#i can’t imagine seeing everything with Gojo and Geto and thinking they’re not in love

[envy-of-the-apple]

Ok ok so this might have already been asked but have you seen the Curse!Suguru or the Curse!Gojo art by Owwllly?? It’s super good and got me thinking about if Suguru or Satoru found a special grade curse and fell in love with it and the threat of getting exorcised keeps them in line. Like the curse could be the literal curse of love so they’re mostly docile and unproblematic

ok ok I love the idea of curse Gojo!!! So so so badddd. Like maybe Somewhere along the lines Gojo gets turned into one but he still loves geto a LOT so he just follows him around like a lovesick puppy. Geto eventually just spots some poor non-sorcerer minding their own business and is just like “I want that one” and Gojo just goes and starts haunting you.

Like no imagine living in your house for years and just…really strange shit starts happening. The cabinet keeps opening and closing. You keep getting randomly locked in your bathroom. You’d hear footsteps behind you but no ones there. But one night. One night it turns even worse. You wake up in your bed. You can’t move, but you can feel something pressing itself into your back, arms are wrapped around your body, a face is pressed into your neck and you can’t scream because you can’t move but you swear you feel lips brushing against your skin and—

You don’t care how suspicious it is when a shaman randomly turns up at your house one day, ‘concerningly’ asking if you had any suspicious activity around your property. Youre practically bawling when you unravel the whole story. You don’t care how easily he touches you, brings you into his arms kisses your forehead, as he assures you everything will be ok.

You don’t see the phantom that has harassed you all these weeks, standing feet away, watching with a sharp smile on its face.

(lmao read this too fast and immediately thought you meant something else. Im so sorry! but Tbh im not a big fan of curse!readers or sorcerer!readers (unless very specific circumstances) i love it when its just a random person who gets caught up in complete crazy behavior. Idk ig it’s more horrific/relatable???)

[thedeadestmeme]

Mike Wheeler in Season!1, seeing Will’s body being retrieved from the lake, and his first response is “that’s not Will”.

while Mike could’ve been in denial, i’m just saying,,, characters that know their best friend/partner/lover so deeply and intrinsically down to their bones that they can recognize them anywhere. and in the same breath, they can recognize a lie.

anyway, i got shocked back to Satoru Gojo when he sees Geto. and he says, “my six eyes tell me that you’re Suguru Geto — but my soul knows otherwise”.

and listen,,, this is only episode three. i get it, i get it. but i’m just saying. there’s something about the way that Mike and Joyce know Will to the point that they can recognize him anywhere. and it’s Joyce’s love for her son that makes her so certain that she knows it’s Will, even with the cross-dimensional divide between them. and that paralleled with Mike, who knows Will to the point that he knows that isn’t his best friend within seconds.

i’m just saying. Byler was never subtext, it was written on the walls in bold ass letters.

[metranart]

Imagine Gojo, Geto and Nanami anointing you as their “little darling”, forced to share you because they refuse to NOT have you in their life. You didn’t expect this kind of attention, it was ridiculous the way they took the time to make you feel… loved.

It wasn’t just the occasional pampering or the intense lovemaking sessions that they took SO seriously. It was EVERYTHING! It was visceral and addictively cathartic the way, they worshipped you.

Sometimes they got competitive, Gojo pulling you away into a hidden space, only to turn you around, throwing his jacket to then pull you on top and line your pussy up perfectly with his needy cock before plunging forward with a solid gasp that followed a thousand moans and groans, he didn’t mind being loud, he prefers it that way. Let them know, he thinks, jealous vibes tainting his greedy thrusts.

“Am I not your favorite, baby? I know I am, you don’t have to pretend nor be quiet about it just to be nice to them… they’re not here, tell me how much you like me… I want you so bad… Do you want me?” Gojo is always the most talkative, sweetening your ear every second, all in hopes to get you so distracted that when he cums inside you don’t suspect that the rubbery sound from before was from candy wrapper and not a condom. He’s sneaky like that he has to be, when the competition for you is so damn fierce.

Unlike Geto who is smoother in his approach, whose large hands greedily grab your hips as he pulls you back down onto his cock with every thrust, and it feels so undeniably perfect that you can’t even hold yourself up, arms like jelly, strength failing as you’re face down on the sheets, ass in the air to be fucked like a proper bitch.

“Satoru can be so careless, you have marks all over your body, my love.” This man kisses and caresses you with such fervent devotion that your heart skips more than a couple of beats, “-tell me if you need a break, I won’t pull out, I CAN’T-” he sounds apologetic and so damn needy that you melt a little more for him, you love when he’s shamelessly possessive, “but I’ll slow down. Boy Scout word.” That playful, understanding smile always gracing his lips, eyes too soft and warm only when he sees you. “It doesn’t bother me if I’m not your favorite, it just bothers me that you don’t know that you’re mine.” Geto is like balm, that quiet adoration is more addictive than cocaine... Geto is smart, he knows Satoru too well to know what he’s on to, but…. It is of no use to brand your body from the inside, if he does not first have your heart beating just for him. Geto is so damn, smooth.

But it's Nanami who surprised you the most, he was the calm one, the serious and stoic sheep in the flock, yet, in private and ONLY with you, heat and hormones cloud his mind, you cloud his mind and his better judgment as you moan shamelessly, wanting more and more as he fucks you good and hard before there's a hand sneaking under your belly, a thick finger begging to rub circles on your clit.

"Nanami-!! Oh GOD!" He knows how to get you vulnerable and needy, he wants to tattoo those sensation in your brain, for you to associate them with him, just him. Moans escape you, heat building as his hand plays with your sensitive nub relentlessly, sliding it, rolling it, even pinching it to elicit more lewd cries of pleasure.

"Sorry for being so damn needy, baby, but I don’t know how to hold back-… if I’m honest- I don’t want to find out how- …" He always is honest, too blunt and honest, full of a secret mischief and roughness, his original plan was to make you beg for him not the other way around, he was weak, you made him weak and he loooooooved it! 

"You want nothing more than to cum…. for me to make you cum, I can tell that goal isn't far away... fuck!" His hips quicken the pace, as he holds you down, pinned against the surface he’s thrust you into. “Your legs are starting to buckle and shake with each of my thrusts." This blond is relentless and dominant, he’ll let his body do the convincing for him. "Do you love when I hold you down, fuck!... you do, huh?” This side of Nanami is secret, dark, and so ‘eyes rolled to the back of your skull’ satisfying, that has secretly become one of your favorites.

The anthem in this polyamorous relationship is the bed creaking incessantly in time with those powerful thrusts, the headboard crashing into the wall, headboard that’s been replaced more than once in one month. Funny, how they swear and live for your wellbeing but when get closer to their climax, dull nails dig into the softness of your skin, strong grips become more determined, and your clit is worshipped into overstimulation, a painful pleasure you are still getting used to.

“Cum for me,” Sukuna growls, his request sassy as he lowers to a deeper, more possessive tone that makes something in your belly crave. His composure breaks as your climax begins to build, refusing to let go until you’ve peaked first. “Cum on my cock and show those petty sorcerers that you are only MINE!"

You wake up startled from that dream, and the first thing you check is that you are indeed wrapped in that tangle of limbs that is Gojo, Geto and Nanami. Your heart is beating a mile a minute, what the hell was that!? The strong, irregular throbbing inside your chest must have woken him up since his head lay in the valley of your breasts, and Gojo peeks up to see you with those sleepy and worried eyes. 

"Did you have a nightmare, sweetie?"

Did you?

➡️🔞 FULL NSFW ART of this drabble

➡️ 👀 NSFW Sneak Peek

[meiieiri]

𝐭𝐨 𝐡𝐚𝐯𝐞 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐭𝐨 𝐥𝐨𝐬𝐞 [geto suguru]

synopsis: suguru geto upped and left that day without a moment’s notice and he took everything with him — your heart, your soul — but as you look at the positive pregnancy test in your hand, you realize that he did in fact leave one thing behind.

warnings: unplanned pregnancy, angst, explicit sex.

a/n: i know, i know. i should be writing WE but this concept has been in my head far longer than WE and i just need to get it out there or else, i think i’m gonna go insane. if anyone wants to know the plot of this would have been fic, feel free to let me know lmao, of course it still involves gojo bc i can’t choose between the two of them since they’re both so baby girl—! also happy birthday to the loml, my pookie-wookie, honeybunch, suguru geto!!

It’s been a year since the happy side trip to Okinawa became a living nightmare that culminated in you, Suguru Geto, and Satoru Gojo on the brink of death and with many more scars than you could have ever imagined. The three of you had very different ideas on how to cope. Satoru spends the past year perfecting his cursed technique, often at the expense of his emotional well-being and energy but then again, after what Toji Fushiguro did to him leaving him with the trauma of being slaughtered without regard, it was only natural.

You and Suguru on the other hand retreated into yourselves; it was hard to believe that just a year before the two of you were a normal teenage couple who enjoyed walking the trendy streets of Shibuya in the weekend sunshine without a care in the world, whose only real problem is to decide where the two of you were gonna have your weekly dates.

Now, things were different. Rainclouds have gathered effectively blocking out the sun. As you sat on the desk reading through your textbook on reverse cursed technique, you glance at Suguru from time to time and you aren’t the least bit surprised to see him sitting by the dorm room’s windowsill, staring at the garden with an empty gaze.

You’ve had enough of this. This eternal state of limbo was tearing you and Suguru apart.

Slowly, you stand up from the desk, softly padding across the wooden floor to where your boyfriend is. It was the middle of the night, last you checked, it’s already nine in the evening. You should be heading back to the women’s dorms now but you couldn’t, not when things were like this, not when Suguru’s losing himself day after day, you can’t help him, you know that, but you could be there for him seeing that’s all you can do.

But even then, it’s never enough.

Your relationship with Suguru is like a lit dynamite stick, you know that it’s only a matter of time before it also explodes in your faces. So, Suguru takes the lead, like he always does, he’s so much wiser and stronger than you in every way though he doesn’t care to admit it, though he pretends he doesn’t know why you’re so dependent on him.

“I think we should break up.”

He says that while holding your hand. You saw this coming but just how long did you anticipate that the love of your life would eventually up and leave you? You squeeze his hand with every ounce of the grief you are feeling hoping it would transcend the confines of your skin and it would reach his heart. “Is that what you really want?”

“No.”

He stands up to meet your gaze, the throw blanket falling to the floor as he does. He leans in closer, his hand cupping your cheek with such tenderness and heartache that you feel your heart rise to your throat. Suguru is normally so gentle like a shower of midnight rain, but he kisses you like this is the last — it probably is. Lost in him, your hands trail over his chest, and he deepens the kiss hoping that you’d also understand that he doesn’t really want to leave but he has to. He can’t bear to drag you into his mess.

He could never do that to you.

You respond with a soft moan when Suguru slowly lifts your shirt over your head. He stares at your plump breasts for a moment, covered only by a thin lace-like material, before deciding that looking at you wasn’t enough. He has to take you, ravish you, fondle you, kiss you. Anything to let you know that he’s not doing this because he’s fallen out of love with you.

“Don’t leave,” you plead in between his soft kisses to your breasts, tears slipping from your eyes as he removes your bra, letting it slip from your shoulders which he was now kissing up to the crook of your neck. How could your hearts be so full yet so empty at the same time?

None of what happened should have caused this much heartache between the two of you. In fact, it should have made you rely on each more, right? It should have strengthened you not destroy everything you had: each other, the future you planned together.

Suguru doesn’t answer as he nips at your neck, sucking on the delicate flesh, as your forms gracefully fall on the bed, he stares at you with such love, such devotion, and you wonder why this should be the last time. His gaze falls to your vulnerable form, his cock hardening at the sight of your clothed pussy getting wet just from that. He grinds against you, sighing at the way you buck your hips to meet his wanting more of him. If this was to be the last time, then, you want to make it count.

“Suguru, I’m yours.” That’s all he needs to hear and he removes your underwear, kissing down your leg as he slips it off of you. He tosses it onto his nightstand, and he leans towards it to grab a condom from his drawer. You catch his hand. “Don’t. I want to feel you.”

Suguru’s eyes widen at your request, his lips eliciting short huffs of breath. He’s never fucked you raw before. “Are you sure?”

You nod against his forehead. “Please. Please fuck me, Su.”

Slowly, his hand guiding his tip up and down your slit, smearing your wetness along the base of his cock before slowly pushing into you savoring the sensation of your cunt squeezing around him as he stretches you with his girth. A deep groan betrays him and his mouth hangs open as your tight walls envelop him as he bottoms out. He takes a moment to collect himself, not wanting to cum right then and there.

“S-shit. Ah, you’re so fucking tight.” He allows himself a small thrust, the tip of his cock already nudging your sensitive spot, having memorized you after many desperate nights of lovemaking. His fingers grip the soft skin of your hips as he pulls out momentarily before pushing back in again more forcefully this time.

“S-su! Mngh—please fuck me—I love you, I love you, I love you,” you beg.

A tear slips from Suguru’s eyes, it was becoming more real now — this final goodbye. He presses a gentle kiss to your forehead, his thumb brushing against your cheek as he slowly builds up the pace of his thrusts, his cock bullying your cunt, driving himself in and out of your pussy, again and again. He brings your leg to his waist, holding it so he could angle himself better. “I love you too.”

You mewl as he pistons in and out of you, his balls slapping hard against your skin. “Sugu—ah! More—n-need more of you—“ You’re crying now, and he is too as he continues to ravage your pussy, his hand finds your other leg and he pushes your knees close to your chest, folding you into a deep mating press, slamming into your cunt.

“I’m yours. Always,” Suguru looks into your eyes amidst your desperate cries, your thighs trembling under his passionate gaze. He grunts when he feels the familiar tightening of your walls. “You’re close—fuck,” he takes this as an incentive to go faster, harder, and he fucks you in a way he never has before.

“So good—oh—“ you fall silent as he suddenly brings your hands to your clit, letting you touch yourself. You looked so beautiful like this, under him, your head thrown back against the pillows, your mouth primed in a silent ‘o’. He pants as he feels his balls tighten when your hips involuntarily buck into him as you climax. “Suguru!”

“Ah, baby…” He groans, the hot breath from his lips tickling your forehead as he rides out his high, spilling his seed into you not caring what the consequences may be. You did want this after all, and he did too. You feel full just from the sensation of his thick cum, he thrusts into you one last time, further smearing his release in your walls.

You sighed as he stays there, your weak and trembling arms coming up to embrace him. He strokes your hair, memorizing each lock, pulling out after a while. Suguru pulls you flush against his chest, the remnants of his and your release sliding down your thighs. “It’ll be okay,” Suguru catches his breath, kissing your temple. “Even without me. You’ll be okay.”

“I won’t…you know I won’t.”

“You will.” He says firmly. “I promise. You know me, baby, I never break my promises.” You feel tears well up in your eyes again and he tenderly wipes it away. “I love you, (Y/N).”

“I love you too.”

By the next morning, you already knew with the way the AC’s cold air nips at your skin without Suguru, your Suguru, there to embrace you that he’s already left.

Without a note, without a goodbye. Typical of Suguru who doesn’t want to stick around to see you cry.

You curl into yourself as sobs wrack your body, the promise ring Suguru gave you gleaming under the rays of morning sunlight.

A few years later, just as Suguru said, things did get better. You smiled as you arranged the last of the tempura into the bento box filled with soba noodles with nori and small containers of mentsuyu and wasabi. It’s amazing how much she takes after him. You look at the clock and your face pales. You’re running late, so, you head upstairs to speed things up a little. You creak open the door to see the little blessing of your life, the last gift Suguru ever gave you. She’s looking at the picture of you and Suguru which you placed in her room, and since you know it was highly unlikely she’ll ever meet your lover in this lifetime, you’ve decided you want her to know him if by his appearance alone and the stories you tell her.

“Riko? We’re gonna be late,” you gently reminded your four-year-old daughter. You shoot her a funny look when you see the haphazard way she placed her hair in a bun. She pouts as she tries to get it right again, looking at her father’s picture intently. “Sweetheart, are you trying to look like—?”

“Like papa,” she huffs cutely and you chuckle, moving to pick her up and sit her down on your lap. Kissing her cheek, you also gaze at the picture depicting a candid you and Suguru during your first year at Tokyo Jujutsu Technical College. He has his arm wrapped around your shoulder, winking at the camera as he kisses your cheek, a silent gleeful laugh on your face.

You look at her, a little confused, you gently smooth her hair before planting a kiss between her eyebrows. “And why do you want to look like papa?” Riko shyly looks away, her ears turning a little red as she blushes, a trait she inherited from you. You flick her nose, giggling. “Well?” Riko laughs at the playful gesture.

“…So you don’t cry anymore, mama.” Your heart seems to have stopped beating for a moment and a warm, tearful smile appears on your face, wrapping Riko in a bone-crushingly tender hug. “Love you…” she sinks into the warmth of your hug and you kiss the top of her head.

“I love you, Riko. So…so…much.”

At that, your little girl sighs in relief. “School?” she tilts her head and you suddenly remembered the reason you went upstairs. You had to get moving. Your eyes widened and you carry her downstairs, being careful not to jostle her too much. “My hair, mama!” she giggles at her still unruly hair and you grimace in embarrassment. Suddenly, the front door opens and Riko sees who it is, before you could grab the spare brush from your bag, she suddenly jumps out of your arms and makes a beeline for the door.

“Papa, papa!”

You turn around and though the sight pains you to this day, somehow, you’re starting to learn to live with the fact that things are always bound to change with time and that this is what Suguru would have wanted: a loving and complete family for his little girl. You wrap Riko’s bento and place it in her lunchbox before going to greet the visitor.

“Hi, babe.” He turns to meet your lips for a sweet kiss, balancing Riko in his strong arms.

“Good morning, Satoru.”

[damn-stark]

Chapter 38 Les

Chapter 38 of Sugar

A/N- I hope you guys like it hehe (I wrote this whilst studying for my PTCB:)

Warning- Swearing, ANGST, fludd, violence and blood, talks of DEATH, Sukuna, SPOILERS!!!! long chapter!

Pairing- Choso x Gojo!fem-reader, Suguru Geto x Gojo!fem-reader

Episode and or chapters- Chapter 253-254

(Let me know if you want to be tagged)

————

*CHOSO’S P.O.V*

There you were, frozen in time, beautiful and radiant as if you were the sun itself. Flashing a flattering smile that could make anyone fall in love with you, in designer clothes he had no idea how much they’re worth or who they’re made by, but with the eyes of a stranger.

You've mentioned multiple times how your eyes changed the day your technique was fully awakened within you and completely erased the person you once were. It happened years before he and you met so seeing a reflection of this old person is completely strange to him. Yet fascinating.

“Hey, I didn’t know she had a billboard out,” Yuji points out as he falls by Choso’s side and looks at a large billboard of you.

“It’s a birthday gift from Hakari and Kirara. They had 28 put up in some cities I don’t remember,” Choso lets him know, making Yuji mumble something he doesn’t catch because of the loud thoughts racing in his mind.

Thoughts he can’t keep inside. “Would it be selfish to say I want to forbid her from danger? Even if she is strong?”

“Hm?” Yuji hums and blinks to look away from the billboard and instead look at his older brother.

Choso slowly reaches for the image of you as he imagines it's actually you before him. “I lost two brothers already. I don’t want to lose her too.”

There’s many things Yuji can say to comfort his brother, all of which sound the same, but could all be lies. You aren’t fighting some common sorcerer, you’re fighting the King of Curses so he can’t guarantee you’re survival, but how can he just watch his only brother suffer when said brother does everything to make him feel reassured when he needs it.

“She’s strong, she’ll survive. And Sukuna has been hurt she won’t die.”

Choso presses his fingers against the cold billboard and sighs. “I look at her and all I see is my future. Since the moment I laid my eyes on her in that capsule. It was an innocent admiration then, but it flourished and now the mere thought of living my life without her horrifies me,” Choso pours his heart and relieves his mind of the tension the rushing thoughts brought.

“Yet,” he talks quieter and with an obvious lump of different emotions stuck in his throat. “I still let her fight. I still watch her and say goodbye. So would it be selfish if I kept her away from danger so I don’t lose my future and everything that’s beautiful?”

Yuji drifts his gaze back to your billboard and doesn’t hide the truth. “I’ve never loved anyone the way you love her, but yes it would be selfish. Sharing your desires and fears isn’t what’s selfish, but doing that against her will would be.”

For the first time since they came across the billboard, Choso drops his gaze and mulls over the wise thing his little brother just told him.

“You’re wise,” Choso compliments Yuji with a faint but proud smile.

Yuji, albeit, wonders if he should be offended that his brother didn’t think he was wise before or touched by such a heartwarming compliment.

“But,” Choso interjects and brings his gaze back to the image of you. “I hope you’re right.”

Yuji watches his brother and thinks back to the moment he was feeling your belly and keeping you within arm's reach. He thinks that it was such a sweet moment, and one he wants Choso to not repeat in the sense that he doesn’t want his brother to hold onto you out of fear he’ll lose you, he wants his older brother to just make more precious memories of his precious life with you.

He deserves it, Yuji thinks. Choso deserves a precious human life.

“I trust her, I know she'll fight hard to stay alive,” Yuji adds one last assuring thing before he walks to his brother to pat his shoulder before leaving the billboard behind.

Choso lingers behind though, and brings his hand down to take his phone out and watch the broadcast, hoping he’ll catch a glimpse of you. But all he’s welcomed with is more worry as all he sees is your domain still hovering above ground.

——

*YOU*

Sharp and violent winds thrash violently, constricting the ability to breathe, robbing the sense of sound with roaring gusts that pull blood out of his ears, and bringing a terrorizing darkness that could make anyone believe they're nowhere, that they are nothing until suddenly bright and hot flames erupt from the ground and tangle with the gusts of wind spinning around you and the beast enclosed with you.

Water accompanies you too, the humidity sticks to your skin and puddles around your feet. As the fire births light to the domain, you can see wet gleaming walls towering over the tornado like never-ending walls.

To any normal sorcerer or non-sorcerer, the plummet in the air pressure alone would’ve killed them, but Sukuna is no normal being, it’s why he’s the King of Curses.

“I knew you wouldn’t die,” you mumble to yourself and notice two of his hands stuck in the Hollow Wicker Basket hand sign, protecting him from your domain.

Or so he thinks it’s what will protect him. Your winds are strong, they can—could break through…Satoru’s infinity and scratch him.

“You’d be stupid to believe this would kill me,” he barks back.

You roll your eyes and put your hands on your hips to snap back. “That’s why I said I knew you wouldn’t. Whatever, can’t you feel it?” You point out the scratch mark that slashes across his cheek as gusts of wind sneak through his barrier.

One of Sukuna’s eyes drop and spot a trickle of blood running out of the scratch. Yet instead of countering, or reacting with frustration, Sukuna smirks and flashes it at you. “You know,” he drags out with that smirk still tugged on his lips. “For a woman, you really caught me by surprise. I commend you.”

Commend?

You always forget he’s ancient.

“You are not so terrible to look at it either, I’ll enjoy eating you after.”

At least he didn’t underestimate you. That’s actually surprising considering how old he is. Which actually makes this fight a little less exhilarating, you like to prove people wrong.

But oh well, you’ll still have fun. It’s been a while since you’ve used your domain, so why don’t you show off? And since you can’t use the sweet revenge of death against him, you’ll show the King of curses pain. Pain for breaking your heart and robbing what was precious to you.

Nanako, Mimiko…Satoru.

Today at this moment, in this fight, he will pay for what he did, he will pay for stealing their lives. He will feel your pain still atonginzimg your heart, and the anger coursing through your blood and casting your arms on fire born from flames burning within you.

Sukuna’s smirk widens to an amused grin, only turning his already intimidating face, actually horrifying. But you don’t let him affect you, your glare seethes with anger and heartbreak as you throw your fist up and rip the piece of the earth that he stands on to hurl it in the air on purpose.

Sukuna figures that out, but you blast off after him with one hand already reaching for his neck. He smirks and turns his arm to throw a slash at you, but this is your domain. Yours! Not his. He doesn’t have unlimited access to the elements, you do, so you drop the support of the air blasting you in the sky and let gravity pull you down to avoid being slashed.

“Tsk,” Sukuna still expresses with amusement and uses the air to make space between you while also fighting the tornado's grip aching to pull him in to tangle with its violent winds.

Nonetheless, it’s like you said, this is your domain, so you catch him off guard by bursting water through the spinning walls in the form of your giant hand, causing Sukuna’s eyes to slowly narrow as he watches how the water-made hand grows several feet high with no limitation. His eyes then drop to meet yours and he catches a cocky smirk playing on your face that ticks him off but also doesn’t fail to amuse him.

However, that amusement is all too quickly wiped off his face when the hand swings down and flings him in the tornado. You don’t fail to follow after him, knowing the winds won’t cut you, or constrict air from reaching your lungs, and your anti-domain barrier won’t shatter. Sukuna on the other hand, no matter how strong he can’t escape needing to breathe. The winds travel so fast and the air pressure runs so high that he has to heave to breathe. And that barrier?

That barrier begins to crack no matter how hard he fights to keep it up, letting you use this falter to lunge at him and manage to slap your hands on his face.

From this close Sukuna can see how glossy your eyes are, he can see the aching pain in your eyes, and the fury within the fires lit in them. If only you were strong enough to actually kill him at that moment, but you leave one thing unaccounted for; he can still slash you using his hands. All he needs is his consciousness and you didn’t take that.

Thus as your palms burn on his skin, and you begin to open your mouth to hurt your throat to blast fire out at his face, he grips onto your side.

You feel his cold hand slap on your body. When you look down you realize at that moment what he's seconds away from doing, and who he could hurt as an outcome, so you quickly let his face go, and kick him back to push yourself out of the spinning winds of the tornado before he could tear your torso apart.

When you land back on solid ground, he manages to pull himself out of the tornado's grip and lands on the ground across from you with a reaction you weren’t expecting. “Your children should be proud to have such a ferocious mother. Not every mother's rage would burn as hot.”

He’s complimenting you. He’s not looking at you with ill intent, or cursing you for getting the upper hand. It terrifies you.

“What you should know though,” he mutters with a hardening stare. “I can play with fire too.”

You nervously clench your jaw and take a step back as you choose to let the tornado go and be left surrounded by just the marvelous walls of water.

Your flames probably can’t kill him, but they can hurt him, and him not healing his demon eyes you burnt proves that.

His flames could potentially kill you depending on how hot they burn and no matter how much you protect yourself against them, but being trapped in your domain can be a good countermeasure, you have unlimited power of your elements, and you can put up a good fight! Countering him will burn up a lot more of your cursed energy, but that doesn’t matter, not with him, not now when you can taste a hopeful end. And it especially doesn’t matter with your pain.

He stands there taunting you, reminding you of all he took. How can you not give him all you got? You’re strong!

You’re not a young and helpless girl who broke a sweat lifting rocks. You’re strong, you're powerful, and you’re vengeful!

Alas, just as you prepare to counter a fire attack from him, he crouches down hastily and slaps his hand on the ground, and mutters, “Spider-web.”

Your eyes widen and just as you prepare to deflect, the ground rumbles beneath you before suddenly it all shatters, leaving you unbalanced and open.

Or so he thinks.

Just as he prepares to find a way out of your domain, the debris is blasted up by wild flames that shoot from the ground beneath you, before suddenly giant fire-made fingers grab the edge of the ground.

The debris Sukuna made finds its way to form around the fire-made hands, while other pieces fall inside the gap and form around a head that rises out of the gap, followed by a woman figure.

When the fire-made woman stands in all her glory, Sukuna notices that the figure reflects you.

Nevertheless, he still finds your gaze between the gap of the figure's legs and flashes an all too menacing glare. But you don’t let that deadly look rattle you, you harden your glare and counter his threat.

“The last person who competed with my fire died,” Sukuna’s voice echoes throughout your domain. “Let’s see how long you remain standing, Gojo.”

You choose to stop waiting and use the figure towering before you to bring a rock-wrapped fist down in an attempt to crush Sukuna. But he of course manages to hold back the giant fist with his impressive strength, using two hands, and leaving one that he can’t use to put up a barrier so he's left him vulnerable.

Thus you use the other giant hand, but first drop the rocks protecting the fire, leaving a bare and bright fire-made hand.

Without a doubt from the corner of his eyes, Sukuna catches your intentions and uses ‘Spider-Web’ again to shatter the rock layer wrapped around the fire-made hand he's holding, before hurling himself back to make distance.

But not enough. He’s still in reach of your fire-made hands. You can hurt him again, even a little is enough.

You’ll show him pain…

And with that fueling your adrenaline, you form both of the fire-made hands into blades and quickly swing at Sukuna.

Albeit you meet his gaze between the gap of your figure's legs and don’t see him trying to counter with fire. Through the roaring of fire, you hear one word that drops your heart to your stomach.

“Dismantle.”

Sukuna flashes you a faint smirk, and as the fire blades swing, long and tall slashes formed like a net come barreling at you, bringing with them your fate with no escape or miraculous survival. And if you died now what would be the point? What have you done besides take his demon eyes?

Nothing. And you made promises, you have Satori waiting for you, you won’t let Sukuna make her an orphan.

Hence with a heavy heart, you dismantle your domain, making everything within disappear along with it, only leaving you, your opponent, and the net of slashes threatening you to meet the same fate as Kashimo.

However, you have an advantage, a gift he didn’t.

“Cursed technique; fire serpent,” you announce and throw your hands out to cast off the head of the fire-serpent that quickly blasts its deadly flames, and barely manages to protect you against the slashes that could’ve killed you, leaving you face to face against Sukuna without the advantage of your domain, but with fire standing tall between you, bringing you a menacing demeanor as you hold Sukuna’s gaze through the flames.

“Standing a little too tall?” He doesn’t ask, he says it in an almost teasing tone.

You hold his gaze even if it feels like if you stare any longer he’ll just somehow kill you.

“What is a King to a God?” You retort.

Sukuna’s head tilts slightly and his eyes snap down and quickly come back up to your face. “If only Nanako and Mimiko had your confidence. Maybe then they’d be alive.”

Nanako and Mimiko, why does he keep saying their names as if he knew them? Him? Their killer.

Why does he keep looking at you like he’s expecting something, does he want to see you over-exceed yourself? Trick you like he did moments ago when he made you believe he’d fight with his fire so you could drop your domain?

Is saying their names some game to him?

It’s not to you.

Why did he kill them? They just wanted Suguru back. Why?

You want to ask. You need to ask.

“Why?” You ask with an anger that keeps building up. “Why did you kill them? They were just girls.”

“Hm?” He hums and tilts his head with an unsatisfied look. “Why not? I was bored and they thought they could ask me for something. You should’ve taught them respect. Tsk.” He shakes his head playfully, triggering your anger to explode, making you clench your jaw, and letting tears run down your cheeks while you dig your heels on the ground, and expand your cursed energy below the ground to connect to the water flowing below.

You also remember them, Nanako, and Mimiko. Their beautiful faces, their faces when they were little girls relieved to be out of the cages they were kept in. You see their smiles and all you want is your girls back. You want your brother back.

