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naughtyjjk · 2 months ago

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jjk men on the last day of no nut november

characters: nanami, geto, gojo, toji | fem x reader warnings: 18+, smut, dry humping, orgasm denial, tease, masturbation, dildo, creampie noo!! i meant to post this yesterday on nov 30 but i was really busy. anyway, here it is now. the scenario is: somehow, you and the jjk men have made it to the end of NNN. here's what happens just minutes before dec 1.

NANAMI...

he wants to complete this challenge fair and square. which means that it's 11:40 pm, twenty minutes before november ends, and he won't even let you touch him. he knows exactly how sensitive he is right now, how being deprived of sex this past month has affected him both mentally and physically. if he gives in even a little bit now, he won't be able to stop himself.

and he's so close to winning. only a few minutes away before it's december.

when you try to reach out to him for the fifth time tonight, nanami growls and grabs you by the wrist, pinning your arms above your head on the bed. he leans in to whisper by your ear, "no cheating."

the words make you shudder, only turning you on more as you feel his hot breath next to you. his voice is low and strained; he's holding himself back, too. somehow, that makes this whole situation even hotter.

you've both stripped down to only your undergarments: bra and panties for you, and boxers for nanami. this is the farthest he would let you go. if you took the next step, if you were completely naked, nanami is sure that he wouldn't be able to control himself.

"come on," you beg him. "it's almost time, anyway. we can—"

"no." nanami stands firm. "you wanted this, so we're going to do it properly."

groaning, you think about how it's so unfair. sure, you did suggest this challenge, but you didn't realize just how difficult it would be to avoid having sex for an entire month, how much hornier it would make you to have this restriction.

and it's not like nanami is unaffected, either. you see the way he's looking at you while his body hovers over yours, eyes wandering to where your bra cups your breasts, the smooth skin of your stomach. he wants it too, as badly as you do.

his boxers are tight, making his erection painfully obvious. it stretches against the fabric, wanting to break free from its confines, but nanami makes no move to pull out his cock.

he needs something, though—some stimulation even if it's not direct contact. through your clothes, nanami begins to grind against you, pushing your knees apart and dry humping you on the bed with quick rolls of his hips.

you moan brokenly when you feel his hard cock between your legs, pressed against your wet panties. even this is too much. he rocks back and forth, almost like he's already lost control of himself, rutting shamelessly into you.

you feel dizzy with arousal. you could come like this, if he keeps it up, especially with the way the tip of his cock is brushing past your clit, fuck, he's really going to make you come.

"ken—kento—o-oh my god—"

nanami's hips stutter as his rhythm falters, the pleasure building up for him, and he's almost there as well. his cock pulses in warning, brushing past your clit, a thin layer of clothing separating the two of you.

then—he stops suddenly, too soon, seconds before you're about to come. seconds before he's about to come, too. it leaves both of you right on the edge, denied of your orgasms, so fucking close to that sweet release, but unable to reach it.

"hah—hah—sh-shit—" nanami groans, voice low and raspy. he's still thrusting his hips a little, unable to resist his body's instinct, but never touching you again.

your pussy throbs. you're so wet and horny, panties all ruined, trying to pull him closer. "p-please, just—fuck me," you beg him. you need it so bad. "fuck me already—"

nanami's arms are tense as he holds himself up above you, pulling his hips away from yours. he's breathing hard, panting. his cock leaks precum, soaking his boxers and making a damp spot where the tip is. you can see him twitching, the fabric shifting with every movement of his cock.

fuck, you know that he's going to absolutely wreck you once midnight comes. you know he's been just dying to get his hard, aching cock inside you; to come as he moans in your ear and release a month's worth of pent-up sperm.

but for now, he only looks at the clock, clenches his jaw, and says, "ten more minutes."

GETO...

the two of you are sitting on opposite sides of the room, far enough that you can't act on the temptation of touching each other. but that doesn't stop either of you from touching yourselves.

