#okkotsu yuta ao3

[banjjakz]

serial bereavement ; yuuta x gn/f!reader

Every first Thursday for the past six months, without fail, a single plot of ashes has been unlawfully exhumed from the cemetery behind Joenji Temple.

Or: As a rookie hire, you are partnered with Investigations Section 1 Officer Okkotsu Yuuta to investigate a law-defying, bone-chilling, uniquely disturbing case of obsessive love that threatens to shut down the entirety of Shinjuku.

part i. word count: 5.2k

warnings: rating & warnings WILL change; part i of iii; reader is referred to with she/her pronouns & has a vagina & breasts, but is never addressed with gendered titles [e.g.: "ms.," "lady," etc.]; eventual smut that is dubcon at best; horror-romance, in that order; themes of psychosexual horror; side satosugu [non-essential to plot]; i cannot overstate how abnormal this one is, even for me

the content of this fictional work is inspired by the video game "collar x malice" which belongs to the original rightful owners. i do not own or claim to own the rights to the collar x malice franchise. this written work does not represent the intentions, actions, or thoughts of any of the creators/owners of the "collar x malice" franchise.

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Every first Thursday for the past six months, without fail, a single plot of ashes has been unlawfully exhumed from the cemetery behind Joenji Temple.

The first incident was thought to be a freak accident, one of those strange, wild card crimes that confound local police and commandeer national attention. Pictures of the desecrated grave ravaged internet forums for weeks thereafter, sending chills down the backs of even the most stoutly atheist Japanese youth. An already horrific occurrence worsened all the more with the repeated presence of a seemingly random signature: there, at the bottom of the grave, in the very deepest point of the aged, black soil, laid a folded handwritten note. Upon unfurling the crisp creases, the Shinjuku Police Force Special Crimes Unit discovered that these were actually letters.

Love letters, to be exact.

Presumably penned by the perp, the characters were neat and clean – almost feminine in nature. So strong was the desire imbued into these letters that it seemed as though each individual brush stroke contained one thousand sonnets of unceasing, burning ardor. Clearly, the perpetrator yearned for the attention of their beloved.

That they would go to great lengths – immoral lengths, even – for just a three-minute story on the evening news, all so that their beloved might idly overhear the report as they prepare their dinner, idly chopping radishes to the soundtrack of a violent confession woefully fallen upon their deaf ears…

Well. It makes you squirm. You suppose that’s the point.

As a fresh-faced rookie of the Special Regions Crime Prevention Office, this is your first time on the job in the midst of such a sensational case. At first, your department was unsure how to label these crimes: neither killings nor injuries were incurred, and yet, the spiritual damage effected by the robbing of a Buddhist shrine’s graveyard was somehow worse than any brutal homicide. Eventually, the commissioner labeled these incidents as “Serial Bereavements” out of respect to the families whose deceased loved ones had been wrongfully removed from their final resting place.

After the first offense, local news stations reported the anomalous crime with a sick sort of fascination. Lovesickness was no foreigner in Japan, and although many screwed their faces up at the morbid displays of affection, so too did just as many turn up the volume on their televisions and lean just a few centimeters closer, eyes glazed with blue light, horror, mortification, and arousal.

After the second and third offenses, it was obvious that a pattern was beginning to emerge. Both incidents occurred on the first Thursday of the month, and both incidents were signed with the same achingly forlorn pages of desperation. In fear of exacerbating the perpetrator, or inspiring copycats, news stations and publications were not permitted to release the contents of the letters.

After the fourth offense, protests began to congregate outside of the Shinjuku Police Station, demanding an immediate and swift correction of the police’s incompetency in addressing the issue. When the first set of ashes had been disturbed, cherry blossoms still clung to the trees. By this time it was July, and the harsh glare of the summer sun beat unrelentingly upon the earth, as though reprimanding its inhabitants.

After the fifth offense, a special curfew was instated for all residents of the Shinjuku ward. No persons for any reason were to be out past eleven o’clock at night. This was punishable by immediate apprehension for questioning. The law was martial, but the law was necessary. Or so the commissioner claimed.

After the sixth offense, the police began looking inwardly, suspecting members of its own ranks. There was no possible way that a civilian could have been able to penetrate the immense security measures installed to secure the Joenji cemetery. Ropes and ropes of caution tape, nearly 24/7 surveillance, and daily K-9 rounds were still not enough to halt the perpetrator in their tracks. This could only mean one thing:

An inside job.

“Scary,” shivers Ieiri, mockingly, lips curled in a sardonic smirk around the length of her unlit cigarette. “You hear they think it’s one of us?”

You regularly have lunch with Ieiri Shoko, director of the Forensics department. She is as caustic as she is jaded, having served in an underrecognized role for far too long, wasting her prolific talents in an obscure government position with little excitement – save for, of course, highly-charged periods of reoccurring atrocities, such as the current case of the Serial Bereavements.

“Don’t even joke. We should be taking this seriously…”

The cooling September breeze has you huddling into your knees a little further. Enjoying lunch on the rooftop was a treat while it was still summer. But now, September has just torn a new page in your calendar and has brought with it an uncharacteristically crisp cold snap. It is Tuesday, the second.

“I’m sooooo serious,” Ieiri says after taking a rather dramatically prolonged drag from the now-lit cig. “Couldn’t be any more serious. Brr.”

Usually, Ieiri’s dry humor is an effective, if transient, salve to your ever-festering anxiety. But today is an exception.

“Please, just think about it for a second... To think that any one of the people we work with every day could be committing such heinous crimes…and for a romantic obsession, no less…it doesn’t frighten you?”

Ieiri exhales smoke, puffing lazily like a sated dragon draped over its hoard. “Nah. I seriously doubt anyone in our ward has the balls.”

Her vulgarity makes you blush. You’ve always been easy to fluster. “Ieiri-san!”

“How many times have I told you to just call me by my first name… jeez.” She ruffles your hair without even an ounce of care for how it makes you groan in consternation. “Too polite for your own good. Someone is going to take advantage of that, one day. And then where will you be? Calling for Ieiri-san to come save you?”

Somewhere, she’s strayed from the path of lighthearted teasing. You still under the weight of her calloused palm, peering curiously up at her through your lashes. “Um…well…”

And as soon as her touch had manifested upon you, just as quickly is it yanked away. “Anyways, call me whatever you like. Not like it matters, anyway.”

“I guess not…”

The rest of your lunch is finished in an unstable silence. Her final, rhetorical question rolls around in your mind, impressing itself upon your malleable brain tissue: Calling for Ieiri-san to save you?

But when would you need saving?

You’re a police officer, after all. You can take care of yourself.

If you couldn’t, why would you serve as an officer in the first place?

;

On the following Monday – the third of September – the director of the Investigations Unit summons you to the fifth floor.

After a polite (terrified) bow, you enter Investigations HQ. “Hello.” Please do not fire me. Please do not transfer me. Please do not publicly reprimand me. Please do not—

“Ah, thank you for coming. Wow, what a deep bow. I don’t think I’ve ever seen such a perfectly geometrical ninety degrees.”

Face burning, you avert your gaze to the marble floor. “Ummm…”

You’ve heard that the chief of Investigations, Gojo Satoru was an eccentric fellow, passing in and out as he pleased through the station, hanging off of the director like a second skin. It should come as no surprise that he is here to greet you, today. And yet, still does your thin skin prickle with humiliation, with shame.

Geto Suguru, director of Investigations, cuts in before his partner can continue. “Leave her alone, Satoru. She’s shaking. Are you doing alright today, officer?”

Embarrassed, you nod. Great. It hasn’t even been a full sixty seconds and you’re already embarrassing yourself in front of your superiors.

“Alright, alright. I’ll lay off. Only ‘cuz you asked, though! Hehe.”

“I’ve summoned you today to invite you to join a special taskforce,” Geto continues, unperturbed by Gojo’s wily eyebrow wiggles. “This taskforce will use unique means to investigate the Joenji Serial Bereavements.”

Your blood is paralyzed in your veins, cowed by the enormity of this proposal. “Sir…?”

“In the short amount of time since you’ve joined the Shinjuku Police Department, your conduct has been nothing but outstanding. You’re capable and damn impressive. And frankly speaking, officer, we need a fresh set of eyes on this case.”

There’s nothing else you could possibly say other than: “I would be humbled to join. Thank you.”

“Great, knew we could count on you. We’re keeping the taskforce small for confidentiality’s sake. You’ll be working with one other partner: Officer Okkotsu Yuuta from Investigations Section 1.”

That name… why do you know that name?

Then it hits you: Okkotsu Yuuta is the name whispered through the halls of the police department with awe, envy, admiration, and – occasionally – fear. He is a legendary detective with prowess in both tactical as well as strategical measures. His presence is felt rather than seen, as he is scarcely spotted within the physical walls of the department. However, what does not tangibly appear is nonetheless ever-present in whispered rumors and glamorized notoriety.

“O-Okkotsu-san…” you stammer, taken aback. “But…I’m sorry, sir. I don’t mean to question your judgement, but why have I been chosen to pair with Okkotsu-san?”

“Oh! He specifically requested—”

Gojo’s cheerful sentence is curtailed by a swift elbow to the ribs. While he recovers, Geto finishes the thought, “Okkotsu has requested to be paired with a rookie for this assignment to personally train them. Something about ‘personally ensuring the longevity of the Shinjuku police force,’ or the like. What a do-gooder, am I right?”

“Okay,” you respond, uncertain.

“Your first matter of business will be a visitation to the Joenji graveyard to look for any new leads. You leave in one hour. Okkotsu will meet you downstairs, in front of the building. Good luck!”

In a daze, you bow deeply once more. “Thank you. I will be sure to work hard.”

;

Unsure of what to expect, you linger in front of the armed entrance to the building, trying your best not to shift your weight from foot to foot in an obviously apparent display of anxiety.

It’s not that you’re the type to be starstruck! You are a sensible, no-nonsense, down-to-earth person. Celebrities have never appealed to you much, and idol culture continues to confound you.

In light of this, it’s quite difficult to explain the visceral, full-body reaction you have when you meet Officer Okkotsu Yuuta for the first time.

He is not superbly handsome. Good-looking enough to get street-casted? Sure. With some minor work, he might even be the jewel visual for an up-and-coming boy group. Young and fit, he is the picture of an officer steadily approaching the peak of their hotshot years. Plain, dark hair falls on either side of his forehead in a lopsided part, and his uniform is buttoned and put together, if only a little wrinkled. All in all, he is an average, considerably attractive young man in the Shinjuku police force.

And yet.

Eyes like pools of obsidian tether you to the spot like a spell has been cast upon your bones. Enchanted, your lips part, but no sounds slips through. The intrusive, overstimulating soundtrack of Shinjuku rush hour traffic fades to little more than background noise as your senses are held hostage by the void of quiet, negative space in the shape of a young man that stands in front of you.

His bow is deep and overly formal. He’s technically your superior… and definitely a senior-ranking officer. “A pleasure to meet you,” he announces to the concrete ground “I’m Okkotsu Yuuta, Investigations Section 1.”

“N-nice to meet you, Okkotsu-senpai. My name is—”

The cringe marring his otherwise untroubled face stops your words before his interjection is even voiced. “Ah, um. Just ‘Okkotsu’ is fine. We look to be around the same age, too, so I don’t mind. May I address you casually as well?”

Face burning, brain scrambled, you somehow remember how to speak. You give him an affirmative before pausing, perplexed. How did he know your name already?

Okkotsu specifically requested to be paired with a rookie…

Geto’s words float to the forefront of your mind, soothing your hummingbird heart. Surely, the director and chief of Investigations must have briefed Okkotsu on your file before you were cleared to accompany him on this special taskforce.

Normally, you are woefully naïve, a bumbling but well-intentioned junior officer. The unsettling nature of the Serial Bereavements have pushed you towards an edge you didn’t even know you could reach.

The thought of the assignment weighs down your fresh-faced bashfulness. Suddenly, the afternoon sun is less bright, the heat on your face concentrating into the precursor to a migraine just behind your eyes.

Okkotsu blinks once, twice. “Thank you for working with me on this case. Would you believe me if I told you that I’m a bit of a scaredy cat?”

Your eyes bug out of your head in disbelief. “Um? But you…” His reputation specifically includes the highest number of skillful takedowns, arrest totals, and successful confessions across the entire prefecture. A scaredy cat?

“I know how it looks. It would be quite embarrassing if anyone else knew… but I’m a pretty anxious person.”

With a refocused perspective, your gaze hones in on the smattering of purple bruises underneath his tired eyes which birth a cool webbing of veins sprawling down and out across his pale, gaunt face. You realize that his uniform isn’t actually wrinkled – it just hangs off of his thin frame, tucked intentionally to give off the illusion of a much bigger silhouette.

In him, you see a reflection all too similar: young, ragged, hungry, scared.

It’s not enough to set you completely at ease, but your lungs relax their hold on your bated breath, letting it go as slowly and reluctantly as a child forced to part with their favorite plush toy. “Me too,” you hum. “Um, nonetheless, I will definitely try my best to be helpful. I hope I will not slow you down Okkotsu-se—er, Okkotsu.”

“It’s not about fast or slow.” The service car pulls up and loiters at the curb where the two of you are still lingering. He opens the back door for you. This is the first time a polite young man your age has done that. You try your best to remember that you are literally at work, on the clock, about to investigate an especially morbid case.

Once ensuring you’re comfortably inside, he shuts the door and rounds the rear of the vehicle to slide into the leather seat next to you.

“What matters is that we can rely on each other. Fast or slow, we’re partners now… as long as we finish together, it doesn’t matter the pace.”

He rattles off the address to the department driver after dropping what is possibly the most insightful reassurance you have ever received in your life.

Okay. You can kind of understand why the entire department is obsessed with him.

“R-right. Thank you.”

The rest of the ride is spent in a silence two shades off from comfortable. Nothing is wrong, per se – but the both of your negative energies linger and interact with each other like animals of the same species encountering for the first time.

How odd, you think, to find someone like you, and who is unashamed – eager, even – to admit it. To embrace it.

;

The cemetery is small and would otherwise go unnoticed if not for the dramatic influx in attention following the past few months. Plain and unadorned, neatly kept, with no ostentatious monuments or memorials, as is befitting for the burial grounds behind a Buddhist temple. All in all, the scenery would be somewhat peaceful if not for the six disturbed plots of land where remains were once laid to rest.

This is your first time at the scene of the crime. Your rank is too low to justify visiting this high-profile area without clearance from a supervisor. Now that you’ve been assigned to a taskforce specifically investigating this case, it was necessary that Yuuta took you to observe the scene yourself.

Although there is a total lack of gore or rot, still does the sight of six empty graves provoke within you an acute revulsion. Perhaps it is the absence of any overt suffering, and the oppressing knowledge of the extended waves of unearthed grief spanning across multiple kin networks who must now lose their loved one a second time – this is what inspires the damp, fragile sheen pooling at your waterline.

“Hey,” calls a soft, gentle voice. Yuuta’s timid wave brings you back from your wallowing. “Before we left, I grabbed the letters from forensics. Thought it might be helpful to have while we re-assess the scene.”

Something he’d done entirely for your benefit. Conscious of your lack of experience with the case, you incline your head, grateful. It’s almost as though your gratitude makes him uncomfortable. He averts his gaze and hands over a collection of six plastic-encased papers. Despite their origins within deep, aged earth, each one is pristine.

Steeling yourself, you read February’s letter, the origin of chaos:

My Dearly Beloved,

Did you know that not even the moon and all her stars, nor the sun and all his days, burn as brightly as my heart does for you? There is a certain privilege that I have been blessed with in this lifetime: the privilege to admire you from afar while passing through your stratosphere when it is convenient.

But, unlike you, I am a flawed and impure creature. I am greedy. Each morning, I wake up with a hunger to do more than watch. I want to draw you near to my side. I want to feel your flesh. I want to know what your innards taste like. I want to bathe in your desire. I want to carve myself into your being, forever and ever and ever, so that in the next life, you will be born missing me.

Please look at me. I love you so terribly it defies the laws of life and death. You’ve awoken something within me. I hope you’ll take responsibility.

Nauseous, you shift the letter to the bottom of the pile, hands shaking, head spinning.

“How disturbing…” you can’t stop the words from leaving you, unbidden. “How can someone desire another person in such a way that it permits violence?”

Okkotsu studies you closely. “Do you really feel that way?”

Alarm coils like a snake cornered in the pit of your gut. Sharply, you snap your gaze to his still, calm face. As pallid and pockmarked with depression as the moon herself. “Excuse me?”

