#and plasma is trying his best

[mojave-outhouse]

I don't think I ever posted this one?? For some reason? Anyway Mira n Arcade wlw/mlm hostility

[lyricalchrysanthemum]

(Thinking) at the peak of Cheren’s villain arc, when he finishes his monologue about how much he resents Hilbert, Hilbert tells Cheren “even so, I still love you”

(Explodes)

[cosmic-dust-poltergeist]

Pt. 4 of the clone/reincarnation au. The bats find out Danny can be scary.

[Pt 3 here] [Pt 5 here]

Tim is pissed and terrified. He's frantically trying to find a way out of the current situation without Danny regressing on all his progress.

Danny had been with their family for almost 2 years and had come such a long way from the scared kid he was in the beginning. He's going to therapy and can handle interacting with people in general without help. He still tends to cling to familiar people in new situations, but it doesn't have to be Tim or Cass. He goes to school now as Damian's "under socialized and traumatized twin". The official story is that he was separated from Damian, then abused and denied a proper education because he was the second born as well as a meta. It's a believable story between the batfam and Danny's own behavior. But Danny has gotten so much better!

Sure, Danny still has some major issues and won't admit to having someone else's memories, but he's actively working on the former and the batfam is figuring out how to bring up the later without spooking the kid. Tim's not sure if Danny thinks they believe his flimsy excuses over weird comments or the constellations in his room that don't exist or not, but no one wants to push him. It's obvious he had a family that is all now dead, and he was experimented on until he died in the 90s or early 2000s, before he was somehow reincarnated or something into a clone's body. The running theory is that Lazarus waters were used to prolong his original life before he was tortured to death, and his soul or something got connected to the pit somehow during that time, so when that same pit water was then put in a soulless husk, Danny's essence started changing it to reflect that. It took a year and a half to get a blood sample from Danny without him panicking, but the result? Danny's blood's "plasma" is concentrated Lazarus waters, it's "purer" and thicker than the normal stuff. They had to keep their questions and tests light because the moment they commented on his weird blood, Danny had the largest meltdown he had in months, so currently, most of their theories are theoretical. Kid has a LOT of medical trauma.

But Tim is getting off topic. The reason he's freaking out is because the family got caught as civilians. It was supposed to be a nice day out. Tim, Bruce, Damian, Dick, and Danny were out at the mall. Jason was supposed to meet up with them for lunch since it was just a bonding trip. But they can't have nice things.

The only plus side of this situation is Jason hadn't arrived. And this is a plus, because the kidnappers? Joker and his goons.

It was an awful coincidence, even Joker looked surprised to see he had the Waynes. Dick, Damian, and Bruce do their best to keep the mad man's attention away from Tim and Danny. Danny's trembling form is pressed to Tim's back.

"Why does it have to be clowns? Why does it have to be clowns?" Danny is mumbling hysterically. Tim doesn't think Danny has interacted with any sort of clown while with them. Clowns are hard to come by in Gotham for obvious reasons. Meaning this is a Before trauma.

"Tell a different jok-" Dick is cut off by being hit in the face. He yelps as his nose breaks with an audible crunch and starts cursing up a storm.

Tim blocks out his family's shouting and the Joker's taunting to focus on Danny. The kid completely frozen when Dick yelped.

"Danny?" Tim whispers, only to have a gun pulled on him.

"Got something to say, brat?"

"N-no." Tim is panicking, Danny is no longer pressed into his back.

"Good. Now- What the fuck???" The goon clown's stupid face is drawn into a look of horror as he looks over Tim's shoulder.

Tim chances a look over his shoulder to find a terrifying and massive creature where his sweet little brother is supposed to be. And as Tim studies it's starry void figure, all long limbs, eerie glowing, low hissing, what looks like a crown of ice, and face of beautiful pulsing stars that move with it's expression, he KNOWS this IS his baby brother. He briefly wonders if this is how he looked Before, before remembering the gunmen.

"Shit! Don't shoo-!" Tim isn't fast enough and watches in horror as the clowns fire at Danny. His terror is for nothing though as Danny turns them both intangible til the gunfire stops. Then, his feral void creature of a brother attacks. Mauling every single clown in his sight. And Tim can respect that.

He does desperately need to get out of his binds though. Danny is going to have such a massive relapse in his ability to trust them not to hurt him because of this, and Tim takes his job as Danny's "security person" seriously. He NEEDS to be there when Danny is done taking care of the clowns.

"Re-replacement?" Tim has never been so happy to hear Jason's Red Hood mechanical voice.

"Get me untied NOW" Tim spins and demands. "He's terrified, Jay!"

"What?" Jason is totally bewildered, but complying. "Where's Danny?"

"Mauling clowns." Tim grimaces, really hoping no one dies. Danny would be devastated if he accidentally killed someone in his panic.

"THAT'S Danny???"

"Yes. Now shut up. Untie the others and help them check on everyone. I'm going to make sure our little brother doesn't have a complete breakdown that puts us back to square one." Tim tells him and starts booking it after Danny, following the trail of decimated goons. When he catches up, Danny is slamming Joker into the ground and freezing him there. Tim grabs an abandoned gun and shoots the remaining goons in the kneecaps while edging closer.

Danny says something in a language Tim has only heard when Danny is deliriously tired. Tim chucks the gun as far away from them as he can before stepping closer with his hands raised. He projects as much of his concern and thankfulness and love for Danny into his body as physically capable.

"Danny, we're safe now. You kept us safe, kiddo."

There's another gargle of his unknown language before his form shrinks then with great big flash Danny is back to his tiny fae-like form. Tim shoots forward when Danny begins to sway and wraps his little brother in a hug.

"T'm.." Danny slurs.

"I got you. I got you." Tim mutters. It's a little awkward since Danny is only just shorter than him, but Tim picks Danny up in a princess carry, tucking the kid's face in his shoulder and booking it back to their family.

"Tim?? Danny??" Dick shouts, and Danny flinches, sending Tim into his own feral spiral. He literally bares his teeth when the others get too close, making them all pause. They luckily recognize his tales. He's had a lot of feral episodes in front of them since Danny. "Okay. Okay. We'll stay right here, Timmy."

"I'm taking him home."

"Okay... I'll have Alfred pick us up." Bruce easily accepts.

"We'll deal with the cops, Drake." Damian is eyeing Danny with a heartwarming amount of concern. Too bad Tim is too keyed up to appreciate how cute the little demon is being.

Tim takes off again without a word, bundling Danny into the passenger seat of the car they took to get here. Once he's all buckled in, Tim jumps in the drivers seat and peals out of there. He's glad this car isn't a manual because it means Tim can gently reach over and take Danny's trembling hand. He rubs soothing circles with his thumb.

"You're okay, kiddo, I'll keep you safe." Tim mutters to him. "Even if I have to fight the world. I will keep you safe."

Danny starts crying softly somewhere along the way back to the manor. Tim REALLY wishes Cass wasn't in Hong Kong right now.

"Movie, music, or quiet?" Tim asks, starting the breakdown protocol they set up together. It's basically just give Danny comfort options to focus on and tapping or holding up fingers to indicate his choices. Danny taps Tim's hand twice.

"Snacks or no snacks?" 2 taps

"Water, juice, or tea?" 3 taps

"Alfred's choice or do you have something in mind?" 1 tap

"Am I or you showering first? I want to get the clown cooties off me." This time there's a tiny giggle with the tap.

"Should I stay in the room talking or such I wait outside?" The hand in Tim's grips his hand so hard he's sure he heard his bones creek, but he keeps all signs of pain off his face. A single tap.

They pull into the driveway and find Alfred standing in the doorway. Tim quietly greets him as they climb out of the car.

"I hate to ask, but could you make us some tea before you leave? We'll be in Danny's room once we're both cleaned up."

"Of course, young master. Your father and siblings will be otherwise engaged for a while. I do not have to leave for another 20 minutes at the very least and I shall have it ready in 10."

"You're a lifesaver!" Tim cheers before picking Danny up in another princess carry. Danny simply clings to him and let's him. "Do you want one of my hoodies for tonight?"

There's a nod pressed to his shoulder. While Danny is nearly as tall as Tim, he's significantly thinner and lighter, so he still drowns in Tim's hoody. The kid doesn't want to be a vigilante the way the rest of them are. He rather be the guy in the chair or upgrading the bat tech. He doesn't find the appeal in punching criminals and his bouts of being nonverbal being his excuses when asked about it. Which is valid, but Tim knew there was more to it.

Bruce actually shed happy tears over one of his kids not wanting to fight crime and being safe.

Tim walks them through their routine. It makes Danny relax bit by bit. He's nearly completely calm by the time they're comfortably shut in the small space of Danny's bed, tea sitting on the small shelf that was part of the bunk bed's original frame, Tim's phone is playing soft music from than same shelf, and fairy lights casting the whole inclosed space in a soft light. Tim cuddles this poor kid close, but is careful to not get in the way of his iPad.

"Do you want to tell me about it?" Tim whispers.

[I guess I have to now..]

"You don't. Sure, I'd appreciate if you told me, but I love you more than my need for answers." They fall back into silence as Danny thinks about it. Tim refuses to rush him and it rewarded for it.

[You knew there was more going on than a mutation, didn't you?]

"Yes.. You're not always as subtle as you think you are."

[My sister, Jazz, said the same.]

"Older siblings, so long as they're doing their job, are bound to realize something is up." Tim smiles. Committing the new name to memory.

[Yeah...] Danny sniffles a little. [I have memories from a life before I was a clone.]

"I know." Danny whips his head around to stare at Tim with wide eyes. "You let little things slip, and I am nothing if not diligent in knowing my precious people and keeping them safe."

[Stalker] Danny gives him a teasing smile, and Tim playfully pretends to be wounded, before Danny looks serious again and Tim matches the energy. [I lived for about 15 years before the 2 I've been here. I am actually Damian's age, despite how I behave.]

"Trauma does funny things to people. I don't see any reason we couldn't indulge you and make you happy."

[I have several theories about why I regress. One is good ol' trauma, but the other is because my core is only 3 years old.]

"Core?"

[All infinite realm beings and some liminals have a core. It's basically your entire being and all your organs in one. It's the most intimate thing to expose your core to someone. And if you crack a core, that's attempted murder/murder depending on how bad it is.] Danny pauses before adding [The core is your everything and will use ectoplasum to create a physical representation and use powers. The buzzing Jon and Kon heard was my core, it's what gave me powers, and I'm positive it's why I no longer look like Damian.]

"Huh...I thought your soul got tied to the Lazarus Pit or something."

[Not far off. Lazarus Pit is corrupted ectoplasum. But my core was implanted into this body by my mentor.]

"Who?"

[Clockwork. He keeps the time safe. He tried to help me, but he's very busy and the observers mess with him to keep him from noticing something is wrong.] Danny fiddles with his stylus. [He was devastated when he found what was left of me in that lab. They did so many experiments before cutting my human body to shreds til I was just my core. But I'm not a normal ecto entity who can heal from losing their body. Their bodies are just ectoplasum, they can regenerate what they need and reform.]

Tim runs a soothing hand over Danny's arm.

[But I'm an abomination even to ecto entities.]

"How so?"

[The way my core formed was unusual. I was a mostly normal human until I was 14. I was just a stupid kid showing his friends his insane parents' lab. My parents were walking OSHA violations on a good day, and I was just a kid growing in a delicate situation.]

Tim had a sick feeling, knowing this wasn't a good memory.

[One second I was just the town weirdos' completely human kid, the next I had most of the city's power grid electrocuting me to death while a portal to the infinite realm opened on top of me, flooding me with ectoplasum, that revived me. Over and over and over and over again til suddenly I was able to escape, but the damage was done. I was suddenly something called a Halfa. Not truly a human, nor truly an ecto entity. Both and neither.]

"Damn, I'm guessing neither party accepted you."

[Not at first. When "ghosts" started escaping and hurting humans, not always realizing that's what they're doing, I was the only one that could do anything. So I did. I became a vigilante. It didn't go smoothly at first, but eventually I understood them and property damage decreased drastically. Only the script flipped and suddenly there was a government agency and my ghost hating parents hunting all ghosts. Nothing and no one was safe and I had to step up again to keep people who hated me safe.]

"They caught you." It wasn't a question, but Danny nods all the same.

[I got caught. I had less rights than a lab rat. I don't want to think about all that happened there, but they eventually slowly started cutting away my human body. But I'm a halfa. I need a human body and my core was a mere infant. That's when Clockwork finally found me. He apologized over and over to my core while trying to find me a new body that was soulless. He told me he'd find somewhere I'd be safe. And next thing I know I was in this body, in an entirely new dimension, and being told to KILL my template?? I was really relating to Dani (my clone sent to kill me) on the way to that roof. I knew I couldn't kill Damian, I never want to kill anyone, but I was still curious enough to go looking. And you know the rest.]

"I'm sorry about how hard your life has been. You didn't deserve any of that. It's okay to be absolutely wrecked after everything that happened."

[Thanks]

"One last question. What was that form earlier?"

[It's new. I guess I have 3 forms now? There's this one obviously, but I also have one that looks like how I used to look. It has all my scars, but is more powerful. I don't like looking at it. Too much hurt. And now I have the one you saw. It felt like a physical manifestation of my obsession of space and my need to protect. Obsessions can influence how an ecto entity looks. A ghost's obsession is everything to them and can get depressed or violent when denied fulfilling it. Indulging in it heals, sooths, and powers them.]

"Not hard to guess yours." Tim teases before pushing the iPad away and putting Danny's cup of tea in his hands. "Thank you for telling me. I know it was hard for you."

Danny shrugs. They drink their tea is silence for a while before Danny yawns, making Tim yawn.

"Guess this means naptime." Tim puts the cups up before burying them both in Danny's fluffy space themed blankets. They're out in moments.

The next day, and with Danny's permission, Tim explains to the rest of the batfam what Danny told him. They fret over and reassure Danny they aren't scared of him, they're not sending him away, he's staying with them as long as he wants. The whole situation is a big step back in their progress in making Danny feel safe, but they all work through it. And Danny starts to willingly share more of his past and "ghost"ness.

They do have to explain to the police that, yes, Danny has a second scary form, and yes, Tim knows how to shoot a gun, but it was self-defense. There's a security video of it all, so it's all indisputable. Everyone is pissed when the video is leaked despite the Waynes best efforts, so the family gets even more protective of Danny.

Damian goes full guard dog when they return to school. Growling and snapping at anyone who so much as looks at Danny funny.

Tim is just relieved he can honestly tell Danny no one died during the mall incident. Sure, more than a few of the goons are crippled in some way, and the Joker is paralyzed from the neck down, but no one died. Danny still feels bad about it, but that's because he's a genuinely nice person who didn't have to be domesticated into not using excessive force.

[vampirecatprince]

One of our alters, after waking up bc of a Very Specific And Very Self Destructive Trigger, who is trying as hard as he can to not fixate on it:

[gojonanami]

IS IT OVER NOW? - SUGURU GETO (ft. SATORU GOJO)

summary: suguru thinks the only way you'll leave him is if he lies to you about cheating on him - and it is. but turns out, you're not so easy to leave -- for him and his best friend. contents: 18+ only, smut, mentions of cheating, swearing, spoilers for vol. 0 + star plasma vessel and premature death arc, so much angst, but also too much smut (gotta earn that smut by getting through the angst), multiple orgasms, creampie, unprotected sex, fingering (f receiving), oral (f + m receiving), slight choking, panty play, overstimulation (f receiving) wc: 11,150 (why do i do this) playlist: is it over now - taylor swift, now that we don't talk - taylor swift, you are in love - taylor swift, say don't go - taylor swift

“It’s over,” the words slipped out of his mouth like second nature, the same way “I love yous” left his lips with a smile against your neck, but now those same lips were in a tight line. His eyes once filled with mirth, now stared at you with nothing in them — nothing but empty truth. 

You don’t believe your ears — and how could you? The same man who laid with you on sleepless nights, in the silence of the way home after brutal losses, mornings spent in his wrinkled uniform white button up, stupid arguments ended in laughter, and the whispered promises kept like oaths in your hearts. 

But now, they were broken — broken like your heart was. 

“It’s over, I’m sorry — I can’t do this anymore,” and you’re stepping forward over this ravine with a snapping tightrope, but he’s on the other side with a lighter and a knife — daring you to cross it. Because he wouldn’t catch you — not anymore, “it’s not you—“ 

“Don’t give me bullshit assurances, Suguru,” you spit, the same name you had woken up this morning on your lips, all the love he had fostered over two and half years eroding away with his few words — slipping into hatred without another word, “give me a reason, I know Amanai and Haibara hurt you — hell, it hurt me too, but—“ 

“Don’t bring them up—“ he seethes, the same passion he once had for you — for even a scratch you had gotten from a mission that he promised to make a curse pay for again and again by making it serve him — now used for people who weren’t even here anymore, “it has nothing to do with them,” 

And you almost laugh. It had everything to do with them. You had watched him fall apart over this summer — scapegoat the summer heat to Satoru’s face, when it wasn’t the heat that was withering him to nothing — a wilting flower simmered under the heat of loss. And with no one who could reach him — because he wouldn’t let them. 

“You know that’s not true—” 

“I cheated on you,” and the words die on your lips — along with any hope you had, “it was a stupid mistake but it showed me we can’t keep doing this,” 

“You’re lying,” you denied it — no, no, no.  

“I’m not,” and you can’t make sense of it, sense of anything, images of him tangled with another assaulting your senses — assaulting your heart, your soul, your body — bile rising in your throat that seared you on the way down as you swallow, “I didn’t want to have to tell you, but if it’s the only way for you to accept this, so be it,” 

“Fuck off, you didn’t want to ‘have to tell me,’” hot, angry tears burning at your eyes, “fuck you,” 

“Sweet—“ 

“You don’t get to call me that,” you snarl, heart rattling your ribs, as if it was trying to break through its bony cage, as if puncturing itself on the shards of your bones would hurt less, “not unless you’re trying to fix this,” you bargain, bargain for a love that was already lost. 

“We can’t do this — I can’t do this to you,” and you give a watery chuckle, unable to meet his gaze; meet the gaze you once thought was your salvation — the thing you fought day in and day out to come home to, “I’m sorr—” 

“Don’t bother,” you bottle the sadness  in a barely kept shut box, shoved beneath your icy exterior, ice crawling over the recesses of your shattered soul, “don’t apologize for me for something you chose to do,” and you turn to walk away. 

“Where are you going?” 

And you give a terse chuckle, turning to look back, “you don’t get to care anymore, Geto.” 

~~~ 

It was necessary. It was necessary. It was necessary. 

That’s what Suguru keeps telling himself. He was caught in a tailspin, a tailspin that was only leading him one place, and he couldn’t take you with him. He couldn’t let that happen. But you keep haunting his thoughts, along with the other ghosts holed up in his head. 

He hasn’t seen you in weeks. Only sporadic updates from Shoko when she humored his questions with a bribe of free cigarettes — and he didn’t know what you had told her but he knew you hadn’t told her that he had cheated (because Shoko would have surely ignored him). Shoko had even snuck a picture of you. You had grown your hair out, eyes no longer full of the joy as it once had been, and a cigarette you had said you had sworn you would never smoke between your lips. 

And it only makes him want to pull the cigarette from your lips and kiss you again, swallow the smoke poisoning your lungs, hoping your lips would clear the poison from his system. But he couldn’t — he couldn’t go back now. Not when he couldn’t shake the darkness that crept over his soul — he couldn't go back to that spring, because those old days had died along with everyone else around him. Shot through the head just like Amanai. 

He stares at the picture and it only makes him more sure — he can’t be in your life. He can’t be yours, he can’t even be your friend — because he can’t pretend it’s just platonic — can’t pretend it means nothing — not when you can see right through him, see the light fading from inside him, and you’d try to save him. Because that’s what you do. So he pays the cost instead, the cost of losing you — of losing your smiles, your laughs, your tears, and your voice. 

And he didn’t even have his dignity — he had left that behind when he had lied to your face. Lied because he knew it was the only way you’d leave, and he couldn’t risk you staying. He couldn’t let your fingers dig into his sides, as he let himself drown, he couldn’t watch you choke on water along with him — no, no, it couldn’t happen. 

He had long drowned — on that beach in Okinawa. 

He got a phone call — Yaga — likely with another mission, and he only can think about Tsukomo’s words — over and over and over. He was treating the symptoms, eradicating curses day in and day out, he himself was a symptom of a broken system — a broken sorcerer. 

And he flips his phone open, staring at the screensaver of you and him, your sleepy smile as you look up at the camera nuzzled against his chest — filled with the same love in your eyes that he watched drain from your eyes when he fed you perfectly prepared lies. 

“Hello, yes, I’m available for a mission,” he hears Yaga give him the details of the mission on the other line, but it barely registers. 

But at least he wouldn’t break you too.  

~~~

You wake to a pounding at the door — the one time you had gotten time off, the one time you had taken the vacation you swore you would, the vacation that you would have your phone off, doors locked, no communication with anyone with Jujutsu Tech. 

And yet. 

There was someone banging on your door at 11:09 PM at night. 

You stare at your ceiling at the spinning fan above you, and you couldn’t imagine how this night could get any worse. You throw off your covers, only in sleep shorts and a t-shirt, grumbling as you meander your way to the door to find Satoru, standing at your doorstep. 

Your heart drops. 

“What— did—“ 

“Suguru defected,” and you stare at him, as if he’s speaking a foreign language — two words made no sense in that order, no, no — he wouldn’t do that. Suguru out of anyone wouldn’t do that.  

“No, that can’t—“ and Satoru comes inside, brushing past you, “Satoru—“ 

“It’s not just that,” he says softly, “he slaughtered a village, and his parents,” and you’re shaking your head, “why are you shaking your head—“ 

“What kind of weird prank is this, Satoru— he wouldn’t—“ and your voice dies in his throat as you see the look on his face, and all other words fade away from your lips except one —  “why?” 

And he explains — tells you what Suguru had told him, what had happened, why he left — “I couldn’t bring myself to kill him,” he murmurs, shaking his head, “I should have — if I had done what he did, Suguru wouldn’t have hesitated—“ 

“He wouldn’t have been able to do that to you, Satoru,” you scoff, leaning against your couch, Satoru sat beside you, “you’re the most important person to him, he wouldn’t have been able to even fathom the idea of hurting you. He would have just tried to convince you to change your mind,” 

He gives a bitter chuckle, “Well then, he would have been able to change my mind all the same,” he’s holding his face, as if it would keep himself from falling to pieces — but his hands are too late — you can see the broken pieces of what was Satoru Gojo in front of you. 

“Satoru, you can’t put Suguru upon yourself to save — he made the choices he made, you can’t change them. You can’t fix a person who doesn’t want to be fixed,” and maybe you were projecting — but you swore you saw the same pain, the same pain the day he broken your heart in Satoru’s eyes, “Suguru is smart enough to know where this road is leading—” 

“And why can’t I completely blame him for choosing it?” he murmurs, his cerulean eyes finally meeting yours over the rim of his sunglasses, “I understand how he feels — so do you, you’ve seen the broken system, the deaths that could have been prevented—” 

“But is this the way to fix it with innocent peoples’ blood on our hands?” you whisper, almost afraid to hear his answer, “I have friends who aren’t sorcerers — would he have me slaughter them too?” 

“Well, he killed his own parents, so I wouldn’t doubt that,” he shakes his head, “Suguru was never the type to do things half-heartedly,” and his gaze falls again to the floor, “do you know after I had retrieved Amanai’s body — I asked Suguru if we should kill all of those people in the Star Religious Group?” 

“Satoru—” 

“He said there would be no point in it — no reason,” and he’s licking his lips, pulling his glasses off, “but he found his reason now, didn’t he?” 

“Satoru, you had just come off Amanai, almost dying, you had barely a moment to process—” 

“Why did he tell me to stop? Why did he save me when he couldn’t do himself the same courtesy?” And he’s rising to his feet, pacing the room, unable to sit still, “I thought I’d come here and talk to you because who else could understand him more than me? Shoko maybe, but even she doesn’t know,” his fists are clenched at his sides, as he whirls to face you again, “Why? I don’t understand how a person can change so much — how can you go from protecting the weak to—” 

“Satoru, I don’t know why Suguru does the things he does—did you forget? He broke up with me,” the words reopen old wounds you thought had long scarred over, flesh wounds that had ripped you open, but had closed back up, now bleeding like new, “and he cheated on me,” and walked away without another word — twisting the knife with his silence. 

Satoru’s brows knit together, his mouth opening as if to dispute it, but closing again — because if Suguru could murder his own parents, why wouldn’t he cheat on his girlfriend? 

“I’m sorry—” and you laugh bitterly, meeting his gaze. 

“I think we have bigger problems than his unfaithfulness,” and he says nothing, “what are we going to do about him?” 

“Nothing—” 

You stare at him, lips parted, “Satoru—” 

“I can’t kill him,” his voice breaks, and it breaks you too,  “I couldn’t bear it. I can’t be the one to—” 

“But you’re the only one who can—” and you swallow the lump in your throat — how could you tell him to kill Suguru when you couldn’t imagine doing it either? “then what do we do?” 