But it’s impossible. Sukuna made it impossible to see them again and now he makes jokes out of them.

He’ll hurt…

Thus using your cursed technique, you summon water to explode out of the ground around you, whilst turning off the fire dancing in front of you, and grow the water intimidatingly big as if you had summoned a deadly tsunami.

And even if holding it up weighs you down, you spin it around you so it can grow taller behind you before you blast it at him like a crashing wave, making sure to mix chunks of the ground with it, and not waiting to see if he was hurled back or came out unscathed before you use your speed and zoom forward through the thick body of water, hoping to catch him by surprise,.

Yet when the water falls, he’s no longer where he stood, instead, mere seconds later his shadow casts on the ground, making your eyes widen whilst you spin around and swing your hand back that you bask with fire-built blades.

However, Sukuna is quick, he catches your wrist with one of his big hands, not caring if the fire burns his skin. He then stares at you with beads of water rolling down his forehead before suddenly bringing his other hand up and wrapping it around your throat.

He sees the worm cursed spirit around your neck and tries to grab it but it turns itself small before it can be caught and hides in your pocket, leaving Sukuna to focus back on you and slam you into the ground, causing you to see a glimpse of darkness that was filled with dancing stars.

“So flamboyant, just like your brother,” he sneers. “You’re starting to annoy me.”

At the mention of your brother, you find the strength to throw your legs around his arm and tilt your head down to chomp down on his hand.

“Wha—”

Before he can finish, fire comes out of your mouth, burning your throat and roasting his hand—not like he cared though because he follows by picking you up and slamming you back into the ground multiple times, hoping you’d slip and not protect yourself, but you do and counter back by using your leg and directing gusts of wind to hit him with an uppercut on his chin.

This makes him drop your throat, but you don’t have to appreciate how relieving it feels to breathe properly, you use the wind to spin up and have the upper ground. Sukuna spots you right away and doesn’t come up after you, he claps his hands together, telling you one thing; he’s gonna use Piercing blood.

Hm.

Thanks to seeing Choso do it, you clap your hands together and have fire seep out of your hands and surround them. When you catch Sukuna’s blood arrow departing from his grip, you shoot the fire-made arrow out at the same time.

Once both arrows collide the fire breaks the blood apart and now targets Sukuna, but he moves, so you quickly mirror Choso’s move by making the arrow trail after your opponent.

Sukuna evades your arrow too well though and hurls up a sharp slash that you barely avoid by snapping your head to the side. He then quickly charges at you to overwhelm you and not leave you time to think of a smart counter-measure, but…you’re no teenage kid getting the grasp of your cursed technique and every dangerous attack your world has to offer, you've been taught well, you’ve been pushed, and you learned to not be a weak link.

You can be a monster too. Your hearts hardened once too.

It’s why you collect all the wind in the sky, making thick and dark clouds that cast the city in darkness. You bring the water up that you recently used and summon out more to shoot up and twist with the cyclone of wind. The earth sitting below trembles before chunks fly up and tangle with the growing twister. Lastly, you throw your arms out and use every ounce of strength you have to create fire from within and throw it out to mix with the other spinning elements.

You said he’ll know pain. You said he’ll hurt, so even if all four elements weigh you down and burn through your energy, strength, and cursed energy, you bring down the spinning cyclone on Sukuna before he can reach you, forcing him to slam into the ground.

You then stop using the wind to your advantage on land on stable ground to feed the cyclone with a mother's rage, and a sister's grief. Tears cloud your eyes before spilling out and streaming down the curve of your cheeks. It all weighs down so much that it begins to burn your muscles and hurt your chest, but you see Sukuna shielding himself with his arms to protect himself, you see him creating a crater on the ground as the elements shove him down, you see blood spilling out of cuts that weren’t there before, and that pain numbs.

All that torments your heart numbs away. It all goes quiet except for your beating heart, you feel that thumping in your ears.

Ba-dum.

Ba-dum. Ba-dum, ba-dum…

It starts to race until everything falls deafeningly silent and a flicker of your pain reappears and grows like wildfire, spreading its agonizing flames everywhere to the point you can’t handle it anymore.

You can’t…it hurts too much. So…with a trembling lip and tears streaming down, you cry out and power the fire that burns hot, the wind that cuts sharply, the water that hits roughly, and the earth that breaks away his strength.

It’s all so mesmerizing.

But through that pain and those tears, you don’t see when he manages to find an escape. You see his blood pooled on the ground and grow proud to know you caused the King of Curses the pain you promised, but you don’t see a glimpse of him.

There’s nothing until the hairs on the back of your neck rise, and a chortle breaks through the roaring of the elements. You twist your head back and gasp when you see him above you with a wicked grin brought by you, and the slash that you catch him throw at your torso.

It would’ve killed you, it would’ve cut right through you and left pieces of you, but you manage to catch it in time and drop all the elements you were just using to focus all your power on protecting yourself.

But the slash travels fast and manages to cut you across your chest, and throws you down to the ground with all its force.

Now you expect to face death once again. Your friends after all, but your heart beats, and air travels through your lungs.

You expect darkness to follow, but even if your eyes droop the sky is clear.

It’s all clear, so you wonder through your delirium, if this is what Satoru saw, this beautiful sky before he died. Did he feel the snowflakes fall on his face like you do?

Did he think of you like you think of him now?

Probably not. Most likely not. But what did he feel at those last moments?

Peace, that he finally could stop being the strongest, that his actual moment of rest was in death? Or did he feel disappointed that he lost?

If only you could tell him he fought well, that he gave everyone an advantage by taking Sukuna’s domain, and that he made you and everyone proud.

You want to tell him, and fall like he did, but…death doesn’t come back for you.

“You were a lot of fun,” you hear Sukuna’s grating voice close by. “Really. I had fun fighting you, Gojo. But you were annoying, so I’ll have to get rid of you. Be proud though, you’re strong.”

“Fuck you,” you grimace as you fist your hands.

Sukuna scoffs in disapproval and stops before your feet.

You keep your eyes on the sky and start to think of a way to counter.

Fire?

Sure why not.

Yet just as you lift your hand and Sukuna gets ready to strike, suddenly someone’s feet land on your sides, and the gruesome sound of metal slashing flesh echoes.

You quickly blink and shift your gaze down and see Kusakabe has come in between Sukuna and you. He saved you.

“Go,” he bellows. “Before you can't. Go!”

You’d be stupid to linger behind, and even worse to stay and fight with him with the slash still across your chest because you can still fight so you can’t risk dying yet.

“You owe me for this,” Kusakabe tells you with a strain in his voice.

You drag yourself back and push yourself up even if your arms throb because of the slash on your chest.

“I’m in your debt Kusakabe,” you assure him softly.

“Heh. Hell yeah, now get out. They’ll need you.”

You hesitate leaving him to fight alone against Sukuna, but he’s right, so after one last lingering look at the man who saved your life, you run away from the scene.

You’re not even aware of how far you get because the pain is throbbing and overwhelming, it’s not until you bump into someone that you snap out of your pain-ridden stupor.

“Yuji!” You exclaim with relief.

He calls out your name in surprise and immediately finds the bleeding wound on your chest. He wants to say something, but the sight of his brother turning the corner and joining you cuts him off

“Choso,” you whisper.

Said man wastes no time—albeit he probably already knew you were hurt too by the broadcast, but he still quickly finds the gash on your chest still bleeding and fresh, and a deep crease grows in between his eyebrows while his lips fall to a long frown.

“I’m sorry,” you can’t help but say since you know watching you fight, watching you fall was one of the worst times of his life.

“You’re…okay?” He asks as if in disbelief.

You nod but he doesn’t see it before he strides over and grabs you by your shoulders to push you back against a wall and pull you down to the ground.

“Choso,” you call out, but it goes to deaf ears, you can see the panic blocking his senses. “Cho.”

Said man looks for something in his pockets, but when he doesn’t seem to find it he pulls on his vest, so you grab his wrists even if seeing him with fewer clothes will really help you heal.

“Choso, stop, stop. Take a minute and look.” You interject as you see that you have his undivided attention now. “I’m healing. I’ll be okay.”

Choso’s brown eyes gleaming with frustration and worry fall on your gash and he sees the RCT do its job and mend the deep wound Sukuna gave you.

“The babies, are they okay?” You have him focus on something else, and he immediately gets lost in that feeling written deep in his soul.

When he doesn’t feel any loss he meets your gaze and nods lightly, making you smile and bring one of his hands to your chest so he can feel the rhythm of your heart.

“I wasn’t going to fall to him,” you try to keep assuring him. “I told you.”

You cup his hand and offer him a teasing smile. “Be upset at me if that’s what you want.”

Choso swallows thickly. “You were stupid. Stupidly brave.”

You laugh softly and nod. “Chaotic techniques require risks.”

He scoffs and holds your gaze for a second to appreciate the life sparking within them and thank the stars that he wasn’t staring at dull and lifeless eyes.

“I copied some of the moves from your piercing blood,” you show off proudly. “Did you see?”

The corner of his lips flicker to a smile as he nods, but he doesn’t get to respond because he then drops his forehead on yours and cups your cheeks. “I saw you fall,” he mutters against your lips. “And my world was about to collapse. I ran here as fast as I could.”

You bring your hand up and cup his soft and warm cheek, making him lean into your touch as if he’s gone years without the feeling of your gentle touch.

“I wasn’t going to leave you,” you murmur. “Just like you're not going to leave me.”

“Never.”

A wobbly smile tugs on your lips and he mirrors it before pressing his lips on yours and taking you in for a lingering kiss he needs to just reassure himself that you in fact are alive and standing before him, that you’re not some figment of his imagination, or a pretty billboard.

“I love you,” you remind him after your close reunion with death.

“And I love you,” he doesn’t hesitate to return quickly and with deep tenderness.

You muster a soft smile and steal one last kiss from his lips before watching him sit beside you to let you finish mending your wound.

“Choso,” you call out as you have a deja vu.

“Hm?” He probes and looks at you.

You smile at your fingers on the ground and slowly slip them over his and turn your head to meet his gaze and tell him what you remember. “We were sitting like this after we decided to become allies, remember? It was after I found my daughters. Do you remember?”

Choso pulls his hand out to lay it over yours and cups your hand in his grasp instead. “Of course, I remember. I’ll remember when I turn old and can barely get out of bed.”

You chuckle and he smiles at you just because he hears you laugh.

“That’s when I knew you know,” you tell him what you haven’t told him before.

“What?” He presses curiosily.

You hold his curious gaze and share your truth. “That you had a good heart and that we were going to be great friends. I knew since that day that I didn’t want to live without you in my life.”

His lips tremble but he doesn’t let himself cry, he just offers you a wobbly smile before bringing your hand up to kiss your knuckles.

“It hurts?” He asks.

You know what he refers to but you find a moment to tease him in your sudden shift from pain to slow relief. “Falling for you? Worth all the pain.”

Choso blinks in confusion, while you notice Yuji’s annoyed reaction.

“Oh,” Choso gasps and snorts as his cheeks grow a bright shade of red. “Well, I was wondering about your gash.”

You lean your body towards him and shake your head. “It’s slowly going away. I’ll be good to go in a few minutes.”

Choso shakes his head. “No, you said when you got hurt I could pull you away. You got hurt, deeply. You can’t go back.”

“Uh,” Yuji breaks his silence.

You and Choso look up and see two shadows approaching before you see Larue and Miguel.

“Good luck with that,” Miguel announces their entrance. “You’ll have better luck raising the dead than making her sit on the bench.”

You knew they were hanging by nearby waiting if they were going to be needed, or if they could go home unscathed. But still seeing them meet up with you makes your breath hitch.

“We saw you fall,” Larue directs at you with concern painted all over his face. “And we decided that we couldn’t hide in the shadows any longer.”

You’re annoyed that they didn’t tell you about Kenjaku and everything that came with that business, but after losing your brother, and after fighting for justice for Nanako and Mimiko, seeing your family fills you with relief and bliss that you hide however.

You slowly stand up with Choso’s help and stare at them nonchalantly, making both Larue and Miguel wait for a cold shoulder or a quip. You approach them and they draw in a breath. And when you stop before them they both share a knowing look, but ultimately you close the gap with an embrace around the both of them.

“Oh,” Miguel mouths.

You lost Suguru, Nanako, and Mimiko, your brother and so many others, how can you stay mad at them when life has taken so much?

If they died today and you never get to make up you’d regret it your whole life, so with this tight embrace the grudge and that anger you had against them melts away and you’re left with a beaming grin, and bliss that you have them here with you.

“I’m not glad you guys are here,” you mutter, “but I am happy that you came.”

Larue rubs your back before you pull back to face them.

“Who is happy to be here?” Miguel remarks. “No one.”

You scoff in amusement and Larue grabs your shoulder to check on your wound.

“It seems you’re healing fine.”

“You’ll fight with us then? When it’s our time to go next?” Miguel goes off Larue’s comment.

“No,” Choso answers for you but you ignore him and answer for yourself.

“Yes. I have some fight left in me even after. I can keep him busy,” you assure them, Yuji, and Choso. “Just don't expect any more big moves.”

“But your domain must’ve taken a lot from you,” Yuji interjects. “How could you possibly still have more cursed energy right now?”

“She’s a special grade for a reason, kid,” Miguel argues. “It’s also why she can’t sit back for that reason.”

“Unless you guys have some kind of family technique I don’t see why she needs to be out there,” Choso tries to protest.

You and Larue giggle at that comment before you walk over to your husband and grab his shoulder to reassure him. “You’ll be with me this time, you can look out for me this time. Make sure we’re okay, hm? Just don’t ask me to stay behind when my family is out here risking their lives.”

Choso glances at Larue and Miguel and shoots them a warning. “Just don’t ask her to pull anything dramatic. She doesn’t have the energy for that.” He then drifts his gaze back to you and narrows his gaze to a threatening glare. “Use weapons as much as you can from now on. Leave your technique for when you really need it.”

He won’t get off your back if you don’t make any kind of agreement so you agree to give him some peace of mind. Besides leaning more towards weapons from now on is a smart idea considering you don’t know how far Sukuna wants to take this fight. You might need your technique later for something bigger.

“All right. Fine.”

Choso holds your gaze and looks as if you’re being deceitful, but when he sees that sincerity behind your eyes he lets out a relieved deep breath and shares it with soft words. “Thank you.”

You offer him a sweet smile and plant a peck on his cheek, making his lips twitch to a smile.

“You remember Larue and Miguel right?” You make sure to ask since he hasn’t had the time to really spend time with your family.

“Yes,” Choso says and steals a glimpse at them. “They were at the wedding, I remember.”

You turn to face your family to ask the same thing about Choso but Yuji then interrupts.

“Can I ask you something, Mr Larue? Are you not cold?”

You snort and cut in for him before he can respond. “No. You see those hearts on his chest? They're heat warmers.” You smirk and bounce your eyebrows before you take your phone out and continue to snicker.

“Really?” Yuji falls for it.

“No,” Larue blurts. “That joke is old.”

You chuckle. “Like you.”

“We’re the same age, but my knowledge and wise spirit do make me older than you,” he counters smugly.

You look away from your phone and look at him with a quirked brow. “The only thing you are is a know-it-all. No one likes those.”

Larue feigns a laugh and you turn around swiftly but peer over your shoulder whilst Choso turns with you, and you interject before Larue can say some witty comeback. “Careful,” you feign a pout. “Or mommy is gonna get mad.”

Choso’s eyes snap to you and his cheeks grow warm, whilst Miguel remarks.

“What the hell did you just say?”

You start walking out of the alleyway to go and help Kusakabe since you doubt he could keep Sukuna entertained for long.

“It’s a true statement I am mother,” you argue between snickers.

“I hate when you refer to yourself like that, it’s weird,” Miguel spats.

You ignore him and click on the broadcast and see just as you assumed, Kusakabe falling after being slashed.

At least he lasted a few minutes, you’ll give him props for that and not running away. Oh! And for saving your life. You owe him.

“Well,” you sigh. “Looks like we’re all up now. Larue, Miguel, you take Sukuna from above, I will go with Choso and Yuji from below.” You tell them affirmably.

“Hm,” Larue hums in comprehension, and with no need to argue, he just worries. “Be careful, you have a little one waiting for you. You’ve already been hurt.”

You stop in your tracks and turn to face them with a sad smile. “You two be careful too, we have a family dinner waiting for us after this is over to welcome the new members to our family.” You mention and glance at Yuji to let him know he’s included, and lastly look at Choso with a soft smile.

Choso eyes soften and he faintly mirrors your gentle gesture with appreciation that you included his little brother too.

“We’re fighting together,” Larue says with a slight smirk. “Like we always have, that’s a guarantee to our success. We’ll see you out there.”

You hum in agreement and watch until their figures are out of sight and all you is an empty alleyway.

Lately, life has been cruel. Maybe it’s what you deserve for all the evil you’ve done. Life is just collecting its justice, but you just hope—no pray, that you won't lose no one else.

You’ve never been a super religious person, but you know above everything else that the ones you love, cherish, and pray will live, don’t deserve that anguish. Maybe you do, you know how karma works, you recognize you’ve done bad things, but all you want from now on is for life to not be so cruel to them. Please…

.

.

.

.

Tagged- @deniseabad1928 @secondary-character-25 @starlightanyaaa @notsaelty @d4rno @moonnime @kodzukein @yozora7154 @heijihattorisgf @elegantweirdorchest @natakina

[taystrash]

Tay // 22 // Trying this writing thing again

If you’re interested, you can find me here

Previous Blogs:

IOAMB (kpop: bts, monsta x, got7, skz…)

Imagination-of-a-thirsty-weeb (anime: hxh, haiikyuu)

Imagination-of-a-fandom-slut (tv shows: teen wolf, tvd, twd…)

Masterlists, if you would like to see what’s in store:

BTS

Got7

MonstaX

How it started:

I started writing when I was 10, One direction had just debuted and I was in love. They’re how I discovered fanfiction. I never actually wrote for them myself, seeing no shortage of content for members x reader, or members x members, so I looked elsewhere. I started to get into Viners, YouTubers, and Magcon boys and I started writing for them instead. People loved it, I made au gif sets, and I honestly loved the interactions with the fics and between I and my readers. I would write day and night, hurting my shoulders, changing positions, at school thinking of writing, scribbling ideas down here and there. I abandoned that blog for another and that for another and that one to stop writing all together. All my blogs are still up and running, I’d take Teen Wolf requests on one, SKZ on another but I want THIS blog to be a truly multi-fandom blog. I tried to categorize everything, anime into one, kpop into another, I want access to everything all in one. So bear with me! I’m working to get it together! I’m excited to see what the future brings and even more excited to finally get to write again.

REQUESTS

They are open!

I currently am only going to pick back up a few fandoms, SKZ, HxH, and Teen Wolf. I will be writing for new shows such as JJK, AOT, BSD and Demon Slayer.

DISCLAIMER (not to be rude, mean, or mistaken)

I am a smut writer. I like rough, nasty, demeaning, aggressive sex and I will write about it! Please, be warned! Please, do not lecture me about it, you can find fluff, angst, and softer smut elsewhere, OR you can request it and I’ll write that for you and your tastes. I’m not here to judge and I hope no one judges me. I know it can’t be helped but I’m a nasty bitch and I want to be with other nasty bitches :((

Character List:

JJK

Sukuna

Gojo

Geto

Nanami

Shoko

Mei Mei

Toji

Choso

Mohito

Todo

Demon slayer

Giyuu

Rengoku

Muzan

Akaza

Obanai

Gyomei

Sanemi

Tengen

Kokushibo

Doma

Hantengu’s four demons

HxH

Hisoka

Illumi

Razor

The Phantom Troupe

Silva

BDS

Dazai

Fyodor

Akutagawa

Atsushi

Fukuzawa

Ranpo

Poe

Kunikida

Chuuya

Oda

Ango

Francis Scott

Tachihara

Juno

Sigma

Nikolai (clowns are sexy I swear)

Fukuchi

AOT

Eren

Armin

Connie

Jean

Floch

Levi

Erwin

Hange (will be written as they/them, you can decide whether it’s amab or afab.)

Sasha

Mikasa

Reiner

Teen wolf

Stiles

Scott

Parrish

Sheriff Stilinski

Melissa

Liam

Theo

Brett

Derek

Peter

I’ll write for every member of Stray Kids!!

Smut Games:

Feel free to pick a prompt or two to pair with a character/member

Smut Game 1 ( can be found as a link on previous stories but is no longer accessible)

Smut Game 2

Smut Game 3

Smut Game 4

Smut game 5

Happy Slutting <3

[lowlywriter]

helllooo again hope you’re doing better now with the cold!

I just want to drop in again to go AAHHH over the latest chapter of Lost in Paradise. Gosh now getting some confirmation that Sukuna is in there in a form more than just traces of energy is highkey very scary Σ('◉⌓◉’) but also I feel bad because I keep giggling at the thought of Sukuna being stuck in a five year old’s body. Worst ankle biter in history for sure…

As for Geto and Gojo convo—augh! I love those two so much, they’re so domestic now they make me SICK (positive). Hopefully enough things changed by now that Geto doesn’t go to his whole monkey hating era by the time the mission comes around.

But even so, I can’t imagine things going as smoothly or as quiet as before now that Kenjaku prob feels threatened. Scared for what schemes may come next ｡ﾟ(ﾟ´Д｀ﾟ)ﾟ｡

Anyways, just wanted to gush about the chapter because I’ve been excited for it!

Ah, hello!!!

I'm finally starting to feel better, thank you for asking! <3

I'm glad you liked the chapter! It was another one I had a lot of fun making— SatoSugu are just so easy to write because it feels like everything goes for them. Cheesy, angsty, domestic, assholes, banter, they do it all! I adore them with everything I have!

I don't want to say much without spoiling upcoming chapters, but we'll have to see. Nothing is easy with Kenny around though, that's for sure :)

Thanks for the ask! I love seeing what you guys are thinking about the chapters! Always makes me super happy to see people enjoying them too! <3

[duckiemimi]

i think the core reason why non sorcerers shouldnt know about jujutsu is like geto once said: for their peace of mind. thats why they put up curtains etc etc. jujutsu exists almost entirely as a means to exorcise curses i think if people knew about jujutsu and curses itd bring a lot of anxiety into their lives. do nt know if this can really relate to ur question but remember the scene where nanami goes into a bakery and helps get rid of the curse on the girls shoulder? at first he shows himsepf a little apprehensive to exorcise it because hes afraid to scare her or that shed think hes a creep. so maybe thats another reason? vulgar humans would maybe be creeped out by the fact theres people out there who are different than them and have this special powers. also maybe its put sorcerers in danger? if you bring this perspective into the real world it kind of makes sense, remember when people were burning girls the sole reason being they thought these girls were weird and were accused of being witches? salem for eg. people are afraid of what they don’t understand. this is my perspective of it.

that comparison to the salem witch trials and witch trials in general—ur so right!! sorcerer and witch and shaman are almost all synonymous!! (though i guess depending on culture context, the connotations can be either positive or negative).

yea, i totally get that! and i know geto’s already mentioned it in season 2, too, but i can’t help but feel that the stated reason is insufficient because if non-sorcerers knew about jujutsu, then they (non-sorcerers and sorcerers) can form a somewhat symbiotic relationship, where non-sorcerers can keep each other in check and look out for each other to prevent big, big, big emotions from spawning into curses and as for the ones that do spawn into curses, the sorcerers can take care of that! in exchange, non-sorcerers could…do something for sorcerers (idk, like i’m still fleshing this whole reciprocal relationship out 😭).

but! nevertheless, i imagine involving the people they’re supposed to protect into jujutsu (at least, having them know of its existence) could help a lot! and if jujutsu is a long-standing system, they could’ve done this ages ago! which brings me to my next theory; perhaps at one point in time (maybe around sukuna’s era or even before that), people knew of the existence of jujutsu, but something happened and now secrecy is a rule! idk, but i’d love to know more about the history of jujutsu society!

but let’s talk rules for a second: the memorandum where this rule is in (the rule being article 8 of the memorandum of duty of jujutsu sorcerers) was created by the big three clans for all sorcerers to abide by. since family politic is such a big theme in jjk, i wouldn’t be surprised if they (the big three) created a rule like that (and other rules pertaining hierarchy, chain of commands, punishments, etc.) to set the status quo and make sure they stay in power.

and since two of the clans aren’t in power anymore (the zenin clan being nonexistent and the kamo clan losing their head, hehe), that would leave only the gojo clan. gojo wants the current system to topple over, so i’m curious to see how a new system will be implemented!! what’s a post-hierarchical jujutsu world gonna look like? how is it gonna work? i’m excited to see gege explore this concept, a realization of allies!!

anyway, sorry for the long-winded ramble and thank u for ur insight!! i’m glad they’re using the anime to add more info so everything ties in together cohesively!!

[chiarrara]

Ok so I got more thoughts on the whole art school au:

Oh the Tokyo and the Kyoto schools are definitely rivals(which makes the whole shibuya art convention far more tense probably) . Which reminds me- Todo is also in textile/fashion and is either focused on making high quality gym clothes or on making pretty dresses (inspired by his one and only Takada)

I was really thinking on wether Gojo would be an artist in this au or not, since in all “no powers” au’s he’s in I just default him to a physics professor. But if he is then he absolutely just fucks around by incorporating physics into his art any way he can think of. Like very complex art installations or sculptures made to show off the weirdass stuff you can make by abusing the laws of physics. Geto on the other hand is into fine arts (mostly oil painting) but is obsessed with adding in philosophical or religious symbolism in his paintings. If Kenjaku was real in this universe then he’s probably the paint fumes Geto keeps huffing (that are most likely melting his brain as we speak)

Also just because this is an art school au doesn’t mean that Mahito doesn’t almost kill someone. Multiple times. I mean, it’s the viewers that should be more careful around the hanging sculptures, and yes he did make sure that the threads that attach them to the ceiling are secure! And him almost throwing a box cutter at someone was just a happy accident. (Side note I think his art would be focused heavily on body horror, the grotesque, or just generally being off-putting or gory. Something like Cao Hui’s “I Want To Play God”. Be warned for body horror tho when searching that up, but it is really cool)(another side note: Hanami would make beautiful ceramic flowers)

Since we mentioned throwing sharp objects at people and Nobara seems like the type to have chased boys with scissors in middle school, imagine how dangerous she would be now. Because not only does she have access to scissors to chase you with, she also has saws, lino cutters, hammers and many more very dangerous objects. Maybe don’t rile her up while she’s in the workshop. Or don’t rile her up at all.

Each year Maki welds herself a sword to see how much she’s improved

Megumi loves drawing and illustrating animals and most of his sketchbooks are so full that they’re all puffed up and can’t even close properly anymore. They look like they’ve been thru war. He also uses his art skills to shitpost a lot.

Since Yuuji is a movie nerd I think he’s love doing subtle merch based on the movies he likes

ahhhhhhh okay i was watching basketball so i couldn't give this my full attention but i was itching to reply all nighttttt

eeeek i love a rivalry. Also, I love Todo in textiles. I feel like he would make such simple but meticulously constructed clothes. Like the kind that you don't even know how good they are unless you actually know shit about clothes. Also, por que no los dos, he can make really pretty athletic wear for women. Tennis dresses and lounge wear and golf skirts, and body suits. Oooh and his dream could be to get a contract with Takada, or do a promotion with her. And he would tell her she's his muse and everything he's made had been inspired by her.... or that's his dream at least.

OH and he would judge guys by their taste in girls because it's literally their taste in fashion as well and he's passionate about the type of girl you design for....oh it all fits soooo well. I love him.

okay, so to ME i always see Gojo as more of a math guy, because his powers are actually more math based and conceptual than they are physics based. Like he's not actually fucking with the extant laws of the material universe so much as he is bringing math concepts into reality through magic-infused imagination. But i'm a math person, and fundamentally there's not enough of a difference if you're not a math and physics person and it is physics in a way like he's applying math concepts to physical space so it makes sense to make him a physics professor like everyone does because you use a lot of math in physics especially quantum physics dealing in higher dimensions which is basically what he's doing morphing spacetime and it's getting really in the weeds and particular to make the distinction between math and physics at that point but I am who I am...

So ANYWAY my point is, it would be really cool for him to do like, some kind of digital art, computer graphics type thing? and maybe he like designs a lot on a computer based on math concepts and things and then translates them into physical space in ways that completely fuck your mind. like somehow he recreates infinite fractals in physical space and you can't figure out why your mind is short circuiting to make this work but it does. Idk I think that would be really cool. And he would design mcescher like gallery spaces that you get turned around in and can't figure out how you got to where you are from where you were. like somehow you went downstairs and ended up a floor up. And no one can figure it out but he does it somehow.

Not kenjaku is the paint fumes geto is huffing TToTT im deaddd. okay so what if in school he did a whole series on moral responsibilities and the burden of responsibility on the leaders of society and then it started getting weird and he started spouting off a bunch of nonsensical stuff about the weak consuming and overtaking the strong and how he had to fight back and his art started to get very warped and a little horrific and then it turned out the paint thinner he used was getting recalled and there was a class action lawsuit cause it was causing hallucinations and lots of other health issues and once he switched he pretty much chilled out but it was a very formative experience for him. and also that was his masters thesis project or something lmao. wouldn't that be so silly haha goofy.

YES DISASTER CURSES AS PART OF THE AU!!! I love it. I never know how to incorporate them but this is soooo perfect and I love your idea for Mahito. that series you recommended as inspo for him is so sick and i think that makes so much sense as something he would make. I actually love what you were saying the other day about how Mahito is maybe questionable with how they're portrayed in canon with their presentation + their power set, but making that more into the actual ideas of self-embodiment of perfection. like, I get to create my own body because I am the soul and I form my body around myself. But it doesn't have to be any less violent or gory. like I can see his ideal project being like a fucked up body works, like preservation and essentially taxidermy? but breaking more boundaries to form artistic depictions of whatever ideal human form he wants. But he probably can't actually find a way to get away with that, so he has to settle.

I could see him setting up performance art where he get models and twists them into still doable but grotesque shapes, or simulates their bodies being morphed, or makes them intertwine to form one larger body in an unconventional shape. and i could see him also instructing them to wail in pain for the full exhibit run time. And I could see it being very disturbing to the patrons lol.

Also, "I want to play God" reminded me of some artwork i saw on here that i can't find anymore. it was like marble tile and walls and stuff that decomposed like flesh. it was super gory and super cool. I wish I knew the artist or anything to search...

How cool would it be for Hanami to combine ceramics and earthenware with literal living plants and have a literal live exhibit. The plants could grow through cracks and holes and stuff in the pots and bud and flower. or there could be ceramic flowers mixed in and you wouldn't always know which were ceramic or glass or artificial basically depending on the day you went because they're so true to life that if the plant is in the same stage of flowering you might not be able to pick them out.

Ooooh or better yet, what if she used live plants as part of the process in making her pieces and then fired them in the kiln burning the plants alive. as symbolism basically. it's almost an invisible performance art because part of the art is the process of destroying nature to get a product. And also what if she tried to gas her audience one time at an exhibit as a commentary on fossil fuels.

