in a flat tone. “Let me stop you right there,” you said, not bothering sweetening up your voice in your place of work, “I don’t know who you are and how you got in here, but I’m not interested.”

Kenjaku blinked, momentarily stunned into silence. He expected you to greet him with the predetermined response that he had already scripted into his head. You were supposed to be lively and outgoing, or at the very least feign interest. Had he misread you? He supposed that it was a possibility; sometimes people presented as one thing but were very different in reality. Just like him—ah. So it might have been like that. He wasn’t the only one wearing a mask.

“What are you, really?” you continued. “An undercover reporter? Someone after my father’s money? Maybe you just want to get laid? Whatever it is you’re on, take a number like everyone else. The time I spare isn’t free.”

“You’re making an awful lot of assumptions for someone you’ve just met,” Kenjaku replied, quickly regaining his composure once more. You caught him off guard, sure, but he had his ways of recovering. “What if I’m someone important?”

“Then I’d say you’re delusional,” you scoffed, taking a sip of your coffee and scrunching up your nose at the drink now being cold. “If you were someone important, then I would have known about you before you even got here.”

Kenjaku bit back a laugh, letting a half-smile curl on his lips instead. So he got his initial assessment on your personality wrong, but he fully understood it now, he really did. The world of both business and politics, especially combined, were a ruthless affair and you were a young woman who was caught up in the middle of it. No wonder you adopted the personality you did behind the closed doors of the public eye. Hell, he even respected it.

“Fair enough,” he shrugged, relaxing his shoulders. “Would you say that my presence is bothering you then?” he asked with a smile that came across as more creepy than curious.

You didn’t reply to him right away but you packed up your things quickly, shoving everything back into your bag. You then sat up and swung your purse strap over your shoulders, ready to leave. “Well, I’m not sticking around to talk to a time waster – does that answer your question?”

He laughed audibly that time. Ah, and here he thought that this would be easy, but it seemed that he had you all wrong. You weren’t as approachable as he thought, you weren’t the polite ‘princess of the stock market’ as you were nicknamed to be in the news. It was refreshing, if he had to be honest and now that you weren’t as easily accessible as he thought, he found himself utterly intrigued.

So much, that he found himself slipping up and staring again, undoubtedly likely triggering the defensive barrier of your creep radar the longer the seconds ticked by. Judging by the slight grimace you wore on your face, it was clear that you didn’t appreciate his company at all and before he could process what just happened, he found himself suddenly drenched in cold coffee, too. A small price to pay, he supposed, because now he could later snake his way back into your life in the future as that one asshole who you threw your drink on—which hopefully for his sake, didn’t happen too often—he had to stand out somehow.

Kenjaku watched as you stormed away, allowing a much more sinister smile to wash over his face. He stood there, drenched but thrilled, before excusing himself out of the crowded prying eyes of everyone else to go wash up and then he would do some digging on you.

God, though. You surprised him with the way you were; it was so rare for people to catch his eye, because after a while, everyone isn’t too different from one another.

But you were.

And now, he couldn’t help but want to know more.

this has been part 5 of lilac’s jjk yandere nightmares

[mtchee]

Silence is Silver, Your Voice is Gold - [Tamaki Amajiki] SOULMATE SERIES | GN

blurb:

As your schools decide to team up for a term long integration project, you're eager to prove your worth as an aspiring young hero. LOUD AND PROUD! That's who you are! So when you're paired with none other than one of U.A's Big Three, Tamaki Amajiki, your heart shatters when he flinches away from you before you can even utter a word. He gives you a brief, stammered apology--and that's when you realise that maybe, just maybe, your dearly fated had been a cruel mistake. Your own soulmate is terrified of you without even knowing you. So perhaps, it's for the best that you pipe down and let him find someone else to better suit his needs.

cw: not edited, second-person-pov, tamaki is a sweetheart, [name] is outgoing and loud, minor angst, fluff!!!, mentions of two non-canon side characters, smitten [name], anxious but doting tamaki, ugh [name] and tamaki are so cute smh, idk how i feel abt the ending i hope it's okay T-T

| masterlist | boku no hero academia collection |

[3.2k]

"U.A, HERE WE COME!"

"Shut up, [name]," One of your classmates, Kaori, scrunches his nose at you disdainfully, "you're the reason no one talks to us."

"What..."

Karina, his sister, snorts while you deflate, "It's okay to be excited, [name]. Ignore him. Let's show U.A what we're made of!" She fist pump the air to distract you, and it evidently works when you copy her with a happy whoop.

All third-year hero course students have been gathered to battle ground A and B where they would mingle with the other school's class.

One of the teachers, Miss Midnight, claps her hands and swiftly garners the attention of each student.

"Alright, everybody~" She grins widely with lidded eyes, "time to pair you off with a new buddy! Don't be shy now~ We'll be calling out your names and pitting you against another duo. Now-"

You bound your way over to a tall, spiky eared U.A. student who stands with hunched shoulders and a lowered head once your name is called. Just moments prior you saw him with two others, a broad set blond and a pretty aqua toned girl, both of whom nudged him in your direction before heading to their own partners.

Oh! How cool! He's one of the big three in U.A!

Excitement courses through you at the prospect of working with him, after all, you're not bad yourself!

Taking ground beside him, you stick out a hand and take in a breath before your heroic introduction--when he flinches away at your sudden movement.

A squeak escapes him and he quickly puts more distance between you. Before you can even blink, he's bowed sharply by the waist, murmuring trembling apologies at how your loudness had startled him--but the ringing in your ears has long since drowned him out.

Your wide smile sits stiff on your lips, features frozen as a cold wave drenches you at the feeling of your soul words tingling on your right shoulder.

He's... I-I scared him..? Your heart shatters at the realisation that in your boister, he's never once lifted his head to look at you, and you notice him trembling ever so slightly.

I'm... my soulmate's scared of me..? And then a hopeful thought crosses your mind, oh! I'll just be quiet then! Then he'll like me, right?!

Instead of replying to his flurry of apologies, you take a step back as to respect his space and bring your outstretched hand down to your side. You mimick his bow, smile softening as to not seem so overbearing.

When your shadow moves, Amajiki shakily glances up, eyes wobbling when you stand upright again and make an effort to give him a small, hurried wave, as though restraining your energy.

Ah! Yes! He's looking at me now! You positively beam, aura brightening tenfold and he looks panicked, swiftly diverting his anxious gaze. R-Right, you sweatdrop to yourself, keep it toned down...

"You're so quiet, it's weird," Kaori deadpans, eyeing you skeptically from across the lunch table as he sips through the straw of his milk box.

You look up from your half bitten chicken katsu sandwhich, cheeks buldging with food, "you fink sho?"

He grimaces at you, disgusted, "chew your food first, scrub."

You pay him mind, chewing thoroughly and swallowing before speaking again, "I met my soulmate today! He doesn't like loud things though, so I'm practicing."

"Practicing..?"

Karina gasps, dropping her chopsticks in her udon, "Wait--you met your soulmate!?" You bark a laugh at her incredulous look, the noise loud and reverberating.

"Yeah!" Feeling giddy, you take another big, aggressive bite of your sandwhich to quell it, "he's shoooooo cute!"

"I said chew, you neaderthal!" Kaori pegs his empty milk box at you, at his wits end with your brash manner. His sister retaliates by throwing her full one at him, and he yelps, barely dodging it and it goes scattering across the floor behind him.

"We were talking!" She hisses before turning back to you with sparkles in her eyes, "really!? Ohmygod, what's he like?!"

You barely open your mouth before someone interrupts.

"Hey there!" The large blond from before stands at the end of your table with a wave in greeting. A sheepish smile sits in his face at having disturbed your conversation, "hah! Sorry, mind if we joined you for lunch?"

"Hi, Mirio!" Karina smiles back, "sure! The more the merrier." She ignores her twin brother's protesting grumbles, "[name], this is Mirio, he's my collaboration partner this term."

Behind the broad blond pokes out a recognisable head of wavy aquamarine hair, and Kaori grumbles even more, sinking low into his seat with a grumpy frown.

"Oh, hey! Kaori!" The girl gasps happily, bounding over to steal the seat beside him, "what a coincidence, huh?" She giggles.

The dark haired male rolls his eyes, "More like a curse..."

She turns to you, ignorant to his brooding, "Hihi~ I'm Nejire Hado! How cool! Kaori and I were partnered up too! Oh, and that's Tamaki Amijiki!"

When a familiar head of indigo hair is forcibly thrust into the centre of attention, your face erupts with warmth and an ecstatic smile quickly crosses your lips. You perk up in your seat with a gasp, though you swiftly silence yourself and instead give an aggresively friendly wave.

The elf eared student only really glances up at the table briefly before his nerves get the best of him, and his back hunches lower. He sends an acknowledging nod in your direction though, and your heart skips a beat.

Karina looks at you worriedly at your sudden silence, though your excitement is extremely palpable. She can practically see the giddy flowers dancing around you. Kaori couldn't care less.

"Oh, [name], do you already know Amijiki-san?" You nod frantically, and that's when it clicks for her. Karina's mouth drops and the looks between you and the former, and her eyebrows raise in understanding.

"A-Ah..! He's your project partner?"

"Wow! What a coincidence, huh?" Mirio gasps, bouyed by the revelation, "we promise to do our very best!"

"Us too!" Karina fist pumps the air, you copying with a happy mhmph! Nejire giggles, leaning in to participate while Amajiki trembles in the corner.

Kaori rolls his eyes at the amount of sunshine in the group, "riiiight..."

Over the following weeks, your school and U.A. continue to work together, occasionally switching partners in combat training to simulate on-sight collaboration with other heroes you'd meet on field.

Though for the majority, you worked with Amajiki. He's strong, incredibly so.

His usual demeanour would've had you underestimating him if you hadn't been paying attention. But particularly since he was your soulmate, you knew he was powerful from the get go. You want to be just as strong.

You like being around Amijiki; he's quiet, but he's very observant. He doesn't really talk to you all that much outside of training, though sometimes you tail him around break time and he doesn't seem to mind.

That, or he's too scared to tell you off.

Hm.

He cares though! Like that one time where you were sparring Mirio, you were awed by the the power of his quirk--the power that he gave his quirk, and simultaneously overwhelmed by it. You were fired up from the challenge, determination burning in your eyes, and you spent the remainder of the day pushing yourself.

That same energy pushed you throughout that week, and by the end of it, you were burning yourself out. You didn't let it stop you though, testing the limits of both your quirk and physical capabilities even when others retired for the day.

You hardly gave your bruises the time to heal, only slapping on a salve when you let yourself have a water break before getting back to it again.

In-class training had you beaming beside him as you worked together, though he noticed you tanking too much all at once.

Eventually, he mustered up the courage to look you in the eyes with a fearsome glare and sat you down with some mineral water and tasty snacks from his vest. Then he deflated and apologised in a panic before scurrying off to get Recovery Girl to see you before you moved.

You repaid him in a flurry of grateful bows and a bag of some of your favourite treats that you forcefully thrust into his hands before running off.

You never directly spoke to him, knowing you often had a hard time controlling your volume. So, you settled for vast, obvious movements--like a big game of charades.

You made sure to keep this up at lunchtimes too, where you'd talk boisterously with the twins before immediately silencing yourself as soon as Amajiki came into your sights. And you'd always greet him with an elated smile and a frantic wave.

Mirio and Nejire are quick to catch on to your switch ups, where you happily explain: "Amajiki-kun doesn't like a lot of loud noises, so I've been practicing on quieting down."

They looked rather confused while you hummed, unbothered, and then excused yourself to brush up on your training. You didn't think anything of it, they're his friends after all! Of course he doesn't mind them being loud.

