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yuwuta · 1 year ago

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RODEO STATION, 2 — MEGUMI FUSHIGURO

A collection of you and Megumi through the years, through Gojo’s eyes.

content, warnings: childhood friends to lovers, canon-adjacent, satoru adopts megumi and tsumiki, reader has a cursed technique sort of delved into here

word count: 2.2k

part ii: you and megumi are ten, tsumiki is eleven, gojo is twenty-ish?, about six or seven months after gojo meets all of you, and adopts megumi and tsumiki. you can read part one here

The moment that Satoru met him, he knew that Megumi was a little troublemaker and there was little he could do to stop that. Satoru didn’t mind for the most part, and he couldn’t blame the kid either—honestly, he was more surprised that Megumi didn’t routinely get himself into more trouble, but he supposes he has you and Tsumiki to thank for that.

He’d naively believed that you and Tsumiki both played the role of anchoring maternal figure for Megumi, but it only takes a few weeks for Satoru to learn that it’s Tsumiki that serves as the anchor for you two. Satoru then earnestly wonders if you were bullying Megumi with the way you’re able to keep him under your thumb, but when Megumi adamantly refutes this with the nastiest, most offended scowl Satoru’s ever seen on a kid before, he backs off and reasons that this is just how your relationship with Megumi works.

And, as it turns out, Megumi is the only one doing any sort of bullying. He’s ten and Satoru has been to more parent-teacher conferences than any other parent has ever possibly attended in their lifetime. He didn’t even know that it was possible for kid his age to get kicked out of school, especially at this point in the year. There’s only three months left until summer vacation, so Satoru enlists Ieiri’s help in enrolling Megumi into public school to finish out fifth grade. She also reassures him that this separation from you and Tsumiki is temporary, and that you would all be able to attend middle school together again in the fall.

The major problem then becomes that you all get dismissed at different times. You and Tsumiki used to end your days at the same time, but Tsumiki starts staying late to take piano lessons. However, this is remedied by the mother of a friend of Tsumiki’s, who drives her home afterwards; an older woman that Satoru becomes eternally grateful for. Even so, you’re dismissed thirty minutes before Megumi, and some shuffling has to be done to align your commutes. Satoru knows that the three of you took yourselves to and from school before he came into the picture, and that most kids your age are more than capable getting home on their own, but after you told him that some old man from the Kamo clan came to talk to you after school one day, he can’t help but to worry.

Satoru isn’t your guardian, not in the way that he is for Megumi and Tsumiki, but that doesn’t mean that he doesn’t feel responsible for you—morally, financially, emotionally, and more importantly, for his own safety because he knows he’d have both Divine Dogs biting at his ankles if something curse-related happened to you and he didn’t do anything to stop it.

You were currently under the care of your elderly great aunt who hadn’t a shred of cursed energy from what Satoru could tell. He had Principal Yaga do a background check, and found no other sorcerers in your immediate family, nor any traceable Kamo relatives, and more importantly, you didn’t possess any sort of Blood Manipulation technique. Satoru’s seen what you can do so far to control water, has even seen you give the Divine Dogs trouble in a gentle sparring match—you’re impressive, even at your young age, so he can understand why a powerful clan might see the potential in you, but the Kamo clan isn’t historically welcoming of outsiders. If you’re not related to them, he can’t fathom why any member would physically approach you.

The old man never revealed his name to you, but Satoru’s certain it’s either a clan elder, or the current head himself; neither of which bring him any comfort. In the spirit of their traditional ways, he doubts anyone would actually try to harm you out in the open, but Satoru still wants to keep you on close watch for a little while. He thinks he’s the best man for the job. He’s quickly proven otherwise.

He exorcises curses with a bit of hastiness and little tact in order to be there when you get dismissed from school. Ieiri says it’s creepy to follow you from a distance, but Satoru is just doing what he can to protect you. If somebody else is following you, he wants to see who they are. They’ll never approach or reveal themselves if he hovers next to you, and if you half the pride that Megumi has, you’d run him out of town if he ticked you off by playing overprotective big brother—so, instead, he positions himself far enough away to observe you, and close enough to defend if need be.

He never needs to.

For as wild and boisterous as you are with Megumi and Tsumiki, you follow a simple, quiet after school routine. You walk with Tsumiki and her friends to the west gate to drop them off at piano practice, then cross the street to buy a snack—this differs, but you always get a carton of strawberry milk—and then walk to the train station. It’s a ten minute walk from your school to the station, and a fifteen minute walk from Megumi’s school to the station, which is why Satoru doesn’t quite know how the kid manages to keep you waiting for only seven minutes on average when he already gets out of school thirty minutes after you.

Once he gets over the initial shock, he can’t help but to be amused. He knows that when Megumi first changed schools, he started meeting you on the train, two stops later—at the one closer to his new school. But in the last week, Megumi has walked himself seventeen blocks east, at what Satoru guesses must be an inhuman pace, just to meet you at the station closest to you.

When two weeks have passed since the unknown Kamo elder has contacted you, and no other incidents have occurred, Satoru resigns his position as perimeter watchdog. He has a bunch of missions to catch up on anyway, and he figures that you and Megumi are safe in each other’s care for now.

A few weeks later, after catching up on his assignments, Satoru decides to check back in. He knows he doesn’t have to, but something in his stomach is telling him to. Maybe it has to do with the fact that the curse he fought earlier today had some kind of toxic blood that has him thinking the worst could happen to you, or getting a call that Megumi had been cutting some of his classes, or that he’s tired and delusional and worried and scared, or maybe it’s just his blooming maternal instincts telling him something is wrong, but he rushes to spy on your commute home.

He’s late. Megumi isn’t with you, and you’re already on the train when he makes it to the station and he can sense two sources of cursed energy trailing way too close behind you just as the train doors shut. His mind is racing irrationally—is this an unusual move by the Kamo clan, or perhaps someone else? Word had certainly gotten around that he’d picked up Toji Fushiguro’s kid, plus another kid with immense cursed potential, and Satoru himself and the Gojo clan have more than enough enemies. Whatever it may be, he doesn’t take his chances, using his newly honed short-range teleportation skills to make it to the next station before the train can.

He’s panting, thinking about every worst possible scenario at once, wondering how to best deal with whoever or whatever was targeting you, especially in such a crowded place, wondering if you’re safe, if Megumi was safe—why wasn’t he with you? Has someone already gotten to him, too? Was Tsumiki even at piano practice? Oh god, if he hasn’t already been kidnapped, Megumi is totally going to kill him if something happens to you.

Satoru rushes onto the train as soon as the door opens, eyes wildly scanning for you through the crowd, ready to strike when he finally finds you—seated towards the back of the car, reading the book that Tsumiki had loaned to you, quietly, and both the black and white Divine Dogs sitting on either side of you.

And Satoru has to laugh at himself. If he’d stopped for even a moment (or if he’d gotten more than two hours worth of sleep in the past three weeks trying to make up all his assignments), he’d have recognized Megumi’s residuals, would have recognized the energy of the dogs, and would have pieced together that there wasn’t a single threatening aura in the vicinity.

Oopsies.

“Gojo?” you call to him, not too loud as to not to disturb everyone else’s commute. “How come you’re here?”

Satoru shuffles through the crowd and holds onto the overhead rail once he’s next to you. The white dog moves to settle underneath your short legs, blinking at him with disinterest. “Got off a little early today, thought I’d surprise you brats, that’s all,” he says, then motions to the dogs next to you, “Where’s Megumi?”

You blink at him. Satoru knows you probably don’t believe him, but you spare him the embarrassment when you don’t push it further. “He had to make up a credit today, so he’s getting on at the next stop. Do you want a sandwich? They only had ones with peppers today, so Megumi won’t eat it, but Mr. Teuchi gave me two, anyway.”

“What, is he allergic or something?” Satoru questions, accepting your offer, and the seat next to you when he starts to unwrap the sandwich.

“No, he’s just picky,” you tell him, closing your book to unwrap yours, too. You’re quiet, taking your first two bites, before you turn to him again, “How did you know Megumi was missing?”

Satoru chokes. It gains him a few concerned stares, and even a pointed ear from the black dog, before he regains his composure. “Um... he tells me usually he follows you home from the other stop, that’s why.”

“Then why didn’t you try to surprise us at the other stop?”

Satoru pauses again. Since when did ten year olds get so lippy and observant? “I did, but I was late. So I sort of,” Satoru leans down, crinkling the empty sandwich wrapper in his right hand and uses his left to beckon you towards him to whisper, “Teleported here.” He pulls back, prideful, and crosses his legs, “Pretty cool, right?”

“So, why didn’t you just teleport to the first station when you realized you were going to be late?” You question, mocking his whispering tone when you repeat the word.

“Hey, you think doing that kind of stuff comes automatically? I can’t just pop up anyplace at any time,” Satoru groans, a bit overdramatically, “Not yet, anyway. I’ll be able to do that soon.”

You hum, kicking your legs happily as you take another bite out of your snack. “I think I get it. Megumi says it’s hard spreading out and controlling your cursed energy over long distances, but he’s been practicing hard. He can send the dogs way far away from him now.”

“I see,” Satoru turns his chin down, eyeing the Divine Dogs with a gentle smile. He almost says that it’s easier to send shikigami on their own, especially those like Megumi’s, and particularly when you anchor them to another source of cursed energy such as yourself, but you look way too proud of Megumi for him to burst your bubble. He also declines to say that Megumi probably doesn’t send the dogs to you on days like this just for the sake of practicing.

A crush isn’t quite exactly the motivation Satoru pictured when he told Megumi he’d have to work hard and get strong, but whatever works, works.

Ten minutes later, the train comes to a steady halt. Megumi is the first new passenger on board, and unlike Satoru, he doesn’t need to turn his head wildly, every which way to find you. You’re like a beacon to Megumi, he easily finds the both of you in the last seats in the car, and steadily makes his way to you.

Megumi greets you before he greets Satoru, taking the seat across and facing you before he turns to the taller man with a much less receptive frown, “What are you doing here?”

“I believe the word you’re looking for is hello, Megumi,” Satoru teases, reaching across to ruffle his already unruly hair. Megumi grumbles, batting his offending hand away.

“Gojo ate your sandwich,” you chirp.

“What?” Satoru yells, incredulous, “I did not. You gave it to me—tell him!”

You have much more fun watching Satoru scramble than defending his honor. It’s only when Satoru gives his best pout that you admit to Megumi that you offered up his sandwich, consoling him with the fact that it included his least favorite ingredient and making it up by pulling out two cartons of strawberry milk for him. Megumi accepts them both with quiet thanks, cheeks growing pink to match the cartons, and you smiling widely when he takes his first sip.

Satoru had a hunch those were for Megumi. So, this isn’t one-sided. Good for you kids.

It’s another twenty-six minutes before it’s time for you all to get off the train. The Gojo-Fushiguro residence and your great aunt’s house are in opposite directions, but are both just a short five minute journey from the station exit. One you can certainly make on your own, and still, Megumi insists that you let the dogs walk with you and that he’ll release them once you’re home.

“It’s good practice,” Megumi mumbles, shooing you on your way uphill, “I want to know how long I can keep them out, too.”

You have that same look on your face that you had earlier, like you don’t quite believe Megumi, but just as with earlier, you don’t say anything, sparing Megumi and Satoru a formal goodbye and a wave before heading home. Satoru and Megumi turn to walk back to their own house, he can’t help but to smile every time Megumi turns his head to look back at your silhouette.

Satoru decides that you’re not Megumi’s anchor, you’re the lighthouse that guides him to shore, a light that he follows with faith and reason; a safe haven that Megumi seeks to protect. Satoru can admire that, but he wonders what happened that could make the most unruly kid he knows pledge his allegiance like that. Megumi would have refused Satoru’s aid if he hadn’t agreed to let you stay in his life, and although he’d chalked it up to puppy love before, Satoru’s beginning to wonder if there’s anything he, or anyone, even could do to separate the two of you.

Likely not, he concludes, when two weeks later, your class goes on a field trip and Megumi is the one who comes home exhausted and crashes onto the couch immediately. When Satoru asks, all he gets is a tired grunt; but shortly after Megumi falls asleep, he can feel a few extra shadows at his feet, and a glimpse of the white dog before she completely vanishes into the darkness.

Satoru chuckles, leaning down to ruffle Megumi’s hair before heading to the kitchen to make a snack for Tsumiki. If this is the rate that Megumi trains to keep his loved ones protected, then Satoru has no worries about him getting strong enough to keep up with him.

#jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jjk fluff #jjk smut #jujutsu kaisen fluff #jujutsu kaisen smut #megumi fushiguro x reader #megumi x reader #megumi smut #megumi fluff #jjk scenarios #jjk smau #jjk fake texts #gojo x reader #jjk imagines #jjk fanfic

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lilac-5ky · 2 years ago

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Sex with a Ghost (TojixFem!Reader)

Chapter 1: Date with a ghost

Chapter 2 | Story Masterlist | Masterlist | Requests | AO3

Summary: Being at the bottom of the ladder in your class with a non-combat oriented technique, you are prompted by Gojo to summon a dead sorcerer as a learning experience. However, when none other than Fushiguro Toji appears in your room, you find yourself practicing more than just your cursed technique.