"this is—fuck, this is a very dangerous game, angel..." suguru's eyes are dark and hungry, he drinks in the sight of you, naked, as your hands roam all over your own body.

you start with your breasts, massaging and squeezing them in your palms, circling around the sensitive nipples but not touching directly yet. getting yourself more and more aroused, body arching forward as you whine for more contact.

across from you, suguru is growing harder and harder by the second. his cock twitches and slowly fills out as he watches you tease yourself until it's standing proud, tall and stiff between his legs.

seeing it now, fully hard, is enough to turn you on, your pussy reacting to his arousal. you pinch your nipples between two fingers, gasping at the tingle of pleasure it sends throughout your body. "mm, suguru... your cock..."

he's touching himself too, holding his cock in a loose grip and stroking, masturbating along with you. he groans when your hands travel down your stomach, along your inner thighs, spreading your legs apart wide to expose your pussy.

"j-just imagine," you say, conjuring up the fantasy in your own mind as well. you use two fingers to circle your clit, unable to resist any longer, and moan at the feeling. "imagine your hard, aching cock sinking into my wet pussy. think about—ngh, fuck—my pussy clenching around you as you fill me up, stuffing me full with your cock. it'd feel so fucking good."

suguru is no doubt fantasizing about it too. his cock twitches, leaking more precum as he continues to pump himself. "fuck, you're such a naughty girl. once i get my hands on you—hah—i'll rub my cock against that pretty pussy of yours, let you feel how hard i am as i tease you until you're begging me to put it in."

whimpering, you feel yourself throb, getting wetter from his dirty words. "please—my pussy is ready for you, suguru." you spread your pussy lips apart, giving him a full view of your dripping cunt. "w-want you inside me already."

suguru groans in frustration, knowing that he can't have you yet. "god, me too. i wanna fuck you so bad."

it's too much; you need to feel something more, anything. reaching for the drawer next to you, you bring out one of your toys—if you can't have suguru yet, this will have to do for now.

"this could be your cock," you say, as you hold out a six-inch dildo and bring it to your lips. it's modelled to look like a real cock with thick veins along the sides. you kiss the tip of it, then trail down the shaft. "mm, you taste so good, suguru."

you lick the toy all over, flicking your tongue just under the crown. suguru inhales sharply, gaze darkening at the sight of you giving the dildo a blowjob. everything you do to it goes straight to his cock, as if he's feeling your mouth on him too.

swirling your tongue around the cockhead, you begin to part your lips, taking the dildo inch by inch into your mouth until the tip of it hits the back of your throat. then, you move—bobbing your head up and down, sucking on the toy while looking straight at suguru.

"f-fuck, yeah, take it." you hear suguru moan brokenly as he jerks himself off faster and faster, hips bucking upward into his fist. he looks so wrecked, chest heaving, his cock painfully hard and flushed a dark red. "take all of it—"

you moan around the toy, wishing that you had his cock in your mouth instead, wishing that you could feel his hardness and taste his precum; feel how he throbs from your actions, head thrown back when you swallow him down all the way.

after a while, you pull the dildo out of your mouth. suguru is squeezing the base of his cock, panting, too close to coming. he twitches once, twice, like he could burst at any minute.

you line up the dildo between your legs and rub it against your pussy, letting the cockhead brush past your entrance again and again. teasing yourself to feel the burning desire inside you grow even stronger. "s-suguru, i need you—need your cock—"

"christ, angel," suguru curses. his hand is moving again, stroking himself, unable to resist. you're both so turned on, so fucking horny that it feels unbearable. "fuck yourself with it. come on, show me what you really want."

at his command, you push the toy inside, crying out as it spreads you open and fills you up. you squirm on the spot as it bottoms out, hips circling around it to adjust to the sensation.

when you start to pull it back out, you moan, feeling it drag and drag and drag along your walls. you imagine that it's suguru there instead of the dildo—his hot, throbbing cock penetrating you repeatedly.

you tilt the toy a bit, aiming upward, and the effect is instantaneous: pleasure bursts all throughout your body as it stimulates your g-spot, thighs trembling from how fucking good it feels. "o-oh my god—suguru—"

and it's addicting; you can't stop aiming there now that you've found the spot. you get closer and closer with every thrust, orgasm building up at an alarming speed.