Besides, he's warming up to you now! Just, slowly.

Very slowly.

By the end of the term, most of your energy has dwindled, and the signature light in your eyes has hazed over.

You've immersed yourself in your training, tossing yourself into the throes of it all with minimum breaks as a means to extend your limits. With every new task, you volunteer to be the first. When there's a new optional training segment, you're up at the crack of dawn, rearing to go.

Your drive has always been phenominal, but it's gotten dangerously extensive.

"[name]?" Mirio and Amajiki spot you on training ground B way before the day's classes even begin. You perk up at the sound of your name, seeing them in turn and grinning widely, waving them an obnoxious greeting.

Mirio smiles back, though Amajiki's brows crinkle upward worriedly.

"The day's barely started yet, you know? You're here early."

You can't help but give Mirio a sheepish grin and a shrug, your skin glossed over with a thin layer of sweat from exertion.

"...Have.. have you eaten yet?" Amajiki's quiet question has your gaze snapping towards him; he doesn't flinch away this time. You beam inwardly at that.

You give a polite shake of your head, no, and then wave off their looks of concern with a fluid gesture of your hand--you'll pick up something later.

Everyone notices you dozing at lunchtime, your presence not as exuberant as usual. Your motions aren't quite as energetic, and sometimes you stare off into space with glazed eyes. Kaori chalks it up to an off day, and Karina reluctantly agrees.

But then the pattern continues, and your light seems to dim while your silence grows dull.

You look... sad.

It's nothing you won't be able to get over though! At least, that's what you're trying to convince yourself. Gradually, over weeks of silent pining, you've come to realise that--maybe, it's useless after all.

Since meeting Amajiki, you've done everything you could think of to get him to like you a little more.

While before you were loud, you're quiet now!

And everyone likes friendly people, you don't see yourself as someone mean, so you've made sure to be as approachable as possible.

He often startles at your sudden movements, so you've taken to bottling your energy and restraining your movements to more gentle, fluid motions.

Sometimes, when you smile a bit too brightly, you noticed he'd turn around or look away, so instead, you'd cover your mouth and crinkle your eyes--that way, he'd still know that you're happy without having to see such an uncomfortably wide smile.

Oh, and he'd get all red and uncomfy when you subconsciously lean into his space, stumbling over his words with a trembling frown, so you try and place yourself away now--you know he likes his own space.

But... he still doesn't seem to like you all that much.

Maybe the whole soulmate thing was a mistake this time around. He still looks away when you smile at him, and he turns away and shakes even when you sit across from him.

Amajiki will talk to you during training, but only really because he has to since you're partners.

You must just not be his kind of person, you think. You've always been told that you're a bit too much, so, you guess they're not really wrong.

Wow, you must look so silly following after him like a puppy, when he's clearly trying to keep his distance.

Amajiki is shy and quiet; he's determined, but thoughtful. He's powerful, but gentle.

While you're loud and shameless; excitable, but stubborn. You're kind, but impulsive.

Amajiki is everything that you're not, and you see that now. Despite your will to change, you'll never be what he needs. You think, he'll want someone who's more subtle. Headstrong, but understanding. He'd like someone who can stand strong, but isn't overbearing--someone who can calm his nerves and help him see the positive in things with a gentle tone.

You respect Amajiki. It's why you still refer to him so formally while the others have given you permission to call them by their given names. He hadn't given you explicit consent to either, so you suppose it makes sense anyway.

There's only a couple weeks left in the term.

You don't mind staying silent now, there's nothing to say. The light in your eyes isn't the same anymore, and any remainder of your energy only trickles into your presence.

You like listening to Amajiki talk. He doesn't say a lot, but when he does you like to listen. That's a perk to your silence, you suppose. If you were still as loud, you probably wouldn't hear him.

"Um, [name]..?" Amajiki tugs you aside after conjoined training in one of your remaining weeks, "a-are you okay? It's just, you've been... kind of quiet, recently..."

Quiet? That's a good thing, right? You perk up hopefully, though it shatters just as quick as it comes. When you look up, Amajiki's features a curved into a frown.

Right, nevermind. Don't be so stupid. You make sure not to look him in the eyes when you give him a carefully placed smile--not too wide, so it won't scare him away, but not too subtle so you look ungrateful--and nod your head softly.

"You-..-you used to talk a lot, y-you know," his shaky voice stops you in your tracks after you turned to head to your next session, "at least, you did more before I showed..."

Your brows pinch in concern at the hitch in his voice, and you look back to see him with a bowed head, nervously clutching the fabric of his hero costume. His shoulders are tense, trembling with the urge to run, but he steels himself.

"U-Um..." and then he glances up, eyes connecting with yours and he forces himself to stay. His pupils dilate, and he gasps sharply, lips thinning. He swallows anxiously, and then furrows his brows in determination.

"If I've done something to offend you, I-I'm so sorry..! But... I'm..-w-we're all really worried about you." Amajiki bows his head, resolve wavering and he's unable to retain eye contact, "and... I'm really worried about you... it's just, you haven't been the same, fo-for a while."

Oh. Your heart drops, so it really was all for nothing. You hum softly, looking off to the side dejectedly before deciding well, it doesn't matter anyway.

"I like you, Amajiki-kun," Your words have him snapping his head up, eyes impossibly wide while his left calf tingles, "um, I'm not... speaking too loud, am I?"

Your voice rings like a melody to his ears despite your nervous tone. At his stunned silence, your heart pangs painfully inside your chest, and you swallow thickly. Your head lowers, "sorry... I shouldn't have said anything."

"What?" The sharpness of his tone startles you, and when you look up again, shocked, and he looks just as surprised. He carries on nontheless, softer, though with an unusual firmness.

"You... why shouldn't you have said anything?" Amajiki looks pained as he repeats your words, "do you... you don't want--"

"No!" You interrupt, wide eyed at his doubt, "I-I just mean that, it'd be easier that way. And you wouldn't have to deal with such a noisy soulmate, and you could find someone you'd like-"

"W-Who are you to determine who I like?" He stands straighter now, his voice holding a certain finality that you find hard to refute.

I'm your soulmate! Is what you find you want to say, but the words die in your mouth at the hypocrisy of it.

Amajiki's gaze is fierce and unwavering, and you feel both honoured and fearful. This may be the longest he's looked at you for.

"You've known for so long, an-and were willing to leave me after this? Without me knowing?" He takes in a shaky breath, fist whitening with a grip exuding both his frustration and worry.

"You're my soulmate... m-my soulmate," he sounds awed at the fact, "...I've been waiting to hear your voice--for months, you know," his voice cracks, and it seems his courage has started to dissipate as his shoulders shrink. His cheeks flush pink from his admittance.

"I... You've been so friendly since we were partnered up. And, y-you get along so well with everyone... I got scared that you wouldn't like me because I was too... too quiet for you."

Your world stops at that. He thought what?

"I-I mean," he panics, "you were always laughing with your friends, an-and then we started hanging out and you didn't say much but you were always smiling, and then whenever you looked at me it'd make me too nervous, and when I get nervous I'm kinda sweaty so I look away. B-But then you started covering your smile, and I didn't know why, and then I felt bad because I wasn't seeing it anymore, and you started overexerting yourself so I got even more worried and then--"

"Amajiki-kun-" A bright smile had crept onto your face during his panicked ramble, and a familar red hue bursts onto his cheeks and he clenches his eyes shut. God, it's so obvious now!

"--and you don't even call me by my name," he almost seems to whine, pulling down the hood of his costume to hide. He starts trembling again, and you can't help but gasp before cooing at him.

"You want me to call you by your name?" Your eyes sparkle, and suddenly your light have been rejuvenated, "Tamaki?"

The male stiffens before slowly nodding, peeking out from beneath his hood with lidded eyes and wobbly lips. He can only make eye contact briefly before shying away--and it seems all your worries were for naught.

When you squeal and beam, clapping your hands excitedly, Tamaki can't help but smile. At the cost of enduring the attention your volume brings, he'd be more than happy to listen to you gush and spew about whatever.

Where he was once intimidated by your light, he now bathes in its warmth. And where you were once silenced by your own trepeditions, you now burst at the seams with unrestrained energy.

While you are loud, Tamaki is quiet; he likes to listen when you talk, and you are his voice when he cannot find his own.

Fate had not been mistaken.

It had just taken some fine tuning before you reached the perfect volume.

[scary-grace]

if my heart was a house (chapter 2) - a shigaraki x f!reader fic

It's been nineteen years since Tomura was sentenced to death, and you've built a life in the space he left behind, braced each day for the worst. You're prepared for everything - the questions your daughter asks, the memories that sting a little more in the winter, the specter of the news you've been afraid of for years. But of all the things life's thrown your way, it's the one you haven't dared to hope for might be the one thing you can't handle. (cross-posted to Ao3) The prequel can be found here: what I can't remember nowwritten for @pixelcafe-network's Challenge Friday event! Banner/divider by @cafekitsune

Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3

Chapter 2

It’s freezing when you step out of the community center, and only the fact that Chihiro’s waiting for you to pick her up at school prevents you from going right back in and borrowing a scarf and gloves from the bin of spares. You knew you should have dressed more warmly, but you didn’t realize there’d be so much wind. By the time you make to the car, your teeth are chattering, and the car always takes longer to warm up than you want it to. You moved to Hokkaido nineteen years ago because it was the last place anyone would look for you, and no one’s found you yet. You just wish the price of privacy didn’t include freezing your ass off in the moonless polar night.

You think Chihiro worries about you a little less lately. You’ve gone to a month of pottery classes, and you make sure to respond to messages in the PTA moms’ group text every so often, and once when Kaori’s crazy mom asked you to get tea, you agreed. You left that conversation feeling like you’d been through a tornado, but the important thing is that you’re trying. That Chihiro sees you trying. That when she moves away for school, her worry for you won’t hold her back.

Her comment about you not having friends hit a little too close to home, and it’s still hanging around in your head. You used to have friends — Tomura’s friends, and some of your own. You loved them. You know they loved you. Half the reason you survived Tomura’s arrest and trial was because they were with you, suffering the same way, helpless to stop anything that was happening and trying all the same. Knowing all of that, it makes even less sense that you ran from them afterward.

But that’s always been who you are. When you’re hurt, when you’re scared, when you’re sad, you pull back from the world. You don’t like having your feelings where other people could see, and if you didn’t like having your feelings in front of anybody, there was no way you were having your baby in front of Tomura’s friends. You weren’t interested in how they felt about it. You didn’t want to hear what they’d say. And you didn’t want them involved, constantly circling, reminding you of everything you lost. Reminding your baby, once they were old enough to understand. Your new new job (you lost the first new one), your apartment, your friends, your city — it all started to feel like a prison. You could run, so you did.

Lately, though, you’ve been thinking about them. Enough to look them up and see that Toga’s a fairly well-known costume designer, and wish you could talk sewing with her; find out that Dabi’s doing okay, when you’d been worried ever since you met him that he’d wind up in prison; learn that Spinner’s a writer with a popular series of detective novels, famous for mercilessly skewering the police over their incompetence and corruption. You’ve thought about reaching out, seeing if they know anything about Tomura’s situation, if they’ve heard anything from him. Then you decided it wasn’t worth it. You don’t want to find out that he’s spent nineteen years talking to them and not to you.

Your car finally warms up. You take a deep breath, shove the thought of your old friends away, and drive.