I think it'd be cool for Hanami and Jogo to work together on something, being both earth based. Also, what's Dagon up to? Something to do with cycles of life and death in the sea. What school are they all at?

Lmaoooo I can just picture Nobara flailing saws and power tools and hammers around when someone pisses her off just completely negating safety protocols. She has definitely considered (or threatened to) shove someone's face into a running band saw.

Do you think Maki would give daggers as gifts? I like to think she would. Even when it is totally not appreciated by the person she's gifting to. She would totally be one of those people who caries a hunting knife around for some reason and says it's totally normal. And she'd be great in a pinch, so who's correct?

I love Megumi being incredible at animal anatomy of basically any kind. And just knowing lots of shit about animals. He gets pissed off if you call a koala a bear and he can tell the difference between a crocodile and an alligator immediately. One time Yuuji asks him to draw a tiger or something for a design and he whips it up in 10 minutes flat. ooooh would megumi be a sick tattoo artist??

it would be so cool if Yuuji started off like making fan designs and selling them on redbubble or something OR BETTER doing cosplay. He could make some sick hoodies and streetwear stuff based on like star wars designs and other sci-fi and horror.

You got my imagination going. If any of this is like not vibing to you feel free to discard, i just had fun thinking about it.

Did we talk about what Yuuta is doing? or Nanami???? Omgomg also what if like, the students have to have a sort of academic advisor except they're more like a mentor situation??? so like Megumi's advisor would be gojo probably. but it could also be Geto if he's focusing more on the fine arts aspects...or Nanami if he's got more of a business & product focus. Idk it would be really cool to pair them up. Like depending on where the disaster curses are would they be with geto? Oh also, are the twins here?? so much to consider!

forbidden pizza

[getosugurusbangs]

Do you mind if I ask your top 10 favorite characters (can be male or female) from all of the media that you loved (can be anime/manga, books, movies or tv series)? And why do you love them? Sorry if you've answered this question before.....Thanks....

thank you for the ask! and no, i haven’t answered this question before, i rarely get asks so it’s never come up lol

a couple disclaimers before actually getting into the list 1. these aren’t in any particular order, more just in the order i thought of the characters. 2. from most of these, there are other characters that i love just as much if not more than the character listed, i just put a certain character on this list for more specific reasons, or because i have a better understanding of them. 3. i tried to refrain from adding too much jjk, but it still happened so… i apologize 😔 i can’t help myself (and also, all characters listed are from anime/manga)

list under the cut!

satoru gojo from jujutsu kaisen. what hasn’t been said about him at this point? he’s a very lovable and endearing character in general (obviously) but one thing that’s very cool to me about him, is that a lot of his character is left up to the viewer’s imagination. he’s definitely a character where you can project a lot, and make really whatever you want of him. it can be a double edged sword sometimes, but i still think it’s something cool about him.

suguru geto from jujutsu kaisen. can’t have gojo on the list without his soulmate. there’s so much to me that’s interesting about him that it’s hard to narrow it down enough for this list. as sad as it is to watch, i do really like his spiral at the end of hidden inventory arc. i think it’s very neat how his mental decline really shows more of the true nature of the jujutsu society they’re part of, and how cruel it is to it’s own people. on a similar note to that, it’s very interesting seeing the way geto truly is (his mentalities, his personality, etc. not his morals) get continuously revealed during his defection and post jujutsu high.

maki zenin and mai zenin from jujutsu kaisen. if i was already putting multiple jjk characters on this list, they had to be here too. i looooove their arc together, and everything they’ve (whether on purpose or not) done to each other. i honestly do just think the concept of two cursed twin girls coming from a horrible, at the top of the food chain clan, and attempting to thrive outside of it despite everything, is super cool. i love them separately as characters, but them together makes me even more deranged…

nicholas d. wolfwood from trigun/trigun maximum. apparently i have a thing for dudes who have big tits, are doomed by the narrative, and are associated with a religion 💀 also whenever i talk about trigun, unless specified otherwise, i’m specifically talking about the manga or og anime, not the reboot. anyways, i really like his development as a person over the course of the series. and how in the end, he ended up adopting more of vash’s ways than he may have anticipated. vash and wolfwood’s relationship, considering who they are as people and what they have going on, is crazy to me ngl

anna/nina liebert from monster. i love naoki urusawa’s portrayal of women, and just people in general in his work, and how realistic it is. if you haven’t read or watched monster, GO DO IT!!! it’s one of the best manga i’ve read so far. i haven’t seen any of his other works yet, but i’ve heard good things. i love how she’s an overall badass, kind and compassionate person, while still working towards her goals and simultaneously working through her trauma. she’s just a very neat character to me!

shinji ikari from neon genesis evangelion. i may sound insane saying this depending on how you feel about him but hear me out 😭 he gets a lot of hate, which i do understand, but i do like him, okay? (i’m not going to acknowledge the end of evangelion movie. i will NOT watch it) i think with him, and other teenage characters going through very traumatic situations like him, people forget that they’re literally children going through that? and treat them like they’re adults going through it when they’re absolutely not, and that really bothers me!! despite how he can come off as pathetic sometimes, i do appreciate the way he’s portrayed. he’s overall a very relatable character, and is (at least to me) pretty endearing at times. i like how in the endings of both the anime and the manga, it’s pretty open-ended for him. most of what i say about his character could be applied to asuka, too.

hitori gotou/bocchi from bocchi the rock. she’s just a teenage girl who loves music and has social anxiety and she’s so real for that!!! it’s been a while since i watched bocchi the rock, and i also just don’t have a lot to say here, i just really like her and the way her social anxiety is portrayed, as someone who goes through it myself.

reki kyan from sk8 the infinity. again, i don’t have a ton to say here honestly. he’s very personally relatable to me, especially in his relationship with langa and such. as a queer person who skateboards, sk8 the infinity is the shit!!

yatora yaguchi from blue period. i love his character development in the beginning of the series, but in general too. i just love how he goes from a (slightly boring) respectable highschooler, on his way to a normal job and life, to then suddenly having a passion for art ignited within him, and changing his entire life’s path. i love how his art’s progression is shown, and various other conversations about art. blue period is one of the reasons i never want to go to art school lol

reigen arataka from mob psycho 100. what can i say, he’s just a goofy con man!! i love the additional comedy he adds to the series, despite his character being a little… sad and pathetic all things considered. he’s a wet cat of a man, but i love him for it, yknow? i also love the voice acting for him in the japanese dub of the show. (sakurai takahiro kinda sucks as a person, but he’s still a talented voice actor) there are also certain things about him that are kinda hilarious ngl..

i hope this is what you were asking for, or at least that you enjoyed this because this took a while to actually write out LMAO

[namazunomegami]

https://www.tumblr.com/namazunomegami/743681457401233408/httpswwwtumblrcomnamazunomegami7436597783840?source=share

you flatter me too much. I love this particular way of writing a yandere (of sorts) Geto because there’s so much to explore when it comes to him. It also makes me wonder about the type of yandere Gojo would be, if we’re looking at his personality through how he is portrayed in canon. From most fanfiction depictions of Gojo, people seem to think of him as some fun loving goofy guy who is secretly really sad and to be fair… they’re not exactly wrong. I just think that Gojo can’t be reduced to just that. In my opinion, Gojo is probably quite cold. I don’t know how to explain it, but I’ll try. It’s literally fact that Gojo is the strongest. The honoured one. Whatever you wanna call it. But it’s literally only him. Yes, both him and Geto called themselves “the strongest”, but Geto was clearly outclassed by Gojo in their later years, especially with Geto mentally deteriorating due to all the misery of being in the jujutsu world. Gojo is, in every sense of the word, alone. Untouchable. Raised to be the best of the best. So it’s pretty much canon that Gojo isn’t really showcasing his true or full personality in front of everyone else, and I suppose that’s why people think he just mopes around around depressed about his life, which is a fair assumption. But I think he probably would seem very cold and detached because he is literally different from EVERYONE. Even on a physical level, he’s completely different from everyone. 1. He’s almost fucking perfect. Looks and sounds fucking perfect. 2. He literally sees EVERYTHING. He doesn’t even SEE the same as how everyone else sees. Gege says that Gojo’s sight is like looking through a high definition thermal camera. THATS FUCKING WEIRD.

He doesn’t even need to sleep. It’s said that he’s constantly running Reverse Curse Technique to keep his brain fresh and from frying, so technically, he doesn’t even NEED to sleep.

What I’m trying to say is, Gojo is quite literally different from everyone else in this world. So I’d assume that he doesn’t know or personally understand the typical human or sorcerer experience. We can see this with how he invaded everyone’s personal space. He looks at humans the way humans look at ants. Like things to be examined.

So I think that all of this would make him quite a cold person, because he’s literally not relatable to anyone. The one person he thought was relatable went crazy and started a cult, so….

[I also think he’s aware of how unrelatable he is and how unsettling his very existence is, so he acts all goofy and annoying to appear more palatable and less flawless to people because if he was to act otherwise, how would people act towards him? Scared? Worship him, maybe?

I could also get into how being so different from everyone probably affects how he experiences emotions and how he probably doesn’t experience emotions the exact same way that everyone else does, but this is really long already.]

So I say all of this to say… what type of person would this God like being, the Honoured One, be obsessed over? What type of individual would catch this man’s eye and what exactly made them stand out from everyone else?

I think it would have to be someone who could make him feel something emotionally intense. I think out of everything, what Gojo really wants is to feel SOMETHING. Which is ironic because with his 24/7 infinity on, he can’t really feel anything physically lol. But yeah, I think he’s desperate for stimulation. He eats sweets a lot because they stimulate his brain for example.

Like imagine being able to do and have EVERYTHING. That must be so boring!!! Yeah, I think he wants to feel something.

You mentioned MBTI in your analysis of Geto, which is very interesting. what MBTI type are you? I’m an INTP. Enneagram 5w4. I don’t know any of that means lol. I wonder what MBTI Gojo is and how that might play out into him being obsessed over someone and how he’d treat them.

Basically Gojo reminds me of porcelain or diamond or marble. Flawless. Or… almost flawless.

Don’t get me wrong, Gojo definitely has flaws and isn’t fully perfect, but I think the fandom attempts to make him more of a lover boy than he probably is lol. I don’t have a problem with it because it’s fucking fanon lol, do what you want with whatever character, but I just love exploring different perspectives of characters and I think the fandom (that participates in fanfiction), like most fandoms, has a tendency to reduce characters to one aspect of themselves, and in Gojo’s case, he’s constantly reduced to his short lived and possibly homo erotic friendship with Geto and I’m just trying to look at him from a different angle, I guess.

Like think about it! Gege says Gojo chooses to be single and I think it’s because nobody makes him feel. Feel what? I’m not exactly sure. A rush, probably.

Geto made him feel that because for a while, Geto was the one relatable person to him. Toji made him feel that, because Toji is also relatable to Gojo (in the sense that Toji, like Geto and Gojo, is an outlier. Not meant to be as strong or powerful as he is, but somehow he exists). I mean, Toji KILLED him. I don’t think even Gojo knew he could be killed lol.

TL:DR- Gojo is bored and cold and detached and needs to feel something and I think that if he was a yandere, he would obsess over someone who would make him feel that something.

I will stop yapping here. Actually, I won’t.

I emphasise that Gojo is not perfect, but is ALMOST perfect. He has flaws, but flaws can be disguised as perfections or hidden. I mean, if Gojo was perfect, he wouldn’t be able to be killed by Toji, Riko would be alive, and he wouldn’t be sealed, and he wouldn’t have died (I’m holding out hope that he’ll be back lol), etc. One major flaw is that he’s not omnipotent or omnipresent and it’s showcased many times in the manga. I could talk more but let me ACTUALLY stop yapping here lol.

I’m so sorry.

Holy molly what a delight to wake up seeing such a long ask in my inbox!

I wholeheartedly agree with you on that the fandom tend to reduce Gojo to a silly-goofy guy with a heart of gold and there's nothing wrong with people sandboxing with their faves. He's your blorbo, your squeeky dog toy lmao.

I can recommend @/sukunasun's Gojo fics, I think they characterize him really well!

I must admit that Gojo as a character is almost impossible for me to write. Especially with my writing techniques that's just like... method acting but in fiction lol. I want to give it a try in my gothic au where he's kinda like a minor villain and I plan to showcase certain elements of gothic horror through his character.

And Gojo as a yandere oml... I believe that many jjk characters have the potential to be yandere but Gojo would be literally the worst. He wouldn't just isolate you, he would be capable of to kill anyone important to you, he would endanger you so you'd rely on him. If I remember correctly, @/saintshigaraki once reblogged a long yan!gojo fic in which he literally brought a curse to reader's house so he can save them.

Well, it's time for my own thoughts:

I think Gojo struggles a lot with empathy. If not completely devoid of the skill to recognize other people's perspective. Like... it's literally canon that he ignored Shoko, he made Geto's defection his own personal trauma. And I know that it's gonna be a very bold statement, but I think that he was a shitty best friend when Geto started spiralling after the Star Plasma incident. Idk... if my bestie is showing signs of being mentally unwell, I'd do literally anything to help, nobody can stop me.

Once, just for fun I checked some DSM-V criteria and tbh... Gojo meets diagnostic criteria for several Cluster B personality disorders. Namely Narcissistic Personality Disorder, some for Histrionic Personality Disorder and even Antisocial Personality Disorder.

These disorders kinda encapsulates his character for me: his relationships are superficial, he likes being the center of attention, he struggles with empathy, not afraid to endanger himself or others and his insecurities are hidden beneath a grandiose sense of self-worth.

Just being professional here, but I'm not bringing this up for the sake of bashing his character. Real people, who are diagnosed with these disorders are not inherently bad and they deserve the same love and respect as anyone else!

Okay, back to the MBTI: I'm an INFJ (introverted intuition, extroverted feeling, introverted thinking and extroverted sensing), I didn't take the tests, I just simply analyzed Jung's cognitive functions because they're much more empiric and reliable. But being INFJ kinda explains why I'm drawn to characters who are Ni, Ne or Te, Ti dominant. Geto for example is Ni dominant, just like I am.

Gojo is an ENTP, my fave type tbh. Like... around 2/3 of my fictional crushes have this type, it's concerning lmao.

When I got into the Hellaverse I literally started crushing on not one but THREE ENTPs lmao.

So... Gojo's cognitive functions are extroverted intuition, introverted thinking, extroverted feeling and introverted sensing. Literally the polar opposite of Geto's functions.

While Geto's introverted intuition is a future oriented function, extroverted intuition is present oriented, focusing on ideas and "what if" scenarios instead of patterns.

Ne dominant people are all about ideas, they're dreamers, envisioning many possibilities. If you present an interesting topic or thought to them, they're gonna play with it until they get bored and need something new (Ni on the other hand will find a topic that they like and analyze it from different angles). While Ne is like brainstorming, hopping from one interesting concept to another, Ni is about the execution of these ideas.

Because intuition is their dominant information processing function, think about them like this:

Ni is like a connect the dots game. They see patterns and predict outcomes based on probability. Ne detects patterns in their environment and they predict implications and intentions like search engines do.

Introverted thinking, compared to Geto's extroverted one is much more theoretical, analytic and deductive. Introverted functions are subjective, they need an inner system that are alligned with their values before they even activate. Ti users will grab facts and proofs and put them in boxes in a way that it fits their own bias.

While Te users accept statements and opinions if they have significant proof, Ti is all about "is this logical? give me a minute, let me think about it"

SHITTY EXAMPLE:

2x2=4

Te: yeah, that tracks, it's basic knowledge. Let me think about a conclusion.

Ti: okay, that tracks, but why? I want to see the process. By adding 2 to 2 really makes 4?

An unhealthy Ti overthinks and overcomplicates things while an unhealthy Te oversimplifies.

Extroverted feeling is an objective function and they use empathy in this way too. Not in a "i know what you're feeling" way but more like a "i'll try imagining what you're going through" type of empathy. It's group oriented instead of the individual oriented Fi. And extroverted feelers express their emotions much more easily, they're approachable, they like harmony within a group and would supress their thoughts and values if it would disturb that said harmony. An unhealthy Fe is a people pleaser, a martyr, who'd sacrifice themselves for others while unhealthy Fi is about self-preservation and self-suitability and they're heavily biased.

I forgot to add sensing in my previous answer because I thought that as the least active function it has no importance but the difference is this: extroverted sensors live in the moment, they react quickly to any minor change in their environment because they're highly attuned with it, while introverted sensors are all about past experiences. They learn from their mistakes, they're perceptive, they're capable of remembering minor details about you.

ENTPs have that ongoing stereotype that they have a good sense of humor, they communicate well and you don't want to pick a bone with them because they'll roast the fuck out of you.

As a yandere, I think ENTPs would brainstorm about how they want to get closer to you and later arrange different scenarios to grab your attention. They could be very attuned to your feelings so they wouldn't want to see you hurt. They would try to cheer you up, confuse you with comfort if you're defiant. But if you're fighting back like... in a vicious way, they would argue with you. They'd use their eloquence to make you question yourself, they'd use any opportunity to undermine you because they already figured you out.

I think that's all, you're literally spitting facts what can I add?

[kashimos-hajime]

the colour yellow | jjk

summary: “You once said love manifests the most twisted curses. I never thought of it that way before, but I’m starting to think you’re right.”

WARNINGS: ANGST!! hanahaki disease but not an au, HOSPITALS, DEATH, DESCRIPTIONS OF DISEASE, UNHEALTHY WEIGHT LOSS, pining, unrequited love, complicated feelings, its just sad. there are some light-hearted moments, and happier/softer aspects in the ending but it is generally sad in the ‘what could have been’ department pairing: gojo satoru x fem!reader, past geto suguru x fem!reader, mentions of satosugu word count: 29.9k lmao

a/n: i just needed to get the hanahaki out of my system. it did not work. i took liberties w the timeline because idc about actual jjk canon in this fic thanks. 

playlist for this fic

crossposted on ao3 x

Your Innate Technique always gave you a green thumb. Meaning, similarly enough to Yaga, you could plant cursed energy into objects.

Where it deviated, Satoru knows, is the type of object. Plants—trees, leaves, flowers. 

Ironic, he thinks numbly as he walks through the hospital. Shoko had told him that at this point it was palliative care until you died—nothing else would work. Cursed energy only fed your sickness, and even her technique could not heal the damage fast enough. Stupid. Idiotic. Cruel.

Cruel. That was the word.

He hadn’t seen it himself but from how his old friend had described it, it could only be cruel. 

His footsteps tap along the linoleum floors, urgent, but not too fast. A part of him dreads what he will see—his mind swirls with the possibilities, and of guilt.

Why didn’t he just come sooner? Why did he think it was okay to wait, to dismiss Itadori when he said you’d been checked in for your coughing fits?

“She’s strong. She’ll be fine,” he had said. Itadori’s small frown. “A little feather in her throat isn’t going to knock her down.”

Why? Why? Why? Why did he say that?

Because it had to be serious to put you in the hospital. For fuck’s sake, you were still that teenage girl who stood outside his dorm window in the middle of a thunderstorm to bring Fushiguro a birthday present before you left for a curse expedition a thousand years ago, and the woman who welcomed him into your home unprompted on December 24th, your cheeks dry, lips pressed in a brave smile.

You had held him tight enough he could not see the blood, scrubbed him in a bathtub, ran your fingers through his hair until the sweat and grime was gone. You took care of him because he knows the belief that no one should be left behind to suffer alone has been engrained in you since the day he’s met you.

He should’ve known. A girl abandoned for being cursed had turned into woman with a saviour complex who’d barely even think about telling him you were dying. 

Dying, of all things, from a disease no one knows how to cure. And you’re a sorcerer.

He could’ve laughed. The irony is enough to make him smile.

Your room’s in a tiny corner of the hospital, down the hall from a nurse’s station, and as he walks through, he can see the grey sunlight streaming through the window, glaring against his glasses. He lifts them to rub the heel of his hand into his eye.

He doesn’t want you to worry when you see him, and mostly, he needs to stall. His heart is in knots in his chest, and he spots a chair beside the door with your name in the plastic slate, so he sits down. His knees feel gummy and he leans forward, the visitor’s pass clipped to the front of his shirt hanging. 

Satoru tugs the glasses off his face, fits his palm over his brow and squeezes his eyes shut. It’s chilling in this dead end, and he swallows tightly. Everything tastes so dry as he looks up and shoves his hand underneath the sanitizer dispenser, rubbing it all over his hands just so he has something to do.

After a few minutes, he gets up and sets a hand on the knob. 

It can’t be as bad as he’s imagining. At most, you’re a bit sick, but you’ll still be spritely, warm in the lips and with arms outstretched and, “Satoru, finally!”

He opens the door. 

You’re sitting hunched over in bed. Silhouette outlined by the white-grey sunlight from outside your hospital room, you’re trembling as you hold onto a receptacle. An IV is hooked to your arm, a hospital gown is barely hiding anything, and it feels immoral to even look so Satoru doesn’t. Instead, he pauses by the doorframe and closes his eyes for a moment as your gaze flashes to him. 

He feels it, to be honest. The heat of your stare until it is wrenched away by a violent cough you instinctually muffle by your palm, blood splattering over your hand, soft, velveteen purple petals falling from your lips and into the receptacle in your lap. 

You’re supposed to have a green thumb.

Vines bend to your will if you command it, you can summon forth thorns to impale your opponents, send thick creeping ivy to barricade a doorway. It doesn’t matter if there is no greenery in your immediate area. At the sweep of your hand, the ground could rumble with the sound of trees twisting their gnarled roots into feet to march at your command.

Just as long as they’re within range and you’ve touched them in the past few hours, they’re yours.

So, why can’t you stop this?

Plants are supposed to listen to you, right? As he stares at your shaking body on the bed, curved over the plastic tub, thick globs of bloodied spit drip from your lips and soaked purple blossom petals entwine with your life essence. His heart plummets to his chest. You retch, spit, choke, and every sound stabs him in the chest as he takes a weak step forward, hand stretched out limply.

Your name flutters, barely leaves his lips before you’re looking at him again, a bit of a mortifying image but nonetheless.

Even so, you smile, despite the blood painting your face, the exhaustion morphing your body. You look like you haven’t slept in weeks, and your hands shake around the receptacle. You look battered, bruised along the arms where the needles keeping you filled with antibiotics, medicine you need, had punctured you.

And still, you’re beaming at him. He thinks he’s going to be sick.

“Hi, Satoru.”

His hand falls. Eyes wide, he cannot take another step. You wipe at your lips, tossing the tissue into the trash before pushing the plastic receptacle onto the table and swinging your legs off the bed.

“Don’t—“ he croaks but you don’t listen, sliding your feet into slippers and grabbing your IV stand to take a step towards him. Your knees nearly give in but you stick out a hand before he can rush to catch you. Then, you’re pushing yourself up and walking over to him. It’s more of a shuffle, but Gojo finds he can’t care as you land on his chest, hands pressing into his back.

You’re a bit cold in his arms, and he wraps himself around you, trying to rub the heat back into your skin as you shudder, but your heart is still racing as it always does around him, and you…

You’re the type of person who can shift how the air feels and looks to his Six Eyes with your smile or your tears or your frown, and in that moment, the air bleeds yellow with your joy. It’s so bright in his soul that it makes his heart skip as you shift on your feet against him, hands sliding down so your arms can circle his waist and haul him closer. 

“Gojo Satoru turning off his infinity for little ole me,” you murmur, voice raspy, as he closes his eyes, cradling your head. Without another word, he sinks into you. “Talk about the world ending.”

Why didn’t you just call him? Why did you let him stay away for so long? He doesn’t want to ask why it’s happening, or how. He already knows you’ll just lie. But he wants to know if you think so lowly of him that you thought you didn’t matter to him.

After Suguru…

How could you think that? He’s screaming inside his mind as he touches your back, feels the faint protruding ridges along your skin when he pushes down. It makes your spine a bit more pronounced along the knobs, your shoulder blades a bit bumpy, but otherwise, it’s almost normal. One wouldn’t even be able to tell without touching you and actively searching for it. How could you think I don’t care?

This isn’t the work of a cursed spirit, that much he knows. It seems much more seductive, sneaking yet unhurried in its nature. This is agony in effigy. There’s something rotten inside you, but he can’t tell what it is. The energy is everywhere.

You pull back to look up at him with a soft smile, then tap his nose and tell him to join you before turning around and climbing back into bed with energy that betrays your earlier fits. You grab your robe that you’ve left on your bed before getting up again and walking around, shrugging the fabric back onto your shoulders.

He sits down in a visitor’s chair that is still cold.

“It comes and goes,” you explain first with your new, croaky voice, stretching your arms above your head and rubbing your neck. It doesn’t look painful, but you clear your throat a lot to see if it helps. So far, nothing. “So, it’s just like a really bad coughing fit, to be honest.”

“How long has it been going on?” Your hip cracks and you let out a relieved sigh. Satoru arches an eyebrow as you animatedly stretch your face. “What are you doing, silly?”

“It got worse a few weeks ago, enough that Nanami insisted I check myself in around two weeks ago?” you say, after counting on your fingers. Satoru’s heart plummets. “But it’s levelled out since I’ve been moved here and off-campus. And I’m stretching. When I get back out there, I have to remember how to emote.” You flash him a bedazzling grin and a bit of the weight lifts off his shoulders as you swallow down another cough. This time, it’s successful and you only let out a short, raspy breath before shaking it out.

You aren’t even doing that bad. 

The blood, the flowers, that must’ve been just a bad bout, but otherwise, you seem quite normal.

That’s what he tells himself, and he believes it.

With relief, he stretches out his legs, leaning his head back on his hands. Your room’s pretty nice—much nicer than an average hospital room. Plants on the windowsills, some get-well-soon cards and a desk in the corner filled books that you look like you haven’t even begun to read, some paintings hanging off the walls. 

You wave a hand to grab his attention again.

“Don’t look,” you chastise, tying the robe around your waist. “Some of these are works in progress.”

“So Itadori and Shoko were just exaggerating,” he assumes. You look up at him, quirking an eyebrow. “If you’re attempting to paint, I know all that’s happened is that you’ve lost your mind.”

“Shut up.”

“Well, they made it out as if you were dying. If it’s just a lung issue, they could probably just fix it and we can get back to exorcising curses and making fun of Fushiguro’s teen angst,” he says, crossing his legs at the ankles. You step over them to go to the window and examine your plants, and he eyes you in his peripheral, watching you inspect one of the leaves before looking next at some blooming flowers. You don’t answer, and the grey light makes you look melancholy until you shrug.

“The doctors say I need to rest, save my strength and all that,” you finally say vaguely. “And don’t make fun of Fushiguro.”

“I’d never do that.”

You tilt your head and arch an eyebrow skeptically before flicking his forehead with a sharp donk. “I’m not above slapping the shit out of you.” He opens his mouth to argue and you hold up a finger, shutting him up. “And you can’t hit back as revenge. Ill hospital patient rights.”

“You can’t take the moral stand. Vengeance has no gender bias,” he exclaims, sitting up but you merely smirk, leaning over and shoving your face into his space before turning your head to present your cheek. His eyes widen as you poke your own face tauntingly.

“Do it, then.”

Gawking for a moment, Satoru stares but you only wink and he pushes you away lightly. You stumble a bit and he jumps to his feet to catch you but you manage to right yourself up, shooting him a foul glare. He glares back in response.

“Well, obviously, I wasn’t going to actually slap you,” he says, indignant.

“So you pushed me instead? Gojo, in your words, you are the strongest. You never know how to control the strength you push out.”

“Yes, I do!”

“One time, you patted Megumi on the back and you sent him into the pavement.”

“He was nine.”

“It still happened!” you cry, although an impish smile is already curling at your lips and it isn’t long before it spreads to Satoru, warm bright yellow and enough that it absolves any of the remaining pain in his body as you straighten up, holding onto your IV stand for support. The metal rattles a bit as the wheels roll. Your feet brush the ground. You lift your head up wretchedly.

It’s almost like that weakness sobers you.

The expression that overtakes you frightens Satoru to fucking death. 

His face feels like it numbs, staring at the darkness that seeps the light away. You stare at the metal pole your fingers are wrapped so tightly around, and then you look at the bag hanging there, clear and round and soft to your touch as you straighten up.

“Satoru,” you say softly.

“Yeah?” His voice is so quiet he’s not sure he even speaks. He can’t remember the last time you had looked so dispassionate at anything in his life. Even death had left its mark—black frowns, long streaks underneath your eyes.

Your apathy is dark purple, an endless void colour. 

“When I die, make sure Shoko’s the one who cuts me open to find out what’s wrong with me.”

Something prickles at his fingertips. He touches your shoulder and half-thinks his fingers will go right through you.

“You’re not going to die,” he insists firmly. “It’s just a bad cough.” You look up at him and blink. Then you touch your lips and shudder down another cough.

“We all die.”

“It’s not your time, yet.” His fingers dig into your shoulder. You don’t even wince even though you’re clenching his jaw but he can’t find it in himself to loosen his hold. It feels like the Jaws of Death. A crocodile’s bite.

So much for not being able to control his own power.

“It’s just a bad cough.” He ignores everything Shoko had said. Sometimes she’s wrong—sometimes, it’s not even that bad. He’d just seen it, hadn’t he? You were stretching, jumping onto your bed, acting like nothing was wrong.

Palliative care? As if you needed it—

You blink, then, and look at him. Stare at him as if you’d never said those words, and he had never reached out. 

You jerk your shoulder out of his grip. It stings more than it should.

“Right. But I’m just saying. You know how you always say I’ve got a few screws loose. It just makes sense someone will wanna crack me open to see what was going on up there and I want it to be her.” 

You smile, and the yellow cancels out the purple. 

Colour theory. 

But Satoru doesn’t smile back.

“What about the flowers?” he asks after a while. You’ve climbed back onto bed and he’s sat back down. You’re blowing into a spirometer, and every time, without fail, the ball shoots up to the top, clattering against the plastic. He watches, hoping that the next time, it’ll do the same thing again.

You stop and look at him. “What about them?”

“Is it some optical illusion? Why are they in your throat?”

“That’s a harder nut to crack,” you muse. “I don’t really know. It’s like when you’ve got food in your esophagus and you’re trying to cough it up so it doesn’t feel stuck anymore except it keeps building up. That only started a few days ago, though, so maybe, someone drugged me or something.” He doesn’t laugh and you frown. “Not funny?”

He shakes his head. “It’s freaky.”

.

He sits on the bench on campus. 

He’s cancelled classes because he didn’t come up with a standard lesson plan and his students are glad to have a Monday afternoon off, even if they’d never say it to his face. In truth, he’d spent the whole weekend at the hospital until he reeked of antiseptic and pollen. 

You coughed up five petals, and without fail, a nurse would come in hourly intervals to collect them. Shoko came once, to check up on you and to collect the samples. If she was surprised Satoru was sitting in the corner on his phone, she didn’t voice it.