“Are you truly disgusted by this kind of love?”

Fighting to ignore your fight-or-flight response, you answer: “I don’t consider this to be love.”

Peculiarly, his face breaks out into a smile, clearing away the lingering cloudy expression. “And that’s why I’m glad we’re partners. I knew you’d have the right idea about this.”

“Most people condemn this crime…”

“But too many sympathize with a false motive,” he volleys back, dark eyes glinting with a strange intensity. “This isn’t a crime of ‘love.’ The perp doesn’t act out of affection. They want to own, subdue, and take what is not theirs. How is that love?”

“Exactly,” you affirm. “To be honest, those connections have always kind of unsettled me…even in shows, or books, or games, I could never look at the obsessive type.”

“Scary, aren’t they?”

This isn’t just a work case for him, you belatedly realize. His tense posture, his imploring eyes, his specification of partner – this is personal. Something about these occurrences strikes a chord deep inside of him, resonating so profoundly that it would not be enough to watch another resolve these crimes; no, Okkotsu is compelled to eradicate the danger completely, uprooting it from the source, destroying the danger with his bare hands, watching it dissipate with his own eyes.

“Mm. I’m glad we’re working on this case together, Okkotsu.”

He offers a small, benign quirk of the lips. “Me too.”

Your partnership progresses steadily from this first encounter.

Most of your daily duties are now fulfilled off-site, accompanying Okkotsu to various locations of interest, following potential leads, and occasionally conducting interviews. It’s been merely two days since the taskforce has been formed, and yet, you’ve been so preoccupied with your new assignment that it completely slips your mind to alert Shoko as to why you’ve been absent from your regular rooftop lunch dates.

You are mortified to open an aggrieved SMS from her on Wednesday morning:

Ieiri-san 08:15Oi. Are you dead

Me 08:16 Ahhhh!! I’m so sorry!!!! A new assignment is taking up a lot of my time. I apologize for not communicating. And for missing lunch. We can eat together today? I can bring you something? Whatever you like! I can make it!

Ieiri-san 08:20 Nah, none of that You’re probably overworking yourself already. No need for extra labor Just meet me on rooftop @ usual time

Me 08:21 Absolutely!!

It is surprisingly difficult to tear yourself from Yuuta’s side, as the two of you have been practically glued together from sunrise to sundown ever since embarking on the special assignment. He is reluctant to let you slip away for lunch, and as a result, you linger past a reasonable time to reassure him that you will be back on time.

When you are finally able to break away from Investigations HQ, you check the time on your phone only to realize that noon has rounded the corner with unanticipated haste. Hurriedly, you make your way to the seventh level of the police station building, embarrassingly conscious of your damp forehead and rapid breath.

“Sorry I’m late!!” Bursting through the metal door, you explode onto the rooftop, cloth-wrapped bento in one hand, and your furiously beating heart in the other.

It’s almost comical, how serene Ieiri looks, unbothered as ever as she leans against the railing with her trademark cigarette weaving in between her restless fingers. “Took you long enough. Been waiting for two days, now.”

“Ahhhh…”

“I’m kidding, I’m kidding. You look like you’re about to piss your pants. C’mere.”

Face in flames, you stride over to pop a squat next to her. “I really do apologize, Ieiri-san. These last couple of days have been really hectic…”

“How so? You mentioned a new assignment. When did that happen?”

“Hmm, I’m not sure if I can talk about it…Investigations personally assigned me…um, not to be impolite or brag or anything! Just, I think it’s a little sensitive in nature, so—”

“Investigations?” She cuts you off, her dull timbre unusually sharp. “You mean those two idiots asked you to handle a highly classified criminal case? During your first quarter? By yourself?”

“Ah!! Geto-senpai and Gojo-senpai are quite eccentric, but they are very nice--!”

“No, they are not—”

“—and I’m not by myself! I’m partnered with Okkotsu Yuuta!”

If you weren’t such an anxious person who is well-practiced in the art of overanalyzing the countenance of others, you would surely have missed the way Ieiri’s eyes widen imperceptibly, the way her breath stutters on the next exhalation. She does not look at you for a beat. Two beats. She stares straight ahead at the exterior of the building when asks,

“You’re investigating the Serial Bereavement cases.”

“Ieiri-san…” you whine, head in your hands. “I’m, like, ninety percent sure no one else is supposed to know…”

“What, don’t trust me? Not like I have any friends around here to tell.”

“That’s, well. That’s not the point. Okkotsu mentioned that this was a sensitive matter, so…”

“Just ‘Okkotsu,’ huh?” She peers sideways at you. “No ‘senpai’? Wow, you two sure got comfortable fast.”

“No, please don’t misunderstand! Because honorifics make him uncomfortable, he asked that we speak casually!”

“I asked you the same.”

Her blunt response stuns you silent. It takes you several seconds to produce a response. “Well, yes. But that’s different…Ieiri-san is older…”

“Not by much.” Finally, she lights the cig in her hand. “Hey, let me ask you something.”

“Okay, please go ahead.”

“It was Investigations who put you on the case? Nobody else was involved?”

Hesitation halts your tongue. Mentally, you are transported back to that fateful day, just a little less than forty-eight hours ago, when your new assignment had been unloaded upon you.

“…I’m sorry, sir. I don’t mean to question your judgement, but why have I been chosen to pair with Okkotsu-san?”

“Oh! He specifically requested—”

Gojo was never able to finish his sentence, cut off by Geto’s strategically timed blow. Almost as though the chief was about to reveal something better left unsaid.

You may be a rookie, but you aren’t stupid. There’s a reason why you got this job, after all.

And if you can deduce this much, surely the next conclusion you land on isn’t so far-fetched:

Okkotsu must have personally requested you as a partner.

But the question is…why? You hadn’t been personally acquainted before you’d met outside of the station before heading to your first investigation together. He’s been nothing but kind and respectful – if a little unsettlingly intense, at times, but you think that’s just kind of how he is.

There must be an element that you’re missing from the equation, a piece of the puzzle of which you are not yet aware. It is for this uncertainty that you choose to disclose the truth to Ieiri.

“Okkotsu requested me as his partner.”

Obviously, she asked you for this information because something was dependent upon how you answered. Studying Ieiri’s reaction might be the first step towards unraveling this strange situation.

And react, indeed she does; again, it is quite muted, eroded by years of police work and other unspoken traumas you’re sure lie dormant inside of her mysterious, impenetrable depths. But perhaps it is because of your friendship that Ieiri’s micro-expressions appear to you more as the dramatic admission of feeling that they truly are.

A twitch of the brow, a purse of the lips. Her next exhalation of smoke comes fast and hard, expelled from her mouth in one decisive whoosh of toxic air. Usually, she pays special attention to the wind pattern so that she does not blow smoke in your face. It seems she’s thoroughly perturbed today; the fumes whip you across the cheek and you hack violently in surprise.

Your adverse response snaps her out of the momentary brooding. “Shit, sorry,” she mumbles, quickly removing the cig from her lips and smothering it on the ground. “You alright?”

“J-just fine,” you murmur after one final bout of ear-splitting dry heaves. “Can I ask you a question, now?”

“Shoot.”

“Is it a bad thing that Okkotsu and I are partners?”

Visibly, Ieiri must chew and swallow her initial retort. This is quite unprecedented behavior from the woman with little to no filter on any given occasion. “How are you finding it so far?”

“Well…he’s really considerate. And accommodating. Um, he even revisited the crime scene with me since I’d never been, and he let me read all the letters, too.”

“That’s funny,” says Ieiri, stone-faced. “How did he show you the letters?”

“He said he picked them up from the station before we left. I was quite surprised that he went through all the trouble of doing that, since those kinds of sensitive evidence usually aren’t allowed to leave Forensics…”

“You’re absolutely right. They aren’t.”

“Ah…Okkotsu must have special clearance…?”

“He doesn’t,” Ieiri deadpans.

“…I see…”

Her hands twitch at her sides like she’s itching for another smoke, even though the carcass of her most recent stick still smolders underneath the dagger of her high heel. “Well. You can do whatever you want with Okkotsu. Sounds like you’re in capable, dedicated hands.”

“Huh? Ieiri-san, wh—wait, where are you going--?!”

But before you can finish your panicked inquiry, Ieiri has already blown through the metal door, stomping her way back downstairs to the sixth floor where the Forensics Department awaits her gloomy presence. It’s unlike her to storm off mid-conversation. You’ve never seen her emotions rise above slight annoyance – and that level of frustration is reserved exclusively for the Investigations chief and director. What had you done to provoke even worse of an ire?

Riddled with guilt and anxiety, you wade through the rest of the workday in a foggy, unfocused haze. Okkotsu gives up trying to ask you what is wrong after his third attempt. When you eventually, mercifully fall into bed that night, unshed tears overflow past your clenched, trembling lashes, staining your pillow with sorrows you cannot speak aloud.

Upon waking up, you are granted no reprieve. It is Thursday, the sixth of September. The first Thursday of the month.

You don’t bother with something as trivial as breakfast this morning – not when the thought of what awaits you in the day ahead fills you to the brim with unbearable dread.

Arriving at the police station and getting briefed on the day’s events only confirms your worst fears: there has been another Bereavement at the Joenji graveyard.

This month’s occurrence is twistedly unique.

Accompanying the usual handwritten letter is a fresh, human heart, so red and wet, glistening with fresh gore, that it almost appears to be beating through the still stock photos taken by Field Operations upon first discovery.

Due to your increased status, you are granted clearance to read this month’s note before any other department can get to it. Ieiri is absent from the Forensics office when you rush off the elevator to the sixth floor. One of the interns retrieves the file for you, and you are equal parts eager and terrified to scan its plastic-encased contents.

My Dearly Beloved,

Aimless admiration has thus far sated my yearning soul. Seeing you eat well every day fills my spirit with a sense of completion. I am at ease to watch over you and ensure your wellbeing. But there has been a disturbance. I can feel your increased awareness, like a child opening its eyes to the world for the first time. Coupled with this awareness is a newfound distance between us. Things were going so well. Why now? Why pull away? This can’t be because of me. It must be someone else.

I think I know who.

What must I do to regain your undivided attention? How can I reclaim your primary affections? To experience even an inch of separation, a millimeter of remove, is for my body to undergo countless agonizing deaths.

Will you pay attention to me?

Will you notice me?

Will you choose me?

Look at me.

Look at me.

Look at me.

I serve my beating heart up on a platter just so that your gaze might befall it for the barest of breaths.

Recent events have shown me that I cannot stand idly by any longer while others sneakily and deliberately encroach on our relationship. I’m getting restless. I’ve been waiting quite patiently. Are you as antsy as I am? Soon, you’ll know me as all that I am.

I miss you. I see you every day and I miss you. Come back to me.

Before it’s too late.

[foggyfrogss]

« MOIRA › fate; destiny

Gojo x Reader | Warnings: Pure Angst | Discord 18+ | One Shot List

Synopsis— You are reminded of the horrors of Jujutsu, witnessing the last moments of Satoru Gojo and Yuta Okkotsu.

Wake up.

Wake up.

Your mind repeats the phrase, over and over.

“Wake up…”

It had just been you left in the room.

No other signs of life. No other signs of life.

On the metal he lay, motionless and coated in red. It’s all red.

There was no way he could be dead.

“Wake up!” It’s a selfish act, pleading a dead man to wake up.

Oh how you only wanted to see those eyes just one more time. Just one more time.

His face is still, holding an expression you’d never seen him make.

Satoru Gojo was at peace.

Though severed in more places than one, cut in half and bleeding out; he was at peace. A peace he couldn’t find living, even if he searched far and wide. It was an unreachable peace for a man who was as burdened as he was. He was free.

Tangled in your soul, he stays, making it difficult to breathe.

The short time you had alone with him had not been enough, you wished for more— but Shoko had been insistent on preparing his corpse.

Satoru was good at many things, one thing being that he always kept you out of the loop of his plans. “You’re what?” The words fall from your lips in a shocked tone, devoid of anger but filled with horror.

You couldn’t be angry at Shoko for something out of her control. She wanted the same as you; you could see it on her face and in the amount of finished cigarettes on the floor.

“If we hit rock bottom— meaning we have no other choice, if Yuta can’t do it,” Shoko begins to explain as she rids Gojo’s face of the dried blood, “we are to swap Yuta’s consciousness into his body.”

“He was okay with this?” You ask, motioning towards Gojo. Shoko nods, but only once. Her tired eyes jump from his corpse to meet your eyes. “He was sure he’d win, but then expressed that he did not care what happened to his body… if he were to die.”

In silence, though standing back far enough to give Shoko room, you watch her prepare his body. The squeaking wheels of a cart could be heard as she brings over a tray of medical tools.

She cleans off the dried blood after removing the scraps of his torn shirt. In silence, Shoko stitches the man’s body back together. Almost like a puzzle.

She cleans the remaining blood, and then pauses; she’s looking up at you, brown eyes peaking up. Though her face is masked, she’s showing her concern.

“The next part may be hard to watch,” she says steadily, holding up what looks to be a type of scalpel.

One part you had completely missed was how the consciousness would be swapped.

“Wait,” you’re saying, “what are you about to do?”

It’s silent for a beat, and you don’t miss the way her fingers slightly tremble. “The curse that was inside Geto’s body- Yuta will be copying that technique to use Gojo’s technique.”

It was clear as day now, and your eyes widen.

“You’re using-“ you are cut off with a loud popping sound. Ui-Ui appears out of thin air, holding— to the best of his abilities, Yuta Okkotsu.

Once again, all you see is red. It’s spilling onto the floor, a lot faster than Gojo’s had been. Yet, as you watch in pure horror, you see the way Yuta is still alive. He’s still moving, but slowly. Yuta’s energy flickers as it clings to life.

Shoko had dropped everything in her hands to push another metal table over, helping Ui-Ui place his severed body onto it. Piece by piece, careful not to hurt him more than he already was.

Just like Gojo, Yuta matches his sensei’s fatal wounds.

Seconds after Yuta’s arrival, the double-doors to the morgue/medical area are busted open. A kid, who you faintly recall as Amai, and Nitta flood in. Both of them rush to Yuta’s side, doing what they can to help him.

With a few minutes passing, you feel the tension in the air rise. It thickens uncomfortably, making you more anxious than you already were. “It’s no use,” you hear Nitta express. “All my RCT is doing is pausing it— it’s not getting better or worse.”

“Rika is how I’m still conscious, b-but that’s at its limit too…” you hear Yuta’s strained voice choke out. It’s absolutely gut-wrenching, hearing a kid— Satoru’s student, you grew to know so well suffer in such a way. “Ieiri, we’re doing it,” he says, “we have to do it. There’s no other choice.”

For a second, it’s deathly silent. All that could be heard is the strained breathing of Yuta Okkotsu.

“I have finished the stitching on Gojo’s corpse. As soon as you have moved in, push your reverse cursed technique to its maximum and get the body ready,” Shoko is turning slightly to lock eyes with Amai. “Amai, you will help me support him.”

“You have the option to stay and watch or save yourself the grief.”

You are already grieving, what more could make it worse? You stay silent, practically unable to speak.

Her words make you glance up at her, tearing your eyes away from Yuta as you watch Amai move towards his extended right hand.

“Come with me,” you feel Nitta take hold of your hand, pulling you towards the exit.

As if you’re on auto-pilot, your legs take you with her. Your head stays turned as you leave, watching as Shoko begins cutting into Gojo’s head.

The sight is gruesome, making you sick, but the double-doors shut before you can watch any further.

Unable to move any further, you’re falling to your knees, releasing a pained sound as you feel the grief finally take hold of the wheel. It’s painful.

“No…” you gasp out, shutting your eyes tightly together. The last thing you wanted to do was cry, but the tears find their way out, falling down your cheeks in heavy streams. “This isn’t real,” you say, clenching your teeth. “Satoru couldn’t have just died like that.”

Nitta is silent.

When you no longer feel Yuta’s cursed energy, you know.

After peeling yourself off the ground, you’d found a seat in a row chairs just outside the morgue. You assumed they were for grieving people such as yourself. People who needed to say goodbye one final time.

It’s quiet. A quiet that leaves you bare and lonely, alone with your thoughts. All you can think about is how you’ll never see him again.

As you sit in the depths of your mind, wading through heavy thoughts and feelings, a sharp feeling strikes you. It hits you hard, making you jolt.

It was him. It was his energy.

“Satoru…” you’re saying to yourself, in disbelief, picking yourself up from the seat. Nitta notices you immediately, quickly reaching for you, but you slip away.

Your anguish had blinded you. All you wanted was him and currently all you could feel around you was him.