"t-take it out," suguru rasps. "you're only allowed to come from my cock."

fuck. your pussy throbs in protest as you reluctantly pull the dildo out, instantly feeling how empty it leaves you. suguru is still stroking himself, much more desperate now, his thick cock disappearing and reappearing into his own fist, slick and wet with precum.

you want him so fucking bad.

only five more minutes to go. the longest five minutes of your life.

GOJO...

he's not exactly fucking you yet, but what he is doing is sliding his rock hard cock up and down your pussy, rutting against you like he's been deprived of any contact. which is true—he's been deprived for a whole month. a whole month! god, he's so damn horny he can hardly think straight. he has no idea how he managed to hold off for this long.

but that's why, with only a few minutes before no nut november is over, he lets loose a little. the anticipation has been absolutely killing him; he's going to come harder than he ever has before. and he can't deny himself any longer, not when you're right there, lying on the bed and tempting him with your body.

"i can't—i can't stop my hips," satoru grunts, grinding against you faster and faster. he's losing control entirely, almost animalistic in the way he's moving on pure instinct, chasing after nothing but pleasure. "oh—oh fuck, baby, i need—"

every time his hard, throbbing cock brushes past your clit, you cry out, bucking up into him. you're just as far gone; a month without sex has made you so fucking desperate for it. "ah—! s-satoru, please—"

how is it still not midnight yet? how much longer do both of you have to endure this? shit, you don't know how much more you can take. a few minutes ago, you set an alarm to ring as soon as november ends, but it feels like hours and it still hasn't gone off.

and then—satoru's cock catches on your pussy, slides into you a little, no more than an inch. no more than just the tip. but it makes both of you gasp and moan—moan so loud that you're sure the neighbours could hear you. but you don't care.

satoru quickly pulls out before either of you get too close, his cock resting on your pussy now. you can feel him hot and throbbing, about to burst at any moment. your pussy throbs, too, both of you pulsing against each other, begging to feel it again.

but no matter what, you can't come yet. fuck. fuck.

still, you buck up helplessly and say, "a-again. do it again. please."

not even a second later, satoru has his cock lined up by your entrance, panting as he forces himself to go slow. his cockhead sinks into you and you clamp down on him, refusing to let him go. your back arches, moans falling from your lips as his cock stretches you open.

satoru pulls out, then pushes in again. out, in. out, in. over and over—the shallowest, most torturous thrusts you've ever experienced. but it's all you can take now, both of you dangerously close to the edge for anything more. if he thrusts into you all the way, the full length of his hard cock filling you up, you'd come for sure. just the thought of satoru fucking you properly, fucking you deep, gets you so aroused that it makes you dizzy.

"feels—hah—feels too good," satoru grunts, picking up the pace. he's losing himself to the pleasure again, hips moving uncontrollably. "ngh, shit, too fucking good. i can't—i'm not going to last—f-fuck—"

BRIIING! the alarm goes off.

you both pause, looking at each other. it's 12:00 am exactly. december 1st.

satoru snaps. without warning, without any more delays, he plunges his cock into you, bottoming out deep inside you. the two of you moan at the same time, and then he's fucking you, pounding his cock with urgency and desperation and a month's worth of being denied.

there's no time to catch your breath. you can feel satoru's cock hitting you fast and deep, filling you up, throbbing hot against your walls. he's panting into the crook of your neck, sucking on the smooth skin there. both hands flick at your nipples, playing with the hardened nubs, applying just enough pressure to make you arch into his touch. it's all overwhelming; you feel pleasure throughout your whole body, orgasm approaching fast.

when you clench around satoru with his hard cock buried deep inside you, his pace falters. he chokes out a moan and it sounds so wrecked, so arousing. you moan, too. you're both so fucking close.