“She’s not even doing that bad,” he says to the air, more accusatory than anything. The woman standing by him doesn’t answer and sits down beside him uninvited. Turning to look at her, his eyes narrow behind his blindfold. “You said she needed palliative care until she died. The doctor said she could leave tonight.”

“Those aren’t mutually exclusive concepts,” she informs, not looking at him. Shoko looks a bit out of place in the warm colours of the garden. Half a corpse herself. Waif-like. “The doctor’s letting her relax in the comfort of her own home before she dies. That’s all.”

“She’s not going to die.”

She snorts. “Denial isn’t a good colour on you.” The words could’ve been delivered colder. Satoru is grateful that they weren’t. 

Shoko rests her hands on her knees, tilts her head up, and sighs. Her long hair is like warm chocolate in the sunlight, spilling down her arched back from the knot she tied. “If you have any idea on how to fix this, I’m listening with both ears.”

“I don’t even know what it is,” he says. “Coughing and flowers? I’ve never heard of a sickness like that before.”

“Nanami pointed out that it could be a curse someone placed on her. I don’t know why, but it’d be an explanation.” Satoru spreads his legs, plants an elbow on his knee and leans forward to look at the ants travelling along the cobblestone before his shoe. “It manifested on some negative emotion lingering inside her and it’s growing every day, but she won’t budge.” Shoko sighs. Her purple eye bags look worse in the sunlight, but he would never tell her that. “Maybe you’d have a better chance digging into her. With Geto gone, there’s no one else to ask, is there?”

“What about you? What happened to girls and their little secrets?” he jokes, trying to ignore the ache that begins to bloom in his chest. Shoko eyes him wryly.

“I have suspicions, but there are some things girls don’t ask other girls,” she retorts. “It’s never been my business anyway. My job is to treat her, and I’ve given her options. It’s up to her to take them. Grief is a birthing ground for curses, and if she’s letting them feed on her freely, you know what fate is waiting for her.”

With that, she gets up and leaves as quickly as she arrived. Satoru swallows the smell of flowers and feels sick.

.

Monday night, Satoru pulls up his laptop and looks through, searching up words he can string together in a coherent sense to get the answers he wants. As rare as it probably is, some research wouldn’t hurt, would it? Some curses had a trademark affliction—maybe this one does, too.

So he searches up flower coughing to see if there has ever been a record of strange deaths that have made the news. If not, he’ll go to the jujutsu databases, but for now, maybe some publicity could put some answers to this question.

He is surprised when one of the first results is flower coughing disease. 

When he hits enter, the white screen blasts into blue irises with numerous results all repeating the same two words.

HANAHAKI DISEASE

And Satoru reads, and reads, and reads. He reads two weeks to three months, he reads unrequited love, and removal, and disappearance of romantic feelings and capacity for romantic love.

He reads fictional disease and wonders how much of it really is fictional. 

His phone pings with a text, and he grabs at it, tilts it just enough to get a glimpse of the screen. It’s from you, and he hasn’t read a text from you in so long he almost doesn’t recognize who it’s from except he does because… who else could it be?

[Greenbean] 11:02 PM

hey!!! guess whos finally fucking free oh my god

ugh out of the hospital and forgot how actual air smelled like lol bitch im so hungry i could eat a zoo

Letting his phone clatter, he sighs and rubs his face roughy, squeezing his eyes shut for a moment before snapping his laptop shut and getting up. His phone buzzes again and he reaches for it blindly, the screen lighting up as he goes to bed.

[Greenbean] 11:03 PM

we should get smth to eat!! i wanna go to that new ramen place in ikebukoro

[Satoru] 11:03 PM

fine but you good???? who picked you up from the hospital? still insulted you didnt let me tbh

also what did the doctor say???

[Greenbean] 11:04 PM

bc ur a menace who doesnt know how to drive 

he said itd get worse before itd get better so still gotta go for checkups but yeah dont worry and nanami came bc he didnt trust me not to try and walk home lol but he did buy me dinner

wasnt enough though!!!

…

[Greenbean] 11:06 PM

ok but fr does he think im insane

clearly id flash some skin and hitch a ride duh

…

[Greenbean] 11:10 PM

youre just gonna leave me on read? yikes

[Satoru] 11:12 PM

i was getting ready to sleep silly

and yeah ill come pick you up on saturday for lunch?

[Greenbean] 11:15 PM

sorry making instant noodles rn but yeah that sounds fine

wait youre sleeping so early lmfao

[Satoru] 11:16 PM

im old :/

  [Greenbean] 11:18 PM

u sure are

(image sent)

look!!! my babies are still alive!!! idk how but miracles do exist im tellin ya

[Satoru] 11:24 PM

inumaki, maki, and fushiguro broke into ur home to water them but dont tell them i told u

[Greenbean] 11:24 PM

wtf

[Satoru] 11:25 PM

yeah idk when but i think u teaching inumaki how to pick locks has opened up too many possibilities but also its really funny thanks

now go to sleep u need to rest

[Greenbean] 11:28 PM

whos gonna make me lol youre not my dad

[Satoru] 11:29 PM

lol 

remember how i can teleport 

lol so cool

[Greenbean] 11:30 PM

dude

wtf

fine 

goodnight hoe </3

[Satoru] 11:31 PM

goodnight knock off poison ivy <3

.

“You’ve looked better,” Shoko says. Satoru raises his head wearily as he pushes off the wall. Shoko’s holding a cup of coffee, her lab coat fresh on her shoulders and eye bags looking more printed on rather than natural swelling. Satoru can’t help but feel the same exhaustion. “Definitely looked worse. What do you want? It’s early.”

“Have you ever heard of Hanahaki disease?” he asks. She shakes her head, and he pulls up the page on his phone and hands it to her. She takes it from him and her eyes scan the screen as he continues, “It’s this fictional disease, something that stems from unrequited love, and I think it could be related to whatever she’s experiencing.”

“I thought you were set on willing her to survive,” she replies dryly, shooting him a quick look and adjusting the coffee in her hand. “But this is definitely one of your stranger theories.”

Satoru ignores that last part. “It’d make sense. With her Cursed Technique, maybe it manifested in a way that links to it.”

She pushes into the office, setting the coffee on her desk and sitting down. Satoru sits down on the exam table closest and leans forward eagerly as she continues to read the page, scrolling down occasionally before scrolling back up and sighing. “This is a stretch. The timeline doesn’t match up to what this is saying.”

“This is a curse. It doesn’t have to follow fiction.” His body feels sore, janky even, everywhere. He barely got a wink of sleep last night and he knows he’s paying for it, now. “Hell knows life rarely does, anyway. But the symptoms matches too well, doesn’t it? The flowers—you’ve done scans, haven’t you?”

She deliberates his words carefully as she looks to the file cabinet and pulls out a binder. Satoru catches a flash of your name on the spine before she moves her coffee and his phone out of the way to flip it open.

“The scans we’ve taken have only just begun to show small growths in her trachea,” she allows, “and we don’t fully understand how cursed energy affects our bodies, so I suppose it could be something like Hanahaki, if the negative energy stemming from December 24th was what brought this on or if these symptoms started when we were still students, but she’s been experiencing shortness of breath a few months before Christmas.” Satoru’s lungs squeeze the last of the air out of them at that, and a cold sweat drops down his spine as she hands his phone back to him. “It only started getting worse Suguru’s death, which meant there had to have been a trigger before that.”

In the back of his head, he hears your voice, light and yellow, saying a few weeks. It got worse a few weeks ago. 

“Worse?”

“The first petal fell some time after Christmas. It’s been a slow, but steady progression since then. Sometimes, it’s two or three. When it’s not a good day, there can be as many as seven to ten.” Shoko switches on the lamp on the corner of her desk and adjusting the direction of the white light before flipping the page. “But if we can find the original trigger and alleviate that pressure it’s putting on her, we could buy her more time.”

“So it’s been nearly six months since the first petal,” he says. Shoko nods. Satoru is grateful for the blindfold—she can’t see how blank everything looks on his face. “It said sometimes, the disease can last for eighteen months.”

“As you said, this isn’t a fairytale.” She half-spins on her chair to face him and leans back into it, crossing one leg over the other and jiggling her knee. “I saw that one of the solutions is excise the growths at the cost of the attachment. That was one of the options I gave her when the growths first appeared. She said she wanted more time before she could decide.”

He frowned. “Why?”

“Because she’s smart, and likes to push her damned limits. And if this is truly the basis of the curse”—she gestures to Satoru’s phone. Her expression flickers—“those flowers are feeding off cursed energy. Cutting them out would remove those negative emotions, but at a cost of something else. Maybe whatever feelings she has regarding the trigger.”

Satoru looks down at his phone. It feels heavier than a thousand cinderblocks in his clammy hands. His fingers are numb as his screen dims and finally locks itself. Pressing the button, it illuminates again to reveal a picture of a cactus you gave him for his birthday years ago, blooming with delicate purple petals. 

His heart rends. That cactus is long dead now.

“But, Suguru’s dead.” 

“That’s why I asked you to ask her,” Shoko mutters. 

Turning to her binder again, she picks up a pen and clicks it, lowering it to the paper before pausing, and Satoru looks up as she stares at whatever words are printed into the page distantly. A strange affliction is on her face, almost tormented, and Satoru is not-so-kindly reminded that before Suguru and Satoru, Shoko was your best friend first. 

“Tell her how idiotic she’s being,” she enforces quietly. “The longer it lives, the more permanent damage is inflicted. With the unpredictable nature of curses, that won’t take long and by then, it’ll be too late to consider removing it.”

.

Saturday comes too fast, yet not fast enough. By the end of the week, Satoru is all but finished with teaching, and is waiting outside your apartment, leaning against the car as he scrolls through his phone. He’s done a bit more research on this Hanahaki disease, but even the word makes him shiver with the implications. 

“Satoru!” Turning, he catches you loping easily towards him. You’re dressed in billowy, wide-legged dark mint green pants and a pretty white top that makes you look more nymph than human, with a canvas tote bag hanging off your shoulder. You flash him a smile as you fiddle with the fabric tie at the waistband of your pants nervously. “Hi.”

“Hey. Hope you don’t mind I brought Ijichi along for the ride since someone claims I can’t drive.”

“You don’t have your license, sir,” Ijichi says wearily as you bend over to wave through the window. "It would be illegal for you to be on the road in any capacity—oh, hello, ma’am. It’s nice to see you doing so well.”

“Thanks, Ijichi. I think I’m doing better after getting out of there,” you say as Satoru opens the car door for you and he smirks, eyes crinkling behind his sunglasses. You straighten up, looking at him before poking his chest and it’s almost just like the good ole days as you break out into a grin that crinkles your entire face. “What’s with you being a gentleman? It better not be because I was in the hospital.”

“Of course not,” he admonishes. “I wouldn’t dare dream of being polite to you of all people.” Still, he sidesteps and sweeps his arm, gesturing for you to climb in first which you do, exhaling a bit shakily as you settle in and slide over. By the time he’s settled in beside you, you have a fist over your lips and you’re clearing your throat testily.

A worm of unease wriggles into his stomach as he clips in his seatbelt, pulling the lapels of his unbuttoned green shirt free from the strap. Legs spreading, he lets his hands fold in his lap as Ijichi begins to drive them to their destination. You’ve lowered your hand by now, looking out the window, and it’s not bright enough that Satoru can read your expression on the glass.

It’s clear you don’t want to talk about it, but still, that nagging feeling bites at him as he rolls the divider up between the backseat and the front—a mock of privacy.

“The place we’re going to gives me the same vibe as that family-owned restaurant we went to when we were students. The one in Kagurazaka,” you say after a while, turning back to look at him. You’re wearing a bracelet that jangles when you move your hand to adjust the seatbelt across your chest. “I think you’ll like it.”

“Have you been?”

“One time, before I checked in,” you tell him, smiling still. “It was really good. The perfect last meal.” Satoru does well enough to hide his frown at your choice of words as you meet his eyes. “You know, you can ask. I’m not fragile.”

“I don’t have anything to ask,” he lies. “I’m just glad you’re out of the hospital.”

“Me, too. I’ve missed so much and it drove me insane. Yaga-sensei insists that I don’t work until I’m sure I’m feeling better,” you add. “But to be honest, there’s nothing much that can be done to make me feel better.”

“I see. So you’re still coughing up flowers?”

“Petals,” you correct, “and a bit. Don’t worry. It’ll get better soon.” You wave a hand and turn to look out the window and Satoru’s appetite all but vanishes. He doesn’t know why you’re so intent on lying to him about the severity of your condition, but as your knee jiggles relentlessly the whole car ride with unbridled excitement, he wonders if you’re even aware of how sick you could be. 

His Six Eyes scan your body for signs of a curse. Normally, those plagued have their little burdens hanging off their shoulders, prying their head open, biting into an arm or leg, but he finds yours lives inside your chest, just barely hidden by the yellow light brimming from your body as you reach forward to lower the divider and talk to Ijichi.

They reach Ikebukuro before they’re dropped off after Satoru insists on walking the rest of the way.

“Give us some privacy, Ijichi! We both know you’ll just eavesdrop for the juicy details,” he exclaims loudly, leading to the man to blush furiously, stuttering that he’d do no such thing, and earning Satoru a smack on the back of his head, knocking his sunglasses askew.

“Thanks for the ride, Ijichi,” you say warmly as if you hadn’t slapped a concussion into Satoru. The Assistant Director dips his head. “See you later!” With that, he drives off and the two sorcerers are left in the busy street. Satoru looks around curiously, but you tug him along up the main road of the district and immediately turn right into one of the smaller streets. A few cyclists race past, as well as cars, but the traffic seems relatively slow despite it being the weekend. There are people walking along the white lines separating the lanes, chatting merrily as you lead him to the restaurant.

“I forgot how actual sunlight felt,” you sigh, stretching your arms high above your head as if to touch the wind breezing through. Inhaling deeply, you close your eyes. Satoru waits for you to begin to cough, and you hold it in, throat tensing a bit. 

He looks away, and pretends he doesn’t hear your sharp exhale, the soft cough you try to muffle with your hand. Instead, he looks at their surroundings, traces the green roads, watches a man park his bicycle and take the plastic bags out of the basket before rushing into a store. The air smells faintly of smoke, and Satoru waves in front of his face to see if it’ll help dispel the scent, but it’s so engrained with the hint of meat, honey, sweets, and flowers, that he can’t.

“I saw Suguru here once,” you tell him suddenly. He blinks, head snapping to you, and you’re already regarding him with a faint smile, eyes a bit dimmer. The warm yellow energy has faded to a burnt orange as you look ahead. “A year or two after he left. It’s why I moved closer a few years ago. I guess I had this weird hope that I’d see him again, but I never really did.” A faint grin graces your lips again, as if you’re not even aware you’re smiling. Fondness overtakes you. “I think about him a lot these days.”

“Me, too.”

“Of course,” you chuckle a bit, rubbing at the back of your neck. “I’m being insensitive.” 

“No, you’re not. He meant a lot to you, too. I don’t own him, or his memory.”

“I know, but he was still your best friend.” Unbidden, a voice in Satoru’s voice finishes it for you. My one and only. 

“Did you guys talk about anything?”

“Not really anything important,” you say, shrugging, but by the way your eyes shift in the light, glimmer differently, he knows you’re lying. He knows it’s none of his business, but a part of him hungers for new parts of Suguru and it’s powerful enough to take control of his tongue.

“Nothing’s not important. He was a wanted criminal.”

“I think we both know somehow that part never mattered to us.” You look at him, and run a thumb under the strap of your bag. “To any of us. But…” You tilt your head to him and your smile grows tender. “…since you asked, we talked about us. He told me about what he wanted, the kind of world he was determined to create. He paid for my dinner, kissed me goodnight like it was normal, and then he was gone. Never saw him again until last December.”

It shouldn’t sting as much as it does. 

He remembers that day ten years ago in Shinjuku. The coldness in which Suguru had looked at him. He can’t imagine that same poison directed at you. He couldn’t even imagine Suguru looking at him like that in the first place until he did.

“Are you the strongest because you’re Gojo Satoru or are you Gojo Satoru because you’re the strongest?”

“I used to have nightmares about it,” you continue distantly. “Because I could’ve left with him, but I didn’t. And I could’ve killed him, but I didn’t do that either.”

“If you want to kill me, kill me. There’s meaning in that, too.”

Satoru’s chest tightens. His heart feels rotten to the core. “I didn’t, either, until I did.” You smile a bit more, at the irony. “Would you? Have gone with him, that is.”

“I didn’t, so what’s the point in debating it?” you ask before shrugging thoughtlessly and answering anyway. “I think tackling curses at the source is important. I just didn’t like the way he was doing it. If I thought I could somehow change his mind, just a bit, on his methods, maybe, but by then, he was too far gone.” 

Your eyes, chips of glinting sunstone, mellow as a cyclist trills at them with a bell to get out of the way. You step out of the way, away from Satoru for a moment, before returning to him, and when the back of his hand brushes yours, he’s startled at how cold your skin is. 

Satoru is quiet as he absorbs all of this. He doesn’t really know what to say, and you don’t prod him for a reaction as they turn the corner again. 

“It’s just over there,” you say, pointing to a small restaurant, people milling by the door. There’s a sign hanging over the door, off-white with black kanji painted on and your arm falls. “There’s a line. Huh.”

“We can wait,” Satoru says when they stop at the edge of the crowd. “I don’t mind.”

“Okay. I’ll go put our names in then come back.” You disappear into the crowd for a moment before resurfacing and joining his side again, something in your hand. “It should be, like, fifteen minutes. I said the bar was okay.”

“That’s fine.” Shoving his sunglasses up into his hair, he cracks his knuckles and migrates to the wall. You follow, and he slouches against the concrete pillar. You adjust the tote bag against your body and lean against the other side just around the corner. Their elbows brush, and you tilt your head to look at him, smiling. Your face has caught the sun perfectly, and Satoru can’t help but smile back.

He wonders how to bring up this Hanahaki disease theory. You look so perfect, so happy in this moment where their eyes meet, that he can’t bring it up. Maybe it’s selfish, but it feels like it’s been so long since the two of them even managed to see each other for more than an hour. With how overworked jujutsu sorcerers are, it’s hard to recall the last time they both had downtime at the same time that wasn’t spent catching up on sleep.

You look away, shoulders shaking, as if that’s enough to hide your coughing, and he thinks, Later. There’ll be time for that later.

“Here’s the menu,” you tell him once you’ve calmed down, extending your hand. He takes the paper, unfolding it as you cross your arms and tilt your head back on the concrete. Reading down the list, he keeps an eye on you out of the corner of his vision, and your fingers play at your lips as you swallow. Reaching into your bag, you twist the cap of a water bottle and chug half of it down.

“Do you have any medicine? For your coughing?” he asks casually. You hit your chest with a firm fist, clearing your throat and looking at him in surprise. The water bottle returns to your bag.

“Oh, uh, no. It doesn’t work. Just gotta keep hydrated and avoid any possible triggers,” you inform. You turn up the street as you speak, crossing your legs at the ankles and sinking against the concrete. 

“And what are those triggers?”

“And you say Ijichi is the one digging for gossip,” you snort with short, choked huff. Satoru rolls his eyes, but keeps looking at the menu. “Don’t worry about it. I’m avoiding them.”

“That’s reassuring.”

“If I wanted your dry wit, I would’ve gone to the original.”

“I don’t copy off Shoko. I take bits of everyone’s personality and twist it to make it my own.”

You shake your head. “Whatever you say.”

Your name is called a few minutes later and the pair push off the concrete pillar, heading through the crowd and into the small restaurant. It’s not too dimly lit, a bunch of natural light from the street streaming in through the open windows, and the air is rich with the smells of the kitchen as they sit down at the bar.

It’s not long before they’ve ordered, and Satoru has gone through his first bowl and is well into pouring his second into what remains of his broth before he remembers to even check up on how you’re doing. You’d been right—he loves this place. The atmosphere isn’t overly loud, but the mumbling of nearby patrons is enough to make him feel like he isn’t quite alone. It’s sheltered away from the world, and although he’s used to girls staring, no one has gone up to him which is giving him time to his own thoughts and food. Everyone here seems to mind their business—everyone likes to stay in their own bubble. 

Here, he isn’t the strongest, or quite so special. It honestly feels kind of nice.

You’re sipping on your broth, tilting the spoon towards your mouth and your lips are pulled into the warmest smile he’s seen since they were kids. The light’s hitting you just perfect again, more cool than warm, but it’s got you on the cheekbone, illuminated your lips. Satoru wonders if you know how to manipulate light, or if that’s just your natural blessing as you tilt your head towards him, eyes squinting from your own joy.

For a moment, another image flashes in his head. Him along the end of their group of four—you and Shoko, Suguru and Satoru. It’s almost poetry how much of a glimpse he can see in your smile. You would always be laughing, and Suguru’s cheeks would always be red, and Shoko would charm the guy over the counter to hand over a bottle of shochu. Satoru would tease his stupid best friend, and pay for their meal because “I’m friends with a bunch of goddamn freeloaders.”

But that moment ends as quickly as it came, and it’s so fucking heartbreaking that Satoru never thought their last meal together would be their last meal together. He would’ve cherished it more—done anything to make them stay in that ramen shop in Kagurazaka.

“Do you like it here?” you ask. 

He blinks. You’re studying him behind that smile of yours. Watching. Always watching. “It reminds me of when we were kids,” he replies. When he realizes that didn’t answer the question, he adds, “Yeah. Yeah, I do.”

You grin, delighted. “If I knew how stupid you’d look sucking up these noodles, I would’ve brought my camera like when we were students. I still have it, you know.”

“Next time, then.”

“Yeah, next time.”

Satoru pays. He insists despite your protests, and snatches the bill from you anyway, swiping his card as quickly as he can. 

After, they walk slowly around the district, looking at the other restaurants and stores for desserts or souvenirs to bring back, and it makes him so nostalgic, his heart wilts a bit in his chest. 

He is saying something about buying some soymilk for Megumi when you stop suddenly, deviating to the side of the road to cough. It grows so intense so quickly that your eyes widen as if you’re surprised, too, and you place a palm flat against your chest as he comes to your side. You wave him back, and he frowns, running a hand down your back as you finally manage to dislodge the petals in your throat and spit them into your palm.

Satoru sighs, staring at the cursed things. The energy emitted from the petals are raw, potent, and his nose wrinkles at the stench that comes from powerful curses as he softly asks, “Do you know what Hanahaki is?”

“Flower vomiting?” you whisper through your raw vocal cords. You shake your head, slamming your sternum with a tight fist and flinging the drenched petals to the ground with a wet slap. “Itadori… said something about it, once. Never really paid attention, I—”

Satoru squeezes the back of your neck gently. “Whatever this curse is, it could be something like that.“

“You don’t want to open that can of worms, Gojo, of what is causing this.” Straightening up, your eyes widen and your cheeks puff up as you choke down another bout. Wobbly, you spit out, “It’s under control. I swear.”

“Are you sure?” His fingers brush your chin to turn your face towards him so he can look at it more clearly, and the instant their eyes meet, you lurch over, slapping his hand away and succumbing to the wracking. Hands shooting out to grab your elbows, Satoru barely eases you to the ground as your legs give in.

You collapse to your knees, hard. A hand is slapped over your mouth but your whole body shakes with the seizing of your lungs. Eyes widening, your cheeks puff up as Satoru grabs your shoulders, falling to his knees beside you.

“Hey! Hey, breathe!” His fingers dig into your shoulders and your nostrils flare, trying to follow his instructions. Bloodshot eyes and blueing lips, your inhales are shaking and incomplete, gasps for air that do not take in any oxygen before you’re kneeling over, hand falling from your lips. Blood splattered over your palm, you let out a low noise of pain. Satoru’s hand glides down your spine, rubbing in soothing circles as red spit falls to the pavement in thick globs. 

People all around stop to stare, eyes masked with concern, but he can’t care less at that moment despite the burning scrutiny. He shoves a hand into his pocket, speed-dialling one of the top numbers of his list.

“Ijichi, I need you to take us to the hospital, now!” Letting his phone drop with a clatter, he scoops you close but you slam your bloody hand against his chest, pushing him away. You throw yourself away, hands twisted tight in the fabric of your white shirt and Satoru looks down at the red handprint on his tee before blinking. “What are you doing? We need to get—“

“I’m—I’m fine!” Your voice, broken, is drenched with ice as you continue to wheeze, grasping at your chest as if you could reach and tear out the growths with your own hand. “Gojo, I’m fine!”

“No, you’re not!” Grabbing his phone, he hears a loud car horn, and looks up to see Ijichi leaning out of the driver’s seat, waving his arm frantically. Without another thought, he scoops you up and runs out into the street, ignoring the tires screeching, the cars horns blaring at him and the angry shouts as he jumps into the car and slam the door shut. 

Ijichi sets off at a drive, no directions needed. Satoru is sure he’s breaking as many laws as he can as he pushes you back against the seat to buckle you in. Blood dribbles down your lips in bubbles as a thick, gurgling sound begins to grow in your throat and he wipes at your chin with his sleeve, clicking the buckle into place just as you pitch forward. He jerks back just in time as you retch, and, slowly, torturously, you gag out three petals, one after another. Your fingers claw at your own throat, panicking and desperate as you struggle to breathe.

The petals fall in wet pools between your feet, landing on the carpet, and he spares them not even a glance before forcing your head between your knees. You’re still hyperventilating and as Satoru sweeps a hand down your back and up to your neck, his fingers come into contact with something sticky. 

Sweat. It drenches through your shirt so suddenly that Satoru reels at the wet marks spreading through your shirt, making the fabric translucent. Your heart is racing, tripping over itself. When you finally stop coughing, you breathe in harsh pants as he keeps your head between your knees.

Your fingers lace at the back of your head and he grabs them firmly, reassuring that he’s still beside you. 

.

“She’s stable,” Shoko announces to the waiting Satoru and six students. The latter came when their teacher had told them of what happened, and Itadori still clings to Fushiguro’s arm by an iron hand, fingers clawlike into his friend’s bicep. Kugisaki chews on her thumbnail, a bit paler than usual and there are crescent indents along her forearm where she had dug her nails in. Maki’s hand rests on her shoulder. Inumaki’s on the phone with Panda, and he turns the screen around so he can see the Strongest Sorcerer who does not feel quite so strong.

Satoru’s assurances that you would be fine had done nothing but send them into a quiet that scared even him. 

“Is she okay? When can she get out?” the kids demand suddenly.

“We’re waiting for the updates on her scans from the doctors, but she’ll need to stay here under observation.”

Satoru runs a hand through his hair, smiling in a way that doesn’t reach his eyes. “Guess that means she gets a few more days off while the rest of us are working our asses off,” he teases. Maki shoots him a glare and his eyes close in a way he hopes arranges his expression in one of joy as he shrugs helplessly. “Well, that means I have another girl I have to spoil.”

“Aren’t you too busy with the four already blowing up your phone?” Kugisaki mutters sourly. Satoru pretends not to hear. His phone has been silent without your texts, and it’s cold and heavy in his pocket.

“Can we see her?” Fushiguro asks. Shoko nods, but holds up a hand and the kids skid to a stop.

“She’s resting. I’m unsure if you know, but certain topics of conversation or trains of thought can lead to more attacks, so stick to talking about your curriculum. Topics you think are safe.” The woman shifts on her feet, a wisp of brown hair swaying in front of her eye. “It’s unavoidable, but use your judgement.”

“Yes, ma’am.” The students walk off down to the dead-end hallway, and Satoru turns to Shoko who has her arms crossed over her chest. She steps up, scanning him like he’s got contraband, and he raises his eyebrows innocently.

“What?”

“It’s getting worse. I hope you managed to get answers,” she says. At once, Satoru’s facade drops, and a sober sensation overtakes his face.

“No, I didn’t. She’s heard of the disease, at least. We talked about Suguru, but it wasn’t like it was under lock and key.” The brunette shakes her head at his words, gesturing for him to sit down beside her. Doing so, he leans back into the uncomfortable chair as she crosses a leg over the other. “She said she thinks about him a lot.”

“She still loves him,” Shoko says bluntly. “She gets that far-off look when she talks about him. You two should trade secrets some time.” A shake of her head, and she tucks a strand of hair behind her ear. “I healed what damage I could, but I can tell those growths inside are expanding. The attack only seems to have agitated and prompted them to take root.”

“How…” It’s hard to formulate the question. Luckily, Shoko knows him well enough.

“Without seeing the scans, I won’t know. Based on her last ones, I thought at least four months. Now?” Her lips press into a thin line. “She’ll be lucky if she gets two.” Shoko’s eyes flicker down Satoru’s front, and her lips press into a wry line. “And change you shirt. You look like a murder suspect.”

Glancing down, he looks at your dried bloody hand print, stark against white, and he gets up abruptly. Shoko doesn’t stop him.

He walks down to the dead-end hall. He can hear Itadori through your open door cracking jokes, Kugisaki relaying every detail of her shopping trips, and you’re wheezing your laughter despite Maki scolding you to save your strength. Satoru stops just outside your door, out of sight, and rests his head against the frame, content to just listen.

“Tuna mayo.”

“Is that right?” you ask Inumaki. “Lay it on me.” 

You sound exhausted, beaten to the bone, but still, when Fushiguro says something too quiet for him to make out, you still have the strength to tease him for worrying.

.

The night is warm, and he sets the last plant back into its place on your window sill before cracking the window a bit at your request. He’s busied himself making this place as homely as possible as quickly as possible, and in the process, had walked in on you staring at your own scans on the lightscreen mounted on your wall.

“Thanks, Satoru,” you say over your shoulder. He joins you by your side to stare at the scans. Granted, Satoru didn’t cheat his way through medschool like others have, so he doesn’t understand much, but he can tell what is and what isn’t supposed to be there. The floral-like growths situated right where the main bronchi meet the trachea, for one.

The roots spreading across your chest like cracks in concrete, for another.

“The doctors want to monitor this,” you explain, pointing at the roots, “to see whether or not it’ll grow around my lungs or continue outward, around the ribs and spine. If it’s the former, I’ll slowly suffocate and die. If it’s the latter, I’ll slowly suffocate, become paralyzed, and die.” You smile grimly. “Not quite a win-win.”

“Exactly the opposite.” He inspects the growths and through the blue-white-black imaging, he spots the tiny stems emerging from the main growth, sprouting into your lungs. He guesses, with time, those will grow into flowers of equal size before sprouting more shoots.

He wonders…

As if sensing his hesitance, you scratch your collarbone and look at the scans with a new glint.

“The doctors say if I avoid another attack like today, I’ll probably have two months, three if I’m blessed, but because of how big the growths have gotten already and its volatile nature, it’ll be impossible, so we’re looking at a month. Maybe a month-and-a-half?” You smile at him, throat bobbing. “Guess it’s good to have a number,” you add shakily, a short puff coming at the end of each breath as you struggle to fight the cough. “Being a sorcerer, too much uncertainty, I think.”

“You should tell Nanami that. Maybe this time, it’ll convince him to stay away,” he retorts, turning away from the scans. They’re burning his eyes and he doesn’t want to look at the real thing for much longer. You turn with him, walking back towards bed and climbing in. “Are you sure you don’t want the operation? Shoko could do it so fast you wouldn’t feel a thing.”