Someone’s car spun out on the route you planned to take to the high school, and you call Chihiro to let her know you’ll be a little late. She doesn’t answer, but she probably just busy. The choir director is kind of a hardass, but Chihiro worships the ground she walks on, and she’d never interrupt a rehearsal for something like a call from her probably-clingy mom. You are a little clingy. You just don’t ever want her to wonder where you are. To spend even a second doubting that you’ll be there when she needs you.

You get to the school, park, and switch idly between channels on the radio, skipping away whenever you hear a snatch of the news. The choir kids trickle out of school slowly, talking through chattering teeth, and scatter to their parents’ cars. You watch for Chihiro, knowing that she stays late to talk to the choir director sometimes. But then the lights in the music room go out. The choir director steps out, locking the door behind her, and fear like you’ve never experienced in your life floods through you.

It feels like acid in your veins. You lurch out of your car and get in the director’s way as she heads for hers. “Where’s Chihiro?”

“She left at the break,” the director says. “Typically I don’t allow it, but she’s an excellent student and she’s never asked before —”

Chihiro left. Chihiro left school an hour ago. You can barely speak. “What happened? Did she get sick? Why didn’t you call me —”

“She said she would,” the director says, bewildered. “She didn’t?”

“If she’d called me, I’d have picked her up already.” Your voice stutters, fractures. “What happened?”

“She and her friends were discussing something. A news article, I think. I doubt that’s what caused it.” The director is frowning now, disconcerted to your terrified. “When we resumed practice, she was distraught, and asked to be excused early.”

Distraught. You’ve never heard anybody use that word to describe your daughter. “Did she say why?”

“She needed to go home. She said it was a family emergency.”

A family emergency? You’re her family. Your parents passed away when she was in middle school and you and your brother haven’t spoken in years. What family is she talking about? You don’t need that answer right now. You need to find her. “Thank you,” you choke out, and run back to your car.

You and she live five miles outside of town — on a big road that gets plowed and salted, sure, but still outside of town. Could she walk all the way home in an hour? You don’t think so. Not in this weather. And you can’t think of anywhere else she would go. You drive slowly, carefully along the road, your heart rising into your throat at each bend in the road and sinking when the stretch of road ahead of you continues to be empty. Your mind twists in agony. A family emergency. What does that even mean? It crosses your mind that it’s the perfect excuse, one no teacher would ever refuse a student like Chihiro — but why wouldn’t she call you? Why would she start walking home in the dark? What is there that she thinks she can’t bring to you, that you wouldn’t help her with? You’d do anything for her. You just have to find her, and you’ll figure it out.

You catch up to her halfway home, her hands jammed into her pockets and her shoulders hunched against the cold, her breath billowing out in a frozen cloud. The relief of finding her lasts for only a second. Now you need to get her home. You flip on your hazard lights and slow to a crawl alongside her, rolling down your window. “Chihiro, get in the car!”

She doesn’t answer. Doesn’t even look your way. “I’m so glad I found you, but I don’t understand,” you say. “You must be freezing. Why didn’t you call me? I was so scared –”

You’re making this about you. It’s not about you. “Chihiro, please get in the car. I just want you to be safe. I love you —”

“Shut up!” She wheels on you, and you hit the brakes, more in shock than anything else. Your daughter’s eyes are swollen and bloodshot with tears, and her lips are cracked and bleeding in the cold. Her mouth is turned down like you haven’t seen it in more than a decade, but her eyes are hot with rage. “Don’t come near me. Don’t even talk to me. I didn’t call you because I hate you. I hate you! How could you do that to me?”

“Do what?” you ask.

“Lie,” Chihiro spits, or sobs. “How long were you going to lie to me, Mom? Were you ever going to tell me the truth about my dad?”

Your stomach drops. How did she find out? How many people know? “I never lied,” you say. “I never told you he was dead. I always told you —”

“He’s gone.” Chihiro’s nose is dripping. She looks frozen. “Don’t play that stupid game. You knew what I thought you meant when you say that, and you just let me think — you were always going to let me think he was —”

“How did you find out?”

“That’s all you care about? I hate you —”

Right now, you hate yourself, too. It hurts to hear Chihiro say that, hurts to know she’s so angry with you that she’d rather freeze than spend even a second in the car with you — but your feelings don’t matter right now. They stopped mattering nineteen years ago. This is about your daughter. You shove your feelings to one side. “You hate me,” you repeat, and she scoffs. “You can hate me just as much in the car as you can out there, and the car is warm.”

Chihiro squints at you as she wipes her eyes. “It’s not that far. I can walk.”

“Yeah. But it’ll take you another hour, and it’ll just keep getting colder.” You swallow the lump in your throat. “I won’t try to talk to you. In the car or when we’re home. Just — please, get in the car, Chihiro. You don’t have to hurt yourself to let me know you’re angry.”

“I’m not angry, Mom. This is way beyond angry.” Chihiro takes a deep breath and coughs on the cold air. “If you try to talk to me, I’m getting out again.”

You don’t deserve to feel relieved, but you do. You put the car in park and unlock the passenger-side door. “Okay.”

The drive home is awful, but at least it’s brief. The first thing Chihiro does after taking off her shoes and coat is head straight for the bathroom. The water switches on in the shower, and you’ll bet it’s scalding hot. She must be so cold. And so angry with you, angry enough to override her better judgment and drive her out onto the road alone. Is she right about you? Were you ever going to tell her the truth about Tomura? You don’t know. But you should have seen this coming, somehow. You could have seen it coming, would have, if you were doing anything but hiding from your own pain. Of course Chihiro’s furious with you. You deserve it.

Deserving it doesn’t make it hurt any less, so like always, you find something to keep you busy. You set out clean pajamas for Chihiro on her bed. Then you finish folding the laundry, emptying the dishwasher, folding the quilts that are still strewn across the couch from Chihiro’s movie night with Kaori over the weekend. After that it’s time to sew, and even with the focus paper-piecing takes and the noise of the sewing machine, you can’t shut out a single question: How did she find out?

The water in the shower shuts off. You hear Chihiro’s footsteps in the hallway, then the sound of her bedroom door shutting. Shutting, not slamming. You abandon your sewing machine, planning to go to your bedroom and stay there, leaving her the kitchen and the living room and not coming out until she goes to sleep. You don’t want her to have to look at you. Or maybe you just don’t want to see how she looks at you now.

The thought stops you at the threshold. You’ve made everything about what’s happened into something about you. Who are you helping by going to hide? Yourself. You’re protecting yourself from your daughter’s anger, which she deserves to express, and from the questions she probably wants to ask, which you should have answered a long time ago. You can’t hide. You need to stay here and be the person — the parent — you should have been all along. Even if it’s too late.

You hear the bedroom door open, but you don’t turn, and Chihiro comes closer with soft footsteps. She stops at the edge of the kitchen. “What are you doing?”

“Making hot chocolate. Do you want some?”

“You’re being weird,” Chihiro says. She sounds unnerved. “I told you I hate you. Why aren’t you yelling? You’re not even crying. Do you even care?”

Your heart breaks a little bit, even as a surge of frustration rocks you. “It hurts to hear you say that,” you admit. No more lying. From here on out, you tell the truth. “But I don’t think it hurts as much as finding out your mom’s been lying to you for eighteen years.”

Chihiro’s quiet. She’s quiet, and you’re not trying to downplay what you did or run away from it, so you ask a question of your own. “How did you find out?”

The electric kettle goes off with a click. “The water’s done,” Chihiro says. “Are you making hot chocolate or not?”

She reminds you so much of Tomura — that same bluntness, that same impatience, that same affinity for cutting the knot. “Yeah. And some for you.”

Once you’ve both got your cups, you head to the living room. Chihiro unfolds all the blankets you folded earlier and burrows into them, and you sit in the armchair and pull your feet up and away from the floor. She watches you over the rim of her cup. “It’s weird when you do that,” she says. “It makes you look really young.”

It’s quiet for a second. “I guess you are kind of young. They said in school that most people don’t have kids until they’re thirty, and you were only twenty-two when you had me.”

“Yeah,” you say. “Four years older than you.”

It sounds wrong when you say it. Too young. Way too young. Chihiro looks unsettled. “I wouldn’t have a kid when I was twenty-two,” she says. “Why did you?”

You take a sip of hot chocolate, trying to calm your nerves. “I’ll tell you that and everything else. I want to know how you found out first.”

Chihiro’s eyes narrow, but to your surprise, she answers. “Takako at school — she watches that true-crime show. The one you don’t let me watch.”

“I never said you couldn’t watch it. I just said not on the TV out here,” you say. Chihiro rolls her eyes. “Your computer in your room is fair game.”

“My computer doesn’t get cable.”

“So pirate it,” you say with a shrug, and Chihiro nearly chokes on her next sip of hot chocolate. “I never said you couldn’t watch it at all.”

“Yeah. Like you never actually said my dad was dead,” Chihiro says. Ouch. “Do you want me to tell you or what? She watches that show, and you’re not the only mom who’s weird about it, so she tells us all about the episodes when they come out. I guess this week’s episode was about this guy Shigaraki Tomura who killed his whole family, and how he’s been on death row longer than anybody else in Japan. So we looked him up to see if he’s still alive — I guess the episodes get made in advance — and there were pictures of him at his trial. He has the same birthmark I do.”

You nod. “And the same eyes. Ever since you were a baby.”

Chihiro looks down into her cup. “One of my friends joked about it. I thought it was funny, so I laughed. But then I was thinking about it, and the — timing, I guess. And I realized you never said he was dead. My whole life, that was what I thought, but it wasn’t what you said.”

She takes another sip of hot chocolate. “I was looking at the pictures. From the trial, and you were in them. Your hair looked different, but I knew it was you. And I guess I — there was this one picture. From his sentencing. You’re holding his hands.”

You hadn’t realized someone snapped a photo, but you should have known. Your fingers still ache from the memory. Chihiro looks up, her eyes glassy again. “It’s him, isn’t it? My dad’s Shigaraki Tomura.”

“That’s him,” you say. You can’t call your voice steady. Flat might be better. “What do you want to know?”

“Why,” Chihiro says at once. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“There were a lot of reasons,” you say. “I think my main one was trying to protect you.”

“From him?”

“No,” you say. “From everybody else. I don’t know if you read any of the articles about the trial, but the way they talked about him — and about me — was awful. People treated me differently, and I was just his girlfriend. I didn’t want anybody to do anything to you because of who your father was.”

“I got in fights anyway. Because I didn’t have a dad.” Chihiro’s voice is dull. “Maybe if they’d known who he was it would have been different.”

“Maybe.” You take a sip of your own hot chocolate, even though it’s getting hard to swallow. “That was part of it. Part of it was that I didn’t want you to grow up with that hanging over your head. Knowing that your dad was on death row and not even being able to visit him.”

“You said he didn’t know about me. Was that a lie, too?”

“I tried to tell him,” you say. “I called, and wrote letters, and tried to visit — he never wanted to see me. And he never answered.”

Your voice wavers slightly. You don’t try to fight it. Fighting it makes it worse. “I wanted to. He wouldn’t let me.”

Chihiro looks disturbed. “So that picture —”

“That’s the last time I saw him,” you say, and Chihiro’s expression collapses. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry about that.” Chihiro lets go of her cup to wipe her eyes. “Why else didn’t you tell me?”

“Because I was selfish,” you say. It hurts to admit it, to admit that what you swore you were doing for Chihiro’s own good was for you all along. But you have to be honest. You’ve lied to her, by omission or on purpose, enough for a lifetime. “I didn’t want to think about what happened. Any of it. And if you didn’t know — if nobody knew — then I wouldn’t have to talk about it ever again.”

Chihiro wipes her eyes a second time. You keep talking, your throat aching more in every word. “I didn’t wake up one morning and decide not to tell you about Tomura. It just happened —”

“And kept happening. For eighteen years.”