“Nothing, for now,” he murmurs, running his fingers through his hair, “I’ll monitor his moves as best I can, he’s good at covering his tracks — he knows how I operate more than anyone else does,” he says softly, “but not many can hide from the six eyes,” 

“And you know how he does things too, Satoru,” you find your way his side, your fingers finding his, “it will take time for Suguru to make large moves — especially if he has two young children with him right now,” your heart aches at the thought — he promised to marry you one day, promised you a family once you both had settled down enough to consider it, and now he had two kids. But you weren’t with him. 

His eyes find yours, “i’m sorry about what happened — I wasn’t there — I haven’t been here, at all—” 

“You don’t have to apologize for that, Satoru,” and he’s shaking his head. 

“Maybe I could have—” 

“You can’t fix the whole world, Satoru,” you whisper gently, “you’re the strongest, yes, but that doesn't mean you can be everywhere and do everything,” 

“I should have been here,” and you’re shaking your head, “I could’ve—” 

“You couldn’t have, do you know how stubborn Suguru is? We couldn’t even convince him to cut his hair, much less change his mind about committing mass murder,” and he sighs, his eyes falling and rising to yours again, “hey, you’re okay, you know. You do too much, honestly, everything you’ve done — everything you will do—” 

“And yet it will never feel like enough,” and you feel as if you could hear the same words leaving Suguru’s mouth too — the two had more in common than they had cared to admit. 

“You are enough,” and your fingers find his cheek, “just as Satoru, you are,” 

And his arms are pulling you into a hug then, head buried in your shoulder, his body consuming you with its warmth, your fingers running through his snowy locks, his tears wetting your shirt, but you say nothing, only holding him.

He pulls back after a few minutes, but his arms still wrapped around you, as he stares at you, barely any evidence of his tears, except for the redness on the tip of his nose, “You’re enough too,” 

“I don’t know about that,” you joke, and he’s cutting you off with sharp words and a sharper look. 

“You are, sweetheart,” and the familiar pet name makes your heart ache, “you’re more than enough,” and his palm is resting against his cheek, thumb rubbing the length of your cheek, “you’re so much more than you even know,” 

And your breath catches as he draws near, “Satoru—” you shouldn’t. He shouldn’t. It wasn’t right. But why did his hands feel so nice against your cheeks? Why were you melting into his touch? Why didn’t you pull away? 

“I just want to feel something else,” his hand is sliding into your hair, fingers pressed against your neck, “don’t you?” 

And your lips find his first, lips brushing at first — and he’s so soft, his breath catching when you do, your fingers against his cheeks, and he’s pulling you back in again — it’s gravity. Again and again your lips meet, less hesitant with each kiss and each touch. 

This shouldn’t be happening. You needed to stop it — Suguru had always teased that his best friend had a thing for you — hell, Satoru had all but admitted it with teasing words and promises to steal you away if Suguru ever had fumbled your relationship. But you knew he’d never would do it. 

Or you thought he never would do it. 

His hands slide down your body, pulling your hips closer to his, “tell me stop, if you want me to,” he murmurs, fingers toying with the hem of your shirt, “I want—” 

And you’re kissing him again, pulling him along your living room to your bedroom, “I don’t want to stop,” you breathe, you want something else, you want Suguru’s touch cleansed from your body, you want something more — you want to be wanted.

It had been so long since you had been wanted. The last few months with Suguru felt like an exercise in futility. You barely saw him, much less touched him — mission after mission, and excuse after excuse, piled onto the pyre waiting to burn your love for him alive. How long had it been since you had even kissed him? Each time you tried would end in him pulling away, shaking his head and telling you he was tired. 

And he was. He was tired — tired of his work, tired of jujutsu society, and tired of you. 

But he didn’t have the courtesy to let you know. 

But Satoru…

His fingers are quick to get you naked, deftly pulling your t-shirt over your head, as your fingers tug his jacket off with the same eagerness, “Eager, are we?” he murmurs, half hearted teasing, a ghost of a smile on his lips as you pout, “don’t worry, I am too, baby,” as your fingers tug his sunglasses off, and place them on your nightstand. 

You roll your eyes, “Satoru—” and he’s swallowing your retort with his lips — and you can’t help but compare them in your mind, he was so much more aggressive than Suguru was. Suguru’s hands slid over your hips and thighs as if he had all the time in the world, while Satoru’s clung to you desperately, as if you’d dissipate under his fingertips, “should we be doing this? Suguru—“ 

“Cheated. Murdered. Left us,” And his lips slide from his lips to your jaw, before his teeth graze right under your jaw, drawing a gasp from your lips.

And his lips curl, “Such a pretty noise, just f’me,” and he’s biting and sucking, surely leaving a lovely mark against your skin, his tongue tracing over the mark, “did you make noises like that for Suguru?” 

“Satoru—” and his fingers are tugging at your bra, teasing your erect nipples as he’s only tugging the garment down, “fuck—” and his lips kiss your tit, while he’s rolling the other nipple between his thumb and forefinger, “please,” 

“Did you beg him like that too?” his fingers pull at the waistband of your shorts, teasing the skin underneath, “no wonder Suguru kept you for yourself,” he’s tugging off your shorts down your legs. 

“Can we not talk about him if we aren’t gonna talk—” and his lips find yours again, teeth baring down on your bottom lip, “Satoru—” you gasp as he pulls at your lip, thumb sliding over the kiss bitten flesh. 

“How can we not?” he murmurs, as his hands slide up your thighs to squeeze your ass, “is this the bed he fucked you on? Is this the way he touched you?” and he’s parting your thighs, large palms holding you apart, as his half lidded eyes linger on the wet patch on your panties, “is this how wet you got for him? Am I special?” 

“Oh, fuck off—” and your words fall away as his finger presses against the wet patch, thumb against your puffy clit while his fingers tease your aching cunt. 

“What was that, baby?” and he’s grinning, and he spares you, dragging your ruined underwear down, and he’s leaning down to your sopping pussy only to press teasing kisses to your inner thigh, before his lips press against your clit, “so fucking wet,” and he inhales, a languid moan leaving his lips, “if you taste as good as you smell, I’ll be cumming in my pants before I even fuck your pretty cunt,” 

And his fingers sink into you — two at once, making your lips part, teasing your pussy open, the lewd sounds fill your ears as your slick squelches against his fingers, “Hear that? Such a greedy cunt, swallowing my fingers up even when I try to pull out,” and he’s pumping faster now, fingers curling against your walls, making you moan far too loudly, “moaning like that, and I’ve barely even started,” he hums, before his breath is warming your slick cunt as a warning as his tongue begins to lap at your clit, again and again. 

“Fuck, Toru, need more—” His other hand is only grabbing you, pulling you impossibly closer as a third finger finds its way into you, and your hips move against his touch, begging him to fuck you in earnest. But he’s unrelenting. You can hear him swallow around you, every flutter of your cunt made just for him, as he nearly growls against you, vibrations only making you nearly grind yourself against his fingers and mouth.  His tongue circles your clit, toying with it, before his lips close over it and suck, nearly making you scream, “I’m cummin—” 

And his fingers finally find the spot they had been looking for, again and again with deft precision, as your walls clench around his fingers, as you gasp, arching your back, as you cum, and he’s licking your essence up eagerly. 

Grinning as he pulls his fingers from you, licking your cum from his digits, before lapping at your leaking cunt, making you twitch around nothing, “Fuck, needy pussy practically begging me to fill you, huh? Hehehe,” he’s looking up at you all fucked out, your thighs twitching, eyes blown out — meanwhile his lips, chin, and nose were painted in your essence, the most beautiful work of art you’d ever seen, “didn’t realize how much I wanted this,” and he’s licking up your cum off his face, and wiping the rest on the back of his hand, and he’s climbing back over you, dragging his clothed bulge over your still sensitive cunt, making you both groan, “and I guess neither did you,” 

You’re still looking up at him with lust filled eyes, as your fingers find his cheeks, “aren’t you wearing far too many clothes still?” and he’s smiling, “wanna help me out with that, sweetheart?” he asks, as his fingers press your boobs together, thumbs flicking against the abused nipples, cock twitching against your cunt as if he was imaging what it would feel like to blow his load right between them, his warm cum all over your face— 

And you’re flipping him in a moment, pinned underneath you, as your fingers undo each button of his now definitely creased white button up, damp with your cum, as your palms drag over the exposed skin of his chest and abs, “Can’t wait to fuck myself on this later,” you murmur, leaning down to drag your tongue up his stomach, making him gasp deliciously, before your fingers busy themselves with undoing his belt, the click of the buckle only making you ache more, as you undo the zipper of his pants, tugging his boxers along with them to bunch at his feet hanging off your too small of a bed, and you can’t stop the gasp that leaves your lips. 

He’s so fucking big. 

Suguru was big, so fucking big that the first time he fucked you, he couldn’t even fit in your tight cunt. He had to give you multiple orgasms, prep you right, stretching you out with his fingers and tongue, and even a dildo, until you could fit himself with lube. And Satoru definitely wasn’t as thick as Suguru, but he made up for that in length — fuck, how deep would that reach? A pretty curve at the end with lovely veins running up that made your mouth water, white pubes dotting along it that were shaved, but grown out — likely from being away on missions for so long. 

“You can take a picture, it’d last longer,” and your eyes snap up to the smirk on his lips, “although I tend to last very long,” he’s shrugging out of his shirt and kicking off his pants, before he’s pinning you under him again, “and if you do, maybe I can take a picture of you, full of my cum, my cock fucking it back in — it’s only fair, right, pretty?” and you shiver, as his finally unclothed cock bumps against your cunt, “oh, you’d like that wouldn’t you? I’ll make it my screensaver, you’d like wouldn’t you, filthy girl?” 

And your fingers wrap around his cock, finally making him shut up with a hiss, “Gonna talk all night, or you gonna fuck me, Toru?” and he barks out a laugh, but it's consumed by a moan as you stroke him, leaning up to kiss along his jaw, “you gonna fuck the same hole your best friend did? Gonna cum there too?” and he’s thickly swallowing, your words leaving the great Satoru Gojo speechless, “what? If you brought up Suguru, so can I, right? Only fair,” you echo his words, and you’re squeezing around the base of him, “well, are you—” 

And he’s pulling your hand away, teasing your dripping entrance with the tip of his cock, dragging his pre-cum over your cunt, letting your cum mix together, “Fuuuuuck, baby, so fuckin’ gorgeous,” and he’s manhandling you, grabbing your thighs, and hooking your ankles over his shoulders, “gonna fuck you now, sweetheart, any complaints?” 

He grins at the way you shake your head eagerly, hips nearly grinding against his cock, and his tip sinks past your walls, “so tight, baby, did Suguru not fuck you right?” You can’t manage a reply, as you grasp at his shoulders, pulling him closer, as he sinks into you inch by inch, his brow furrowed beautifully as he finally bottoms out with a groan, “s’good f’me, so perfect—“ your walls flutter around him, your slick soaking him, and he’s tilting your head by your chin to make you look at where he’s sunk into you. 

And he’s pulling out before sinking back in, and you’re gasping and squeezing him — how was he possibly deeper? “Fuck, baby, your cunt is trying snap me half,” and his hips are slapping against you as he fucks you in earnest, the squeaks of your mattress as he thrusts in and out and the lewd squelch of your pussy as it wraps around every inch and vein of his cock, “that’s it, that’s it, take me, take every inch of me,” and his balls are slapping against your ass, “did you take Suguru this well? Did you ever take anyone this well?”

And you’re a mess of just moans as he’s fucking you again and again, as he cups your chin, “I didn’t hear an answer or did the I fuck the words out of you too, baby?” He’s kissing you again, swallowing your noises with lips curled, before he’s pulling away with a groan, “can’t hear myself think with how loud you are — so fucking wet,” 

“S’close, Toru, I-“ and he’s grunting, nodding, as he watches you, his cerulean eyes stare at you, right as his tip brushes your cervix— 

“Cum for me baby, let me watch you cum around my cock,” and his fingers reach down between the two of you and rub against your clit, making your eyes roll back, as you fall apart around him. 

Your walls are fluttering around him as you cum, moaning his name on your lips, as he pistons in and out again and again, thrusts stuttering as your walls squeeze him tight, “baby, I’m gonna cum, where do you want me—“ 

“Inside—please need to feel you cum—“ and you’re moaning, pulling him impossibly closer, and he’s sinks deep into you, and cums. He’s spurting his thick load into you, fucking it into you deeper and deeper, until you’re so full of him and his cum, you can barely feel anything else. 

He’s slipping your legs off his shoulders, before collapsing on top of you, sinking into your arms. He’s pulling out, watching your mixed releases slip out of you with a groan, “how are you so fucking perfect?” He’s finding your lips in a kiss, before his nose nuzzles your neck, as your highs wear down. 

Your fingers run through his white strands, “shouldn’t I be asking you that?” And he laughs, settling on your chest.  And for a moment you forget — you forget the nights you spent with Suguru in this bed, the nights spent in tangled sheets with whispered nothings, with his arms around you, just like Satoru’s were now. 

But only for a moment. 

And as Satoru’s soft snores filled your ears, the only thing on your mind was the one person who you wanted in your bed right now. 

~~~ 

“Still asleep?” your fingers run through his hair, “such a lazy-bones on your days off,” and your lips trace over his jaw, making his lips curl despite the draw of sleep, “gonna leave me hanging after last night?” 

And your lips find his, sliding over his with practiced ease, the same way you breathed — it was natural, as his fingers find purchase in your hair, sliding back to your neck. Again and again, your lips cannot part his, if you can’t breathe without him — cannot exist without his touch. 

And when you do part, he’s smiling, black fringe falling in his eyes, “So needy in the morning,” Suguru’s voice is gravelly with sleep, even as your fingers card through his black locks, “when did you become such an early riser? Usually I’m the one dragging you out of this bed kicking and screaming,” 

Usually, but he’s the one who's struggling out of bed these days. He’s struggling to even function — lifting his arms in the shower feels like too much effort — and what’s the point? Would anything change if he left his bed today? Couldn’t he escape into the recesses of his unconscious for the rest of the day? 

But you’re here — and you’re leaning over him, your lips curled in that smile that damned him into submission, because what could he do except submit to you — “who said anything about leaving this bed?” 

But he needed to leave this bed, he thought, as your lips found his again — and how did you always taste so sweet? — he needed to leave these warm covers and inviting embrace. Because he couldn’t stay here. 

He couldn’t stay with you.

But then your lips find his, and he can’t bring himself to stop, not when you’re climbing on top of him, straddling his waist, his growing bulge tenting in his boxers. He can he stop when you’re murmuring his name like that, eager fingers tugging the damp fabric down, letting his dick slap against his stomach — a bead of precum that you lean down, your tongue darting out to taste. 

And he hisses, as your fingers wrap around him, teasing the head of his cock, thumb dragging over the slit, “sweetheart—“ he's warning — but you know he’s all bark and no bite — but he would be biting you later surely, with the way you toy with him — both his cock and his feelings. 

Your mere presence in his bed has him questioning himself — questioning how necessary is it to end things? Why does he need to? He had this future planned — a certain way things were to go — he was the strongest, him and Satoru, he was going to work and settle down later, marry you, maybe even a kid or two — but now — the plans had changed. 

He had changed. 

Satoru was the strongest. Not him. And work as a sorcerer was killing him now, as you and Satoru were sent farther and further away, and Shoko had resigned herself to medicine — what did he have? Another year of this hell — he didn’t even know if he could last another day of swallowing curses. It had become second nature to him, but without a purpose, without a reason without any principles to guide him — it became worse than torture. 

It was his personal hell. 

And yet, as your soft lips closed around his leaking tip, fingers playing with his balls, as you sank your mouth onto him, drawing soft moans from his lips — he didn’t wanna give it up. How could he, when you were here? He could burn his life down to ash, watch what he worked for, what he had thought was his purpose fall to pieces in front of him — let himself fall to pieces — but that would mean burning you along with it. 

And could he bear that? 

Your tongue flicked against his length, tracing his veins as his tip hit the back of your throat, making you gag around him, as his fingers settled in your hair, “fuck, sweetheart, s’fucking good f’me,” and his hips shallowly thrust into your mouth, “take me so well, practically swallowing my dick,” and you swallow around him, pulling a moan from his mouth, his eyes flitting down to see the telltale press of your thighs together, “such a filthy girl, look at you, probably dripping wet from sucking me off,” 

And he’s tugging you off, strings of spit and his precum connecting your lips to his aching dick, “Sugu—“ your lips are red and puffy, parted still, with cum and spit slipping down the corner of your mouth. 

And he’s pulling you on top of him, fingers pressing into the soft flesh of your thighs, hissing as the damp fabric of your far too thin sleep shorts press against his still sensitive cock, “don’t even have to get you ready baby, already all prepped from just tasting me, aren’t you?” 

He shouldn’t be doing this — he told himself today would be the day, he promised himself he’d stop pretending everything was fine. But when you felt so perfect on him — soft skin and soft sighs, your little gasp you gave when his fingers slide his t-shirt — the one full of small holes you had stolen from him when you first spent the night that you refused to throw out — up and over your head, exposing your chest to him — how can he stop? 

“Suguru, please,” you whimpered as his mouth took one nipple in his mouth, warm tongue flicking against the pebbled flesh before his teeth graze it, pulling another hallowed moan from your lips, “need you,” 

“Do you?” He hums, half teasing, half truthful — did you need him? Would you fall apart when he left? Would he spend nights wondering if you were anxious without him? Spend days wondering how you were filling them without him? 

And you pause, strange look on your face, as your eyes scan over his features, palm sliding over his face, “of course I do,” passion falls away for a moment replaced with a different intimacy, “you’re my best friend,” and your lips slide over his as you lean down, “I’ll always need you, even when we’re both dust — I hope we spend it bathed in sunshine together,” 

But would you? His eyes can’t meet yours — because he can’t see the sun in his future, only a dark descent into madness — a future spent alone. Because even with your smile at the end of his days, he couldn’t imagine spending another minute doing thankless work for miserable, ignorant, weak monkeys, only to do it all over again the next day. And his silence has you questioning him, but it’s like water fills his lungs, paralyzed by his own thoughts, and even as concern fills your eyes, he still can’t find anything to say. 

So you say it instead. 

“C’me here,” you murmur, and your hands slide over him, “I love you,” you kiss him all over his face — his nose, his cheeks, his chin, his forehead, before your lips hover before his, “can I—“ 

And he’s flipping you under him, pressing bruising kisses to your lips, as his fingers snake between your thighs, “you don’t need to ask— you never need to ask me,” he whispers in the dark, but even so, he knows — it can’t stay like this — even as he pulls your shorts down to bunch around your ankles and presses his leaking tip your messy folds — it can’t — because you were meant to live in the sunshine. 

And he hilts himself in you fully, inch by inch, until he’s groaning your name in a grunt — and he belonged in the dark silence. 

He knows this would be the last time. It would be. Because he had to — he couldn’t wait. It was only a waiting game until he was called to another mission, time until he dragged himself lower — until he couldn’t blame the heat for his dark bags under his eyes and the lost weight. 

He had to. 

And as he fucks you to your orgasm, instead of your lips moaning his name, your hard eyes meet his, lips parting, “I hate you—“ and his hands curl around your neck, “I hate lying traitors,” you choke out as his fingers squeeze your neck. 

SNAP. 

And he jolts awake, as whispers fill his ears, as his heartbeat slows, “Master Geto?” His eyes flicker over, spotting Nanako and Mimiko trying to snap a chocolate bar in half, “can you help us?” 

A dream. It was a dream. 

And he’s helping the girls, as they curl up beside him, “are you okay, Master Geto? You were talking in your sleep,” Nanako asks, ever curious, “you looked like you were having a bad dream,” 

“I was,” he admits, eyes fixed downward, trying to force the image of you choking below him from his eyes, “about someone I used to know,” 

“Who?” Mimiko pipes up, nibbling on her chocolate, and he sighs, running his hands through their hair, a bittersweet smile on his lips — he could still feel your lips against his, the smell of your sweat, the feel of your body. 

“Someone I loved — who I left, but I guess…I guess I miss them,” why was he spilling his guts to these two little girls? Ones who had been through far too much to hear about his petty problems. 

“Then why don’t you talk to them?” Nanako asks, “maybe you can tell them to live with us,” and his lips curl sadly. 

“I don’t think she would want to talk to me,” and why would you? After what he had said, what he had done, and what he was going to do. 

“You can try,” Mimiko says, she bites a chunk out of her share of the chocolate bar, “you tried to save us and you did — maybe you can do the same thing — save her,” 

And he considers it — maybe he didn’t have to drag you down. Maybe he wouldn’t be — maybe he’d be saving you. Saving you from a system that would only land you in a pile of bodies — just like Riko, just like Haibara. 

Maybe — maybe he could. Maybe he could be enough for you. Enough for you to leave. Enough for you to stay. He could have his family — and have you too. 

~~~~ 

He still had your key. 

You hadn’t bothered to ask for it back — maybe you had forgotten, maybe you didn’t care — but a part of him hoped it was for another reason, maybe you wanted him to come back. 

Even so, he didn’t know if it would still work — maybe you had the foresight to change the locks — but it does, sliding into the lock with ease, as the tumblers slide into place and he’s turning the knob into a silent apartment. And it plants a stubborn seed of hope in his chest, maybe it wasn’t so crazy — aside from breaking and entering — maybe he would find his way back to you. 

You’re likely on your walk this morning still — the same way you started the weekend, a walk and visit to your local coffee shop where you got the same order each time, and then you’d spend an hour browsing the shops for something to read or make. He scans the apartment — he knows you’re on vacation this week, from what Shoko had told him last, before he had spoken to Satoru. You hadn’t heard of his news, but you probably did now — if Shoko hadn’t told you, he knew Satoru would have. 

And he wonders how that conversation went. Wondered how angry you were. Wondered how much you must hate him now — maybe you even wanted to kill him. But the logical side of him knew you didn’t have the skill to do so — you were a grade 1 — a cut above the rest, but still, your abilities weren’t enough, but emotionally…he may let you kill him, if only to spare him the agony of having to kill you — but he knew it’d kill you just the same. 

He can see his days spent here before — you had finally moved off campus, convincing Yaga to let you have your own place early before graduation. You two had celebrated being free of dorm rooms with far too little space and too thin walls (too many times Satoru had spoiled the moment by either banging on the wall, blasting polka music, or just with smug remarks about yours and Suguru’s lack of sleep). He sees himself sitting at the kitchen counter, your stools pressed close as the two of you read the paper together, or laughed about something Shoko had texted or something stupid Gojo had done to piss off Yaga over burnt toast you had only burned while he’s pressing his lips to you. Or evenings spent on the couch cuddling while a bad movie he had picked played, but he’s more preoccupied with teasing you with brushes of his fingers against your bare skin or burying his face in the crook of your neck. And nights spent in your bed, entangled together, his arms around you listening to you breathe, skin dappled in the moonlight that streamed in from the window, wondering how did you ever exist at the same time as him? 

And then the front door swings open, as he steps out from the bedroom, and he hears a bag slip falling to the floor, groceries spilling out, and his gaze finds yours, “What—” 

“I came to see you,” he moves closer, and you step back — and he’s stopping, he doesn’t see fear in your eyes, he sees hurt — and he almost thinks maybe fear would pain him less. 

“Well, I’m here,” you cross your arms, unable to quite meet his eyes, “anything else?” 

“Sweetheart—” 

“You don’t get to call me that, Geto,” your words were sharp as a knife, and you were trying to cut — and you did, deep. He bites back the sting, as he stares at you — your hair was longer, your eyes had bags, but your lips were twisted with pain, when normally it’d be quirked in a smile pressed against his cheek, “what do you want? Unless I should just save myself the trouble and call Satoru or Yaga?” 

“I came to get you,” he steps forward slowly, and you don’t move away this time, “let’s be together. I—” 

“You murdered people, you murdered your parents, you left Jujutsu Tech, you broke my heart, you broke Satoru’s and Shoko’s  — and you want me to come with you?” you shake your head, barking out a harsh laugh, “did you lose your grip on reality between all the damage you’ve caused? 

“If you let me explain—” 

“And why should I let you? Your silence these past months was enough for me, you not fighting for us was enough for me, you spiraling without letting me help you was enough for me,” and your voice breaks, “and you cheating on me was enough for me, enough for me to know it’s over.” 

“It’s not over, it’s not. I tried to force it to be over. I lied to you, I lied to myself, and said it was over, but it’s not, it’s not,” and he’s so close in a moment, and he can smell the familiar scent of your perfume mixed with your sweat — lavender, hibiscus, and something all the more sweeter, “not when it’s us,” and his fingers brush against your cheek, “please—” 

“Don’t do this,” you’re shaking your head, again and again, “don’t, don’t, don’t, please—” 

“How can I not? How can I not when I was foolish enough not to the first time, pretty?” he’s murmuring, “I love you, I do, I never stopped,” 

“No, you don’t—” 

“I do, I do, I know I said a lot of things, I need you to know, I need to explain, if you just let me—” and his fingers are sliding along your jaw, and finds uneven skin, and his eyes lingers, as his fingers tilt your chin up to find a fresh hickey left underneath.