"coming, coming, c-coming—"

TOJI...

throughout the month, as the days went by, toji has become more and more cranky. it's obvious that the challenge is really getting to him, putting him in a bad mood no matter what he's doing, and he's never abstained from sex for this long before. never been sexually frustrated to this degree.

there's so much tension between the two of you, and it's only a matter of time before someone snaps.

about a week in, toji starts to work out a lot more, mostly as a distraction. even at home, he's constantly doing different exercises—push ups, sit ups, planks, bicep curls, squats. not that you're complaining, of course. it gives you the opportunity to see him shirtless, to see his toned body glistening with sweat after every session.

as a distraction, though, it doesn't always work. he comes up to you after, pins you against the wall, and says, "i can't fucking stand this anymore. i need to get laid." his voice is strained. the shorts that he wore for the workout does nothing to hide his raging erection. "i need to fuck you."

it's not easy to resist him in that situation at all. his lips are hovering right next to yours, and you have to hold back from reaching out and touching his abs, pressing your hips together until you're grinding into each other like you so desperately want.

still, despite all that, you reply, "no."

and he stomps away, slamming every door in the hall, cursing. you take a moment to yourself too; it's not like you're immune to this, either. your pussy throbs with need, dripping wetness onto your panties. if you had been any weaker, you would've given in right there without a doubt.

when the last day finally arrives, november 30, toji doesn't give a shit about the technicalities anymore; whether it's 11:00 pm, or 11:30 pm, or 11:59 pm, it's all the same to him. he's done with this stupid challenge, tortured himself enough by holding back all month (for what, he doesn't even know; it doesn't feel like he gained anything from it), so he deserves this now.

toji has you bent over the nearest surface, cock already buried in your pussy, grinding into you filthily like he's trying to make both of you come as fast as possible. the abstinence really got to him, delirious with only a single goal in mind: to get the release he's been denied of for so damn long. a whole fucking month's worth of come just waiting to be released from his balls.

they feel so hot and heavy, weighted down by how much has accumulated since the start of november. and his cock—fuck, he's never been this hard is his life. it has a mind of its own, so horny and desperate, standing rigid between his legs and weeping with endless amounts of precum that spill out from the tip.

"t-toji, wait," you try to tell him. "it's not—ah—it's not time yet."

"what's the problem?" he asks, not stopping at all. "all you have to do is make sure that you don't come until midnight. there's no rule saying that i can't fuck you before then."

and... he's right, technically, but how the hell does he expect you to hold back when he's pounding into you so fast and rough? it's like he's fully given in to his primitive instincts, fucking you like a wild animal, hips snapping into you over and over.

"i can't—" you gasp as toji's hands reach around to grab your breasts, squeezing them, flicking your nipples. "feels—feels too good—"

"yeah?" toji asks, panting. "doesn't sound like a problem to me. means i'm fucking you real good."

you can't argue with that. moaning, you try to fight against the pleasure, but it's a losing battle. "w-wait, toji—ah—i'm close—"

"come," he tells you, voice low and sultry and so fucking hot. "just let go if you want it so bad. c'mon, be a good girl and come for me now."

a shudder runs through your body as a fresh wave of arousal hits you. fuck. you're trying your best to hold back, you really are, but it's impossible when toji is whispering right next to your ear, his warm breath on your skin as he repeats the word over and over again: come, come, come.

the assault is constant: toji's hips slamming against yours, his hard cock going deeper and deeper with every thrust, brushing against your g-spot. it's overwhelming when one hand slides down to find your clit, rubbing the sensitive nub with his skilled fingers. you arch into his touch, moaning brokenly, unable to escape the pleasure. your body betrays you as you feel yourself tipping over the edge,

"fuck," toji groans and it's clear that he's at his limit too, thrusts growing erratic now. "gonna come—"

the feeling of him pulsing and pulsing, spilling everything inside you, is what makes you come in the end. it's so much, weeks of stored up come spurting out from his hard cock, finally getting the release that he so badly needed. you clench around him as he rolls his hips, milking every last drop, the two of you riding out your orgasms together.

toji pulls out and his cock gives one last twitch at the sight of you stuffed full of his come, white and sticky as it drips out of your pussy. you're both still breathing hard, all the tension gone from your body.

god, you've never come so hard in your life. abstaining from sex for a month only made it that much more worth it in the end.