She’s not going to let you get away with anything. The fact that you know she shouldn’t doesn’t make it any less frustrating. “Yeah. Eighteen years. I did it because it would make things easier, for me. Because it wouldn’t hurt as much, for me. I was thinking a lot about me and I should have been thinking about you.”

Chihiro looks away. “Do you think he did it?”

“Chihiro —”

“He confessed,” Chihiro says. “He said he did it.”

Yeah, Tomura confessed. They interrogated him for twenty days straight before they got anything out of him, and when you came to visit him again before the trial, he looked like something had broken inside of him. He seemed out of it, too. He barely recognized you, barely knew you were there. You don’t know what they did to him in there, but you trust that confession even less than you trust the testimony his adoptive father gave. “He confessed,” Chihiro repeats, her voice rising. She fumbles her phone out of her pocket, unlocks it one-handed. “Do you think he did it?”

She’s looking something up. You remember all at once how Chihiro stumbled on him in the first place. “Did they execute him? Chihiro, tell me —”

“Do you think he did it?” she demands, and you shake your head. You were there at the trial. Every day. You never saw anything that made you believe he was guilty. Chihiro squeezes her eyes shut and holds out her phone towards you. “You were right.”

Some part of you registers what she just said, but it doesn’t stick. It bounces off the surface and vanishes, because Chihiro has a news site open, with a bright red BREAKING NEWS banner across the top. SHIGARAKI TOMURA EXONERATED AFTER NINETEEN YEARS ON DEATH ROW.

You spend one wild second panicking at the sight of an “ex” word in the same sentence as Tomura’s name and “death row”, but then you force yourself to go back. Exonerated. Not executed, exonerated. You lift the phone out of Chihiro’s hands and she lets you take it — with a caveat. “Read it out loud, okay? So I know we both saw the same thing.”

You start reading, your voice rattling. “In a time of rising crime, escalating drug trafficking, and a loss of trust in our institutions, the accused mass murderer Shigaraki Tomura became the avatar for Japan’s worst nightmares: A remorseless killer, hiding amongst the innocent, ready to strike at any time. Those who questioned the scant evidence the prosecutor provided were ridiculed. Those who believed that his confession to the murders of his parents, his grandparents, and his older sister was the product of coercion were reviled. Nineteen years later, they and the man they spoke up for have seen justice served.”

Your eyes are burning. You blink back tears and keep reading. “In a stunning but well-reasoned decision released on Monday afternoon, the Supreme Court reversed all seven murder convictions against Shigaraki Tomura in light of new evidence uncovered in the course of an entirely different investigation. Midoriya Izuku, a prosecutor turned human-rights advocate, became interested in Shigaraki’s case while working to restore another inmate’s right to visits from his adoptive father — fuck!”

Chihiro looks up. “Huh?”

“Sorry. It’s just — he called me,” you say. “Midoriya Izuku. He’s been calling. I didn’t know why.”

“It’s weird when you swear,” Chihiro notes. You mumble an apology. “Keep reading.”

“Upon reviewing the available evidence and pursuing new investigations, Midoriya made a motion for a retrial, which was granted by the Supreme Court and conducted under terms of absolute secrecy in order to avoid the media circus that ensued during Shigaraki’s original trial. The Court has agreed to release all documents related to Shigaraki’s case and is expected to do so within the next twenty-four hours. Some sources have indicated that a different suspect in the Shimura family’s murders has already been taken into custody, but no official confirmation has been received.”

Your hands are shaking now, so hard you almost drop Chihiro’s phone in your cup of hot chocolate. “Mom?” Chihiro says, and you look up, blinking hard. “Do you know who they arrested?”

Your first inclination is to ask why she thinks you of all people would know, but you clamp down on that. Even though the world’s just been yanked out from beneath your feet, your daughter is still the injured party. And when you think about it, you do have some idea of who it is. “His adoptive dad. He was the one who had custody of Tomura when the murders happened, and he was really excited to cooperate with the investigation.”

“Custody?” Chihiro repeats. “How old was he when he — when they died?”

“Fifteen,” you say. “If you’re older than fourteen when you commit a crime, they can try you as an adult.”

“You think his fake dad set him up,” Chihiro says. You nod. “Is there more to read?”

“A little bit.”

Chihiro scoots over on the couch, making a space, and you sit down next to her. She has to wake up her phone again for you to keep reading, and you get the jumpscare of SHIGARAKI TOMURA EX- a second time before scrolling down to where you left off. “Although a release date has not been announced publicly, it is the view of this magazine that Shigaraki should be released from prison as quickly as possible. He has paid a debt to society that was never owed in the first place. When Shigaraki Tomura is released from Fuchu Prison, he will walk out a free man. Society’s atonement for the crime it committed against him is only beginning.”

You glance at the byline out of habit. This article was written by Kizuki Chitose, and if you remember right, the last article she wrote about Tomura struck a pretty different note. She’d better start atoning right now. You’d be happy to help. Balling up every single scathing editorial and hit job she wrote and jamming them down her throat feels like it would be a good start.

“It’s real,” Chihiro says. You nod. “He’s getting out.”

You nod again. You’re with Kizuki on wanting Tomura to be released as quickly as possible. You’re just not sure what happens next.

Chihiro’s thinking along the same lines. “Mom, what are we going to do?”

“We’ll figure it out,” you promise her. She leans in against your side, and some horrible part of you exults. With the chaos that’s about to unfold, Chihiro can’t afford to hate you any longer — or if you stop thinking about it like an asshole, she doesn’t know what’s going to happen and you’re the person she turns to. It doesn’t matter that you don’t know any more than she does. You’re the adult, but something happened to you when you read that headline. Somehow it feels like no time has passed at all; like he was just torn away from you, like you’re a lonely, hopeless twenty-two-year-old with a baby on the way all over again.

But you aren’t. You made it this far. Your baby turned eighteen this year, and you managed to raise her close enough to right. “We’ll figure it out,” you promise her again. “I’m so sorry I didn’t tell you before.”

“Maybe you were right,” Chihiro mumbles. “It would have been harder if I knew all this time.”

You think so. It’s still not an excuse. You wrap your arm around your daughter’s shoulders and hug her closer, relieved beyond words when she doesn’t pull away. You’ll take care of her first — make sure she eats, make sure she gets some sleep, because you know from experience how much harder everything becomes without it. And after she’s fallen asleep, you’ll finally return Midoriya Izuku’s calls.

<- Chapter 1 Chapter 3 ->

[satoriswife]

Kuroo Tetsurou x F!Reader

Title: “oh yeah?”

Enemies to lovers.

AGED UP (18-19)

Chapter 4

Chapter 1 , 2 ,3, 5

Each night after gym clean up,you would always go on late night walks to clear your head.

But this time.You had company.

Kuroo told you it was dangerous to go out of the school site this late.So he said he’d be a gentleman and keep you company ‘since you have no friends.’

“You really didn’t have to come.” You say walking a bit ahead of him.It was awkward okay and it has been since yesterday. The calling him ‘Tetsu’ to ‘running after each other’ to ‘being on the floor together.’ It was too weird.

“Like I said ‘You need company.’” He says catching up with you. And so you both walked for half an hour in silence .

Until the street got abit too dark for your liking.There was something in the alleyway to your left and you could just barely see that shape of a dog.

“Uhh.Kuroo is that big dog on a leash?” You whisper frozen,tugging his jacket to get his attention.

The dog begins to move closer, like it was preparing to pounce.Kuroo squints and you watch as panic takes over his features. “Shit!”

He grabs your hand and bolts towards the direction of the busy street.The dog barks viciously loud.Until you both realise it is infact on a leash and is like a whole 10 m away from you.

You both run anyway laughing at how blind you were.You run until you reach a brightly lit ramen shop.

“Wanna eat?”You ask him letting go of the hand you realised was still intertwined with his.

“You asking me out on a date?” He smirks.

“Omg Suit yourself” You say walking into the shop.You pick up your favourite ramen pot and pay for it and after preparing it you begin to eat.

“Can’t believe you made me run that much.” Kuroo says sitting beside you by the window. “I make you run anyways Im in charge of all warmup and drills?” You reply raising a brow.

“But after practice? You made me run.”

“I didn’t make you do that,if anything thats your fault,you decided to ‘keep me company’ or whatever you said”

“Well yeah..cuz Im a gentleman.”

“God just Shut up.” You laugh nudging his shoulder with yours. “And also you faked not seeing a leash,you just wanted to hold my hand.”

He pauses and smirks. “And if I did.”

“Didn’t see you as the type to like PDA.”

“Wasn’t really affection if we were panicking and running from a dog.”

————————————

You make it back to school not to late, Kuroo yawns incredibly loud making you roll your eyes.

“Oh sorry,didn’t know baby Kuroo had early bed times? You going to bed now baby??” You pout and make a crying gesture with your hand.

He blushes slightly at the nickname, he knows its not in that context but it still makes him feel like he’s going insane.

“yes we all have to go to bed at this time remember and also thats highly inappropriate Miss manager.” He whispers opening the door to the sleeping rooms.

“Blush says otherwise.”

“Whatever go to bed.” He says lying down quickly.“Yea yea I will goodnight Tetsu.” You say lying down beside him,purposely tugging the blanket.

“Night Yn..” He says after a few seconds.He was so confusedd.Weren’t you guys supposes to hate each other? So why did it feel like he needed it to be his mission to walk with you every night from now on.He wanted you…safe? Close? He wanted to be able to hear you laugh.Maybe… even hold your soft hand again.

———————————————————

You were in light conversation with Yachi as she spoke about planning a costume themed birthday party once camp was over. You weren’t the biggest party goer but it was yachi and you loveddd Yachi so you would consider it.

“It will be so fun!! Just imagine how pretty we all would look!! I wanted to have a big party, so I was thinking of inviting your whole team?”

“Omggg how funnn!Text me details later yeah?” She nods happily and looks around at everyone gathered for morning announcements.Her eyes scan to Fukurodanis manager.

“Hey YN why is your boyfriend getting up close and personal with Kaori?”

“What boyfriend?”

“Kuroo?” She says pointing in his direction.He notices.They weren’t so far away afterall.

He grins,you haven’t found where she’s pointing at yet so he takes the opportunity to place an arm around Kaori’s shoulder.Cracking a few unfunny jokes here and there.

Yachi grabs your face and turns it in the right direction and you wish she hadn’t because what...It makes your stomach churn and makes you grit your teeth.Makes you want to respectfully pull hair ponytail.

You dont know why.You didn’t like him like that.But the way she was leaning into him and snickering made you want to roll your eyes.

Watching them felt sowrong,but the moment he side eyes you making it look like he’s making sure your watching made you scoff hard. “Hes doing it on purpose.” You almost laugh.

“If he wants to do things like that, then let me do the same.”

———————————————————

It was a Karasuno vs Nekoma match today.Perfect day to be talking to Daichi.Am I right?

You had a couple minutes before the match,and you wanted to talk to him about the party Yachi had told you about.

“Whats up Captain Daichi.”

“Oh Yn havent spoken to you since day 1!Hows managing going?”

“They’re a tough group of boys to handle but Im pushing through.” You laugh.

“Im sure you’re doing amazing.” He smiles and ruffles your hair making you turn away to hide your slight blush.Fortunately,as you do so,your eyes lock with Rooster head.His face is blank but the tight grip on his waterbottle gives everything away.

You smirk but return to your conversation with Karasunos Captain.“So you going to Yachis costume party.”

“Im not really a big party fan but since Yachi asked so nicely i might.”