“I—” and he’s drawing you close, so close, his dark eyes narrowed to slits, a deadly silence that makes your skin prickle under his gaze, until he’s warming your lips with his breath. 

“Tell me to stop and I will,” but the telltale sign of your breath catching, your chest heaving against his, your lips parted as your eyes can’t pull away from him, his grip is slack enough for you to pull away — but you don’t. 

You can’t. 

And his lips hover before yours, warming your own with his heated breath, “Kiss me, baby,” and your cheeks warm, butterflies erupting in your stomach, heat blooming wherever his other hand sneaks, dragging over your sides. 

“Why should I?” you’re grumbling, but you’re staying right where he has you — right in his arms, and you don’t know why, “you want to kiss me so bad so you do it,” 

And he clicks his tongue, fingers sliding behind your head, weaving into your hair and against the soft skin of the back of your neck, tugging you closer, “you kissed someone else with those lips, tasted them, maybe a day or two — were you this bratty with them?” 

“Oh fuck off, Suguru, you’re one to talk—“ and his lips swallow your bitter words, tasting them on your tongue, as he parts your lips with a rough squeeze of your hips. And his lips only quirk when your moan rumbles against him, his calloused palms sliding between your thighs. 

“You open your legs this easy for them?” he says when he’s pulling away from your mouth, thumb dragging over your swollen spit soaked lips, “how’s that fair? I’m your first, baby, and I’ll always be your favorite—“ 

And any retort is lost as his teeth drag over your jaw, lips closing right over the hickey he had hated so much, normally calm eyes filled with dark contempt, and he’s biting down, pinching your already bruised skin between his teeth, sucking and soothing with his tongue, “Mine, isn’t that right, sweetheart?” 

You nod wordlessly, and his fingers slide forward, wrapping around the front of your neck, thumbing the hollow of your throat, “Use your words,” and there was something darker — something he had let you have glimpses of in moments of missions, of arguments, even in bed — but it wasn’t a glimpse now — it was the whole goddamn picture above you. 

“I’m yours, Suguru,” you manage, words strangled by a moan as his lithe fingers tug at the waistband of your panties, making them rub against your drenched cunt, “please—” 

“So pliant now, aren’t you?” he hums, as he pulls harder, making the wet fabric rub against your aching clit, “maybe I should make you cum this way, don’t know if you deserve my fingers or my mouth yet,” 

You’re a mess — mind swimming in the need for pleasure, why did it always feel so right with him? So perfect. It shouldn’t be. He cheated on you. He slaughtered humans. He left you. He left you without telling you anything of what was plaguing him, until it was too late. 

It was too late. He was too late. 

So why were you letting his hands tear your panties apart as he fucked you with them? 

Because — your fingers reach for his cheeks, leaning up to kiss him, again and again, as your lips parted and met — it was Suguru. 

It was always Suguru. 

“Please, Suguru, I need you, need more—ngh—” and the fabric of your panties snaps under his fingers, as he’s ripped them off, pocketing them without another word. 

“Did you let him touch you?” he’s kissing down your body, wet kisses, his lips lingering at your pebbled nipples, sucking one, while squeezing the other between his thumb and forefinger, before he switches, kissing down your stomach — tongue teasing your belly button — before he’s finally settling between your thighs, his fringe unrulier than ever, strands of his long hair slipping from his bun, “Answer me, sweetheart,” he orders, as he presses mean fingers to part your thighs for him, surely leaving bruises with how hard he’s holding your soft flesh. 

“I did,” you can’t manage the words to tell him who — how can you tell him his best friend fucked you? That you let Satoru fuck you the night you found out he left. It was one thing for him to cheat with a random person, it’s another for you to go and sleep with his best friend, “Suguru, please—” 

“Mouth or fingers?” and you swear, despite them not speaking, they still share the same dumbass brain cell— 

“What the fuck does it matte—” and your words are cut off by Suguru slipping in two fingers at once into your leaking cunt, fucking you meanly as he watched your mouth fall open, head tilted back as your hips jerked against him, desperate for more. His fingers curled as they fucked your hole open with rapid thrusts, the squelch of your cunt going straight to your head and straight to his already hard cock. 

“It fucking matters because this is my pussy, isn’t it, baby? I fucked it first, I fucked it best, and I need to know what others did while I was gone, don’t I?” and a third joins the other two, pulling another moan from your lips,“but if you won’t tell me, I’ll just use both, fuck you with all five fingers and tongue if that’s what you want to do,” 

“Sugu—” you’re already so fuckin’ close, your walls shuddering around his cock, “I’m—“ and he stops moving, smiling down at your open mouth twisting in a scowl, “fuck—“ 

“That’s what we’re trying to do, baby, but I’m not gonna let you cum that easy,” he coos, his curled lips leaning down to lap at your cunt, warm tongue dragging up your clit, before sucking lightly, making you squirm, “tell me you want me,” 

“Your fucking ego—“ and he’s plunging three fingers into your messy entrance, making you gasp — god, you hated how good he felt — his fingers bullying your insides with practiced ease, “Sugu— please—“ as his tongue teases your clit, flicking it, before his teeth nibble at it. You’re squirming in earnest now, nearly fucking yourself on his fingers and tongue. 

He laughs, pulling his mouth from your cunt, lips glossy with your pre-cum,“How quick you’re going from cussing me out to begging me to cum,” you don’t care anymore — you need to cum, “tell me what you want, Princess,” 

“Need to cum, please, please, Sugu—ah—“ and he’s sinking one more finger in you, before his lips close around your clit and suck, hard. Your back arches as something in you snaps, as the squelching and slurping of his fingers and sucking send you over the edge. You flood his mouth and fingers with your cum, squirting all over him, as he eats you out and fucks you through your orgasm, groaning as you clench around his tongue and fingers. Your thighs shake and quiver in his grip, fingers holding you still in place, as he keeps overstimulating you, “too much, can’t—“ you cry out, shaking your head, but he’s not relenting until you feel something build in again — more and more, until his fingers find that one spot in you that has you silently screaming as you cum again, even harder than the first. You’re soaked — soaked the sheets through, chest rising and falling as the pleasure ebbs away, tears slipping down your cheeks, folds fluttering as he pulls his fingers out. 

His breath warms your dripping cunt, lips glossy and eyes dark, groaning as he watches your cum slip from inside you,  as he looks up at you with a dark, half lidded gaze, “So fucking good for me, even hotter when you cry,” he’s licking his lips clean of your cum, before he’s pressing the pads of his fingers into your open mouth, “clean them f’me, baby,” and your tongue swirls around him obediently without question, pretty eyes glassy with tears making his rock hard cock twitch in his pants, “good girl,” 

And he’s pulling his fingers from your mouth, before leaning up and pulling off his black sweater, the click of his belt as he kicks off his pants, your eyes glued to his thick cock — he was thicker than Satoru, so pretty too — black pubes groomed, nearly pressed against his stomach. 

“Always so desperate for my cock, aren’t you, Princess? I’ll let you clean your cum off of it after, but I have to have you first — got to reclaim what’s mine,” and he’s dragging his cock against your clit. 

You gasp, twitching against him, but more than the pleasure, the guilt creeps in — flashes of Satoru from the night before with hands over your hips and thighs, and you had kept quiet about your life from the time you spent away. You had done your best to stay away from Suguru, even though you knew he hadn’t exactly done the same — asking Shoko questions, for pictures, for any scrap of you. 

And you couldn’t lie — not about this. 

“Suguru,” and he’s pausing, eyes meeting yours with a flash of concern, but the words tumble out with warning, just the way he had done with you, “I slept with Satoru,” 

And he’s silent — emotions roll in and out on his face — confusion, hurt, anger, and acceptance — they all fall away as he’s only staring off to the side, unable to even look at you. Words fall away, stopped in your mouth after the bitter truth that’s left it and you wonder — is it over now? Seconds feel like hours — your fingers curl into the sheets, looking for something to hang onto, to ground you. Why did he have to start this? You were fine with the burnt ashes of the love he had scorched over, but now he started a fire, and you didn’t want to put it out. You didn’t want to go out. 

You didn’t want him to go. 

But he doesn’t. Instead, his eyes finally find yours for a moment, before he’s kissing you again and again and again, bruising kisses that slaughter any sense of logic and words from you — but his message is clear, he doesn’t wanna talk, especially as his hand reaches does to brush his aching tip against you, smearing his pre-cum over the length of you. 

And he’s sinking into you, and somehow you’re still so tight around him, “Fuck,” he hisses, the first word that leaves his mouth, “did Satoru not fuck you right last night?” and your lips part as he thrusts harshly and smoothly, bottoming out with one single movement, “still as tight as when I took your virginity, aren’t you, baby?” 

“Suguru,” you’re so full, he’s so thick, and these last few weeks without him almost had your cunt forgetting what he felt like filling you — his hands gripping your thighs to press them back against your stomach, as he pulls back only to slam back in, making you head loll back, “s’good, s’full,” it’s all you can feel, all you can think about, was him, just him. 

“That’s right, I’m the only one who can fill you like this, the only one that makes you feel this good,” the sounds of his hips slapping against you send more heat flooding downward, as he grunts, watching himself piston in and out of you, “take me s’well, my good girl, mine,” he growls, “squeezing me so tight, never want me to leave this sweet cunt, do you?” your thighs shake as he presses them back, balls slapping against your ass, as he only sinks deeper and deeper, “could fuck you all night, don’t hide that face from me,” he’s forcing you to hold his gaze as he fucks you — your glassy eyes blown out with pleasure, your kiss ruined lips parted for him as you panted and moaned, forehead glossy with sweat, “wanna watch you cum around my cock, wanna see you scream my name, pretty baby,” 

His hand slides behind your ass, grabbing a fistful and finding a better angle before slamming back in, and with his filthy words, its enough to have you cumming with his name on your lips, “Sugu—fuck, Suguru!” your voice goes to a pitch you didn’t know it could reach. Toes curling as your gummy walls swallow him in, your pretty mouth forms an ‘o’ and he grunts, imagining those lips around his cock, his thrusts growing sloppy as he fucked you through your orgasm. His dick was soaked, his precum mixing with your cum. 

But he wasn’t done yet. 

He’s slapping your clit, making you jolt, as he’s still pressed inside you, “Sloppy fucking girl, I know you have one more for me,” and you’re so fucked out, he’s guiding your legs around his lower back and hips, making you gasp, “gonna cum in this perfect princess cunt,” 

“Sugu, can’t, It’s too muc—” you nearly sob, but he’s already fucking you, thrusting again and again. And it doesn’t take long for another orgasm to build, already far too sensitive from your last. It’s too much — the feeling of his hips slapping against yours, the feeling of his cock twitching inside your walls, the small moans that your tight cunt pull from his lips, and when his tip brushes against that perfect spot, as his thumb bears down on your clit — it’s too much. You see stars as you cum again, even harder, the loud squelch as he fucks you still pulls a deep groan from his lips. 

“Gonna cum, baby, gonna make a mess of you, fill you up,” he’s grunting, and you’re only nodding and moaning “yes,” still fucked out from your orgasms, but it’s enough for him notch himself deep in you and cum, painting your womb white, as he spurts his seed inside you. 

And his hips stutter, as he eases your legs down, still shaking and quivering from being fucked, and he rubs them, as you pant, his fingers then reaching to wipe your tears, as he eases himself out, groaning as he watched your mixed cums leak out of your cunt. 

“Suguru,” you murmur, and he’s leaning over you, pressing a sweet kiss to your forehead, and your hand reaches for him, cupping his cheek, “I love you,” and you do — you always loved him, you always would — there was never anyone else. Only him. But the words can’t find their way out of your mouth, sleep calling for your attendance, as your fingers run through his hair, pulling his hair tie off, and carding their way through his long hair, “I love the long hair,” you hum, eyes fluttering and heavy with sleep. 

“Do you?” His voice is gravelly, as he leans down, his lips finding your own for moment, before reaching for a bath towel you had slung over your metal bed frame, as he cleans you up, “how much?” 

“Too much, Sugu,” he chuckles softly, as he finishes cleaning you and himself up, pressing soft kisses to your thighs, as he moves to get up and put the towel in the hamper — your hand catches him by the wrist, “Don’t go,” 

And his gaze softens, as he shakes his head, “I’m just taking this to the hamper, I’ll come back to bed,” and your lips form an unfairly cute pout, but you relent, letting him walk away to the bathroom to dispose of the towel, and when he comes back, you’re already asleep, curled up. 

He stands in the doorway, watching your chest rise and fall — and he’s walking over, pulling your comforter over your body, as he holds it open for himself, pausing, only to let it fall and settle on your side. 

He couldn’t ask you to come with him. Couldn’t whisper those words in the night, because you couldn’t save him from the dark — not you, not Satoru, not a single person. Because he wasn’t cut out to live in this world with a smile on his face — and you always deserved to have one on your lips. And Satoru could do that for you. Not him. 

It was never him. He was never good enough — his fingers trace over your cheek, pressing another kiss to your forehead — not for the jujutsu world, and not for you. 

And he turns to leave, sparing a single glance at you — but he’d make a place for him. And maybe for you — make a world that’s safe for them to live in. Where he didn’t have to watch you join the other bodies piled up around him. 

He’s pulling the door shut to your apartment softly, his key left on the table. 