Tags: Student!reader, Ghost!Toji, Age Gap(reader 18, Toji early 30s), Oral Sex (both f. and m. receiving), Manipulation, Corruption Kink, Praise, Degradation, Pet Names (princess, baby, etc), Cowgirl, Toji being a horny asshole that gets redeemed at the end? Sort of.

Word Count: less than 6k.

“But, sensei, is this really necessary?”

You tilted the sphere between your fingers, sizing it up. It weighed no more than a baseball ball did, yet its price must be comparable to that of an entire stadium. A cursed item among cursed items given to a mere grade 3 sorcerer who barely stood out amidst the renowned prodigies of Tokyo Jujutsu High. This was a waste of both time and effort and yet the white-haired man before you begged to differ, eyes glinting a vibrant sky-blue hue from underneath his dark shades.

“Doubting your favorite teacher, Y/N?” he chuckled only to sulk a second later when you asked him what deluded him into thinking he was your favorite.

Undeterred, he continued “I feel like a broken record here, but do yourself a favor and have a bit more confidence. Graduation is two months away, don’t you wanna prove your worth till then? It’s not too late to climb a couple of steps up the ladder. You could easily shoot up to Grade 2. Look at the rest of your class—”

A firm albeit reassuring grip latched itself onto your shoulder, gently twisting you in the direction of your classmates.

The heatwave must have gotten to them for good, blood boiling under the vicious sun rays. Their sleeves and pants were rolled high above their elbows and knees respectively, foreheads glimmering with a thin sheen of sweat that dribbled down their necks.

Just looking at them made your skin crawl with uneasiness.

You didn’t understand why anyone in their right mind would willingly trade the shade of these blessed pine trees for the scorching furnace that the schoolyard was, but when you stopped paying attention to their clothes and took in their blissful expression, you felt a lump swell in your throat.

The two of them were practically beaming, giggling, and prancing around the water fountains without a care in the world— and why should they have anything to worry about when they were Grade 1 at seventeen? A Kamo and a distant cousin to the Zen’ins, both guaranteed to walk a path strewn with rose petals since birth. No trial or tribulation whatsoever.

Your teacher’s voice was muffled into white noise while you were busy shooting daggers at the duo, part of you wishing to join them in their harmless idiocy, and another silently praying that in your next life, you’d be lucky enough to be born into one of their clans. No one questioned the value of a Kamo. No one went against a Zen’in with an inherited technique.

“So, we good? Tell me I didn’t waste 15 minutes of my precious time for nothing.” His fingers squeezed at your shoulder, causing your attention to shift.

You had no idea what he’d been saying, though you’d sat through plenty of pep talks already to guess the gist of it. “You have potential, Y/N. Don’t bring yourself down like this. You can do it!” All empty words without real meaning. Worthless. Not everyone had what it takes to become the next Gojo Satoru. Some people were born to be stepping stones for others, and you were perfectly fine with it. No half-assed aspiration would spur you on.

“If I do this… will you leave me alone?”

A Cheshire cat grin spanned from one corner of his mouth to the other. If one didn’t know any better, they’d mistake Gojo for an overzealous teacher whose earnest goal was to see his students succeed. Not you. You’d spent enough time in his presence to know that his whole “Teacher of the Year” shtick hid an agenda of its own. It was a matter of time to find out what his true motive was.

“What’s the plan?”

“Now we are talking,” he sang in glee. “Very simple, really. You just hold this between your palms and channel as much cursed energy as possible to its center. The ball will absorb it like a magnet and continue drawing from you until you have a clear picture of your target. Then, assuming all goes well and you don’t pass out,” a quiet “What?!” was overwritten by his voice, “you’ll get your very own date with a spirit. Isn’t that exciting?”

Nothing about your expression screamed excitement, eyes squinting in slits and bottom lip quivering into a frown. “And who’s my target, exactly?”

“A Zen’in sorcerer,” he said.

“A Zen’in sorcerer you say,” your eyes wandered again to that soaked blockhead in the distance, the black mop he had for hair flapping left and right. “Ain’t the one over there good enough?”

Shaping a cone around his mouth, Gojo yelled at the top of his lungs for the kids to wait up so they could play together. The duo cheered excitedly, shouting some sort of inside joke you knew nothing about right back at him. Wasn’t the first time you were excluded, and it certainly wasn’t the first time you questioned how this man came to be the world’s most talented sorcerer, either.

“If he was, we wouldn’t be having this conversation,” his smile softened as he lowered his voice. “The Zen’in I’m talking about has been dead for a little more than a hundred years now. Unfortunately, his name is erased from our logs,” of course it is “but that shouldn’t hinder you too much. He was an immensely powerful sorcerer with a great amount of cursed energy to back his technique up. An anomaly, if you like.”

“What kind of technique?” “The ten shadows technique,” he answered. “Out of all the Shikigami users, he is perhaps the strongest there’s ever been.”

“Stronger than you, sensei?”

The way his nose scrunched made you regret asking, knowing that a haughty declaration was dangling from the tip of his tongue, begging to be unleashed in a never-ending spiel of self-praise.

“And why should I invoke him in particular?” you quickly changed the subject. “I thought our goal was to hone my spirit-channeling technique and increase my cursed energy flow while we’re at it.”

“That we are doin’, but why not kill two birds with one stone? A new ten-shadow user has risen. I’m sure whatever trick that old dog has up his sleeve will be useful to our little Meg—” He feigned a smile of innocence at his slip. “All you gotta do is chit-chat him into giving you some info. Toss in a few compliments, butter him up. Shouldn’t take more than a few words to convince him, spirits are dying to be summoned— Oh well, unfortunate choice of words. What do you say? You’re in?”

Your groan was all the answer he required to beeline straight to the water fountains, his chirpy laugh echoing from afar. This guy, you huffed, examining the crystal ball anew. There was no way out of this. Either you did his bidding or you’d be forced to endure the obnoxious sound of his voice all summer long.

“Couldn’t you have chosen anything more cliche than a crystal ball?” you snarled, convinced he hadn’t heard you.

“Ouija board was already taken,” he warbled unexpectedly, voice meshing with that of your peers as they ran around in circles, dark-colored uniforms turning darker with every splash of water. “Besides, this has a bit of pink in it,” he referred to the rosy shaded base. “Much cuter than a bunch of rusty letters, right?”

You groaned as you shoved the item into your tote bag, making no mistake to talk out loud again as you turned on your heel. A pinch of jealousy punctured your chest, relieved by every step you took away from the scene and away from the fun the three of them were having.

“Looks like we’re having a date with a ghost tonight.”

It was a quarter past twelve when you decided to put that little experiment to work, the coast clear of overbearing parents and annoying little brothers who wanted nothing more than to disrupt your so-called “studying session”. As far as your family was concerned, Tokyo Metropolitan Curse Technical College (Tokyo Jujutsu High for short) was your average educational institution that had somehow recognized the value of your mediocre grades and scouted you when you were still in middle school— no questions asked from either side.

You wouldn’t go as far as to call your own family a bunch of dimwits, but the signs were all there. A teacher merely four years older than you were, his odd sartorial decisions only second to his eccentric personality. A class made up of four students dramatically and suddenly decreasing to a party of three. An unknown man in a suit and tie driving you back and forth between “emergency study dates” in the dead of night. The lack of studying material in your backpack as opposed to the exams you constantly stressed over. Your unreasonable reaction when your mother stored a cursed tool in with the silver cutlery.

Even if you straight up walked to them with a banner that read “I exorcise curses”, you doubted they’d have anything more to say than a plain “Good for you”, not because they were stupid, but because they simply didn’t care at all.

They didn’t care enough to bat an eye when seven-year-old you tugged at daddy’s trousers, whimpering about a squid-like creature sneaking in your closet, and didn’t care enough to try and justify the stream of water flooding down the corridor. They didn’t care that your imaginary friends were more akin to monsters, and they didn’t care about you being away from home 350 days a year. It was convenient not to. That’s how they were able to drink their woes away at the local bar on a Thursday night with a clear conscience, having offloaded that pest of a brother at your grandparents’ for the fifth consecutive night.

Poor kid. If he wasn’t so despicable, your big sister instincts might have kicked in and raised an objection, though as things currently were suited you best. Rituals required focus, and you needed to make sure no one would bust through the door and interrupt your conversation with Mister Whatever-his-name-was.

You’d taken care of all your basic needs —eating a reheated portion of lasagna, cleansing your body of the worldly filth that stained it, catching a rerun of your favorite show’s latest episode, and cursing Gojo for making you miss it in the first place— and were now seated on your room’s floor with the crystal ball nesting between your bare thighs, the cold sensation much welcome on this excruciatingly warm evening where sitting on the fuzzy carpet seemed like the greatest torture imaginable.

It was only March and you were already in your skimpiest outfit of all; a frilly pair of dusty-pink shorts and a matching low-cut tank top dressing your sweat-beaded body. Dark spots saturated the fabric, demanding your fingers fanned it every two seconds. The worst had yet to come. By the time summer arrived, the final thing for you to crawl out of would be your own skin.

Pushing those thoughts aside, you returned to the item at hand. It’d been fairly long since you’d last performed a seance. Your role in the recent assignments was to support your classmates from the sidelines, exorcising whatever lower-grade curse got in their way with the aid of various cursed tools.

The white-haired nuisance could claim your technique was useful all he wanted, but at the end of the day, yours were simply not meant for combat. Best case scenario, after graduation, the higher-ups would put you on a 9 to 5 job, where you could dig whatever intel they wanted from the comfort of your cramped-up desk; away from your haughty classmates, and away from Gojo Satoru.

You rolled your fingers around the globe’s surface, pads tingling with waves of cursed energy as they seeped into the crystal. Slowly, a dark purple aura came to distort its translucence with colors and shapes of various magnitudes. Shadow-like forms gathered at the seams, remnants of pent-up energy colliding and converging with one another at one focal point. All ready to go!

You began mentally chanting the surname of your target, over and over again until the slideshow of foggy faces diminished to that of a select few candidates from the same bloodline. Some, you would imagine had died when they were still in their prime, measly fledglings of sorcerers with eyes retaining that youthful glossiness, while others seemed to have lived enough to see themselves turn into dehydrated raisins with next to zero cursed energy left.

Once you’d gone through your classmate’s entire family tree at least three times, you caught yourself admitting that despite their faults and innate air of pretension, the Zen’ins weren’t particularly hard on the eyes. Especially that one guy whose mug kept reappearing at random intervals, the slanted scar of his lips lingering in your mind well after the next contender’s appearance. There was something about him, be it the lack of aura he emitted or the viridescent hue of his eyes that had you replaying the frame at the expense of your own energy.

You were drawn to him in an inexplicable way that, at the time, you attributed to fate. It had to be him, right? That must have been why the dope you had for a mentor insisted on calling this a date. Even if he didn’t know the sorcerer’s name, he must have known how insanely attractive the guy was, right?

And suddenly, you felt a sliver of gratitude overcome you, eyelids snapping shut with the Zen’in sorcerer’s face as clear as day behind them, while you chanted the incantation Gojo himself had taught you.

“From the murky shroud of oblivion, I invoke thou out the shadows and blight to bask in heavenly light. Through me gain life, and through life gain thine blessed power.”

No more than a few seconds had passed when you heard a thud, your gaze meeting with that of the very man you’d summoned.

The orb barely did him any justice. Not as if crystal balls were ideal measuring instruments, but you’d need about ten more of those to depict his height as he towered over you, the bulky frame of his shoulders casting a large shadow on the wall behind your head. He was dressed in a much more casual manner than one would expect of someone who’d been dead for over a century, with corded veins and taut muscles peaking underneath a black compression shirt, waist accentuated where his hips met with a pair of baggy pants. And once you got to his face— you must have lost track of time staring into the gem-like green orbs of his eyes, considering you didn’t notice the scowl his lips wore until his tone pointed it out.

“The hell is this?” He sounded just like he looked, the bass of his timbre ringing most pleasantly in your ears.

You wouldn’t know what being dead felt like, but if it was anything remotely close to sitting on a dead leg for hours on end, you guessed he’d rather take a moment to adjust over an answer.

His soles circled the tiny space, eyes dancing between the fairy lights on the wall, the moonless sky —and by extension the empty driveway outside your window—, the three Polaroids on your desk that depicted an old family trip to Seoul (your mother silently accusing him from the frame for the crime of wearing his shoes inside the house), and lastly, you. His gaze feasted on your body as if he’d been starved for ages and you were the first oasis in the desert, his expression gradually easing into a lopsided smile as he cocked his head to the side.

“Got a name, sweetheart?” he asked in a syrupy sweet tone, the nickname he’d come up with making you doubt he’d use your actual name even if you shared it.

You set the ball aside and hopped on your feet, standing on somewhat more equal ground, though not equal enough to completely diminish the difference in height. He was massive, and you were still processing the kind of person that possessed the power to end this man’s life.

“Name’s Y/N,” you extended your hand. “You must be master Zen’in, nice to meet you!”