In a haze, you’re opening the doors to the medical area, wincing from the bright lights. Your body reaches for him, grasping at the air. It’s like a magnetic pull, unable to resist the force, you’re scanning the room for him.

Your heart thumps, sending a wave of tingles through you as you finally spot him.

Lost due to the overwhelming events, you weren’t sure what to expect. It had completely slipped your mind as to what Shoko genuinely meant when she’d explained… though you understood, nothing could prepare you for what you found.

Shoko is eyeing you worriedly.

The man turns, locking eyes with you.

Oh how you only wanted to see those eyes just one more time. Just one more time. Yet, when that wish is granted, when you lock eyes with this man— it’s not the same. At all.

They are distant, lacking the vibrancy of life Satoru Gojo once held when he looked at you. Blue, striking and bright, they’re now cold. Cold like the body that lay on that table moments ago.

The peace was gone, as was Satoru Gojo.

Dead man walking, he moves awkwardly, like a reanimated corpse trying to learn how to walk again.

Disheveled hair, you can see the fresh stitching across his forehead; Geto’s face pops into your mind.

Next to Gojo’s body, Shoko moves away, going to the other side of the room. The air around her has completely shifted, and you understand immediately.

In the background, you can hear Shoko clean the tools she’s used for surgery.

“Yuta,” you say, directing it towards Gojo’s body. When his mouth opens to speak, you feel as if your heart is ripped from your chest.

Gojo was not free. Though death has lifted the burden of his status off his soul, he is unable to rest. He is not free— a weapon, taken advantage of and used selfishly by your fellow sorcerers for their gain. For Japan’s gain. Call it selfish, but you understood why the plan had been kept from you now.

Hell would freeze over before you agreed to such a thing, even if Gojo was okay with it.

To have a body; to just exist, is to suffer— it was what you learned from him in the handful of years you had known Satoru Gojo.

He was not a man to speak up, especially about himself; you could see it in his eyes rather than being told in words. The second his blindfold was removed in the comfort of your home, his entire story would be told, expressed only to you in private.

He was a man, a human, just like any other sorcerer... just as Geto was.

To be used in the same way as his late best-friend, but this time for good; it was more than tragic... disturbing and unforgivable.

“Hello,” he says your name after, following the greeting.

It is his voice. It is his voice.

Under a white sheet, Yuta’s body— now corpse, lays still. His brain, and complete consciousness, residing in the corpse of your late lover.

“I’m sorry,” is all he says before disappearing from the room. His voice is pained, as if he had been in your shoes himself. As if he had been the one to witness his lover's body being used as a tool.

Silence follows his departure, filling the cold room.

You hadn't known warmth since he turned cold.

[gojoath]

⟣ welcome to gojoath's 𝒴𝒜𝒩𝒟𝐸𝑅𝐸 𝒴𝒰𝒯𝒜 masterlist! all fics include yandere themes so please read the warnings on each individual fic before interacting :) all characters are written as adults / aged up. minors dni.

listen to the playlist for the series here.

DRABBLES / FICS

˖  ݁ . ࿓ the fics are in rough order of how they happen (kinda)

hello, you — 𝔂𝓪𝓷𝓭𝓮𝓻𝓮. dark content. mdni. you think it’s a funny stroke of fate that you keep running into the same pretty stranger, albeit not in your best moments. little do you know, he’s known you for months before that.

i’ll give you my heart — 𝔂𝓪𝓷𝓭𝓮𝓻𝓮. dark content. mdni. you think it’s going well with yūta— the new guy you just started dating despite the way you’ve only seen eachother a handful of times. that’s exactly what he wants you to believe though, this is all going according to his plan.

take your turn — 𝔂𝓪𝓷𝓭𝓮𝓻𝓮. dark content. mdni. yūta has always been a giver when it comes to you and your pleasure, but you do think it’s about time that you repay the favour.

ease the ache — 𝔂𝓪𝓷𝓭𝓮𝓻𝓮. dark content. mdni. your glad your boyfriend yūta was always prepared, offering you a sleeping pill when you were having trouble was helpful— but why do you feel so needy suddenly?

two halves of a whole — 𝔂𝓪𝓷𝓭𝓮𝓻𝓮. dark content. mdni. sometimes you swear you have two boyfriends, the one that loves you and the one that fucks you. wc, 2k.

stay home instead — 𝔂𝓪𝓷𝓭𝓮𝓻𝓮. dark content. mdni. you loved your boyfriend, you did. but you think there’s only so much of his.. devoted personality you can take before the cracks begin to show. wc, 6.4k.

are you still watching? — 𝔂𝓪𝓷𝓭𝓮𝓻𝓮. dark content. mdni. your boyfriend, yūta, doesn’t ever like sharing what’s his. apparently that statement goes for your fictional crushes too. wc, 3.2k.

never have i ever — 𝔂𝓪𝓷𝓭𝓮𝓻𝓮. dark content. mdni. a party with your boyfriend isn’t something you expected to turn so sour. but maybe that’s because you didn’t expect your past relationships to start coming out.. or for one of them to be sitting in the room with you. wc, 9.2k.

learn to play nice — 𝔂𝓪𝓷𝓭𝓮𝓻𝓮. dark content. mdni. you know that your boyfriend yūta could be a little bit… difficult, but as much as you love him, you can’t let him get away with it all the time. wc, 5.1k.

the part that lingers — 𝔂𝓪𝓷𝓭𝓮𝓻𝓮. dark content. mdni. yuta finds it hard to live his life without you, it’s even harder for him to get off when you’re not there. you’ve unintentionally broken him that way. but it’s okay, he still has his ways of ending up wrapped in you. wc, 2.8k.

just as he left you — 𝔂𝓪𝓷𝓭𝓮𝓻𝓮. dark content. mdni. your (ex) boyfriend yūta decides to pay you a visit on his way home from a mission. although he forgot how pretty you look when you’re asleep.. and how hard it is to resist. wc, 6.1k.

you said forever — 𝔂𝓪𝓷𝓭𝓮𝓻𝓮. dark content. mdni. yūta’s never been one to back down easily. especially not after you told him you’d be together forever. soulmates. you can’t expect him to just let you go. wc, 4.9k.

EXTRA

just this once — 𝔂𝓪𝓷𝓭𝓮𝓻𝓮. dark content. mdni. yūta thinks it’s cruel how good you feel despite the fact he’s not felt all of you yet. he knows that you can feel better, he hopes you’ll give him all of you just once, that should be enough to keep you forever. wc, 2.9k.

© gojoath. please do not copy any of my layouts or writing and translate or repost onto any other sites.

[gelatosushix]

[wannabepoeticischiya]

to live in a plato perfect world

If I had gathered just enough courage to begin—

Would I not be left wondering... what we could have been?

ao3: to live in a plato perfect world pairing: okkotsu yuuta x f! reader genre: romance, angst wc: 7.1k status: one shot

Based on a true story.

"So, [Name]... what happened with Yuuta?"

November was a fickle thing, so [Name] would think. Just a moment ago, they were cradled under the amber skies littered with a nimiety of clouds varying in shapes and sizes now, a darkened canvas hung overhead; the stars she would have loved to stare at for hours on end were nowhere to be found... even the moon had hidden behind the curtains of the abyss. Her eyes reflected the same emptiness the heavens held, almost as if the nothingness painted so high above was created to replicate the very emotion surging through every vein and artery in her. Strange, wasn't it not? To feel everything yet feel as though you're nothing at all. She turned her gaze to the person who spoke her name—Maki.

Maki who was there through it all. The one and only who triggered the idea of what it could have been. The one who was right all along. The one... [Name] couldn't bring herself to tell.

You owe it to us, [Name]-chan!

Tuna!

Yeah! So, tell us what happened~

Is it good? Bad?

[Name] can vividly remember the words her friends had spoken that night and the days that would follow that; she would laugh at their attempts to get it out of her, yet her answer remained the same. 'That's a secret~', those words were not complete lies... and [Name] made sure of it. She never liked lying—especially when it comes to her friends—but this one was something that she thought was a necessary action.

She loved each and every single one of them, and heaven knows that she'd take a curse for them any day. They were supportive and loving—there for her through thick and thin. [Name] couldn't have been more grateful that she had met them... but this was simply just not something she could tell—not when they were so hopeful.

[Name] turned to look at Maki, probably for the first time since that fateful day. She was eternally thankful that Maki didn't push her to talk about it up until now... "Ne, Maki-chan..." Her spoken words to the green-haired girl would have been mistaken as a melody carried by the nearing yuletide... but Maki knew her, and she knows that it took [Name] a great deal of courage to do what she did.

"Would it kill me if I didn't talk about something that's really bothering me deep inside?"

Now that was something the Zenin did not expect. To her, this felt more like an unravelling: would you accept the answers even if they're not the things you hoped that you'd hear? Will you still look at me like that even after you hear the truth? Would you still have the heart to say that I'm your friend even if I destroyed something we both hold so dear? A small stutter in time went unnoticed by the quiet girl patiently waiting for her answer. Maki took a deep breath and voiced out the words that would allow [Name] to say it all. "It would."

So, tell me what happened... were the words that [Name] heard behind her answer.

"He rejected me."

---

"You run like a little girl, [Name]!"

"I am a girl, Yuuta you twat!"

There they go again. Inumaki Toge, Panda and Zenin Maki collectively sighed at the scenery playing out before them.

"We're just crossing the streets but somehow they still find a reason to argue." It wasn't that Panda was annoyed by his two classmates' constant bickering, on the contrary, it was their main source of amusement. Watching Okkotsu Yuuta and [Name] bicker like an old married couple was better than any soap opera Gojo Satoru would stay up late into the night just to watch.

"Shake Sushi!"

The two sorcerers watched as an aggravated [Name] reached into her bag, pulling out a small, circular object (a walnut), and hurling it in the direction of the teasing exorcist.

"Ow!"

Traces of irritation etched into the girl's face had faded, replaced by a triumphant expression at the sound of Okkotsu Yuuta in pain—it might be sad that her only source of external joy was to get a step ahead of him, witness his demise and get back at him for his incessant teasing. [Name] was about to let out a haughty laugh yet held herself back once she saw that the obsidian-haired boy still had that wicked grin plastered all over his stupid face.

"You missed."

[Name] looked at him with every hint of malice she possessed, hell if she wasn't a sorcerer, she would pass as a curse (Yuuta's words). "Why you little—" She leaped from her current position from the side of the road and attempted to claw out Yuuta's eye sockets.

"Okay! That's enough of that you two!" Maki intervened, swiftly going in between her two classmates. The Zenin threw an appreciative look at Inumaki who held back the thrashing girl like a cat.

"Let me at him, Inumaki-san! That primitive little piece of—" [Name] struggled desperately from the Cursed-Speech User's hold, still trying to scratch away that stupid smile her classmate had whenever he'd get a kick out of teasing the daylights out of her.

"We should go Maki, before the two of them kill each other."

Why don't they just date already...

--

"What? Really? Megumi-chan, you never had a girlfriend?"

If someone were to tell [Name] that purple was not an actual physical entity, naturally, she would believe that. It was scientifically explained, after all. She even went as far as arguing with Gojo Satoru about the existence of the color purple (she didn't really get why he was so defensive about it, if purple was his favorite color and the people of science deemed it was something that didn't exist, then he could just go find another color). But what her cute, little underclassman was saying is outright preposterous! He's got it all! Besides the terrible people skills, who wouldn't like little Megumi-chan? "I'm quite sure, [Name]-senpai." And just like that, the upperclassman's enthusiasm deflated like a balloon. If Megumi-chan can't get a girlfriend, it's hopeless for the rest of the world!

"Itadori-kun! Have you ever had a girlfriend?" [Name] passed her hope onto the next underclassman on the list, ever-so-precious Itadori-kun! Surely! For sure, this little ball of sunshine has had at least—

"Nope!" And as though sensing the following question the older exorcist would throw, Itadori quickly added, "Not a single one, [Name]-senpai!" Why is he so happy about that! If those two can't get girlfriends, then there really is no hope—

Out of the corner of [Name]'s eyes, she sees that a certain classmate of hers has been attempting to burn holes into the back of her head since the beginning of her conversation with the two first years. Sneering at him physically and in her head, the girl turned her head to face away from that annoying pest. If I ask that racoon, it will surely go to his head. I'd rather not. Despite [Name]'s attempt to ignore his stare, it ultimately fails. Yuuta was not going to give in, not when it involves getting to gloat in [Name]'s face. With a tired sigh, she reluctantly asked him the same question.

"You?" [Name] turned to look at Yuuta, half-expecting him to say he had at least one. If he gets on his high horse again, I will smack the life out of him I swear— She was confident in her cold, logical reasoning, as well as Yuuta's behavior to revel in triumph at finding out he was better than her in something; casting all of those aside, as much as she hated to admit it—and she would rather drink vomit than do so—he does have the face...

And like a child, he pointed at himself, albeit with feigned confusion. What an idiot. She would think, but his answer stunned [Name] to a momentary silence: short enough to stare at him menacingly like she always did yet extensive enough to give her an ample amount of time to contemplate his reasoning.

"With the way I look?"

Was this a joke? [Name] had taken Yuuta for many things, a sleaze, superiority complex (although it generally only applied to being better than her), a loser with nothing better to do than to pick on her every chance he got, but not once did it ever occur to her that he would be a liar. Yuuta was many things to [Name], and she knew, a liar was not one of them. Yuuta must have taken note of [Name]'s reaction to his answer—or rather, the lack thereof. "No, I haven't." Not a hint of mockery could be traced back to his response for a change. Although, even after his confirmation, the girl was still skeptical, but she gave him the benefit of doubt.

"I don't believe you." But the words that come don't always comply with the ones in her head.

"Well, your choice." He shrugged. I hate this guy. [Name] narrowed her eyes at him and scrutinized him from head to toe.

"But... I never did have one."

Then he smiled. What was there to smile about? [Name] didn't quite know why he was acting like a lunatic. He was always a lunatic, plus he was annoying too, and every bit of her soul screamed at her body to get as far away from him as it was physically allowable. But a rhythm changed somewhere in her, like a beat of a drum going out of sync with the rest of the symphony or a galaxy colliding with another far into the cradles of the cosmos... and along the lines of Yuuta's smile and his kind eyes, she thought he at least looked a little nice.

---

"I don't need your help, Yuuta you twat!"

"Okay, okay... I was just asking."

Perhaps, [Name] did require Yuuta's aid... but she was too stubborn to admit that. Yuuta knew that as well, but he was far too disciplined to deny her of her wishes... even if they do contradict her situation. The stands of the abandoned running field were eerily silent, usually, students from the nearby college would go here just to loiter, even athletes occasionally use the tracks for practice... now, it's just as desolate as the rest of its surroundings. Broken staircases leading up to the platforms were easy enough to climb... although, it later proved to be difficult for gravity-challenged people such as [Name] to descend, hence why Yuuta was generously offering to help the Sorcerer who was too prideful to accept.

"Are you two done flirting? We got curses to exorcise."

"I'd rather eat a curse that date that weirdo." [Name] jutted her thumb in the direction of Yuuta, an expression of disgust carving itself onto her face at the thought of even remotely being close to Okkotsu, let alone be psycho enough to be in a relationship with him. "Ew." She added for good measure.

Traces of cursed energy lingered in the uninhabited buildings nearby, as to why they were built in the first place only to be abandoned, [Name] didn't know. What she was sure of was that an unnecessary, foreign feeling was brewing in her stomach and made her want to puke her insides only to swallow them back again. She did not like that one bit.

After a few moments of walking, "What is this place, Yuuta?" It was the Panda who had voiced out everyone's curiosity. The skies had long faded into the indigos of the night, fragments of the warm afternoon zephyr drifted to the far ends of the horizons, leaving the cool evening breeze to ravage in their wake. No longer were they cradled under a palette covered in multitudes of colors; little by little, stars had littered the darkened canvas above, shining down on the figures of the young Sorcerers.

It was foreign to them—well, all of them aside from Yuuta who has lived here for the majority of his life before moving to Tokyo. "They built this place way back for a regional competition," he began, slicing the tall grass so their group could advance further into the sea of darkness, "it was used for a few times, and as crazy as it sounds, a senator even came to watch. But once the stadium in the neighboring town was established, everyone just seemed to pretend like they didn't know this place." Cutting the last bits of greenery, the students soon came face to face with more neglected infrastructures.

"Most of these buildings just ran out of money to operate," he gestured to the old signboards scattered all over the street, "now they don't even have the funds to demolish the place."