It was over. 

~~~

“You’re late again, as usual,” Suguru smiles, slumping down against a wall, “Satoru,” 

“The ones in Kyoto, they were under your command?” 

“Yes, they all were,” he sways, holding his shoulder, he didn’t have much time left — he couldn’t feel anything, even as he held his wound, he felt nothing — no pain, no anger, no hatred, “no matter what anyone says, I hate those monkeys,” and his thumb brushes lightly over his shoulder, “but I never held any hatred for those in Jujutsu High School,” 

“Did you not? Could’ve surprised me,” and his head turns slowly behind Satoru, and he sees you — sees you for the first time in a decade. Even at his visit to Jujutsu High, you weren’t around — away on a mission, just as he had intended. 

Satoru only sighs, sparing you a glance, “I told you not to come here—” 

“And I told you that I needed to see him,” you brush past Satoru, kneeling by Suguru — and he can’t take his eyes off of you — he had seen pictures, ones he had his twins take (not wanting those money grubbing monkeys to have even an image of you), and he saw you had done quite well for yourself after he had left. A teacher, just like Satoru — trying to foster a new generation of sorcerers — he was right, you were just like him, weren’t you? And he watches as your brow furrows, scanning over his injuries, gears grinding, but he has to halt them right then and there. 

“There’s no saving me now, sweetheart,” he clicks his tongue, “but you know that already, don’t you?” he takes an unsteady breath, leaning back against the wall, his eyes falling over you again, “still so beautiful — how’s that possible?” 

“Not beautiful to stick around for though, am I?” your words aren’t laced with bitterness so much as it’s a question, a question of why he had left you. Why did he never had come back. 

“But beautiful enough to always stay faithful to,” his words are soft, “I don’t have many regrets, not any at all truly in retrospect, but I did lie to you about cheating—” 

“I know,” your hand uses your sleeve to clean some of the blood on his face, scarlet on your palm, “I realized once I thought about it — and I’ve had plenty of time to think about you, Suguru,” your fingers trace his jawline softly, “because thoughts were all you left me with,” 

“Not all I left you with,” his eyes slide back to Satoru and back to you, lips curled in a smile, “you two were always more better suited than I ever was to you, princess,” 

“Suguru—” Satoru starts, but Suguru is shaking his head. 

“It’s rude to interrupt a person’s last words, Satoru,” he clicks his tongue, and his lips curl as he finds your gaze again, your eyes glassy, “don’t look like that, sweetheart,” 

“Suguru, why did you have to leave?” and he’s shaking his head slowly, resting it against the wall behind him. 

“Because I didn’t belong there — I couldn’t live in this world with a real smile on my face,” and his hand reaches for you, but stops, falling back to his shoulder, and tears slip down your cheeks, “but with you, I came close,” he murmurs, and he knew it was time, “Satoru,” and that’s all he had to say to have Satoru start to pull you away. 

“No, no, please—” you’re shaking your head, trying to push past Satoru, but you slump in his arms, “I love you, Suguru, I always will,” 

And he gives a small chuckle, lips curled in that smile that always damned you — “At least curse me at the end,” 

But you never could, as you step away, squeezing your eyes shut as you hear the distant splatter of blood. And you knew — you knew you would have stayed forever, stayed with him forever, if he only had told you not to go. 

But he wouldn’t. He wouldn’t. He wouldn’t. 

The two of you bury him, somewhere secluded, where no one would find him. The cold ground was hell to dig up, but the two of you managed somehow, each shovelful feeling like a funeral march with no end in sight. Neither of you could bear the thought of his body being poked and probed for its secrets, before being burned, turned to the ash and smoke, the very same he had left your lives in when he had torched it all to the ground. But even so, you couldn’t bear it — and as you look at the mound before you, you want to claw his body up — dig him up as if it would bring him back to life, pull whatever being or force out of the sky and make them give him back. 

But you can’t — it’s over.

Satoru’s hand finds your shoulder, pulling you into a hug, burying your face in his chest, as he holds you tight to his chest. And he’s leading you away from Suguru, a single flower left over his grave, as the cold air freezes the tear stains left on your cheeks. 

It’s over now. It was over now, right? Right? 

And it was. 

Until Shibuya. 

a/n: this was supposed to be 3K, and ended up being over 10K. story of my life. this fic is thematically sponsored by 1989 (taylor's version), in particular, the vault tracks that helped me write this. you can literally spot lyric references almost throughout the entire thing

tag list: @ghostkonigkeegan141, @lightblueexorcist, @aemondseyesocket, @lemonpoppy-seed, @stran-dedforyou, @tiaraqueen123, @sun-daddy-yoriichi, @grooveandshit, @prettyabc, @kaskasi, @moranguitosz, @haunting-venus, @ninneko19, @psychicai, @d1rtv, @forest-fruits-jam, @katie91239, @dud3vil, @robynnikole151, @ivory-cove, @ohbi-the-way, @numbinyourchest, @dabisdolly, @kal0pssiaa, @glaceliy, @3atinguout, @iovesatoru, @imthebestbye-blog, @michelleeveline, @ichikanu, @ummcumfurtable, @collectionofdolls, @auraeum, @reesesnieces, @goldfishsmemory, @itshobiscussposts

[johnbrand]

A Legend

Tracy could feel himself getting jittery, his nerves building up while he waited for his first customer.  He had never worked for a rideshare company before, but he was desperate for money. A guy could only go off of plasma donations for so long after college graduation, and without job offers piling up, Tracy deemed a temporary solution necessary. But now Tracy felt like everything was constricting; the small space inside his Prius, the oversized sweater he was wearing, his favorite pop divas singing from the stereo. He prayed that he would not have to talk much, wishing to be silent like those taxi drivers in every other movie set in New York. 

Taking a deep breath, Tracy heard the back door swing open and shut. Questions immediately flooded his head. Did he miss any hairs when he shaved this morning? Did he remove that pesky pimple patch? Ignoring the battering thoughts and turning around, Tracy found a muscular jock spread across the entire back seating area. 

“Are you Tracy?” the attractive customer asked, a bit confused. Despite being a couple of years younger than Tracy, the jock held a certain level of arrogance. This display of superiority intimidated Tracy and embarrassingly, turned him on a bit.

“I’m going to assume yes.” The jock asserted after waiting a moment longer. He then stuck out his hand with a smile. “Michael, in case it wasn’t obvious.”

Tracy’s eyes dashed between his phone and the handsome young man before him. “Oh uh…yeah,” the words spilled out clumsily as he took his hand.

“You’re new to this, aren’t you?” Michael questioned.

Tracy took a moment to respond, “Sorry, um I kinda am.” 

“No worries, man,” Tracy caught Michael’s smirk in the rearview mirror. “But with a name like ‘Tracy,’ I was expecting a chick or something.” 

Tracy blushed. “It was my grandfather’s name…” Trying his best to recover, he opted for a joke. “At least I didn’t get stuck with something worse, right?” Although his voice had come out a little tight, the attempt made the cut, as confirmed by Michael’s light chuckle.

“I guess,” Michael agreed. “But that’s why you go by Trace, right? Funny how that simple letter change can make you a whole lot manlier.”

“Hmm?” Having turned on the ignition and left the parking lot, Tracy was now juggling both driving and providing conversation. It was not a difficult task, but he found himself adjusting the stereo to better concentrate on the two tasks at hand.

“I mean you’ve been going by Trace since what, middle school?” Michael attempted to confirm.

Trace found himself a bit lost. “Why…how did you know that?”

Michael’s face broke out into a charming grin. “Stop being so timid, man. You’re a legend at the university! Even if you graduated a few years ago, your fame is still alive and well.”

Trace found himself a bit stunned. “Thanks…?”

“Don’t be so humble, bro” Michael frowned. “Everyone knows you were the star of the football team back in the day. The boys won’t shut up about you.”

“‘The boys’?” Trace asked curiously. 

“Yeah! ‘Trace was always committed to the team.’ ‘Trace was the epitome of masculinity.’ ‘Trace was…’, well, you get the idea.” Michael scratched idly at his pec before continuing. Tracy absentmindedly did the same to his own bulky counterparts. “Those guys look up to you! And by the looks of it, you hold up to your own legend.”

“I try to,” Trace smiled back, confidence creeping into his voice. Taking a wide turn, Trace could feel his thick forearm flexing while rotating the wheel, his bicep testing the limits of the tight athletic shirt’s fabric. Trace took a moment to examine himself in the rearview mirror. His stubble was on point, accenting his lantern-like jaw appropriately. His whole face in fact was quite macho.

“Checking yourself out, big man?” Michael caught Trace red-handed. The remark made Trace’s legs bloat a bit larger, forcing them further apart. “I’m surprised a guy with your height can even fit in this rust-bucket.” 

“You could argue the Fusion was meant for a 6’3 man,” Trace chuckled, his vocal chords a bit deeper. “But yeah once I get enough money, I’m getting a real, All-American truck.”

“Ah, so that’s what this side gig is for,” Michael nodded. “I was guessing it was a side hustle for the ladies.”

“What do you mean?” Trace turned the volume up slightly, the country music twanging a smidge heavier throughout the car.

“Isn't this just a stint to pick women up, double entendre intended? It's the other thing the guys are always talking about,” Michael commented. “‘Trace was always a lady killer.’ ‘Trace never pulled out.’ ‘Trace’s hit list was longer than anyone else’s.’”

Trace sat silent, turning into the destination’s parking lot.  “Is that part of the legend no longer true?” Michael pushed.

Once Trace found an open spot to station his car, he responded. “Oh it’s true,” he confirmed proudly. “In fact, you can tell the boys the number has doubled since graduation.”

Michael’s face copied Trace’s own cocky smirk. “I'll be happy to report that back. I’ll see you around then, man!”

Trace watched through the rearview mirror as Michael hopped out of the car. He then scanned his phone to find his next customer. Trace’s thick fingers automatically drifted to the “Female, 18-25” range, searching for someone to give a ride too, double entendre intended.

[satorusugurugurl]

would you able to do smth that’s pure full angst??? like angst that doesn’t lead up to smut, love your work btw!!

Choose

Summary: Gojo is forced the choose between his two best friends, Geto or you.

Characters: Gojo Satoru, Geto Suguru AFAB!Reader (slightly implied??)

Warnings: angst, kidnapping, violence, torture, blood, physical abuse, pain, character death

Word Count: 3.2K

A/N: y’all wanted angst, I deliver 🙂‍↕️ enjoy your meal! Thanks @sugurubabe for your help!

The room was musky, thick was the humidity that had sweat heading against your forehead as you lay on the floor wheezing painfully before another blow hit your stomach hand. You curl into a fetal position, crying out in excruciating pain as boots crunched against broken glass that littered the floor. This wasn't how the mission was supposed to go; it was supposed to be easy!

A curse, a grade-two curse! Something both you and Suguru should have been able to handle! But it seemed as though there was no curse, none whatsoever.

What you and Suguru found waiting for you was a curse user and an assistant supervisor who had betrayed you all. Everything had happened so fast. The woman led you down a hall, revealing this supposed curse. You were in front of Suguru, listening to details and trying to sense the nonexistent cursed energy when a heavy thud sounded from behind you.

Nothing could have prepared you to see Geto on the ground out cold. The sight left you frozen in shock as your eyes darted back to the assistant supervisor holding a plank of wood stained with a bit of blood. You tried to act fast, reaching into your uniform to throw a talisman paper at the traitor, but the world went black for you. Someone hit you from behind.

When you came to, Suguru was still out, and the hats when the curse user began his shitty interrogation. He asked over and over again where Gojo was, and every time, you had a smart-ass remark. Which ended up with you getting the shit kicked out of you.

“I’ll ask you again.” The curse user barked out, crouching down next to your face. “Where is Gojo Satoru?”

Holding onto your stomach, you smirked, slowly lifting your head to look at your captor. “Your mom’s house.” Instead of a kick, the bastard backhanded you, making you wince before you cupped the side of your face, trying to hide the pain that you felt throbbing in your cheek.

“I don't like wasting time, and I don't like little liars.”

“Yeah, and I don't like assholes who beat up a couple of teenagers!” You yelled back, ignoring the iron taste that flooded your mouth.

“This is going nowhere; I thought you said the three were inseparable.”

That was true; Before the three of you were sort of a thing, going on dates, making out, sleeping together in the same bed. And that’s how it had been true until last year after the Star Plasma Vessel was killed. Ever since that fateful day, things have changed between you, mostly Gojo, but you could tell Geto was also starting to pull away too. He wasn't sleeping well, refusing to come to your room, go on dates, and you were both getting sent on more solo missions. You were honestly surprised you and Geto had been assigned this mission together, but even the two of them were slipping apart it seemed.

You’d been excited, looking forward to working together with one of your boyfriends? (Maybe you guys weren’t official yet), and had been planning to go on a soba noodles date afterward. Things were supposed to have gone differently today. What you imagined as a pleasant time with one of your best friends had turned into a literal nightmare.

You shot a glance in Geto’s direction. He was still out cold, but from the movement behind his eyes, you were hoping he was going to come soon enough. If you worked together, you might get out of this without further injuries. Until then, you just needed to continue to buy some time, and you could accomplish that by being extra annoying. You did learn from Gojo firsthand.

“T-They are—I thought they’d be assigned this together.”

“Well, he ain't here, is he?!”

“Yeah, sorry,” you spit your blood-laced saliva on the ground, “the band split up!”

“Oh did it?” The curse user asked, cocking a brow down at you.

“Yep! So I wouldn't count on him showing up anytime soon.”

That should have been enough to deter them from following through with whatever plan they had. But your words made your captor smirk. He said nothing as he reached into his pocket, tossing your phone to the traitor, before he moved fast, grabbing a handful of your hair and yanking you to your feet.

“Why don't we get the band back together then?” You tried out in pain as he slammed you back down against the floor, lifting your head an inch as he crouched behind you. “Take a picture of her and Geto, and send it to Gojo along with the address.”

The flash was both blinding and suffocating as you struggled to free yourself. This wasn't good; you knew if Gojo were to see it, he'd come running. You were his best friends, and even thought he's been busy with training and all the missions he had been sent on, you knew he still cared for the two of you. And when he showed up, he would fall right into the hands of these monsters who were worse than the curses you constantly took out.

With the second flash that flooded the abandoned hospital room that was only illuminated by the light of twilight, you felt panic swell in your chest. You thrashed and screamed against the man still holding you down on the ground, watching in horror as they texted Satoru from your phone. This wasn't happening; it wasn't real; this was a terrible nightmare that was going to end soon, right?!

“There, done.”

“No!” You screamed, kicking your legs out underneath you. “No! You bastards!” Tears welled in your eyes as you focused on Suguru, grimacing near you. “Suguru! Suguru, wake up!”

“You’re too loud!” The curse-user shouted, kicking you in the stomach a second time, followed by a third, before he kicked you in the ribs.

The impact of that fourth hit had you dry-heaving and sobbing from the pain. You collapsed on the ground, vision blurring for a minute before a crashing sound from down below caught your attention. You wheezed painfully, trying to pull yourself up. You had to tell Satoru to run, that it was a trap, but you couldn't speak. Every breath you took was like stabbing to your stomach, to your lungs; everything hurt.

“Suguru?! Sweetheart?!” Satoru yelled, bounding up the stairs towards you. While you might not be able to speak, you used all of your strength to crawl, inching towards the doorway. Maybe your actions would prevent him from stepping closer. “Where are they, you bastard?”

“T-Tor—Toru—” you gasp out, crawling closer to the door to have the assistant supervisor kick you in the stomach this time. “Agghh!!” You screamed out, and you could hear the footsteps running closer to the door.

You didn’t want him to come inside, to be the reason he fell for a trap. But your prayers and wishes didn’t come true. The door flew open, and your best friend stood in the doorway, his blue eyes taking in the scene in front of him. He met Suguru first, watching as his best friend blinked a few times as he started to regain some form of consciousness. Then, pretty cerulean eyes found you. You could see the rage burning within the irises.

“Ah, the infamous Gojo Satoru, finally we meet.” The curse user unsheathed a katana from his side, licking his lips. “. you sure do know how to piss off a lot of people. And a lot of these people want to hurt you in so many ways. I was hired to deal with that pain for them.” The Curse user said in a condescending tone. “They want you to suffer, and they want to hurt bad. So prepare yourself; it’s not going to be pretty.”

“S-Satoru—run,” you whined, trying to lift yourself.

Your friend threw his head back and laughed out loud. “I don't no dumb ass hired you to ‘hurt’ me, but I’ve been living under a rock for the last year. I’m stronger than I was before, and nobody will kill me. So my friends go, and I’ll deal with you.” You couldn’t help but grin even though the pain was excruciating; leave it to Satoru to have a snarky comeback.

“Oooh, I’m sorry, there seems to be a misunderstanding.” You blinked, watching as the traitor bitch dragged Suguru towards you, throwing him down next to you, leaving him groaning as he blinked hard, trying to come to his senses. “I didn’t say I was going to kill you. I said I would hurt you, and unlike my clients, I have to know you are untouchable. So if I’m not able to hurt you physically, I decided hurting you emotionally would be much better.”

“Huh?”

The katana slammed against the floor right between you and Suguru’s heads. “Choose.” The curse user said in a deep voice, leaving your eyes wide as you stared at your reflection in the blade.

Satoru froze up, eyes focusing on you and Suguru on the ground. “What?”

“Pick one, him or her.” You swallowed as Suguru's eyes widened in shock.

“I ain't picking one over the other!” Satoru snarled out, looking back at your captor, who was smirking.

“You aren’t going to pick?”

“Fuck no!”

The curse user hummed, twirling the katana around in a circle. The dying light menacingly reflected off the blade. You swallowed harder, looking into Suguru’s eyes as the katana twirled faster. This whole situation, everything about it, left you feeling sick to your stomach.

“Then I guess we’ll choose for you!” The curse user announced, picking the katana up out of the ground.

“You—”

“Nuh-uh!” The katana slanted into the ground, an inch away from your face, making you cry out and fear. “Come near us, use one of your special moves, and I’ll slice both their heads off right here. You might be the strongest, but I can assure you that I’m the fastest.”

Your stomach twisted in pain and fear as your breath fogged against the blade. This really couldn’t be happening right now. You choked on a sob, as the katana lifted out of the ground, allowing you to stare into Suguru's eyes. He swallowed, exhaling through his nose as he inched closer towards you. That subtle action to let you know that everything was going to be okay, that he was there by your side, only caused more tears to stream down your cheeks.

“It’s okay, everything’s gonna be okay,” Suguru whispered, his eyes darting towards Saroru, who was clenching and unclenching his fist in apparent concentration, his eyes roaming between the curse user, the traitor, and his two best friends. “Satoru will figure this out; we’ll be okay.”

“Shut the fuck up!” the katana slammed down again, cutting strands of Suguru’s bangs. “I don’t like repeating myself, Gojo. And I believe I ask you a question. Choose. Someone has to die today.”

Dark eyes glittered with amusement as Suguru looked up at the curse user. “You obviously don’t know my friend, he would nev—”

“Suguru.” Satoru blurted out. You slowly turned your head to look at the tufts of white hair that dropped as he clenched his fists harder.

“Satoru.” Suguru purred out, smiling. “What I can—”

“I choose to save Geto Suguru.”

Your stomach twisted in pain as you felt tears welling in your eyes as the curse user barked out a laugh, moving the katana so fast you didn't see it slicing Suguru’s bindings. Was your mind playing tricks on you? Did he re—really just pick Geto? Was he choosing to let you die?

You meant nothing to him?

Your stomach churned with nausea as the room started spinning. You felt like you couldn't breathe as Satoru refused to look at you. He did, and he picked Suguru over you.

Tears blurred your vision as you listened to Suguru cursing as he was quickly unbound. “Wow,” the man towering above you breathed out. It looks like you see where you stand.” Anger and betrayal hit you as you whirled to glare.

“Fuck you—nngh!” he kicks you in the stomach for a fifth time. And the impact made you see dark spots.

“You heard the man; it’s time to die.” he kicked you again, rolling you onto your back, where it was hard to breathe. “I hope you're watching Gojo Satoru; watch the hope and trust she had for you fade along with her life!”

The katana rose up, and you shut your eyes, waiting for the pain to hit. Instead of your cries of pain, the man above you screamed. When you forced your eyes to open, you watched as one of Geto's curses shot out, swallowing the man’s upper half in one bite, before swallowing the rest of him in another. Weakly you turned your head as the traitorous bitch was wrapped up in one of Suguru’s other curses.

Your beaten and bloodied best friend was panting as Satoru stared at him in shock. As if he couldn't believe he had stepped in. But his shock quickly dissolved into realization as his head turned towards you, and he moved, running towards you.

“Hey, are you okay?” he asked, reaching to lift you up. But as his hands inched towards you, you pulled away from him, tears running down your cheeks. “Sweetheart?”

“Don't touch me.” you wheezed, vision blurring as your stomach twisted in pain. “Don't you ever fucking touch me again, you son of a bitch.”

“Sweetie, I—”

“Don’t touch me!”

Satoru pulled his hand away as if your words badly burned him. “I-I—” You laughed out bitterly, turning your head, and it was a look Gojo would never forget.

Your eyes were dull, blurred with tears, but he could see the betrayal and hatred swirling within them even with their dull hue. You wheezed deeply, blood seeping out of the corner of your mouth as Geto rushed towards you on the phone, calling Yaga. But nothing mattered nothing but you right then and there.

“Sweetheart, I-I wouldn't have let them hurt you. I promise!”

“You chose Geto.” you spat out, a droplet of blood jotting Gojo’s infinity as you curled in on yourself. “You chose to keep him alive and let me die.”

“I wouldn't have let them!”

“Bullshit!”

The pain in your face was like a million needles to Gojo’s heart as Geto told Yaga about what had happened. “That’s enough right now, you two! Satoru, Yaga wants you to take her back to campus so Shoko can help.” Gojo could see the shame in Geto’s eyes as he hung up the phone. “Princess, Gojo’s going to teleport you to the school.”

“No,” you whispered with a shake of your head.

“Come on! I won't hurt you; let me help you!”

“Don't you fucking touch me! I'd rather die than let you touch me. And you shouldn't have an issue with that, seeing that you picked me to die.”

Satoru gritted his teeth with anger but backed off, giving Suguru a shrug as the other man sighed. “Whatever.” With a sigh of annoyance, Sugiri picked you up princess-style and started running out of the room, heading down the stairs to get you in the car while Satoru followed behind, staring at the ground in shock and disbelief.

He knew you were mad; anyone would have been angry. But he panicked; he had to make a choice; otherwise, he would have lost you both, and that was something he was never going to let happen. Maybe he yelled out Suguru’s name because he was closer to him. Or perhaps it was just out of reflex, but he meant it when he said he would save both of you. There would be no way he would let anything happen to you. Both of you were his best friends.

You were just angry now; it would take some time, and he would explain that to you when you calmed down. All you needed was a little bit of time and space. What was the saying? Time heals all wounds?

Yeah, that was it. He just needed to give you some time to process what happened and allow your wounds to heal.

“Huh?” Gojo asked as he stood in the morgue, staring at Shoko.

“I said there wasn't much we could do.”

His eyes trailed down to the body that lay on the metal slab between him and Shoko. Your face was lax, your eyes shut, and bruises were discoloring your pretty face. This was a joke; it was all a fucked up joke for what he had said, right? You were going to sit up and say ‘jokes on you’ or ‘I got you bitch’ right? But your skin was too ashen, your pulse wasn't racing in your throat, and he couldn't sense your cursed energy with his Six-Eyes.

You were gone.

“B-But I don't understand. W-What happened, she was—she was fine.”

“On the outside, maybe.” Shoko lit a cigarette, holding it between her teeth as she moved some of your hair from your face. “But she took several kicks to the stomach, it looked like, and the sheer force formed an abdominal hematoma that ruptured with that last kick. If she got here a bit sooner, then maybe, just maybe, we could have saved her.” Shoko frowned, pulling the white sheet back up to cover your face. “But there wasn't anything we could do.”

Satoru's hands started shaking as he smelt earthy musk and mint approaching his side. He swallowed hard, turning to find Suguru staring down at your body, an almost unreadable expression on his face. What was he supposed to say in a situation like this? One where they both lost their best friend?

“She stayed true to her word,” Suguru whispered as he turned, his white button-down shirt tucked into his pants, the sleeves rolled up to his elbows. “I’m going on a mission to the countryside and won't return for a while.”

Satoru turned, glaring as Suguru opened the door to the hall. “What the hell do you mean she stayed true to her word?!” Suguru paused before looking back at Gojo with dull, lifeless eyes that almost mirrored yours the last time you had looked at him. It was so eerily similar that Gojo took a step back.

“She would have rather died than have you touch her.” His eyes focused on your body before he met Satoru's teary eyes. “And she did just that, all because of your choice.”

With that, the door slammed shut, leaving Gojo standing in the morgue with the body of one of his best friends while his other went off on a mission alone. A mission that would lead to him massacring an entire village. Little did Gojo know his choice would cost him the lives of both his best friends.

Forever Tag List:

@darkstarlight82 @pandoness @nealeart @simp-plague @sugurubabe @chilichopsticks @reap3erslov3 @wil10wthetree

[kuurechr]

notes : post star plasma trauma

It had been a couple of months since everything that had happened. It hadn't blown over, really. Suguru and Satoru had definitely changed. Shoko was, thankfully, still the same. Nanami and Yu were still in a fun trio with you.

But things were stable. And calm.

You never wanted to grow up. You never wanted to be called on another mission again, honestly.

There was no point in thinking about that today, though. Today was important. More important than any other day in the year.

It was Satoru's birthday.

Satoru's birth is revered and considered important for many reasons in the jujutsu world. It's something that is taught in the modern section of the curriculum. It changed the course of many people's lives.

But at Jujutsu Tech, no one thought of it that way.

"Happy birthday Satoru!" Shoko and Suguru cheered as Satoru walked into class.

Yaga smiled as Satoru sat down.

Ten gifts on his desk.

Three from the people in the room, four from other teachers and students and three from the first years.

"This is a lot," Satoru grinned.

And in truth, it wasn't. Not to Satoru Gojou, who'd gotten anything he'd wanted in the past 17 years of his life. He usually got at least 50 presents for his birthday every year; his family or other people who wanted to buy his favour.

Those presents didn't do anything for him though. They didn't make him feel happy, appreciated or loved.

The ones on his desk did.

Yaga, Suguru and Shoko let him take his time because they knew that; Satoru appreciated the love he got from these gifts.

He looked through every bag and tag. The one from Shoko had a pack of cigarettes inside, which Satoru threw back at her. Yaga also confiscated them.

Suguru bought him all the beauty products that Satoru was running low on (that he could afford), and wrote a heartfelt letter to his as well. Satoru couldn't contain his smile.

Others had given him basic birthday presents, some clothes and candies, even some cash, along with short cards.

You had only given him a letter though.

And even that, Satoru appreciated more than anything.

"Happy birthday!!" You and the other Jujutsu Tech students screamed as Satoru walked into his room. You had cleaned and decorated his room- which had very little to hide, thankfully.

"Thank you!" Satoru grinned, accepting the tackle that Suguru welcomed him with.