“yes omg thats exactly what I said to myself.Yachi is such a sweet girl.”

“Yeaa not my type though.” He jokes,and you nudge his arm with yours and you laugh.Just like how you did it to Kuroo the other night in the ramen store. “How is that even relevant plus she’s still a first year!Don’t be weird.”

You look over to your Uncle Nekomata as he yells at everyone on Nekomas side to gather round him.

“Oh gtg.Ill speak to you later yeah!!” You say running to stand next to coach.

“Okayy drill time.Since Nekoma prides itself on defense…” you start and explain how it works.They all nod and soon after a few more drills the match begins.

During their first break, you began handing out everyone’s drinks not Kuroo though,Kaori can get that for him.

“where’s mine?” He says bluntly

“ You’re capable of getting it yourself .”You reply just as dry.

“So is everyone else ?why Is it any different for me?”

You shrug “because it’s you.” You whisper under your breath,walking away to talk to Kenma and Lev.

—

The game begins again not long after.When Nekoma finally took the second set, Kuroo turned to you with a shit-eating grin and waltzed right up to the bench you were sat at

“Not bad huh?” His tone was full of confidence, like he already knew the answer(which he was completely wrong about) “Bet you’re glad to have me as your captain now.”

You rolled your eyes not impressed. “Glad? Please you could easily be replaced.”

He raises a brow as if saying ‘oh really’

“Mhm.I mean Daichi’s looking pretty solid today, don’t you think?”

Kuroo’s smile drops immediately at the name. “Oh so that’s how it is?” His tone became…. Possessive.

You shrug , now biting back a smile. “I mean he’s got great leadership skills..He’s also real dependable.”

“I’m dependable.”

“You’re annoying.”

“ I am, am I? Fucking say it again.” He says his voice lower as he steps extremely close.The look in his eyes was daring.Challenging.

But you weren’t gonna let him win this one so easily.So you step close like he did, just enough that your breath ghosted against his collarbone.You watch his smirk falter.

“I said.You’re.Annoying.”

Before he could bite back another reply you give him your sweetest smile. “Focus on the game ,Cap.” You turn,throwing him one last glance over. “Wouldn’t want Daichi to outshine you,right?”

Kuroo clicked his tongue.You could tell you got under his skin, but he got under yours too.

He couldn’t wait. He grabs you, throwing you over his shoulder, you squeal and try to get out of his grasp.

“put me down.What the Hell-”

He does as you say but now you’re alone in a secluded area of the hallway, he barely gives you enough time to steady yourself before you’re backed into the wall. “Why are you being extra bratty today Yn? Hm? Bringing up Daichi all the time.”

“Maybe I just appreciate Daichi’s leadership.” This made Kuroos jaw clench. “What Captain?Can’t handle a bit of competition?” Your smirk widens.

“I can handle it just fine, but not when it’s my manager flirting with the enemy like I’ve said many times before..”

“Oh so I’m the problem?” You search his eyes and speak up again. “What about you and Kaori?you were quite cosy with each other this morning.”

Kuroo freezes remembering how he put an arm around her to make you…jealous.

Bingo guess it worked.

“Thought I wouldn’t notice hm? Laughing with her ? ‘Oh Kaori am I making you laugh?Look at my sexy arm wrapped around your shoulder’.”

“Look who’s the jealous one now?” He says tilting his head.You’re cheeks burned. “That’s not the point though is it.”

“So you are jealous?”

You poke his chest glaring up at him. “And you’re not? Admit it. It pisses you off when I talk to or talk about any boy who isn’t you.”

Nothing could prepare you for what happens next. It’s all so heated.So fast.

He grabs your neck pulling you into his lips making you whine at the sudden force.You’re hands find home on his chest before they slide up to tug on his bib.

In between the sound of kisses he whispers against you. “No matter how many boys you throw yourself at or talk to, we both know that I’m the only one that can get you all bothered and worked up like this.The only one who can kiss you like this.”

“Shut the fuck up.” You say grabbing the back of his neck and pulling him down again,laying all your frustrations into this kiss.

After pulling away his hands are now rubbing circles on your waist having you still pinned against the wall.

“You’re a jerk.” You say with your hands in his hair.

“So, what did you think of the kiss?” He grins.

“You mean the one where you were being an annoying,possessive ass?”

“You seemed pretty into it.” He shrugs, trying to act unbothered but his heart was banging against his chest.

You scowl, jabbing at him. “You kissed me out of nowhere-”

“You kissed me back.For someone who hates me, you sure were-”

“Finish that sentence and die.”

Kuroo chuckles shoving his hands in his pocket.

“You’re cute.”

“I hate you.”

“Mhmm sure you do.”

You groan turning away to go back to the gym.But then..

“Hey Yn.Just let me know when you wanna do it again.”

Your in shock,you didnt turn but you smirk to yourself.

“Will do baby.”

Now hes the one shocked.

What has he got himself into?

Fuck.

—————————————————

A/n:well damn.I think two more chapters to go? But we will see if i end up writing more.

Taglist anyone ?

[nanamineedstherapy]

Third Wheeling Your Own Marriage

Elrdrich King!Haibara x Galatic Emperor General F!Reader F!Non-Sorceress CEO Reader x Gojo Satoru x Nanami Kento F!CHRO Reader x Higuruma Hiromi Previous Ch 28 - False Mother & The Remembered Father - Part 1 - [Tumblr/Ao3] A/N: Mixed POVs because I have no respect for structure, and they shift mid-sentence sometimes, so read like you're sipping scalding tea and trying not to spill. The next night, we’re in Megumi’s penthouse. The lighting? Sinfully warm. Almost like emotions are about to happen. Disgusting. Next Chapter will be the Finale.

Ch 28 - False Mother & The Remembered Father - Part 2

W H E R E

 A R E 

 O U R

    F A T H E R S

Her body levitated half an inch—

Then slammed down.

Hard.

Toji muttered through gritted teeth, lungs crushed beneath Infinity’s invisible weight, “I never said I’d bring Gojo and Nanami.”

Blood smeared his chin. His back had dented the wall. “I promised to bring a dad.”

He coughed. “He’s your dad from another life.”

They all turned.

Sukuna hadn’t moved yet. But something in the air shifted.

The kind of shift you feel in your jaw before a thunderclap. Static rolled across the ceiling like breath caught in a metal throat.

He stepped forward at last. Quiet. Controlled.

Kneeled beside her.

The woman—still unconscious, chest barely rising—looked drained of color. Lips pale. Hands clenched, as if holding something the rest of them couldn’t see.

Sukuna’s mouth opened—

And he did something no one expected.

No grin. No mocking threat. No prayer to himself.

He hummed.

Off-key. Strange. Soft.

A made-up lullaby that sounded like nothing and everything.

It didn’t belong here. It belonged to another world—another her. One who had whispered it to him when they’d been trapped in a warcamp between timelines. A life where she was his, and he’d never let her go.

He’d sung it to their children once.

And now, he sang it to these.

The moment the sound left him—

The lights dimmed.

The Infinity snapped back.

Her body relaxed. Arms loose at her sides. Legs falling still. Her fingers unclenched.

Toji’s nose stopped bleeding. The blades hovering around the ceiling retreated slightly—still sparking, still lethal, but no longer actively murderous.

The air became breathable.

They were watching now.

Not lashing out. Listening.

Kaori smiled faintly from where she sat at the girl’s side. “Guess they loved your voice.”

Sukuna didn’t respond. He just kept humming, brushing her hair gently aside, his fingers lingering against her cheek like he feared she’d vanish if he stopped.

Yuji blinked hard. “What song is that?”

“It doesn’t have a name,” Junpei whispered. “That’s the point.”

Toji, still half-dead from fetal-PTSD and bleeding out on the floor, groaned, “I’m not changing diapers. Just so we’re clear.”

Choso, watching it all unfold, narrowed his eyes. “Who even are you?” He seemed to be the only one asking the right questions.

“Don’t worry about me,” Toji said flatly. “I won’t hurt her. But you all need to make sure she stays knocked out until she gives birth.”

Junpei frowned. “Isn’t that dangerous?”

“No,” Kaori said, already checking pulse points again. “Staying awake is dangerous. If she regains consciousness while the twins are still semi-merged, they’ll either tear her apart trying to possess her body… or start learning how to walk mid-delivery.”

None of them liked the mental image that conjured.

Sukuna wasn’t listening; he was busy brushing hair aside from her face in a trance.

Like she was all his life’s waiting manifested into a singular moment.

Like she was the only thing he remembered.

Like she was the only thing he had left.

His voice didn’t falter, but his eyes did—just a little.

The red in them had never looked so soft.

“I’m here,” he murmured. “I’m not them. I’m not even afraid of you. But I will protect you.”

Toji exhaled. “They don’t want courage.” He looked up at the ceiling. “They want permission.”

Yuji struggled to lift his head. “Permission for what?”

“To exist,” Sukuna said.

No one argued.

They couldn’t.

The compression had resumed. Ratio-based cursed energy now pulsed in delicate, surgical rhythms. Every breath too sharp or shallow earned a retaliatory ripple of cursed feedback—microcuts inside the lungs, subtle but real.

Only Sukuna remained untouched.

“You’re protecting her too well,” Sukuna said quietly, eyes still on her. “You’ll destroy her in the process. Is that what you want?”

The room groaned.

The temperature dropped two degrees.

And then, a voice.

Not hers.

Not Sukuna’s.

A child’s voice, but not singular. Layered. Genderless. It echoed through her vocal cords, like something crawling up from her womb and using her throat.

W E

O N L Y   D I S T R O Y  

W H A T

  W A N T S   U S

T O    L E A V E

Kaori closed her eyes.

Junpei swallowed hard.

Toji muttered, “Great. They’re possessive. Just like every other man that’s ever loved her.”

The walls began to bend inward, faint groans of structural failure echoing through the steel beams.

Sukuna didn’t flinch.

He lifted one hand, knuckles gently brushing her cheek.

“Listen to me,” he said—not to the others, but to them. The twins. The fractured psychic storm brewing inside her. “They’re not here. But I am. And if you burn the world down before you’re even born, there’ll be no one left to hold you.”

Everything went still.

And then—

A pause.

A breath.

Then:

Y O U

   W I L L

H O L D    U S   ?

Not threatening. Not demanding.

Hopeful.

And that was the worst part.

Sukuna’s gaze shifted, just briefly, to Kaori. Then back to her face.

He nodded. “If you let her live long enough to meet you—yes, I will.”

The silence that followed was enormous.

Then, somewhere above the ceiling, a single, high-pitched chime rang.

Soft. Final.

A binding vow.

Accepted.

Toji flopped backward, arms spread, blood soaking into his shirt. “I still hate kids.”

Yuji wheezed, facedown on the floor. “I can breathe again. Oh my god.”

Kaori wiped her brow. “She’ll need full lockdown protocols. Psychic dampeners. Sedatives keyed to Six Eyes output levels.”

Choso finally stepped away from the wall, shaking his head. “They all felt like that?”

Junpei glanced at Sukuna. “He calmed them down.”

Sukuna didn’t reply.

His hand stayed on her jaw. His thumb never stopped moving. Just slow, repetitive arcs over her pulse point, like he was tracing the rhythm of a second chance.

Toji staggered to his feet, reaching for his pack of cigarettes. “Putting this shit on your tab,” he muttered at Sukuna. “You broke the womb. You pay the bill.”

The twins didn’t speak again.

But the temperature in the room had changed.

Not warm. Not cold.

Just—

Waiting.

---

A few days later. Somewhere, in the biophilic rooftop garden—

Under vine-wrapped steel arches and imported cedar trees, the ghosts of three broken hearts sat together beneath the moonlight.