He merely glanced at your gesture, leaving you to embarrass yourself without a single qualm. “No one’s called me that in some time,” he expressed wryly. “You know about me?”

You nodded, wiping your palm against your shorts. It wasn’t the first time you’d seen a spirit act all high and mighty, a Zen’in at that. “Who hasn’t heard of the greatest sorcerer there’s ever been?” you chuckled, Gojo’s bootlicking advice coming in for the clutch. “You are somewhat of a legend in the Jujutsu world. The one who mastered the ten shadows technique like no other.”

“Is that who I am now,” he pondered out loud, his index briefly scratching his jaw. “I guess I am,” he grinned with confidence. “That why you summoned me? Wanted to meet with great ol’ me in person?”

“Something like it,” you admitted, finding it hard not to smile back. “I just so happen to be acquainted with this idiot who’s a big fan of yours. Had me use my technique for a passing grade.”

A low hum prompted you to continue. “He’s a real pain in the ass,” you groaned. “Calls himself ‘the strongest’ and acts as if he’s ‘teacher of the year’ when he forces me to fish out intel like some lackey— Actually, you might have heard of his family name before, they’ve been around for ages. Gojo,” quickly adding “Satoru.”

At the sound of your teacher’s name, the man’s eyes widened, his darkened pupils blown with an emotion akin to rage. You weren’t sure what great calamity the Gojos had brought upon him in his previous life, but being familiar with their descendant you doubted they put much effort into it.

“The six eyes is your teacher?” he asked, not giving you enough time to question how on earth he knew that title before he pitched in another question. “So, ya just a kid, huh?”

“I’m not!” you objected. “Turned 18 a while ago.”

“A while, you say?” he arched a brow.

“I’m closer to 19 if anything,” you crossed your arms over your chest.

“19,” he mocked, his droopy eyelids incapable of hiding the way he sized your figure up.

You didn’t even think to put on a bra before the ritual started. Just like you could vividly picture what his pecs looked like under his clothes, your flimsy outfit left little to the imagination, the sweat that’d shimmered across your collarbones and cleavage working in your favor.

“Nah, you are right. No kid could ever have a body like that. Plump and ripe in all the right places,” his tongue lapped over his bottom lip, salacious stare prodding at what your arms kept hidden. “That’s a woman’s body, no doubt.”

Heat spread from your chest all the way to your cheeks, and for once, it wasn’t because of the room’s overbearing heat. Your toes sunk inside the carpet, thighs awkwardly rubbing together. You’d found yourself in such a position before, yet never with a boy like him— never with a man like him.

“Th-thank you,” you mumbled, your fingers hesitantly sliding down your elbows.

He took a step closer, lacking hesitation as he lifted your chin with two fingers, his thumb gently caressing it.

“Gonna let me look at the rest, baby?” his other hand encompassed your hip, the size of his palm alone making you feel oh-so small and fragile before him. “I’ll make ya a deal if you lemme. Tell ya anything you wanna know and more— heh, I’ll make sure ya pass with flying colors.”

“I don’t… I’m not-”

Depriving you of the chance to deny his advances, the man slotted his lips between yours and pulled back almost instantaneously, overjoyed to catch you leaning into his touch for more.

You weren’t sure why this was happening— why you were letting this happen. He was a stranger who barely qualified as being alive, and at the time of his death, he was closer to your father’s age than yours. But he was there, and he was paying you attention, and the way he spoke to you as if he already knew your answer ahead of your mouth had warmth spiraling to the lower parts of your body.

Rather than giving in to your pouty lips, the man whose name you didn’t even know cupped your breasts in both his hands, calloused thumbs making quick work of your nipples as they peaked below the drenched fabric, rolling the sensitive buds into full hardness.

“Such a pretty little thing, aren’t you?” he praised, kneading at your supple skin almost adoringly.

The straps of your top slid down your shoulders, and you felt the ghost of a smile press onto your neck, his warm mouth smearing wet kisses right to where your neck and shoulders connected. You bit back a sigh, your breath audibly strained.

“Bet you wanna be touched, hmm?” he continued, finding the sweet spot you didn’t know you had, and pressed on, his sharp teeth digging into your flesh coaxing a purr from deep within your throat. He chuckled, the vibrations making you shudder. “That why you’re dressed like a slut? Wanna be treated like one, mm?” his lips parted again, tongue lapping over the delicate bruise his teeth left as he pinched your nipples harshly. A moan was ripped from your slack jaw, the insult he carelessly threw adding to the slick between your thighs.

“Sounds about right,” he smirked. “Well, I’m not complaining. You’re a sight for sore eyes, kitten.”

He didn’t ask for permission before he tugged at your shirt, your breasts spilling out with a single bounce. You saw him wet his lips once more, fingers seizing your now-exposed nipples and lustful eyes admiring them up close. You hadn’t noticed how close he was standing until his hips bucked against yours, alerting you to how painfully hard he’d gotten underneath his pants. The six-year-long refractory period his body was subjected to was far too cruel— though you wouldn’t know about that until much later.

“Tell me,” he requested, pausing just so he could look you dead in the eye. “Have you ever done this before?”

His lips traversed the valley of your breasts, rough palms sliding languidly across your ribs and waist. You could see him hold you like that while being inches deep in you. Slamming your frail little set of bones against your desk’s wooden surface. Pounding your hole for your parents to return to their precious daughter bent in half by some stranger. Bruising Gojo’s star student until the smug smile was wiped from his obnoxious mouth for good.

All those reasons made you nod at his question, not caring that he’d be ten times rougher because of your white lie. If anything, you looked forward to that.

“Sure you’re not lying to me?” he read your mind like an open book, the elastic of your shorts being torn away from your body. “Won’t be mad if y’are. I love myself a sweet little virgin. Love how whiny their voices get. How,” he lowered himself onto his knees, palm pushing you to sit on your bed “cute their little tight cunts look all stretched around me.”

His hot breath fanned over your soaked panties, index lazily rubbing back and forth between your clothed slit, the added friction sending a pleasurable tingle up your spine.

“You really aren’t one, are ya?”

You shook your head repeatedly like a bobblehead doll, propping your weight onto your elbows as he lifted your legs on his shoulders, the reality of his choppy raven hair nuzzling to your thighs finally hitting you.

“You said all you wanted to do was look, right?” the finger that was hooked around your underwear stopped. “That was the deal…”

For a brief yet conscious second, his eyes bore into yours with such spite that you thought you’d completely messed up. Only a virgin would dare say something this stupid. If he wasn’t bound to you by the ritual, he’d be out the door the moment you spat those words, you knew it, but then his knuckles brushed over your abdomen to find the hand that clenched onto the sheets, and you realized that wasn’t the case.

“Deals get altered and terms renewed all the time,” he mumbled distractedly, deeply inhaling your scent on his nose, while your fingers unfolded between his lips. You gasped, the sight of him fucking them in and out his mouth —tongue slithering right in the middle and saliva dribbling down his chin as he popped them out— enough to hypnotize whatever sense out of your brain.

“I’ll make ya a new deal,” he hummed, gently directing them to your mouth as if he beckoned you to do the same. A smirk tugged at his scar as he watched your pink lips obediently part and round around your own fingers. He didn’t let go until he heard you choke, secretly plotting to replace them with something else—sooner, than later.

“My technique is what interests you, right? How about instead of telling you, I show you?”

You tried to remove your hand, but he shoved it back in, his true colors pouring into a devilish smile. “I’ve had enough of your voice. All you gotta do is sit back like the good little girl I know you are and keep your legs nice and spread for me. How’s that?”

The only thing your head could manage was pathetically bob up and down in agreement, your fingers stuck in your mouth like a damn pacifier, while your cunt pulsed at every single word he uttered; derogatory or not. Were it any other guy talking down to you like that, your knuckles would be leaving an impermanent imprint on his cheek. Were it any other guy treating you as if you had no volition of your own as if you were just a toy for him to break, and you—

There wouldn’t be any other guy for you ever again. He’d make sure of it.

He ripped the fabric into a single shred and tossed it over his shoulder without caring where it landed- your bedside lamp. He looked down at your pussy, debating to himself whether to start with his tongue or fingers first, calculating the time it’d take for him to prep you for his cock down to the last second. He might’ve been a lot less nice than he pretended to be, but he wasn’t about to go out of his way to hurt you. Not intentionally, at least.

“Let’s see,” he tipped forward, the way his forefinger slipped between your folds without any resistance whatsoever bringing you shame. It didn’t go unnoticed by him, his digit triumphantly pulling out and smearing your slick all over your puffy lips. “Is that all for me, sweetheart? So fucking wet just for me?”

Your hips bucked forward as an answer to his question and he thought he wouldn’t mind taking things slow for once— see how much you could take before you came completely undone.

“Girls like you make the best fuck,” he cooed, voice echoing right through your core. “Surrendering to the first sweet word they hear.” His thumb circled your clit, flicking at the little bundle of nerves. “Leaking at the slightest of touch.” His middle and ring fingers joined in the action, burying themselves as far inside walls as your tight hole let him push. “Breaking so easily.” He drooled, coating your entire pussy in his thick saliva before allowing himself a taste, tongue lapping at the mix of juices straight from the source.

Your thighs clenched around him, muffling the lewdness of a whimper as he looked up at you, his smirk loosening with every kitten lick across your flesh. You wanted to say something, to call out his name and moan for him, but it all felt so unpracticed— similarly to how unpracticed your cunt was when it came to the girth of his fingers; much bigger than yours, more experienced too. He reached depths you didn’t know existed, bringing your body such pleasure that had you writhing for more, hips slamming against his face.

He groaned, his own arousal throbbing against his lower abdomen, begging him to get this over with. “Wanna fuck my face, baby?”

You felt your cheeks ignite anew, the eyes you’d fallen for at first sight overflowing with lust, convincing you it felt as good for him as it felt for you.

“Can’t let ya do that,” he parted your folds, fingers spreading your thighs apart while his tongue darted between your lips, his nose intentionally nudging the pink nub with each deep stroke against your spongy spot. “Gotta earn it first.”

You stared at him like an idiot, wondering to yourself if somewhere between his refusal to shake your hand and his eagerness to quench his thirst with your body you’d passed away because that was what heaven ought to feel like. That was what angels ought to look like.

“Got something to say, princess?” his eyes shot up and he gestured for you to unlatch your mouth.

“S-so pretty,” you whispered.

“What was that?” his ears perked up, not because he hadn’t heard you the first time, but because he could do with some affirmation himself.

“You’re so fucking pretty like this… f-fuck—” a yelp punched its way out of your lungs as he folded you in half, pinning your thighs onto your stomach, and crawling onto the bed right after them.

He’d had enough of this little game.

“Good girls shouldn’t cuss like that. Six eyes didn’t teach ya that?”

Holding you down with one hand, he dived back into your pussy, his fingers pumping in and out of you at a furious pace that had your upper body tossing and turning, the first unregulated moans ushering him to keep going. His tongue toyed with your swollen bud, the squelching of your cunt growing significantly louder from this angle, reverberating throughout the four walls of your bedroom. You were close, and so was he to getting his dick wet with all the mess he’d helped create.

His mouth watered just at the thought of his seed being the one to dribble down your thighs instead of his spit. He could picture you in one of those cute blue-navy skirts hanging from your closet and hoped you weren’t a tights person. He wanted to see you off to school every morning with your thighs sticking together so deliciously that anyone smart enough would understand how meticulously he’d fucked the brat out of you—

If only there was a mirror for you to see how stunning you looked. All fucked out and writhing, disheveled hair stuck on your tits and forehead while you nuzzled to the pillows, your shaky voice calling out to the surname he’d left behind. Would you still do that if you knew he played you like a fiddle? If you knew he was no esteemed Zen’in or sorcerer, for that matter, but a man hell-bent on ruining you for his own sick satisfaction?

Your body reciprocated his vile thoughts, your pussy fluttering around his digits. “Gonna cum for me?” he panted, forcing your legs to the side lest he missed a reaction.

Neither of you realized how his one hand had sneaked into his pants, stroking his veiny cock closer to the ecstasy he craved. Precum leaked hot out of the reddened tip, his thumb frantically swiping it over his length in sync with his thrusts. He’d stopped listening to your pleas and instructions. He fucked his fingers in you as he pleased, slowing down only when his balls began to dangerously tighten. Only then did he tear his fingers away ‘cause God forbid he busts his load in his palm like some fucking untouched teenager— regardless of how obscenely pretty you appeared for him or not.

Once he regained his composure, words made sense again. Harder. Faster. More. He hated being told what to do but absolutely loved how pliant you were. A people-pleaser, he bet. Going above and beyond what was asked of you, bending and breaking into whatever molds others force you to fit. He could work with that. Shape you into a mold only he could fit in.

“Cum for me, baby. Show me how much prettier y’ can get.”

His cock twitched as he felt your walls clamp down around his fingers, your sweet face contorting with pleasure, lips swollen with how hard they’d tried to contain the last bits of debouched decency.

How cute.