The day was filled with cake, and Satoru sneakily putting icing on everyone's faces to take embarrassing pictures, only unable to get Mei Mei.

In yours, you were able to get icing on his cheek as he took the picture.

Satoru lay back on his bed, in his messy room, as he looked through the pictures. He told the others that they didn't need to stay and clean- he wanted to, after everything they'd done.

He didn't like cleaning though.

He wanted to sit in it longer. The feeling of pure joy. Everyone talking loudly in a messy room, eating cake, with no worries. It had been a while since he'd felt this happy.

That was why he decided to knock on your door.

"Satoru?" You told him to come in before even asking him why he was at your door. "Are you okay?"

You cared too much.

"Of course I am," he answered. "I wanted to thank you."

"Yeah, of course." He stayed by your door, as you looked up at him in your night wear. "You deserved something better, but that was all I could put together with short notice, Yaga's been getting on my ass about"-

"Seriously." You looked up at him. Satoru didn't have his glasses on. He put his hands on your shoulders, leaning. "This was the best thing anyone's given to me. Ever."

"Did you open the letter?" You asked, blinking as water filled your lash line. Satoru smiled, meekly. "You weren't"-

"I just had a feeling. Thank you for saying that."

You looked down. "Of course, yeah. I was just being honest."

"Being honest is hard." You chuckled, humming in agreement. "And I'm going to try it too."

You raised your head a little.

"I've had a hard... well, it's been weird. Very weird. And you've really helped me the past couple of months. But... but it's more than that. I like being around you. I like talking to you. I feel happy with you. And... I just want to be with you more often."

"That's how I feel too," you answered quickly.

Satoru nodded, licking his lips, looking down. "But..." Your shoulders sank. "I don't think you should put up with me. Not right now. I think we should give this time. Because I need to feel better without you, too."

There was a long pause.

"Is... is that okay?"

This is the most unsure you've ever seen Satoru. You had known him for a long time. You truly got to know him once you began attending Jujutsu Tech. And since the Plasma Vessel assignment, you've started to see parts of him that you thought didn't exist.

You sighed in relief. "That's perfectly fine, Satoru. I want you to do that. Feel better about yourself. Feel comfortable with life again. And if you still like me, maybe we... we can think about that then. For now, Toru, just focus on yourself."

Satoru's heart sped up at the nickname. No one had called him that before. Unless it was in a mocking way. This was comforting, relaxing, soothing.

You had some doubt about him liking you in the future. But Satoru was unsure if this feeling could ever go away.

This feeling for you.

Happy birthday Satoru!

I hope you have an amazing day. You deserve it more than anyone else I know. Your year has been hard and I know it's taken a toll on you. I hope that this year, you don't feel this stress again. I hope I can ease your pain.

I think you're a great person. I'm so glad I know you so well now. I'm happy that you were born. Thank you for blessing me with your presence, oh great Satoru (figured I needed to put a joke in here- it's too sappy).

No seriously. Let's be serious for once.

You are a blessing. To me, to Suguru, to Shoko. To so many people. I know you were raised being told the opposite. But so many people care for you.  I love you. And hey, I know that's not all of what matters in the world, but I hope it means something to you. Because you just being Satoru, plain Satoru, means the world to me.

You can read more of this on AO3 ! Nothing Special

[yzzart]

What do you think boyfriend Dante would be like trying to be romantic or planning a date? I think he would try his best but it would be chaotic and thinks he failed at it but he is such a cute dork his charms work on you anyway. He'd eventually figure out how to be romantic in his own way and sweep you off your feet, probably literally ~

DANTE hated — and actually was bothered by — very few things in his life; a normal guy's life wasn't always a bed of fragrant roses. — He could count them on one hand.

The delay in delivering your pizzas topped the hunter's ranking. — Man, he had placed his order almost half an hour ago and was starting to believe that the delivery guy was walking instead of driving. — And second and final on the list, his attempts to take you on the perfect date.

It was fair to say that the word “perfect” was not in Dante’s vocabulary, but for you, that poor, miserable man even spelled it backwards. — However, the word that best suited him was “chaotic.”

Taking you to taste your favorite ice cream, and hoping that no napkin with a phone number would be directed at him — and if it happened, he wouldn't use it, but burn it — while tasting yours? — Dante was happy, showing that smile with his small and shiny canines, when he saw that you liked it; but, of course, that damn blue plasma demon would come after him.

“I promise i’ll reward you with four of these next time, kitten.” — He referred to the ice cream, as he directed you to the back of the ice cream shop. — “You’re dating a very sought-after guy.” — He joked, winking at you; typical and classic of him in such a risky moment.

“I’m going to start thinking seriously about locking you up in my house.” — You joined in the fun and, at the same moment you answered, your boyfriend kissed you.

“I needed to taste it, i’m sorry and i love you.”

Also, the hunter knew that there was a movie, which you had been talking about days before, showing in theaters and decided to take his beautiful girl. — The two of you huddled together in the dark, seeing if you would actually pay attention to the movie or spend the whole moment kissing; oh, Dante's poor mind. — And a bunch of fucking demons decide to make that place their nest. — Was it breeding season?

That movie night ended up being pool night. — And if you're being honest with yourself, it was better than you imagined or expected; being able to forget about the movie. — With Dante and you tied, two pizza boxes left out and the jukebox blasting music in the background.

“Will the fearless and charming Dante win over the sweet and beautiful maiden?” — Your gloved hand served as support, your fingers became a kind of crosshair. — “Babe, i dedicate this to you.” — Leaning on the thin wooden stick, you shake your head, pretending not to like the provocation and roll your eyes, showing a humorous, festive smile.

In the blink of an eye, the deck of balls exclaimed, struggling, almost cracking on the table, the white ball pushes, with brutality and ferocity, the blue one, which falls into the hole.

“I hope you enjoyed the show, my dear.”

Chaotic was the perfect word for the two of you.

[suguboos]

HÁBLAME NASTY— featuring T. FUSHIGURO

contents: 18+ content, MDNI. canon divergence, spanish speaking reader (w translation 🕺🏻), phone sex, masturbation (both f & m), use of pet names from both (mi guapo, ma, etc.)

@aquasoftware you and your beautiful, sexy brain. thank you for the suggestion, i hope i delivered :3

everything in this mission was going completely wrong.

toji hasn’t managed to even get a scratch on the ‘honored’ one, much less carry out the killing of the star plasma vessel. he’d heard all types of complaints and threats coming from his handler, about how much money was invested into carrying this out successfully. about how it’d be his head on a platter if he didn’t get it done.

so, he did the first thing that came to mind at 2:34 am.

“toji?” your groggy voice came through the phone, picking up after the third ring, “you okay? what’s up?” despite how tired you sounded, toji didn’t feel anything except relief.

“yeah, i’m good,” he spoke up after a couple seconds, easing whatever worries had been brewing inside your head. which admittedly, ranged from him being kidnapped to him calling you while he was knocking on death’s door.

“i miss you, doll.” you knew that it wasn’t the whole reason that he was calling—but you decided not to push any further.

“i miss you too,” a short pause before you continued, “relájate, mi guapo. i’ll take care of you,” your voice came out dripping like pure honey and seduction, his fingers instinctively tightening up around his phone. relax, handsome. he was almost certain he heard the screen crack.

his cock felt like a soldier at action, immediately hardening up underneath his sweats at your command. toji dragged his hand down, palming himself through the grey material and sliding his hand over his shaft. trying to imagine that it was your hands instead of his own.

but regardless, he tried to relax. to the best of his ability, of course. toji let himself sink into the plush mattress, the bed squeaking underneath his weight. on the other side of the phone, he heard the telltale sign of the sheets rustling. picking up on practically everything like a man starved.

“touchin’ yourself?” toji breathed out, letting out a small snicker. like he wasn’t just as desperate. a quiet moan left your lips in response, your fingers dipping just above your clothed cunt, rubbing small circles over the cotton fabric.

which, of course, wasn’t enough for toji. “come on, ma, talk to me. wanna hear you. need to hear you.”

“mhm,” you responded, finally moving your slick-coated panties to the side to rub your fingers over your slick folds, “tocándome y pensándote, amor. en la ultima vez, en tus dedos, tu boca, tu verga.” touching myself and thinking about you, love. in the last time, in your fingers, your mouth, your cock.

if toji was a weaker man, he was sure he would’ve lost it then and there. you could tell him to go to hell and he’d still find it attractive.

instead, he felt himself twitch underneath his fingertips, precum drooling from his reddened tip like a faucet. he scooped up the sticky substance, dragging it across his shaft painfully slow. he wrapped a hand around himself, timing each pump to match you.

“doesn’t feel the same.” your fingers pushed inside of your cunt, trying (and desperately failing) to emulate how toji would spread you open. “solo tu,” your breath hitched, your fingers curling to hit your g-spot, “a-ah, solo tu me haces venir.” just you. just you can make me cum.

you let your phone fall onto the pillow beside you, rubbing at your clit. it was almost too much, yet not nearly enough. your hips bucked up to meet your fingers desperately, back arched against the mattress. “need you, toji,” your moans were music to his ears, his hand quickening up the pace, “te extraño, f-fuck!” i miss you

“i know, i know. but don’t stop talking, fuck, fuck ma,” his loud groans came in through the phone, mixing in with the sound of your own labored breaths, “gonna cum, you close?” toji’s breath hitched, his hips bucking up to meet the pace of his hand frantically.

“yeah, yeah, i’m close,” you babbled, your walls clenching around your fingers quickly at your impending orgasm. “cuanto quisiera que me lo chorrearas por la cara, guapo.” wish you were cumming over my face, handsome. your words pushed toji to his own orgasm, his hips stuttering.

“fuck, i’ll give you anything you want,” he slurred, his head thrown back in pure ecstasy. ropes of cum shot out against his bare stomach, drops of white dripping down his abdomen. he pushed through the overstimulation, lazily pumping his shaft while he listened to you desperately try to get off.

“cum for me, baby, yeah? i know, toji’s so mean, having you use your fingers after getting you used to his cock, huh?”

you nodded your head despite the situation, “‘m gonna cum, just for you, toji, just you,” you barely managed to get that out before your orgasm washed over you. your cunt squelched as you pulled your fingers out, release dripping down onto the bedsheets.

just mere seconds after that phone call ended, toji was already packing his bags to take the earliest train back tomorrow.

a/n: did this instead of my spanish final, same shit rly

[guardianofnightmares]

Attack

“And remember: there is enough fuel in those rods for couple of maneuvers and a descent. That’s it.” Blitzwing said in a stern tone while adjusting some screws on minibot’s backplates. “I highly recommend you to not stray far away from your group for too long.”

He knew that his companion was not that reckless to go on adventures of his own on a battlefield, but it’s still difficult not to worry about mechs’ safety. Even if the targeting systems of an Autobots’ flagship "Endeavor" were supposed to be down by the beginning of an operation, its guns would still be working at full capacity.

Chances of being shot by a random plasma beam were still pretty high.

“I know, Blitzwing, I know,” said minibot sighed in defeat. His spirits were not that much higher than everyone else’s lately.

“But hey,” He continued, “Even if I wanted to, I doubt Megacon would allow me to go sightseeing without him… And if I indeed managed to do just that, my fear of withering away from his lecture about my recklessness definitely outweighs the fun of getting into troubles.”

----------

Phew, third entry for the @blitzbee-week event has arrived at last. Prompt of a third day was "Attack", which turned out to be quite an interesting one to create a piece for. Eventually, I've decided to picture a scene of preparations for one of first major battles in a story of mine. Considering a fact that a mentioned scene takes place at the beginning of a second part/volume of a fanfic, I found it to be a good opportunity to show an evolution of relationship between characters (at least in comparison to previous entries).

Fanfic the scene is taken from is called "TFA: Icarus". You can read it by following a [link] for the series "folder" which also includes an existing teaser (future prologue) for a story. The updates are slow, I know, I am sorry for a delay, I was very busy with a job of mine lately and I do not know when the situation will change for better. Despite all of it, I'm still deeply grateful for every subscription and "like" you leave under works for this project of mine. Know that I see and appreciate every kind gesture of yours).

As always, if anyone is interested to know what's going on "behind the scenes" of a picture, I will provide the full snippet of a depicted interaction under a cut line. Hope you'll enjoy it. Especially those of you, who read previous "chapters" of mine, for you might find a reference here to one of them ;)

Bumblebee finally glanced at a Decepticon sitting on his haunches behind his back. The Warframe’s been checking on a Cybertronian analogue of a humans’ “parachute” for the last half of megacycle, trying to secure the massive carcass on a frame it was not meant to be worn by. 

“How’s it looking?” The Bot asked. Not out of vanity, for once, but rather out of practicality - a bleak, outdated “jetpack” was the smallest one they could salvage, and it’s still way too big for a mech of Bumblebee’s proportions. Several kilograms of metal more and it’d have begun to tip a yellow colored Autobot over. 

“… It’ll have to do.” 

A brisk, honest and not so uplifting answer. But, come to think of it, Bumblebee would’ve been more surprised to hear a reassuring comment coming from a Triplechanger. 

A notion that Bumbler was capable of periodically predicting Con’s responses almost made him chortle. The possibility of his team forming a bond with Warframes over the course of a stellar cycle after an escape from Cybertron was improbable at best. And yet, there they were - trying to work as a single unit despite ever present old grudges. 

For a goal they were fighting for together against a common foe was more important than any of their just (and unjust) beliefs. 

“And remember: there is enough fuel in those rods for couple of maneuvers and a descent. That’s it.” Blitzwing said in a stern tone while adjusting some screws on minibot’s backplates. “I highly recommend you to not stray far away from your group for too long.”

He knew that his companion was not that reckless to go on adventures of his own on a battlefield, but it’s still difficult not to worry about mechs’ safety. Even if the targeting systems of an Autobots’ flagship "Endeavor" were supposed to be down by the beginning of an operation, its guns would still be working at full capacity.

Chances of being shot by a random plasma beam were still pretty high.

“I know, Blitzwing, I know,” said minibot sighed in defeat. His spirits were not that much higher than everyone else’s lately.

“But hey,” He continued, “Even if I wanted to, I doubt Megacon would allow me to go sightseeing without him... And if I indeed managed to do just that, my fear of withering away from his lecture about my recklessness definitely outweighs the fun of getting into troubles.”

The last comment earned him a snort from a companion.

“Yes, he tends to do exactly that. You’d be insanely lucky if that was the only punishment coming upon your helm,” Blitzwing agreed in a more lighthearted tone. “Especially since, it seems, Megatron’s already figured out where someone prefers to spend their shift at once in a while.”

“…what do you mean by that?” Bumblebee asked worriedly after a short lived pause - he could almost “see” a smirk plastered across Blitzwing’s faceplates with the back of his own helm. And if he’s learnt anything about a Con over the last orbital cycles, it’s that him being smug never promised anything good for a yellow and black Bot. 

“Let’s just say that if a certain hiding spot is indeed real, I’ll make sure to send you energon treats during a “home arrest” of yours.” Blitzwing mused out loud. A followed groan full of despair, which came from a small mech, made Blitzwing slip an amused laugh. 

And here a minibot hoped that Megatron would be any different than a so-called Bossbot of his. 

---

Soon after the Trpilechanger’s done everything he could in order to make Bumbler’s descent to a flagship safer, a huge figure appeared at an entrance to a bay. Bumbler noticed a newcomer only when a said mech contacted him via personal comlink, voice commanding yet devoid of usual rasp undertones. 

“Time to go, minibot,” Megatron announced, as if wanting to make sure that his arrival was interpreted as a sign to wrap preparations up. It made both Cybertronians to pause their conversation and to look up at an arrived Decepticon. 

The red and grey mech stood with his servos being clasped behind his back, polished shoulder pauldrons proudly shining under a warm artificial light. One of his chest plates bared signs of a recent scuffle at one of remote outposts - the right side was adorned with a fresh wielding patchwork, performed by Ratchet himself, which hid an ugly and deep scar. 

The sight of a quickly healing wound reminded Bumblebee of an amusing memory he’d witnessed in a medbay the other day - Ratchet and Megatron bickering with each other about who’s a true madmech between two of them, while a medic was performing mentioned repairs. The fact that a Warlord received an injury during a rescue of a red and white Autobot, who stayed behind in order to cover their team’s escape, seemed to slip out of both of their processors. Ratchet was nigh unstoppable in his fury, and it seemed that Megatron’s finally found someone who could rival his own stubbornness. Something, all members of a team were certain of, both older mechs secretly admired about each other. 

With raised up spirits, minibot quickly picked up a bag of tools, which laid near a working bench, and waved goodbye to a Triplechanger, who stayed behind to tidy a working place up. 

Blitzwing couldn’t hear what his two comrades were talking about while standing at an exit to a bay, but he could still observe the interaction between them. 

The height difference between mechs was ridiculous. It became especially obvious when Megatron lowered himself to a ground in order to access electronic panel of a “jetpack”, while Bumblebee was checking on contents of a bag of his. To Blitzwing, the scene almost resembled the way human parent would interact with their child after meeting them from an educational establishment back on Earth. Come to think of it, Bumbler looked like a sparkling in comparison to all of Warframes, which made the situation even more amusing in Blitzwing’s optics. 

After switching on needed components, the grey Decepticon activated a program in his own engine’s software. Both mechs synchronized recently updated broadcasting frequencies of their flying gear, and the “jetpack” came to life with a faint glow of its side lights.

A model of a “parachute” may have looked old, but the technology behind an outdated surface was something to be proud of. As if to prove a point, Megatron shifted his wings from side to side, up and down. Minibot whirled his head around just in time to see his own wings mirroring movements of his larger partner with a barely there delay. Created during an expansion of territories on foreign planets, devices similar to Bumbler’s one allowed Autobots to join Decepticons in off-ground battles and explorations, going so far as to copy difficult maneuvers of Warframes with an impressive accuracy. 

A true forgotten marvel of Cybertronian engineering. 

To say that Bumblebee could barely keep his excitement under control would be an understatement. The way he puffed up his chest plates and spread his temporary wings reminded local workers of a young Warframe after the first successful training session at a boot camp, fears and doubts the Bot had about an upcoming battle diminishing at a prospect of taking the first flight in his life. Even if it’ll mostly be coordinated by a partner. 

Bumblebee faced a rising by his side Decepticon with a contagious smile plastered across his grey faceplates, blue optics glowing with eagerness. He said something to him, most likely a spicy remark about his immaculate skills as a Prime soon-to-be Flyer on a battlefield taking place in an outer space. Those jovial antics made Megatron roll his optics, after which he turned an Autobot around with a smirk and (lightly) shoved him forward in direction of a main hangar, where they would join other members of a boarding party. 

---

It’s been a while since both mechs disappeared out of the view of Triplechanger, leaving him to his own devices. The grey and violet mech was in a middle of cleaning a working bench when he received a call. 

“Hey, Blitzwing!” A booming voice of Bulkhead sounded clearly over the comlink, only interrupted by periodic screeching of metal against metal in a background. “Are you and Bumblebee finished by any chance?”

“Fortune is on your side this time, my artistic friend, - Megatron’s already picked your yellow menace up.” Warframe answered while putting instruments into their designated slots. “What’s the matter?” 

“Lugnut and I would really appreciate it, if you joined us with loading ammo on a ship - these electromagnetic emitters are putting a strain even on him. Optimus is already helping us by operating a crane, but I don’t think it’s enough for everything to be finished on time.” A green Autobot admitted guiltily. When Blitzwing was about to say something, he added: “One more thing: Optimus said that he’d like to discuss a plan of an attack with you again afterwards - something about an established route through an asteroid field doesn’t click right with him.“

Of course it didn’t. But Blitzwing could hardly blame him for being extra cautious. Truth be told, he’d expected an ex-cadet to contact him sooner or later in order to go through a plan one more time. Meaning, there’s really no point for him to act getting annoyed at a prospect of doing an additional work during a current shift. 

“Alright. Seems that by helping you I’m going to kill two cats with one stone, so, count me in.”

���It’s “two birds”, Blitzwing,” Bulkhead corrected him with an audible smile. “Anyways, I’ll be waiting for you at an entrance 4-06. Thank you.”

With that being said, the bulky Autobot hung up the call, leaving a Warframe alone with his own thoughts, smiling to himself while cleaning the last of used tools from grease and oil. 

Many things have changed since the beginning of a new cycle of War, for better and for worse. With the amount of mechs switching sides and betraying their causes, sometimes it was easier to assume, that all around you were enemies rather than to hope you had at least someone to rely on. 

Yet, despite every obstacle Outcast Autobots and Earth-stranded Decepticons had to go through so far, the newly formed squad of theirs was a proof that some things stayed the same. That Camaraderie still had a value in an ever treacherous world. And Blitzwing had a feeling that no matter what lied ahead of them, the old healed bonds and recently blossomed ones would stand the test of time.

As if coming to an internal agreement with himself, the Triplechanger shook his helm and finally headed to an agreed upon place of meeting with his unlikely comrades, while silently humming a tune Bumblebee taught him once.

Perhaps, an Autobot known as Prowl was right after all?

Perhaps, it was indeed the right time to start having Faith and Trust in teammates once more?

[teabirdo]

contents; drabble about teen!satoru x foreign!reader

-

satoru honestly can’t get enough of you. but of course he’s not in love. how could he, a teenage heartthrob that makes girls wither around him, be in love?

impossible, in his view. which is why he’s all about the deny, deny, deny.

since the day you walked into the classroom, mr. yaga saying how you’re from another country didn’t really strike satoru, but the menacing look you had on your face really did something to that boy. and that cute foreign accent you had? he unofficially head over heels.

it shouldn’t have been a surprise when he asked you if you wanted any kind of tutoring for japanese. after all, you kept to simple responses or questions, which made satoru think that you would instantly say yes.

“no.” was your answer, which left satoru with a shocked expression. then you went back to the book you were reading, not giving satoru anymore of your day.

but satoru didn’t let that get to him too much (his ego definitely deflated a little bit). he continued to try to get some of your attention, regardless of how it be. anytime mr. yaga told him there was a mission, he would volunteer himself and then offer you so that he could “show you what it’s like here”.

if you knew how to call him insufferable and egotistical in japanese, you totally would have.

but soon enough you got your own missions. small ones, of course, but you had officially proven yourself after the events of the star plasma vessel.

“first grade, huh?” satoru looked over your new student id, which stated your new grade level. it had advanced an overwhelming four positions.

“and the, uh, ability to become special grade if i continue to advance and learn my technique.” your japanese had also gotten significantly better in the two months that you’ve been at jujutsu tech, but you still struggled with some words. satoru still found that adorable.

“i think that should cause for a celebration. we could go grab dinner tonight. or something.” that was satoru’s best attempt yet on asking you out on a date without actually saying it.

“shoko was talking about that. she had a place in mind, i think.”

“oh.”

“yeah. i think with everyone, too.”

“oh.”

“yeah.”

that night satoru sat next to haibara and the wall of the booth. meanwhile you were squeezed between shoko and suguru. did he happen to keep sending suguru glares all night? possibly. but did that make him want to try and pursue you even more? definitely.

[plasmara]

ok but seriously. dr s3 was not a season it was a fic generator in disguise. LIKE THEY GAVE US SOOOO MUCH. and now I’m drowning in fic ideas with zero ability to commit to just one so here’s a brain dump (but jay edition because i wrote them all out and accidentally hit one thousand million words):

so. the obvious one is jaya. Duhhhhh. just jaya in general. jaya angst. They r so tragic now and i want it all. the absolute disaster of it. i want every version

give me nya trying to flirt her way back in like “hey, remember me? your girlfriend? the love of your life? jay. jay. JAY.” and jay’s like “okay first of all i barely remember ur name.” he’s being stubborn about not catching feelings, and she’s being even worse about refusing to take the hint coz if she can’t win him back with love she is Absolutely going to do it with sheer persistence and mild emotional terrorism

and kai keeps trying to give her advice but fumbling bad bitches is a genetic trait and they’re both diseased

OKAY AND JAY. IN GENERAL. OBVIOUSLY

i need his pov through the whole season. the fallout after what happened w ras and how he was well and truly Abandoned with a capital a HE HAD NO ONE . him trying to piece himself together without his memories. and how he rediscovers like the little things that made him HIM. the inventing. the way he starts tinkering with stuff without even thinking. the terrible jokes and the way he needs to lighten the mood even when everything’s falling apart. HOW HE MAKES A NAME FOR HIMSELF and is just really his own person. i loveeeeeee how they didn’t just brush it off like yea he’s doing his own thing now whateverrrr. like they went into specifics (ish) and i feel like it rlly added to his personality

AND THEN him trying to trust this group of strangers who keep looking at him like he MATTERS. like they KNOW him. and he’s just like “ok cool cool cool i don’t Know any of u but sure.”

he keeps saying he’s fine when he’s literally NOT. cracking jokes like it’s instinct but they don’t land right. he laughs and then immediately wants to curl into a corner and disappear. BUT HE CANT CONFIDENIN ANY OF THEKNBECAUSE HE DOESNT KNOWNTHEM!!!!!! side note he clearly knows a LOT (based off how he knew about arin’s parents instantly) BUT HE DIDNT VOLUNTEER THAT INFO UNTIL RIGHT AT THE END AND HE KEPT IT ALL TO HIMSELF FOR SO LONG. HE DOESJT TALK ANYMORE!!!!! HES NOT USED TO TALKING WITH ANYONE ABOUT ANYTHINGN AND HES PROBABLY GOT SONMUCH REPRESSED AND KEPT LOCKED UP AND AGHHHHHH!!!! omg someone take this boy to therapy

AND THEN GIVE ME A WHOLSE SEPARATE FIC ABOUT HIS RELATIONSHIP WITH TOUCH NOW. because this kid was THE most touchy out of the team. he was always throwing himself at people BUT .now. Now he flinches whenever anyone moves too quickly towards him and they all have to keep reminding themselves of it. FUCK!!!!!!

and specifically cole because let’s be honest bruise’s love language is physical touch and it’s killing cole not to be able to be near him. AND ACTUALLY BECAUSE COLE ISNSO TOUCHY jay avoids him the most and it’s like. That’s ur best friend………. WHAT R U DOING. and everyone thought just FINDING jay would be the hardest part but actually this is and they don’t know what to do