“No, not yet. There are some complications that’ll definitely occur and I don’t want that to happen.”

“But it would save your life,” he argues. “What risks are frightening enough that you’d even consider not having it?” Your gaze flickers as you take another wheezing breath. The strength seems sapped from your limbs—you’re a scarecrow hanging off its pole as you swallow tightly. Satoru leans against your window sill and crosses his arms over his chest so you can’t see the frustrated fists he wants to make. “If this is about Suguru…”

Resolutely: “It isn’t.”

“You’re going to die if you keep going down this road. I don’t understand why you’re hesitating.” In the back of his mind, klaxons begin to scream.

“Satoru, some things are just beyond logical reason.” He jerks his gaze away, pushing his glasses up his nose pointedly. You sigh. “I know it’s hard, but this is my choice. I just want you to be here so you know it’s okay.” 

Your hand stretches out. Blue eyes flash to your outstretched fingers and he takes it before he can stop himself. Your fingers curl over his palm, tugging him closer and he lets you, sneakers dragging over the tile until he’s sliding into the chair by your bed. It squeaks against the tile.

“Please don’t be angry with me.” That’s all. That’s all I ask.

A hard, heavy sigh, this time from his end. He tightens his hold on you as you sit there, smiling hopefully. His heart thunders in his chest. “I’m not angry.”

You perk up a bit, and his index finger unfurls to rub your wrist. It feels colder than normal. “Promise?”

He wishes he could lie half as well as you. Either way, he tries his hardest: “Promise.”

By the time it’s quarter past nine, you’re already getting ready to sleep. You have enough pillows to surround your entire body, and he fluffs them up, helps you arrange them until you’re sighing against the white sheets, burrowing in with a sedated smile on your face.

Satoru sits down again on his visitor’s chair and you watch him lazily through the dim orange light stemming from behind your bed.

“You don’t have to stay here and watch me, creep,” you mumble, turning your face away to stare at the ceiling. You cough dryly, but it subsides moments later. Your voice is nothing but a croak as you let out a tired groan, and Satoru smiles to himself, cheek to his fist. 

“I feel robbed of our afternoon together. Making up for it now.”

You look at him again incredulously. “We’re not even doing anything.”

“I don’t know when you were told that every second of us being together had to be us doing something,” he huffs. “I like being in here. Isn’t that enough?”

“It’s too much. You’re annoying me.” Even so, your voice turns fond as you roll onto your side, away from him to settle in to sleep and Satoru’s warm gaze lands on your shoulder gently rising and falling as you slowly drift off. 

He already knows you’re gone by the time he’s standing up and gathering his jacket. Walking around the bed, he glances at the bathroom to check the light’s off and catches a glimpse of his shirt. A coil wraps around his gut at the muddy red handprint pressed into the fabric and he turns away to look at you instead.

Your face is in perfect peace, half-buried into a pillow you’re hugging into your chest, and he only soaks in those features. His hand twitches, and his infinity wavers as he raises his hand as if to touch you. Your eyelids flutter and he freezes, fearing he might’ve woken you up, but you only mumble incoherently and turn into your pillow.

Satoru watches on silently just as a breeze sweeps into the room and he looks up where the window he had cracked open. The breeze takes hold of the plants, uplifts them until they sway like a tender dance. 

His chest begins to hurt. The smell of the antiseptic is starting to sting, so he moves his hand to the light switch instead. Flicking it off, he turns to leave.

.

Every time Satoru walks down to the end of the hallway, a different memory will play in his head until he’s playing a movie over and over every single day. Of the first time he met you, although that one is blurry. Your sixteenth birthday when the four of them had piled into your dorm room to drink themselves stupid.

One-and-a-half weeks go by before he realizes that he only replays the moments where you feature. Like his brain is preparing him, reminding him. For what, he doesn’t know. 

He can’t come every day—considering the low number of sorcerers has been taken down by one more, it means besides teaching, he still has to work for the Higher Ups as well as his own personal agenda—but when he does make it, he always makes sure that he soaks in every second. Even the horrible parts. Maybe, especially the horrible parts.

You have scans taken every other day to monitor your progress, so when he arrives at an empty room, he isn’t surprised. It’s when there’s movement in the bathroom that sends his nerves prickling until he catches a slab of golden hair and reading glasses flashing in the sunlight.

“Nanami,” he greets.

“Good afternoon.” His jacket’s off and his sleeves are rolled up. With a quick sweep of the room, Satoru notes that the windows are cracked open and the aforementioned jacket is folded over a chair sat in a square of sunlight.

“Do we need to be so formal?” he complains, bypassing the bathroom and searching for another chair. The one Nanami’s taken by the plants is still warm and Satoru isn’t keen on the idea of sweating so soon. During his search, he stops by the windowsill and his eyebrows rise curiously at the new plants and trash bin pressed up right underneath. “What’s happening here?”

“We were planting new seeds when she had to be taken for her scans. She insisted I finish potting the plants.” Noting the empty terracotta, Satoru bends over and prods at the moist dirt. “I have to go soon, though. I had hoped it wouldn’t take as long as it did and she would be back by now.”

“They started taking MRI scans when the branches continued to grow outward rather than inward,” Satoru informs. “It takes around forty-five minutes, on top of the CT scans they’re taking, too. That’s if she doesn’t start coughing in the middle of it.” 

“I’m guessing she does.” Nanami adjusts the glasses on his nose, wiping at his hands free of the last of whatever dirt might’ve been clinging to his hands.

“Yup.”

“I see.” Satoru looks at the plants again. The blond man across the room throws the towel into the dirty clothes basket.“Has she… spoken to you of what to do with her effects?”

Gaze hardening, he doesn’t move at the question. Of course, he’s thought about it, but those bouts of weakness have never been longer than a few minutes. There’s no use in wasting time on a reality that won’t come until it does.

Hopefully, it never does.

“I’m so sick of everyone talking like she’s signed a death sentence,” Satoru murmurs, turning around to look at the blond man at the door to the washroom. “She still has time. Not a lot. It’s not convenient, but it should be enough.”

“She’s already considered the benefits of taking the surgery, and yet she actively decides to postpone it. You know she’s stalling,” comes the steady reply.

“And what about you?” Satoru asks. His words are biting, icy, but Nanami seems unfazed as he begins to loop the tie around his neck. “Would you do it?” Blue eyes meet a stoic face, and the coldness seeps into Satoru’s body. Nanami sighs.

A part of Satoru wonders why he even bothered asking. He already knows the answer—

“No.” Eyebrows shoot up. His mouth drops open and a strangled noise escapes his throat. Nanami merely continues on, quiet as death. “Perhaps it’s because I’m willing to accept my death, but, to be honest, I don’t know how to let any part of Haibara go. I’ve accepted it, but he’s still in my heart and my head.” Lips parting, Satoru takes a step forward as Nanami slants his body away, continuing to fold the fabric into a tie. He looks statuesque, unmovable, and something tightens in Satoru’s throat at the stone-like mask taking over his face. “I’m unwilling to do anything to taint that memory.”

Wordlessly, the blond walks over to Satoru to take his jacket from the chair, rolling down his sleeves and slapping his watch back onto his wrist. Standing less than two feet apart, the two men finally meet eyes.

“Gojo,” Nanami murmurs. “I can’t say I understand your burden, but I am by your side. I do not always agree with your choices, but I still respect them. As your kouhai and as your colleague.” His lips pull in a facsimile of a wry smile and there’s an understanding Satoru doesn’t understand haunting his handsome face. “However, she is your friend before mine. I think your opinion matters much more than mine. Don’t abuse that power.”

Satoru’s eyes nearly reflect in the lenses of Nanami’s glasses. He wishes his friend would take the damn pair off. 

In truth, the reason he’s so irritated is because he knows. If he insists enough, begs enough, there will always be a chance that he can convince you. That you will give in, not because you are selfless, but maybe because you’re too selfish to let him stay mad at you.

An unstoppable force meets an immovable object, and sometimes, the force wins.

But he’d promised, hadn’t he? To not be angry with the choices you’ve made?

“Jeez, it’s somber in here. Who died?” you tease as Shoko pushes the wheelchair in after you. Both men look away from each other. You’re still walking steadily, but an IV is hooked into your chest now, and it’s so obvious you’ve lost unhealthy weight that looking at you is hard sometimes. Satoru does, anyway. 

Noting Nanami, you straighten up. Surprised, but pleased: “You’re still here.”

“I was just leaving,” he says. You frown, but don’t protest. A jujutsu sorcerer’s work is never finished until one stops breathing. “I finished planting the seeds you asked me to, and watered them.”

“Thank you.” He dips his head to you, then to Shoko, before departing, and you watch him go for a moment before your eyes land on Satoru and you smile. The air around you shifts immediately to a vibrant yellow. 

“You’re early, Satoru.” You head towards the bed as Shoko parks the wheelchair by the door. “It took way longer than I thought.”

“That’s because you threw up pistils today,” Shoko replies dryly. Satoru straightens up and looks at Shoko more carefully. Placid lookimg—usual for his mortician friend in the jujutsu world—but there’s a blanching in her knuckles that isn’t usual. “The CT wasn’t good. You know that.”

“Well, it’s still more time than I could’ve asked for, you know.” Shoko shakes her head, and meets his eyes before leaving the room, presumably to talk to your doctors. “Party pooper.”

“First day knowing Shoko?”

You laugh sarcastically, adjusting the hospital gown on your body before climbing into bed slowly, as if your joints ache. Satoru’s feet shift on the tile when he realizes his body moves to help and he freezes. You’re breathing audibly by the time you settle in and you meet his eyes, wondering if he’s noticed.

Of course he has, he wants to tell you. He notices everything about you.

Then, you sigh, and the yellow energy around you flickers into something darker, something grey, something that reminds him of summer thunderstorms.

“The roots have reached the edge of my rib cage and are encroaching on my stomach now,” you inform bluntly. “I probably won’t be able to keep food down in the next couple of days so they’re going to up the ante on this thing.” You gesture to the catheter by your clavicle. “So that’s not really fun. And, they want to start taking scans every single day because the growth is increasing exponentially. The doctors think something triggered the flowers to begin blooming in earnest. Like spring has come to my body, and I’m having the worst fucking time of my life.”

Despite your admission, your smile only falters in that it no longer reaches your eyes. Satoru shoves his hands in his pockets because he doesn’t know what else to do.

The word Hanahaki still burns, whispers coyly in his ear. It teases the tip of his tongue as he watches you look to your windowsill where your new plants are and get up, walking over to inspect your friend’s work.

He wonders if he can bring it up again. If he can insist that there’s a way to save you—

But Nanami’s words linger, too, and he bites his tongue until he tastes iron. 

“Oh, look.” He blinks at your voice, turning to look. Your fingers sink into one of the pots and before he can ask, blue energy flares up around your hand and into the soil and a shoot breaks through the dirt, unfurling as it grows higher and higher into the air.

“What is it?” Petals are beginning to form, the shade of a warm, gentle red that fades in shade as it reaches the stem. Satoru comes up next to you as the first flower blooms and his eyebrows rise. “Tulips. Huh.”

“I used to love them,” you tell him, picking it off and extending it to him. Eyebrows furrowing in surprise, he takes it as you sink your fingers deeper into the soil, sending more cursed energy into the seeds. More stems to replace the one you had picked continue to grow and you pull your hand out, wiping at your fingers with a towel.

Satoru tilts the flower towards his nose, taking a whiff.

“Used to?” he repeats, and you nod.

“Trees and flowers have their own language.” Your eyes do not meet his as you watch the plant continue to grow. Your muscles go slack, and your fingers touch the petals, mind not quite aware of how you’re moving. “Red tulips mean eternal love, and fame.”

Blinking, he looks down at his own bloom. 

Suguru. He hears you say his name, even in the silence, and remembers years ago, walking through Tokyo. A neighbourhood he doesn’t remember, his best friend looking at the florist’s shop and immediately perking up to head inside and buy a bouquet after something had caught his eye.

“For a girl,” he had admitted sheepishly. 

“Only one?” Satoru asked, horrified. “You can’t settle down! We’re meant for so many more women than just one!”

A sharp nudge to the ribs. Raucous laughter. “Shut up!”

Quietly, Satoru’s fingers tighten around the stalk as you tilt your head to the sun, inspecting something he won’t understand. He doesn’t have a green thumb, and although you say you aren’t the smartest, he’s seen you grow the college’s gardens in a way that has amplified the beauty already lingering on the grounds. You had dismissed it as a little side project, but seeing you water your plants dutifully, spread feed and root out weeds, makes him wonder if you know how to put half-efforts into anything.

When you garden, you never take the easy route. You labour for the satisfaction, and pour sweat and tears into the soil.

When you love, you love with all of yourself and more. 

It’s what makes whatever he wants impossible.

Because he is the same, and they will never change.

When Satoru goes home, he places the tulip in a vase and the cursed energy prickles at his fingertips.

.

You get worse and worse with every visit. 

Each day brings him another raw wound, salt on blood. You slowly grow more and more ragged, even though you stay in the hospital, confined to your room. 

There are days Satoru walks into your room to you hunched over the toilet, spitting blood and flowers into the bowl and vomiting all you ate the night or day or hour before and he already knows what he has to do. A cold, damp rag to your forehead, a crouching stance beside you as your grip on the toilet seat becomes rigid like steel.

Other days, you’re still asleep because the night before, you’d been hacking up half a lung and half a bouquet. Sometimes, you’re curled around a plastic receptacle already full of your half-attempts to dislodge the pressure building in your chest. 

Or, you’re crying into your hands, breath coming in rapid bursts as you try to force your head between your knees to stop the world from spinning and Satoru holds you when you beg him to, and stands in the corner of the room when you push him away.

Afterwards, you always grab onto his sleeves, his arms, and sink against him, shivering. For hours after, he’ll curl around you on your hospital bed, no matter how much his body cramps, until you insist you’re fine.

“It’s a little like touching death,” you told him once, voice raw and fatigued. “When it’s a pretty bad day, and I think I’m going to die alone, it happens, so all I have to do is not think about it.”

There’s a flawed logic there, but Satoru was too busy pressing his nose into your hair and feeling the warmth of your body to reply any more than, “I’ll be there. I promise.”

Two weeks pass (fourteen sets of scans, a different pair hanging from the lightscreen every day tell him that) and Satoru watches as the branches spread through your body, past the reaches of your ribs, and the flowers have spread to your lungs so quickly he’s sure the time for you to decide is running out. 

You’re near-passed out against him on the bathroom floor one evening, and although it’s not closet-sized, it doens’t make the arrangement any less awkward. He’s up against the bathtub, legs sprawled all around you as he holds you in his arms. On the edge of the tub, there is a bar of bodysoap and a bottle of lotion he recognizes as the same one Shoko used to buy when they still had time. Your sink counter is filled with your toothbrush and cup, handsoap and a microfibre towel hanging off the edge smeared with lipstick, foundation, and black streaks of who knows what.

Shoko must have spent the night while he was out hunting a curse in Sendai. Good. He doesn’t like the nights when you’re alone and he can’t be there.

His fingers brush over your shoulder blade, and he travels over something rigid cloaked by your skin. Your eyes are closed, and you’re nearly asleep as you curl deeper against him. Looking down at you, he presses curious fingers into your shoulder blade only for you to let out a soft groan.

“Did that hurt?”

“No. It just feels like you pressed down on a big sore muscle,” you mumble slowly. He trails his fingers over, feels the bumps of the roots curling around your bones before following it towards your spine. It disappears the closer it reaches the trail of knobs that go down your back, and he moves back to your shoulder again. “Doesn’t hurt, though.”

“Does anything?”

“Mostly my stomach,” you tell him. “I’m so hungry all the time, but I can’t eat.” He glances at the IV stand, the only other witness to the events in this bathroom. It leads down through your gown and past your clavicle. Monitored every day in case the growths dislodge it, it’s one of the only things keeping you alive. “And my throat. It feels like I’ve scratched it out until it’s bleeding.”

He tilts his head. His lips barely brush your sweaty scalp despite how cold you feel in his arms “No surgery?”

You shake your head, what remains of your strength slowly coming back. “They say the flowers and roots have taken up sixty-five percent of my chest cavity. It’s not only inhibiting my lungs, but my heart and stomach, too, so it’d be kind of hard to get rid of it all. Not impossible, but it’s really risky. That, on top of the already-present consequences—”

“So let’s say we start with the lungs,” he cuts off, trying to not sound too desperate but these past few weeks have worn him down to the bone. Although he thinks he’s managed to hide it from his students, Shoko has offered multiple times to prescribe him sleeping pills just so he can shut his mind down.

He said no every time.

Your legs draw up and he squeezes your shoulder carefully, looking down. “Are you ready to get up?”

You nod. “I think so.” He wipes at your lips with the rag he left on the counter and you roll your eyes as he makes sure no blood is left on your face before throwing it back up and carefully adjusting you against him.

“Do you want my help?”

“My answer does not matter to you,” you shoot back teasingly and he lets you pull away from him before reaching up with one hand to push yourself up. Your arm wobbles, your feet kicking back underneath you and slowly finding theirselves on the floor. Satoru withdraws, ducking underneath and back up so he can stand, hands floating around your body as you draw the IV stand towards yourself and grab on. When he’s sure your knees might give in, he grabs your elbow, but you shake your head. “I think I’m okay.”

“You sure?”

“Yeah. Yeah, I’m okay,” you breathe, raising your head to look at him. Your lips curl in a soft smile, and you clasp his shoulder. “Thank you.”

“I didn’t even do anything this time,” he says.

“Not everyone stays for the pathetic girl on the floor of the bathroom floor,” you quip. Turning around, you begin to head back to bed and he trails behind you carefully.

“If the girl’s you, then I think exceptions can be made.”

“Hospital bonus.”

“It adds that you’re in the hospital, too,” he agrees. “My morals are just.”

“Isn’t that a relief?” 

It is. It is a relief that you still have the strength to joke with him. 

You climb back into bed. Satoru returns to the bathroom to make sure the bathroom is flushed and it’s clean before returning and perching on the edge of your bed. Pulling out his phone, he shuffles his shoes off and tucks his legs to his chest, leaning against the foot of your bed and scrolling through his messages.

Not much to miss, to be honest. 

“There’s supposed to be a lunar eclipse on the morning of the 28th,” you say suddenly. Satoru looks up. You’re leaning back on the mountain of pillows, exhaling and inhaling measuredly in a way he now knows is your way of fighting off another bout. Squinting against the orange glow of the sunset, there’s a longing in your gaze. “I want to see it. Outside and everything.”

“You’re not supposed to leave the hospital.”

You don’t miss a beat. “Oh, we’re abiding by rules, now?”

“If it keeps you around, yes, we are.”

“When did my best friend turn into such a party pooper?” Looking at him, an impish glint lives in your eyes. He balks.

“Don’t you dare insinuate that I’m not fun.”

“Then… take me to see the eclipse.”

“No. There’s nothing to even see.”

“I want to see the moon disappear, Gojo,” you declare. “And if you won’t take me, I will definitely sneak out.” 

It paints a pretty pathetic picture, and he can’t help but arch his eyebrows at your determination. The air purifier drones on. The nurse turned it on after dinner, he guesses, and he has the strange urge to kick it as you fix him with a fierce stare. 

“You probably won’t be able to walk by then,” he says.

“That won’t stop me.” He knows it won’t. The corner of his lips pulls into a slight smile as you continue, “I just want to go outside one last time. Is that really too much to ask?” Your words are tinged with a fine dusting of humour, and he shakes his head.

“You’re incorrigible.”

“Big word for you, Satoru.”

“I still mean it.”

“And I learned that from you.”

He rolls his eyes and sighs. “Fine,” he caves. Your face lights up, and he sets down his phone, legs unfolding to brush the floor as he leans over to flick your forehead. Your eyes squeeze shut at the contact and you slap his arm away sluggishly before he soothes the smarting spot over with a smear of his thumb. “I’ll come by, and we’ll sneak out.”

You beam and he slips his feet back into his shoes and pockets his phone so he can focus his attention on you. 

When visiting hours end, the nurses offer to set up the cot for him like they always do. You pretend not to look at him out of the corner of his eye, awaiting his answer behind your laptop screen, and he spares you a quick glance before saying yes.

“She likes you,” you tell him after one particular nurse with dyed purple hair who always wears a fishtail bids them goodnight. Satoru fluffs up his pillow ceremoniously, having shed his jacket and taken off his jeans to hide underneath the blankets. The fabric is cold against his bare chest, and he pulls his glasses off, sets them on the stand right behind him.

The black frame holding up his mattress rattles a bit as he punches his pillow one last time and lies down. He turns on his side and looks at you. You’re turned on your side, too, and your brow is furrowed as you fight the sleepiness.

“Is that so?” he asks carefully. “What do you think about it?”

“I think if you wanted someone with a hectic schedule, you could pick someone else,” you say vaguely.

He raises an eyebrow. “Does she have a bad attitude or something?”

“I dunno.” There’s a subtle fire igniting in your words. You look a bit more awake, and your eyes are shifting the air into a smouldering red. He squints up. Your face is shadowed, but you’re still silhouetted by the orange light behind your bed as your shoulders rise and fall greatly in staggering, weighty breaths. “She wouldn’t understand. I guess.”

He hums. “So I should find someone who understands me but can’t be there for me? Sounds like the set up to every tragic love story ever.”

You laugh, and it’s the saddest sound in the world.

.

Friday, July 27th arrives in clouds.

Satoru scouted a spot before where they can watch the eclipse. He settles on one of the highest buildings on campus with a balcony where they can sit against the railing and watch the moon disappear. You can’t eat, but he still buys your favourite food from all over Japan, travelling to different prefectures in hopes that they still have your favourite dessert or drink that you mentioned once—he even gets you a new polaroid camera. He doesn’t know exactly how well the eclipse will show up on it, but, memories, right?

Maki makes a dry remark about how much he’s running around lately, probably to make amends to a girl he’s scorned. Satoru deflects and says he’s actually trying to impress one this time.

It’s been a five days since his promise to bring you. You lost your ability to walk steadily two days ago and to speak effortlessly only yesterday. The roots have extended through your body, pushing the muscle of your back and shoulders, and it’s made even moving painful, so he intends to carry you everywhere he can, holding your IV bags if he needs to. 

The doctors say eighty-five percent of your chest is now occupied with foreign growth. Satoru wishes they’d just tell it how it is—you’ll probably be dead by next week.

He arrives at the hospital and walks the path he’s walked so often over the past few weeks that he is sure he could do it with his eyes closed. The nurse’s station, and there’ll be the purple-haired one and the one with a double helix piercing on call at this time. Then, twenty-five steps to the end of the hall where the window often lets a lot of natural light in. Today, it’s grey and not much, but it’s enough to cast his shadow long and blurry.

He stops in front of your door to sanitize his hands when he hears voices within and hesitates.

Your door is closed, which means you don’t want people to interrupt, and he moves away from the rectangular window, back pressing against the tiny slab of wall between the frame and the corner of the hallway. Glasses slipping down his nose, he tries not to listen but he can’t help of himself.

“Are you sure?”

“Of course I’m sure,” you say weakly. You sound awful. Satoru wonders if he’s missed one of your panic attacks and curses himself. “If I don’t sound sure, it’s because I’m dying… and sounding like a fragile piece of shit… comes with the territory.” Your words are coarse, and a harsh anger grates his ears as you cough violently, a terrible retching sound ending with a splat following right after. 

“I wasn’t doubting you,” Nanami replies calmly. “But this could be done in so many other ways.”

“Look, Nanami. I’m not… brave enough to say any of it. Now, sit down. Your standing… it’s making me nervous… Thank you.” Satoru’s legs feel numb as he sinks down to the floor, tilting his head just enough to listen clearer through the sliver underneath the door. Resting his elbows on his knees, he runs a hand through shaggy white hair. It feels dry and lifeless. 

He can’t remember the last time he took a shower that was longer than ten minutes and more than ice-cold bordering on just beginning to warm.

“Take care of him for me,” you croak and his fingers tighten against his scalp. Nanami doesn’t answer, and you let out a sound that can only be described as pure agony as another bout grasps you tightly. You’re wheezing by the end of it, gasping painfully for air, and the monitors start beeping rapidly, a dinging that echoes in his head as Nanami’s low voice soothes you, tells you gently to calm down. “I’m—I’m sorry.”

“Breathe with me,” Nanami orders, and everything falls silent. Satoru stares at his lap. His head is beginning to pulse with the monitors when the beeping finally starts to fade. “Good. No sense to waste your strength.” 

Wobbly, spitting: “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be.” A pause. “It’s not your fault.”

You laugh, as if Nanami’s cracked a funny joke, and it’s gut-wrenching. “Remember how… we can curse each other? Ourselves? True curses.”

Faintly amused, immeasurably strained: “I thought it was still a hypothesis regarding those who don’t have the correct bloodline and the ability to curse through their own will.”

“No…Not a hypothesis. Real, Nanami. Real. No one knows how cursed energy affects us. Not really. Since, in my opinion, it’s entirely based on how we process things… it’s so difficult to say but when you know someone…” You break off to clear your throat. “The curse of adulthood… some of us got that too early… but we can survive that and even if it’s not a curse by… definition, we still feel it, right?” 

Satoru clasps his hands together just so he doesn’t rip the door open at the hinges.

“Right.”

“And… knowledge… can be a curse. Even if we can’t see it.” A ragged breath. Then, another laugh too loud for the grey light outside, too bright, a spark before it fizzles into, again, pained choking. “Nanami, remember last year… the job out in Yama… Yamaguchi?”

“Yes.”

“And we came back… Okkotsu was beginning his first year at the college… what I—what I told you?”

“…Yes.” A beat passes. A chair shifts on the linoleum floor and Nanami clears his throat. “I see.”

“I don’t want him to be so alone. I know I was never the strongest or the smartest or the most talented but I liked to think he let me in because I was there. Not because I understood. Maybe… Maybe because I didn’t. Nanami, please… he always try to stay so far away from the people he thinks he can’t love. Tell him… tell him—“

You break off and Nanami assures you with a steadfastness Satoru has counted on so many times before: “I will.” 

“…thank you.”

Eyes shutting tight, Satoru rests his brow against the heel of his hand. His head is aching, and a hard fist grabs his chest, squeezes his heart until it feels like it’ll burst. So this is how you’re really feeling. When you’re not smiling, this is what you are. Angry at the world, and heartbroken.

So terribly heartbroken.

And you couldn’t trust him with it? Because you thought he couldn’t handle it? 

He can take it. It’ll be okay because he’s the strongest. He has to be. 

I’m the strongest. I should be okay. I’m the strongest.

I’m the Strongest.

The headache gets worse so he gets up from that corner in the dead-end hallway, all the while three words replay in his head like a goddamn gramophone.

Nanami doesn’t come out of the room for a while. When he does, Satoru walks down the hall with takeout and a smile plastered on his face as if he had heard nothing at all.

.

At just past one-thirty AM, Satoru sits up from his cot and rubs at his eyes. After dinner, the both of them had forced themselves to go to sleep in order to have enough energy for their little late night excursion. He glances at you, a slumbering shape on the bed, and gets up, slowly sliding on the lights. They burn a dim orange, glowing on your face, and your eyebrows furrow as he touches your cheek.

“What?” you mumble, vexed, and he smiles.

“Are you ready?” he asks. A backpack is situated at the end of his bedframe and he reaches for it, unzipping it carefully as you crack your eyes open. “We’re going to go see the eclipse, remember?” Pulling out clothes he robbed from your room in the staff facility from when you used to work full time, he grabs your shoulder and shakes you gently. The gnarled roots under your skin feel strange against his fingers as you groan weakly. “Do you want five more minutes, Sleeping Beauty?”

You don’t answer, burying your face into your pillow and he shakes his head to himself. It’s going to be all right, he thinks. I planned for this setback.

Slipping into a dark long-sleeve, he parts the black-out curtains to let light come in. He checks his reflection in the bathroom mirror before running a hand through his hair and washing his hands with a cold stream of water. By the time he leaves the bathroom, you’re sitting up already, heel of your hand rubbing against your brow as you groan. In your other hand in your lap, there’s a splash of blood and a lone petal, and he rushes to your side instantly.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t even hear—“

“It came out easy,” you assure as he grabs a tissue to pick it off your hand and throw it into the receptacle at the table just beyond the foot of your bed. Wiping at your mouth roughly, he hears your complaints and your hand shoves against his shoulder to tell him to quit it. “Ah, I can do it myself!”

“Shh! Do you want every nurse storming in here while we conduct our super secret getaway?” he whispers, and your eyes fix on his. Dark circles mark your face like bruises, but that light is still the same—glimmering, bright, like twin suns and just as warm. Making sure your hands are clean, he wipes the invisible streaks of blood just to be sure before grabbing your clothes and setting them at the end of the bed.

You glance around the place sluggishly, at the paintings you never got to finish, and the books you haven’t finished reading, before settling on him. “What are we going to do about the… about the machines? And my IV…” 

“Oh, trust me. I may have bribed a nurse or two,” he confesses and you send him a scandalized look. He shrugs. ��What? You told me a woman liked me and I couldn’t help but turn on my natural charm.”

“You’re awful,” you say without meaning it and he smiles as he moves your bed into a sitting position. You cough lightly, but sit up straighter as he carefully unhooks the huge bag and pump from your stand and gently slides it into the pocket in the backpack, resisting the urge to squish the pouch a bit. Strapping the pump in, he makes sure it’s secure as you peer around him to catch what he’s doing. “Is this… safe for me, you—you know, medically-speaking?”

“Nope.” He adjusts the tubing to avoid any kinks. “But, Purple gave me this backpack and she will come as soon as we come back to make sure you aren’t dying. And, if anything goes wrong, I promised her I’d come back as soon as possible.”

“Promised her?” you echo “I see. So that’s what Purple… was doing before my afternoon nap. I thought you guys traded suspicious looks.”

“Yeah. I’m pulling big strings. Now, c’mon, silly. Let’s get you dressed.”

You roll your eyes with a whistling breath. “Watch the tube… and c’mere, then, Gojo.”

He grabs the jacket first and does exactly as you order. Wrapping it around you, he helps you thread your arms through before zipping you up carefully as your shoulders begin to shake. Bending over, you reach blindly for the receptacle at the end of the bed and he hands it over to you.

A wad of saliva mixed with blood slips between your lips and you let out a low noise before forcing yourself to cough harshly again and again. Satoru watches. No matter how many times he sees you rip your throat up just to breathe with a bit less pressure in your chest, it doesn’t get any easier.

You manage to get up a whole magenta blossom. It blooms from your mouth like something out of a horror movie and lands in the receptacle before he’s wiping your mouth.

“Sorry.”

“Don’t apologize.”

They continue on.

Coat, next, zipped up, and a scarf, then he’s scooping up your legs to help you twist on the mattress until your feet are dangling off the edge. He weaves your legs through the sweat pants, careful not to let his gaze avert from his task even as the hospital gown trails up your legs. You shiver at the exposed skin and gooseflesh pimples your thighs as you lift up your hips to help with the effort. He pulls the hospital gown free from the waistband and lets it fall over the hem so you’re completely covered before falling back.