turning your head, you glance at the clock. 12:00 am. it's by pure luck that you came exactly at midnight, somehow managing to complete no nut november despite toji's ruthless teasing.

you vow to never do it again, though. not with toji. there's no way you could survive another year of NNN with him.

tag list: @megumisdivinedogs @urlilwhore @l0rdgeosupport3rr @purple-obsidian @l0rdgeosupport3rr @minni-creations @fos-tis-zois @the-reas0n-is-y0u @cantfeelherface @rxmbzzz @lysaray @zelzablues @str4wbrrycandy @that-goth-bisexual @simping4u @iminlovewqr0w @sharks31 @pseudowho @jisoonunn @outkasti @anathemaspeaks @fushigur0slut4 @barryatsumu @d0nk3y-k0ng @shasaaa15 @wil10wthetree @maskedpacific @genshingeeksworld @itsnotmelo

i'm going to cry tumblr is not letting me tag people so i'm sorry if it didn't work for you :( (comment to be added)

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sensitive-neuvi-enthusiast · 1 year ago

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Cockwarming them

How the jjk men are when you warm their cock with your pretty pussy.

Nsfw. MDNI. Fem!reader.

Gojo

This man is a tease, through and through. He'll sit you nice on his lap, long fingers settling on your thighs as he gives you a a smirk. Or if he's got you facing away, he'll rest his chin on your shoulder. "Ya feel that baby?" And then he'd thrust up inside you, but would still your hips before you could move. "Nuhuh, that's not how the rules go, you can't move!" He'd chuckle and continue to tease you throughout the whole process. But don't worry, he's teasing himself too. He'll fuck you eventually.

Getou

He loves it. And likes making a little game out of it. Seeing who will cave first and beg the other to just fuck already. But he doesn't play fair. Teasing you in all sorts of places. Pinching your nipples, sucking your neck, whispering in your ear, "you feel so fucking good around my cock." His finger teasing at your clit. The only thing he wouldn't do is thrust up inside you. Then you'd lose too easy, and it's not fun that way. Even though you lose every time.

Nanami

I can see him doing this both for fun and for relaxation. Or when you're too needy and he's busy, he'll set your pretty little ass on his lap. Bury himself inside you and let you rock your hips a little. He'd let you get off that way, just don't disrupt his work. Sometimes when he's stressed he'll ask his girl to just, "I need your pussy, it calms me down." And of course you don't deny him. Sliding yourself easily down his length, kissing his neck. Anything to help your stressed out lover.

Chosou

One word; needy (bet you didn't see that coming.) Are we surprised? Once he found out what it was and how it could be a fun experience for both of you, he asked to try it. But you knew how sensitive he was, so he always lasted roughly twenty minutes before begging you to move. Or to please let him cum inside you. "You're too warm, hot, feels too good..need it." He'd whine and beg, sometimes tears would form in his eyes. And you couldn't deny him, you'd end up riding him until he shot his sticky cum inside you. Wiping the tears from his cheeks as you gave him kisses, "Maybe next time, love." You'd say.

Toji

Mean. Is all I can say, this man would be down right evil about it. But you don't mind, you wouldn't be with him if you did. He'd always make sure you could see yourself. Whether in front of a mirror or holding up his phone. He'd make you watch yourself squirm on his lap, his big dick deep inside you. But you couldn't do anything but use your fleshy walls to warm him. "Pretty little thing, ya wanna move so bad, don't ya? Too bad. Gotta keep my cock warm f'me."

A/N: Don't ask me how many times I've thought of these scenarios♡♡

#jjk smut #jjk gojo #jjk x reader #jjk #jujutsu gojo #jujutsu kaisen smut #jujutsu kaisen choso #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen headcanons #jujutsu kaisen #gojo x reader #gojo satoru smut #suguru geto smut #choso x reader #choso smut #nanami smut #toji fushiguro smut #°•brainrot•°

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satorusugurugurl · 10 months ago

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JJK Men: Finding Your Toys

Characters: Geto Suguru, Gojo Satoru, Nanami Kento, FAB!Reader

Word Count: 4,952

Warnings: Sex toys! Dirty talk, squirting, smut, videotaping, degrading, holy heck, it’s spicy

A/N: This had me feeling things; I loved writing this. Each one of these hit differently, in the best ways. 😏

MDNI!!!