Too ashamed to speak.

Too cowardly to name what they lost.

The elevator hummed. No music.

No words.

Just the groan of aging machinery.

Megumi stood apart, arms folded. Watching the floor number tick up.

You stood beside him.

Haibara’s hand rested at the small of your back.

Public. Subtle. Territorial.

He grinned at Megumi like a vulture in a suit.

Polite. Too polite.

Outside your old penthouse, after work, Gojo sat cross-legged beside a planter of dead lavender.

Takahashi curled in his lap.

The raccoon hissed as you passed.

You didn’t react.

Gojo stroked his fur like he was trying not to unravel.

Tears dried in salt-streaks on his cheeks.

“What did they do to her, baby boy?” he whispered. “Why doesn’t she know you?”

Inside, Nanami sat alone in your old office.

The wall still held your grocery notes.

Beside a photo of the three of you.

Smiling.

Back before you realized one day, you’d miss it.

---

In the bunker’s hallway kitchen space, Toji leaned against the fridge, shirt loose, cigarette unlit between his teeth.

Kaori—still stunning despite the crow’s feet she wore like war medals—sipped barley tea. Her laugh rang down the corridor.

Yuji, tall and built like a sportswear model turned mafia son, glared at them over his glass of water.

“You know, in my world,” Toji said, gesturing vaguely with the cigarette, “you’re a widow.”

Kaori’s laugh sparkled. “And in mine, you’re a corpse.”

Yuji choked. “Mom.”

She ignored him. “Explains why your wife thinks you’re dead. Funny girl, but she cries during mukbangs.”

Toji blinked. Then—slow grin. “Guess I owe her a haunting.”

Yuji slammed the glass down. “He’s flirting with you.”

“I’m married, sweetheart,” Kaori said dryly, patting her son’s shoulder. “Not dead. And he’s not my type.”

“That’s not what you said earlier,” Toji muttered.

“That’s because I lied,” she replied brightly.

Yuji stared in pained horror.

---

In the morning sun, the rooftop garden smelled like overpriced mulch and unresolved trauma. Lavender, dying. Basil, thriving. Somewhere, a solar-powered koi pond burbled like it was trying to file a noise complaint.

Gojo paced by the bamboo grove like a man who’d just remembered all his exes’ birthdays at once. Nanami kept his hands in his sweatpants pockets like he was trying to stop them from throwing a punch.

“Don’t nag me—”

“You’re not my wife—”

“Exactly! That’s the problem!”

Their voices echoed over the artificial breeze and the very suspicious koi.

“I’m not doing this anymore,” Nanami said flatly. “We were never even in love the way we needed to be. We just… existed. Like roommates who had sex too many times to keep pretending we were friends. Then it spiraled into coworkers who accidentally shared a mortgage and had exclusive sex in a stress spiral.”

Gojo squinted against the sun, hair wind-whipped and unfairly photogenic. “I thought we were doing okay.” Then his hair started making his nose itch.

“You’re confusing survival with intimacy,” Nanami said, deadpan. “And honestly? I can’t live with you without her. Not anymore. Not when everything feels like we’re circling the drain in matching pajamas.”

Silence.

Gojo swallowed. “You want a divorce?”

Nanami nodded once. “Yeah. I do.”

It sounded like a budget announcement. Not tragic. Just inevitable.

From two balconies down, a rich househusband holding an Aperol Spritz leaned over the railing. “Isn’t that the blindfold guy?”

“Oh my god, it is. Are they breaking up? I thought she was the one divorcing them.”

“No, they were also married. Like married-married.”

A crypto baron in sheer linen recorded from Penthouse 4B. He would post it on Threads with the caption #PolyFails.

Gojo spun on his heel. “I want to fix it! I’ve been trying—”

“You’re treating this like a mission,” Nanami said, gesturing vaguely like he was describing an MLM. “Like if you try hard enough, we’ll respawn into a healthy relationship. That’s not how trauma works.”

Gojo’s smile faltered. His mouth twitched like he was buffering grief. “So you’re just giving up?”

“I’m setting you free,” Nanami said, arms crossed like he was waiting for a train. “You’re not my husband anymore. We’re just… post-apocalyptic roommates.”

“Don’t say it like that,” Gojo muttered, lower lip wobbling like a sad anime boy.

Nanami shrugged. “Say what? The part that’s true?”

They weren’t shouting. Just mid-volume spiraling like emotionally repressed grad students still in love with their thesis partner.

“You eat cereal in the shower,” Nanami added. “I can’t live like this.”

A housewife shouted from her balcony, “Tell him, blondie!”

“Better than doing taxes at 4 AM like you’re laundering sorcerer money,” Gojo fired back.

Meanwhile, across the rooftop—

You crouched beside a very offended albino raccoon. Your silk nightgown was half-hidden beneath one of Megumi’s mom’s hoodies, and your thighs had gone numb from squatting glamorously for too long. You were nearly nine months fake-pregnant, and Takahashi glared at you like you’d betrayed him in a past life.

Haibara sat on the garden bench beside you, looking like the romantic lead in a prestige thriller. Black slacks. Moschino hoodie. That calm smile people wore when they were definitely hiding a weapon.

Takahashi puffed up and hissed like he ran on spite alone.

“You little bastard,” you whispered. “I raised you.”

He hissed harder. Lifted one paw like he was invoking divine judgment.

Haibara knelt and casually smacked it away. “Maybe if we offer jerky,” he said, unsealing a silver packet like it was a treaty. “He liked jerky in 2017.”

“He liked me in 2017,” you muttered.

Haibara looked at you like you were the center of gravity. “I still do.”

His hand rested on your ankle. Warm. Steady.

You were spiraling—rage or shame or both. The raccoon hated you. Everyone hated you. This wasn’t even your real body—it was a cosplay made of grief and god complex.

“Hey,” Haibara said, thumb brushing your shin. “You’re not broken.”

You looked up. His eyes said: I’ll burn it all for you. Even if you don’t ask.

And for a moment, you believed him.

Even Takahashi hesitated.

Then hissed again. Because Nanami had taught him big words like consistency.

“Do you think he knows?” you asked.

Haibara nodded. “He knows you’re not the woman who saved him. But he doesn’t understand why he still wants to sit near you. I relate.”

You sighed. “Maybe I should hiss back.”

“I support you,” Haibara said instantly.

“Even if I hiss at a raccoon?”

“Especially then.”

Takahashi hissed louder.

“Uncalled for,” you muttered. “You’re supposed to be my emotional support rodent.”

Haibara stroked your fake belly. “Congrats. Your unborn children’s first enemy shits in a flowerpot.”

You smacked his arm, grimacing.

Gojo and Nanami were now fully in their gaslight-gatekeep-girlboss divorce arc.

“You don’t even like me, Satoru.”

“I like you more than I like anyone else!”

“That’s not a high bar!” Nanami shouted. “That’s a cry for help!”

Then, without warning, someone from the 46th floor shouted down:

“LEAVE HER ALONE, SHE’S TOO HOT FOR BOTH OF YOU!”

“IS THE BLONDE GUY SINGLE?”

“I THOUGHT THE ONE IN THE HOODIE WAS RUNNING A CULT—”

“She is,” Haibara called back without turning.

A couple walked past. One of the tower’s wealthier tenants, hand-in-hand with her trophy husband. She glanced at your bump, then at Haibara.

“Wow,” she said, loud enough to echo. “Already adding another husband before that one’s even out?”

You blinked. Haibara didn’t.

He dragged you closer by the hem of your hoodie—effortless, like you weighed nothing—and leaned in, murmuring against your ear: “We’re not even staying here long enough for their gossip to matter.”

“No,” you agreed, a smile slipping out before you could catch it. “This whole building’s already rotting from the inside.”

Takahashi glared—raccoonishly offended.

Gojo and Nanami—mid-divorce, mid-soul crisis, mid-Nanago-KFC adjacent event, and mid-bamboo-staring contest—snapped their heads toward you.

“She’s not your concern,” Nanami said, curt.

“Yeah,” Gojo echoed. “She’s our—!”

“She’s not ours anymore,” Nanami corrected. Brutal. Soft.

Gojo deflated. “Right. But we still respectfully reject your slander.”

A neighbor scoffed. “So what, you’re fighting over the baby mama now?”

“Yes,” Nanami replied without hesitation.

Gojo elbowed him. “That’s not helping.”

“She’s also not yours,” Haibara added. Still smiling. Dead behind the eyes. “But do go on.”

Takahashi hissed again.

“I don’t like you either,” Haibara hissed back.

You offered Takahashi salmon jerky.

He smacked it away with the rage of someone betrayed by narrative.

“I think he hates me.”

“It’s fine. You’re just being rejected by a raccoon. In public,” Haibara said, laughing softly.

Gojo and Nanami’s argument had escalated into Final Boss: Philosophical Territory Phase.

“I don’t even know what we were anymore!” Gojo said, pacing. “Cohabitating ghosts? Sad DILFs? Trauma-bonded sleepover buddies with a joint tax file, war flashbacks, and a one-bedroom emotional range?!”

“You’re still in love with her,” Nanami replied, stretching like he was about to jog straight into the sun.

“You are too!”

“I’m letting her go.”

“Then let me go too!”

“That’s literally what I’m doing right now!”

They stood in silence. Stared at each other.

They stare.

Gojo sniffled.

Nanami cleared his throat.

“…Do you want to get ramen?” Gojo mumbled.

“If you’re paying.”

A long pause.

Gojo adjusted his blindfold like tear-proof lingerie. “We really did break up like bros.”

Nanami shrugged. “Would’ve been incredibly weirder if it was normal.”

Back on the bench, you finally bribed Takahashi, who had begrudgingly flopped a meter away—judging, but adjacent.

“This is progress,” you whispered.

Haibara took your hand. “If he lunges, I’ll jump in front.”

You smiled. “You’re too good to me.”

He met your gaze. “I was made to be your favorite.”

And for a second, everything else faded.

But then Takahashi sneezed, Haibara glared at him, and the moment was ruined like Gojo’s PR team again by the sound of Gojo and Nanami failing to navigate the elevator as divorced exes.

“Up or down, Kento?!”

“There are TWO BUTTONS, Satoru!”

You sighed. Haibara chuckled.

Takahashi hissed again—louder.

Haibara threw a cucumber slice at him.

Taka-baby ate it. Insulted.

Then, from the rooftop stairwell, someone called out:

“IS THE RACCOON OKAY???”

---

Song Rec: Bikhra by Abdul Hannan

---

She heard it first—long after midnight.

The staff had gone to bed. Megumi’s mother was finally knocked out from her sacred blend of sleepy sencha, prescription TCM pills, and a 200mg gummy smuggled from a Kyoto spa.

And then—grinding.

Not quiet. Not subtle.

Wet grit. Bone on bone.

She found him on the couch, half-buttoned, one bare foot braced against the table like he’d collapsed mid-email. His jaw was clenched so hard she swore she saw his temples twitch. The muscles in his cheek fluttered like something alive was trying to escape.

Despite the fake pregnancy bloating and AI-induced Braxton Hicks, she knelt beside him.

“Megumi.”

He didn’t stir.

“Megumi,” she tried again, softer this time. Her hand brushed his cheek like she wasn’t lying to his face every day. The motion felt... rehearsed. It was oddly motherly—the kind of touch that was more habit than affection, rehearsed in labs and spy simulations but never tested on real, living human pain.

He blinked awake with a hiss, not in fear—just confused. “Wha…?”

“Wisdom teeth,” she said. “Hurting again?”