In a crouch, he pats your knees and makes the mistake of looking up only to find your eyes already on him, searching, nearly mystified. Satoru’s throat tightens. The faint light streaming from the window catches half of your face, as if half-divine. There’s a curiosity there, lingering, and the way you look at him makes him freeze in his spot.

Is this how Suguru saw you a thousand times before, a thousand lifetimes ago? Is this what he felt? 

Did he see the way your pupils dilate, the flare of your nostrils as you exhaled so quietly that it felt like a feather against his lips despite the distance between them? Did he see galaxies in your irises, home in the softness of your stare? Is that why he kissed you the last time he saw you? To memorialize their love for himself, to remember what it looked like when you loved him?  

Did he feel like he could fight dragons, crush demons, rip their world apart at the seams and rebuild it again with bloodied nails if it meant you would never cry again? Is that part of why he did it? So you would never be lonely again? 

Because if so, Satoru understands. 

Because if so, Satoru would do the same.

Because he always saw you as just pretty, because you had always been just his friend, and then his best friend’s girlfriend, and then his best friend, so there were always lines drawn in salt, scuffed and distorted over the years, but…

But in the light, tired and lost in his gaze, you’re nearly ethereal. The only reason he knows you’re not a goddess is because he’s still touching your knees, and your breath quivers, as if you’re just as disconnected from the world as he is in this moment.

Lips pressing together, he looks away, and the moment’s gone. 

He glances at the clock. 

How long has it been since he moved? It feels like hours.

Twenty-seven seconds.

Twenty-seven seconds of temptation, and then Satoru turned away. 

He slants to grab a pair of thick woolly socks to give himself something to do. You’re still watching him, head tilted down just so, and he carefully takes hold of your ankle.

He focuses on the little things: the iciness of your skin, the way you pick at the fabric of your sweatpants absently as you watch him work, the way you shiver a bit when he touches you.

He rubs heat back into the arch of your foot as you reach into your jacket slowly to carefully remove the nodes monitoring your vitals. You seem stiff to the bone, and your fingers are rigid with anticipated pain as you peel off the stickers. In the back of his mind, he remembers the days that feel like yesterday when you weren’t hooked up to so many machines to assure both you and him that you’re still alive.

Removing the cap for the oximeter from your finger, you shake yourself out a bit, clearing your throat. He slides one sock on, and then the other.

“How’re you feeling?” he finally utters.

It takes you a moment to answer. “Bottom half feels tingly. Usual these days. My body feels like a big giant bruise,” you inform quietly. Your voice is nothing more than a rasp. “Very warm and toasty, though… Thank you.”

“Just gotta get the shoes on and then we’ll teleport there.”

“Okay.” He helps you slip your feet in, something straight out of Cinderella, and then he stands up to take your hands. Your fingers slip into his palms, and he holds you so tightly as you slide off the bed. The instant your feet hit the floor, your grip intensifies and your head snaps down to the floor. You find your footing after a moment, and he lets go to crack open your window. Moving your plants aside, he climbs out to glance around. 

The air is crisp and cold, but not too bad for him. Even so, he’ll probably slip on a hoodie before they leave and he ducks back in to your room to do so, tugging it down his waist before grabbing the backpack.

“Arms through,” he instructs, slipping the backpack onto your shoulders. Guiding you closer, he helps you shuffle as close as possible towards him before turning around and bending over. “Alright, climb on. We’re going.” 

Your arms touch his shoulders, his hands shoot out behind him, and you fall.

Fingers hooking on your thighs, he boosts you up and your arms wrap around him, your own fingers wrapped so tightly around his collar that it nearly chokes him. Haphazardly stepping through the windows, his fingers sink into the fabric of your sweats. Your breath is warm against the shell of his ear, and he can feel your heart pulsing against his back as he turns to look at you. 

He smiles. “How’s it feel?”

“I’m still not sure if you’re going to let me die.” You press your face closer to his head and your arms tighten. “But the wind feels so good. So, so good.”

“That’d be too undignified,” he teases, and then he jumps. Time seems to slow as it always does when he’s about to teleport. He imagines the staff facility on the campus, quiet as a cemetery at this time of night, and his heart lurches forward. For a moment, his senses leave him all at once. He can’t taste or feel or see anything for a fraction of a second, then it comes to him in blinding speed. His hearing, as always, is first, then his eyes, smell and then touch and smell.

His foot lands on stone, as if he’s just finished a small skip, and he grins as he sweeps the courtyard. No one, as planned. The building’s to his immediate right, and he climbs the steps, using your knee to nudge the door open.

“That was fun,” you comment. “Convenient, too. Blink of an eye, and you’re somewhere else.”

“You can’t even begin to imagine how many lines I’ve skipped because of it,” he comments. The lights are all off, and he heads for the kitchen immediately to grab all the food he’s bought. Setting you down on the kitchen counter, he takes out another canvas bag and stuffs all of the food in.

Daifuku with of all kinds of fillings in the fridge, fresh dorayaki, canned coffee and aloe drinks, sweet soymilk and other wagashi they used to feast on when they were younger. Mostly because Satoru would buy enough to feed a kingdom so he always had something on hand for his overactive brain. You watch him with wide eyes as he moves around with such purpose one could think he was preparing to fight an army, but as soon as he finishes, he flashes you a smile.

“I think you’re going to like where we’re going a lot, silly.”

“Didn’t have to buy stuff,” you mutter, fingers playing with the tube leading into your backpack for a moment.

“You haven’t eaten in weeks. I thought maybe we could at least try. Maybe not now, but at the end of the night, before we go back. Just in case.”

“I can’t eat, though.”

“Don’t know until I stuff it down your throat,” he replies cheerily, and you smile at him so brightly it’s almost like you aren’t sick. Then, that smile turns into a cough, a fist in front of your lips, and your expression is frozen into one of exasperation before it flickers into strained. He sets down his bag, already knowing what comes next.

You make a hacking sound, deep in your throat, and he shifts you closer to the sink so you can lean over and throw up. Gagging, it comes in red and clear torrents, the cursed energy spilling out of your body nearly making it incinerating to even touch you as you clutch the edge of the sink basin. 

You fall to your elbows, and Satoru eases you off the counter so he can hold you up instead of the cramping body contortion you sink into. Cupping the juncture of your shoulder and neck, his thumb sweeps soothingly over your root-invested spine, tossing the ends of the scarf over your shoulder and out of the way.

Settling a hand on your hip, he presses you against the countertop so you don’t fall, and hopes your legs can hold you up long enough for him to reach for the hand towel. You spit just as he manages to grab it, snapping back into position and peering over your shoulder to inspect how much you’ve coughed up. You shudder and a tortured moan wrenches out of your throat as you sink, forehead against the cool metal.

You’re scorching to touch, but he tightens his hold on you anyway, setting the towel aside for just a moment. Carefully, he pulls you back up and you let out an drained whine, but he shushes you quietly, turning you around and guiding your head over his shoulder so you don’t stare at the rot any longer.

Satoru knows you would, even if you pretend like you aren’t plagued with morbid, self-destructive curiosity.

Looking into the sink, he counts a few petals and three whole flowers, and you’re quivering against him as he wraps his arm around you. 

“Alright, lean back for me,” he whispers into your ear, and you obey. His arm around you crooks so he supports your head, the other grabbing the towel again. Exhaustion seems to have sluiced through you, and your eyes are nearly unfocused as he dabs at your mouth carefully. His blue eyes focus on the gentle curve of your lips, and your cheeks puff up before you swallow tightly and let out a shaking breath.

“You’re really close,” you mumble in that exhale. He tilts your chin to the light to make sure he hasn’t missed a spot, and your eyelids flutter as the corners of his lips quirk up. His Six Eyes pick up a muted yellow emanating from you, and it’s so warm against his skin that he can’t help but relish in the feeling. “You smell nice.”

“Good. I took a shower before I came today. Well, yesterday,” he amends softly. “Alright, let’s go before you hack up your other lung.”

“Funny.” Nonetheless, he scoops you back up onto his back and he rinses down the sink as you rest your head against his. He feels you breathing steadily, much easier now than before. Red swirls down the drains, and he watches the magenta petals slowly reveal their true colours. There’s a flash of white in the center of each one, and he wonders silently what flower it is and what it means.

Maybe he’ll find out some day.

When the kitchen’s back to the state they entered, he grabs the bag of food and holds onto your legs tightly as your arms around his neck shift and pull him closer. 

This time, when he teleports, it’s not as jarring. Walking around the balcony, he makes sure no one’s in the area before checking that the door to the roof is locked and heading back out into the night air, towards where they can see the moon clearest.

“Hey, open your eyes,” he whispers over his ear, and your head shifts.

“Hm? Oh!” He feels you wriggle, but he doesn’t let you go as he walks closer to the spot he’s set up. Near the railing, a blanket surrounded by pillows is laid out surrounded by a few space heaters. The moon is hanging perfectly in front of them, and the light illuminates the forests in silver as a gentle wind whistles through. Tranquil, the only sound is his footsteps on wood as you manage to pull your legs free with a harsh twist of your torso. Your hand slaps against the railing and he whirls around to hold you up but you grit your teeth. “I can do it.”

Breathing in deeply, you pull yourself past him using mostly your arms. Your feet drag as if they’re not really attached to a living body but you still move steady onward, and he walks ahead to turn on the heaters and set the food down as far away as he can so it doesn’t spoil too quickly.

“Satoru,” you breathe as if for the first time,” it’s so fucking beautiful up here.” Looking up, his heartstrings twinge. Your face is bathed almost entirely in silver, and it drapes down your body like silk, illuminating the cord of your throat he can see above the scarf, the strength of your hands. A smile brighter than even the most blinding sun rays comes across your face and he finds that the moon pales in comparison as your knees begin to give.

Reaching forward, he helps you sink down slowly, and then sit down, legs hanging off the edge and then you’re leaning to rest your elbows on the middle bar of the wooden railing. You can’t stop staring at the moon, and Satoru can’t stop staring at you as he opens the box of daifuku and pops one into his mouth. 

“The eclipse should be starting in a few minutes,” he says, checking his watch. 2:10. Four minutes to go. You finally tear your eyes away from the moon to look at him.

“I forgot…” you muse. “I forgot how bright… the moon was.”  

He settles in beside you and offers a canned coffee, but you shake your head. He cracks it open for himself. 

“We’re about to watch the moon change,” he notes. “But I read that it’ll last six hours.”

“Really?” Excited, you look up at the moon again. The lunar rays outline your already-pronounced eye bags but it also makes you look more beatific. “That’s just proof… our time here on Earth is so inconsequential in the grand scheme of things. It really makes you—makes you think how much we really matter. Which doesn’t seem like a lot, compared to things like a… fucking lunar eclipse.”

The moon’s opinion doesn’t matter more than mine, he thinks. “Well, while we’re waiting for your next epiphany to hit you,” he says instead, “you never answered my question.”

You smile, intrigued. “What’s that?”

“What if we removed the flowers bit by bit, rather than all at once?” he asks. Your gaze snaps to him, but he only regards you honestly. “That gives you a fighting chance.” Your eyes widen imperceptibly, and he grabs another mochi ball and takes a bite.

“The roots and flowers are too entangled in my chest to be removed safely. It’s either they remove my lungs completely, or not at all, and finding a… match for one lung is hard enough, much less two perfect lungs…” You trail off and shrug. “Well, that’d take forever… and I wouldn’t get much… longer, anyway. I’m a sorcerer. I always knew… I was going to die, so why not die on my own t-terms?”

He frowns. “Why not try?”

“Give me your phone.”

He does so, and watches you type in a query you must’ve typed before with how quick your lethargic fingers fly over the screen before you’re shoving it back towards him and leaning forward on the railing, chin to your forearms. You don’t even look at him, as if you don’t want to watch him crumble.

He reads: The first year after the transplant is the most critical period wrought with surgical complications, chances of rejection, and infection… Although there are some reports of some people living for 20 years post-transplant, many people do not make it past 10 years and only half make it past 5…

His stomach curdles. “Five years is better than nothing.”

“Five years worrying when my lungs are going to… kick it,” you correct. “Besides, my ribs are mangled by the roots. And my heart. My stomach. My spine. I’m undernourished, exhausted, and everything in here”—you gesture slowly around your abdomen—“is doing overtime. My body’s too weak to handle any kind of surgery that wouldn’t heal me… immediately.” 

Your eyes find his, and it’s as if lightning strikes through him like a spear—piercing cold and electrifying. You’re beginning to blue in the lips like you’re freezing to death, but he’s sweating under the blast of the heaters. 

Pulling off his hoodie, he drapes it around your shoulders. You don’t react anymore than: “Sucks, but that’s how it is.”

A few more minutes pass by in silence. Their knees knock into one another, and Satoru can’t stop looking at you as you breathe in the home you left months ago, head lifted to the inky universe.

“You know I can tell when you’re—when you’re angry with me,” you utter, not looking at him. “No matter how much you smile at me, you’re still too passive aggressive to cover it up.”

The words spill out of his mouth as you lower your gaze to him. “I’m sorry.” No sense in lying. 

“That’s okay.” You smile for a moment, like he hasn’t said something worth ruining a night over, but when you look up at the stars, it fades. Wistful, you cock your head at the moon that hasn’t gone away just yet and lower your chin to your arms again. “It’s not really something that was… fair of me to ask anyway.” 

.

Just as the moon turns yellow, he remembers something. Bending back to root through your backpack, he excuses himself. You frown. “What are you—“

“I got a camera for this occasion,” he announces, withdrawing the camera and a plastic bag, leaning back to snap a quick picture of you. You squint at the flash, mouth opened in an incredulous smile and face half-turned away, before the photo rolls out. “Like the one you used to carry around.”

“Some memories to hold on to, huh.” You reach for the camera and your fingers wrap around it, aiming it right at him. A flash and two peace signs later, another image joins the one of you Satoru slides into the plastic zip bag. “Hold on. I want to take another one.”

“We should do one of both of us.”

“Ugh, fine… I don’t look good at all, though.“

“Too late.” He snatches the camera from you and sticks out his hand, dragging an arm around your shoulders and you lean into him, temple against his cheek as he snaps another photo, and then another of him making a stupid face. Another of you mid-laugh. You’re wheezing for air as he keeps grabbing the polaroids as fast as he can with the arm that’s around your shoulder, leading to a bunch of jostling that has you in stitches at his frantic panic whenever the new photo chugs out of the slit.

When he’s had his fill of making you laugh, Satoru leaves you alone to look at the moon. He can’t stop grinning stupidly with every photo and while you watch the moon slowly descent into the earth’s shadow, he shuffles through the photos he just took of them together, trying to brand them to memory.

The way he looks at you in these photos makes him believe in something. In something that could’ve been there if they had more time, and he could convince you to open your heart up to a new possibility.

.

Another hour passes. The moon hangs a strange transition between black and blood red and a paler peach orange. A glimmering yellow dot sparkles below it, and he wonders if that’s Mars.

The forests seem almost hauntingly quiet, and no one has spoken in the darkness. You regard the moon, so enraptured, and more photos have joined the zip bag, but they’re mostly of you. He’s managed to sneak them in by turning off the flash and upping the brightness settings so it’d still be visible, and he hopes you never realize that he’s got them. 

Satoru has never been interested in astronomy, but the stars in your eyes are changing his mind.

He’s dug his hand into the bag of dorayaki already. He remembers it’s supposed to be for you, too, but his hands are too empty without the camera, his brain going a mile a minute and the air absolutely quiet with nothing. 

Twenty minutes ago, you asked him to help you take off your coat so you can pull on his hoodie, and haven’t moved since zipping yourself back up. The air smells only of canned coffee and the stinging wind carrying the scent of cedar. Feet swinging, he drapes his arms over the railing and looks up at the red moon.

It is pretty. Magnificent, and ominous, almost. The night is so much darker without the moon. Sheesh, colder, too. I wonder if you’re feeling okay. Maybe I should check, but you don’t seem to be shaking. Worst comes to worst, I could up the level on the space heaters…

“I don’t think I ever got to hear his last words,” you muse quietly, voice cracking, rousing him from his monologue. His head swings to you. Your eyes are barely open as you rest your cheek against your forearm, and you don’t look at Satoru despite your head turned towards him. Instead, he can watch the pieces of you fall apart without your scrutiny. “I used to think… that I didn’t care.”

“Do you want me to tell you?” he asks slowly as you continue to stare blankly over his ear. Your chest stutters in its inhale and the exhale is just as shaky as you smile a bit to yourself. He takes that as answer, and as he speaks, he sees Suguru’s smile—bright against the darkness of the alleyway, and a reminder of a simpler time. Satoru’s heart quickens from the memory “‘At least curse me a little at the very end.’”

You’re quiet for a moment, as if soaking that in. Then, you draw yourself up and sigh. “That sounds like him.”

You say it fighting off a laugh, even though it wracks your body with such intense pain you can barely breathe. You begin to wheeze not even a second in, and still, your face is cracked into an agonizing smile as you blink, tears slipping down your cheeks. Your eyes squeeze shut and your body goes stiff as you cough, hands flying over your lips. Your shoulders shake so uncontrollably it’s like an earthquake in your body, but Satoru cannot find it in him to calm you down as you hunch over yourself.

It comes in its own course, until you’re nothing but a gasping body, crying into bloodied palms cupping purple flowers, and the low sobs that spill and stutter out of your throat makes Satoru wish he never told you.

“‘At least curse me a little at the very end,’” you repeat to yourself, voice raw and iron-like, and your eyes finally rise to meet his. Nothing but hollow purple pierces through him once more. “Yeah… Yeah, that sounds like him.” 

An apology bubbles at his lips, but you continue before he can even begin. Your hands fall to to your laps, and you look at the decaying flowers, thumbs stroking the petals. “I could never make him truly happy… could I? Just like he said… nothing would’ve been good enough for him while we lived in this kind of world. No matter how many times I sat by him while he swallowed… swallowed those curses, held his hand, held him, I would have never been… enough to make him laugh from his heart.” Your tears cast dark shadows. “I held him, Satoru, with all my might… and I still felt him slip away between my fingers.”

That’s how Satoru learns you were there that day, December 24th, not a snowflake in sight. Just a few metres away, you stood for only a moment before you walked away from the man you loved so he could die without any regret, at the cost of your own guilt eating you alive.

No one speaks after that. Satoru cleans your hands slowly, carefully, giving attention to each finger, before swiping your lips, and then he wipes your tears away but you’re not crying anymore.

You just look up at the moon emptily and he scoots closer in hopes to keep your returning trembling at bay.

“Ten years is a very… long time to love someone.” You break the silence. He doesn’t know how long it’s been. Fifteen, thirty minutes? He looks at you, and your lips press into a thin smile. He lifts his arm so you can scoot up close next to him. Your eyes never leave his face, regarding him with new clarity. “I just… realized.”

“Ten years is a very long time for anything,” he replies quietly, their faces very close. Their noses brush, and a warmth spreads through his cheeks as he presses the tip of your nose against his. You don’t pull away. Instead, you almost lean closer. Your nose is cold against his hot face, and he rubs it slowly with his own, trying to send heat back into your skin.

“A very long time to… wait.” Your eyes flutter shut, and your breath is warm over his lips as you slowly tilt your head so their foreheads meet. His hand squeezes your waist. You smell like the hospital, but there’s still the fragrance of the fresh-cut grass and herbs clinging to your skin as he moves his head just to the side so his nose presses into your frozen cheek. Your arm moves as if dragging through honey until it’s wrapped around his neck, palm flat against his shoulder, just as their brows press against one another. 

Something ignites inside his chest, incinerating the rot that seems to grow inside his own chest—it’s his dread, he realizes a moment later. An ugly knot of dread for what’s to come, the guilt, the cold grief that’s just out of reach. 

It’ll unfurl soon, he knows, but for now, he welcomes the relief you bring him.

In this moment, you are his, and he is yours, and that is all that matters.

His eyes close. His cheeks are burning hotter than the heaters surrounding them, and he feels a smile pulling at his lips as your fingers curl against the back of his neck.

“When will people… stop waiting?” you ask him, hushed like a secret.

Eyes opening, he answers you in the same soft voice, “Probably when they die.”

Your eyes crack open once more and he catches a sliver between your heavy lids. You’re so close he sees every detail of your irises, the pores of your eye bags, the way memories flicker through your pupils like fish in a river.

Your exhausted smile grows more genuine—something inside you seems to rear its bright little head, but it’s sad, and he realizes, then, what you must’ve been thinking. Words fumble at his mouth, but he doesn’t let anything slip as you lift your face away to rest your head against his shoulder.

.

You’re dozing against him. Satoru is staring up at the moon in your stead. It’s nearly fully that famous shade of dark blood red, but not quite. He can’t hear anything except the buzz of the space heaters and your breathing. His arm is still wrapped tight around you, holding you flush against him. He’s wished he’d done it so many times before that now, he doesn’t quite know what to do with himself.

You’re dying. Even as you rest against him, he feels it. The weakness in your body, the way you’ve turned ghost-like. The strength of your Cursed Energy has become more prominent now that you don’t have the energy to channel it properly, and it’s centred so strongly in your chest that he can feel it poking curiously at him, leaving little marks, a souvenir for when you’re gone.

His fingers dig into your side. You let out a noise, head shifting, and he rips his gaze away away from the sky as your hand falls away from where it had rested around his neck into his lap.

“Satoru?” you whisper brokenly, and he nods, smiling. He pulls you closer, but their bodies are so pressed against each other that it only serves to make you huff a bit.

“Hey. You’re still with us, don’t worry,”

“Not worried,” you mumble, lifting your head with difficulty. “Just glad you’re here.” You tilt your face to the moon. “It’s still… red, huh…” You shake, your hand at the hem of his shirt twisting tightly. He reaches to squeeze your arm and hopes it’ll be enough now. “Pretty.” Throat dry, he does not answer. His white hair falls into his eyes as you look up at him, and he decays at the vulnerability in your gaze. “Aren’t you glad… that we saw the eclipse?”

Jaw clenching, he nods and tries his best to smile. Your hand lets go of his shirt and you shuffle up close enough that your other arm sneaks around his waist. Touching his chin with trembling fingers, your eyes glitter in the darkness of his shadow.

“I’m going to miss this. The moon, stars, how… fucking short… ’n’ beautiful life is,” you finally whisper, throat tight. “Makes shit worth living for. Maybe… won’t miss it… the most… but, top three.”

“Top three?” he echoes. “Top three sounds pretty good to me.”

“And, y’know what, Satoru?” you continue in the same low, husky tone, as if you’re about to change his world one more time.

He drops to the lowest, quietest voice he can manage and moves his head closer. Their noses nearly bump into each other again, and you smile as he quirks an eyebrow. “What’s that?”

“You’re… going to miss me… more.” 

Your hand on his waist travels up his shoulder and he feels the last of your strength in your muscles as you pull him towards you. Letting you, his arms wrap around your waist as your other arm shoots around his neck, clinging on so hard that he’s sure his spine might break. 

Flattening his palms against your uneven back, he closes his eyes and slides a hand to cradle your head close.

“And promise… me something,” you breathe into his ear. Your lips brush the shell of his ear, and a shiver shoots down his spine.

“Anything.”

“When I kick it,” you whisper, “take my body, and bury me… yourself.”

Throat swelling shut, Satoru’s glad you can’t see the way the blood drains from his face as he nods and holds you tighter. “I will.”

.

“One more photo for the road?” he asks. You lift your head from his chest, and he looks as you reach to sweep his lips with cold, trembling fingers. He smiles, his hand on your thigh squeezing meaningfully even though you can barely feel it now. Your arms are bundled between your chest and his, and he hauls your legs on his thighs more securely up his lap, arm tightening around your torso.

“Satoru,” you murmur, tilting your head to him. His eyes never move from yours as he picks up the camera, and your hand falls from his lips. “I’m glad… that it was you.”

He snaps the shot and the only sound that fills the silence is the camera chugging out the polaroid. Your eyes are dark, murky and unfocused, and he feels your stammering inhale in his very lungs as he presses his forehead against yours.

“I’m happy it was you, too,” he whispers. You search his gaze for only a moment, and then turn your head to the moon once more. 

Lowering the camera to the floor, he sneaks his other arm around you and rests his chin atop of your head, eyes sliding shut.

.

Nanami, Yaga, and Ijichi approach, dress shoes tapping against linoleum floors. Satoru and Shoko say nothing to them as they join in watching through the glass doors.

Satoru doesn’t like the room they’ve moved you to. It’s too full of machines, too open to passersby who could just look in if the curtains aren’t drawn, and even then…

It smells too clinical here. Too full of artificial light. The ICU is a mechanical sort of silence than the quiet peace of the dead-end hallway. There is no warmth, no books, no paintings. Your plants have been removed, and Nanami has taken all of them into his apartment except the red tulips which rest on the dinner table in Satoru’s kitchen.

You stopped being able to breathe on your own only a day after the eclipse. That was two days ago, and the ventilator is doing nothing more than prolonging your agony. Soon, the growths will block your lungs entirely, suffocating you from the inside out. 

The doctors have stopped taking scans.

“It’s only a matter of time, now,” Shoko had said. “Her directive says we let her go as soon as she can’t come back.” Quieter: “Her pulse ox has been dropping. It won’t be long.”

Ijichi’s face is stony. Satoru doesn’t know why he focuses on him out of everyone. Leaning against the nurse’s station, he stares blankly at the Assistant Director’s. Maybe because he thought he’d be a wreck. Out of all of them, Ijichi’s the most emotional, but his lips are set firm from where he stands between Nanami and their principal.

Maybe Satoru’s just looking for permission to fall apart, but that’d be stupid. 

I’m the strongest. I’ll be fine.

“I’m going to go in,” he announces. No one protests. Nanami sits down and crosses one leg over the other, fingers steepled and eyes indecipherable. Shoko sits beside him. There’s the faint scent of smoke clinging to her lab coat. 

Ijichi dips his head, but doesn’t sit and Yaga excuses himself to talk to the nurse about your condition.

Satoru sanitizes his hands, approaches the door, and pulls it open before stepping in and sliding it shut behind him. 

Click. Hiss. 

The sound of the ventilator is the only thing that occupies the room. That and the monitors. It’s very dark, despite it being the middle of the day. Mostly because you can’t open your eyes wide enough to withstand the sun anymore, so Satoru had asked the nurses to bring the same blackout curtains from your room here. The lights are dimmed until it’s only an orange glow right behind your bed. 

Click. Hiss.

Sitting down, he doesn’t take hold of your hand just in case you’re sleeping. The intubation tube rests on a pile of towels on your chest, and it takes a long time before your eyes open and your head tilts just enough to look. Your hand twists on top of the covers until your palm is tilted open.

He slips fingers in, takes hold. The feel of your skin making everything worse. You’re colder than you should be—it’s sweltering in this room, enough that Satoru is already beginning to sweat even through his short-sleeve—and your fingers just barely twitch against the back of his hand, tracing strange shapes.

You blink, tapping his knuckle, and he frowns.

“What’s up?” Withdrawing, he feels your nail scrape against his flesh and he looks down. Curiously, he takes your hand and places it on top of his so your fingers can touch the lines of his palm. “Are you spelling something out?” he asks, amused, glancing up again.

Another blink, slower this time.

He leans forward on his elbow to touch your cheek before resting his cheek against his fist.

“Alright, give it your best shot.” 

Your eyelids flutter, lips trembling in a weak smile. Your index finger begins to trace shapes, kanji, into his palm. Your chest rises and fall slowly, pumped full of air by a machine hooked to your lungs, forcing breath into you as your writing grows sloppy by the passing second but you still persist.

ANGRY?

“Angry?” he repeats, and you blink slowly again, fingers insistent on grabbing his palm. Folding his fingers over yours, he arches his eyebrows. “If I was angry at a terminally ill patient, that’d make me the asshole here.” Your eyes squeeze shut, eyebrows rearranging in what he recognizes as your laugh in silence. More seriously, his hold on you tightens and he lifts his head to brush his fingers over your brow. You tilt your head more to him, gaze murky warm. “How’re you feeling?”

It takes a while, but he feels your hand shuffle back to trace your answer on his hand.

BETTER

“Better. Yeah?”

Another lethargic blink. Yes.

“It’s because of me, right? I knew it. I knew it. We should tell Shoko—I’m the newest medical innovation in town,” he proclaims, and his smile begs to slip off his face but he only forces it back on, shoves it into place. Your eyebrows move again, like you’re struggling to hold back your laugh. Your eyes slip shut and do not open again. 

Your face goes lax a moment later, and your fingers loosen a bit, but he doesn’t let go. He just wants to touch your face and trace the lines into his memory. 

Satoru stretches his thumb along the swell of your bottom lip while carefully avoiding the tube. He runs his knuckles down your cheek. His fingers brush your pulse point along your neck, and he feels the slow, weak beat.

Click. Hiss.

He thinks you’re asleep for a while, until your finger drags over the flesh of his palm and he looks down, hand lifting from your face. 

“Hey, I’m still here,” he whispers, and your face turns towards him slightly, the tube in your mouth shuffling. He reaches forward, cupping your face and holding you still. “Hey. Don’t move. Your lungs are weaker than the rest of you and I’m not about to watch you die.” Something grabs onto the front of his shirt near his stomach and he looks down to see your fingers hooking on the cotton of his tee, twisting it weakly. “Oh, sorry.”

He draws back and slips his palm back into yours. Your index finger taps against the heel of his hand before your nail drags deliberately. One stroke. Then another, and another. Gojo wishes your eyes were open, because then he would be able to determine what the rest of the sentence could spell out before you’re done, but he’s patient. 

HERE

“Here?” You tap on his hand. Yes. “What’s here?”

YOU AND ME

“You and me,” he repeats thoughtfully. “Yeah, I get that. At least… now you can see Suguru again, right?” Your hand goes still and he looks at your face, reaching to touch your cheek again. You’re placid—doll-like, eyes shut, living dead. “I’m a bit jealous of that, but you should rest easy. It’s been a hard few months, hasn’t it?”

Another weak twitch of your finger on his hand.

“No matter what happens, don’t think I’m angry at you, or the choices you’ve made,” he continues. “As long as you let me stay here, I won’t waste a single second of it, okay?” Tap. He squeezes your hand so tightly your eyebrows twitch, even as you slip away from him. “For all your saying that you’re weaker than me, I never thought that. Not really.” Satoru raises your hand to his lips and he closes his eyes. “Being the strongest is pretty lonely. Used to be so fucking cocky about it, huh. Thought no one could touch me or the people I cared about because everyone would be too scared.”

Your fingers curl against his palm and he lowers his head to press your knuckles against his brow.