Geto Suguru:

“Suguru!” You called out from the kitchen, standing on a stepstool dusting the tops of your cabinets. “Can you do me a favor, please?”

Popping his head into the kitchen, Suguru stared at the curve of your ass peeking out from your shorts. “Anything for you.” He watched you stand higher, ass bouncing just a bit.

“Could you grab me the spring decorations? I put them on the bed.”

“On it.”

Ah, spring cleaning. A single day of the year, you deep cleaned your shared apartment. You were donating clothes and books, pretty much decluttering. Then you cleaned everything: floorboards, vents, every crevice. You always felt better after it was done. Plus, with Suguru helping you, you did it in half the time. All that was left was to put up the windchime and new throw pillows.

Then you both could relax.

Suguru was looking forward to a long shower and takeout food. Maybe if you weren’t too tired, he could have you for dessert. Before anything like that remotely happened, he needed to finish the task at hand. The bag was right where you told him it would be. Yanking it off, Suguru turned only to hear something hit the floor.

“Shit.” He cursed, watching your water bottle roll under the bed. Bending down, Suguru reached for the runaway water, only to feel the corner of an extended storage bin. With a tug, Suguru pulled the mysterious box out, his eyes widening as he stared at the transparent container.

Sex toys galore were inside. Glass dildos, clits suckers, vibrators, regular dildos. The sight nearly rocked Suguru's back as he opened the lid, glancing at the cleaned and organized toys. His cock throbbed painfully as he picked it up, putting it on the bed.

So this was what you got off with when he was on a mission. He hummed, picking up a vibrator and turning it over before grabbing a glass toy. It was long and had a large orb on the end. A g-spot toy. Did you use these to make yourself squirt? Have you squirted without him?

The first time Suguru made you squirt was when you both first started fooling around. His mouth was on your clit, fingers hammering against that spot until you screamed, soaking the sheets and his face. You freaked out at first, profusely apologizing. But your words were silent as Geto went feral, wanting to see you squirt again.

He didn't stop until you were nearly fucked out of your mind. All you could say was: “D-Didn't know I could squirt!”

“Suguru!” Your voice called out from the kitchen. “Did you find the bag?”

“Oooh, I found something alright.”

His tone had you turning your head towards his voice. “Oh? Was it the fairy lights? I thought I forgot to grab that bag at the store.” Your boyfriend hummed.

“I mean, a few of these light up.”

Okay, the man was definitely up to something. You finished up what you were doing before treading down the hall. As you turned the corner into the room, you froze like a deer in the headlights. Your toy bin was out, and Suguru was eagerly digging through it, a smug smile on his face.

“Ah!!” Bolting across the floor, you snatched the toys away, throwing them back inside before reaching for the lid.

Suguru chuckled, grabbing the lid from you and tossing it. “Oh no, you don't! We're not putting this away.” With your plan foiled, you held your arms out to block his view.

“No! It's embarrassing.”

“Embarrassing?” Looking at your boyfriend, your cheeks flushed as he pulled his sweats down an inch. He's showing you the bulge in his boxers. “It's fucking hot.”

The humiliation slowly began to fade, a fire replacing it. “Really?”

Suguru nodded while digging in the bin. “Yeah, I like seeing the stuff you get off with.” He pulled out your g-spot dildos and vibrator. “Trying to make yourself squirt?” The knowing smirk on his face left you a blushing mess as you glanced away, nodding in response. “Did you do it?” This time, you shook your head.

“I don't think I'm doing it right.”

You felt Suguru behind you before you heard him. “Oh? Maybe you should show me~?”

One heavy make-out session later, you sighed softly as you slowly thrust the glass toy in and out of your dripping pussy. Suguru was on his stomach between your legs, watching you like a hawk. The glass toy rubbed against the sweet spot inside of you perfectly. The sensation was almost too overwhelming.