He set your legs down and moved up to meet your face with his, a wave of genuine softness rushing over him as he thought to kiss your lips tenderly, hushing whatever emotion had you spasming. You were so sensitive. Even if you’d been with another guy before him, he doubted they knew what they were doing— not like he did, anyway. He’d make you scream out his name for the neighbors to hear what a dirty slut lived just next door from them.

After a short while of his stroking your hair and whispering filth into your ears, he decided he’d been good enough to get his trick. He took your hand in his and guided it to his cock, grinning like a little kid as your smaller palm traced the outline over his pants, knowing full well both hands would do nothing to cover his girth.

He’d really missed this— so much that he didn’t mind letting a grunt out in appreciation, certain that more would follow.

Your eyes met, the spark in them telling him you understood what he expected you to do, and even if you didn’t, he’d teach you. He’d teach you everything, snatch you from that piece of shit and make you into his star student, so long as you kept touching him and let him do all the things he’d spent the last thirty minutes fantasizing about.

Everything and anything, all for you to take—

The thoughts that failed to reach your ears along with all traces of the man whose weight alone -up until a moment ago- threatened to crush your body into a fine powder evaporated, the smooth sound of his voice replaced by the crude breaks of your father’s car as he pulled into the driveway— your mother’s kitten heels soon clicking atop every step they climbed.

Shit.

A/N: I actually intended for this to be a one-shot, but I guess it sort of ended on a cliffhanger so, oops. Lemme know if I should write a second and final part, or if you have any Toji ideas/requests ♡

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animehideout · 1 year ago

Note

Imagine choso and you are fighting (like battling) and then ur like, “don’t make me scare up that pretty little face” and choso like “you think I’m pretty 🥺”

Choso Kamo x Sorcerer¡Reader

a/n: Hey anon, thank you for this cute fluff request. I hope you like it ⑅˖⁠♡.

Fluff 🎀

You moved swiftly, your agility and skills gave you the upper hand to dodge all of Choso’s attacks. With your technique to summon weapons, your Katana blocked with graceful precision each arrow of blood directed to you, that was meant to pierce through your flesh.

Choso, your formidable enemy, a half-human and half-curse spirit that made him an interesting opponent. You’ve always been so curious about him and his blood manipulation technique and today was your lucky day, you finally got to grasp the chance and fight him face to face, and maybe show off your skills a bit, a bit of flaunting won’t hurt.

The air crackled with the impending clash as you circled each other. Your moves were too fast, Choso couldn’t keep up with you, once you were in front of him now you’re behind him. The way you easily twirled your weapons in your hands, as if they weight nothing made you look cool and Choso couldn’t contain his admiration, even though he was keeping a resting tired face, but from the inside he was impressed.

He stood there right in front of you, unexpectedly lifting his shirt up making your eyes widen, not only putting his perfect abs on display but also a marking on his abdomen, revealing his origin as a half-curse, as a death painting womb, making you more hooked and immersed in his nature.

“you’re quite the challenge little sorcerer, but let’s see if you can handle this” he threatened.

He lunged forward, manipulating the blood to surge forward in unpredictable patterns, attempting to take you off guard.

You moved just in time, stepping aside, avoiding the trajectory of blood arrow that was directed at you with deadly precision, your hair flowing behind you as you moved with an extraordinary speed.

You gasped as you saw a small piece of your hair on the ground.

“oh didn’t mean to give you a little trim”

“hah funny! You’ll have to do better than that if you want to leave an actual mark” you teased back.

Pissed that a small part of your precious hair was cut by him, you ran towards him, when he was ready to attack you, you flexibly descended to the ground. While poised in the lowered position, you extended one leg, sweeping it. Making Choso lose his balance, and fall on the ground, his back hitting the hard floor.

Still on the floor, you rose to you feet, summoning another weapon, a very sharp one. His eyes widened in shock, dumbfounded by your surprise attack, and how in a matter of seconds you took the upper hand and dominated him. You looked down at him, and pointed the blade to his face,

“Now, don’t make me scar up that pretty little face of yours” you started.

Choso couldn’t help but react with amusement, his wide eyes softened and you swear to god you can see stars in them,

“Aw, you think I’m pretty 🥺?”. he asked with puppy eyes.

Did he charm you by the way he was looking at you so innocently? Yes, he did. And you couldn’t do anything but stare with a mix of confusion and admiration.

“Uh-Wh-at?” you stuttered.

His playful words echoed in your ears, and then realization hit you, yes you actually think he’s pretty. A genuine smile crept on your lips, this battle with Choso was way more interesting that you expected it to be. You can’t help but be eager to know more about him.

“here’s the deal little sorcerer, let’s start over, if you succeed in leaving a small scratch on my ‘pretty’ face, I’ll take you out on a date.. how does that sound?”

“sounds wonderful to me” you replied.

This time giving it all of your best to leave a small cut on his face, so he can take you out on a date like he promised. On the other hand, Choso did let his guards down intentionally.

After this battle, you’re no longer enemies like you claimed to be.

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ponderingmoonlight · 1 year ago

Text

Gojo recklessly flirting with Choso's little sister at Shibuya

Pairing: Gojo x Choso's sister! reader

Word Count: 1,5k

Synopsis: After being set in Shibuya to distract and exhaust none other than Satoru Gojo, Choso's little sister soon learns that the rumors about his charm are true.

Warnings: This has no major plot, basically just a fic to tease y'all, Gojo being a smooth operator, furious Choso lol

Tags: @celestair

„You‘re late“

Your sweet voice echoes through the hallway, figure unseen by Satoru Gojo in your hiding spot on the ceiling. Urgh, you’ve been sitting here for what feels like hours, the voice of your big brother lingering through your mind.

“Don’t cause trouble, (y/n). I’m serious, we have a mission to fulfill.”

“Yeah, whatever. Working with that idiots won’t bring back our brothers tho.”

“Careful.”

He stepped closer to you, eyes glistering so deadly that you had to swallow.

“Don’t forget why you’re here.”

“I’m here because you forced me to”, you remembered him.

“If Satoru Gojo is half as strong as that guy told us, he’ll kill me. I’m nothing but a bait, you know that right?”

“I won’t let any harm come over you, (y/n). I promise. Also, you have immense powers, just use them. I’ll meet up with you again later.”

One last hug. One last hug before he sent you away.

“Sorry for keeping you waiting, I was expecting a larger reception committee to be honest”, he comments dryly.

Your eyes roam over his body in the dark. Rumors were true as it seems, Satoru Gojo is indeed a handsome man for being human. Tall and quite muscular, an undercut to die for and that blindfold that holds the mystery of his powerful orbs. You crane your neck to catch a better glimpse of him. Interesting appearance.

“Be assured that I am more than enough for you.”

With a swift motion, you lower yourself onto the ground, feet landing elegantly right in front of him.

Your breath hitches when your gaze meets his. How is this man so good-looking even though a blindfold covers half of his face? He smells absolutely intoxicating, the way his cocky smile decorates his face makes your heart beat a little faster.

Stop. You shake your head, trying to get these thoughts out of your head. None of this matters. You are here to distract him, to drain him, to lead him to the others. Satoru Gojo is nothing more than a mission you have to fulfill.

“Oh, and you are?”, he questions, putting an arm casually on his hip.

“The villain”, you clarify with a satisfied grin.

“Too bad. You look way too good for being a villain.”

He really wants to play with you, cute. You’ve been walking on this earth long enough to know how men work, especially those like him. Always so sure of themselves, convinced that they can get any woman. Way too easy to manipulate, though.

“Yeah? Let me show you what I’ve got in store, then.”

Blood manipulation makes it easy for you to attack him from a distance over and over again. You aren’t a fool, though. The way your attacks simply bounce off him shows you more than any words could specify how fucking strong the man in front of you is. When using his technique, there’s absolutely no chance for you to win this fight. But still, you promised. You promised Choso to distract and tire Gojo out. The sooner he’s gone, the sooner you can take revenge for the death of your brothers.

“Blood manipulation, huh? Interesting, so you’re a descendant of the Kamo family.”

The amusement that radiates from his voice irritates you. It’s like he isn’t bothered by your powerful technique at all, making fun of you instead of fighting back.

“You know I could just kill you on the spot, right? Why are you here on your own?”

“Maybe to fight you, maybe to seduce you. Who knows?”, you remark, now trying to land a hit on him in close combat.

He grabs your hand faster than you are able to react, making your eyes widen. Fuck, this isn’t good. His radiant touch alone would be enough to kill you on the spot.

“I have to admit, you are a decent jujutsu sorcerer, maybe a semi grade 1. Could make you a grade 1 if you ask nicely.”

Gojo hates to admit it, but it’s way too easy to get lost in your mesmerizing orbs. Are you a curse? No, your skin feels too real and soft for that against his palm. You are human. Maybe reincarnated, but you are human. A striking human, to be exact.

Even though he is very aware of the fact that you are here to distract him from something bigger, he just can’t help but play your little game.

“You know I could make you kneel just by touching you, right?”, you purr, head tilted to the side.

“Oh believe me honey, I could do the same without using any technique.”

For the split of a second you can feel your cheeks heat up, heart pounding hard against your ribcage. What the hell is this strange feeling? You are reincarnated, you aren’t supposed to feel anything. But why…Why does the way he hold your arm so close against his body and the way he smiles down at you send shivers down your spine? You’ve been alive for so damn long, meeting countless men on the way. What makes him so different?

“I know you’re here to distract me. I gotta say that’s pretty rude considering I’m the strongest. Do they want to get rid of you?”

“Maybe I’m a good match and they know that”, you reply with a sweet grin.

“You’re fighting on the wrong side. When this is over, I’ll show you that you’re capable of so much more. With the right motivation, of course”, he hushes.

“Is this an offer?”, you question.

He can tell by the look in your eyes that your mind is racing. To be honest, he isn’t asking exclusively because of your striking powers.

“Absolutely.”

Softly, his touch traces along your arm, up your shoulder, over your back. Gojo’s other hand joins, brushing over your waist. You see stars, it’s like you’ve forgot how to function. Even though it was part of the job many times to wrap a man around your finger, it never really bothered you when they touched you. If you felt something, it was nothing but disgust and anger. But that right now, that isn’t anger or disgust. This is a completely different feeling, foreign in the way it makes your knees weak. No, not even the emotions you hold towards Choso can compare to that.

Is this what attraction feels like?

“You’re dangerous, Satoru Gojo.”

Your voice is as cold and calculating as ever while you feel like dying and flying internally.

“What’s your name?”

“(y/n), can you hear me?”

Fuck. The voice of your brother inside your ear makes you tear away from him in an instant.

“Yeah. What is it”, you mumble.

“So your name is (y/n), huh? What a beautiful name. Fits you perfectly”, Gojo coos behind you.

“Did that guy just flirt with you, (y/n)? Bring him here. Right now”, Choso hisses.

“Sure. Already on the way.”

“You heard him. Get your ass moving”, you instruct the man in front of you while rolling your eyes in annoyance and moving towards the main hall.

“What a bummer, I thought we had more time alone."

“Don’t say that out loud when my brother is here. He’ll kill you right on the spot and I want to have this honor”, you warn him.

The way you walk in front of him with your delicate hips swinging from side to side makes him smile into himself. You’re a feisty woman, not that easy to get, unapproachable at first glance. But oh how you caught his attention. Not only with your immense powers, but also your sharp tongue and striking looks.

“You’re too good looking to be one of the bad guys”, he comments before he can stop yourself.

“And you’re too good looking to fight for the wrong side”, you reply dryly.

“And how do you know I’m on the wrong side and you’re on the right?”

“Because your students killed my brothers without flinching.”

“And the people you are working with killed thousands of innocent humans with countless brothers and sisters still grieving them.”

You turn around slowly, just about to reach the meeting spot you agreed on with Choso.

“I would recommend to not say something like that to my brother”, you hiss.

“Choso, I’m here!”, you announce loudly.

Another figure appears out of the shadow.

“I hope you didn’t hurt her, Satoru Gojo. Otherwise I will have to kill you right on the spot.”

“I guess sneaking up to other people is like a family thing”, he notes.

“Don’t worry, she was really nice company. Made me almost forget that this is a trap.”

“Gojo”, you warn him.

“Watch your mouth”, Choso hisses through gritted teeth.

“Tell me you didn’t flirt with him”, he continues whispering in your ear.

“Oh, I absolutely did”, you reply without thinking twice.

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glamourscat · 2 months ago

Note

i thought ab jjk guys w a martial artist gf, specifically like karate or something more traditional?! i think itd be so cute, id req megumi, choso and yuta but u can remove or add whoever <3

𐙚 JJK CHARACTERS W A MARTIAL ARTIST S/O 𐙚

A/N: I took the liberty of seeing the request as in two ways: a reader who’s a jujutsu sorcerer with no cursed energy and primarily focuses on martial arts for attacks. I kinda mixed the vibes around. Is not very “romantic” and I’m sorry if you were looking for more “fluff” hcs. I hope it’s what you were looking for! :)

• I think in general, a partner who is into martial arts of any sort, is a great match for most —if not all— the jujutsu kaisen characters. They are constantly fighting day and night, and a non sorcerer cannot see the curses, yes, but if we take in consideration the Shibuya incident, I’m prove to think they would feel safer knowing that you know how to defend yourself.