“I was wrong. I’d give anything to have you both back, but I can’t, and I hate it. You’re supposed to be with me at the top. I don’t want to be alone again.” His eyes are burning from the strain of keeping them open, but he refuses to miss a second of you being alive when the time is trickling like sand in an hourglass. He feels it like a heavy stare on his back, wondering if this next breath will be the last one before your brain finally decides to shut down. Your organs have been shutting down for nearly weeks now. He knows it’s out of pure selfishness that they’re dragging precious moments into agonizing hours. 

He knows you’re exhausted. 

Resting his chin on your fingers, he swallows. “I don’t know how to let you go. I wished I’d come sooner. I was careless. I know that. We could’ve had more time…”

Your fingers squeeze his as tight as you can before letting go. Somehow, he hears your voice in his ear. Something about being grateful for the time they did have.

“You were right, silly.” He chuckles to himself, bitter, anguished, and lowers your hand back to the bed, not letting go yet. “Ten years is a long time to wait. I let you down, but I’ll make sure you go easy. I promise.”

Satoru lays his head down on his forearm and he swears he catches your lips pull into the faintest smile. He stays there for hours, watching your face, stretching up to touch your unmoving face. The only sound is his steady breaths, the beep of your monitors and the click-hiss of your ventilator. 

It’s 1:04 PM when he falls asleep to the sleepy circles you trace into his wrist

It’s 6:22 PM when only one of them wakes up.

.

At 11:00 AM the next morning, during one of the hourly tests, they declare you brain-dead. With the announcement of your directive being honoured by your chosen proxy, Satoru himself, classes are cancelled and they are scheduled to take you off life support at six.

Ijichi brings them lunch and dinner. Satoru doesn’t eat. Only sits by your side, leaned back into the chair and looking at you while he still can until the clock ticks and ticks and ticks towards doomsday. The kids come to say final goodbyes while he watches on. Inumaki, as always, brings Panda through his phone, and Satoru wishes there could’ve been some way to sneak Panda into a high-class hospital just so their last moments together aren’t cheapened by a screen.

Shoko enters five minutes before it’s time, hand finding his shoulder and he looks up just long enough to catch her blank stare resting on your face.

She doesn’t say anything, only moves to the other side of the bed and sits down in the other chair.

The doctor pumps you full of sedation drugs, so you won’t feel any of the pain, unhooks the machines, and extubates you, explaining all the while what he’s doing just to fill the silence. As he pulls the tube from your throat, something in Satoru turns icy when a purple petal is plastered to the side of the plastic, but the doctor does not acknowledge it any more than murmuring that he will give them privacy.

Your rattling breaths echo in his ears as he watches the numbers slowly drop, but even your inhales fade to nothing more than soft, slight wheezes. The tape has left a strange mark around your mouth, and you’re unmoving otherwise. Shoko gently reaches and touches the eye bags that are, for once, worse than hers before shaking her head and pulling back. Everyone else waits outside.

Hours pass by in torturous years. 

Satoru wears the same stony expression the whole while, finally surrendering into his desire to hold your hand. 

His heart hardens. He goes completely still. Shoko talks but he can’t really hear anything except the slow beeps of your monitor once you pass certain thresholds. 

There are nurses waiting outside. They’ve grown used to the company, he thinks. He thinks one or two are crying. Soon enough, they’ll come in to turn off the machines tracking your vitals so the sounds don’t drive them crazy, banging in home that you’re dead, dead, dead.

After a while, Satoru realizes you aren’t quite breathing, although your chest moves. Sometimes, there’s a gasping sound, like someone surprised the breath out of you and you’re inhaling sharply to replace it, and he imagines your fingers twitching against his hand one last time.

It’s very slow. Much slower than he imagined it to be. Maybe you’re still fighting. Maybe you don’t want to go.

Satoru can’t imagine why. Where you’re going, there’s no pain, or exhaustion, or blood. Where you’re going, Suguru waits.

He leans against his hand, elbow on the slight incline of your bed. Letting go of your hand, he touches your face, feels the soft puff of your breath, the curve of your jaw. You’ve lost so much weight from the sickness you barely look like yourself, but you’re still you. The cursed energy is still yours. His Six Eyes sees it. His soul feels it.

It tangles with his own where he touches you, and a wave of exhaustion washes over him. 

He wants to sleep, let time pass, and wake up to you dead.

It seems a much better alternative to watching you slip away, but he’s always been selfish when it came to personal affairs.

.

You die two hours later.

Shoko closes her eyes and leans back into her chair as the nurse comes in to turn off the droning monitor. Her face is dry and she takes long, measured breaths as if trying to temper something swirling inside her. Satoru’s hard heart cracks as he squeezes your hand to see if you’ll wake up. It doesn’t quite sink in, even though he can hear someone crying outside, and when your limp hand doesn’t react at all, he shakes his head and gets up, pulling his sunglasses off the collar of his shirt and sliding them back onto his face.

He shoves his hands into his pockets and rakes his face over your body, your face.

He’s seen a dozen dead bodies before, maybe more. You look just like he did on December 24th. At peace, younger. Like you’re glad the suffering is over, and Satoru turns his face away sharply and leaves the room. He doesn’t know what to say and he’s not sure if his voice is still here. 

Everything feels dry and dull and grey.

“Sensei,” Itadori whispers wetly, reaching out a hand, making him stop. The students are all sitting in a small area, but they stand upon seeing him leave the room, and he gives them a plastic smile that makes all of them flinch. Maki is scowling furiously at the ground as Inumaki takes hold of her bicep but she flings the hand off and stalks away, hiding her red face.

“It’s going to be okay,” he tells them as Kugisaki runs after Maki. He watches the two go before turning his attention back on the students. “The important thing is that she didn’t suffer. Arrangements will be made, but there won’t be any rush, alright?” The words feel lacking, but he still manages to smile. “It’s been a long day. Go home. Rest, shower, eat. Let’s remember that she doesn’t want us to be here, slumping around looking like idiots. She wants you to all to take care of yourselves.” He arches his eyebrows insistently at his students, but they don’t seem to hear him.

They’re only looking through the glass doors at your coolling corpse, at Shoko who stands, and speaks to the doctor when he comes back in.

Fushiguro is the only one really looking at him, and the teenager has a silent question in his stare. 

Satoru shakes his head, and Megumi nods.

“Classes are cancelled for the rest of the week,” Yaga adds. “Ijichi will drive you all back to the college in thirty minutes. Make sure you tell the girls.” He directs this to Inumaki, who nods.

“Salmon.”

Later, Megumi finds him smoking a cigarette leaning against Shoko’s car. Satoru’s never liked the taste of the stuff so he doesn’t really know why he’s smoking other than the fact he doesn’t know what to do. 

Up is down, left is right, and you’re dead. 

Nothing seems right, but Megumi gives him a good excuse to stop. Flinging the cig to the ground, he stomps out the ember and re-arranges his expression into that shielded smile of his, but it feels a bit weaker. Sharp, janky, wrong.

“Why haven’t you gone home yet? Ijichi should’ve taken you all back by now,” Satoru says wearily as Fushiguro stops before him, hands shoved in his pockets.

“I stayed behind to look for you,” informs Megumi. He looks a bit fractured, but the boy’s never been one to wear his heart on his sleeve. Satoru makes a mental note to dig into his psyche at a later date, and stretches an arm out to wrangle the boy into a hug against his side.

For all of his complaints and mumbles and scowls, Megumi’s body still relaxes a bit against his, and even though he doesn’t hug him back, when he tells him, “You should go home and get some sleep, too. These past few months haven’t been easy on you, either,” Satoru feels a part of his old self raise its bloody head. 

Glancing down at a head of spiky hair, he knocks his knuckles into his student’s skull. “Have you been keeping an eye on me?”

Megumi crosses his arms, glares over Satoru’s elbow, but even his voice is quieter. “You need to take care of yourself.”

Satoru smiles again. It doesn’t reach his eyes. “But you’re not worried about me, are you, Fushiguro?”

Megumi ducks his head and doesn’t answer any more than, “Someone has to pick up the slack, now.”

.

“Thanks, Ijichi,” Satoru says with a huff, digging the shovel into the ground and stepping on the metal edge. “Not every day you help me carry a dead body and dig a grave, huh.”

“No, sir,” Ijichi replies. He sounds a bit hoarse and tired as he wipes at his brow.

It’s been two days since you’ve died. The college grounds feels a lot less lively. He took a walk in the gardens yesterday, and saw Yaga planting new flowers. He had strode past and ignored the tears on his sensei’s face, and absently wonders now why he hasn’t cried yet as he grabs the shovel and yanks it out of the dirt, tossing it to Ijichi.

It feels kind of stupid, but despite how eviscerated everything inside him feels, he just can’t.

Either way, he’ll deal with it when it becomes a problem.

Satoru wipes at his brow, too, with a heavy sigh, and heads to where a cloth-covered shape is resting on the ground. Your corpse is light in his arms as he bridal carries you to the hole he’s just dug into the grass. It looks suspicious as hell, but it’d probably be even worse if he’d been walking around with a dead body over his shoulder, stitched back together after an autopsy by your best friend. 

Good thing they’re only in the forests outside the college campus. There won’t be any civilians for miles.

“You can go,” he says over his shoulder, setting you down by the hole they’ve dug. He takes in a deep breath to calm himself and Ijichi’s footsteps hesitate before beginning and fading away moments later. Falling to his knees, Satoru begins to carefully unfold the cloth just enough that he can see your face and chest. 

He squints behind his blindfold at the ripples of energy still seeping from the stitches along your chest. Sinking his hands into the lush, cold grass, he twists the blades with rigid fingers at the stench of rot coming from the curse before he draws back.

Hands on his lap, he stares at your face. You look frozen in time, eyes closed, skin clean, and there’s that unnatural stillness about you that only comes with the dead. It’s strange. He probably couldn’t have imagined someone so vivacious could be so motionless if he hadn’t seen it first with Suguru.

He had asked not to hear the results of your autopsy. Not now, maybe not ever. It’d be fresh lemon juice in a weeping wound. All he knows is that the curse clings to your corpse, and Shoko could only remove the growths that were no longer being fed for examination.

“Weird that this is where we’ve found ourselves,” he begins humourlessly. “With how we were living, Suguru always said I’d die first. Doing something stupid, being too cocky.” He slides a hand into his pocket and withdraws something he’d snipped this morning from the last plant you had grown with your Technique. A red tulip with a short stem that’s a bit crushed, and beginning to decay, but… everything can’t be perfect.

“I never thought I’d outlive you.”

Reaching forward, he places the tulip gently on your chest, takes your cold arms that are just beginning to loosen up again from rigor mortis, and folds your hands over the stem.

“Eternal love, and fame,” he repeats to himself. The energy nearly swallows up the tulip, but as it radiates from your chest, flickers in the slight breeze, Satoru sees flashes of red and green, much brighter than everything else around him, and knows that it won’t be consumed. Sitting down, he hugs his legs to his chest and stares at your dead body blankly, chin on his knees.

He had had a plan. He was going to just… put the flower there, exorcise the curse inside you, and bury you so you could finally rest. He wouldn’t hesitate because this is something you entrusted him to do.

But this is the first time in months he hasn’t had a cloud hanging over his head, and his body feels so much ligher without the burden of your disease hanging off his shoulders, that he can’t help but relish in it. Speak to you without worrying about saying the wrong thing, of people overhearing. He’s finally… free. 

It feels fucking awful.

“You were right, by the way.” His voice is dull, resonating deep in his chest. There is no August sun breaking through the trees above, only from behind him, and the golden beams touch your chin, down your throat and chest. It sets the red of the tulip on fire. “I miss you. And I wish I could’ve said so many things, but we ran out of time.” A faint smile. “No matter what you think, Suguru loved you. It’s why he came to see you one last time. I knew him better than I knew myself, and I know he was happiest knowing you were at his side.” Closing his eyes, the ache in his heart swells as he utters out, “So was I.”

Burying his his face in his forearms, a cup inside him seems to tip over and everything feels too hot for him to breathe in. Ripping his blindfold off and tossing it away from him blindly, his eyes snap open wide as he tries to breathe. His ribs constrict his lungs, and he presses his eyes into his arms, hands shaking as he sinks his nails into his biceps. 

Harsh pants puff against his face as he tries to reign in his shuddering, but he can’t. The knot in his heart twists until he thinks he might die, and distantly, he hears soft footsteps so faint he’s not sure if he imagines it. Gritting his teeth, he stifles the bruising feeling welling up in his throat.

Gentle hands brush down his shoulders soothingly, sending a wave of nausea through his body, and he jerks away.

“Damn it, Ijichi, leave me alone!” Wrenching his head up, his eyes widen at the figure crouched in front of him.

Arms falling lax to the grass and his knees widening, his jaw drops as a thumb teases his parted lips. You step between his legs and crouch down, limber and strong. You look healthy again, bright eyes and full cheeks, young like spring, and when you smile, it fills him utterly with light. In your hands is his blindfold, and you ruffle his hair, tilting your head curiously.

“I’m not Ijichi, but… do you really want me to go so soon?” you ask as he rakes his gaze up and down your body. There is still a purple shell encasing your legs, but as you shift your weight on your feet, it falls like fragile eggshells to the ground and sinks into the dirt, disappearing for good. Peering around you, his eyes widen when he sees shards of a purple shell in shatters all over your corpse.

He’d only seen this once before, eight months ago, with a certain student of his and the cursed spirit of the girl he loved and who loved him.

Face burning, his gaze snaps back to you as you poke his cheek and continue to grin. Leaning back on his hands, he tries to stop the intense shattering of his walls by clenching his jaw, but the shudders overtake his body, his chest, his throat until he’s letting out an ugly sound and blinking hard as if that’ll hide it away from you. Something devastatingly warm immediately shoots down his cheeks. Covering his mouth with the crook of his elbow, he turns his face away but your warm hands cradle him carefully, thumbs brushing underneath his eyes.

“Yuuta, you’re right. Rika isn’t cursing you.”

“No,” he whispers, arm falling. His fingers sink into his shoulder as if that would be enough to wake him from this nightmare. “No. I can’t—Did I—Did I kill you?” You squint studiously, not letting go of his face as he lifts the hand from his shoulder and reaches to touch you. It shakes, and he snaps it into a fist to stop it, looking at his fingers that have done so much harm—shed so much blood. “Did I do this to you?”

“You cursed Rika.”

You chuckle fondly, like he’s said something silly, and set a hand on his fist, pushing it down firmly. “You can’t control how other people react to your words, Satoru.” Your voice changes, and your eyebrows draw together in something bittersweet. “And you can’t change something you didn’t know. The chances of you cursing me and me cursing myself are irrelevant. It doesn’t change anything about where we are, now.”

Satoru watches you, lips parted, as you tie the blindfold around his neck. You feel so real, so close, and as you slide your hands down his shoulders, to his chest, he jerks his head down to stare at your shoes in the grass. 

So he did. 

“I see,” he murmurs.

That’s it, then.

“Satoru, please look at me,” you whisper, fingers stretching to his chin. With the gentlest of pressures, you prompt him up and he finds your face, your smile, where all colours begin and end. For a moment, the world seems to inhale all of its life back into its core—the leaves whistle, the sun is warm and golden, and he lifts his hand to touch you again, but you pull back before he can. 

“I can only thank you for being my friend. For staying with me until the very end.” You laugh quietly to yourself and lift your hand from his face. “I would make a joke about a curse, but I know it still hurts, so I’ll save it for when I see you on the other side, okay? When it heals a bit more.”

“It’s never going to hurt less,” he croaks. “Don’t pretend like you don’t know how much you mean to me.”

Your smile softens. Satoru tries to eternalize that expression forever. “I’m honoured, but, I hope it does heal. I don’t want you to learn how to carry so much pain around. I don’t want you to be numb.” You touch his cheek again, as if you’re trying to soak in as much of him as you can, too. 

“Do you have any last words?” he manages to ask raspily, and you chuckle, tilting your head and running your hand through his hair again. His eyes flutter shut at the scratch, the sensation of your nails against his scalp, and then there’s your hand at his jaw, holding him all together. He wants to hold you so badly he thinks his muscles might cramp into stone at the desire.

“What does it matter?” you ask curiously. “You already know how I feel. That will never change. And if you ever want to know what I think, or what I’d do, you can just ask Shoko and think about it yourself. You know me well enough to not need me nagging about it.”

“But, it won’t be enough.”

“It never will be,” you agree. “But isn’t it wonderful that we even got to know each other at all?” You lean forward, and his eyes flutter shut as you hold him to your chest. He can’t hear your heartbeat anymore, but your warmth is almost the same. The echo of your voice rumbles in his head as you speak, and maybe that is enough. “If you want my last words, you already have them.”

You draw him back, and give him one last smile. The air shifts golden yellow to his Six Eyes, for the last time. 

“Until we meet again, my Satoru.” 

You fade without giving him a chance to answer, taking all the colour with you. 

Staring at the empty air where you had been just a moment before with wide, burning blues, he whispers your name brokenly before burying his hands in the dirt, squeezing his eyes shut, and letting boiling tears scald his face red.

.

“If you want my last words, you already have them.”

Spinning the key ring on his finger, Satoru looks dully at the door knob he had just unlocked. There’s no one in the hall, and he debates whether or not he should turn around, but Shoko had insisted. There’d been something left for him in your old apartment, and according to her, it would be spoiled soon if he didn’t go.

“Oh, what the hell,” he mutters, catching the key in his palm and shoving it into his long coat. Tugging it tighter around himself, he twists the knob and pushes it open. He can’t remember the last time he was in here. Maybe five or six months ago, when they both had a day off that didn’t need to be spent at the college.

There aren’t any plants anymore. He supposes Nanami, Ijichi, maybe even Yaga have taken them. He swears he’s seen a few in the gardens lately, but who is he to say? Toeing off his shoes, he makes his way down the hall. 

 Everything is just as you left it, with clean counters and empty tables. The curtains are spread, letting in so much September sunlight. It hits random display pedestals of different sizes, all the surfaces big enough to fit a pot on. Your watering can sits by the sink. There are photos hanging on the walls, propped up on the desk, on your shelves, polaroids taped to the walls. 

Reminders that someone did live here. That there is a whole life unknown to strangers but evidence enough that whoever used to be here, they had people who would miss them.

Walking up to the counter, he drags his fingers along the surface, feeling the dust collect up to a square of pale light. A clean circle is all that’s left as a clue that there used to be something there, and his heart twists.

Who knew he could miss fucking plants of all things?

Sweeping his gaze around, he brushes off the dust on his jacket and hooks a thumb on his blindfold, sweeping the area with an eccentric eye. The TV is off, your bookshelves are in their usual untidy state, but even the reaching vines of the bean plant is gone from the highest shelf.

 “They really scooped this place dry,” he muses dryly to no one. He can still hear the music you’d play for late nights, the smell of dumpling soup. He walks down the hall and still remembers how many steps it takes to reach the bathroom that guests would use. 

He had hunched over that bath on December 25th, and let water soak through his hair as strong fingers worked the sweat from his scalp and skin.

Four more steps to the guest best room on the right, and another three to the end of the hall where a door leads to your room. It’s already open, and he steps in easily, tugging his blindfold all the way down off his face. Hair falling over his eyes, he sweeps it aside and surveys the room. The walls are still that pretty shade of cream, and your bed is made carefully, dark olive blankets resting atop your white sheets. He smiles to himself, despite the twang in his chest.

Walking deeper, he approaches the cabinet by your bathroom, and picks up the photo you have by your jewelry stand.

A smile curls his mouth. He remembers this one. First year, their first September. All four of them had gone together to Sapporo for the autumn festival. 

He sets the photo back down and looks into the bathroom. Your toiletries are all lined up, waiting for their next use, and he swallows as he raises his gaze up to the mirror. His blue eyes look a big too big on his face from the past month alone, and there are red-purple half moons printed onto his face that have only just started to fade. He swears it only looks worse because of how much pale light is streaming in from the windows, and he tugs at his collar uncomfortably, clearing his throat.

Turning around, he looks at the offenders for making him look so awful, and finds a medium-sized pot sitting on the window seat. It’s the only thing sitting on the flat, wooden surface, in partial shade and almost unfurling before his very eyes.

Satoru frowns, walking around your bed to inspect the plant. 

The flowers are a warm magenta colour, and his eyes widen at the flash of white he can see leading to the center of each bloom. Brushing a thumb over the petals, his jaw sets as he tilts his head to get a better look at the plant. So this is what was growing inside of you. Huh.

There’s another slip of white near the dirt, and his eyebrows furrow, fingers seeking the thing. It crinkles when he touches it, and his frown deepens as he manages to grasp it, pulling it free underneath the leaves and stems of the plants. Sitting down beside the pot, he dusts off the dirt clinging to the paper, and reads his name along the front in your print before flipping the envelope around. There’s something sticking out of it, a sloping shape that’s hard but not too big.

Curiosity peaked, he tears the envelope open carefully and peers inside. A binder clip is inside, holding something together, and he flips it upside down, letting everything fall. The letter slides out first, followed by whatever the binder clip is holding together and he squeezes his thighs together so it doesn’t fall to the floor.

Setting the letter aside, he picks the bundle up. 

Polaroids.

They’re polaroids of different sizes that have him smiling despite the heavy sorrow twisting his entire chest.

Various pictures of Satoru, Suguru, Shoko, and you together, and he finds most of them are of him and you. Pictures of him hiding behind plants of various sizes, a picture of him drinking soju, because Suguru liked it the most and insisted he try, while leaning against Shoko who was knocking back a shot of tequila. There is a shot of Suguru, wet with mud and smiling like sunshine, while a drenched Satoru was in the background, flipping the camera off in the middle of a storm. 

More and more pictures, enough to spill out of his lap, and he picks up each one, desperate to remember when or where you took them.

And, sometimes, he can’t. Sometimes, they are just moments that he’s lost because he never thought they’d be important, and now moments he’d give anything to remember.

There are pictures of a fern he had named their first year, little annotations on the bottom of some others. Dates, but with no context otherwise. Names scribbled in black ink. 

You’re in a lot of them, your smile timeless, your joy infectious even through film.

Arms slung around Suguru, face smushed against his, artfully blurry perhaps on accident, and annotated with scrawl that read: I call this masterpiece “Dumb Sweethearts” by Gojo Satoru :)

A picture of him and Shoko and Suguru, of them in one of Tokyo’s night markets, you behind the camera, the lights flashing and warm and pink, making them all look like they’ve transported to some other kind of cyberpunk world. 

You and Shoko lounging in the gardens, having a tiny picnic at your insistence, and in Suguru’s handwriting in black: JUST GIRLS BEING PALS

Satoru stares at Suguru’s writing the longest, not even at his words, just the strokes of his pen. This is a new part of him Satoru thought had been destroyed, and he starves for it. It’s like his one and only lives and breathes in the ink, in those snapshots of him caught in eternal youth. When they’d been happy and unaware and not innocent, but cocky enough to think they could rule the world. 

It’s hungry, the way he goes through each photo, searching for another glimpse of you, of him, of them together, until Satoru is all out of moments to feed on, and still, he feels empty, flicking through the last few photos.

You in a pool, arms wrapped around Shoko and beaming like the sun.

A shot of Satoru and Suguru climbing trees shot from below, your eyes and skeptically raised eyebrows in frame, captioned big dumb monkeys

And the last one…

He holds it to the sunlight and his gaze softens.

A selfie of you kissing Suguru on the cheek. It’s mostly dark, but they were definitely in the bathroom, and the flash made Suguru’s outstretched arm look pale as a ghost, but even so, there’s no mistaking the happiness captured there. He was sticking out his tongue, winking, and red as a beet so he was either drunk or you had said something or both. Your arms were wrapped around his neck, nose squished against his cheek, eyes squeezed tight as he took the shot.

Turning it over, Satoru’s heart plummets into his chest. In Suguru’s clean, blocky writing:

THE GIRL IM GOING TO MARRY ONE DAY <3

And crossed out is your reply followed by a little note:

dummy doesnt have the nerve to propose SHHH!!!! ONE DAY C:

One day.

It sounds so much emptier now.

He lowers the photo back to his lap, and glances around him, at all these scattered moments captured forever. Gathering them up again, he relives them all over again, looking at each photo for longer to see if he’s missed anything, but mostly his stare lingers on your face, and on Suguru’s, and his own, too, because he can’t remember what it felt like back then, but he is sure it feels so much better than now.

The polaroids come together a neat stack and he is careful not to scratch any of them when he clips them together. The top photo is of you with your arms wrangled around Suguru and Satoru, your face split in a maniacal laugh, their mouths open in shock, eyes bulging in how you must’ve scared them witless. 

Shoko’s messy writing at the bottom, for it must’ve been her who had taken the photo: BREAKING NEWS: Japan’s Strongest Conquered by a Woman.

A smile cracks his weary face and he runs a thumb over their faces before sliding the photos back into the envelope for safe-keeping. 

Then, he grabs the letter. His name is written again on the first flap, and he reads it three times over before unfolding the paper, not quite ready but also not sure if he ever will be.

Immediately, a faint, herbal-like scent slashed with antiseptic flows from the page and his stomach curdles as your script pours down the page. 

Swallowing, Satoru shifts and leans against the wall, hiking a foot up onto the seat and holding your inked characters to the light. There’s a date inscribed at the top.

Thursday. 

The first Thursday after you had been released from the hospital. Your last Thursday before you were back in for good.

“Shit.”

He folds the letter again and tilts his head back against the wall, staring at the ceiling.

Does he want to read this? Does he really want to fucking read this? 

Taking a deep breath, he clears his throat and lowers his gaze to stare determinedly ahead of him. The purple flowers greet him warmly and he shakes the shiver out of his body before tightening his grip on your letter and unfolding it again, forcing his eyes on the page.

My Satoru,

I sent all the pictures I had of Shoko to her, and she has some of Suguru, too. Now that I’m gone, there’s no use if I keep them. Maybe you two could share some time, laugh it up over these old memories. I know she says she can’t stand you, but to be honest, who else is there that will remember us now? Who else is there to remember Suguru for more than his bloody hands and me as more than that girl too sick to do anything but die? 

Some legacy we said we’d leave, huh.

I don’t think I told you this, but with this disease catching up to me, it’s hard not to form hypotheses on why it’s happening or how. I have quite a few theories, and, unfortunately, none of them are pleasant or unriddled with angst. By now, you’ve probably figured out it’s a curse, and if you’re smart enough to ignore how much I’ll probably deny it, that it’s some love bullshit. If you didn’t know, now you do.

I know it’s weird. Suguru is dead. It shouldn’t be happening, right?

That’s what I thought, too

You once said love manifests the most twisted curses. I never thought of it that way before, but I’m starting to think you’re right. I don’t want to curse you by dying, but I can’t help but wonder if we can control who we curse. If I hadn’t heard you say that, would I still be here? Healthy? Okay? 

I don’t know. I can’t predict alternate timelines, because I got to live one life, and that’s more than most people get. But, because I know you, you want me to entertain you. I’m sighing as I write this.

Look, I know the pain would still be there. I know I still wouldn’t be able to forgive myself for what I did, even if it was what had to be done. I know I would still miss him. I know that I would still long for the day I didn’t feel guilty for loving someone else.

If you didn’t curse me, I cursed myself. It drives me crazy that this is how the die was cast, even now, even after months where I could’ve accepted this, but at least this physical manifestation almost makes me… calm. Like seeing what this life has done to me makes me brave enough to fight it. If anything at all, the curse brought me a greater understanding of how powerful our world is in comparison to people who… are normal. The people we have to protect.

I’m sorry. Reading this back, it sounds like I’m the one cursing you now; telling you all this knowledge that can only bring you more anguish. I promise, this isn’t what it is. I just want you to understand. You couldn’t have saved me, Satoru. I couldn’t have given you the absolution you wanted, and if that’s how it is, then I just hope that one day you can look back on this and it won’t hurt anymore.

It’s always been so complicated between us, after what happened to Suguru, and after what he did, even ten years ago. What we couldn’t stop and what we had to do that day. There was always a line that I thought I couldn’t cross, or a line you didn’t want to cross, and it was shaped a lot like him. I don’t know if it was just in my head, but there was something holding us back, and I was fine dancing around it because I saw how you felt about him and I understood. Your eyes always changed when you looked at him. When you spoke of him. Even after.

Always after.

Don’t think I’m angry. I’m not blind. I know how much you two meant to each other, and I could never be angry that Suguru is so cherished. Missed. It makes everything so much harder, so much more painful.

Look, in the end, I loved him, and you did, too. And if we both still do, that’s okay. He deserved love. 

I guess it just feels like a stab in the back that it wasn’t enough. 

But life isn’t a fairytale. None of it really matters. To be honest, I wouldn’t trade any of it for a second, and I hope you wouldn’t either. 

Maybe life isn’t supposed to be lived happily, but lived contently. And I did. I am satisfied with what I’ve done, even if I wanted to do so much more. 

I’m so grateful to have known you, to have had you by my side. I hope you can say the same. 

Don’t regret my death. Remember how much fun we had when we were stupid kids, and smile. Because I don’t want you to think your best years are behind you. I want you to be happy, even if I can’t be there to see it. I want you to be excited for your future, even if I can’t be in it.

I’ll always be watching over you, so smile for me every once in a while. Even if it seems like you’ll never feel anything again. One day, I promise you will, and it won’t feel so bad.

Yours forever and ever and ever,

(Name)

.

Throat crushed, he reads one line over and over the most. He’s memorized your letter heart, but he still carries it around with him, anyway.

“I know that I would still long for the day I didn’t feel guilty for loving someone else.”

Sometimes, he just wants to imagine your hand whispering over the page, the pen tapping against your chin, your face as you wrote, the sigh that you said you heaved. Because he’ll never hear you laugh again, see your smile. Your voice will never tease his ear, your fingers will never touch his face. There is no more laugh-wrinkles set in a face always perfectly hit by sunlight, and this is all he has left. His memory, and what you’ve left behind.

It makes him laugh how almost lovestruck stupid he’s being, but… he doubts anyone blames him. As long as he’s still doing his job, as long as he’s still the Strongest, what does it matter if he carries a dead woman’s letter in his pocket everywhere?

“Warm weather, even in the evenings. That’s a bit unusual,” Nanami observes, startling Satoru and he looks up at the blond who stops by him in the gardens. The man is wearing his grey suit, as always, and his watch glimmers in the fading gold light. “How are you?”

Satoru’s fingers tighten around the letter in his hands. As usual, the urge to crumple it up, throw it into the garbage to never see it again, has reared its head after his latest re-read, but he’ll stave it off. He always manages to.

“Fine,” he replies, glancing at the startling blood red and burnt orange leaves casually. Colours seem a bit brighter, and Satoru still squints a bit against them, despite the soft light of the sunset. He doesn’t know when his Six Eyes got so sensitive to that kind of stuff, but it almost feels good to be distracted by something so trivial as sensitive eyesight. “It is a bit warm for October.” 

Nanami hums. “How are your plants doing?”

“Mine are doing good,” he says, smiling. “The tulips have gone dormant, so nothing to worry about there. The one with purple flowers, though. It’s a tough one. It took me a while to figure out what it liked, but it didn’t go dormant or anything as long as I gave it enough water and paid attention to it.”