“C-Can’t.” Your legs clenched together in an attempt to ease the throbbing.

“Yes, you can.” Hands grabbed your thighs, forcing them open. “Stop closing your legs; I can't see.”

With an almost pained whine, you kept thrusting the toy in and out of your cunt. It was tight, so tight, your walls were hugging the toy, making it difficult for you to thrust it in and out. You were getting so fed up with this. Glaring down between your legs, you chewed on your bottom lip. Every time you tried to make yourself squirt, this happened. You'd get tired and annoyed before tossing the toy to the side with an irritated growl.

Suguru was focusing less on your dripping sex and more on your face. You were frustrated, focusing too much on the task at hand. You were never going to cum like that. So he gently wrapped his hand around yours, helping you with the pacing of the thrusts. The warmth of his hand and the subtle change of pace had you tilting your head back.

“You need to relax,” Suguru whispered, pressing hot kisses against your thigh. “You’re too tense. Stop focusing so much on the mechanics of it and more on the sensation.”

Letting out a trembling exhale, you relaxed, focusing more on how the toy slid in and out of you. Frustrated groans turned into low whimpering as Suguru sucked at your skin. Fuck, this felt so good, like when Suguru would finger you. The familiar coil tightened in your abdomen. The same tightening you usually felt when you would squirt.

“Ah, ah fuck.” You arched your back off the bed, pussy throbbing around the toy. “Fuuuuck, Suguru~!”

“Yeah, feel good?” He asked, still gripping the toy. “you’re getting the hang of it. It would help if you did a little of this—” he bit his lip in concentration, curving it up more. When he did that, you saw the entire universe. A scream escaped you as the toy rubbed perfectly over your g-spot. “there it is; you just gotta curve it a bit.”

“Holy fuck! Holy fuck!” Your legs began trembling as they began to shut.

Suguru sat up, growling as he shifted his body, preventing your legs from closing completely. “I thought I told you to fuckin’ stop doing that.” All you did was whine in response. “Ah~ too fucked out of your mind to even notice? God, you're so fuckin’ cute.” The hand he had on top of yours set a fast pace. “You're almost there, don't stop~ good girl~ good fuckin girl~!” the sweet praises had you speeding your hand up, making your boyfriend chuckle in surprise. “Oh, Y/N, you want me to praise you more~? You get off on that?” When you whimpered, he cooed. “My pretty princess is doing such a good job fucking her pussy. Are you going to cum? Gonna cum for me, princess?” Your boyfriend's freehand began rubbing your clit.

“Y-Yes! Fuck ohhh fuck!” Tears formed in your eyes as Suguru grinned, letting go of your hand. Watching as you sped up, not needing his direction anymore. “I-I’m gonna, gonna cum!”

“That's it, squirt for me. Make a mess, princess. Ooh!” Suguru scoffed, sitting back as you convulsed, squirting all over the bed and him. His hand rubbed your clit, extending your orgasm, making you squirt even more. “Fuck~! Look at you, making a mess, you nasty slut.”

Suguru made sure to watch you. The way your body slowly came down, hips against the mattress as your eyes fluttered shut. The subtle way your hips jerked, trying to evade his hand, which was now drawing gentle circles around your clit.

You were so damn beautiful.

Hungry, starved eyes bore into yours, his chest heaving as you pulled the toy out. “S-Sugu?” Your timid voice didn't seem to break his trance. “Baby? You okay?” Instead of responding, Suguru answered by grabbing your hips and flipping you so your face was in your pillow. “Mmmph!”

“You did okay,” his voice was dark, gravely, “I'd give you a five out of ten.” All you could do was listen, tensing up when you felt the tip of the glass toy prodding your entrance. “But I think you need a demonstration.” You couldn't even respond as the toy was shoved back inside of you deeper than you could have managed on your own. “Maybe, just maybe, if you cum hard enough, I’ll fuck you.”

Gojo Satoru:

The smell of freshly baked cookies wafted from the oven as you pulled the hot tray out. The viral cinnamon roll cookies smelt as good as they looked. While placing the cookies on the cooling rack, you heard footsteps hurrying down the hall. Seemed as though Satoru’s nose was as keen as ever.