okay and. Well. plasma. Like sorry u all knew this was coming. i have to live up to the plasmara name after all its in the contract. and i Love them but I don’t want to write angst for them in this context I just think it would be so funny to have kai hardcore crushing on his sister’s ex fiancée and even funnier to have jay somehow like him back. Like he just takes whatever kai tells him at face value and thinks yup.. this is the one i Trust. just hears kai say “yeah you were totally into me” ONE TIME as a joke or in a moment of panic and he fully believes it cos he’s got the memory of a damp sponge. Like. “oh. yeah. that checks out. i must have been with you. makes sense. ur hot” And after kai finishes freaking out he decides yup THIS IS MY CHANCE!! nya u had him for years. It’s MY turn now

and he is now committed to the bit with his whole chest. takes every opportunity to “remind” jay how deeply in love he was.

“you used to call me hot stuff.”

“no i didn’t.”

“you don’t remember, jay.”

And worst part is it works because jay is just like… “well he seems to have a good balance between nice and pathetically obsessed and my standards are a mystery to me so sure???”

[williceunleashed]

JACKALOPE N HARMONIA

New autism mission : Make my favorite characters into folklore and mythical creatures

I don't know what creatures I can do for Zinzolin, Rood, Colress or Alder yet, if you have any ideas please share it ! :)

Creatures details and explanations below the cut !

Melony

Melony is a gargoyle ! I chose this creature because it's a french construction detail on churches, and Mel is kalossian. As architecture details, they are meant to get rid of the water on the roof, and it is a representation of them "vomiting sins out of the church".

Gargoyles usually has monstruous appearances, and historians think that their role is to protect the church they were built on. I think it fits Mel pretty well as a Plasma grunt and as Ghetsis #1 fan. Despite the church being rotten and falling apart (that's Ghetsis), Mel will always stick by it and try to defend it because it has become his life goal.

It is believed later gargoyles were meant to make fun of the sinful parts of society. The connection with how Ghetsis tries to maintain all of his little pawns pure and pristine is just too good, man

Also like... Religious cult Plasma... Corrupted church... symbolism too good, man

Ghetsis

Ghetsis is a greek sphinx ! I thought he needed a very impressive and well-known worldwide creature. He is manipulative and cruel, and in most stories, the sphinx strangles and devoures people when they can't answer her riddles.

The sphinx, when bested, usually ends herself in most versions. In the same way, what destroys Ghetsis is his very own ambition and pride, meaning himself. Design-wise, his hair are shaped in a mane-like style (it is not a mane, the sphinx doesn't have one), because he tries to emulate a real lion.

He has feathered wings, but they are literaly just biological cosmetic, and he can't fly with them. Having him have classic "angelic" features but being unable to use them was satisfying for my over-analytic autism. He tries so much to be this figure of purity and perfection, mightier even than the King himself, and he fails so bad in the end.

N

N is a jackalope, an american creature, as N is unovan ! The myth goes in a lot of directions, but I chose the "imitiation of human voice" direction. A lot of things around N are based around imitation (He is the imitation of a King but was never the true mastermind, his Pokémon line is meant to mimic other Pokémons, he himself struggles around other humans, he attempts to emulate Ghetsis' imposing aura when he plays his role as the King...).

Plus Jackalopes are said to be pretty dangerous, despite their appearance. I love that N conceals the danger he represents under a simple appearance (my man doesn't look like a King) like a jackalope, while Ghetsis goes all out on the prophet swag, and is represented by a sphinx (a winged lion beast).

N also was at the time the only "rival" to acquiere a literal legendary as his main Pokémon and add it to his team, making him probably one of the most dangerous person in Unova team-wise.

Dardanne

Dardanne is a matagot ! Also called "money cat" in french, it's a creature from french folklore (Dar being kalossian). Usually these creatures are associated with witchcraft and looks like fully black cats. It is said that, if you take great care of your matagot, it will bring you solid gold coins every morning. However, if neglected, it will take a violent and cruel revenge on its master. I think it fits Dardanne when he is in Plasma. His small stature and wide eyes give off the impression that he is inoffensive, but he was selected as N's journey partner because he was one of the top grunts during training. Dardanne being a grunt, Ghetsis would be his hypothetical master, and funnily enough, it's Dar and N's combined actions during the journey that start Ghetsis' downfall.

Conclusion : Ghetsis enrolls young teenager Dar -> Ghetsis abuses Dar -> Dar turns his son gay in matagot revenge -> Ghetsis takes several Ls

Another fun thing is that, to adopt a matagot, you have to prey for it for several nights, then lure it with food, and then carry it home without looking back during the journey home. Ghetsis quite literally found a runaway Dardanne while prolling for new recruits, knew he was a vulnerable child with no home and no food, and lured him to join Plasma in exchange of a place to stay and daily meals. Bro literally cursed himself with this one

[aloesarchives]

Two for the Price of One (JJK Oneshot)

TW/Warnings: Profanity, NOT POLY SATOSUGU X READER, Fem Reader and She/Her pronouns, ANGST, Angst for Satoru and Reader, Bittersweet ending for Suguru and Reader, HIGHKEY MISCOMMUNICATION, Possible OOC Satoru, abandonment issues if you squint really hard, Reader slowly losing herself, Reader feeling depression/hopeless(implicit), Reader's has a healthy dynamic with her clan

Series: Jujutsu Kaisen

Pairing: Satoru Gojo x Fem!Reader/Suguru Geto x Fem!Reader

AU: Canon

Pronouns: She/Her(Reader's clan has a unrealistic healthy and understanding relationship with her)

Word Count: 6.1k words

Summary: Gojo's lack of coping caused you to drift away and eventually depart after Suguru's defection from Jujutsu Society.

(A/N): I know it doesn't make sense and will make many frustrated with how dumb this is. I just wanted to write my emotions out with this one, okay? I know this wouldn't slide but I'm a sucker for these scenarios. Edit: Since I've been getting positive reactions from you guys, I decided to take out the cringe/unrealistic out of the warning/tws lists. I truly love and appreciate you, loves!❤️

[!!Semi-edited & Proofread!!! 2/8/2024 4:04pm CST]

It was hard on all of you.

More so for you and Satoru.

Ever since Geto’s massacre and defection, the higher-ups and Jujutsu society have been scrambling to get the chaos under control. Having a special grade user become a curse user was sounding red alarms as there was an immediate threat to present-day Jujutsu sorcery.

You knew something was up with Suguru. You did; your observation wouldn’t allow things to go unnoticed. It was a bit here and there, but never a significant concern. You tried coaxing him gradually to open up to you, but your efforts were fruitless. No bells were ringing until the post-Plasma Star Vessel incident. You felt the shift in Suguru’s aura; you noticed his lifeless stare—the growing dark circles around his eyes surrounding the tiny flicker of life left inside. 

You tried being there for Suguru. You did anything and everything to accompany him and not leave him alone. It was selfish of you. To be desperate for your best friend to lean on you for support and not to go down a destructive path. You became even more worried when Haibara returned cold with a frustrated and traumatized Nanami. It was becoming more evident of Suguru’s deteriorating condition, you to confide in Shoko and even Yaga-sensei. 

Grief is like love, a twisted parasitic curse. Even though a year has passed, your grief was a malevolent spirit that latched itself onto your shoulders with a vice grip. A bitter reminder of how Suguru never said goodbye to you. He technically did with Satoru. But it was more of him telling Satoru that he was severing ties with Jujutsu Society by questioning him with his newfound powers. All you got from Suguru was a simple letter Shoko gave you at your dorm. She was with you as you read it. Tear droplets stained the paper, words smeared, and became unreadable. Out of pure frustration, you ripped the paper in half—the tearing of paper cut through the sickening silence. Shoko hugged you as you sobbed in the aftermath. While you were mourning the loss of your friend and your lives together, you were also mourning your life after this would never be the same. It would only get worse from here. 

 Satoru is tossed onto multiple missions left and right, never catching a break.

And there was you, trying to return to your regular school life. Or how every day can it be now? One of your best friends just murdered an entire village and his parents, and the other one is overworking himself to the very bone. Shoko being there for you was a surprising one, but at the same time, it wasn’t. Given that she was the first one Suguru said goodbye to, she understood his actions.

The problem was trying to tell Satoru about it, but he would brush it off, saying that maybe it was the change in weather or sickness. When you tried to explain there was more to it, Satoru would wave his hand at you, saying, 

“You’re overthinking too much, (Y/N)-chan! I’m sure Suguru is fine. We just have to give him some time.”

Though the tone was light-hearted, it provided no comfort. You know Satoru was suffering as well. Individuals process trauma differently, after all. You were seeing this first hand. 

Satoru was overcompensating to the world of Jujutsu with his enlightenment, overworking himself and burying his pain through that charismatic mask he now dons. Suguru is the most common one: Insomnia, isolation, and depression. He slowly became a lifeless husk. On the other hand, you were coping by trying to move forward while acting like a rock for them. Despite the hard transition, you didn’t deny your trauma as you slowly worked to process and navigate through it. You had the support of Shoko, your teacher, and even your clan/family stepped in to support your mental health endeavors. They went as far as providing you with a therapist, who was also a sorcerer.

But you all were suffering in silence.

A year has passed since Suguru left, and you were getting by. You, Shoko, and Satoru would graduate in the third year and officially become Jujutsu Sorcerers. Yet, at this point, it felt more like only you and Shoko. Satoru still attended class and hung out, but missions mainly preoccupied his school life. He recently returned from Hokkaido, only to be sent out again. This time, however, it was somewhere in Western Europe. That’s on the other side of the world. It would only be for a week, but still. You wanted him to rest or take a break, as he never did– not since the incident.

He wouldn’t be leaving for another seven days, so you had enough time to be with him. Yet it was challenging because Satoru didn’t let up. The ravine he created kept opening, the distance stretching far and deep, pushing you away.

Just like Suguru.

You didn’t want to lose Satoru. You almost did, becoming a grim reminder of how much you cared for Satoru Suguru. To fall for your best friend was a betrayal. You didn’t mean it, but Satoru did things that made your heart warm and fluttered. Suguru was the first to catch on; he saw your crush a mile away. Confiding in Suguru about it, you found solace in his words– feeding into an enviable delusion. 

Unbeknownst to you, Suguru's eyes were able to hide his longing for you as you rambled about Satoru and your latest hangout together. Suguru always thought you and Satoru had a special connection—your two powerful chemistry and how you bounce off each other. He presumed Satoru had mutual feelings, but nothing was said. Once he left, he knew you had his heart. There was no space for anyone else to fill it but you. And Suguru was more than willing to live with reality. If the girl who gave his life light is with his best friend, so be it. He would settle with the heartache as long as you were happy.

But you weren’t happy at all.

Over time, you started questioning whether the life of a Jujutsu Sorcerer was worth it. Yes, you were born into the world of Jujutsu, and it has been your whole life. But the last two years radically changed that. You were already exposed to this life's dangers and cruelty; prepare to face it head-on no matter what. Yet second thoughts became third thoughts. Then, fourth, fifth, sixth, and seventh. The more you challenge your initial mindset, the more doubts seep into its cracks.

Why should I continue when I am nothing more than a placeholder in this world?

How can I save everyone if I can’t save one person?

Where is the meaning in all of this if I’ll just die alone and be replaced and forgotten?

Was this endless cycle of Jujutsu Sorcery even worth it?

You wondered if Suguru shared the same thoughts to push him to his decision. Now, you don’t blame him for leaving at all. It was grime. It was depravity. It was futile. You only stayed because you had your clan. You had Yaga-sensei and Shoko. But most of all, you had Satoru to shoulder the burdens of the Jujutsu world.

That’s. . .what you thought. . .

You decided to go to Satoru’s dorm to check up on him. Maybe squeeze a hangout in there. Gently knocking, you hope he was there since you couldn’t sense him around the campus. There was faint shuffling on the other side, signaling he was. You softly call out to him as you knock again. Once opened, Satoru greeted you in his school uniform. You found it odd since he’d switched to his comfortable clothes after school hours. 

“Hi, Toru! I just came by to see how you’re doing. The mochi store we always go to releases its seasonal flavors today! Why don’t you come with me? I heard one of your favorites returned, so I didn’t want you to miss it.”

“I appreciate the thought, (Y/N). But not today, I’m sorry.” Satoru said with a smile.

You couldn’t pinpoint his smile, tittering on, sad and strained. A tinge of uneasiness settled inside your heart, but you still wore your smile to not let it surface.

“C’mon, Toru! You don’t know if they will sell out today. Plus, the weather is great. I heard some festivals with food stands are opening up because of that. It wouldn’t hurt to go out just this once, Satoru.”

Satoru’s smile disappears at your insistence, replacing it with a fine line. His mood change didn’t sit well with you. You had previous attempts to get Satoru to care for himself. However, this is different from all your others because the band that holds your desperation began to wane itself thin. Your solid composure falters in bits. Your bright aura slowly dimmed as your now chapped lips twitched.

“Satoru, I know that you’re busy. Always on missions, meeting the higher-ups, your clan needing you more than ever, you have your hands tied. But it wouldn’t be too much just to enjoy yourself. Just come with me today before you go to Europe next week. It’s been a while since we hung out together.”

“Look (Y/N), I don’t really have time for this. I need to head out now, or it will get dark. Maybe another time–”

Then something inside of you snaps. You didn’t know whether it was your desperation or uneasiness, but assumed both because your facade crumbles to reveal your emotions.

“You always say later, Satoru, but never do! You haven’t taken a break in months! You’ve gotten paler, and your under-eyes are darker than before! You’re pushing yourself too hard and beginning to neglect yourself. Toru, Please! I’m worried about you! You know I can always help you–”

“For the love of God, (Y/N)! Can you STOP TALKING?! GOD, YOUR VOICE MAKES MY EARS BLEED! LIKE HELL YOU WOULD UNDERSTAND MY RESPONSIBILITIES!”

 It was never your intention to snap. But the way Satoru was acting paralleled Suguru. Eat, sleep, and go on missions. It was always those three, the same ones Suguru was subjected to that became a factor in his defection. Satoru was caught in the vicious cycle that pushed Suguru over the edge. 

On top of your crippling fear of Satoru sharing the same fate as Suguru, Déjà vu struck you. Desperation emerged from within as you didn’t want to lose him, breaking your resolve before him. Desperation was fear in another form. 

You weren’t the only one to reach a breaking point. Satoru snapped as well and at you, of all people. You guessed it was from all the stress and emotions he bottled up that exploded there. What Satoru was experiencing was valid and understandable; you knew this. Yet to blow up at you was uncalled for as you made it clear you’re only helping. Your eyes sting as you feel the formation of tears ready themselves, biting the inside of your bottom lip to keep your voice from breaking.

“B-but. . .Satoru. . .I w-was only trying to–” You stuttered out, forcibly pushing out words to fill the silence.

“Help? You were trying to help, (Y/N)?”

Once saying that Satoru let out a sarcastic laughter that could be mistaken for madness. Horror took over your face. Pain-filled eyes were glossed over, showing your tears could spill at any moment. His laughter abruptly stopped, making it so quiet that only your staggered breathing could be heard. He meets his eyes with yours with the most disdain you have ever seen.

“Do you think you could help when you’re just dead weight? You thought you were on par with Suguru and me. Get that out of your stupid little head of yours (Y/N). You were never strong like us.”

“You don’t mean that, right, Satoru?” You said incredulity as you reached out for him. Only for your hand to freeze before him, not going any further. A chill flashed over you, adding to the aching that enveloped your soul.

Did he– Did he just use his infinity on you?

“Oh, but I do. Now, I need to be somewhere. Do yourself a favor, (Y/N), and don’t bother me with your weak presence.”

And before you knew it, Satoru was already gone. He had used his teleportation to get to where he was needed. Leaving you alone with the door to his dorm wide open. The sounds of the crickets took over. They were paired with your small sniffles, furiously wiping away your nonstop tears. 

Were you weak to him?

Have you really been holding everyone back?

Were you that much of a nuisance to him?

Is this how Satoru really felt about you?

Has he always felt this way?

You never saw utter detest and contempt from Satoru. Your previous interactions had him irritated or annoyed, but never like this. This was the first time Satoru had blown up on you, let alone given you such a reaction. Before, you’d repeatedly remind him of your support and help. But it always ends the same way, pushing you away. After what happened, this will be the last time you’d do this for him. 

You were once told that you can’t help someone if they aren’t reaching out for help. And this was a bitter example of it. Your efforts in having Satoru lean on you bore nothing. What’s the point in continuing this if nothing changes after multiple attempts?

You were tired, drained, and indifferent. Your tears keep falling as you enter your dorm, not even stopping as the sound of nature lulls you to sleep. 

You let two days pass to let Satoru calm down and give him space. No interactions or anything to pass some time. You would try to contact him for the next four days after that. But your texts were left unanswered and on read. When you tried calling, your call went straight to voicemail. He blocked your phone number, too. 

 The weight of your doubts and Satoru’s words the other day are fueling your impulsivity. If Satoru called you weak and dead weight, other sorcerers would think so, too. If you become a thorn in their side, you’re doing them a favor by pulling yourself out for them. Even if Satoru didn’t mean it, you knew there was some truth to it because he kept his infinity up. You could never forget how his blue eyes lit through his pitch-dark glasses as he spoke down at you. Giving away that he was conscious and level-headed when he said those words.

You were losing the war against your intrusive mind. Your doubts and thoughts gradually solidified in your consciousness. In the course of time, they won and consumed your psyche.

If becoming a jujutsu sorcerer would get in the way of others, then being a sorcerer wasn’t for you.

With your last attempts to contact Satoru, you have made your decision. A day before Satoru departs for Europe, you decide to pay your clan head a visit. It was sudden and unannounced; nonetheless, they allowed an audience with you. 

They let you speak your mind, allowing whatever you need to be released and run free without judgment. Thus, you confided in them about everything.

This was too much; all of it was too much for you to bear any longer. You couldn’t see yourself as a sorcerer any longer after dealing with what you had experienced. Every day was a battle for you, and you lost every single one. You admitted you didn’t have what’s left of you it in you to shoulder the responsibilities of the Jujutsu world. You didn’t want the life of a jujutsu sorcerer anymore. You wanted one of peace, not having to fight every day. To enjoy the rest of your days as a regular civilian.

Confiding also in missing Suguru dearly and how his departure left a hole in your heart that could never be healed. You weren’t strong enough to face the horrors and hardships anymore and wish to live a peaceful life. 

Although your clan head was shocked at your confession, they were understanding and asked if this was something you truly wanted. An unwavering ‘Yes’ left you, and your clan head nodded. They gave you a choice: to go after graduation in a few weeks or leave now. If you leave now, they will deal with the rest as you finish the important schoolwork. It was just a waiting game with missions sprinkled throughout.

You could wait before leaving, but that’s wasting time. If you weren’t going to continue your life here, you might as well get a headstart now in your new one. You finalize your decision with the head. They said they would have some members pick up your stuff from your dorms tomorrow morning, but you said it wouldn’t be much. As you took your leave, you told them you would keep in touch with the clan. 

“What are your plans for what happens next, (Y/N)?” They curiously asked with your back facing them.

“Hmm, I don’t know exactly. But I have an idea, (Clan Head’s Name). Thank you for everything that you’ve done.”

With a reassuring voice, you turn to respectfully bow before leaving their room. Though they never said it out loud, they saw how your eyes were soft, like tremendous pressure was relieved from your body.

Thinking about it as you leave the estate, you never mentioned your fight with Satoru. Though it wouldn’t change anything. That night, you packed your dorm in your suitcase. Only leave your bedsheets, a pillow, and a few desk appliances behind. Your closet and drawers were empty of any clothes you had. By 10 a.m. tomorrow, any trace left of you would be gone. As you write a letter to whoever finds it about your whereabouts, your thoughts return to Suguru. To playfully think he did the exact same thing before his defection. 

You looked at your school uniform as it hung on your door. You contemplated taking it with you but decided against it. You wanted no strings left attached when you leave the world of Jujutsu Sorcery.

Morning came as you stared at the room you once called your own. The remainder of your things are packed in cardboard boxes for your clan members to get later. You glance back over to your desk as your school uniform is neatly folded on top of it. Your lips are graced with a sentimental smile as you close the door one last time. 

As you walked along the campus, fleeting memories of your days here flooded your mind. You reminisced on the areas and places you spent your youth with your friends and classmates. Now you’re leaving Jujutsu Tech and the Jujutsu World forever. Never to come back. You get to the main entrance of the school.

Before taking another step, you sensed someone behind you.

“So you're leaving, too, (Y/N)?”

It was Shoko.

“Yeah. . . Shoko. I’m going. . .”

She blows out a large smoke cloud from her cigarette, giving you a blank look before sending you a smile.

“At least say goodbye to me. . .I don’t blame you for going. . .” Shoko adds as she holds out her arms. You chuckle at her gesture and give her a hug. By the slight firm grip you felt, she didn’t want you to go, but she couldn’t stop you either.

Once you break away from the hug, you remember something and fish out a folded paper in your bag. You handed it to Shoko, and she eyed it curiously.

“I was going to leave it in my dorm for someone to find, but I thought it would work better if I gave this to you if I ran into it on my way out. My clan is sending members to get the last of my things, so I won’t return to my dorm. Sorry I had to make you the messenger again, Shoko.” You bittersweetly said.

You find it ironic that your departure is similar to Suguru’s. Shoko is the first to see you two go while giving her a letter for the others to read. You laugh as you think this over.

Oh, how history repeats itself.

Shoko tucks away your letter before taking a drag from her smoke.

“Does he know about this?”

You knew she was referring to Satoru. You shook your head no, still have a small smile.

“No, unfortunately. Satoru and I got into a arg– disagreement a few days ago. I don’t know if he’s okay with me to begin with, as cowardly to say. The only ones that know are you and my clan head.”

She hums at your response before going for another drag.

“Your phone number still the same?”

“I don’t really plan on changing my phone number. Even if I do, I’ll text you the new number so you can give it to the others.”

“I see. . .See you around, (Y/N). Keep in touch, will ya?”

“I will. I’ll see you around then. Bye, Shoko.”

Giving Shoko one last hug, you wave goodbye as you leave Jujutsu’s High entrance, disappearing from view. Not daring to look back because regret might come if you did.

Shoko watches from afar, her cigarette being halfway done. She takes one last puff before extinguishing it with the bottom of her shoe. She looks at your letter. The paper was crisp with no wrinkles like it had been fresh from the printer. From this, Shoko knew you had written it recently, no hesitation evident on the page itself. Unlike Suguru’s, her fingers tighten on your letter as she sighs while entering the school.

— — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — —

“What brings you here? He’s a busy man.”

“I’m just an old acquaintance of his. Just a simple chat. It won’t take long, I promise.”

The pretty attendant raises a brow at you as she guides you to one of the rooms. She looks you up and down before facing forward again.

“You have a substantial amount of curse energy. You have a curse technique then; aren’t you a jujutsu sorcerer?”

“I…used to be…but not anymore…I chose to leave that life. I’m just a civilian that has a curse technique.”

You see the attendant smile out of the corner of your eye at your answer. 

“I see. Geto-sama will be happy to take audience with you then.”

You shouldn’t be here. You knew that. Walking in taboo territory could get you hunted down by the very society you were born into. It’s not a secret of Suguru’s position as both a curse user and a cult leader. You remember hearing about him reforming a cult that worshiped Tengan but dissolved after the incident. You found it interesting he hasn’t done collateral damage yet. No incidents or missions revolving around curses terrorizing civilians. Perhaps he was going for something on a larger scale, you thought.

But you missed Suguru dearly. Not in a sentimental reminiscing way. More as in yearning for him entirely. Everyone tells you it’s not the same with Suguru gone, obviously. Yeah, but Suguru plagued your mind after his defection. You want nothing more than to see him again. Yes, things couldn’t go back to the way they were. But you didn’t like the prospects of what your future would hold if you stayed.

You disagreed with Suguru ridding the world of non-sorcerers. But you also understand and agree the current Jujutsu system is a dumpster fire that will never work. At the end of the day, only those the higher-ups favor will get to stay while the rest are sent off to die. You didn’t want to take part in that. You valued your life to know it shouldn’t be tossed around so easily by some dementia geezers who can’t even fight. And yet, you felt a tinge of regret for not staying to fix or break the system. Your only option was to leave and not involve yourself anymore.

The attendant takes you to the room, saying he will arrive shortly. Leaving you alone, you felt your heart race. You hope Suguru doesn’t kill you because he can sense your curse energy. Yet his letter was heartfelt and raw. His apology and the paragraphs after them were for you and you alone, like a confession. Even though you ripped the letter, you keep the two halves. Strangely enough, there was an address and a few words at the bottom of the page. 

‘You know where to find me.’

Here you are, waiting for him with the same letter he sent. As you wait, you can feel his energy get closer. You stare down, kneeling, the letter shaking like a leaf in your hands.

Then the door opens.

You let out a small gasp, not daring to look up as the footsteps approach his seat. A soft chuckle fills the room as you keep your head low.

“I thought I was mistaken when I felt your curse energy. But I now know my mind wasn’t playing tricks on me. Please, lift your head so I can see you (Y/N).”

Your gaze meets Suguru’s soft eyes and warm smile. Both genuine and kind. His eyes widen before returning back to soft when he sees the tears trickling down for your lovely eyes he could get lost in. You stumble to stand, practically pouncing at Suguru. His embrace was like gates opening for you and closing once you entered. You softly sob into his robes as he holds you tightly. Comforting you by gently rubbing your back and hair, giving a soft kiss to the top of your head.

“I missed you so much, Suguru!” was all you said before you continued to sniffle and hiccup into him.

Suguru hums as he pulls away to better view your face. You felt self-conscious as he lovingly gazed at you. Your nose and cheeks were raw from crying, and your eyes became an irritated red. Suguru smiles, wiping away your endless tears with his thumb.

“Oh, (Y/N). I’m sorry for leaving you behind. You understand, don’t you? From my letter?”

You nodded to respond. Holding the paper in front of Suguru. He notices the tear stains and ink smudges from the words he wrote down.

“I would’ve told you in person, (Y/N). Believe me. But I couldn't once they announced my charges. You would’ve been questioned as a possible accomplice. I didn’t want that for you. Do you know what it means for you to see me now?”