Moonlight seeped through the crevices left by the drifting clouds, blanketing the unremembered lands with a soft glow; wades of grass danced to the rhythm hummed by the autumn gale as the footsteps of the Sorcerers slowly came to a halt. Everything around them is what was expected of a curse's home: shattered windowpanes, fractures littering the ivy-covered walls of the many buildings caging them in, that sad, desolate feeling you get at the sight of a place that used to thrive with life be reduced to a graveyard. In a strange way, being forgotten came with a sense of peace.

"This place is pretty big, we'll split up to cover more ground." And there goes the ever-so-reliable, Zenin Maki. The task handed to them by their dear teacher wouldn't go as smoothly as they had wanted to if it wasn't for their Green-haired classmate. Always quick to think, always ready to act. "I'll go south, Inumaki will go west and Panda to the east." Never hesitant to push Yuuta and [Name] to get along.

Maki turned to look at them, giving them a warning stare, "You two go north, and try not to kill each other."

If you wanted us not to slit each other's throats, you should have separated us, Maki-chan! Is what [Name] wanted to protest, but seeing as everyone wanted this night to end and get this labor done and over with, the exorcist kept her complaint to herself. Besides, the sooner they finish the assignment, the faster it would be to ditch this whacko and call it quits. For now, she'd at least put in the efforts to deal with his antics... for everyone's sake.

"If there's any sign of the curse, give the signal and we'll proceed with the plan."

With that, the rest of their classmates walked down their own assigned locations, leaving the two—who are most likely at their wits end trying to restrain the urge to tease away the remnants of patience the other has left or to stab the other in the eye—alone, in the middle of nowhere, surrounded by abandoned buildings.

[Name] tried her best to keep her remarks to herself, following a few steps behind Yuuta who had begun moving forward as soon as their classmates' last shadow had blended with the darkness. She was not from here—where [Name] grew up, stream of lights would flow from every direction she'd look, illuminating every nook and cranny as though the sun had never slipped under the blankets of the horizons; warm, incandescent glow would erupt from the meadows that served as her haven for many, many moons; radiance gifted by the stars would end their journeys in the pools of her eyes, embedding themselves deep into her soul—never to be forgotten. It was different now, even if [Name] had never once feared darkness, she would not allow her pride to cloud her judgement of danger. So, she simply let Yuuta, who originated here, be a step ahead of her.

Their walk was silent, nothing but the steady sound of shoes hitting cobblestone echoed between the abyss and where they were. It was odd, unnerving even... but [Name] would never dare to voice that out. Her annoyingly annoying classmate was willingly being silent for once, and she would rather feed herself to hyenas than to admit she yearned to hear the sound of his voice.

[Name] can't remember the time it began, what soil did this mess even sprouted from, or even just the moment it all came crashing down. She guesses that somewhere between the hazy lines of 'I will kill you, Yuuta you twat' and mocking whispers of '[Name]~', everything blurred and faded... until all that remained was this annoying, unwanted, echoing sounds of voices that rampaged within her like a storm. [Name] tried to be kind, desperately so, but the universe had different plans when it heard her praying for extra amounts of patience and self-restraint.

It was drizzling when she spoke her first words to the Exorcist whose back was turned to her, bleakness blanketing the institute when the echoes of 'would you like to share an umbrella?' was met with silence. [Name] liked to think she was considerate, after all, that was the first time she had ever attempted to offer a classmate an ounce of kindness; only her kindness was repaid with getting left flabbergasted when the first ever recipient of it in history had stared at her for a momentary silence and flat-out declined—preferring to walk under the tears of the heavens. [Name] let the issue slide, telling herself that perhaps the boy whose hair flowed in waves of obsidian did not like the thought of sharing with a shorter person's umbrella—she let it slide. [Name] tried to be kind, hopelessly so, but every bit of her restraint and resolve to fulfill a New Year's resolution had disintegrated that one summer evening.

Much like now, they basked in the stillness of the night. Not a word spoken out of line, not even a breath. Whispers of everyday life had wandered into the orchestra of the city, revs of the passing vehicles drowning the words left for the wind to take; painted yellow from the lights, Yuuta and [Name] treaded silently. Their classmates were already far off into the distance, eager to get to the restaurant where their teacher awaited, leaving the two exorcists alone to ponder over their thoughts. The reason for their sluggish pace wasn't that the two of them did not wish to attend (Gojo Satoru was paying, why decline?); it was because [Name] did not know how to cross the road, thus leading to their delay.

Thankfully, Yuuta was kind enough to stay with [Name] (although, in reality, he was forced by Maki) and prevented her from getting run over by a bicycle or a truck, whichever would come first. Back then, [Name] was filled with the thoughts that perhaps she would become good friends with the black-haired sorcerer. Yuuta was kindhearted as to not scrutinize her for not knowing how to use pedestrian lanes, or jaywalk, whichever was necessary and even went as far as waiting for her when everyone else went on ahead.

A small smile painted its way on her face, visible only under the light of a closing stall as they passed by. The sidewalks narrowed down greatly the further they walked the path leading to their destination, leaving only but a few spaces for a single person to walk through. Yuuta placed a single foot onto the open highway, followed by another and another until he completely diverged from her path leaving her to walk the pavement alone. Lost and somewhat befuddled, [Name] attempted to follow where the Sorcerer went, only to witness as the world descended at a speed akin to the fall of gravity. Suddenly, Yuuta, who was laughing hysterically, became an entire arm taller than her, and a stinging pain erupted from her knee.

"What are you doing, [Name]?" He questioned, trying his best to restrain the amusement begging to coat his words. "Catch any frogs down there?" Yuuta ultimately failed and laughed for at least five more seconds before extending his hand out for her to take.

And just like that, [Name]'s New Year's Resolution had exploded like fireworks. Angrily, she accepted Yuuta's offer; swore to herself it would be the first and last time she would. How could she ever think of accepting another? When, at this very second, his shameless chortling had reached the ears of a few passersby! As if his previous teasing was not enough, "New core memory unlocked." Yuuta stoked the fire of rage even more.

Of all the things this guy has to set as his core memory, it's the one where I make a fool of myself?! "Why must this be your core memory of me?!" [Name] tried to complain, at least try to convince Yuuta to switch gears so she wouldn't have to live in fear of this moment being used as potential blackmail. "Couldn't you have picked something like, 'my classmate who is good at English'?" Now [Name] tried to bargain.

"Oh, yeah, that's good too, but this one would be added as well." [Name] was not one to believe in ghosts, nor of ogres and trolls hiding under bridges, but for a moment, under the fluorescent lights of the establishment before them, when Yuuta grinned... he looked like the devil himself.

[Name] skipped all the stages of friendship, as well as the stages of grief. Okkotsu Yuuta, to [Full Name] was an enemy and nothing but anger was reserved for him.

"What in the world happened to you two?" Kind enough of their snow-haired teacher to come out and greet them, if he hadn't, it would only be [Name] standing before him now. Gojo Satoru would have to play jigsaw with Yuuta as he looks all over the dumpsters of Tokyo trying to piece his body back together for a proper burial.

"Say a word, Yuuta you twat and I will kill you."

"Nothing~ Gojo-sensei."

Far too preoccupied she was, that [Name] failed to see the smile Yuuta gave her way the moment the curse of their task was signaled as exorcised.

"Let's go home now, [Name]."

---

Cold was the mid-autumn breeze; leaves descended from the trees like rain, painting the cobblestones with palettes of orange and brown. [Name]'s breath escaped her lips in a form of mist, clouding in front of her reddening cheeks. Their ever-so-pleasant teacher just had to call them out at 7 A.M. on a perfectly freezing Tuesday morning for his quote—unquote Terrific-Tuesday-Endurance-Training. It was useless if you'd ask [Name], only because she felt that it could be done on any day, preferably days when the temperature wasn't close to turning them to ice, or hours where the sun isn't just peeking through the horizons.

Despite the lack of warmth of the November zephyr, Gojo Satoru definitely exceeded any passing wind the season of winter had to offer when it came to heartlessness! Terrific-Tuesday-Endurance-Training just had to be done in the middle of the courtyard where not a speck of heat could be made, or a source of warmth was near, what's worse is that everybody was already here, everybody but the sole proprietor of this grand idea.

"Hi, guys... sorry I'm late..." [Name] had to suppress her growing irritation, she didn't want to mangle what was left of her New Year's Resolution... but with the rampage of those unwanted chemicals in her system, the temperature that was nearing the point of freezing off her limbs, and the ungodly hours in which they were called upon—the year is already ending anyway, let's just make another resolution.

"DO YOU HAVE ANY IDEA HOW LONG WE'VE BEEN STANDING HERE—" [Name] turned to scold her teacher, or at least, who she expected was her teacher only to be met by the sorry state that was Okkotsu. Red-nosed like a reindeer, bloodshot eyes like an addict, flushed cheeks of a drunkard, and wrapped with more layers than a burrito. He looks terrible. "You definitely seen better days." She sneered.

"Hah... yeah, for sure." Yuuta sniffed, or breathed, who knows—before going to stand beside [Name] who took a few steps to widen their distance which made Okkotsu trace the steps she left on the earth. This idiot—

Maki, noticing what [Name] was obviously trying to ignore, asked the question. "Are you sick, Okkotsu?"

Detecting her annoying classmate's distraction, [Name] took the chance to escape from Yuuta's space trespassing and instead cross the fence to the Panda's space.

"Maki-san? No, no... I'm fine. Just a little cold that's all—" taking note of the missing warmth beside him, Okkotsu's gaze left the green-haired Zenin to look for where it had gone.

The moment his stare met the awaiting eyes of [Name], he gave a toothy smile; his eyes closing to form two crescent moons.

Unable to hold that sick—quite literally—expression, [Name] forced herself to look away, afraid that her heart would burst out of her chest from how quickly it was hammering against her rib cage. Don't look at me like that. She did not know what to make of it all—when Yuuta looked at her like she was everything but an annoyance. Like she was nothing but herself... nothing but the girl he loved to tease to no end.

"ARE YOU GUYS READY FOR TERRIFIC-TUESDAY-ENDURANCE-TRAINING? CAN I GET A YES SIR?!"

[Name]'s eyes directed towards her teacher that was an entire forty minutes late, as much as she wanted to yell at him, scold him for his negligence—making them wait for so long in this weather—the young exorcist bit her lip to suppress her words. Fearful that if she were to speak, she would fail to find her voice, that she would be left a stuttering mess—unable to grasp onto a single coherent thought. The once monochromatic palette that shaded her surroundings began morphing to this kaleidoscope of colors that bathed in too much saturation. Limbs that were once close to frostbite felt like fire, burning at every vein that gave her life. Damn you, Yuuta you twat!

"Huh, tough crowd."

Taking note of his students' response, or rather, the lack thereof—the blindfolded sorcerer took it upon himself to begin his Terrific-Tuesday-Endurance-Training which, quite frankly, none of them wanted to do.

Who in their right mind would want to run ten laps around the courtyard? Or thirty pushups? Who would even willingly want to exceed past twenty with sit-ups?

[Name] wished she faked an errand beforehand. Watching her grandma's cat was certainly better than whatever the hell this was.

"Hey, Yuuta... you okay there, buddy?"

Sparing a passing glance at the voice's general direction, [Name] caught a glimpse of the flushed expression her classmate wore on his face. Oh...

"Yuuta-kun?" Satoru approached the obviously sick student who just had to be stubborn and still go to school on this cold, November Tuesday, not only that but forced himself to execute half the exercises of this Terrific-Tuesday-Endurance-Training. "You're burning up," Gojo's gaze skimmed through the faces of his awaiting students, assessing who'd fit best into the responsibility he was about to pass. Inumaki was on a mission. Maki could care less if Yuuta hit his head on the way. [Name] would kill Yuuta if she felt like it. Panda it is!

"Panda, bring Yuuta to Shoko. We'll continue this another time."

Is he gonna die? [Name] watched as Panda supported Yuuta's weight and made their way to the basement, eyes not drifting away from their figures until the last of their shadows disappeared inside the building. Who cares? Why would I care about that idiot anyway...

"Maki, [Name] go warm up."

"After what you just put us through? I'm never taking any of your offers again." Maki complained, sneering at the older sorcerer before departing.

Gojo expected that much from the Zenin, very much so that all that laughing it off would be the best response. Similarly, an answer parallel to her friend was what the snow-haired exorcist prepared for when he turned to set his gaze on the remaining student, but he was surprisingly met with silence. How odd...

[Name] took one look at her teacher, nodded in acknowledgement, and left to go after her classmate.

"Now... what is going on with that girl..."

The majority of Terrific-Tuesday-Endurance-Training Day was spent wondering whether or not Yuuta was going to live to see another day. [Name] found that it was a rather unpleasant way to further ruin an already terrible day but sadly, it was all her brain allowed her to think about. Damn you, Yuuta. No matter what corridor she passed, window she looked through, room she occupied... there was nothing but the thought of Okkotsu Yuuta in her head. And it was annoying her to no end. [Name] never really believed that she was particularly blessed with Yuuta's presence, that was until... she was striped of it.

When twilight passed with no sign of that blasted sorcerer, [Name] sent out the very first message she would willingly send... not out of obligation but of genuine concern.

[Name] wasn't hopeful, honestly, she was not so sure where all that compassion escaped from. But when her phone buzzed from the pocket of her coat, a small smile shadowed her face illuminated by her screen.

---

Maki was never really one to beat around the bush. Once, she told her twin that her new perfume made her smell like feet, which was not all that off the mark but of course, a little sugarcoating wouldn't hurt...

There was also the time she told Panda that wearing a shirt made him look like an Asian version of Winnie the Pooh, which—once again—would not be far-fetched from the truth. But never, in [Name]'s wildest dreams did she expect that one day, she would be the one at the receiving end of that blade.

"Why don't you just confess already, [Name]?"

[Name] laughed, like she did every time Maki, Panda or even Inumaki would imply this blasphemy her classmates would label as 'fessing up and expressing how you really feel'. Sadly, this has been an on-going thing for the past weeks. One of them had to give it up and [Name] swore heaven and earth would have to collide and shatter before she would even think about admitting defeat.

"And what makes you think that I like Yuuta, Maki-chan?"

The Zenin gave a wicked smirk, taunting her friend. It was then, that [Name] realized her slip-up. "Oho~ but I didn't say a name, [Name]-chan~"

Oh shi—

Realizing there was no way out, [Name] did what she did best—turn it into a what-if situation. "Well, say that I did hypothetically, hypothetically hold... affections for him—hypothetically, what makes you think that he'll hypothetically, return them huh?"

This was it. It's over. [Name] was not one to mess things up to this degree where she couldn't worm her way out of, even after just swearing a moment ago that defeat was absolutely unacceptable. But, truly... to what extent could she keep holding onto these feelings? It was getting increasingly more and more difficult to hold them back, her retorts turned meaner, her gaze a lot sharper... enough to cut through the stares she would often feel emanating from Yuuta.

"Simple, I have proof."

"What proof?"

"Say you'll confess, and I'll show it to you."

"Are you out of your mind? That's ridiculous!"

"Promise me, and I'll show it."

"You don't seem to be getting the idea that I need certainty before I can proceed with the actual execution of the mission, knowing that I have guaranteed success—"

"Promise. Then, I'll give you proof." Maki pressed. She really did know where to hit a jackpot when it came to [Name], or—simply put—pressure the one who took promises to an esteemed regard. [Name] stared painfully at her friend, knowing full well that in order to quench her curiosity, she would have to seal her fate and do the unspeakable. The worst he could say is I'm built like a tutorial boss.

"Fine. I promise, I'll... hypothetically, confess."

"Great!" The Zenin beamed, fetching her phone from her pocket, tapping a few times before handing the gadget to the awaiting sorcerer.

Lowering the phone, [Name] looked at Maki with a face that screamed, betrayal. "You tricked me! Where's the proof in this?"

"What? That is proof." Taking her phone back, the green-haired female emphasized on some key points that was clearly never even there. "You can see it right there that he holds you in some sort of regard and that he is considering that the two of you could be something more." See? Right there? Right where?

"Maki-chan... you're being delusional! And what's up with your messages? They're so cryptic." [Name] crossed her arms over her chest, shocked by the trickery she had to face from her own friend. Now, she would have to hold her end of the deal...

"[Name], there's nothing even remotely close to cryptic in that, everyone can see it, even that blindfolded idiot."

"Gojo-sensei is in this too?"

"Uh-huh, even the Kyoto kids and Utahime-sensei. Like I said, [Name]-chan... everyone can see that there's something more, but it looks as though the stars of the show are the only ones oblivious to it all."