✮⋆˙ MEGUMI

• Megumi is such an interesting guy. Opposed to Yuta, Maki or Yuji his fight style revolves around mostly (for what I can remember) the summoning of his Shikigami. His fight style doesn’t revolve around acrobatics, tricks or physical attacks. But more or so, by the ability of his mind. The more strong he is mentally, the stronger the ability of the Shikigami will be. If hurt in any sort of way, or doubts start to creep in, his power is pretty much gone.

• So, on that note, I think having a partner who’s into martial arts would be a pretty good pairing for him. I’m imagining perhaps a Maki situation, where the partner holds little to no cursed energy and has to wear glasses to see the curses. Thus making combat the primary strategy of attack.

• It’s kinda like with him and Yuji. They are the opposites but it fits doesn’t it? Yuji and his wild attacks, using his physical strength and abilities. While Megumi has a more mental strength advantage, using his mind to combat. A pretty dynamic duo if you ask me.

✮⋆˙ CHOSO

• Choso has blood manipulation. It’s similar, but different. He also excels in taijutsu, as is capable of standing up against a master martial artist like Yuji. Not to mention his “piercing blood” technique which is pretty much poison.

• On paper choso is strong af lmao. Objectively speaking, he has a functioning cursed technique that is even higher than Kamo’s blood manipulation. Is a master in taijutsu, standing up against physical and mental pain.

• A partner that is into martial arts would be honestly a great fit. Someone that could manage to be by his side during the fight, keeping up with attacks so he doesn’t have to worry about you getting hurt. It’s a perfect flow.

✮⋆˙ YUTA

• Yuta’s attacks are mainly with his katana. Which, takes a lot of strength to master and wield it. Having a partner who knows how to balance his attacks and almost, enter in a “ballet situation” with him. I image a series of consecutive attacks, him then you, him then you and so on. A flowing stream pretty much.

• He does have Rika’s powers too tho (haven’t finished reading the manga yet So, I’m not sure if he retains her powers and abilities, but, he is still a special grade sorcerer last time I checked. His key element is converting emotions into strength (like we see in jjk0 when he fights against Geto), despite his inexperience, he was able to keep head to head with a jujutsu sorcerer older than him, and technically, more skilled than him too in some areas.

• The synchrony between him and Rika is what ultimately made them won, and so we go back to my previous point. That having a partner he can work in sync with is the best choice for him.

• He is extremely strong on his own, with having high tactical intelligence, cursed energy and even hand to hand combat skills. But in a duo situation he would be even more unstoppable.

#jujustsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen #jujutsu megumi #megumi fushiguro #megumi x reader #megumi fushiguro x reader #choso kamo #choso x reader #choso kamo x reader #yuta okkotsu #yuta x reader #yuta okkotsu x reader #jujutsu kaisen headcanons #megumi headcanons #choso headcanons #yuta headcanons

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hoseokslefteyebrow · 7 months ago

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The Anomaly || JJK

Chapter 1: Alone

summary : In which you're isekai'd from your (own) parallel Jujutsu Kaisen universe to the canon universe.

wordcount : 2k

Pairing: Jujutsu Kaisen X Reader, eventually Character x Reader (idk who yet tho)

Masterlist | Next

You grimace as you open your eyes, slowly focusing on your surroundings. Your back is still throbbing. Your head actually feels quite peaceful. The light of the room is dim, and as your eyes focus, you notice the numerous seals lining the walls, stickered over one another. You're surrounded by candle lights.

You've heard of this room before. You never expected to be the one in it though.

" Ah, finally woke up from your beauty sleep? "

As you turn, you come face to face with your sensei, leaving you confused once again. He's seated on a chair, the back of the stool facing you as he's seated backwards. There's a casual grin on his face. He looks stupid. Like always.

" Gojo sensei? "

The last thing you remember is Inumaki not recognizing you, in fact, he even used his cursed speech on you, forcing you to sleep. Admittedly, it was one of the nicest naps you've ever had, but still.

" Ah, Inumaki told me you were confused- he also mentioned you're Sukuna's best friend. It got us quite worried, considering you seem to know quite a bit about Inumaki. You even mentioned that he's your upperclassman. "

You nod. You've got no idea on what to say. Yes, Ryomen is trouble. A little shit. Yet they were treating you like your best friend is some kind of horrible curse or something, worst of the worst.

" What do you know about me? "

You blink. Is this a test? It had to be.

" You're Gojo Satoru. You have both Six Eyes' and Limitless cursed technique. You're the first year's mentor- I'm one of your first years, actually. Uhm.... You lost someone you were close with once last year. We're close. In a respectful way. I see you like an elder cousin. "

Gojo's eyes widen below his blindfold, completely taken by surprise. You knew of Geto?

" How did he die? "

You tense. You hate that memory. Not to mention with how he's looking at you. He's mentioned that they used to be close. You found him at a bad moment, and helped him through it.

" I killed him.. "

" What? "

Now it's Gojo's turn to be surprised.

" I stopped the blood stream to his heart. I found you, just before you were about to end him. I could see it when I had arrived. You don't look at enemies the same way you looked at that man. You care for him. Jujutsu society was already asking a lot of you. I didn't want you to live with the guilt of having to kill someone you cared for. "

Gojo is eerily silent for a good moment. His six eyes aren't having issues. Your flow of cursed energy really is different. You're not from here.

" You have a student ID right? What's your name? "

" Kamo Y/N."

You hand your student ID to him.

" Already a second grade student as a first year? Impressive. I take it you're from the Kamo clan? Or are you a foreigner with a similar last name as one of the three clans- You don't look like you're from around here. "

" No, I'm from the Kamo clan. My mother fell in love with a foreigner. "

" Blood Manipulation? "

" Water manipulation, actually. "

His eyebrows visibly raise beneath his brow.

" I've never heard that before. What's that? I take it you can manipulate water, like the name intends? "

" Yes, I can. I can manipulate any body of water, and create or change the condensation of it. "

" Including the blood in people their bodies. "

You cringe at his words.

" Yes. "

It's not the favorite part of your technique, but it's definitely a part of it.

Gojo sighs, sitting up straight as he contemplates on what to do.

" Who's your mother? "

" Kamo Asuka. "

His eyebrows furrow. He's heard that name before, but he can't remember when. Your student ID is legit too. He sighs, getting up.

" Okay. Something is definitely going on here. I've got no idea what, but don't worry, your sensei will look into it. "

Hos previous serious expression is replaced by his easy going one again. He's grinning as he gets up from the chair, and unties you from yours.

" Welcome back at school I guess. I'll be putting you in the girls dormitory for now. We'll introduce you to the rest of the class tomorrow. "

Soon enough, the both of you are finally leaving the room, and you're headed back to familiar grounds.

To your surprise, he leads you to the exact dorm room you used to stay, but your eyes widen in negative surprise as you notice that it's empty. All of your belongings not there. Your polaroids aren't hanging messily over your wall, your clothes aren't messily stacked in an overfull laundry basket in the corner of the room, your books aren't under your bed, and your comfortable bedsheets which you sneaked in from home aren't on your bed.

" You okay? "

He notices your expression.

" Yeah, just... This is supposed to be my room. All my stuff is gone.... "

The night passes by, but you can't find it in yourself to fall asleep. You're just tossing and turning, and eventually, you finally get up, and make your way outside, towards the river.

You're going to fix your back. You breathe in the cool night's air. You'd often sneak out at times like this, along with your best friend. You'd catch the bus that goes until 3 am to Shibuya, and pop by some 24/7 convenience store from time to time.

You take out your phone, testing your luck.

Kuna

I'm hungry

Tf you want me to do

Lets sneak off to the kitchens, I wanna bake cupcakes

Wait no I'm coming

I wanna spoon out the left over batter

U gotta share tho

You sigh as you look at the old texts. They're not that old, only from yesterday. By accident, you had woken up Nobara as well and together the three of you ended up baking cupcakes.

It had been fun.

You type a message.

Hey, where are you?

[ The number you're trying to reach is not in use. ]

Something really wasn't right, you really were somewhere you weren't supposed to be.

You decide to just focus on the task ahead. Throwing the, currently useless, device in the grass beside you, you step into the shallow part of the river.

Unlike most cursed techniques, you found yours pleasant to use. You didn't need to intent harm on anyone to use it. You also managed to master your reverse cursed technique. With enough water, you can heal injuries.

You manipulate a bit of the river's water into the palm of your hands, allowing the water to encase your hand. The water is still cold, but that only makes you sigh in relief as you press your water encased hand to your back, the water lighting up as your abilities get to work. This was so much more pleasant.

" Okay students, meet your new, very awesome classmate, Kamo Y/N! "

Gojo is way to cheerful as he introduces you.

Nonetheless, you smile politely as you slide open the door, and step inside the classroom.

" Hi. Nice to meet you all, I hope we get along well. "

You bow, finishing your introduction formally.

This is not how it went when you introduced yourself back in your universe, but that was more than okay.

A spark comes to life in Nobara's eye.

" Another girl! This is great! Finally I'm not just stuck with these two! " Nobara cheers.

Both men beside her grumble.

Yuuji pouts.

" Why, what's wrong with us? I thought you liked us. "

Megumi's mildly annoyed expression shifts soon enough, his focus now on you.

" Kamo? "

He's always been sharp. He probably wonders why you're here when your cousin (Noritoshi) is in the Kyoto school.

" Y/N isn't like our regular students, Megumi. She randomly popped up yesterday out of nowhere. She already knows you, but no one of us knows anything about her, thus far. " Gojo explains.

Megumi's eyebrows furrow, as Yuuji gasps.

" Out of nowhere? What if you're from a different universe? "

You raise a brow. You hadn't thought about that. Had the cursed spirit you've been fighting really been strong enough to send you here?

" Don't spout nonsense Yuuji-"

" I think it's actually a good theory. "

All four students turn surprised to their sensei.

" Your flow of cursed energy is different. It's somewhat more peaceful, but it also feels like it doesn't belong here.- I forgot to ask you a bunch of questions yesterday actually, how did you end up here? "

He's leaning back against the desk, fingers on his chin as his expression is relatively serious.

" I was fighting a cursed spirit. It was special grade. It popped up out of nowhere. It wasn't alone either. One went after me while the other went after Sukuna. The one that went after me was strong, and made me fall through some kind of hoop. I was supposed to fall in the river, but I ended up falling right at the entrance of the school, which is where Inumaki senpai found me. "

Yuuji blinks, though his eyebrows furrow in confusion.

" Sukuna? "

Yuuji can only hope you aren't referring to the very curse he hates.

" Yeah, Itadori Sukuna. That actually reminds me, is he sleeping in late again, that he's not here? "

All eyes blink at you in confusion.

" Yeah, I actually forgot to ask about that yesterday as well. Is your Sukuna a student? "

Gojo seems confusingly serious about it.

" Ah, yeah. He is. He's Yuuji's twin, actually. "

Everyone's eyes are wide open, and Yuuji's mouth actually falls open.

" My- my twin?! " He calls out, visible distressed.

You blink, wondering what you've said wrong.

" Yeah? -"

" Ryomen Sukuna is the king of curses here. He's a very powerful sorcerer from the Heian era, back when the curses ruled. It took a lot to defeat him. And the sorcerers from back then couldn't even kill him. They cut up his 20 fingers and sealed them. "

You blink in surprise at Gojo's explanation. Before furrowing your eyebrows in disgust and realization.

" 20? "

Gojo nods.

" Our Sukuna had 4 arms. "

" Ew. "

" I can swallow his fingers. "

Now you blink at Yuuji. He blinks back at you with a bit of a dumb grin, Nobara cringes in disgust.

" Ew. "

" Right! You get it, it's so unsanitary! "

She's definitely glad to have you.

" But then, Sukuna's presence lives in you? "

Yuuji nods.

" Yeah. Don't worry though, I've got full control over him. "

This is all just very confusing for you.

" Right. "

" Sukuna Ryomen as a student. I never imagined that- I take it his cursed technique is slicing in your.. Universe.. As well? "

Gojo seems positively interested. The possibilities of Sukuna being a student is amazing to him.

You shake your head.

" He doesn't have any cursed energy, actually. "

" What? "

" Yeah, he's free of it. "

Gojo's eyes widen. He only knows one person who was free from it.

" Like-"

" Yes, like him. "

You flit your eyes over Megumi, who just seems confused.

Gojo is only more surprised at this point.

" Okay... Well, enough of this. Let's turn back to class for now. We'll figure out how to get you back to your universe. For now, let's just focus on classes. This way, perhaps you won't fall behind. "

Taglist:

@luxylucylou

#idkeitherman #jujutsu kaisen #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen x reader #gojo x reader #gojo satoru #satoru x reader #yuji itadori #megumi fushiguro #nobara kugisaki

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suguruspit · 10 months ago

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begging for you

18+ MDNI!! // Choso x reader, vampire!Choso

cw; blood mention (vamp related not graphic!), begging, oral (reader receiving), overstimulation (choso)

summary: after intense battles choso needs to replenish blood, something he finds no particular pleasure in until he finds you. he makes sure you get something out of it, and he loves you. <3

Choso was a patient man- half man? He still wasn’t sure what he technically classed as, as if it mattered. Being born to a half curse had its side-effects, not to mention existing as a cursed womb death painting for over a hundred years before being able to stretch his legs. His brothers manifested in ways that made them outwardly more ‘cursed’, whereas he seemed to have settled into his body quite well.