He blinked once, then gave a small, dumb nod, eyes bleary with exhaustion. “I thought I was grinding through them in my sleep…”

“You were.”

It was 4:17 AM.

She didn’t let him argue. She’d already made the call.

By 5:02, they were in the underground garage, slipping into one of his Maseratis—only to find Haibara behind the wheel.

“You’re letting him drive?” Megumi squinted.

“He insisted,” she lied. Already nauseated from the AI’s fake fetal movements and Haibara’s real-life drifting. “Said you needed someone competent.”

“Competent? You remember how many times we fell off his Ducati when he claimed ‘he’d perfected it’?”

Haibara turned from the driver’s seat, sunglasses on despite the hour. “And yet you trust me with your life, brat.”

“You drove into a vending machine.”

“I meant to do that,” Haibara said, adjusting a rearview mirror he didn’t know how to use.

Megumi leaned against the headrest.

She sat beside him, pressing a cold gel pack to his cheek. The swelling was visible. The pain, not yet. He looked—soft. Frayed at the edges. Like someone who lived too much in silence and not enough in comfort.

He hadn’t shaved. And his thumb kept twitching like he was still typing out responses to crisis emails in his dreams.

She didn’t speak. Just sat there beside him. Pretending to be real.

Pretending this was what people did for each other.

His eyes stayed half-lidded, dark lashes resting on shadows carved from too many sleepless nights. “You’re being really nice to me,” he mumbled.

“I always am,” she replied, overly cautious.

“No. You were…” He paused, choosing the words like they might hurt. “You were colder after the coma. Not mean. Just... like someone had unplugged you. Like you were in the room, but not.”

Her breath caught.

“But now,” he continued, glancing over at her with that unreadable calm that only cracked when he was too tired to armor up, “you’re different.”

She tried to laugh, but it came out like something spilled from a broken speaker. Static and regret.

His gaze didn’t flinch.

She looked anywhere but at his gaze, which felt like it was cutting clean through the lie she wore like skin.

And for a moment, she wondered how much he was holding back.

What questions he never asked.

Whether some soft part of him already knew this wasn’t her—but loved her anyway.

He was too sleep-deprived to connect dots.

Her stomach turned. Guilt, maybe. Or code.

“Maybe I’m just hormonal,” she said, faking a yawn. “Comes with the whole come-pregnancy glow.”

That distracted him. “Right.Don’t joke. The twins. Everyone’s felt them kick by now—Nanami, Gojo, my mom, even Haibara. Everyone. Why haven’t you let me feel it yet?”

Her spine stiffened.

The AI in her body hummed a low warning. Threat detected. Sentiment spike.

From the driver’s seat, Haibara caught her eye in the mirror. His smile twitched—too knowing.

“Now?” she asked, trying to buy time. “You want to… now?”

Megumi was already reaching over. His large hand slid across the curve of her stomach like he’d done it before.

“I won’t break them,” he murmured, palm pressing flat. “I used to help bandage your hands when we were kids. Remember?”

No, she thought.

I don’t.

Because that wasn’t me.

Because you’re not even holding your real person right now.

The AI in her spine buzzed behind her eyes.

Simulate kick?

[Y] / [N]

Her hand twitched. She blinked.

Y.

The response was immediate—sharp, but gentle. Exactly where the AI mapped his hand’s pressure—perfectly timed, the AI knew exactly how big the “twins” should be and where to land it for max emotional destruction.

Megumi’s whole body went still.

Then lit up.

“That was—” he blinked at her, smiling like a child who just touched starlight. “You felt that?”

She nodded once. Couldn’t speak.

His hand lingered. Warm. Protective. Almost reverent.

“...You didn’t have to wait this long to trust me,” he said quietly.

His hand stayed there a moment longer, like he didn’t want to pull away.

And she almost cried. Because it wasn’t trust—it was cruelty, hiding behind kindness.

She turned her head, as if watching the blur of city lights through the tinted window. But she wasn’t seeing any of it.

Not the skyline.

Not the streets.

Just the way he looked at her like she was still his person.

“Megumi,” she said suddenly. “Why haven’t you used the salary I’ve been paying you?”

He blinked again, confused. “What?”

“I put you on payroll when I took maternity leave. You’re managing both companies now. You should’ve spent something. Even Haibara didn’t take his cut.”

“You know why,” he said softly, like it wasn’t even a question. “It’s not mine. It’s yours.”

“You’ve been running two though.”

“I’d do it for free.”

“Don’t,” she snapped too quickly.

Then gentled. “Don’t do that to yourself. You’re tired.”

He shrugged. “I’ve always been tired. I just… sleep better knowing you’re still breathing.”

And that was when the guilt surged.

Not because of the lie.

But because he meant it.

And he still smiled through the hurt. Quiet. Unshowy.

She nodded, afraid her voice would betray her if she tried to speak.

Then, mercifully—

“HAIBARA,” Megumi suddenly barked, snapping upright. “TAKE THE DAMN TURN—THIS ISN’T TOKYO DRIFT!”

Haibara, who had clearly missed the exit while fumbling with the windshield wipers, replied without shame, “You try taking an exit at 130 in a four-ton capitalist coffin.”

“You’re going to give her labor-by-whiplash.”

“Oops,” Haibara said cheerfully, easing into a lazy, illegal U-turn across four empty lanes like he’d just discovered what steering was for.

“I swear to God,” Megumi muttered, rubbing his face. “If you crash this car, I will personally remove your soul.”

“I’d like to see you try,” Haibara said, now calmly signaling with the hazard lights like that made anything better.

She almost laughed. Almost.

But instead, she just looked out the window, quiet.

All she could think was:

How easily people love the wrong versions of us.

How beautifully they carry the burdens we never earned.

And how none of them deserved to lose this much again.

Not him.

Especially not him.

She sat back quietly, cradling the cold pack to Megumi’s jaw, her AI-simulated belly still pulsing from the fake kick. Megumi half-dozed against her shoulder, warm and confused, while Haibara—the war criminal from 50,000 years in the future, technically from another universe—laughed at a road sign like he was auditioning for a sitcom where dads didn’t die and war never happened.

And just for a moment, in that slippery, pre-dawn unreality—it felt like a family.

Which was, of course, the most dangerous feeling of all.

---

The bunker’s medbay glowed dimly with low-spectrum LEDs hidden in the vines. Ivy curled down temperature-regulated glass walls, while high-frequency hums from vitals monitors whispered between pulse readings.

Sukuna sat beside her, barefoot on a floor that mimicked forest moss, legs folded under him like a monk in prayer.

She hadn't moved in days.

But her body—full with the strange shape of pregnancy neither mortal nor cursed—remained a battlefield of precision.

And he, oddly, had taken on the role of medic.

Not because he was told to.

But because he wanted to.

Sukuna hummed as he cleaned her IV ports. Tuneless. Gentle. His hands were steady, sterile gloves on, his breath even. Every hour, he checked her vitals himself. Didn’t trust the machines. Didn’t trust time.

Didn’t trust that he wouldn’t lose her again.

A soft smile crept to his mouth as he wiped her temple with a lukewarm cloth.

Her fever had broken.

Her lips were less pale.

The twins had stopped threatening murder for now.

“You look better,” he murmured, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. “Still sound asleep, huh? Lazy princess.”

He said it like a joke.

But his voice softened in the end, the way he used to speak to her in lifetimes long dead.

Like she was the last living relic of a future that had once been kind.

He adjusted the heating blanket.

Not too warm—her core temperature was still fluctuating. A fan turned slowly above, calibrated to reduce sweat pooling along her neck without risking a chill. Every movement was precise. Surgical. Loving.

And every few minutes, he whispered to her.

A pulse count. A story. A reminder: “I’m here. Still here.”

---

Post-op, the dental clinic was sharp-edged and expensive, the kind of sterile white you only ever saw in megatowers built by oil money or pharmaceutical tycoons trying to buy back their legacy. It didn’t smell like blood or antiseptic—just clean air and wealth.

Haibara waited outside, somewhere in the lobby, chewing through mints and giggling at tabloids.

Megumi was laid out in the chair, eyes glassy from anesthetics. One arm draped limply over the side; the other brushed against hers.

She stayed close. Watching.

“Are you okay?” she asked softly.

He blinked. His pupils were blown wide, but his expression wasn’t blank. It was raw. Open.

He chuckled once, low. “Remember when we buried that time capsule under the fig tree?”

She smiled like she meant it. “Of course.”

“We said we’d open it when we turned twenty. You had that stupid plastic ring from the vending machine.” His voice slurred a little. “You said you’d marry me if you found it first. I found it... and I gave it to you anyway.”

She didn’t laugh. Didn’t cry.

Just leaned over and booped his nosewith two fingers. “You were always sweet.”

Megumi’s smile wavered. His gaze, still fuzzy from the meds, lingered on her too long, but he pushed forward, eyes half-lidded. “You used to cry when I was sick,” he mumbled. “Said the world didn’t deserve me.”

She didn’t answer that.

Instead, she said, gently, “I’m here now, aren’t I?”

A beat.

His eyes drifted closed, then opened slower. Sobriety returned in pieces.

“You remember when Haibara broke his leg?” he asked.

She nodded, cautious.

“You didn’t leave his side for three days.”

She said nothing.

“You screamed at me,” he went on, voice quieter. “I tried to make you eat. You said he needed you more.”

Her head tilted, searching for the right lie. “I… don’t remember screaming. But that sounds like me.”

His hand found her wrist. Not tightly. Just enough.

“You don’t remember the ring,” he said, softer now. “Do you?”

She froze.

Didn’t blink. Didn’t breathe. Didn’t answer.

And then, mercifully, a knock—

Haibara’s voice filtered through the door. “Ready to go?”

She stood too fast. Adjusted the curve of her fake pregnancy belly like it itched.

Megumi didn’t say another word on the ride home.

And Haibara, from the front seat, whistled some ancient tune like none of it mattered.

Like he wasn’t watching her in the mirror.

Like he didn’t already know.

---

The rooftop greenhouse hadn’t changed.

Still humid. Still crowded with flowers, moss, and black orchid vines that curled like memories.

The glass ceiling was still cracked near the northwest corner—where she used to sit during storms. Where she once said thunder reminded her of someone she used to be.

Now, the plants had grown half-wild.

Not dying.

Just… unpruned. Directionless. Like no one had dared to touch what she built.

Nanami poured the sake without ceremony. It was cheap, slightly metallic, warm in the throat. Gojo didn’t complain—he hadn’t tasted anything properly in weeks.

Megumi didn’t sit. He stood near the edge of the greenhouse, obscured from view by an overgrowth of green, hands buried in his trouser pockets. His gaze was locked on the skyline like it owed him answers. Like it might blink first.

“She’s different,” Nanami said at last. His voice was slow. Precise. Like a page being folded at the spine.

Gojo snorted. “Wow. Thanks. Insight of the century.”

Nanami didn’t react. “You know what I mean.”

“No, no,” Gojo muttered, tossing back a shot and grimacing. “Say it. Say it like a fucking adult, Nanami. Say it out loud.”

Megumi finally shifted. He leaned against a pillar of ivy—once part of a trellis she built with her bare hands. The vines had started choking it now.

Nanami’s fingers twitched against his glass. “You think she’s an impostor.”

Gojo’s eyes didn’t flinch. “I think she’s not our wife.”

The silence that followed pulsed. Alive. Like it had its own heartbeat.

“She’s cold,” Gojo went on, quieter now. “Like she’s wearing her own skin like a rented yukata. Like she studied how to move from a deepfake of herself and got most of it right—but not all. Not where it counts. Her eyes don’t follow Takahashi anymore. Her hand doesn’t fidget with her keys or pen out of habit. And she… she doesn’t react when I say something stupid. She used to threaten to beat me with a frying pan.”