“Yes, I’m aware. But I left of my own accord; it wasn’t just for you, Suguru. I wouldn’t be able to last long if I stayed. So I decided to go, leaving it behind, all of it.”

He was a bit puzzled by what you meant. But it didn’t take long for him to piece it himself. Suguru figured something happened between you and Satoru but decided to stay silent out of respect. You both stare with relief and tenderness. Suguru gingerly takes your hand and places a light kiss on your knuckles. You set your unoccupied hand on his cheek, quietly giggling as Suguru leans into your delicate touch. He sighed in contentment. Bring your hand up again to kiss it as he wraps his free arm around your waist. His sincere smile radiates down onto you.

“I guess we have some catching up to do then, (Y/N).”

— — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — —

Satoru was in a better mood today than before.

Satoru cooled off his head after a couple of days from when he made that outburst at you.  He was stressed and tired of being continuously sent out on missions, and you did make a point that he hasn’t taken a break in months. He remembered what he said to you that evening, which made him feel guilty.

He knows he hasn’t been around because the higher-ups have sent him out like a work dog. It was now you and Shoko with him. The stabilization you two had on him once Suguru left.

You’ve been only trying to help him for a long time. Being there for him in your own way while coaxing him to hang out. Yet he took it for granted and said some vile things because his bucket decided to overflow then out of all the times it shouldn’t. You didn’t deserve that. You also didn’t deserve the silent treatment he gave you. He saw your text messages and listened to the voicemails you left. He did not answer because he was too prideful and stubborn to admit he was stressed and hurt you like that.

But sitting with his emotions and reflecting on how stupid he is for prioritizing his ego, he decided to cut down his pride and make it up to you. He unblocked your number and was going to call you. But he chose to just surprise you instead he chickened out. Satoru knew the European mission was a nuisance to his plans, so he had already taken care of it. By that, Satoru somehow teleported himself to where he needed to be in Europe, slayed the high-level curses, retrieved some curse objects, reported what he did, and teleported back to Japan in four hours.

He did all this at the last minute on the sixth day before Satoru was supposed to leave. He did this to stay and spend the whole week with you, make up for lost time, and give a proper apology.

Now, Satoru was strolling through Jujutsu Tech. He whistles as he holds a bouquet of (favorite flowers), a box with a (favorite color) bracelet with (favorite designs/charms), and a bag of mochi and daifuku for you two to share together. He walks around the grounds, trying to search you. He was told no classes today, so he went to your favorite spots. You weren’t anywhere.

‘Huh, that’s strange. (Y/N) would usually be in those places when class is not in session. I wonder where she could be.’

Satoru thought about dropping by your dorm but figured you were with Shoko. On the other hand, he couldn’t sense Shoko around either until Satoru felt it alongside Yaga-sensei. He sensed them in Yaga’s building, so he headed there.

Blissfully unaware of what would await him. 

Satoru clutches your gifts to one side as he opens the door to enter. His six eyes hadn’t kicked in yet, but something in the air felt off. His sun smile hasn’t dropped yet as he scans around, wondering why the two were quiet when he entered.

“Yo, Yaga-sensei, Shoko! I’ve been trying to look for you guys. By any chance know where (Y/N) is so I can give these to her?”

He looks at his teacher, and Satoru’s demeanor instantly changes. There, Yaga stood with his glasses off, clutching a piece of paper with a stern frown. Satoru turns to Shoko, a somber expression replacing her lighthearted one. Satoru just looked back and forth between the two before his eyes settled on the paper in his teacher’s hand. Satoru stands stunned, hearing his heartbeat in his ears grow louder and louder. The air from his lungs disappeared as realization dawned on him. 

Satoru clenched his teeth as he teleported to your dorm room, the clap resonating throughout the hall. He burst open your dorm door, and to his horror, your room was empty. The room was stripped of everything that made it yours. The closet and drawers were emptied, and your desk and bed were bare of anything from you. What used to be your dorm is now an empty dorm room, ready for the next person to claim it. He frantically looks around in hopes of finding any reminds of you.

Then, he spotted your old Jujutsu High uniform, laying neatly on top of your old desk. Satoru just stares, not daring to pick it up. Because if he did, he would’ve broken down. He can’t stay there anymore, to which he teleports back. He bears his pearly white teeth as he closes in on his teacher.

“Where the hell is (Y/N)?” Satoru lowly said.

“Gone, Satoru–”

“I know she’s gone! But where?! Why the hell is all her stuff gone?! Her room is completely empty!”

“Satoru,” Yaga tried calmly speaking, but he was clearly frustrated. “I know this is so sudden. But the (L/N)’s clan head said something came up with (Y/N), and they retrieved all her things. Her clan said they were going to deal with everything else.”

Satoru's breathing became staggered. He could hear it growing louder. He tried his best not to let his voice crack, but that made him angrier.

“Everything else? The hell does that mean, sensei? Why would the (L/N) clan withdraw (Y/N) from school?! School ends in a few weeks! She could have graduated with us!”

“It…wasn’t their decision, Satoru…It was (Y/N)’s…”

Suddenly, Satoru became flabbergasted. He couldn’t believe what he was hearing. This gotta be some twisted, cruel joke that was playing on him. His curse energy was flaring up, and his cerulean eyes lit lightly. The flowers from the bouquet were losing their petals, and his bag full of treats was getting smushed from his intense grip.

“What…?”

“The clan head said it themselves.”

“No…”

“She decided not to be a Jujutsu Sorcerer and leave Jujutsu society.”

“LIKE HELL SHE WOULD!!!” Just like that, everything came crashing down for Satoru. Not being in your usual spots on campus, the empty dorm; hell, he noticed your curse residuals becoming faint. The traces of them becoming weaker and weaker. Your presence here in Jujutsu High was fading faster than he could notice. The anger he built up showed itself as it was on full display. Honestly, Yaga and Shoko don’t blame him for his outburst. Satoru held you close, after all.

“Satoru, please.” Yaga pinches the bridge of his nose as he clenches his teeth. “I’m just as lost as you are. This came out of the blue…Her clan confirmed it, and she said it herself.”

Satoru slightly flinches when Yaga holds the paper out towards him. Gesturing for Satoru to take it.

“I didn’t read far into this because it felt like (Y/N) wanted someone else to read it.”

Satoru’s long fingers snatched the paper out of his teacher’s hands. His hands shake as he opens the paper up to see its contents.

It was a letter–from you.

His eyes slowly followed the words of your neatly written goodbye. His heart rips itself piece by piece as he continues reading. The guilt and shaming grew. He could feel the fatigue and jadedness from your thoughts. But the last paragraph makes Satoru’s heart hurt the worst. Your frustration was transformed into desperation for a new life, a fresh start. Away from the endless curses and scrutiny of the higher-ups, away from the pain and hopelessness, away from it all. You didn’t want to throw your life away. You just wanted to live. Then, you end the letter with an apology. Saying sorry because you couldn’t tell them your honest thoughts, for not facing them in your departure, for not trying hard enough for everyone when it was needed. Then, the last line of your apology made Satoru’s blood run cold.

‘Most of all, I’m sorry for being weak.’

He knew that line was for him 100 percent. You wouldn’t have written it down if he didn’t tell you. To Satoru, you weren’t supposed to be the one apologizing. It should be him. He was the one who yelled at you and said those cruel and discouraging things to you. The one who pushed you away and didn’t allow you a chance to help. Fuck, he had the audacity to use his infinity against you. How dare he do that to you, his best friend the girl he fell in love with. His teeth clenched so hard out of pure anger they could crack. The anger he felt for himself was tremendous. He was angry at Suguru, the higher-ups, and Jujutsu Society. Angry at himself for being so stubborn and prideful, for waiting too long to act and apologize. But above all else, he was angry at what had become of the situation. Fully knowing he could do nothing to change anything as already was set in stone.

If he hadn’t been so prideful, he would’ve apologized to you sooner. If he didn’t blow up at you, you wouldn't become broken and hurt. If only he didn’t push you away, maybe you would have stayed– stayed by his side. But ‘if onlys’ are regrets from the past of the current reality. Now, he is living in it with the consequences of his own actions.

This is the price Satoru had to pay. He lost the only remnant that got him through this world by pushing you away. He lost his only two best friends in the world with no way of fixing it. 

The price of becoming the strongest came at the expense of two of his most dearest friends.

Suguru was gone.

You were gone.

Forever with no signs of ever coming back to him. 

In the end, Satoru Gojo was, truly, alone.

[twistedheartsclub]

Yandere Sugar daddy X Fem Reader

Content Warnings: obsessive behavior, stalking, age gap relationship, power imbalance, manipulation, sugar baby/sugar daddy dynamic, dubcon, noncon, psychological control, emotional abuse, sexual coercion, isolation, forced dependency, pregnancy kink, breeding kink, past trauma, toxic relationships, gaslighting, possessiveness, jealousy, violence or threat of violence, sexual content (18+).

Y/N’s dorm room – late evening, soft lamp light, the hum of a laptop screen.

Y/N sat cross-legged on her bed, staring at her bank account.

$8.43

She bit her lip and tugged her oversized sweatshirt tighter around her frame. Her tuition deadline loomed, her work-study hours had been cut, and her dad—what little he had—was already stretched thin supporting her younger siblings.

Across the room, her roommate Zadie rolled onto her stomach, bubblegum pink nails tapping at her phone. “You know there’s a solution, right?”

Y/N glanced up. “Selling plasma again?”

“Nope.” Zadie grinned. “Men.”

Y/N blinked. “Men?”

Zadie sat up, grabbing her laptop. “Sugar daddies, babe. Just companionship. You talk. You let them feel important. They send you rent, tuition, maybe a little extra for lingerie if they’re feeling generous.”

Y/N frowned. “I don’t know…”

“You’re gorgeous. Sweet. You give off innocent little bunny vibes. These guys eat that up.”

Y/N hesitated. She’d never even had a real boyfriend. The idea made her stomach twist—but the thought of dropping out twisted harder.

One hour later, with Zadie coaching her, her profile was live.

Username: SoftPetal19 Age: 19 Major: Early Childhood Development Bio: “Just a college girl who loves books, baking, and big dreams. I’m kind, loyal, and always trying to do the right thing.”

They picked her best photo—one Zadie had snapped while Y/N was reading on the quad, sunlight in her hair.

Then… nothing. Until three minutes later.

A new message. From S.Vale.

Silas Vale (Age: 42) — Verified

“You look like you belong somewhere soft. I can give you that.”

Y/N stared. Her hands trembled as she clicked his profile.

CEO. Investor. Ivy League grad. Salt-and-pepper hair, sharp cheekbones, a dark tailored suit. Eyes that made her want to look away.

Zadie whistled low. “Damn. Daddy’s got cash.”

Y/N read the message again. She didn’t reply.

Not yet.

But she didn’t close the laptop either.

Two nights later, Y/N was still staring at the unread message from Silas Vale.

She hadn’t replied. She hadn’t deleted it either.

Her fingers hovered over the keyboard when Zadie burst into the room, heels clicking against the cheap dorm floor.

“Guess who just had dinner with her sugar daddy at Del Mar?”

Y/N blinked. “You?”

Zadie dropped onto her bed with a dramatic sigh, lipstick still perfect, eyes gleaming. “Babe. He ordered for me, handed me his card, and then—” she paused, grinning, “—slipped a little something extra in my panties before I left.”

Y/N flushed. “Zadie!”

“What? He was sweet about it. Tucked a couple hundreds right between my thighs like I was a vending machine. Men like gratitude, babe.”

Y/N turned back to her laptop. The message still stared at her.

You look like you belong somewhere soft. I can give you that.

Zadie leaned over her shoulder. “He messaged again yet?”

Y/N shook her head. “No. Just that one.”

Zadie bit her lip, reading it again. “He’s into you. You should answer.”

“I don’t know. It just feels… weird.”

Zadie’s voice lowered. “You know he could pay off your whole semester without blinking?”

“I’m not you.”

“No,” Zadie said, curling her fingers under Y/N’s chin to make her look up, “you’re better. Sweeter. He’s gonna love that.”

There was a pause. Then—

“You want to make him wait? Send him something instead.”

“Like what?”

Zadie reached into her bag, pulled out a cherry red gloss and handed it over. “Kiss your mirror. Wear the sweatshirt that shows your collarbone. Sit on the edge of your bed and smile. Sweet. Nervous. Like you’re not sure if this is okay.”

Y/N hesitated. “Zadie…”

Zadie shrugged, standing up. “Or don’t. Just say goodbye to this school. And your dreams. And your Starbucks addiction.”

She tossed her wallet on her bed and headed for the shower.

Y/N stared at the gloss.

Then the mirror.

Then the message.

And slowly… she picked up her phone.

Y/N’s phone buzzed just after sunset.

S.Vale:

I want to see you tonight. No pressure. Just dinner. Say yes and I’ll send a car.

Her heart skipped.

Zadie squealed the moment she read over Y/N’s shoulder. “Oh my god. This is it.”

“I don’t know if I can…”

“You will. And you’re gonna be stunning.”

Zadie was already dragging her toward the closet. Heels clattered. Hangers flew.

“Not the cardigan—hell no. You’re giving soft sex kitten. Think Chanel, but virginal.” She shoved a silky black slip dress into Y/N’s arms. Thin straps. Low back. Lace at the hem.

“I can’t wear this.”

“You can and you will.” Zadie grinned, already applying gloss to Y/N’s lips. “He wants a fantasy, babe. Innocent on the outside, temptation just barely peeking through.”

Y/N sat frozen on the bed while Zadie did her hair, added soft shimmer to her cheeks, spritzed perfume behind her ears. She felt like a doll being dressed for sacrifice.

At 7:45, her phone buzzed again.

Unknown Number:

Your car is waiting outside.

Y/N stood, wobbling in the heels Zadie forced her into. Her stomach turned. The dress clung too much. Her chest felt too exposed. Her thighs were shaking.

She turned toward her roommate. “Do I look okay?”

Zadie’s gaze softened just a little. “You look… like a girl a man like him would ruin.”

Y/N’s breath caught.

Zadie smirked, opening the door. “Go get your tuition, baby.”

Outside

A sleek black town car idled at the curb. The driver stepped out wordlessly and opened the back door.

Y/N slid inside, the leather cool beneath her thighs. The city lights blurred past the tinted windows. Her hands fidgeted in her lap the entire ride.

Her mind raced:

What if he’s creepy? What if he tries something? What if he’s disappointed?

But she didn’t text Zadie. She didn’t ask to turn around.

She just waited.

At exactly 8:02, the car pulled up in front of a quiet rooftop restaurant. No sign. No crowd. Just elegance. And him.

Silas Vale stood at the entrance like a shadow come to life—charcoal suit, tailored perfectly, salt-and-pepper hair swept back, sharp jaw tense until his eyes landed on her.

Then he smiled.

Slow. Approving.

And everything inside her clenched.

He stepped forward, offered a hand to help her out of the car.

“You came,” he said.

His voice was low. Refined. Dangerous.

Y/N nodded, too nervous to speak.

He didn’t let go of her hand.

“Good girl.”

Y/N stepped into the restaurant, heels clicking nervously against the polished floor. She expected other diners, maybe soft chatter and silverware clinking.

Instead—it was empty.

Just her.

And him.

Silas stood beneath the warm glow of golden sconces, a private table already set with candles and wine. Everything about him was crisp. Clean. Sharp. From the glint of his cufflinks to the way his dark eyes trailed down her body—slowly.

“You’re trembling,” he murmured.

Y/N swallowed hard. “I’m not used to... this.”

He offered his arm. “You will be.”

She didn’t take it, but he walked beside her anyway, guiding her to the table. He pulled out her chair himself. When she sat, she realized: the view behind him was the entire city—blinking, alive, too far away to touch.

He took his seat across from her, folding his hands, eyes unreadable. Then:

“You bite your lip when you’re nervous.”

Her cheeks flushed. “I—sorry.”

“Don’t be. I like it.” He poured her a glass of deep red wine. “Drink. It’ll help.”

She hesitated, then took a sip.

And another.

And another.

By the time the waiter brought out the first course, she’d forgotten to be scared of the silverware.

Silas watched her with a quiet sort of fascination.

She wasn’t like the others.

No questions about allowance. No eager demands. No caked-on makeup or sultry pouts rehearsed in mirrors.

Just this sweet little thing, in Zadie’s too-short dress, fidgeting with her hair, eyes wide and cautious. Biting her lip. Blushing when he looked too long.

And asking him things no one ever did.

“Why me?” she’d asked, voice soft and slurred from her third glass.

“You seem lonely.”

“You don’t know me.”

He leaned back, watching her, amused. “Then tell me.”

She did.

She talked about her major—Early Childhood Development—how she always loved little things. Playdough and picture books and crayons. About Her siblings, and how she wanted to teach the kind of patience she wished someone had taught her.

She told him about her dad, how he lost his job just before retirement, and now they lived in a rented apartment too small for dreams.

She even told him she’d never had a boyfriend that lasted more than three months.

“I’m… a lot to deal with,” she mumbled. “I think. Or I’m just boring.”

“You’re not boring,” Silas said quietly. “You’re unspoiled.”

She blinked. “Is that… good?”

“It’s rare.”

By the time the waiter cleared the last dish, her fourth glass of wine was gone. Her cheeks were flushed, her laugh soft and uncertain. But her shoulders were looser. Her eyes no longer darted toward the door.

She was melting.

He reached across the table, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. “You’ve been very brave tonight.”

“I didn’t do anything.”

“You showed up. That’s more than most people ever do.”

His fingers lingered along her jaw, then dropped—grazing her hand as he stood. “Come. The couch over there is far more comfortable.”

Y/N hesitated. “There’s a couch… in the restaurant?”

“I bought the place out for tonight.” He offered his hand again. “It’s just us.”

Something inside her twisted. Nerves. Fear. Want.

She took his hand.

The Couch

It was tucked in the back corner, under low lighting. Plush. Velvet. Rich blue with gold buttons. She sank into it, suddenly realizing just how short her dress really was.

Silas didn’t sit beside her.

He stood in front of her.

Looking.

Devouring.

“You don’t know what kind of man I am, do you?” he said, voice low.

She blinked up at him. “I—I think you’re just… lonely too.”

Something dangerous flickered behind his eyes.

“I am,” he said. “But I’m also greedy.”

He knelt down, one hand resting lightly on her knee. “You’ve never done this before, have you?”

Y/N froze. “Done what?”

“Been touched.”

Her throat went dry.

He leaned in, his hand trailing higher—slow, deliberate. The wine, the warmth, the weight of his voice—it all made her head spin.

“Tell me to stop,” he whispered. “And I will.”

Her lips parted.

But nothing came out.

And that was all he needed.

He kissed her.

Soft at first. Almost reverent. Then harder. Deeper. Like he was claiming something he believed had always been his.

She whimpered into his mouth—her first kiss stolen, soaked in wine and perfume and things she didn’t yet understand.

When he pulled back, she was breathless.

He smiled against her lips.

“I want more, little one.”

A Hotel Built for Secrets

Silas didn’t ask—he instructed.

As they stepped out of the quiet restaurant, his hand found the small of her back. Warm. Steady. Too firm to ignore. A black car was already waiting at the curb, the door opened by a driver in a sharp suit who never made eye contact.

Y/N paused, suddenly sobering under the buzz of city lights and red wine. “Wait… I thought you were taking me home.”

“I am,” Silas said smoothly, helping her in. “Eventually.”

His voice curled around her like smoke, thick and unreadable. The door shut behind her with a solid thud, sealing her inside the leather-clad interior. Her heart beat too fast.

The ride was quiet—except for his fingers brushing hers. Not forceful. Just… waiting.

The hotel he brought her to wasn’t flashy. Not a towering skyscraper or gilded palace.

It was discreet.

Expensive.

The kind of place men like him brought things they wanted to keep quiet.

The elevator ride to the top floor was long, silent, and suffocating. She stared at the glowing numbers, wine swimming in her veins.

“Why here?” she asked.

Silas turned to her slowly. “Because I wanted you somewhere soft. Somewhere private.”

She swallowed.

The suite was dark wood and velvet. Warm lighting. Expensive champagne waiting on ice like he’d planned this all along.

Of course he had.

“I—I’m not sure…” she started, staying frozen by the door.

He turned, walking toward her with slow, graceful steps. “You’re free to go,” he murmured. “I won’t force you.”

But he stepped close. So close she could smell the wine on his breath and the woodsy cologne clinging to his suit.

His fingers brushed a strand of hair from her cheek.

“You’re just… so beautiful when you’re nervous, sweetheart.”

Y/N’s heart thundered.

“I didn’t think we’d come here,” she said softly.

“I didn’t think I’d want you this badly,” he replied.

He picked up a glass from the side table, already poured. “Just one more. To take the edge off.”

Her hand trembled as she took it.

He didn’t pressure her.

Not directly.

He let her drink.

Let her sit on the velvet couch, curled up with her knees tucked beside her. He made her feel like it was her idea when she kicked off her heels. When she let her hair down. When she laughed again.

Then he sat beside her—close.

His hand brushed her thigh, warm against the bare skin left exposed by the dress Zadie picked out.

“I’ve never done this before,” she confessed, eyes fluttering.

“Done what?” he murmured.

“Been with someone… like this. So much older. So…”

She didn’t finish.

“You mean powerful?” he whispered against her ear.

Her breath caught. She didn’t answer.

And he smiled.

The first kiss was slow. Stolen. She hadn’t even realized how close he’d gotten.

She gasped against his mouth, startled, unsure whether to pull away. His hand cupped her cheek gently.

“Easy,” he said. “I’ll teach you.”

She blinked up at him. “Teach me?”

His fingers trailed down her neck. “Everything.”

Her thighs clenched. Her body was hot—buzzing. Maybe the wine. Maybe the softness in his voice. Maybe the power.

His lips found hers again, deeper this time. Her hands fisted in the velvet of the couch.

He didn’t stop.

Didn’t push either.

Just coaxed.

Let her feel.

And when her legs parted just slightly under the hem of her dress, he slipped his hand up—slow, firm.

She gasped.

“Do you want to stop?” he asked.

She didn’t say yes.

But she didn’t say no either.

That was enough for Silas

The wine had dulled her edges, but not enough to erase the nerves coiling in Y/N’s stomach. His touch was soft—but insistent. Her body responded before her mind could catch up, shivering under his fingers as he whispered against her ear.

"You’re trembling, sweetheart."

She nodded, lips parted slightly. "I don’t… I don’t know what I’m doing."

Silas cupped her cheek, eyes drinking in every flicker of doubt. "That’s what I like about you," he murmured. "You're untouched. Pure. But I’ll take care of you."

Her breath hitched as his hand slid higher along her thigh.

"Maybe we should—" she whispered, but the words died in her throat as he pressed a kiss just beneath her jawline.

“Stop?” he asked, still kissing, still stroking her gently. “You can… if you really want to. But I think you’re just scared because no one’s ever made you feel good before.”

His voice was a balm and a trap.

“You don’t have to be afraid of me,” he whispered. “Not when I’m the only man who knows what your body really needs.”

Y/N’s eyes fluttered shut. Her skin felt too hot, too sensitive.

Then his hand reached the soaked silk between her legs.

She gasped, thighs twitching. “Silas—”

“Shh,” he whispered. “It’s okay, baby. You’re already responding to me. Just trust me.”

Her head dropped back against the couch. She tried to speak again—but then his fingers moved in slow, practiced rhythm. She choked on a moan, biting her knuckle.

“That’s it,” he murmured, watching her fall apart. “That’s my good girl.”

And when her body trembled from the unfamiliar rush that flooded her senses—he smiled like a man who had just claimed something sacred.

Like he had just won.

After, she curled in on herself, flushed and blinking, confused and dazed.

Silas didn’t leave.

Instead, he picked her up—carried her, bridal style, into the king-size bed like she weighed nothing. He laid her down on the silk sheets, pulled a blanket over her trembling frame.

Then… he stayed.

He didn’t fumble for clothes. Didn’t head to the door.

Instead, he slid in beside her.

The lights dimmed.

And for the first time in his life—Silas didn’t leave a sugar baby behind.

He stared at the ceiling, heart thudding, one arm wrapped tight around her waist.

This wasn’t a transaction anymore.

This was possession.

She was his.

And when her sleepy voice whispered, “Why are you still here?” into the dark, he only kissed the back of her neck and whispered:

“Because you belong to me now.”

Saturday Morning – 

The sun poured through the windows of the penthouse suite. High ceilings, silk sheets, and the distant hum of the city below. Y/N blinked awake, her body sore, limbs heavy. Her thighs ached. Her lips were swollen. Her neck tingled where his mouth had branded her.

Her gaze swept the room. He wasn’t in bed.

She sat up slowly, wincing as pressure flared deep between her legs. There was a faint trace of dried blood on the sheets. Her panties were nowhere to be seen. Her first time… and she didn’t even remember falling asleep.

The bathroom door opened. He stepped out.

Silas.

Shirtless. Towel slung around his hips. Steam rising off his chest. He looked so composed, so untouched, while she felt destroyed.

“Morning, sweetheart,” he said softly, crossing the room. His voice was warm. Like honey coating something sharp. “Did I wear you out?”

She didn't answer. He leaned down, brushing a kiss to her temple before handing her a credit card.

Her name was engraved on it.

“What is this?”

“Your tuition’s covered. So is your housing. And this—” he tucked a little velvet box into her hand, “—is just something to make you smile.”

Inside was a diamond-studded necklace. Small. Elegant. The pendant? His initial.

She stared at it.

“Why would you do this?”

“Because I take care of what’s mine.”

Saturday Afternoon –

She tried to leave.

“I just need to go home—”

But he stopped her at the door. Pressed her back against it, his hand on her waist.

“Home?” His mouth ghosted over her ear. “You are home, baby.”

She didn’t resist when he picked her up. Didn’t resist when he laid her out again on the bed, lips trailing down her stomach. “You were so good last night. I want more.”

His hands parted her thighs.

“No… wait—”

But he already had her, burying himself inside with a guttural groan. She gasped, back arching, nails digging into the sheets.

“You’re perfect like this,” he whispered. “Your first… your only. Let me ruin you.”

And he did.

Over and over.

He didn’t use protection.

Because why would he?

Saturday Night – 

He took her out to a private restaurant—just the two of them. The place was dark, romantic. He dressed her himself, sliding a tight little black dress up her shaking thighs. He clasped a diamond bracelet around her wrist.

“You look edible,” he murmured.

She barely tasted the food.

Four glasses of wine and his constant hand on her leg made it hard to focus. But she relaxed. Even laughed. He asked her about her childhood, her classes, her siblings. She told him everything.

He gave nothing in return—except charm. And eyes that never left her face.

At the end of the meal, they didn’t even make it back to the car.

He kissed her in the velvet-lined lounge. Deep, slow. Her first real kiss.

And then he laid her down on the couch, right there in the shadows, whispering against her lips:

“Mine.”

Sunday Morning –

She woke up sore again.

There were fresh marks on her hips. Her inner thighs.

His scent clung to her skin.

“You’re glowing,” he told her, climbing back into bed. He spooned her, one hand on her breast, the other tracing lazy circles on her stomach.

“You gave me your firsts,” he whispered. “And I’m going to give you your future.”

She didn’t speak.

Just laid there.

Then his lips pressed to her ear.

“More nights like this,” he murmured, “and you’ll never want anyone else.”

Sunday Night – 

When she finally stepped through the door of her dorm, she was dizzy. Not from the wine or the sex—but from the overload of it all. Her body ached in ways she didn’t have words for.

Zadie pounced.

“OH MY GOD—you’re glowing—what happened?!”

Y/N hesitated.

Then laughed.

And spilled everything.

Zadie squealed. “Girl, this is a dream. This is like some pretty woman fantasy meets mafia daddy-level realness!”

But once the lights went off…

Once Zadie was asleep…

Y/N curled up in her twin bed. Her thighs still sore. Her heart pounding.

She stared at the ceiling.

And whispered:

"I was supposed to wait."

"I was supposed to fall in love first."

And across town, Silas watched the camera feed from her dorm, a glass of wine in hand.

“You are in love,” he whispered to the screen.

“You just don’t know it yet.”

Monday morning arrived like a slap.

Y/N sat in the middle of her Early Childhood Development class, highlighter clutched in her hand, but her eyes weren’t following the words on the page.

All she could feel was the soreness between her legs. A ghost of his touch still lingered on her skin.

Every time she shifted in her seat, she flinched.