Noritoshi Kamo possessed the Blood Manipulation technique, it was inherited and therefore part of the body, meaning Kenjaku had been able to pass it down to him. Blood Manipulation, as it seems, is a lot more complicated than simply telling your blood where to go. Using blood in battle has its setbacks, and if the opponent is smart, they won’t let the fluid return to your body.

Which means, in short, Choso needs to replenish it in less than conventional ways.

There’s the traditional blood bags which he used to get Kechizu to steal off the back of the transportation vans, preying on smaller animals which tasted rotten and gamey, or… feeding off of humans.

Choso likes humans, they can be misguided and psychopathic but that's the minority of them, and he’s half-human himself so he has a sense of some connection to them, which means he doesn’t prefer the final method as it isn’t in his ideals to harm another human when there isn’t necessity to do so.

Unfortunately, though, it happens to be the best way to replenish his blood and feed his strength after battle. What’s fortunate, though, is he met you. Who doesn’t seem to mind this affliction of his at all.

However, as patient as he is, as intelligent as he is, when it comes to you that just isn't the case/

"Fuck," Choso breathes, taking in the sight below him. You were both on your bed because it was twice the size of the one Jujutsu Tech gave him. Your hair was fanned out across the pillows, legs spread with your knees half up as you caught your breath. "S'good for me."

You whine, hands covering your eyes in embarrassment as Choso just hovers above you, staring, admiring his handy work. Pink, angry marks shiny with spit were dotted across your thighs and stomach, leading up to your chest where they tapered off into nip marks instead.

Choso can never get enough. He's greedy, he knows that he just doesn't deserve any of this but you're here, you're with him. So perfect, angelic, his savior.

"Cho?" You ask quietly, not wanting to spook him out of whatever he's got on his mind, but your thighs are grinding together and you can feel your own slick sticking them together. "You okay baby?"

"Can I touch you?" Choso answers in a whisper, hands ghosting above your breasts as his scar starts to leak pin-pricks of blood on his nose as he gets flustered.

"You already have been," You laugh breathlessly, but you take his hand anyway and guide it to your chest, letting out a quiet moan as he squeezes gently, smoothing his thumb over the soft flesh of it.

He leans down before taking a nipple into his mouth, swirling his tongue around it and sucking gently, his eyes rolling back at the noises you make for him. He ruts his hips against the sheets and whines around his mouthful, making you bite your lip so hard you taste blood.

"Fuck, don't," Choso whines, his cool forehead leaning against the warmth of your stomach. His hand is moving quickly beneath you, and you feel heat stir in you at the realisation of what that means.

Your blood hangs in the air, a scent of metal and arousal, and Choso begs you to let him have it, let him earn it.

This leads to him desperately eating you out, tongue lapping up every trace of your taste that he can, whining whilst he does it and humping the mattress. Choso loves tasting you, something about it is so addicting, and he can't decide if he loves that more or the refreshing blood that flows through your veins, the blood that spills out fresh and warm onto his tongue when he bites down as you flutter around him.

Just the thought of it has him panting on to you, he sits up to press a thumb to your clit, rubbing gentle circles as he grunts above you, spilling his own release onto the bed.

You laugh breathlessly in between moans as you feel that familiar coil of heat in your stomach, and your thighs twitch at each circle of his fingers. Always so eager to please you he can never last.

"You're so beautiful," Choso moans out, cheeks pink and scar open and flowing now. He's rutting into the air, before he looks at you and lets his fangs drop so that they're denting his bottom lip. "Can I? I'll be good, I promise, princess. I'll be good for you."

You spread your legs with a groan, reaching out to take his hand as he frames over you, holding your hand and pushing inside, both of you groaning at the stretch.

"Oh god," Choso whimpers, hand gripping yours like his life depends on it. Blood from his nose drips onto your chest and flows like a slowing river down your stomach to join the mess you're both making. "You're so perfect."

"Fuck, Cho," You whimper. He's so big and the burning stretch as he starts a rhythm is just so good. He's so beautiful like this, thin bangs sticking to him with sweat and cheeks flushed a pretty pink making his nose scar stand out with a beautiful crimson. "So good for me, won't last baby, wanted you too much." You confess, hoping he can feel how desperate you really are, your slick already dripping on the bed and mixing with his come from earlier and that trail of blood.

Choso whines, rutting his hips into you, his rhythm failing slightly as you tighten around him. So close. He pants, before biting his lip and doubling his efforts, hips snapping and fucking into you roughly as you cry out against the pillows.

His index finger finds your clit again, sliding as your slick makes it slippery and wet. That band is getting tighter and tighter, but he hasn't bitten you yet, and you know that's what he needs.

"Cho, baby," You pant out, your hand reaches out to brush against his lips, catching his fangs slightly at the with-draw, making him whine and stutter his hips. "M'close, bite me, please, need you to." It's more of an incoherent babble, but you know he must get the message because he closes his eyes, tears leaking out from overstimulation before he finally leans down into your neck.

You can feel the tears drip down and cool your hot skin, and you bite your lip in anticipation. You really wanted to wait, to make the whole thing longer but you were so so close you felt like crying yourself, he was hitting all the right spots with such confidence and still abusing your clit which hurt just right.

"Can I?" Choso begs against your neck, breath ghosting against your jugular and you feel feverish. He's close, leaking impossibly inside you as he asks your permission. "Please, can't wait. Please."

"Yes!" You cry out, feeling yourself slip over that supernova of an edge, your walls flutter around him, pulling him in even tighter as your release coats him, creamy and wet and making you so tight that Choso sobs out against your neck.

His tongue teases your neck, following your vein before he lets out a prayer and a thank you and finally, finally, sinks his teeth into your warm and waiting flesh.

You gasp and whimper as it sets of a second wave of your orgasm, and you feel your vision go white. Choso is groaning and sobbing as he sucks your blood into his waiting mouth, his hips snapping up twice before he's coming hard, his hips humping you almost as it comes and comes. You feel it flowing down your thighs and your eyes slip close as you just let him have his way, knowing how much better he's going to feel in a minute.

It's not like you don't get anything out of this. Secretly, you hope he's off on another mission soon if it means this is the gift you get on his return.

-----------

sorry that i dropped a singular fic and left for months I was getting over my embarrasment

#choso x reader #choso smut #jjk smut #fem reader #x reader #vampire choso #jjk x reader #idk how to tag #choso kamo x reader #choso kamo smut #ghosts stuff

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sneezemonster15 · 1 year ago

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No, he is so precious. Choso is giving such - "I wanna go home" vibes here, I wanna pick him up.

I like Choso. I really like him. He has a good character design, interesting backstory, a wonderful technique, super honed skills and fighting style, a strong heart, stronger convictions and a certain sweet vulnerability despite his generally stoic persona. He is a death painting, what a cool name...Death Painting....I like it, I approve. He can be calm and composed one moment and his blood would be surging violently at the next if it's about his brothers. I find it so endearing. Ten on ten. I like his disposition, I like the fact that he is so driven by his emotions, I like his give and take with Itadori, I find it very cute and funny and sweet.

Gaaaah he is so sweet.

He cries for his brothers. He wants revenge for his mother. He will fight anyone who threatens his brothers, but he shows regret for having been manipulated by Kenjaku aka Noritoshi Kamo. Technically, he is not human but he is still more human than most.

He gets what it means to be a BIG BROTHER, take notes Itachi, you big dumb shinobi. He actually gets what it means to walk ahead of his little brothers, to protect them and guide them, something Itachi couldn't understand.

I am Team Choso now. Yeah.

#lots of good characters in this manga #but Choso was an instant like for me #if Gege kills him i swear...#no spoilers please #jjk spoilers #jjk choso #choso #jjk #itadori

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mojogojocasahouse · 8 months ago

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Just in Time Part II

Satoru Gojo x f!reader (Principal Gakuganji's daughter)

On the eve of a wedding of your father's arrangement, you call upon your reliable yet agitating old flame Satoru Gojo in an act of desperation and defiance

words: 6.5k series content: infidelity (in an arranged marriage so does that even count?), angst, smut, unprotected p in v, oral m & f-receiving, face fucking, rough sex, minor choking, spit kink, creampie, jealous!Gojo, protective!Gojo (moreso in part ii), minor degradation 18+ only

Part I

You follow the sound out into the cool summer morning, Satoru leaning back against the railing with his head hung. He’s in shorts and an unzipped hoodie, his snowy locks still mussed from his pillow. He raises his eyes when he hears the door opening, blinking the agony from his eyes away before he smiles. Had you not been paying attention you’d have missed the switch.

“Go sit in the bedroom and stay there,” Satoru instructs, turning you by the shoulder and gently shoving you toward his room, “Actually, lock yourself in the bathroom or something…Okay, or just stand there…”

Fear has frozen you in place, but when he pushes down on your head you drop to the floor in a heap, leaning back against the counter in the middle of the kitchen as a call of your name on the other side of the door signifies the worst has come to pass. You hear Satoru mutter ‘Good enough, I guess,’ before he snaps his jovial, mischievous persona back into place, his sing-song greeting to your father outside barely audible just as the hinges close behind him. It takes you too long to drag yourself across the sleek wooden floor and hover your ear against the same place you’d been pressed to in very different circumstances earlier that night.

“I know she’s in there you insolent brat!” That’s your father’s voice, sounding as furious as you’ve ever heard him.

“Are you going senile in your old age?” Satoru’s wit never fails him, “We’re gonna have to strip you of that fancy position if you can’t keep your thoughts straight. I think I could be a principal, don’t you? Not that I really want to go to Kyoto but…”

The sound of blood spattering against a wall proves there’s a third out there with them, Satoru’s taunting laugh confirming he’d been the target of a blood manipulation technique.

“Woah, woah, woah, hang on, Gramps. Call off your little attack dog, you know it’s pointless. Unless you forgot that too…”

“She’s getting married tomorrow and this nonsense that’s gone on for too long already is finished! Stop harboring her like there’s anything you can do, what’s done is done.”

“But it isn’t done, is it?” The change in his tone is almost jarring. It’s menacing now, low and rumbling even through the barrier you're still pressed against.

“You have nothing to offer–”

“Ha! Don’t I? Does that shriveled raisin rattling around inside your skull not remember? I AM the Gojo clan. It’s all me! And no offense to Kamo’s cute little squirt gun technique, but we all know who’s winning this fight, right?”

It’s all murmurs that follow, the wood too thick to allow any legible words no matter how hard you press your ear against it. You fight the urge to wrench open the door…

“You know, Gakuganji,” you can hear Satoru respond after 30 seconds of eternity, his tone once again light and carefree, “A smart man would have tried to bleed me dry as a 15-year-old kid when you caught me sneaking out of her room at that first Exchange Event.”

“It didn’t matter. What could you give me, Gojo?”

“Now? Not a damn thing! And let’s be honest, probably not back then either. You’ve always been a slimeball. Go home, old man. You lost. No seat for you at the round table.”

“There’s nothing you can do-“

“You have ten seconds to leave, I don’t think I need to warn you about what happens if you don’t.”

The door knocks you flat onto the floor when he reenters the house, his hands quickly coming to right you as he drops to his knees. You’re just trying to keep yourself from crying, the pale stretch of his bare chest at your eye level and it takes every ounce of your waning self-control not to break down into him. His hands are warm and the arm’s length distance feels like miles, and he’s the only thing you want. But he’s something you can’t have.

When he’s certain you’re steady he jumps back to his feet, grabs his phone, and walks to peek out the window to ensure your unexpected visitors are gone. A flash of headlights flickers against the wall and you sigh in relief, your body still frozen in place.

“Nanami!” Gojo greets, phone pressed to his ear, “Yeah…yeah…No, I don’t need a ride … That happened one time six years ago! … Shut uuuup…No…Wai-wai-wait! I need something! … It’s important! … Is that apartment in your building still available? … It’s not for me…It’s not for me! … I got baby Gakuganji out, she needs a place… Okay, what about that other place… Uh-huuuh… Yes… No, I’ll just cover the year… Yeah, upfront… Here tonight… No, my place in the city… I’m staying up… Yeah, okay. Thanks.”

“You’re not paying for-” you begin to argue when you’re certain he’s hung up.

“I didn’t ask,” he quickly cuts you off, “Take the bedroom, I’ll stay out here. One of good ol’ Kento Nanami’s suit buddies is a building manager, says he might have a place. No promises the Kamo clan will let me into their little fortress to get your stuff, but I’m gonna call Yaga to see if he can swindle a deal.”