How blind do you have to be not to see that he likes you, [Name]? Was the thought running through Maki's head. Nobody would go that far for a person you'd hate, perhaps you—but Okkotsu wouldn't. "Hey, if it turns out he doesn't feel the same... worst he could say is you'd drop common loot if you were defeated."

---

[Name] broke barriers, hammering down the walls she'd built so high—not even the skies could shelter them. But that was exactly the problem. [Name] often thought of it, pondered over the idea in the dead of night, lost hours of sleep trying to get her head around it, yet she never expected that the day the acceptance would come would be something like this. Perhaps all great people should die early, so that they may never have the chance to fall from grace.

"I like you, Yuuta." It took everything in her to admit it, the feelings she had harbored for him for only heaven knows how long. [Name] wasn't sure when it occurred, how he managed to shimmy his way into the fortress of trust issues, but he did. Everything was in place. Then out of nowhere, his eyes shone in a different light; it wasn't the kind of glimmer it would have made when dusted by the luminescence of the setting sun but the kind that refracts and scatters to a million tiny pieces, looking as though faeries had painted them with all the colors the universe could offer. His laughter, which she would have found infuriating and annoying a month ago, bewitched her like a spell, playing like symphonies even in the midst of her most fervent dreams. And little by little, she caught herself stealing glimpses of him, turning her head when someone called his name, she caught herself watching him walk away until all she could see was the last bits of his shadow.

"... Is this a prank, [Name]?" He laughed; the smile plastered on his face not quite reaching his eyes. Is this what he thinks this is? "Wait—that sounds kinda offensive—I didn't mean it like that [Name]—really—"

I see...

Before Yuuta could trail off with his incessant rambling, "Surprise!" [Name] had already interrupted him, with a voice an octave higher than what he was accustomed to hearing accompanied by an enthusiasm that felt more like a stranger than anything else.

Despite his attempt to hide that flickering emotion, [Name] saw it. After all, he was quite easy to read—conflicted, that was what he was. [Name] wouldn't put it past her if he was, to Yuuta, it probably looked as though every fiber of her being wanted to get as far away from him as it was physically possible. "Is this a joke, [Name]?" Yuuta spoke once more, repeating his still unanswered question. You really could be cruel if you wanted too, Yuuta. [Name] remained silent, nothing but the November zephyr singing melodies for the two of them to hear.

And that was enough of an answer for the boy.

"Of all people, you still liked the guy who was always out of it."

Yuuta wanted to laugh it off, hoping it would ease that awkward space wedging itself between the two of them, but he thought better. That wouldn't be right.

"Well, now you know!" It felt unbearable, his silence that is. [Name] was painfully aware of what was to come, the impending future she had laid out for herself, the path that her choice would lead her to; she'd gone down that road more times than she'd like to admit, to the point she'd know where the potholes were planted, where the stones and pebbles would be littered—everything about that place was familiar yet every time she'd be directed that way, her heart would break just a little bit more.

Sunlight painted them golden, its warm rays bouncing off her glossy eyes scattering them like stardust; [Name] felt like absolute scum for doing this, regretfully so... but she didn't want him to think of her any differently. "Let me down easy, will you?" She smiled at him, with sadness that looked as though hurt him more than it hurt her.

Yuuta stared at her with disbelief, certainly not comprehending fast enough that what he was facing right at this very moment was indeed, reality. Her laugh, which he'd only hear when she teased him, was no longer filled with a playful song but a solemn hymn of acceptance for an answer that was yet to come.

[Name] closed her eyes and inhaled, perhaps the last bit of oxygen she'd get before her chest would ache every moment she breathed. Now, [Name]... don't—

"I'm sorry," he whispered, I should be used to those words, "but I can't return your feelings."

... so why do they still hurt? I knew, didn't I? I knew he would never—that he could never—that he...

"I know." [Name] didn't know how she managed to keep her voice from crumbling, she was sure Yuuta thought so too. She hated it. She hated that when she opened her eyes to look at him, he showed nothing but understanding. There was nothing in those damned eyes of his that was anything but kindness. Nothing. Yuuta was making this harder for her than it already was. And she hated that even more. She hated that she couldn't find a single bit of resentment—even pity—or sadness in him at what she just did. [Name] was full of anger, ready to burst at a moment's notice... yet she couldn't borrow any anger to throw at him. She wanted to hate him—yell at him or even just be angry but... she couldn't.

She couldn't—she just couldn't... find a single reason to bring herself to hate him.

... could never feel the same— "I just wanted you to know."

.

.

.

A little too late...

Almost, such a hurtful word to say That the song made just for us had failed to play Melodies I hummed and sang to the skies Didn't reach you as they scattered like petals in the wind and eventually died

You shone so brightly that it left me blinded Faltering... endlessly questioning if I could be the one you wanted Magnified by how many stars you painted on my darkened ether Constellations you hung on my ebony sky, they lit up every fissure

Winter came and they began dimming... losing their once-radiant glow The last of them burned into oblivion, leaving me wandering so Until all that was left for me to see was the unending abyss Remnants of fractured memories I once had thought I would never miss

If I had gathered just enough courage to begin— Would I not be left wondering... what we could have been?

.

.

.

Yuuta swallowed the lump in his throat, eyes reflecting the girl standing before him... pouring her heart out. The girl he thought had resented him with every ounce of strength she possessed, the girl he thought could be an angel to the rest of the world but never to him... the girl he once had thought would be the least likely to like him back.

Why would she like him, out of all the people? He teased her to no end, contradicted her every statement to get her riled up because he thought it was amusing to see her angry. He laughed at her when she fell on the side of the road, when she misspelled convenience with an 'i' and he ended up getting a point higher than her because of it. Why? What did she see in him? Which side of the prism did she look that she uncovered all the things he desperately tried to hide even from himself?

He couldn't bear to see that. The eyes that looked at him with that familiar distaste morphed into a glow that he couldn't understand. Yuuta would imagine himself telling her: don't look at me like that. Like what? She would ask. Like you could love me... he would answer.

Yuuta couldn't bring himself to tell her the awful-tasting truth, so he covered it with those bitter lies. I can't return your feelings, he would say. What [Name] would be unaware is that it was her who returned his sentiments. It was always her for Yuuta... but she would remain ignorant of that fact for a long while. Yuuta would have conquered the heaven and the earth for [Name], given her all that he was—but... he couldn't.

If he really did return her feelings as he was, right now... it would be a disservice to her. Because he would not complete and whole as a person. He would prefer not to turn her down, but he would be hurting her more if he tried to give something he didn't have. Yuuta wouldn't lead [Name] on like an idiot, he'd prefer to be forward than tell her things he didn't mean. He wasn't complete enough to be able to give himself away to another, and he knew that. But he would work hard. Work hard so that she'll deserve him—the best of him.

Yes, the scenarios of this one-shot are true and they did happen... happened to none other than me! *cries* I did fall on the side of the road and my Yuuta did laugh. I did spell convenience wrong and my Yuuta did get a point higher than me because of it. I did throw a walnut at my Yuuta and it hit someone else. My Yuuta did say that I ran like a little girl. My Yuuta did drag me by my feet and wouldn't let me go when he, along with all our friends were drunk out of their minds and I was the only sober one. Me and my Yuuta threw pillows at each other because of that. My Yuuta did offer to help me down a high place, and I did refuse. Me and my Yuuta... only his name wasn't Yuuta. I did write a poem for my Yuuta, and that is the poem that you saw. My Yuuta did get a kick out of teasing me. In the end, it was my Yuuta... who thought so lowly of himself had assumed my confession was a joke, hid his feelings, and ran away, deeming it would be a disservice to me should he return them to me now. My Yuuta was not complete, so he had declared, my Yuuta was not whole enough to be able to give himself to another. My Yuuta was cowardly, but he was in the right. I was too stubborn for my Yuuta, and my Yuuta was far too disciplined. My Yuuta and I made no promises. Me and my Yuuta had no agreement. My Yuuta and I... are going separate ways. But I can see it in my Yuuta's eyes, that my Yuuta has lied. I see the way my Yuuta behaves, my Yuuta... you cannot hide stars under carpets. Perhaps, My Yuuta has felt regret, thinking he might be too quick in turning me down; fret not, my Yuuta, for I was too eager to speak of a feeling that had not fully formed. But, I once asked my Yuuta a question, possibly something self-serving, it was that should we live in a plato-perfect kind of world, would me and my Yuuta have a chance? My Yuuta spoke the words...

Me and my Yuuta... only his name wasn't Yuuta.

oh, to live in a plato-perfect world.

[stellayuta]

Diamond of the Cursed Water - A JJK x Bridgerton Story

synopsis: In the opulent ballrooms of Regency-era London, where nobility's finest waltz under glittering chandeliers, a secret world of sorcery brews beneath the surface. Enter Duke Satoru Gojo, the enigmatic, hedonistic sorcerer whose dazzling charm and unmatched power captivate society's elite, yet he remains unable to find a match that truly intrigues him. Meanwhile, Viscount Yuuta of the Okkotsu fame, a kind-hearted noble with hidden jujutsu talents, is haunted by past sorrows and is fearful of love. As whispers of curses and romance intertwine, their paths cross with a certain woman in a dance of fate, opening their hearts to possibilities neither dared dream of.

Meet your characters:

Satoru Gojo

Title: Duke

Affiliation: The Noble Gojo Family

Duchy: Sugawara-ku

Secret Profession: Jujutsu Sorcerer

Likes: Sweet confections, horse riding, guns, red roses, suits, exorcising special grade curses

Dislikes: Balls serving Alcohol, soirees, difficult women, people prettier than him

Yuuta Okkotsu

Title: Viscount

Affiliation: The Noble Okkotsu Family

Duchy: Fujiwara-ku

Secret Profession: Student Jujutsu Sorcerer

Likes: handling and tending to his estate, gardening and horticulture, relaxed soirees, talking to people, smell of freshly washed fabric, yutakas

Dislikes: people who don't smile, hierarchy and titles, disingenuous people

Coming soon....!

[quinnyundertow]

Yuta Okkotsu x Reader 18+ NSFW

First Cunnilingus & First Blowjob

All characters are 18+

Excerpt from “When I Catch you Gege” Chapter 36

You gaze at each other for a long moment imperceptibly bridging the gap between you until your lips are on each other once again. It’s clumsy and bumbling but sweet and impassioned. His lips break away from yours long enough to kiss up the side of your jaw. You can’t help but giggle when he kisses a particularly ticklish spot near your neck. He’s quietly laughing along with you, his actions playful and needy. He sucks on your neck just under your jawline and a lust filled cry is pulled from your throat.

Thighs clenching you can feel yourself grow damper with every teasing action he takes. Your fingernails rake gently up the back of his neck and into his hair. The action draws a shiver from him and a low groan. You retreat much to his dismay, but it’s only for a moment as your hands go to the bottom of the sweatshirt you are borrowing. Yuta’s eyes widen slightly in anticipation as your fingers curl around the fabric and begin to pull it up. Pausing right before your breasts are revealed you playfully ask your starstruck partner, “Do you want to continue?”

Yuta can’t help but nod in a way that’s adorably over eager. His own interest is very apparent by the hardon in his sweatpants. “If that’s okay with-” the rest of his sentence dissolves into a hiss of air as you pull the sweatshirt over your head. The chilly air surrounding you makes your flesh tighten and your nipples harden. You toss the sweatshirt to the floor a little apprehensive as to what his reaction will be.

He’s just absorbing you like he’s trying to ingrain your every dip and curve into his brain permanently. You can’t help but flush under such a reverent gaze, your arms going to cover yourself in trepidation. This action spurs his own movement. Taking your hands in his gently he pulls them to him, kissing the palms of both. His eyes continue to drink you in, “How can someone be so perfect.”

He sounds a little breathless when he says it and you can’t help but laugh incredulously “I’m far from perfect.”

He meets your eyes for a moment and the desire burning there takes you aback, “You are my vision of perfection.”

His words are so honeyed you want to reject them but there’s such fervor in his voice you know he believes it to be as he says. Yuta’s soft lips leave a heated trail up your arms. His hands tracing softly down your back and sides making these seemingly mundane areas into new erogenous zones. You clench your thighs, your core throbbing with want. You are trying to be patient; you want to let him explore you at his own pace.

The breath is snatched from your throat, by a jarring surprise, as a sudden wet heat engulfs your breast. A gasping sound leaves you as he suckles you gently in his mouth. His tongue swirling over the sensitive bud of your nipple and pressing against it in a way that makes you jerk with arousal. You can’t help the obscene moan that escapes you when his teeth gently scrape your nipple as he releases you with an audible pop.

Yuta’s hands are on your ass and he’s pulling you to straddle his lap. His mouth is already descending on your other neglected peak, the bud of your first suckled tit hardens almost to the point of pain in the cold air. It’s clear he’s been paying attention to the noises you make by the way he treats your second boob. He’s repeating all the actions that dragged moans from your lips. His hands kneading your ass on his lap. You want to pleasure him too but he’s overwhelming you with attentiveness and you can’t bring yourself to stop him. “Yuutaa.” You’re gasping his name out while your fingers get lost in his raven locks.

He gives a particularly hard suck that has you seeing stars then pulls off long enough to say, “Again, say my name again.”

You shiver with anticipation, unable to deny him as his hands are running lightly up your thighs, his mouth back on your first breast, the bud turning a darker shade from his ministrations. You shakily let out his name and he moans around your flesh in response. “Y-Yuta, I-I can't, it's too much.” You beg him for something, what you are not even sure of. Your cries do nothing as he is clearly content to lave your chest for hours.

It isn’t until your hand goes for his sweatpants band that he releases your chest. He captures your hand swiftly and with no effort at all both of your wrists are held by one of his larger hands behind your back. “I want to make you feel good too.” You whimper as he manipulates you to standing on your knees.

He’s kissing your thighs lovingly and you're reminded of the game of truth or dare you played what seemed like ages ago. His voice is husky and deep with desire when he murmurs, “Trust me this is making me feel good.” He releases your wrists only to spread your thighs enough for his hands to manipulate the flesh there softly. You're so turned on at this point you can’t even see straight. Embarrassingly you can feel a drop of your arousal running down your thigh.

You can’t help but blush scarlet as with no hesitation he licks the trail it left up to your aching cunt. He pulls back just before reaching it only to admire your slick folds. You whimper as the heat of his breath caresses the outside of your labia.

“She’s so cute.” He mumbles leaning in and kissing you right on top of your clit. You squeal and place your hands over your mouth to try and keep quiet. His tongue is dancing all over your sex. Trying different motions and speeds, soft sucks and rougher thrusting. You're practically crying in pleasure, your thighs shaking as his tongue finds a steady rhythm that has you seeing heaven. His name becomes your mantra as your hands delve into his hair. Pushing him closer and trying to pull him back when you become over stimulated. Your legs are quivering uncontrollably as he holds you to his lips, his tongue now pushing against and under your clitorial hood. You don’t have time to warn him before you’re bucking against him an intense orgasm making you writhe and whimper, “Oh god Yuta, oh god.”

When you push him away this time he obliges. His mouth is shiny with your arousal, his eyes half lidded. Yuta’s face, a textbook example of what a pussy drunk man looks like. He’s giving you this small smile as you practically collapse into him totally wiped from your orgasm. He’s holding you while scooting back in bed. He’s still fully in his pajamas while you are totally debauched on top of him. As you try to regain your composure and teach your legs to go back to listening to basic commands you murmur, “Yuta, what the fuck was that.

He can’t help but laugh out loud at that. He leans down and kisses your sweaty forehead lightly. When he doesn’t respond other than to hum in acknowledgment you reference the truth or dare game, “I guess all those cunnlingus videos paid off..” The hand you have on his chest roams downwards. You find the light body hair of his happy trail and let your nails run over it. His breath catches as you go under his waistband. You’re not stopping until you feel his hard length in your hands.

His eyes clench shut as he lets out a hissing noise between his teeth. “You don’t have to ..” you’re not about to let him finish that sentence. You’re straddling his legs before he can say anything else and are pulling his sweatpants down enough so that his hard on is released. His pretty uncircumcised cock bobs up, the tip an angry red with beads of precum running down it. You lean forward and kiss the head while running a hand down his shaft. He’s average in size and it suits him beautifully. You stroke him to the base, tightening your hand just enough to vary the pressure, the sensations causing his thighs to tighten beneath you.

You give his tip a few experimental licks, his body shivers as he moans out your name. When you stroke one particular spot on the underside of his head his hips buck harshly as he gasps. You are addicted to how responsive he is and make sure to pay special attention to that area.