Nanami didn’t look up. Just murmured, “Now she threatens with her silence. With her posture. Not her words.”

Gojo laughed once—short, bitter. “Exactly.”

Nanami finally met his gaze. “There are gaps. Behavioral ones. And I don’t mean trauma gaps. The real her would never let Haibara touch her that freely. Not like that. Not without reason.”

“Or say ‘I want a divorce’ like she was reading out a grocery list. Or forget the raccoon she nearly died rescuing.” Gojo's voice cracked slightly. “Or not even react to our very public breakup—she used to be the glue that held us together."

Nanami nodded, jaw tight. “She used to snuggle Takahashi into her arms like he was made of glass. Do you remember how he curled up in the crook of her elbow when I brought him in at night during the coma?”

“Now he tries to bite her face off,” Gojo whispered. “And she doesn’t even flinch. Just… tenses. Like she’s waiting to be punished.”

Megumi stepped forward and picked up the unused sake cup. Poured himself a shot, then held it in his hand without drinking.

“She remembered the time capsule,” he said.

Both men looked at him, startled. Like deer on LSD.

“Mostly,” Megumi added, expression unreadable. “She knew what it was. But not what was in it. Didn’t react when I mentioned the ring.”

He downed the shot in one go. Wiped his mouth on his sleeve.

“She lied like she meant it,” he said. “Like she really believed I was the one misremembering.”

Gojo stilled. His voice was hollow. “There was no ring, was there?”

Megumi didn’t answer, but the way he poured himself another shot said enough.

Nanami looked away again, eyes glazed. “Do you remember how many hours she spent cataloging Takahashi’s diet? She handwrote every meal. In three languages. Then she cross-checked it with every medical journal you sent her, Fushiguro. Every vitamin. Every calorie.”

“She used to call him Taka-baby,” Gojo whispered. “Even booped his nose when he sneezed.”

“Now she winces when he climbs her lap,” Nanami said, almost under his breath. “Like he’s diseased.”

“And he hisses at her,” Gojo added.

Nanami’s voice cracked. “He never hissed at her.”

“No,” Gojo said. “He hissed at me. Constantly.”

Megumi looked between them, something hard twisting through his expression.

“How long,” he asked, “have you two known something’s wrong?”

---

Elsewhere, in the bunker, Choso was monitoring a blood panel, expression furrowed. The screen showed abnormal hormonal fluctuations, and a new tremor in her heartbeat frequency.

“She’s stabilizing,” he muttered to himself, but his voice wasn’t relieved. “Too stable.”

Uraume appeared beside him in a flicker of frost.

“She’s not safe.”

Choso didn’t flinch. “You mean the twins?”

Uraume shook their head. “I mean that the cursed energy signatures in New York match Geto Suguru. Impossible as it is—he’s not dead.”

Sukuna turned.

The air dropped ten degrees.

"This was his design," Uraume intoned, voice like frost forming on bone. "The assassination plot. He intends to render them into cursed objects—vengeance against Gojo Satoru woven into the act. Her survival was... an oversight."

Sukuna rose without a sound.

His eyes were already ancient again.

Gone was the softness.

Only violence remained.

“Where?”

Uraume extended the coordinates with a gloved hand, their voice smooth as ice over a grave. “The residuals converge beneath the ruins of Jujutsu Tech, woven through the defiled remnants of Kenjaku’s wards. His current nesting place.”

A pause, their breath frosting in the air.

“However, time is a luxury we lack. The curses gather there tonight in numbers even he would find… indulgent.”

Their gaze sharpened, blade-like.

“And when she gives birth, the resultant cursed energy will eclipse even Gojo Satoru’s birth. By then, Geto Suguru’s forces will have descended. Should we delay, saving her will be…”

Uraume’s lips curled, just slightly.

“…beyond even our interference.”

Toji appeared behind him, cracking his knuckles. “I’ve been dying to punch a priest. Let’s go.”

Yuji stood. Silent. Resigned. But already pulling his fingerless gloves on.

They moved fast.

Before leaving, Sukuna leaned one last time toward her unconscious form. “I’ll be back,” he murmured. “Don’t let them scare you while I’m gone.”

To Choso, he said, “If she gives birth—use the blood. Slow the hemorrhage. Split the ratio surges. Bind them.” His voice was a blade’s edge—sharp, with no room for error. “You’ll flood her veins with your blood the moment she tears. Not too much. Just enough to keep her heart beating until that Ieiri woman arrives.”

A pause. Then, quieter, almost amused: “And keep those twins of hers from clawing her apart. Their spawns never did know their own strength.”

He flicked a finger toward Junpei, who flinched. “You—run to Jujutsu Tech. Drag Shoko here by her hair if you have to.”

Then he turned back to Choso. “Track his cursed energy with Flowing Red Scale. If it so much as stutters… make it scream. That’ll keep him fighting.”

Then he leaned in, “Oh, and Choso? If you let her die… I’ll turn your ribs into wind chimes.”

Choso nodded. “I’ll keep her alive.”

Junpei moved behind him with an armful of medical restraints and cursed barrier charms. “Then we hold the line. However long it takes.”

Uraume tilted their head, amused. “How… sacrificial.”

The elevator shut behind them—Sukuna, Toji, Yuji.

Two of them, monsters in mourning.

Headed to destroy the ghost that tried to erase her.

---

Back in the garden, Gojo tilted his head. “Known? A few days. Suspected? Since she touched Haibara’s neck in public.”

Nanami rolled the cold sake cup across his forehead. “Since she stopped calling me by my name.”

Another silence stretched, quiet as rot.

The city lights below blinked like faulty neurons, stupid and oblivious.

Then Megumi said, too softly to be casual, “And none of you sorcerer supremes thought to tell me?”

“You hate us,” Gojo unenthusiastically mumbled. “We didn’t think you’d believe us.”

Megumi’s stare sliced sharper than his father’s knife. “Don’t project your guilt on me.”

Nanami sighed. “We didn’t want it to be real.”

Finally, Megumi sat down. Slowly. His voice came out tight. “When I was six, she pulled me out of a lake. I was trying to catch a frog. Fell in. Nearly drowned. She jumped after me. Couldn’t even swim.”

Gojo looked up, something softer flashing behind his eyes. “I remember. She told me that. When we were dating.”

“She used to say I was the only one who ever looked at her like she was someone worthy of the human experience,” Megumi went on. “Now? She won’t even make eye contact unless it’s performative. Like she’s checking a list. Like I’m just another task to complete.”

He poured another drink. Didn’t touch it.

“And Haibara,” Megumi said, quieter now. “He doesn’t remember what he made me promise him. When he was seventeen. When he swore he’d never try anything with her because he didn’t have the moral restraint she needed.”

Gojo turned sharply. “He doesn’t remember?”

“No,” Megumi replied. “He faked it. Badly. I pushed him. He agreed too fast. Said he was retired now, so it didn’t ‘matter.’”

His jaw clenched. “Like loving her now, being with her, was some loophole. Something he earned. Like a pension.”

Nanami leaned back, like he already knew. “He’s finally become fully selfish.”

Gojo said nothing.

Because for the first time—since the coma, since the pregnancy, since she’d walked back into their lives wearing a familiar face that felt twenty seconds off—while they all sat in the tall grass beneath their own silence, facing the truth like a noose.

Gojo finally whispered it. Less like confession and more like mourning.

“She’s not our wife.”

Megumi nodded once.

And this time, he drank.

Nanami pinched the bridge of his nose and muttered, “Do you think the cursed coma scrambled her brain? Or is it possession?”

Gojo knocked back another shot. “Nope. Scanned her six times. During dinner. After. With Six Eyes, Reverse Cursed Technique. Every tool I’ve got. No cursed energy. No residue aside from the twins. Like someone poured holy water through her soul. Pure. Untouchably so. Kind of unsettling, honestly.”

Megumi, already pouring himself another, muttered bitterly. “Meanwhile, Haibara’s leaking cursed energy like a broken faucet. He never used to. Not even a drop. But now he’s basically humming with it. Started right after she woke up.”

Nanami raked a hand through his hair. “Did he at least tell you where the hell he was during her coma?”

“He said he was tracking the sniper,” Megumi said flatly. “But I don’t buy it. He’s never failed to locate someone in under a day. Not once. Now he acts like he’s half-awake. Just follows her around like he’s tethered. It’s a weirdly symbiotic thing to see them together now. Like she’s the only thing keeping him corporeal. Even Mom says his smile creeps her out now.”

Nanami perked up. “So… since I’m guessing you’re not friends anymore… can I finally throw him off the balcony?”

Gojo lit up. “Ooh! Can I run him over with her Jesko? It’s just rotting in storage.”

Megumi rolled his eyes. "I don't know what he was like in school with you two, but watching him fight now—and seeing how you two handled those bounty hunters—I can say one thing: Haibara isn't weak."

A pause. His voice flattened further.

"He's the kind of opponent that makes you want to rip your hair out. Insufferably strategic."

The corner of his mouth twitched. "And she’s—protective. You touch him, she’ll gut you before you finish the threat. Might even ban you from seeing the kids.”

Before Gojo could yell “I’m the strongest!” again, Nanami’s phone buzzed.

He answered it with a sigh. “…Yeah, Nanami speaking. Who is this?”

Nanami’s face drained.

Gojo leaned forward, slapped Nanami’s bicep. “Who?”

Nanami pulled the phone away like it had whispered a slur. “…Kusottare Naoya.”

Megumi blinked. “What’s kusottare mean again? I always forget. My Japanese is a little rusty.”

Gojo answered too cheerfully. “Aww, Mamaguro raised you well. It means many things: a dingleberry, a dipshit, a piece of shit, or a grade-A asshole. It’s Nanamin’s favorite insult. Even our wife knows it, and her Japanese itself is ‘Kusottare.’”

Then added, less brightly, “Naoya’s not dead?”

Megumi downed his drink. “I don’t keep tabs on the inbred lives of Tokyo, but I heard Maki and Mai are missing.”

On speaker, Naoya’s voice crackled to life. Bright. Mocking. Almost festive.

“Heyyy, Kento-kun~ Just calling to say I’ve got your cute little penguin wife. And her new boyfriend. Didn’t know you guys were expanding the polycule—I’d have applied!”

Nanami’s soul left his body.

Gojo and Megumi’s glasses slipped in unison. Then promptly shattered on the floor.

Naoya kept talking.

“Oh, and I’ve also got Higuruma and his girl, by the way. If anyone still cares. Honestly, no one even noticed they’d been gone. That’s so awkward, right?”

There was a beat.

Then:

“Anyway. You boys should come join us. It’s shaping up to be a proper party. Mahito’s here. Hanami, too. Jogo brought snacks. And…”

A smile you couldn’t see stretched over the line.

“…We’ve just sent out an invite for Sukuna.”

The phone cut to static.

And the greenhouse fell utterly silent—until the orchids began to tremble.

---

A/N: 💥⛓️ THE FINALE IS COMING: BRACE FOR IMPACT ⛓️💥 It’s almost time. After seven months, multiple character deaths (emotional and literal), raccoon betrayals, impostor wives, multiversal war husbands, cursed womb twins, and softboi Sukuna humming lullabies to unborn gods— this fic is finally arriving at the end of its arc. And no, I will not be normal about it. The next chapter is the finale. Everything will come undone— The lies. The fake memories. The marriages. The silence. And her.

Because the real question has never been “Who loves her most?” It’s “Who will still love her once the truth is known?” See you in the ashes.

Next Ch - Friday

All Works Masterlist

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