The typically childish, flippant Satoru was gone, and in his place was the intelligent, efficient man that so very few saw, including yourself. He was a strategizer, calculating and quick-witted not only with his sarcastic words, but solutions, too. In ten minutes he’d already freed you of your shackles and found you an alternative path; could you have just asked him for help years ago and gotten this same response?

“Get some sleep,” he urges again, lifting his phone back to his ear for his next call, “Nothing will happen tonight… Yaga, need a favor!”

His bed feels like quicksand as you settle beneath the silky sheets and plush blankets. Everything smells like him from the pillows and the shirt you wear to your skin that he scrubbed clean with a touch so gentle it had sent ripples down your spine. You can hear him still murmuring in the living room, the conversation growing heated and you want to run to tell him you’re not worth this trouble. Nine years as an intermittent visitor to his bed doesn’t qualify you for this, he should have just surrendered you to the men at the door.

“They tracked her phone!” He’d said that loud enough you were able to hear it clearly.

Has there been any one moment of your life where you had control? All this time you’d thought your moments with Satoru had been yours and yours alone, a secret kept between the two of you, but it wasn’t. Your father had known all along and let it continue, and you knew that it wasn’t for your benefit. The trip down memory lane leaves you sobbing into your hands, all the emotions of the night cresting over your weakening composure. You do all you can to keep quiet, choking and sputtering on the wails that want to break free, you can’t show weakness. Not now, not ever.

Even in your best attempts at discretion, you’re still too loud to hear the door slowly open, so when a long, slender body curls behind you it comes as a complete surprise. Satoru’s arm wraps tightly around your middle, his face notching into the curve of your shoulder.

Tears of despair turn into those of relief, your fingers threading with his on your stomach before you clutch his hand to your aching chest like a child’s teddy bear. It’s big enough to be one. Your muscles ache from tension, your resolve beginning to crack, and when he nuzzles his thin, pointed nose against your skin you finally lose the battle.

He holds you as you sob, the embarrassment, shame, and fear you felt running down your face. You can’t make out whatever he’s whispering in your ear but you swear it sounds like a pleading ‘stop’, and you can feel the way his arm pulls you even closer, your knuckles going white as you tighten your own grip. The burning in your throat is made worse with every gasping breath, and you can’t tell if it’s your body quivering or his until his palm swallows your jaw whole and pulls your chin up to face him.

The salt of your tears is bitter in a desperate kiss, his tongue coated with what had soaked your lips. There’s nothing gentle about his movements, they’re frantic and hard, the shock of his desperation enough to snap you back to reality. It’s him who’s trembling, his brow knit tightly for reasons you don’t and will likely never know.

“Stay…” you choke, throat thick with sorrow and strife, the thought of him leaving you in his bed alone dropping heavily into your stomach like a stone, “Please.”

“Sure,” he agrees, pecking at your lips again at a drastically softer pace.

Despite your turmoil, you doze off quickly. His embrace is an oasis, the feathering kisses he leaves along your neck, shoulder, and in the hollow behind your ear blooming like flowers and spreading their vivid warmth until you slip beneath the weight of sleep. He greets you here as he often does, the life you’d built in your dreams welcoming you.

It’s still dark when your eyes snap open, an arm pulling you tighter into a searing cocoon when your body jolts. Your long-held fantasy has burned to ash and crumbled into a nightmare, the image of white hair billowing in the breeze as tears ran from crystal blue eyes still painted behind your eyes.

“Toru?” you whisper as your fingers graze along the soft, smooth skin locking you in place.

“Hmm?” he hums, his tired voice like a balm.

“Are you here?” It’s delirium fogging your train of thoughts, words your mind has fabricated still echoing.

“Where else would I be?”

“Please stay…” You’re not even responding to him at this point, exhaustion has taken hold once again and thrown you right back into the fire. “Toru…”

The sun is blinding when you wake again, the bed cold and empty. A toothbrush is sitting on the bathroom counter when you wander in, a fresh set of shorts and a shirt that will be far too large for you perched on a shelf. Who knew Satoru could be such a gracious host?

There’s no sign of the man in the question even when you make your way to the living area save a mug of half-drank coffee sitting on an end table near the sliding glass doors leading out to a balcony. When you turn towards the kitchen, you spot another mug set out by the coffee maker, one for you, and that sinking feeling in your chest that had woken you up in the early hours of the morning returns.

“Then do something!” a distant voice shouts, “Do something!”

“Morning,” he greets in a jovial tone you know is a lie, “I left you a mug—“

“I know,” you cut him off, and here in the light of a new day, you realize something you’d known all along.

You’re in love with him.

The pain of that admittance is freeing. He’s cast in a warm orange glow looking every bit as ethereal as he was, and you press your cheek to the patch of sun shining on his chest, wrapping your arms around his slim waist and stealing this moment with him knowing it very well may be the last. His arms lock around you faster than your hands can knot at the small of his back, there is no hesitation, not even enough time to consider a different course of action, and when he notches your head beneath his chin and sighs, your mind goes quiet.

You’ll stay here as long as he allows it. Five minutes, an hour, it doesn’t matter. This feels good, it feels safe…

I love you, I love you, I love you… It’s like a mantra, and while you don’t dare speak it you hope the message gets to him somehow. Maybe in the tightness of your hold, the tension from your efforts, or the shallowness of your breath. The world is still quiet, giving you enough peace to soak this in. There’s no blaring of car horns or busy conversations floating into the sky to disrupt you, it’s just the steady thrum of his heart beating. You’re positive this is the first time anyone has just…held you like this.

When he pulls away you try to hide your disdain for the distance he creates, your eyes are still closed when he tips your face up towards him with the side of his pointer finger.

He catches you mid-breath in a kiss harder than you expect after just waking up. You can feel his failed restraint, it’s been years since you’ve welcomed a new day together, lonely nights after long taxi rides home have been the norm. Two hands grip behind your knees and hoist you upwards, your arms slipping around his neck as his tongue drags along your lower lip, urging your mouth open and a whine to slip free.

There are a thousand reasons to stop him, but none of them matter right now. He’s so warm and solid, his jaw slightly rough with stubble too pale to see. A smile spreads across his face when he finally catches himself in his frenzy, slowing his frantic pace to something much more gentle and languid.

“What do you want for breakfast?” he purrs into your mouth, sliding his tongue over your own before you can respond, “I want crepes.”

The sun disappears from behind your eyelids, and you feel the cool surface of his kitchen counter as he sets you on top of it. With free hands, he explores the soft stretch of your legs, slipping between them as you continue to tug at his lips greedily. The clock hasn’t even hit 9 AM yet, but the ache settling into your core is beginning to burn. There was something so pathetically irresistible about seeing him so comfortable, so unguarded, it felt like you weren’t just a visitor to his bed. And that was a dangerous precipice to be standing on.

“Are you always so needy in the morning?” he laughs against your throat, a whine slipping free from his tease, “This what I’ve been missing out on?”

When his tongue swipes over your searing skin, your fingers lock into his hair as he explores the throat you bare to him. It’s those open-mouthed, lingering tastes that he tortures you with that have your hips flicking in search of friction, so he gives you his thigh, pulling you down to perch on it and dragging you over the slim, firm muscle. You know you look desperate and unkempt, but he keeps you moving enough to have you spasming as you find release and go lax in his hold.

“So…” he practically sings, a lilt of conceit in his tone, “Crepes?”

“It’s too early for crepes,” you pant, confused by his choice of a morning meal.

“Pfft, for you maybe! You want any or no?”

After dressing in a hoodie and sweatpants, Satoru leaves with a quick peck to your forehead, promising to be quick before the door clicks and locks behind him. Seconds later, a fluffy head of white hair pokes back in, his keys still rattling in the lock.

“Don’t use your phone,” he instructs, “Or open the door.”

You passed the time tidying the space up. There isn’t much that needs to be done, but you get into a steady rhythm that you’re all too familiar with, wiping down counters, picking up laundry, and you almost make the mistake of leaving the apartment to take out the trash before remembering his warning to not open the door.

As you begin to wipe down the bathroom, the sharp scent of the cleaner burning at your nose, you realize the ease he’d infused into you this morning has all but dried up. You watch as your hand trembles around the rag, a terrified reflection coming into view as you circle the white foam off the glass, revealing the truth of what lies beneath the crumbling facade.

“What are you doing?” a smooth voice asks from behind you, causing you to yelp and your heart to skip a beat, “Are you cleaning my bathroom?”

“Uh…” you stammer, still reeling from the shock, “Yeah.”

“Don’t… You don’t have to do that.”

“Oh. I’m sorry–”

“You don’t have to say you’re sorry.”

With that he walks off, yelling over his shoulder that food was here and to hurry up before it got cold. You’d become so accustomed to being scolded for not being busy tidying something up that having him go and do the opposite had thrown you for a loop. When your own house had been too clean to keep you working, you’d been sent somewhere else to help, your existence nothing more than a housemaid for the Kamo clan. You’re own fault, you’d been told, with such a useless cursed technique what else would there be for you to do?

“C’mon!” he calls, “I’m being nice and waiting!”

Where a pile of cream-filled crepes sat in front of Satoru, a much more normal option was beside his on the table, a paper bag sitting on the couch in front of it. He paid you no mind as you cautiously pulled the bag towards you, peering inside to find a dress and jacket that cost far too much money.

“Satoru–” you scolded, squashing the leap your heart did into your throat, “I can’t pay–”

“Didn’t ask you to,” he cut off again, “You can’t go out in that.”

Right. You’re going to see an apartment today. Suddenly, what little appetite you’d mustered was gone, but you slink down onto the couch anyway, trying to eat as much as you can with a boulder in your stomach.

“What’s a’matter?” he asks with a full mouth, “I thought you liked that place.”

Adding a heaping pile of guilt to what you were already carrying threatened to shatter you, but you set a smile on your face and force the food down. His knee rests against yours, his long legs spread wide, his focus honed on his phone as he types away with one thumb. The furrow of his brow has you wondering if it’s just more trouble you’re causing him, technically now with clothes proper enough to be seen in public wearing, you could leave him free of whatever burden you’d inadvertently placed on his shoulders.

When his phone begins to vibrate with a call, he throws his overly sweetened crepe back onto its wrapping and wipes his hands on his shorts, greeting whoever it is with a cheekful of whipped cream and dough.

“If you’re calling me with more shit news…oh really!? So kind of him…I’d love to hear how that conversation went…Tell me…It is important…It is…Because I said it is…God damnit, Yaga!...”

The next bit of the conversation even you could hear thanks to tempers flaring and voices rising: “He said she’s your problem now.”

You can’t leave the apartment fast enough, even in nothing but Satoru’s baggy clothes. He yells at you to wait as you run to the door, circling down the stairs as fast as you can with tears dripping down your face. When you make it out onto the sidewalk, a solid chest and two long arms pull you in immediately, and you don’t need to see the person’s face to know exactly who it is. It’s easy to forget what he’s truly capable of. He probably leapt right off the balcony.

“I’m too tired for this,” he sighs, the agitation he was masking slipping through, “Go inside. Please.”

“No,” you argue, trying to shove him away, his hands easily catching yours and trapping them in cuffs of long, dexterous fingers.

“I just want to sleep for two fucking hours! Please, go inside!”

“You’re free to go–”

“Oh my God! Shut up already!”

It’s embarrassing how easily he hoists you over his shoulder like a tantruming child and carries you inside, sitting you on the couch and flopping down beside you, his head falling into your lap like it was a pillow.

“You piss me off,” he mumbles, curling an arm around you as his eyes drift closed, “I never do anything I don’t wanna do. Thought you knew that by now.”

A lingering drop falls from your cheek into his still tangled hair, your fingers instinctively moving to swipe it away but instead digging deeper, scraping against his scalp soothingly. He rumbles in appreciation, already drifting off, and so you continue. The steady, slow breaths exhaled through parted lips assure you he’s getting the sleep he desperately needs. You know he’d stayed awake all night anticipating another uninvited guest to his door, and who knows if he’d even managed the night before. He claimed he never slept on missions, unable to relax enough to find even a semblance of peace away from home.

Three hours later, he hasn’t moved. A small braid sits across his temple, keeping some of the strands that had been falling into his eyes neatly twisted away. You’ve barely been able to keep your eyes off of him, your wandering touch having moved from his hair to trace the sharp features of his face ever-so-gently to not wake him.

“I love you,” you whisper to ears that can’t hear you, hoping it alleviates the weight bearing down on your chest. It doesn’t.

You can’t see him again. At this point, being with him only has the potential to throw you deeper into this void you’re hurtling down. After seeing this apartment, you’ll find a hotel and take the weight of your problems off his shoulders. You know he has more than enough of his own to handle, sometimes you can’t help but think it’s a miracle he’s still standing.

The thought makes your chest tighten, and it’s simply more evidence this cord needs to be cut. He’s got his little black book and you’re simply just another number. You’re not even fun anymore, the baggage you carry is too much to bear to still be considered a good time. Whatever responsibility he feels for you is displaced, just because it all blew up right outside his front door doesn’t make this—you—his problem.

“Hmmm,” he hums twenty minutes later, his face nuzzling down into your legs as his arms around you tighten, “What time is it?”