“That’s good.” Nanami adjusts his green lenses and sighs like he’s bracing himself for something difficult. “Gojo,” he begins, but Satoru merely folds your letter up and slides it into his breast pocket, holding up a hand.

“Whatever you’re going to say, Nanami, I don’t need to hear it.”

“Are you sure?” he asks skeptically, gaze following as Satoru stands, patting his jacket. Adjusting the lapel, he turns to his friend and when he grins, it feels like it reaches his eyes behind his sunglasses for the first time in two months.

“I’ve done this before, Nanami. I’ll be fine.” He waves it away. Nanami frowns. “I’m gonna get some dinner, though. Care to join? There’s a real good ramen place in Ikebukuro that you have to try.” The blond man observes him for a moment, before shaking his head, saying he had dinner already. “Suit yourself. Next time, I’m treating you, though.” 

Lips puckered in a whistle, Satoru turns around and begins to walk away. 

A breeze sweeps through the gardens, rustling the leaves in a discordant harmony, and sneaking into his jacket, sending a slight shiver up his spine as Nanami’s voice follows after him.

“The flower she left you is the sakurasou.” Satoru stops, hands in his pockets, but he doesn’t turn around as Nanami continues, “I wasn’t certain if if you knew.”

“Nope, I didn’t. Thanks for the info.” Lifting a hand, he barely looks over his shoulder before saluting with two fingers and smiling cheekily. It’s not as forced as it used to be. In fact, it comes quite easy as he reaches into his pocket for his phone. He knows what he has to find out now. “See ya later, Nanami.”

“Good evening,” he replies, and in a blink of an eye, Satoru is gone.

On the windowsill of his empty apartment, the sakurasou soaks in the last remnants of the day before wilting against two photos.

One of four students, arms entangled, and faces framed in eternal youth.

And another immortalizing what could’ve been longer than a few shaky months if someone had been just a bit braver.

a/n: satoru’s google search result: the meaning of sakurasou - desire and long-lasting love. 

and yes, there was an actual lunar eclipse on july 27th, 2018 (28th in japan time). it was very pretty. i researched a bit about both the lunar eclipse and the medical stuff, but excuse any inaccuracies! tis but a work of fiction <3 also, fun fact: the polaroid camera is supposed to be the instax mini 90 but ive never used it so excuse those inaccuracies as well SKNDALSDKN

ngl i did wanna write an alternative ending, but i can’t see this ending any other way. this is it. this is the canon, and we got a bit of happy feelies at the end as a treat. thank you for reading!

[saintobio]

Hoejo says that he’s “trying” but he wasn’t trying to at least move s*ra off him out of respect for his wife. You know, the one that he hurt really fucking bad is suppose to be winning her back?

Lol imagine being upset because you can’t be on the same bowling team because your girlfriend won’t let you 😂😂😂 birds of feather flock together you better stick with your tribe Hoejo💅🏾

I’m really glad that Geto and co are sticking with their morals. Like Hoejo is their friend but they’re not co-signing his bs.

How you mad at Toji for spending time with YOUR wife when you’re over there in the corner giggling baby names with your girlfriend Hoejo? Hm? Hmm? Answer me that Hoejo since you know everything!!

But that confession at the end from Hoejo? Someone get him a little water I think he’s a bit thirsty ugh🙄! Like why would he say that but his actions say other wise? Like I really want poke him in the head because he’s very clear that he isn’t going to be getting rid of s*ra anytime soon. He wants to fix things with the mc but wants to fix the whole pregnancy scare with s*ra but even if she didn’t end up pregnant, he was still going to keep seeing here because he truly believes she gives him what he thought was love but it’s not and he’s slowly…slowly…very slowly…realizing that s*ra isn’t all she’s cracked up to be

But oh well, too late 🤷🏾‍♀️because he has proven the mc right once again;

🍷-“We’re here live to give an update on the Gojo redemption arc and it’s not looking so good here folks.”

🍺-“We are only in the first quarter and he’s already down by two.”

🍷-“Honestly, he had mc there the first time with the date idea. Very cute, very creative, nice setting to ease into some talking but unfortunately he was blindsided by mc bringing back with s*re in tow. Can we get a slow motion of Hoejo’s face upon seeing everyone there. Priceless.”

🍺-“I’m telling ya’ the man just can’t catch a break but there’s still hope that he could turn it around before it’s too late but we’re just gonna have to wait.”

🍺-“Until next week folks!”

HELPHEJDJ you’re so mad at him and i can’t blame u 😭

[anomia-sama]

c-can we p-please get some geto fluff hc? I just want to see him happy.... like with a pregnant reader, or what it would be like raising a child with this man? I want to give him the world👉👈

OMG, It's such a cute, sweet and fluffy idea! Yes, he deserves love, joy and happiness. Let’s give him the world together.

I hope you'll enjoy it!

Pairing: Suguru Getō x Reader

Warnings: Female reader, pregnancy, what-if?, probably uncorrect english.

Notes: I thought about it for a while. Clearly, it is difficult to imagine someone like Suguru canonically having a child, but I honestly found it cute, fluff and really tender, I had so much fun writing this headcanon! I totally melted while writing. Just sayin’.

◈ ━━━━━━━━  Headcanon ━━━━━━━━ ◈

When you tell him you're pregnant he's kind of paralyzed. Just a minute (or two, or ten), staring at the soft pacifier and the positive pregnancy test you put in a gift package only for him. 

Then he dares to look at you, with a literally shocked expression. His dark eyes are widened in a genuine surprise, is lips are slightly parted, and even if you can't see it (Geto's really good in dissimulation) his hands are  imperceptibly shaking. 

" Y/n…." he whispers.

His chest rises rhythmically but slowly, as if Suguru is trying to regulate his breathing. You can see how incredulous he is and you slowly melt yourself in a laugh full of emotion.

" Are you…"  

" Yes, love. I am."  

" Pregnant? Are you pregnant? " He asks one more time. He really needs to hear it clearly.

" Yes, Suguru. You will become a father. "

 That. Amazing. Word.

You can clearly see the effect the word “father” has on him. His eyes are now two deep wells of wild joy and his lips slowly stretch in a radiant and bright smile. In a second his arms are around your waist in a breathtaking hug.

He laughs against your neckline and lifts your body firmly and strongly. He almost cries, yeah, since he’s so, so, so happy!

Be prepared, Y/n. From now on, Suguru will be ultra caring.

"Are you okay? You should have some rest."

Like…ten times a day. Please, reassure him you’re ok and your baby too.

Yup, he’s lowkey (but not too lowkey) worried about your and your baby’s health.

If you’re a sorcerer (and, hell yes, you have to be, I’m pretty sure he wouldn’t procreate with a so called monkey), don’t you dare go on a mission without him. Suguru trusts you and your abilities, but now you have to stay safer than ever.

When he comes back from a mission, expect a tired kiss and a soft caress on your belly. He won’t lose his usual composure, but his brain is totally melted.

This man is quite clueless when it comes of pregnancy. So, he asks Shoko information and guidelines. He really wants to know everything about what happens month by month and whatever could hypothetically go wrong, so he can avoid it.

Satoru is always ready to tease him about his parenting attitudes: "You will be a father, man. A terrible father. That’s why your baby needs a cool godfather like me."

Suguru’s face is probably like this. Hell no, he will be the best father ever, shut up Gojo!

When he’s not busy, he will gladly lie with you on your shared bed, kissing your growing belly and fantasizing about that little creature. Will they be a boy? A girl? With your beauty and his brain? No, please, his brain is a mess. With his beauty and your brain?

"Let’s call him Suguru Junior. Y/n Junior if they're a girl."  

" No."

" Please? "

Just give up, reader, he will call the baby Suguru Junior until you find a proper name.

When he thinks you’re asleep, he will probably look at you and your belly with a soft smile, his fingertips running on your abdomen in delicate caresses.

What did he do to deserve you and all the happines you’re giving to him?

The first time your baby kicks, he almost cries. Again. He’s kind of surprised, charmed by the miracle of life. It’s like he never realized how true, real and concrete this pregnancy is before.

Suguru is an overthinker. So…he overthinks. About this baby’s future, about the risks, about how he could protect the both of you from the evil of this messed and dangerous world.

The night you break your waters, he perfectly knows what to do. He studied a lot, he’s ready! 

…Doesn’t he? 

No, totally no, nobody’s ready for this. But, as I said before, he’s good at dissimulating, so you don’t understand how bad he’s inwardly panicking.

However, once again, he doesn’t lose his composure. He knows he has to lead the situation with a clear head and nerve. 

He doesn’t give a shit, he wants to stay by your side during the childbirth, holding your hand, caressing your cheeks and looking at Shoko with a murderous gaze, as if to say "If something happens to my wife and/or my son, I perfectly know how to kill you.”

And that’s exactly the reason why Shoko kicks him out of the room.       

" Let me work, you idiot. "  

 Poor Suguru. Far from you, alone with his anxiety and Satoru.

So he sits there, next to the door, with his elbows propped against his knees and his hands crossed under his chin. A blank expression on his face, hearing you crying and screaming. 

Holy mother of curses. Time goes by so slowly… minutes are like hours, hours are like days. Suguru feels like pressure is going to kill him.

And then he hears it. A loud, different cry coming from the room, the strong, powerful, poetic sound of a new life. He rapidly turn his face to the door, his heart melting in his chest.

Okay, he’s Suguru Geto. He’s one of the strongest sorcerer ever. He’s a Special Grade, a fierce and proud man. But, seriously, would anybody blame him, if he cries (and not almost) for a minute? 

Yes, Satoru would, so he really has to catch back his tears.

When Shoko opens the door with a bright smile on her face, inviting him to meet you and your son ( " Oops, I mean daughter, she’s a girl! " ) he feel paralyzed and even a bit scared. Is it real? 

A few moments later you can see his figure at the door. He’s looking at you with a moved expression on his face and a soft smile on his lips while he whispers your name.

In a few steps Suguru is next to your bed, cupping your cheeks and pressing a passionate and loving kiss on your lips. You know he was so worried, so you soflty kiss him back to reassure him that you’re fine, even if tired. He says how much he loves you, but his eyes rapidly fall to the bundle you gently hold in your arms.

His expression is…is unparalleled. You never saw him smile that way since your first kiss. He looks so happy, so touched! He’s brighter than the sun itself.

" Suguru….let me introduce you to our daughter. D/n…let me introduce you to your loving father. " You murmur, with a tired laugh.

He hesitates for a second, before welcome the bundle in his strong arms. He’s a bit awkward, but his gesture is gentle and tender. You know he will learn soon how to properly hold a baby.

" Hello there… " He softly smiles at her.

Right in that moment the baby starts crying. 

Panic. Did he do something wrong?

He looks at you for help, but he suddenly notices how tired you are and how your eyes are closing in search for rest.

Suguru smiles at you, kissing your forehead before he starts slowly cradle your daughter.

" Hush...Hush, honey. Mommy needs some rest. I'll take care of you, sweetie… It's a promise. "  

And trust me, dear. He will.

[sukirichi]

suki’s restaurant is now CLOSED! please read updates after the “keep reading” tab!

thank you for the milestone! it’s really such a huge gift to me since i just started posting jjk content here ten days ago (◕ᴗ◕✿) as a small token of appreciation, all requests are now open and there’s a variety of ingredients you can choose from!

masterlist !

meal guides:

🥞 breakfast - fics longer than 1k word counts

🍙 lunch (headcanons)

🍷 wine (nsfw content)

🍰 snack (timestamps, imagines & drabbles)

🍌 thirsts (ramble with me about our smexy thoughts!) for the brainrots

PLEASE READ:

— this event is officially closed. my asks are only open for the previous anons who i’ve asked to do a redo for any mistakes/restrictions in their previous orders.

— new requests will no longer be accepted. or maybe it will because i’m easily swayed with great ideas but it will no longer be part of the milestone event.

— my writing schedule is only during wednesdays, fridays, and the weekends. some works will be written in advance and scheduled to post daily (if possible.)

— please be patient! as you can see, i’ve got a lot of requests, and i really want your meals to be as pleasing and delicious as possible, so please please be patient. i’m training for med school and i’ve got other responsibilities too. if you want to decline a request if you can’t wait for it, that’s fine. 

— i’m human so...my mind can change any minute, and i could no longer be interested in a certain idea. if that happens, i’ll reply to your ask that i won’t be serving your meal anymore even if it’s here on the list below. it sounds kind of rude, but i wouldn’t want to write something i’m not interested in for the sake of pleasing others, because if i write something i don’t enjoy/am not that interested in anymore, then the meal won’t turn out as good had i been passionate for it. it’s going to be done out of forced productivity and the food might taste bad :<

— the last batch of accepted meals will be marked as ✿

— favorites will be marked as ★. because they’re the ideas i find most interesting and the ones i adore the most, they will take longer to be completed. i really want to give my ultimate best on that and just UNLEASH everything i have in me.

how to order!

✦ choose from the ingredients below

✦ choose your own sugar and spice!

✦ choose from the meal guides above! please specify if you want your request to be

✦ send in your request by dropping it on my ask box!

✦ be as descriptive as you want in your request, i want to make a good meal for you!

✦ example of how to order: 

— breakfast: ingredient 9 + sugar 1 for gojo 

— alternative: 9+1+1+song (optional) + dialogue of choice (optional)

— alternative:  breakfast with wine: ingredient 9 + sugar 1 + spice 1 for gojo

— optional: ingredient 9 + sugar 1 + spice 1 for toji + cookie “starboy by the weeknd” and “you wanna fuck me so bad”

ingredients : au (max of 2 picks!)

CROSSED OUT OPTIONS MEANS IT’S NO LONGER AVAILABLE

✦ sugar daddy au

✦ arranged marriage au

✦ accidental pregnancy au

✦ high school au

✦ university au

✦ med! student au / doctor! au

✦ lawyer au

✦ detective au

✦ ceo au

✦ sugar mommy au

✦ neighbours au

✦ bed sharing au

✦ roommates au

✦ co-workers au

✦ body swap au

✦ soulmate au

✦ fake dating au 

✦ marriage for convenience au 

✦ bodyguard au

✦ assassin au

✦ married au 

✦ love triangle au

✦ mutual pining au

✦ unrequited love au

✦ meet drunk au

✦ meet cute au

✦ siblings’ friend au

✦ friend’s sibling au

✦ established relationship au

✦ breakup au

✦ barista au / coffee shop au

✦ teacher x student au

✦ royalty au

✦ rentboy au 

✦ camboy/camgirl au

✦ ex au

✦ mistaken identity

✦ fuck buddies au

✦ bartender au

✦ tattoo artist au

✦ apocalypse au

✦ playboy au

✦ stoner au

✦ love at first sight au

✦ hate sex au

✦ sleepover au

✦ worthy opponent au

✦ age gap au

✦ loss of virginity au

✦ gangster au

✦ mafia au

✦ bet au

✦ rebound au

✦ drunk hookup au 

✦ bad boy good girl au

✦ amnesia au

✦ reincarnation au

✦ one of them is famous 

✦ one of them doesn’t know the other exists

✦ one of them is oblivious 

✦ one of them is taken already 

✦ polar opposites au

✦ met at the subway au

✦ library au

✦ football player au

✦ canon au (jjk canon)

✦ send me your own au!

sugar: tropes (max of 2 picks!)

CROSSED OUT OPTIONS MEANS IT’S NO LONGER AVAILABLE

✦ best friends to lovers

✦ enemies to lovers

✦ lovers to enemies

✦ strangers to lovers

✦ mutual pining 

✦ unrequited love

✦ forbidden relationship

✦ partners in crime

✦ slow burn

✦ send me your own trope!

spice: (for nsfw requests) (max of 3 picks!)

CROSSED OUT OPTIONS MEANS IT’S NO LONGER AVAILABLE

— here are the kinks/sexual content i’m comfortable writing about. there’s still a lot of kinks idk about so if it’s not here, please feel free to include the spice in the ask!

✦ breeding kink

✦ size kink

✦ stockholm syndrome

✦ age play

✦ agoraphilia (public place kink)

✦ somnophilia (consensual sex where the other is asleep)

✦ breath play

✦ dumbification

✦ cum play

✦ begging kink

✦ praising kink

✦ thigh riding

✦ collaring

✦ face sitting

✦ 34+35

✦ dacryphilia

✦ disciplining

✦ dirty talking

✦ exhibitionism

✦ role playing

✦ gagging

✦ watersports

✦ send me your own kink!

cherry on top : characters

CROSSED OUT OPTIONS MEANS IT’S NO LONGER AVAILABLE

— characters i can write anything for (nsfw & sfw)

: gojo satoru, fushiguro megumi, fushiguro toji, choso, noritoshi kamo, ryoumen sukuna, nanami kento, okkotsu yuta

— characters i can only write sfw for

: itadori yuuji, inumaki toge

— characters i want to write for but don’t think i can write well (nsfw & sfw)

: suguru geto, naoya zenin

— characters i’m MOST eager to write simp for

: fushiguro toji, nanami kento, fushiguro megumi, choso, naoya zenin

additional cookie!

✦ send me a song as a story inspo!

✦ send me your dialogue! (ex. “shut up and kiss me.”)

restaraunt rules : please read!

— i do not write about yandere, stalker, pregnant! reader (unless it’s still until the early age where the belly is still small), non-con, and heavily canon requests 

— nsfw content i won’t write about: period sex, blood play, temperature play, pegging, male characters dressing up as female, monster fucking (sorry, sukuna won’t be getting four arms if you want nsfw for him), bestiality, incest, hypnosis (non-con related)

— not exactly a restriction, but please keep in mind that y/n is still a character for me as the writer. i may or may not add in features that even though isn’t explicit, could be something not suitable for everyone. phrases like, “he peered down at her” sounds neutral enough, but could still be implied that the reader is shorter than the anime character. it’s difficult to write a 100% neutral fic that won’t imply appearance one way or another. if i’ve written anything offensive/upsetting, feel free to tell me about it. i’ll do my best to keep it neutral.

— the reader will always be female bodied in nsfw content

— please be patient! i want to write fics the requester enjoys so i’m going to take my time in preparing your meal!

— i may or may not cook your meal 100% according to your request. depending on my comfort upon the idea, i may have to tweak a detail or two.

— i can refuse your request if i don’t want to write about it for personal or other reasons. i’ll let you know beforehand.

— wine will take longer to be served!

— i will announce if a trope/au/character is no longer open for requests. i feel like some ingredients will be quite common amongst requesters and i don’t want to write for the same thing over and over again. same goes in the manner that if you have a similar request to another, it’ll be fused into one idea/meal.

— if your request contains offensive/uncomfortable content, i won’t even respond back to you. i’ll immediately delete your ask.

— if you still don’t get or are confused by the guides, send me an ask! i’ll happily guide you!

— this event is now closed. i will temporarily be closing my ask box so i don’t get flooded. i’ll open it again tonight for anyone who has questions or just want to drop a message!

hmm...i’m still not sure how to order for my meal.

✧ what if the story/scenario i want isn’t included in the choices above?

— as i’ve stated, please feel free to request whatever you want! the choices are there to give people an idea what they’d like to see, but if it’s not there, you can still request for it as stated in the “send me an au/trope/kink you want!”

✧ what if i don’t have any ingredient, spice, or sugar i want but a song inspo anyway?

— that’s also fine, but it would be preferred if you’re descriptive so your meal could be delivered better and faster. in this case though, i’ll just have to get creative!

✧ what if i want more than one character in the request?

— having others included in the request is fine, but as much as possible, i can only write a maximum of two main characters (the reader excluded)

✧ what if i want to request for the ones you want to write for but you don’t think you can pull it off well?

— just a heads up! i would love to write for them, but because i’m not entirely caught up in the manga, the characters mentioned above aren’t ones i know very well yet. 

✧ not exactly regarding the meal, but i’ve sent you requests from last week. would you still be writing them?

— i’ve received several requests when my bio states that requests are closed. however, because the ideas are actually really precious and i know i’d have fun writing them, i’d still write about them. i just cannot guarantee you’ll receive your meal soon since my requests were closed when you sent them. 

UPDATES:

Day One: breeding kink, size kink, thigh riding, married au, best friends to lovers is NO LONGER AVAILABLE.

Day Two: established relationship au, mutual pining, dumbification, and gojo satoru is NO LONGER AVAILABLE. to the asks that were received before this update, you may check on the requests accepted whether you made it to the cut or not. i’ll update this later. the restaurant will also reach out to you if one of your requested ingredients/spice/sugar/cherry on top did not make the cut. my asks are still open, so please tweak your requests a little bit to what is available! 

Day Two Update 2: Restaurant is CLOSED! spice 6 (somnophilia) is also no longer available! Check the requests accepted to see if you’ve made the cut, the latest and last accepted requests will be marked as ✿! 

requests accepted:

✦ fushiguro megumi

megumi really likes reader and gojo, yuuji, nobara helps him confess

shy megumi who is really flustered and shy around his crush  meals fused into one. read here: not shy

★🥞🍷 40 (tattoo artist au) + 5 (mutual pining) + 2,12,13 (size kink, praise kink, thigh riding) + reader is shorter than megumi and isn’t shy read here: work of art

(★🥞🍷 5 (university au) + 5 (mutual pining) + 12, 3 (praise kink, stockholm syndrome) + virgin megumi) i’ve been outlining this for days but idk...i just can’t seem to form something out of it. i still have it saved but idk if i can still finish, i’ll try my best though.   it’s just challenging to write, sorry :( MEAL UNAVAILABLE

🥞 + 33 (royalty au) + 1 (best friends to lovers)

🍷 + 27 (siblings’ friend au) + 1, 11, 19 (breeding kink, dumbification, dirty talking) + feral megumi (feral megumi supremacy) read here: unstoppable

🥞 + 3, 38 (accidental pregnancy, fuck buddies au) + childhood friends to lovers + baby moments with father! megumi MEAL ORDER 9 & 7 FUSED read here: happy little accidents

★ vampire au + 55 (reincarnation au) + 6 (somnophilia) + vampire markings + blood drinking + nursing megumi...or him nursing you? hmm? (STRUGGLE PAANIK) read here: scarlet

✿ 🍰🍷 23, 38 (mutual pining au, fuck buddies au) might fuse it with request 7  MEAL ORDER 9 & 7 FUSED read here: happy little accidents

✦ nanami kento

jealous nanami with oblivious reader + gojo annoying nanami making nanami confess read here: a little push

comfort & angst fic where reader dates gojo but gojo cheats so she breaks down, leaves him, and nanami comforts reader  it’s too difficult for me to write sorry :(

★🥞 + 33 (royalty au) + 7 (forbidden relationship) read here: violet

🥞🍷 + 21 (married au) +  4 (strangers to lovers) + 2, 12 (size kink, praising kink) MEAL U

🥞🍷 + 23 (mutual pining au) + 1 (best friends to lovers) + 1 (breeding kink) read here: like crashing waves

ingredient 6 (med! student au / doctor! au)  + sugar 7 (forbidden relationship) + spices 12 (praising kink) + dacryphilia read here: overtime

✦ noritoshi kamo

fem!dom reader where nori defends his wife from the elders so she gives him the best night + blowjobs + overstimulation + sub! househusband nori + tit sucking spspss (MEAL UNAVAILABLE)

🍷 + 18 (marriage for convenience au) + 5 (mutual pining) + 18 (disciplining)

🥞 + 21 (married au) + 1,13 (breeding kink, thigh riding) meals fused into one, breeding kink is no longer included | read here: i know

🥞🍷 + 20, 58 (assassin! reader, oblivious! noritoshi) + 13 (thigh riding) + love at first sight + “wait, are you flirting with me?” + “have been since the beginning, thanks for finally noticing.” (BIG BRAIN ENERGY) read here: illusion

✦ gojo satoru

serotonin boost for that lovely anon gojo simp 9487 (i’m going to make this special for you because i love you anon) i was thinking maybe gojo comforts his uni!student s/o? just fluff and some cutesy tootsy to relieve your stress! MEAL FUSED WITH SEVEN

Tokyo by Leat’eq + ice cream shop! au with limited cat themed ice cream, you need to wear cat ears to go order + “nyaa!” read here

🍷 + 44 (hate sex au) + 7 (forbidden relationship) + 12 (praising kink) read here: divine

🥞🍷  + 29 (established relationship au) + 5 (mutual pining) no longer included + 6 (somnophilia) + fused with other request that isn’t listed here read here: sweet angel

✿ 🥞🍷 + 29 (established relationship au) + 12,15 (praising kink, face sitting) + reader runs into awful ex and gets worshipped by gojo like they deserve (queen tingz) + gojo comfort read here: breathless

(✿ 🥞🍷 + 12 (bed sharing au) + 7 (forbidden relationship) + 19 (dirty talk) + magdalena bay : killshot + jujutsu tech goes on a trip, gojo and reader ends up sharing rooms and a twin bed)  i’ve been outlining this for days but idk...i just can’t seem to form something out of it. i still have it saved but idk if i can still finish, i’ll try my best though.   it’s just challenging to write, sorry :( MEAL UNAVAILABLE

★✿ 50,1 (mafia au, sugar daddy au) + spice 8,12 (dumbification, praising kink) wow butterfly anon POPPED OFF | read here: earned it

✿ 33 (royal au) + 5 (mutual pining) + 11 (praising kink) read here: fall from grace

✦ choso my MAN

Tokyo by Leat’eq + ice cream shop! au with limited cat themed ice cream, you need to wear cat ears to go order + “nyaa!” + flustered choso + “onii-chan” read here

★🥞 + 17, 34 (fake dating, rentboy au) + 2 (enemies to lovers) + optional wine read here: easy

soulmate au + forbidden relationship MEAL UNAVAILABLE

✦ inumaki toge

🥞 + 15 (body swap au) + 1 (best friends to lovers) read here: total opposites

🥞 + 10 (sugar mommy au) + 4 (strangers to lovers) BIG BRAIN ENERGY THIS ONE (STRUGGLE PAANIK)  it’s too difficult for me to write sorry :(

★🥞 + 64 (canon au) + 5 (mutual pining) + sensitive first kiss with inumaki, them trapped in a room + yuuji as matchmaker uwu + WALL PIN KISS YES SIR + basically hot af inumaki...debating whether i should turn into wine HMMM read here: delicate

✦ naoya zenin 🙄

naoya putting reader back in their place, LONG SCHLONG CLUB read here: acquainted

✿ deity au + virgin sacrifice for naoya + reader with worship kink (DAMN THIS ONE GOT ME TINGLING, its going to be consensual tho, we all have consent kink in this house) read here: true gift

✦ okkotsu yuta 

🍷 + 53 (bad boy good girl au) + 8,10 (dumbification) read here: good for you

★🥞🍷 + 65 (both are oblivious) + 5,9 (mutual pining, slow burn) + 6,9,16 (somnophilia, cum play, 34+35) MEAL UNAVAILABLE

✿ 🥞🍷 58, 65 (one of them is oblivious, hanahaki disease on reader) + 5,9 (mutual pining, slow burn) + 12 (praising kink + cockwarming) + clumsy first time sex MEAL UNAVAILABLE

✦ itadori yuuji 

🥞 + 21 (married au) + 7 (forbidden relationship) (STRUGGLE PAANIK) it’s too difficult for me to write sorry :( MEAL UNAVAILABLE

✦ toji fushiguro

★✿ toxic toji YES + enemies to greater enemies + toji railing reader in front of someone they’re seeing because he doesn’t want to see you happy but he doesn’t want to “keep” you either (LOL this is so toji, might tweak a little bit) read here: personal disaster

age gap au + size kink, somnophilia read here: shhh

✦ ryoumen sukuna

🥞 + 2 (arranged marriage) + 2 (enemies to lovers) read here: black magic

55 (reincarnation au) + 7 (forbidden relationship) no longer included + unrequited love + home from war inspired read here: home from war: the ending

✿ 🍷 + 38 + master x servant + degrading, edging, begging (oooh degrading aint my kink but let’s see let’s see) MEAL UNAVAILABLE

[linkspooky]

my dude i love your takes on jjk so much, like ive spent hours reading and rereading them because theres this poetic beauty in your writing that i cant find anywhere else ❤❤ and if you could/have the time to spare, could you elaborate more on how '[gojo] is always staring into the infinity"? i find that concept/phrase so interesting tbh ^^

“Gojo’s always staring into the infinity”, in a sense, because he’s always looking at the whole picture at once he misses out on individual details. Gojo knows so much information, and comprehends so much information all at once, that he just has to filter out some of it.

I think it’s important to remember that there is a normal teenager buried deep down in Gojo, underneath all that power. That he’s more like a normal person coping with being given eyes that can see through everything, rather than like, a saintly individual. What do most people do when they’re overwhelmed? They filter out details and only pay attention to a few things. 

Gojo is actually capable of perceiving people as individuals, when they make him acknowledge them, look them in the eye. I think one critical mistake Gojo makes is that he assumes empathy is a connection. Gojo doesn’t really feel connected to people, he observes them, and logics out their behavior, but that doesn’t mean his connections are any less valid than the connections Geto feels for people. 

Gojo gives every indication with his actions that he did care for Amanai in his own way, however, he can’t feel like he cares deep down in his heart, and so because of that assumes that he doesn’t. Gojo is simultaneously, all too aware of himself, but also not aware of his own feelings. Like I said, Gojo is always staring at the whole picture, he receives such a constant influx of information that he doesn’t look at the details. Individual people become blurry.

That’s why Gojo always tethers himself to something else. Geto’s sense of right and wrong. Geto’s ability to read his feelings for him. Rules. Respnosibilities. Obligaitons. 

I always say Gojo is constantly looking into the inifnity, because if you think about it, Gojo is always thinking about what will effect the whole world at once, rather than the individual. 

Gojo perceives a crowd of people like this. They’re all drawn facelessly. He knows it’s wrong to sacrifice innocents, and will go out of his way following his own rules not to sacrifice them, but he also will do it if pushed. 

However, at the same time if you think about what Unlimited Void does to Gojo as a person every time he uses it, it makes perfect sense why he filters out people’s faces.

Normal people, experience six months in .2 seconds, so imagine how much information flows into Gojo’s brain every time he uses it? Gojo is not only given so much power, he’s burdened with it, imagine the information that flows through his brain every time he uses his own abilities. He can see with his six eyes almost all of this, but no matter what he does, he’s just one man in the end.

Mahito has a very similiar reaction to Gojo, to being able to see people’s souls. 

Individual life loses it’s meaning to him, because he can see the entire picture at once.

What’s the value of an individual when you are constantly looking at the whole? That’s what Gojo and Mahito are constantly dealing with when they are children, who are, too smart, and who see too much. Mahito and Gojo are also remarked as being similiarly childish, with no particular attachment to anything. They’re detached from the world around them, they respond by detaching themselves from what they’re eyes see, because it’s too overwhelming for them.

From that point they take the opposite approach, Gojo ties himself to rules, and Mahito acts like there are no rules but in the end they are both children with too much power. Gojo staring into the void can’t really see other people’s individual feelings or see how they matter, but that also applies to himself as well. Gojo can’t see his own feelings or take care of them so, floating alone in a void is a good metaphor for his ability.