As your mouth gives his aching cock the attention it deserves, your hands move to rake your nails lightly down his thighs and pelvis. It doesn’t take long for him to be panting and whining. His head is thrown back, a sheen of sweat visible as his hands fist his covers. He’s the perfect size to deep throat not so long as to bruise you when trying to fit him in to his base. Without any warning your hot mouth covers the head of his cock completely. He’s letting out these adorable panting, Hah, hah, noises; as if that will help him last longer.

Your tongue flicks against the bottom side of his dick, running along a pulsing vein. You can’t help but watch his face while he writhes. His mouth is opened partially as gasps and sobs of ecstasy escape. You bob on his cock taking in a little more each time. His hazy eyes meet yours and you decide to devour him all the way to his base. Your nose nestles in his pubic hair as his eyes roll back into his head; he is totally overwhelmed with this intense reality.

This was nothing like using his hand. He didn’t know how he could go back after this. His tip hits the back of your throat and you swallow; the walls of your throat massaging him. You hum lightly the sound vibrating and providing a new sensation, “F-fuck Y/N, I think oh God.” You feel his member pulse and his pelvis tighten as he orgasms hard. Spurt after spurt of cum coats your throat as you try and swallow it all but you're surprised at just how much there is. Before he’s done it seeps around your lips making a messy pool of drool and cum slide down your chin and onto your chest.

As he tries to come down from his high you grace him with a few more kitten licks to the spot he seems to favor. The light caressing contact forces him to cry out and jerk from overstimulation. His face scrunched up in pleasure and ecstasy. Deciding to let him indulge in the orgasms afterglow you kissed his cock one last time before tucking him back into his sweatpants.

Yuta’s eyes are on you with reverence as if he found his new religion. He holds his hand out to you and pulls you towards him so you’re laying halfway under him. He leans into your gravity, his forehead touching your own and his nose nuzzling against yours. “Thank you.”

He utters this just loud enough for you to barely hear and you can’t help but laugh. “You're such a dork.”

Yuta reaches towards his desk to pull out some wet wipes and he gently cleans you off with a satisfied smile on his face. “As long as I get to be your dork.”

Once he’s cleaned you off and you’ve shared several slow paced kisses. You find yourself drowsing off to sleep, your head on his chest

[asphyxiamp3]

Comfort - Yuta Okkotsu x Reader

You can feel the sunlight peer through your window, the curtain failing to conceal the bright light that sought to wake you up. Usually, you’d groan, roll over - but this time, you were too tired to care. 

You had been lying in bed for around 2 hours now, occasionally checking your phone, but most of the time was spent lying down, thinking about everything. It went from the most mundane things, such as what you had for dinner yesterday- (if you had it at all, your appetite had decreased) to the most heavy questions, pondering the meaning of life. In the middle, you had a plan. To end it all. You knew it wasn’t right, but who cares? Fuck this all.

Your thoughts were interrupted by two knocks on your dorm door. Probably because it’s been an hour since class started and you hadn’t shown up. Your classmates had texted you, but you didn’t reply. Who cared about class, anyways? It’ll end eventually. Everything ended, eventually.

Pretending to be asleep, you wait for the person outside your door to stop, and leave. Then, you’d do it. To your surprise though, the door opened quite smoothly, and you cursed remembering the fact you had forgotten to lock it before you went to sleep.

“Y/N?” A soft voice called out to you, and you recognized it to be Yuta. You didn’t know who you hoped it would be - Maki would beat your ass if you told her the reason you stayed in bed, Inumaki wouldn’t give you the words of comfort you needed, and Panda was, well, Panda. Yuta was the best option, but he was perceptive, meaning you had to tell him everything before he picked up on it himself.

Footsteps came closer to your bed, and stopped close to it. “Y/N, class started a while ago. You weren’t responding to your texts.” You didn’t reply, you just kept silent, hoping that he’d abandon you and leave you to rot. But maybe…

“Yeah. I saw them.” You spoke, more aggressive than you wanted it to be. You could see due to peeping from your duvet that Yuta had blinked, unsure of why you were angry. He gestured at the bed, asking if he could sit down. You nodded.

“Y/N…are you okay?”

You felt tears forming from your eyes, threatening to fall. He had noticed them, and placed his hand on your cheek, wiping them away. “It’s just…you’ve been different recently. Every laugh feels forced. You’re skipping more often. You gave away all your jewelry to Maki, and you love your jewelry. You don’t talk to anyone anymore…you’re always here alone. You eat less, too, and your face looks tired, like you aren’t sleeping.” He takes a breath, looking at you with concern. Not pity - pure concern. Concern from a place of love.

“Yuta…” you say, hesitatingly.  “Mhm?” “Can you lie down with me?” 

The boy looks a bit shocked at the comment, but his eyes soften. “Sure.”

You pull back the duvet and true to his word, he lies down beside you. Your eyes are facing him, and you took a moment to observe. Beautiful, dark teal eyes framed by dark hair. A pale face, eye bags, but a look of love in the expression he wore. 

“I’m severely depressed, Yuta. I was actually going to end it all today, but you came, and now…” Tears spill from your eyes as you start to shake, trying to suppress the cries you so desperately wanted to release. Immediately, he shuffles closer, wrapping his arms around you and rocking you gently. He’s whispering into your ear, you don’t know what, but it’s comforting. 

“Y/N, I’m so proud of you for not doing it. Whenever that happens, please tell me, okay? I’m only a dorm away.” You cry harder, sobbing as he continued to rock you, whispering sweet things in your ear. You could make them out now.

“It’s okay.”

“I’m here now”

“I love you.”

You were shocked, and you buried your face into his chest, breathing heavily to calm yourself down. Yuta noticed this and began to go through a breathing technique.

“Inhale - that’s right. I know you can do it. Now, exhale. Great, you’re doing it.” He repeated this a few times until you had calmed down fully, regaining your composure. You were still clinging onto him, and you were sure your snot and tears must have gone on his clothes. But he didn’t seem to care. All that mattered was you. 

“Yuta…”

“Hm?”

“I love you too.”

His eyes widened, and you brought your face closer to his. Your noses were touching, and you could see Yuta blush. 

It happened so gently. Your lips met, and suddenly, for a moment, everything was okay. Flowers bloomed in your mind, azure hues of the sky housing clouds which danced softly, as the birds sang a melody only you knew. You knew your problems wouldn’t disappear. You’d wake up tomorrow, and possibly feel the same. But at least now, you had Yuta. And maybe, that would be enough.

[phantomstatistician]

Fandom: Jujutsu Kaisen

Character: Megumi Fushiguro

Sample Size: 14,505 stories

Source: AO3

[seven-n-wolf]

Fandom: Jujutsu Kaisen

Relationship: Nanami Kento / Gojo Satoru

AU: Fix-It (canon divergence, manga spoilers, especially after #253)

Summary:

Nanami Kento was done, or so he thought. Apparently, though, someone out there feels like there's still more that he can do, so he's yanked back into the land of the living. When he finds the reason for his return, though, he is not best pleased and finds himself losing control.

Notes: No longer a one-shot, will develop further after events in #261

[banjjakz]

convection currents ; yuuta x GN!reader

“Am I important to you, Okkotsu-san?” God, he can’t stand it. The way you look at him, the uneven lilt in your fragile, quavering voice; it makes him want to bury himself alive inside of you. “Yuuta,” he says. “Just ‘Yuuta’ is fine.” 

word count: 7.6k

warnings: horizontal hanky panky, obsession, possessive tendencies, unhealthy relationships, codependency, semi graphic descriptions of violence, major character death

‪♡‬ read on ao3 ‪♡‬

likes + reblogs appreciated!

Yuuta wants to like you. 

And he does – like you, that is. He really, really does.

But there have been some moments that give him pause.

Don’t get him wrong! You’re sweet, kind, doting, attentive, and very clearly an anxious bundle of painful self-awareness. He finds comfort in the kindred connection between your loner spirits. Training is made infinitely easier when he steals a glance at the gentle flash of your sweet smile, the soft flutter of your hair in the breeze, the twinkle of your laugh, floating through the air as a windchime’s ephemeral melody serenades the breeze. Everything about you seems to be perfectly enveloped and embedded within his daily reality at Tokyo Tech; natural, easy, right. That is what it feels like, to be at your side. 

The budding affection between the two of you kicks his foolish, stuttering heart into overdrive. How long has it been, since the blood pumping through his veins was motivated by a sensation other than mortal terror? 

You make him want to envision a reality wherein he’s embedded into the fabric of the living, breathing world, rather than continue to occupy his perch as a pariah, perennially scapegoated to the periphery. 

Each sidelong glance thrown your way is accompanied by the erratic twitch of his clammy hands, as he tries and fails to pay attention during one of Gojo’s rambling, nonsensical lectures. The light in his eyes revives when you call his name. Innards undulating in and out of place, he tracks your body’s every movement, your muscles contorting fast as quicksilver during scrimmages, lethal and alluring all at once. 

These are some of the objectively positive aspects of his attraction to you; the things that pull him from his bed in the morning, calling to him like the abyss compels a creature of the night to rise from its coffin.

And then, there are the more…er, complex moments.

“Did you just come back from a mission, Okkotsu-san?”

Like today, for example. Yuuta had just arrived back on campus after a fun afternoon spent with Toge traversing around Tokyo, patronizing various cafes and konbinis. You were lingering at the entrance of the dormitory, back to the front door, effectively coming between him and his bed.

“Ah, no. I was with Inumaki. We were hanging out for a bit.”

“Where?”

“Just in the city…”

“What did you do?”

He stills, uncertain. “Um…that’s…”

“I’m sorry.” Your head ducks in shame, hiding your face from his quizzical glance. “It’s been hard adjusting to student life as a mid-year transfer. I keep up well enough in classes, and on missions, but I don’t think any of the other students like me all that much. Forgive me, Okkotsu-san. To be honest, I’m jealous of how easily you get along with Inumaki-san and Maki-san.” 

Of course. How could he assume anything different?

As a non-lineage sorcerer, you were haphazardly discovered by one of the senior sorcerers on a mission gone south and roped into the jujutsu world without prior knowledge of its existence. From a firsthand perspective, he of all people should be able to understand how isolating that must be.

Kicking himself for his judgemental first reaction, Yuuta forces his skeleton to release the tension it harbors. “No, don’t worry. Have you been sleeping well? Did you eat dinner?”

Sheepishly, you shake your head.

This is how he finds himself alone, with you, in a secluded alcove on the outskirts of campus. The afternoon has matured into a thick, syrupy evening, the sky bruised with a smattering of warm hues. You sit on the grassy bank as a pair, shoulder-to-shoulder, your union celebrated by the rhythmic thrum of the cicadas’ song. 

“Here, take it.” He offers you the last flavored onigiri leftover from his spoils of konbini adventures. 

You protest, waving your hands in front of you. “No, no, no. I’m fine with just a plain one. Please. I don’t want to cause you any more trouble.”

“Plain is my favorite,” he lies. “I don’t even like yaki.”

“...Then why did you have one in your bag?”

“Haha! That’s a great question! I don’t know!” Beet red, Yuuta scratches the back of his head. 

Out of mercy, and perhaps pity, you graciously accept the yaki onigiri. Munching in companionable quietude ensues for several minutes, as you both watch the sun impale itself on the dark horizon, bleeding out across the sky in dark, inky tones. 

Without sitting face-to-face, it’s easier to speak to you, somehow. The insistent pressure on his chest lifts long enough for some words of actual substance to slip forth. “It’s hard, the first year.”

You remain silent.

“My first year was hell, too. Although that’s probably because I was being haunted.” 

“By who?”

He blinks, your question knocking him off balance. Not by “what,” but by “who” had he been haunted? You’ve always been observant. This is why you’ve survived for so long. 

“Um, it’s a long story… I’ll tell you in full one day. For now, I’ll just say that there was someone very special to me when I was a child… and it was hard for her to let go of me, when push came to shove.” 

“Ah. I see.” 

Although August has yet to conclude, the air around him is significantly chillier than what is characteristic of Tokyo’s late-summer hazy heat. Yuuta shivers, pulling his knees up to his chin. 

“Yeah. But, um, anyways. If you need someone to talk to…to be by your side… I would like to be that person for you.” He utters your name like a prayer, too concentrated on not stuttering to be embarrassed at the earnest tremble in his voice. “I wish I had a confidante when I first got here. It would have saved me a lot of trouble.” 

“A confidante? But didn’t you have your friend?”

Your reply jolts him into looking at you. The expression on your face tells him that you truly mean it as a genuine inquiry. 

“Well, um. I was being haunted…and Rika – er, she didn’t really listen to me. She actually got a little overprotective, I think.” 

“Do you think she was evil?”

“No!” The denial explodes from his mouth before Yuuta can even fully process the nuance of the question posed. “No,” he repeats, at an appropriate volume, this time. “She was clingy, and protective, and possessive, and honestly violent, but she wasn’t evil. I loved her. I think a part of me always will.” 

Love? What is he doing talking to you, alone, at night, about love? How embarrassing. He hadn’t meant to say all that! 

Quickly, he stuffs his mouth with the remainder of his onigiri. No more talking. Just chewing. 

If you are perturbed by his sentimental ramblings, you show no sign of it. If anything, your face remains impassive, serene, undisturbed like the surface of a tranquil pond. 

“You loved her for that, then. Was she haunting you if you were in love?”

After he finishes choking down the final, sticky remnants of his dinner, Yuuta frowns, mulling over your words which are heavy by the virtue of their implication, yet hang and sway in the air as an empty noose dangles from the gallows. 

“...I don’t know.” Yuuta says, at length. “That’s what I was diagnosed with when I came here. And it was hard for me to function, back when Rika was still here. I didn’t have any friends. And people close to me got hurt a lot.” 

“It sounds like she was always trying to protect you… even when you were apart. I only wish one day, I find someone who would have the capacity to care for me like that…”

“You want that?”

“I do.” Not an ounce of hesitation in your firm, forthcoming reply. “I’ve spent my whole life as something worth less than notice or acknowledgement. Always feeling invisible, never having anyone – not even one person – who cared about me. Up until this point, I’ve lived life wanting to die every day.” 

For lack of a better reply, Yuuta simply asks: “What changed?”

“...I met you, Okkotsu-san.”

Oh, wow. 

It’s kind of funny – where other people describe feeling hot, Yuuta has always been chronically, terminally cold. Your words induce a rapidly onsetting deep-freeze which permeates every layer of his skin, every molecule of his bones, every wretched atom of marrow lying dormant inside of him, all of it, every fiber of being rooted to the spot in an indescribable emotion. 

“I–I don’t know what to say.”

“It’s okay. I’m sorry, I don’t know why I said that. I apologize for making you uncomfortable.” 

That’s wrong. “No, you didn’t! You didn’t, I swear. Just… um, I’m also a person who is lonely, like you described. So I’m not used to, err, being, ah, important. To people? I guess?”

“Oh… I see.”

Clearly, the higher function of critical thought has abandoned him; this is the only explanation for how he reaches to grab your hands, sending the half-eaten yaki onigiri tumbling down to the dark earth beneath your anxiously shifting feet. He squeezes you, tightly, and is delighted in a morose sort of way to find your digits even colder than his. 

“Let’s teach each other. How to be important to someone else.”

“Am I important to you, Okkotsu-san?”

God, he can’t stand it. The way you look at him, the uneven lilt in your fragile, quavering voice; it makes him want to bury himself alive inside of you. 

“Yuuta,” he says. “Just ‘Yuuta’ is fine.” 

;

Field missions have been a part of his daily life as a sorcerer since the day he arrived at Tokyo Tech. Battle has always been challenging for all the obvious reasons, but never before has Yuuta had to deal with the added hardship of fighting alongside you.

This, of course, is not meant to imply that you aren’t able to hold your own; on the contrary, your physical and cursed prowess has granted you the rank of semi-special grade despite this being your first year enrolled in any kind of formal jujutsu schooling. Your cursed technique is innate to your personality and sensibilities, which helps. But even if that weren’t the case, you would still be one of Tokyo’s top-performing students.

Missions are difficult because, despite all of this being true, Yuuta is powerless to curb the instinct to protect you during fights.

It manifests in small ways, at first: insisting to be paired up with you for assignments, always volunteering to partner up when splitting from the larger group during an investigation– things like this. 

His behavior starts to stray into problematic territory the longer he is allowed to get away with it, unchecked.

“After Ijichi casts the veil, we’ll sweep the building. Inumaki and Yuuta, you two take the upper levels. We’ll do the bottom half,” orders Maki, gesturing between you and herself.

Immediately, Yuuta objects. “No. I’ll do the bottom half. You and Inumaki should go up together.”