“Two-ish…” you reply, trying to keep your voice level, but when his fingers pull up the hem of his shirt you’re wearing and his lips press softly against your stomach there’s no helping the sharp gasp that betrays you.

Within seconds he’s twisted you onto your back against the armrest, greedy hands tugging your borrowed shorts still loosely hanging off your hips down and off. White hair fills your fists as your spine arches off the couch, Satoru’s lips locking around your clit and suckling hard. All thoughts of never seeing him again are quickly thrown out the window. His palms hold your thighs spread wide as his silver tongue finally tastes what you’d denied him last night. He’s the only man who ever has, and he’s the only one you ever want to.

His thin, sharp nose drags over your clit as he laps at your entrance, your legs begging to clamp down around his ears as searing heat boils in your belly. It’s pathetic how you’re already trembling, but it only spurs him on, your eager response to his affections is always his greatest motivation. Despite his tongue being buried deep, it isn’t enough. You still feel so empty and your body instinctively asks–begs–for more by rolling your hips over his face, searching for anything to satiate the hunger. There is no surrender in his appetite, however. In a battle of wills, he always comes out on top, and today is no exception.

“You taste so good,” he hums against your soaked core, half-drunk on nothing but you.

“Please,” you whine, keening when he teases your back entrance with a taunting flick.

“M’gonna take care of you.”

Something foreign and tranquil washes over you in a steady wave, and Satoru immediately pauses when you go slack beneath him and sink into the plush material of the couch. As he presses his lips in a reverent trail from your hip to your throat, pushing the baggy shirt you’re wearing up to clear his path, you relax even further.

You trust him. You love him.

Your fingers are still locked in his hair when you hear his quiet request beneath your ear: “Can I?”

It’s such a stupid, juvenile thing, but it’s something you’ve been denied in all the years of this… situation, so you nod, taking a deep breath in a poor attempt to calm your nerves. Your pulse is thrumming with anticipation beneath his mouth, and the moment he clamps down hard enough to sting, he thrusts into your wet heat as blood pools beneath the fragile skin his tongue soothes over.

He does it again, decorating the dip of your collarbone as the spongy head of his dick kisses your cervix, and you’re limp, taking anything and everything he’s willing to give. Let him decorate you, claim you, fuck you until you’re incoherent, it doesn’t matter. Just as long as it’s him and he doesn’t stop.

“So wet…” he praises, groaning when his words cause you to tighten around him.

Always for you, you think as his tongue dives between your parted lips, the taste of yourself still lingering. The gentle way he cradles your jaw is the complete opposite of the speed of his hips battering into you. He’s chasing something he can’t quite reach, whether that be a sensation or an emotion you can’t tell, but he’s looking, willing himself to find this answer even if it kills him. Every stolen kiss seems to connect his wayward thoughts, but when he starts to whimper into your mouth and his pace begins to falter, you know the friction of his cock dragging along your walls has consumed him.

“I can’t–” he stammers when you lock your ankles on his lower back, tightening around him further, “Fuck, baby, that’s n-not helping.”

“Give it to me, Toru.” One last time. “Pl-please, I want it.”

There’s barely time to take a breath before you’re on your stomach, ass being pulled straight up into the air, his shaft filling your gaping hole so deep you can feel the pressure in your chest. Long, slender fingers find your swollen clit and being moving in steady, quick circles, and at this point all you can do is scream and cry out until he’s shooting hot, thick ropes of cum into your spasming cunt, your own orgasm ripping through you, leaving you boneless and drooling.

“Shit…” he pants, his phone vibrating on the table in what has to be a third attempt at a call in the last two minutes, “Gimme a second.”

The bedroom door closes as you slump down into a heap, the mess between your thighs getting sticky and uncomfortable as you adjust to the emptiness returning. It’s tempting to sneak out now, if it wasn’t for your current debauched state. You’re still so surrounded by him, the couch smells like his stupid cologne, your thighs are quivering, and you can still feel the tips of his fingers digging into your hips. Maybe you’ll never be free.

“Okay, princess,” he coos, lifting you off the couch bridal style and carrying you to the bathroom, “Quick shower then we gotta go.”

By four o'clock, you’re heading out the door, donned in a new dress accompanied by Satoru in sleek black pants and a silky black button-down, bag in hand. It’s an overnight bag, you can tell from the size and also because you caught him packing it in a rush. He hadn’t seen you, well, at least as far as you could tell, and as much as you wanted to believe he was heading out on a mission, you couldn’t convince yourself of it. The phone call he had to talk out of earshot, the fancy clothes he wore just to go tour some shitty apartment, the bag…you’re well aware of what it all means. You don’t even let the fact he’s opening your car door for you distract you from the knowledge he’ll be doing the exact same gesture to another tonight.

“Okay,” he sings out as he slides into the driver’s seat, “Ready to go?”

All you do is nod, keeping your eyes focused out your window.

“Why’re you so quiet?” he complains–whines–five minutes into the drive, “It’s boring.”

“Sorry,” you mutter, crossing your arms over your chest, “Where is this apartment?”

“What apartment?”

“The one we’re going to see?”

“Oh…riiiight. That apartment. You don’t really want to go look at that, do you?”

He can sense your anger bubbling in the cramped space, but he laughs when he looks over to find you staring daggers at him, nostrils flared.

Relax!” he chuckles, “So worked up over nothing.”

“It’s not nothing, Satoru!” you yell back, groaning when your body betrays you for a moment and relaxes when his hand falls to your inner thigh, his thumb rubbing softly up and down over your exposed skin, “My life is a wreck!”

“When hasn’t it been?”

“You arranged that apartment. And now we’re not going?” You have to change the subject before you combust.

“Well, you said I couldn’t pay for it, and you can’t pay for it. Not yet anyway–”

“Yeah, thanks for the reminder. So, what now then!?”

“Dinner!”

The car comes to a screeching halt outside of a ramen place, and you burst into tears.

“Hey…” He’s frantic, leaning over the center console to take your face in his hand, “Hey…no-no-no. Don’t do that.”

“What am I supposed to do?!” you scream at him, your cheeks already soaked and eyes swollen, “Just go in there and eat ramen like nothing is wrong!?”

“I mean…yeah. Why not?”

“Fuck you!”

It’s a battle when you try to get out of the car, his left hand continuously locking the doors as his right attempts to stop you from pulling at the handle at all. He’s grunting ‘stop’ and ‘listen’ and ‘calm down’ but his words fall on deaf ears.

“Why won’t you just let me go?!” you finally sob, both of you panting and flustered.

“Because…” he replies quietly, threading his fingers with yours, however unresponsive they are, “Will you stay in the damn car?”

You don’t answer, but you don’t move to leave either, and he takes that as confirmation. With a heavy sigh (and an empty stomach) he takes off down the road until you’re outside the city, finally pulling into a large gated property. Flowers surround you on all sides, and the sound of a fountain in a pond pairs serendipitously with the birds singing the sun away as it begins to dip closer to the horizon. The house nestled amongst the gardens is massive, winding paths of stone leading through the rainbows of blooms, and you can’t help but be entirely awestruck for a moment before confusion settles. Satoru opens the door with his keys, pulling you inside the manor that’s every bit as impressive on the inside as it is outside.

“Where are we?” you ask harshly, pulling your hand free of his.

“The Gojo Estate,” he answers so casually you want to throw a shoe at the back of his head.

“What are we doing here?”

“I’m showing you around. It beats Kento’s buddy’s apartment, dontcha think?”

Not even the coldest winds could have frozen you in place so quickly. He’s brought the overnight bag from the back of the car in with him, tossing it onto the kitchen counter before opening the fridge and grinning when he finds a bottle of strawberry soda waiting for him on the shelf.

“There’s more to the place than the foyer!” He’s moved out of sight now, but not far judging by how close he still sounds, “C’mere! Don’t be shy now.”

He’s waiting on a porch overlooking the pond you’d heard earlier, koi fish gently swimming in the clear water without a care in the world. If you’d thought the city suited him before, it was nothing compared to the sight of him framed by lush greenery and the unhindered glow of sunset. He looks every bit the part of clan head here, oozing authority and confidence as he leans with his back against the railing, smirking as you cautiously approach.

“What are we doing here?” you ask again, meek and quiet, all signs of anger gone.

“Giving you options,” he answers, gloating almost, but trepidation is still laced with what you recognize as false conviction.

“I can’t live here.”

“Why not?”

“You’re joking.”

“I’m not. I mean, you wouldn’t be living alone. No one should live alone here, that’s why I don’t. What if I slip in the shower and no one finds me for days? Ha! Could you imagine…”

“Satoru!”

Does he know what he’s asking? Does he know what it means? If it means nothing to him, fine, but you? The idea of it has you tensing and pushing back tears, your bottom lip trembling as you allow the fantasy of a home and a life to slip through the cracks forming in your barriers you keep it behind. His fingers are chilled from the glass bottle he’s been holding, the sharp contrast against your burning cheeks causing you to gasp and you’re met by infinite blue eyes staring down at you.

“Look,” he begins, his tongue darting out to wet his perfect pink pout, “I…” He sighs, closing his eyes to gather his thoughts, “Why didn’t you ask me to get you out of there sooner?”

The question hits you like a ton of bricks. You’d been asking yourself the same thing since it all blew up last night.

“I didn’t think you’d want to,” you answer truthfully, “If it’s not me, you have someone else–” “There is no one else. There never has been.”

“What?”

“There is no one else.”

No one else? His lips press softly against yours as you stand in stunned silence. All these years thinking you were second to twenty, and there had never been another?

“Say it again,” he breathes into your slackened jaw, and your brow furrows in confusion.

“What…” you blubber, meeting the galaxies living in his gaze once again.

“Tell me again.”

A tight grip on your wrist tugs your hand up to what remains of the braid still twisted in his hair from his nap earlier, you hadn’t realized it had survived both the shower and what transpired before it, but it had clearly held on tight. Too many thoughts buzz around in your head for you to comprehend what the hell he's asking for until he requests it one more time, his voice cracking like his life hinges on knowing if what he’d heard was real or a figment of his overactive imagination.

And then it clicks. Your heart comes to a skidding halt as fear runs cold through your veins, and you try to run but his arm curls around your waist, holding you in place.

“I…” your tongue is paralyzed, a phrase you’ve never uttered to another person knotting and twisting, “You were asleep.” It’s such a cop-out, and the way his face falls shatters your heart.

“Right, thought so,” he concedes, “Okay. Well, do you want to see–”

“I love you.”

The words spill out so suddenly you’re clasping your hands over your traitorous lips, the urge to flee burning in your legs, and he smiles. The corners of his eyes crinkle as he leans in, pulling your wrist to free your shock-slackened lips from their cage, and kisses you.

This kiss is different. It’s softer, lingering, it’s the kind of kiss that welcomes you home after a long day and melts the toils and tribulations you faced away. While your hands shoot to the kitchen counter behind you and your knuckles go white in an iron-like grip, the tips of his fingers brush down your cheek so gingerly a shudder shoots down your spine. You’ve never been touched so softly, with so much…you can’t think it.

“Again,” he whispers, and you reply with those little three words in just as hushed a tone, “Again.”

With every repetition, the words fall with more grace and his smile grows. Your cheeks are burning, nerves fluttering to life in your belly, but when he asks for the fifth time to hear you say that phrase, you close the distance between your bodies, grab his jaw in both hands and finally with conviction you tell him the truth: “Satoru. I love you. I don’t kn—mmph!”

As quick as it is, the force of his lips crashing into yours is bruising. There’s nothing tactful about it, he just needs contact and he needs it now.

“Love you,” he murmurs, and you understand immediately the incessant nagging to hear those words over and over.

You know someone, at some point, had said that to you, but time has robbed you of the memory. This is the first time you can ever recall hearing it, and something breaks down inside of you faster than you can keep up with. His chest is there to collapse into as the tides roll in, tears pouring from your eyes as relief washes over your storm-stricken shores. The space carved out in his embrace fits you like a glove, your head tucked neatly below his cheek as he leans down to swaddle you in tight. You’re shaking and sobbing but this time he doesn’t ask you to stop, because he understands. It’s the same for him.

“Can we go to dinner now?” you sniffle, wiping your nose on the back of your hand, gazing up at him with glassy eyes.

“Nah,” he brushes off, “I’ll order something. There’s a shirt for you in the bag, take your pick.”

Donned in a t-shirt that hangs down to the middle of your thighs, you’re perched on the couch beside Satoru with a spread of food on the table before you once again. He puts on some movie but you aren’t paying attention, all you can concentrate on is trying to convince yourself it’s over. It’s done. You’re home. But too many years have passed, and it’ll take time.

“What, Yaga?” Satoru barks into his phone, “I’m not going…I’m not going…Find someone else.”

“What was that?” you ask as he tosses it away, looking over at you with eyes glowing in the dim light.

“Oh, a mission abroad. It usually goes to me but…”

There are more important things now.

“They can figure it out,” he chuckles with that signature aloof, pompous lilt, slinging his arm around your shoulders and pulling you in.

Maybe it won’t take as long to get used to this as you think.

Sorry this took so long!!!

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