She kept tugging at her sweater sleeves, hiding the faint marks on her arms and wrists—his hands had been rough, possessive. Her bra was uncomfortable too. Everything felt like too much.

The professor called her name twice before she realized. Her cheeks flushed as the class turned to look.

“Sorry,” she whispered, forcing a smile. “Long weekend.”

After class, she hurried to her shift at the campus coffee shop. It was her one stable place—quiet, warm, safe. The smell of espresso and vanilla syrup helped calm her mind.

She tied her apron, pulled her hair into a bun, and went to work.

But every time the bell above the door rang, she tensed.

Would it be him?

Did he even know she worked here?

She had never told him.

Not about this.

Not about the part-time job she kept despite the credit card he’d slipped into her purse.

That card stayed untouched.

She hadn’t even looked at the balance.

Every time she saw it, she felt sick.

She didn’t want to owe him anything more than she already did.

Silas’s POV –

She hadn’t used the card.

Not once.

Silas sat in the back of his black SUV, parked two blocks from the coffee shop, watching her through tinted windows. He stirred the drink in his hand slowly, his face unreadable.

She was smiling.

Taking orders.

Acting like nothing had happened.

Like he hadn’t wrecked her all weekend.

Like she wasn’t his.

His jaw tightened.

“You give a girl your everything,” he murmured, watching her hand a latte to a tall guy who smiled too long, “and she dares go back to minimum wage?”

He tapped his finger on his phone screen, scrolling through her location, class schedule, security footage.

She hadn’t even logged into the bank account.

Did she think he wouldn’t notice?

Did she think she had a choice?

Later that night, Y/N walked home with her earbuds in, listening to soft music and ignoring the rush of traffic around her.

She hadn’t texted Silas once since she left.

Zadie was out, the dorm was quiet, and she sank into her twin bed with a long sigh. She hadn’t been able to focus all day.

During her shift, she’d accidentally given a customer almond milk instead of oat and got chewed out by her manager.

In class, she couldn’t stop thinking about how he kissed her throat while saying “mine.”

She felt...

Used.

And guilty.

And worse—craving him again, just a little.

It made her stomach twist.

She was supposed to be strong. Smart. Innocent.

Not this.

Not his.

Silas –

By the time she opened her phone and saw a new message, it was nearly midnight.

Silas:

Do you not understand how this works?

Her heart skipped.

She stared at the message.

Then another came.

Silas:

I gave you the world. Tuition. Safety. Love. And you repay me by pretending nothing happened?

Her hands trembled.

Silas:

You think you can ignore me, little girl? You think I’ll allow that?

She locked her phone.

But it buzzed again.

This time, a photo.

Her. From earlier. Taking out the trash behind the coffee shop. Alone.

She covered her mouth.

He knew where she worked.

He was watching.

Tuesday Afternoon – 

Y/N walked out of her child development class, hugging her notebook to her chest like a shield.

She hadn’t slept.

She hadn’t texted him.

And yet, her skin itched like he was near.

The hallway buzzed with noise—students chattering, footsteps echoing. She weaved through the crowd, head down, heart pounding. Her part-time job started in an hour, and all she could think about was surviving the day.

Then she felt it.

A hand wrapped tight around her arm.

Not rough, not bruising—yet—but firm.

She turned and froze.

Silas.

In a tailored black coat. Sharp jawline clenched. Brown eyes dark and furious.

He looked completely out of place and yet everyone parted for him like they could feel the danger radiating off him.

“Walk,” he ordered.

Her legs moved before her brain did.

He pulled her into a quiet side hallway near the faculty offices. Empty. Too quiet.

She yanked her arm back, voice trembling. “You can’t be here.”

“Oh, I can be anywhere you are,” he said coldly. “Especially when my girlfriend forgets how to respond to my messages.”

“Stop,” she whispered, glancing around. “Please.”

“Don’t tell me what to do.”

“I never asked for any of this,” she said, choking on the words. “I just needed help—just for school—I didn’t mean to—”

“You didn’t mean to what?” he snapped, stepping closer. “Let me inside you? Cry my name? Fall asleep in my bed like you belonged there?”

Tears welled in her eyes. “Silas, I— I was drunk. It was too fast. I can pay you back—”

His laugh was sharp, bitter. “Pay me back?”

“I don’t need anything else. You can take the card back. Just leave me alone—”

He moved so fast she gasped.

His hands were suddenly on her hips, backing her into the wall. Her notebook hit the floor with a soft thud.

“Leave you alone?” he hissed. “Is that what you want, sweetheart?”

She was crying now. “Please—”

“You used me. Took what you needed. And now what—run back to your little coffee shop and pretend I didn’t break you in that hotel room?”

“I didn’t mean to—”

“Liar,” he growled, low in her ear. “You begged for me.”

She flinched.

“I should ruin you right here,” he murmured. “Let them all see who you really belong to.”

Her chest heaved. “I don’t belong to anyone.”

Silas leaned in closer, eyes burning into hers. “You belong to me.”

And before she could speak—he kissed her.

It wasn’t soft. It wasn’t gentle.

It was punishment.

It was possession.

Her lips were wet with tears, her hands pushing weakly at his chest, but he didn’t care.

He devoured her mouth like he had every right to.

When he finally pulled back, she was trembling, cheeks wet, mouth parted in shock.

He fixed her hair with terrifying tenderness.

“You made me chase you,” he said, smoothing a thumb over her cheek. “Don’t ever do that again.”

Then he picked up her notebook from the floor and tucked it into her bag.

“I’ll see you tonight,” he said calmly. “Wear something pretty.”

And just like that—he was gone.

Y/N stood frozen against the wall, heart racing, lips bruised.

She wanted to scream.

She wanted to run.

But worst of all…

A tiny part of her wanted to say yes.

That Afternoon –

Y/N wiped at her lips with the back of her hand for the third time, her bag clutched in her lap like a lifeline. Zadie paced the living room in a crop top and fuzzy socks, eyes blazing.

“He kissed me in the hallway,” Y/N said softly.

Zadie stopped cold. “What?”

She nodded slowly. “He found me on campus. He pulled me into a hallway. I tried to say no—I told him I didn’t want anything from him—but he didn’t care. He just…”

“Kissed you?” Zadie snapped. “Or claimed you?”

Y/N flinched. “He said I belonged to him.”

Zadie stared at her for a long moment, then crossed her arms and sighed sharply. “You know what your problem is? You still think this is about love.”

Y/N blinked, shocked. “What?”

“This is a transaction, Y/N. A game. He’s obsessed. So use it. Take the money. Let him pay. Play your role. Then walk when it benefits you. That’s what you should’ve done from the start.”

Y/N’s stomach churned. “It’s not that easy.”

Zadie rolled her eyes. “It is. You just want it to mean something. But men like him? They don���t love, baby. They collect.They own.”

Silence.

Then Zadie reached for her makeup bag and pulled Y/N to the mirror. “He said dinner tonight, right?”

Y/N nodded, hesitant.

“Good. Let’s piss him off.”

Later That Evening –

The driver arrived at exactly 6 p.m. Y/N stepped outside in a satin wine-colored dress Zadie had chosen—low cut, cinched at the waist, hugging curves she usually hid.

Her eyes were lined, lips glossed, cheeks glowing.

She looked like a fantasy.

But not his fantasy.

When the car door opened and Silas saw her—he went still.

She slid inside quietly, smoothing her dress and trying not to shrink.

His jaw was tight. “You wore makeup.”

She bit her lip. “Zadie helped.”

He didn’t respond. Just stared at her for a long, loaded moment before turning to face the window. His silence was sharp, violent in its restraint.

He’d bought out another place. Intimate. Private. Luxurious.

He didn’t speak during the first course.

Didn’t compliment her.

Didn’t even look at her.

The silence gnawed at her bones.

Y/N pushed her food around with a fork, her voice barely audible. “You’re angry.”

He looked up, slow and sharp. “Do I seem angry?”

“You haven’t said a word—”

“You think makeup makes you brave?” he asked coldly. “You think you can pout your lips and bat your lashes and suddenly I’ll forget that you ran from me?”

Her breath caught. “I didn’t run—”

“You disappeared. You ignored me. You pretended that weekend didn’t happen.”

“I was scared, Silas.”

He leaned across the table, eyes dark and low. “Good.”

Her heart pounded.

His voice dropped. “You don’t get to disappear and waltz back in wearing another man’s fantasy.”

She shook her head. “It’s just makeup—”

“It’s a lie,” he snapped.

She shrank back in her seat.

“I want you,” he whispered. “Not some painted doll.”

Tears stung the corners of her eyes.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered.

He stood.

“Come.”

She followed him through the grand double doors, legs shaking.

He didn’t speak.

Didn’t even turn the lights on.

He dragged her into the bedroom, then paused at the foot of the bed.

“Take it off.”

Her breath hitched. “W-What?”

“The dress. The makeup. All of it. I want it gone.”

She hesitated, frozen.

He turned slowly, eyes burning.

“Now.”

Her hands fumbled with the zipper. The dress slid to the floor. She wiped her lips. Her eyeliner smudged as her tears slipped down.

When he stepped forward, it wasn’t tender.

It was hungry.

He pressed her into the mattress, her back arching as he growled in her ear, “You don’t get to run from me. You don’t get to pretend you’re not mine.”

His mouth found her throat, her collarbone, her trembling breasts.

His fingers bruised her hips as he yanked her closer.

She gasped. “Silas, please—”

But he was already pushing inside her—raw—claiming her again.

“I should fuck you until you forget how to speak,” he snarled. “Until all you remember is me.”

She sobbed.

And still, she clung to him.

Because even now—broken and breathless—part of her wanted him to punish her.

And when he came inside her again, gripping her like she’d disappear—she knew:

This wasn’t over.

This was only the beginning.

She didn’t expect him to show up.

Not at the coffee shop, not while she was wiping down tables in her faded work polo, cheeks flushed with exhaustion after a long shift. But there he was—leaning against the wall like he owned the place, dressed in dark designer clothes, black eyes burning through her.

Y/N froze. Her rag slipped from her hand and hit the floor.

“Silas—”

He didn’t say a word. Not yet.

He just held up a small velvet box.

The kind that made her stomach twist.

Her manager gave her a nervous glance, but said nothing—Silas had that effect. Even strangers sensed it. He waved them off with a nod and stepped closer to her, crowding her in the back hallway. The door shut behind him with a soft click.

“Open it,” he said, voice low.

With trembling fingers, Y/N flipped the lid.

A necklace. Platinum. The smallest, most delicate diamond she’d ever seen.

“I don’t want—”

“You’ll wear it,” he interrupted. “Every day. Starting now.”

She blinked, the shame from the last time they’d seen each other creeping up her spine. “I told you—I didn’t need anything else. You already paid for my tuition. I—I'll pay you back, I swear—”

He laughed. Cold. Cruel.

“Pay me back?” He stepped closer until her back hit the wall. “With what, little one? Your part-time coffee shop wages? Or were you going to hand me your virginity again, see if I’d charge you for the orgasm?”

She flinched, eyes burning. “Don’t be cruel.”

“I’m not.” His voice softened, dangerously so. “I’m being honest. You don’t belong here, Y/N. You belong with me.”

Her lip quivered. “I just needed help. That’s all I ever asked.”

“And you got it,” he snapped. “Now you belong to me. That was the deal, even if you were too innocent to say it out loud.”

Tears slipped free, and that only made his smile widen.

He reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a sleek black card.

Her name was printed in gold.

“This is yours,” he said. “For clothes. Books. Makeup, if you insist on pretending to be someone you’re not.”

“I’m not taking—”

“You already have.” His hand gripped her jaw, not hard, but firm enough to make her fall silent. “And you will again. Because I said so.”

She hated how warm his touch felt. Hated the way his scent made her knees weak. Hated how, beneath all the shame, there was still a flicker of something that burned for him.

He leaned down, his breath brushing her lips.

“Quit the job,” he whispered. “After your classes, you come straight to me. Understood?”

She couldn’t speak.

He kissed her anyway.

Hard. Deep. Possessive.

When he pulled back, she was breathless, trembling.

“Good girl,” he murmured, brushing a tear from her cheek. “Now go tell your boss you’re done. And when you’re ready to be spoiled properly, come home.”

He walked away without another word.

And Y/N—necklace still trembling in her hand—realized she had already crossed a line she could never come back from.

Y/N slammed the front door behind her and kicked off her shoes, the necklace still dangling from her fingers like it might burn her. Her bag hit the floor next. She wanted to scream. Cry. Shake it all off.

Instead, she stood there frozen.

“Whoa.” Zadie poked her head out of her room, a green face mask halfway dry. “You look like someone just proposed or slapped you with a legal contract.”

Y/N held up the necklace.

Zadie blinked. Then broke into a grin.

“Holy shit,” she whispered. “That’s—real?”

Y/N nodded numbly.

Zadie didn’t hesitate. She grabbed the velvet box, inspected it like a treasure chest, and gave a low whistle. “Damn. I’m so jealous you’re this close to marrying that rich bastard.”

Y/N winced. “Zadie—”

“No, like for real,” she said, plopping onto the couch and tossing her hair up. “You’re living the dream. All that wine, the expensive dinners, the hotel, and now this?” She lifted the necklace like it was sacred. “You know what this means, right? He’s already got wedding bells in his head.”

Y/N sat down slowly, her stomach churning. “He told me to quit my job.”

“And?” Zadie blinked. “That’s great. Why would you still be working anyway?”

“Because I like it.” Y/N’s voice cracked. “Because I like school. I wanted to teach—work with kids—”

“Oh, sweetie.” Zadie shook her head, smiling. “You won’t need to anymore. What’s the point of breaking your back for a paycheck when you’ve got Silas feeding you caviar and buying you designer shoes?”

“But what if he—” Y/N swallowed. “What if he makes me stop going to school too?”

Zadie froze. Just a second. Then she shrugged.

“I mean… he did pay off your whole tuition, right?”

Y/N nodded. Slowly.

“Girl, he’s not even blinking at money like that. If I were you, I’d be begging for a ring and a private island by now. Stop your whining. Does he have a hot brother or son I can marry?”

Y/N tried to laugh. It came out choked.

Because the truth hit her like a weight.

She had nothing to bargain with. No leverage. Silas could take anything away from her—and she’d already accepted so much.

Her dreams. Her future. He might erase them all.

And to him?

It wouldn’t even count as a loss.

Y/N sat curled up on the leather couch, her hands in her lap, trembling slightly. She hadn’t touched the wine. The lights were dim. Silas stood in front of the towering windows, city lights painting him in gold and black. One hand in his pocket, the other holding a glass of scotch.

He was still in his suit—tie loosened, sleeves rolled up, hair slicked back.

“I visited your little coffee job today,” he said, voice low. “You weren’t there.”

“I quit.” Y/N’s voice was small.

He turned, raising a brow.

“I didn’t want to disappoint you again,” she added quickly. “I… didn’t want you to be mad.”

Something flickered in his eyes—satisfaction. Then he approached her slowly, crouched in front of her, fingers sliding under her chin.

“Good girl,” he murmured. “You listened.”

“I’m still going to class, though—”

Silas’s smile faded.

He reached up and brushed her hair behind her ear, his touch gentle but firm. “You know… the more I think about it, the more I realize—school’s not really necessary for you anymore.”

Y/N’s stomach dropped.

“I paid for your degree because I wanted to help. But now?” He tilted his head. “I see how tired it makes you. How it pulls you away from me. And if I’m being honest, sweetheart…” He leaned in, lips brushing her cheek. “You’ve already found your purpose.”

Her breath caught. “W-What do you mean?”

He looked down at her stomach. Smiled.

“You’re going to have a child of your own one day. A real one. Not someone else’s. Not a classroom full of brats.” He leaned closer, voice deep. “Ours.”

She froze.

“I know you think you’re too young, too inexperienced, but that’s why you have me.” His hand slid to her thigh. “I’ll guide you. Protect you. Love you. And one day, you’ll be the perfect mother. You already have the heart for it… don’t you want a baby, dove?”

Her lip trembled. “I—I don’t know…”

“You will.” He kissed her forehead. “I’ll make sure of it.”

Silas Rowe wasn’t just wealthy—he was powerful. Ruthless. He ran a series of international firms, many tied to global real estate, high-end tech, and private security. But that was only the surface.

He also controlled backchannels.

He owned judges. Senators. Universities.

When he said jump, people jumped.

He didn’t do public interviews. He wasn’t flashy. His empire grew quietly, built on smart investments, intimidation, and favors no one dared question.

His assistant once said, “Mr. Rowe doesn’t make threats. He makes decisions. The kind no one can undo.”

And lately, his obsession with Y/N bled into everything. His phone background. The security footage he checked hourly. The university professor he bribed to keep her GPA spotless.

She didn’t even know half of what he did to keep her safe, to keep her his.

But she would.

Silas’s POV It had started with a drink and a woman he didn’t care about.

Zadie was bold, pretty in a wild sort of way—tight skirts, loose morals. The kind of girl who liked powerful men and whispered filthy things in their ears just to see what she could get. He had no intention of keeping her around. But she served her purpose.

It was their third drink when she mentioned her roommate.

“She’s such a prude,” Zadie laughed, swirling her cocktail. “Barely goes out. Straight-A student, works at the campus café like some humble little princess. You’d like her, actually. Real sweet. Pretty, too.”

He’d only half-listened—until she pulled out her phone. “Here,” she said, grinning. “Look. This is Y/N.”

And that was it.

That moment. That photo. That smile.

A soft, bashful expression. Hair pulled back in a ribbon. Her hand tucked nervously under her chin. Innocence radiated from the screen like heat, and it snapped something loose inside him.

She was perfect.

Untouched. Unaware. A lamb wandering near wolves.

Zadie didn’t notice the shift in his body—the way his grip on the glass tightened, the way his breathing slowed. “She doesn’t date. Said she’s saving herself. For marriage or some crap,” Zadie added with a roll of her eyes. “You’d eat her alive.”

He leaned back, eyes never leaving the photo. “What would you do to help me get close to her?” Zadie blinked. “What?”

“I’ll pay you,” he said smoothly. “If it works, you get ten grand.”

She laughed, thinking it was a joke. He didn’t smile.

And that’s when Zadie realized she wasn’t in control.

The Plan Was Simple. Effective.

Zadie started inviting Y/N to parties she knew Silas would be at. She “accidentally” left the sugar dating site open on her laptop, encouraging Y/N to sign up.

She even took the damn photos for her.

In the meantime, Silas crafted his profile like a spider spinning silk. He didn’t want her to know who he really was—not yet. So he softened his edges, played the part of the caring, curious older man. Someone safe. Someone she could trust.

And when she matched with him?

He made sure she felt seen. Heard. Adored.

Every word calculated.

Every meeting orchestrated.

And when she finally gave herself to him… That first orgasm? That first cry of his name in a hotel suite?

Zadie got her money.

But Silas got everything.

Now

He watches Y/N sleep some nights, curled in his bed, unaware of how deep she’s fallen. Her hair spread over his pillow, her body marked by him. She still doesn't know what Zadie did. How it was all a lie from the beginning.

But she will.

One day, when she's too far gone to leave, he’ll whisper it in her ear. Tell her how even her innocence was staged. How everyone she trusted led her right into his arms.

And she’ll cry. Of course she will.

But by then…

She’ll love him too much to run.

Y/N sat curled in her desk chair, laptop open, chewing on the inside of her cheek. Something wasn’t adding up.

Her schedule had been fine last week—lectures, practicum, her early childhood development lab. But this morning when she’d logged in…

Her campus classes were all replaced. Online modules. Pre-recorded lectures. Zoom links with flexible attendance.

She blinked at the screen, refreshing. Once. Twice. Same thing.

Even her advisor’s email was strange: Hi Y/N, I understand you’ve made a request to switch to remote learning for personal reasons. Best of luck this semester! Let me know if you need anything.

She hadn’t made any request.

Something cold spread through her chest.

The door to her apartment opened.

“Hi, sweetheart,” Silas called from the entryway like he owned the air around him. “Got your favorite.”

He walked in with a soft bag of pastries and two coffees, looking sharp and relaxed, dressed in tailored slacks and a navy shirt rolled to the elbows. Like a man who hadn’t just destroyed her autonomy.

Y/N didn’t speak right away. She stared at her laptop. “Silas.”

“Hm?” He was already behind her, brushing her hair off her shoulder to kiss the side of her neck.

“Did you… change my school schedule?”

He paused. Just for a second. Then smiled. “Yes.”

Her heart dropped.

She turned, slowly. “Why?”

Silas crouched beside her chair, looking up at her like she was the most precious thing in the world. “Because you were overworked. Exhausted. Always running around. It’s not good for you—or the baby.”

“I’m not pregnant.”

“Not yet,” he said softly, cupping her cheek.

She flinched.

“I never asked to be switched—”

“You didn’t have to.” His voice darkened slightly. “I take care of what’s mine. You don’t need to ask. I already know what’s best for you.”

“Silas… this is my education. My future.”

He tilted his head, his expression suddenly unreadable.

“I am your future.”

And just like that, the air thickened. She tried to back away from him, but he gripped the arm of the chair. Firm. Steady.

“You’ll still graduate, Y/N. I’m not cruel,” he said gently. “I’m just… adjusting your path. Making sure you’re available for more important things. Like me.”

His hand trailed down to her stomach, fingers splaying across her belly.

Like he already believed something was growing there. Like he already claimed it.

“I don’t want this,” she whispered.

He stood slowly. Towering. Calm. Cold.

“Yes, you do. You just don’t realize it yet.”

And then, as if to punctuate his godlike grip on her world, he reached into his coat pocket and set a velvet box on the desk.

Inside: a delicate rose gold bracelet with a single charm.

The engraved letter: S

“For Silas,” he said with a small smirk. “Or submission. Whichever you prefer.”

Tears welled in her eyes.

He leaned close, his voice a breath at her ear: “Online classes, sweet girl. No reason to ever leave again

Zadie was lounging on her bed, filing her nails, humming under her breath when Y/N walked in—pale-faced, the weight of her shame still heavy on her shoulders. She barely made it through the door before the words tumbled out.

“I don’t know if I can do this anymore.”

Zadie blinked, then gave her a slow, mocking smile. “Oh no, don’t tell me you’re catching feelings for him.”

“I just… I wanted help with school, that’s it. Not—this. I didn’t think he’d—”

“Control you?” Zadie offered with a laugh. “Babe, that’s the whole point. You don’t get a man like Silas without giving up something in return.”

Y/N flinched. “He’s changing me.”

“You should be thanking me,” Zadie purred, standing now, sauntering toward her. “You think you’d even know a man like that if I didn’t play Cupid? You’d still be flipping lattes and crying over student loans.”

Y/N’s voice cracked. “You… played Cupid?”

Zadie’s smirk deepened. “You were always the sweet one. The quiet one. The good girl. He liked that. I showed him your picture once—just once. Next thing I know, he’s offering me ten grand to set up your little meet-cute.”

Y/N’s knees nearly buckled.

“Oh, he didn’t tell you?” Zadie leaned in, whispering like it was gossip. “He said if it worked out, he’d make me his assistant or some shit. Guess you were worth the price.”

The second Zadie called him, Silas was already in motion.

He hung up the phone and signaled the staff. “Get her things. Everything. Clothes, books, personal items. Burn anything that looks sentimental. I want her completely moved out by tonight.”

The servants didn’t ask questions. They didn’t have to. They’d done this before—for other girls.

He booked her final semester classes online, forged signatures, and made a few calls to have her in an accelerated remote program. A perfect little housewife schedule: early mornings for school, afternoons for him, nights in his bed.

When the dorm was cleared out, he sent a photo of the empty room to Y/N’s phone.

No caption. Just proof.

Y/N stood frozen in the middle of her now-empty dorm, heart racing. Her mattress was stripped bare. Her desk was cleared. Even the tiny frame with her siblings’ photo was gone.

She backed out of the room like it was haunted.

Her phone buzzed.

Silas:

You're coming home. Don’t be difficult.

Tears welled up, blurring the screen. She didn’t respond.

Ten minutes later, a black car pulled up in front of the dorm.

The driver didn’t say a word. Just opened the door.

When she stepped into Silas’s penthouse, he was waiting. Standing at the balcony, wine in hand, like he hadn’t just uprooted her entire world.

“You moved my life without even asking me,” she said softly.

He turned slowly, smile calculated. “You didn’t seem to know what to do with it.”

“I had a life, Silas.”

“No,” he corrected, walking toward her. “You had chaos. Now you have me.”

She flinched as he reached for her, but he was too fast, too calm. His fingers slid around her waist.

“You’re angry now,” he murmured, voice silken. “But when you have my child in you, you’ll understand. You were made for this. For me.”

“I’m not some doll,” she snapped.

His grip tightened. “A doll doesn’t talk back.”

Her mouth opened—then closed. Because she saw it in his eyes.

He would break her if she kept fighting.

So she said nothing.

Let him hold her. Let him kiss her. Let him whisper promises against her neck.

And as he guided her toward the bedroom, murmuring how beautiful she’d look with his ring, how much she’d love being pregnant with his heir—

She wondered what it would take to disappear completely

The Bedroom – That Night

He carried her from the wall like she weighed nothing, her body limp in his arms.

Y/N didn’t fight. She didn’t speak. She just let her head fall against his chest, eyes wide and unblinking as he laid her down on the bed.

Silas hovered above her, brushing her hair back like she was some delicate, fragile thing he had to worship. But his eyes—his eyes held hunger. Possession. Madness.

“You’re mine,” he whispered, kissing her cheek where a tear still clung. “All of this—” his hand slid down to her thigh, pushing it open, “—belongs to me.”

She turned her face away.

It didn’t matter.

He peeled the nightgown off her slowly, like he was unwrapping a gift. She covered her breasts with her arms, but he only chuckled and pried them away.

“Don’t hide from me,” he murmured. “I want to see all of you. I deserve to.”

Tears streamed silently down her cheeks.

“Please don’t,” she whispered.

He shushed her. “This is love, baby. You just don’t understand it yet.”

Then he entered her.

No warning. No gentleness.

She gasped, her legs trembling as he filled her, her back arching from the sudden pain. He groaned, lowering his mouth to her breasts, kissing and licking, leaving wet trails and soft bites as he moved inside her with slow, dragging thrusts.

Her hands clutched the sheets.

Her tears soaked the pillow.

He moaned into her skin. “You feel that? How perfect you are for me?”

She didn’t answer. She couldn’t. Her voice had vanished, swallowed by the ache, the shame, the confusion.

“I’m going to fill you,” he whispered, rocking harder, more desperate now. “And you’re going to take it. You were made to.”

Y/N sobbed quietly, her body shaking beneath his weight as he rutted into her like a man possessed.

When he came, it was with a low groan of satisfaction, his hot release spilling deep inside her. He stayed there, pressed against her, breathing hard, eyes closed like he’d just experienced something holy.

And then, after a long moment, he kissed her damp cheek.

“All you have to do,” he murmured, “is let me take control.”

He smiled down at her, brushing a tear from her chin.

“I know what’s best.”

The Morning After

The light in the bathroom was too bright. Harsh. Unforgiving.

Y/N stood in front of the mirror, arms wrapped around herself, wearing nothing but one of Silas’s oversized dress shirts. Her thighs ached. Between her legs, the soreness lingered, a raw reminder of the night before—of what he took.

Her face was expressionless. Pale. Hollow-eyed. Dried tear tracks clung to her cheeks.

She didn’t cry anymore.

She just stared.

At the bruises on her hips. The red marks on her breasts from where he sucked too hard. The faint impression of his fingers on her jaw.

She pressed a hand to her stomach, swallowing down the rising wave of nausea.

Was it just nerves?

Or was it something else?

Behind her, the door creaked. She didn’t turn around.

Silas appeared in the mirror, shirtless, casual, as if nothing had happened. He came up behind her, wrapped his arms around her waist, and kissed her neck with sickening tenderness.

“You’re quiet this morning,” he said, his voice low and warm, like nothing was wrong.

She nodded slowly. “I’m just tired.”

“I know,” he whispered, resting his chin on her shoulder. “You’ve been carrying so much. But you don’t have to anymore. That’s what I’m here for.”

She flinched when his hand caressed her lower belly.

“You felt it last night, didn’t you?” he murmured, his lips brushing her ear. “That shift. Something changed between us. I know you did.”

She stayed still.

“I think you’re pregnant,” he said softly, almost reverently.

Her throat tightened.

He kissed her temple. “And if you’re not… we’ll fix that.”

Her eyes met his in the mirror. He was smiling.

She wasn’t.