“What?”

“I have a phobia of heights,” lies Yuuta, shamelessly. “It will impact my performance.” 

“I have literally never heard you talk about being afraid of heights before.”

“Shake sushi,” agrees Inumaki. 

You remain silent, pupils trembling, bottom lip severed between your teeth in a display of bashfulness reserved only for Yuuta’s blatant favoritism, which he wields frequently, in hopes to catch a even a single glimpse of you just as you appear now. 

“I’m self-conscious about it,” he laughs, scratching the back of his head. “Thank you both for understanding.”

“Wait! Okkotsu, we didn’t–”

And with that, he grabs you by the wrist and pulls you away with him, sprinting into the abandoned love hotel before Maki or Inumaki can prevent you from absconding. 

The two of you are laughing, tickled as usual at the effects of pissing Maki the hell off. Consequences will rain down in due time, no doubt, but for now, it feels best to bask in each other’s presence. 

Once through the front door, Yuuta halts to an easy jog, guiding you past the cobweb-covered front desk, around the decrepit scraps of the once-ostentatiously decorated lobby, all the way to the far back corner, where a solid, heavy metal door obfuscates the emergency stairway. 

“Oh, it looks jammed… Should we–”

Your stumped musing is cut off by the ricocheting cacophony of Yuuta’s boot violating the door. The metal itself bends and warps, caving in on itself in a hurry to make way for the unstoppable force of the sorcerer’s impassioned blow. He didn’t have to activate any cursed energy.

“Let’s go!” Chirps Yuuta, cheerfully. 

In another context, maybe, it would be appropriate for his pulse to spike, for his hands to clam, for his breath to quicken, at the prospect of being alone with you. However, the reality of the current situation is that Yuuta is dragging you down into some dark, unknown depth, where neither of you will be disturbed. As you descend the concrete flights, visibility is increasingly hard to come by, and this, too, excites Yuuta. He is now forced to rely more heavily upon his other senses, which naturally prioritizes the scent of your sweat; the sound of your rabbit-paced heartbeat; the feeling of the paper-thin skin of your inner wrist; the taste of his own desire. 

The cursed spirit they’re looking for has been wreaking havoc on the surrounding commercial strip, to the point where several businesses have had to draw their shutters in the wake of the love hotel’s primary foreclosure. Evidently, recurring, unresolved muder-suicides did not bode well for business. 

“Um…if we’re supposed to be searching for the curse behind all of the couples’ deaths, shouldn’t we be looking in the bedrooms?”

Your voice echoes, tinny, in the thick, humid air of the emergency stairwell. They haven’t hit the bottom yet. 

“Eh, maybe. This doesn’t feel like that kind of case, though.” 

“Huh? How do you figure?”

Although moving swiftly, at the speed of light, your footfalls make barely a whisper against the aged concrete steps. Still, it’s enough for Yuuta’s hypersensitive ears to pick up on. Deprived of the sight of you, he drinks in the intimation of your existence, greedily. 

“Heat rises,” he says, slowing pace as they approach what can only be the door to the boiler room, which has been left ominously ajar. “Cold sinks.” 

“...Um, I’m not sure I follow.”

Stealthily, he slithers inside the slender crack between frame and the door itself. The angle of its opening doesn’t even waver. He pulls you along with him, replying as he moves, “Crimes of passion carry a kind of hot, frenetic energy. Panic, impulse, instinct – all of those things have lots of, hmm, friction? Like an explosion. Really hot at first, dangerously hot, and then it fizzles out into nothing.”

Unfamiliar pieces of enormous machinery tower in the dark. As much as you are able to while crouching so low to the floor, you take care not to trip over any errant pipes.

“So this isn’t a hot curse?”

“No,” Yuuta confirms. “The curse–” murder-suicides in a love hotel, how on-the-nose could it be? “–is premeditated by nature. Obsession solidifies over time. To act on that is a calculated choice.” 

He stops short. You would’ve crashed straight into his shoulder blades if he weren’t painfully cognizant of your whereabouts at all times. He preemptively steadies you on your feet before you can even begin to stumble.

“At some point in this building, someone,” says Yuuta, quietly, as he cautiously eyes the opaque blackness before them, “spent a lot of time thinking about their beloved.” 

“How can you tell?”

“Cold sinks,” Yuuta repeats. 

Violence explodes, seemingly, out of nowhere. The curse attacks all at once, aiming perfectly towards you as though it had been lying in wait, stalking your every move. Yuuta always takes point whenever you pair up together, because he always insists on taking the first hit. It is this presupposition that leaves you wide open, vulnerable for attack from behind. 

“Yuuta!!” You shriek, desperately dodging the grotesque appendages reaching out to you. Your body hits the floor just seconds shy of what would have been a gory fatality. 

When you lift your head to identify the exact form of the curse, you still in uncomprehending terror. 

“...Yuuta?” 

How can this be?

Not even seconds prior, Yuuta had been a whole, living, breathing, intact person, guiding you as solidly as your own personal anchor. Why, then, does he appear to you now as a corpse, brain matter spilling down his temples, bloated limbs belying days of decay, flesh pale and tender and loose around the bone. 

No, no, no. Had you been too late? Had the curse gotten to him first? Are you next?

Despair fills you, overflowing your sensibilities with the intrusive desire to rid the world of your miserable existence. How could you have let him slip through your fingers? How could you be expected to return to any semblance of a life, with Yuuta gone? You don’t deserve a future without Yuuta – you don’t even want to imagine one.

You’ll do what’s right, and offer your life in penance that you failed to protect his own.

Cursed energy welling within you, threatening to tear you apart at the very seams, you are about to implode with all the conviction of an abandoned lover– but a familiar, desperate cry of your name halts your ministrations.

That was Yuuta’s voice calling out to you.

But there he is, lying before you as nothing more than a desecrated body.

Unless…?

Yuuta calls your name again, sharply, this time in a tone adjacent to something scolding. The fear of disappointing Yuuta outweighs all else. It’s enough to snap you back to reality, to clear your clouded faculties and reveal to you the real Yuuta, who stands on guard just a few paces away, living, breathing, sweating, crouching, preparing for action.

“The curse,” he calls, eyes never leaving the thing in front of you. “It’s the curse. Don’t worry, it’s not real. You’re alive.”

“I’m alive?” You parrot incredulously. “That’s your corpse over there!”

“...Huh? My corpse? But I see yours–” He cuts himself off, face going eerily blank. “Okay.”

“Okay?”

“Close your eyes. Don’t flinch.”

In your defense, you try your best.

Remaining sightless and motionless is difficult as the rest of your senses are inundated with the disgustingly explicit soundtrack of slaughter. The sound of flesh forcibly sliding apart on the edge of Yuuta’s cursed katana is familiar, at this point, but no less gut-wrenching to bear witness to. When he deals the final blow, the evidence sprays all over the front of you, drenching you from head to toe in what should be the curse’s blood.

And yet, the liquid is frigid. Like you’ve been assaulted by the waves of the cruel, immortal sea. 

“You can look now.”

Hesitantly, your eyes flutter open. You’re met with the sight of Yuuta, also covered head to toe in the viscous liquid produced by the corpse’s demise. Now that the exorcism has been completed, the preternatural heaviness is lifted from the building. But still, you struggle to breathe.

“Why didn’t you let me fight?” Something horrible announces itself, crowing from an ugly, dark corner of your mind best kept away from public view. “Was I going to slow you down?”

He sheathes in katana without sparing the gory weapon another glance. The space between your bodies is quickly extinguished, as Yuuta crosses the space in a matter of heartbeats. Blood roars in your ears, drowning out all which does not consist of Yuuta’s fixed gaze, Yuuta’s shaky breath, Yuuta’s pallid, sweaty skin, Yuuta, Yuuta, Yuuta.

“No.” 

A large, wet palm meets your cheek. The soft squelch should be repulsive. Your stomach flips for entirely unrelated reasons.

“Why do you think all those murder-suicides happened?”

The question catches you off guard, but you answer, nonetheless. “The curse.”

“What do you think the curse made people see, for them to do something like that?”

You want to ask what the hell this line of questioning has to do with anything, with the mounting intensity in his stare, with the firm hand on your face, calloused thumb rubbing miniscule half-crescents into the crux of your jaw where the bone and flesh is pliant and breakable, could crack open like the shell of a creature already cooked alive, prepared to be split open for gluttonous consumption–

And then, rudely, the memory of mere moments prior hits you:

You’ll do what’s right, and offer your life in penance that you failed to protect his own.

“Oh,” you whimper, pathetically. “They see– the curse makes them see, um, someone special to them.”

“Not just ‘special,’” Yuuta corrects. From this close you can see the faint trail of blue-green veins spiderwebbing their way from his eyebags, metastasizing every which-way, just underneath his skin. “What is a curse?”

“The coalescence of negative energy secreted by human non-sorcerers.” You rattle off the elementary answer without second thought. 

“What kind of curse was this?”

The moisture evaporates from your mouth. “A cold one.”

“Why?”

“‘Obsession solidifies over time. To act on that is a calculated choice,’” you mimic back. 

Although, your tone doesn’t quite replicate the self-assured way by which Yuuta had originally imparted the information. No, your voice shakes apart, just as disjointed as the rest of your body feels at this moment. 

“What did you see when you looked at the curse?”

He already knows. He wants you to say it. You want to plead for mercy, if only to savor the eroticism of begging for something you know will not be spared for you. 

“I saw you, Yuuta.”

The curse’s blood is bitter and cold, like soured juice, when it is thrust upon your tongue. Yuuta is uncaring of the gore coating the both of you, the time-sensitive nature of this mission assignment, the way your knees sway and buckle as the adrenaline begins to leak from your body, replaced by a new, even more exhilarating sensation.

Opaque darkness still shrouds the boiler room; and yet, it isn’t enough to prevent your souls from recognizing one another. Hands wrestle with buttons, fingers grapple with zippers, teeth gnash into flesh, and the two of you take each other apart not with the reckless abandon of lovers under the duress of a transient liaison; no, you are methodological, thorough, all-consumed by the well-marinated desire that has been fertilizing from the moment you first came into contact with one another. 

Yuuta throws you down to the floor and moves his body at a preternatural speed so that he beats you there, his hand cradling the back of your skull before it can strike the concrete. 

“I saw you too,” he huffs into your mouth. 

“You were d-dead…” The way you struggle to say the word is cute. You’re so fucking cute. God, he’s no better than a fucking curse. 

It’s impossible to curb the temptation to sink his teeth into your neck, eagerly feeding off of the intoxicating effects of your pained, thrilled squeal. “You weren’t,” he murmurs into the abused flesh, pressing a kiss where he’d just gnawed. “You looked close, but you weren’t dead.”

“...Huh…?”

Can you even think right now? Do you understand what he’s saying to you? How could you possibly grasp the implications of what is transpiring, right now, when you’re laid out on the floor, snow-angeling in the blood and guts and gore of a murdered curse, delirious off of a heady combination of lust and adrenaline and fear?

“You were just barely alive. On the edge.” He moans, rocking the hard line of his body into your own. “Do you know what you said to me?”

“Tell me.”

“You asked me to finish the job.” 

Back arching off of the grimy, gritty ground, every fiber of your being reaches out for the fingers that tear at the cloth of your uniform as though it is nothing more than some cheap costuming. “You know what? I knew it wasn’t the real you, when it said that. ‘S not like you.” 

He’s monologuing to himself, it seems. You are far beyond the hope of verbally communicating in anything other than your strained, hoarse whines. 

“You’d never ask me to do that. You’d stay with me until the very end, wouldn’t you?”

Desperately, hopelessly, you nod, your fingernails carving your intentions into the meat of his shoulders. When had his shirt come off? Did you do that? 

Are you the one tearing away the last bits of offending clothing, or is that him? Do you growl in stoked desire as he breaches your entrance, or does that inhuman noise come from the both of you?

When Yuuta is buried inside of you, he feels like he’s finally been laid to rest. There is the warm, comforting embrace often described as death – but instead of an eternal bliss found at the conclusion of his life, Yuuta is able to access this euphoria by burying himself inside of you. You are his headstone, his tomb, his coffin: all of you exists to house the death of all of him, and without him inside of you, you would live on in aimless unfulfillment, anxiously awaiting the day a beautiful boy will come to die under your care and linger with you in eternity. 

You are–warm, hot, burning up, self-immolating beneath his fingers. Every thrust forward threatens to scald his hips on your molten flesh. 

“Fu-fu-fu-fu-fu–” you stutter, body shuddering to life, rising from the ground, seizing and contorting in strange shapes as you struggle and fail to cope with the insurgence of pleasure coursing through you. “Yuu–ta–”

“Promise me.” 

“Wha–”

“Promise me,” he hisses, hands coming to your throat. “Promise you’ll stay. You’re too important to me, I c-can’t lose you too, hnnnnn–”

Promise you, I’ll never leave you, is what you are able to only mouth, breath and voice held captive in his unrelenting grasp. Because you cannot voice it entirely, you pour all the contents of your heart and soul into the sentiment. Fingers rising weakly to clasp onto his, you tighten his grip on your windpipe and take comfort in the drowsy haziness that cradles your consciousness. 

When he comes, he holds you to him like he’s afraid you’re going to crawl off and die somewhere else if he doesn’t keep you right where you are, crushed against, his shivering frame, so tightly bound to him that he can hear your diaphragm contract and expand, over and over and over again, each breath cut short by a wheeze or a sob. 

Through it all, he cradles you. Naked, bruised, and forever scarred from the sight of not-Yuuta’s rotting corpse, you cling to him and release your sorrows into the dark, empty abyss of the boiler room. 

Back and forth, he rocks your body, soothing your nervous system into an illusion of safety. There is no such thing as “safety,” not for jujutsu sorcerers – but together, with limbs intertwined as one, this is the closest you can come to fooling yourselves into hoping, one day, for a safe place. A safe person, even.

“Shhh,” he simpers, thumb swiping your cheek, which is damp from an unholy mixture of cursed blood, sweat, spit, and tears. “We’re together. It’s all okay.”

“T-together…”

“Yeah. Just you and me.” 

;

“You don’t think that’s an issue?”

“I’m not saying there isn’t an issue. But we should tread lightly, here. We don’t know what could happen if we interfere.” 

“If we don’t interfere, the newbie might die.”

“It won’t get to that point. I won’t let it happen. Oi, don’t blow smoke in my face. That’s unladylike.”

“Don’t lecture me on what’s ‘ladylike,’ cocksucker.” 

“Wow! That burns!” 

“Come here, I’ll show you what else burns.”

Lingering outside the door to the infirmary, you shift your weight from foot to foot, unsure of the appropriate course of action to take. Clearly, Gojo and Ieiri are in the middle of a conversation that is not meant to be heard by prying ears – not that you can make heads or tails of what they’re talking about, anyways. 

All you wanted to do was come see Ieri for your weekly check-up, as was customary following the love hotel mission. The adrenaline must have numbed your pain receptors in the moment, because as soon as you’d arrived back on campus, your entire body felt like you’d been through a grinder. 

You were kinda confused, at first, because you didn’t even engage the curse in combat. In due time, of course, you remembered what–or who–had actually bruised your ribs, broken your skin, sprained your joints, left you carrying the contours of his wanting.

Why were they talking about you dying, anyways? Yuuta saved your life. Nothing was going to happen to you as long as he was by your side.

“Hey.”

Jumping out of your skin has started to feel good, kind of. You look forward to Yuuta’s unceremonious greetings as he creeps up on you in silence, futilely waiting for you to detect his concealed presence. 

“H-hi,” you demure. Why are you shy? He’s been so far inside of you he practically fused into your skeleton. Blushing because he caught you unawares is ridiculous. 

“Aren’t you going to go in?”

Wondering how he knows what you’re here for is pointless. Equally as useless is trying to deduce how he was able to figure out your recurring appointment time. He’s Yuuta – it’s natural for him to acquire knowledge about you, as easily as one picks low-hanging fruit from a tree. 

“Umm, I think they’re talking about something.”

He frowns. “About what?”

You hesitate. Should you tell him what you heard? “Ah, I don’t know...”

“Are you sure?”

You remain silent, unsure of how to proceed. Part of you wants to bare your innards at all times, whenever Yuuta is around. It feels natural, like a rabbit’s cowering. On the other hand…

Somehow, the thought of telling Yuuta the truth–yeah, Gojo-sensei and Ieiri-sensei think there’s a chance I might die soon–would not end well for anyone involved. If there was something you truly needed to know, you’re sure your senseis would tell you. 

Right?

“Please trust me,” you whisper, only feeling a little guilty. You’re doing it to protect him. If something dangerous is going to happen to you, Yuuta shouldn’t be involved at all. He must live. You must make sure of it. 

Reluctantly, he acquiesces, although he insists on accompanying you to your check-up that week. Strangely, neither Gojo nor Ieiri seem surprised that he is here with you, and make no effort to question why. Yuuta is allowed to linger at your sides as Ieiri takes your vitals, reviews the status of your various injuries, and even holds your hand when she scans your cursed energy levels. Thankfully, you are on track to make a perfect recovery. 

In fact, not only are you replenishing the strength and ability that had been impaired during the love hotel mission–you are regenerating cursed energy at rates which exceed your natural capacities. 

When Ieiri relays this to you, Gojo, who has been lingering in the infirmary for some unknown reason (you suspect it’s simply to annoy Ieiri with his very presence) speaks up: “Do you know what that means, kid?”

“Um…” You start, nervous. Everyone’s eyes are on you. It feels like you’re under a microscope. “I’m moving up a rank?”

Gojo bursts into a fit of giggles, doubling over at the waist. “Wow, what an opportunist! Haha, maybe in the future, if your cursed energy continues to compound exponentially. I’m asking you about the cause. Any idea why you’re suddenly overflowing with power?”

“No.” Your answer is as truthful as it is anxious. 

“Typically, a dramatic increase in output like this only occurs after a Binding Vow. Make any life-or-death promises, recently?”

It’s supposed to be a joke, the way Gojo says it. You can tell because his crow’s feet dip down just far enough away from underneath his blindfold that you can tell whenever he smiles with his eyes. And he is smiling, after he cracks the joke. You’re also able to intuit when he stops smiling, as the depressions on his face smooth out into a careful blankness. You are thirty seconds too late to the punchline. Instead of laughing along, you remain damningly silent, and Yuuta shifts uncomfortably at your side. 

“Okay,” says Gojo, clapping his hands. “Alright.” 

Although you’re fully clothed in your school uniform, it makes you feel chillingly exposed when what feels like all Six of his Eyes bore into the collection of dark marks ringing your neck in a brutal, makeshift collar. Those were not, in fact, the work of a curse. 

Yuuta fidgets with the flimsy paper lining the examination bed. You kick your feet like a child in time out.

“You owe me seven thousand yen,” Shoko deadpans. 

“Hey! Didn’t we say forty-five?”

“Don’t kid around.”

Am I in trouble? The terrified plea swells to the front of your mouth, begging to escape. You force the words to sit, stay, and curdle on your tongue. 

“Can we go now?” Asks Yuuta, uncharacteristically direct. 

Given the odd gravity in the room, you don’t expect Gojo’s easy wave of his hand, dismissing the two of you with a flippant hum. Not having to be told twice, you hightail it out of the infirmary, grateful to be released from the constant invasion of privacy and security that is a prolonged existence within the reach of Gojo’s Six Eyes. 

Finally alone once more, the training grounds are a welcome reprieve for you and Yuuta, who crash into the grass clearing hand-in-hand, heartbeats synced. 

“Did we make a Binding Vow? When we…you know…”

Yuuta’s voice trails off, lamely. 

“What if we did? Would you regret it?”

“Huh? No, of course not! It’s just…well–”

“Well, what?” 

“That’s kind of permanent,” Yuuta whispers, dark pools of obsidian sorrow holding your gaze in its cruel, captivating clutches. “And we don’t know what will happen if it breaks.”

For one second, the rawness of it hits you. Fear washes down your back, prickling your flesh, raising goosebumps, locking your spine rigidly into place. The two of you had certainly made a life-or-death promise, infused with cursed energy and blood and…other…bodily fluids. To inadvertently perform a Binding Vow meant that the sheer intensity behind both of your wills was purely, wholly devoted to the promise. 

Which is why you take a step closer to him, voice steady. “I didn’t make that promise with the intention to break it. Ever.” 

He sucks in a sharp breath. “Don’t…you can’t be sure of that.”

“I am.”

“You won’t be able to guarantee it.”

“I will.” 

Familiarly calloused hands grab your shoulders, jostling you with charged intention. “You don’t get it! My favorite person in the whole world already left me once. If that happens again, I can’t… I don’t know…”

“Yuuta.” You don’t have to lay a finger on him for his entire body to stand at attention, drawing tall and taught, when you call his name. “I will never leave you, even if I die.” 

The ensuing kiss tastes like metal. 

Despite the passionate fervor with which he devours you, his mouth his cold, and his digits even more so as they dig into your cheeks, your throat, your waist, your chest, groping and pulling and kneading your flesh to loosen the rigor mortis that has arrested your willingness. 

“D-don’t, ah, make any m-more marks…” 

Your protest is, at best, unconvincing, the person least of all convinced being yourself, as Yuuta’s teeth and tongue on the tender flesh of your neck make you feel like you’re about to leave your body. “Hnng–Gojos-sensei already knows, I think.”

“Good.” He’s crazed, nipping and slurping at your sensitive soft bits like a man starved. “Let him know. Everyone should know. I shouldn’t even–” he kisses “–have–” he bites “–to say it–” he licks you in between speaking, as though it goes against the grain of his being to part ways with you for more than just a few jagged inhalations. 

The ground hits you hard, reprimanding you for your clumsiness with a firm impact on your backside. Yuuta pursues with haste, hands slamming down on either side of your head, ripping the grass in retribution. 

“Yuuta,” you hiss, hands flying to his dark mop of hair, trying to reel him back – in vain, of course. “We are outside. In the middle of the day. Anyone could walk by!”

“Don’t care.”

His eyes are glazed, half-lidded, pupils blown wide and deeply dark as a gunshot wound, uncaring of your anxiety as he attempts to dive back into you.

“Wait! What if someone sees me?” Now, he rears back. “I don’t want anyone else to see, Yuuta… only you get to see me like this.” 

Even the ants traipsing across the clearing stop dead in their tracks, rendered motionless, silent, at the abrupt onslaught of highly charged cursed energy that washes through every living and non-living thing within a five-mile radius. 

“Okay.”

Wordlessly, your world upends as you are thrown over a wide shoulder clad in spotless, wrinkled white. You’ve always thought it was funny – how Yuuta’s uniform never managed to permanently stain itself with any of the gore he frequently encountered, and yet, there was always a noticeable depression in the seams, ever-lurking, complicating the otherwise flawless expanse, evoking a sense of pity. 

Even when the shirt flies off, abandoned to crumple sadly in the corner of his bedroom, you can’t get its image out of your head. That spotless white. Those gleaming gold buttons dripping in iridescent rivulets down the front of the garment. Only within the intricate designs etched into their surface is one able to glean the barest hint of blood, staining the metal a pale crimson. If you weren’t looking for it, you wouldn’t notice it.

But you have always sought out his ugly, twisted parts. Even when he tries to hide. Even when he might duck from them himself. 

That’s okay. 

That’s why he has you. 

When he bites you so hard that the wound draws blood; when his palms squeeze around your windpipe so deftly that you lose vision; when pins down your bruised hips, ignoring their wriggling avoidance; when his unquiet nature makes itself known, eclipsing the carefully bashful performance he puts on for his peers so that he might be liked, or loved, even–that is when you feel most connected to him. That is when your affections burn brightest. 

And during the comedown, as he holds you close and rocks your brutalized body back and forth and back again, you are well aware that it is he himself who he seeks to soothe.

He doesn’t know, you realize, broken out of your post-coital mental haze with a pointed moment of clarity. 

Yuuta has no clue what lurks inside the haunted catacombs of his soul. 

What does it say about you, then, that his naivete only serves to further incense your want, smoldering like an inferno brewing at the base of a pyre, threatening to engulf your sorry corpse in entirety? 

;

As third year trudges on, instruction takes less time in the classroom, or on campus. More frequently, you find yourself out on missions from sun-up to sundown, running around Tokyo-to and even surrounding prefectures. The grades of the curses you go up against only increase with time, and so, to, does your proximity to mortal danger.

Through it all, Yuuta is present. Indignantly so. Despite your rank as a semi-special grade sorcerer, you have yet to embark solo on an assignment. The pair of you are one combative unit, at this point so intertwined in sentiment and instinct that rarely is it necessary to reach for verbal exchange while engaged in battle. It is as though the reserve of cursed energy you draw from is a pool shared between you, a combination of your innate abilities plus an additional overflow, supplied by the Binding Vow you had consummated all those months ago. 

So close are you, now, that Yuuta grows comfortable – confident, even – with your hold on his proverbial leash. These days, he is less neurotic when you inquire as to his whereabouts. Your prying questions provoke within him nothing other than a deep-seated sense of reassurance. He no longer doubts where he stands with you, as he once did when you were still a fresh-faced, mid-year transfer adjusting to life at Tokyo Tech. 

In retrospect, he recognizes that he should never have let his guard down.

It’s his fault, really. Entirely his fault. The extra strength provided by the powerful effects of the Binding Vow deluded him into a false sense of security. 

He shouldn’t have been so careless with your life. He shouldn’t have strayed so far from your side. He shouldn’t have let you out of his sight. He shouldn’t have left you alone, even if it was only for a split second–not even. 

Once again, he has failed to save the most important person in his life. Somehow, losing you is worse than losing Rika. He is no longer a child. He possessed both the skill and ability to save you. 

And yet, he had been absent in your time of need. 

The one time you’d been off on a mission without him. The one and only time. Principle Yaga’s sorry excuse was that the higher-ups found it strange that you, as a semi-special grade, had never completed a solo assignment. Apparently, your rank was being threatened if you refused any longer to display independent capability. 

Well. Now there’s no rank for you to claim, anymore. 

After news of your death reaches him, he roams campus like an aimless specter, as though he is the one who has been robbed of life. 

In a way, he has. Half of his being has perished. He limps, lopsided, dragging the phantom weight of your body with him wherever he goes. 

It takes a while to get used to the absence of your physical, living, breathing manifestation. As a fellow sorcerer, you have been wholly eradicated from the fabric of his reality. 

But as a spirit…?

Death is not enough to break a Binding Vow – this, Yuuta knows better than anyone. He retains his augmented cursed abilities, along with your presence. The two of you join once more in battle, as he summons you to protect and guard him in life as he failed to do for you. Your selfless nature has never been more clearly evident. Not a single call goes unanswered, not a single need of his unmet. 

Is this a haunting?

No, he doesn’t think so.

When the two of you had still been skittish and shy around one another, nothing more than a pair of innocently covetous children, you’d dared him to reflect on his relationship with Rika. What had been translated to him as a haunting, you reimagined as something more corporeal, something genuine, something worthy of gratitude, and love.

This is how he chooses to think of you – the both of you, together, still joined in perfect union. No matter the fact that you will watch him age, change, develop, and eventually die, one day, should he be so lucky. You do not haunt his waking hours. You do not terrorize his dreams.

You love him in a way that transcends the bounds of space and time.

He has not been cursed. Rather, he has been blessed with your unconditional love.

To earn true forgiveness, he must show you his, as well. You must occupy his every waking thought. You will invade his every intention. You are at the forefront of his mind when he rises with the dawn, and the memory of your breath against the shell of his ear whispers to him good night. You dress him. You urge him to sustenance. You machinate his combat. You heal his wounds. You wipe his tears when he sobs, alone, terribly alone, sobbing into his knees after each time the life of a friend meets a senseless, violent conclusion. 

You are still there when he wraps a rough, harried palm around his throbbing arousal, thrusting up into an elusive, now long-gone pleasure. You guide his hands’ journey across the hazardous dips and valleys of his rib cage, the grotesque concave of his stomach, the sharp blades of his hip bones. His skeleton threatens to crawl outside of his flesh. It yearns for something beyond this senseless cycle of bloodshed, grief, and rage.

 Never does he feel closer to salvation than when he is on the precipice of ecstasy, dehydrated, underfed, delirious, heart beating so fast that it limits his vision, his lung capacity. When he occupies this liminal space, it is not the brink of orgasm which he straddles. As he approaches climax, he yearns not for an explosion of wet heat, but for the euphoric embrace of a final ending: your arms around him once more, real, tangible, warm. 

Until then, he will trudge onwards. Miserably alive. Cold inside and out. Numb to physical pain, constantly inundated with the wounds inflicted on his spirit, his sentiments, his soul. 

Solace finds him in the fact that you committed to remain by his side, forever. How could he wallow in total despair when this remains true?

You chose this, after all.

You chose him.

You did. 

Didn’t you?

[amorelray]

New InuOkko Fic on AO3!🎉🍙💍

"Eventually, Yuuta clicked his phone screen off with a huff and tossed it next to where he sat on his bed. He didn’t want to torture himself every night- really, he didn’t. Yet, he somehow found himself in the same loop every night. The sun would set, he’d get ready to go to bed, and somehow, after staring at the ceiling for 3 hours or more, he’d finally try to comfort himself by looking at pictures from when he was at Jujutsu High. Then, without meaning to, he’d find himself going through the album he made specifically with Inumaki in mind. He scrubbed at his face, mourning over the fact that he always ended up there. He never meant to and part of him tried to avoid it, but naturally, he made his way back to thoughts of Inumaki against his better judgment. Yuuta developed a massive crush on his classmate during their first year, but he never felt like he could act on it. “Love is the greatest curse,” after all..."

This story was inspired by the song Cover Me from Stray Kids's newest album!🎶 I highly suggest checking it out!

Verse 1 & Chorus 1 -> Yuuta Verse 2 & Chorus 2 -> Inumaki

Updated: 11/25/23

"Inumaki’s smile grew, stretching from ear to ear as he felt the density of it in his hand. It really had grown and flourished under his care and a sense of pride swelled in his chest as he admired his handiwork. The only thing that could have made him happier was if... His smile slipped. That’s right, the person he would have wanted to share this with was halfway across the world, and the entire reason he had walked outside to clear his head in the first place. Inumaki released the leaf, letting his hand drop to his side, dejected. He mentally kicked himself for somehow letting his thoughts drift back to Yuuta again. It’d barely been 30 minutes since he left his bed, and yet, images of soft blue eyes that deserved the world and much, much more flooded Inumaki’s thoughts once again. He attempted to push them away, aware that divulging himself would only make the knife twist deeper. But, no matter how hard Inumaki tried, the absent classmate clouded his mind more and more with each passing day."

Enjoy!!🎉😊💙

[vera1794]

Yutamaki fic

"Home is where your heart is"

Chapter 01.🌸Seven Years Later🌸

[Welcome to Japan, where seven years ago you were heartbroken...]

Tags: Dark Okkotsu Yuuta, new sorcerer killer, Mystery, Twins, lies, double life

Ao3:

[joestarbuckss]

Recently discovered Cakeverse AU and it put my brain in a chokehold. Anyways, here is desperate and sad Yuuta pining over Toge (the norm)

[gorchards]

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: 呪術廻戦 | Jujutsu Kaisen (Manga), 呪術廻戦 | Jujutsu Kaisen (Anime) Rating: Not Rated Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Okkotsu Yuuta/Reader, Inumaki Toge & Okkotsu Yuuta Characters: Okkotsu Yuuta, Inumaki Toge Additional Tags: One-Sided Attraction, One-Sided Inumaki Toge/Okkotsu Yuuta, Inumaki Toge Uses Sign Language, Selectively Mute Inumaki Toge, Okkotsu Yuuta is Whipped, Inumaki Toge is a Little Shit, just a little though i think he's allowed to be, Pining Okkotsu Yuuta, Flashbacks, Roommates, Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - No Curses (Jujutsu Kaisen), Yuuta Okkotsu misses you so bad, Exes, you will get back together i prommy, Yuuta is spelled Yuta, Okkotsu Yuuta-centric, Inumaki Toge-centric Series: Part 2 of Love Lines Summary:

You and Yuuta Okkotsu have finally met up again after 4 long years of distance- and Toge Inumaki has been there for Yuuta the entire time.

[runabout-river]

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: 呪術廻戦 | Jujutsu Kaisen (Manga) Rating: General Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Okkotsu Yuuta/Zenin Maki Characters: Zenin Maki, Okkotsu Yuuta Additional Tags: Established Relationship, training for the Shinjuku Showdown, Yuta comes to grips with having a War God as a girlfriend, Maki threatens to set his boyfriend on fire if he ever changes bodies to a certain someone 

Summary:

They have one month to train before facing off against the greatest sorcerer of all time but Yuta hasn't managed yet to go all out.

Maki, or this new and perfected version of her, wasn't someone to take that kind of sloppiness easy though. As always, she's a harsh teacher.

Prompt fill for JJKaisen Action for Gaza.