“Am I the best girlfriend ever or what?” You tossed the oven mitts on the counter with a fist pump. “Not only do I bake, but I suck co—” Turning on your heel, you were about to wink at your boyfriend, only to find him towering over you.

His face was flushed, and his smile was as wide as could be as he smirked. “When the hell did you get this?” Gojo dangled your pink, blue-tooth bullet vibrator in front of your face.

“Satoru!!!” You reached for the toy, only to have him yank it out of reach. “Give it back!!” Satoru shook his head, holding the toy above his head, making it impossible for you to reach it now. “Toruuu!!!”

Satoru was as excited as a child at Christmas. He was practically vibrating (not from the toy) with horny energy. What a fucking find! All you asked was for him to grab the blanket from the closet! When he pulled it out, the box to his new friend fell.

“The box said I can control it with an app?! An app on my phone?! Oh my god, this is great!” He promptly held the box with his other hand, reading its functions. “Long distance play, waterproof, and it syncs to music and sound?!” His white brows furrowed in disbelief as his grin widened. “Y/N, why didn't you tell me?!”

“Because it sucks.”

All of the excitement on Gojo’s face vanished. “Sucks? What do you mean it sucks?!” His cerulean eyes darted from the toy in his hand before focusing on you. The pout he was sporting was almost impressive.

“It sucks, Satoru.” Pushing past him, you headed for the couch. “I tried syncing it to my playlist. It didn’t get me all hot and bothered. I even tried using the sound function. The app syncs to the sounds of porn videos, or any sound in general, but they just.” You shrugged a shoulder, plopping down on the couch. “They were so phony that the vibrations were so weak. I hated it so much that I didn’t see the point in telling you about it.”

Something about what you had said had Gojo blinking in silence. “You synced it up to some random porn video online?”

“Yes, Toru, and like I just told you, it sucked.”

“Right, but you watched two rando’s do it?” Something in the tone of his voice triggered your sixth sense. The danger was approaching, and it was in the form of your very horny boyfriend.

“Y-Yeah?” What should have been a statement was more of a question as Satoru dangled the toy on his index finger with an almost sadistic smirk. “What are you getting at with this?”

”Ah, you see, dear Y/N, my sweet perverted girlfriend.”

”Hey!”

Gojo crouched, twirling the vibrator around his finger like his house keys. “The problem isn’t the toy.” His pink tongue darted out, wetting his bottom lip. “It’s the content you’re viewing. You need something more—personal.”

”Ah! Ah! Fuuuck! Fuck!”

The toy deep inside of you buzzed at an intense speed. “Holy shit!” You cried out, your hand squeezed Satoru’s cock tight.

“Take my fucking cock.” Satoru’s voice from your television was sultry while the Satoru beside you wheezed out a laugh.

“Fuck, easy baby, you’ll break my dick.” Peeling your eyes away from the television screen, you tilted your head back against the couch, your Y/E/C eyes focusing on Satoru’s throbbing cock. “See, I told you it was the content and not the toy.”

He was right about that. When he suggested you put on the porno’s the two of you made together, you didn’t have high hopes. But holy fuck were you wrong. Your moans, Satoru’s dirty words, god it god it got you going, along the vibrator was buzzing like mad inside of you. Firmly pressing against your g-spot, teasing it as you watched Gojo fuck you into the mattress.

Satoru decided to join you for ‘research,’ wanting to see for himself that the toy sucked, as you said it did. Little did he know that you were going to start stroking him as you both watched yourselves on the screen. He rocked his head back as your thumb rubbed gently circled over his slit.

“Y/N fuck, playing with my pre like that.” his hand slid over, rubbing circles over your clit that had you jolting. “You're so pretty when you're feeling good. Such a good girl~”

His voice next to you was a sharp contrast to the Gojo on the television. He had the camera turned to his face. He was sweaty, biting his lip as he slapped your ass hard in the video. “You're such a nasty girl~! God fuck, grinding up against me on the dance floor, telling me you were soaking wet in the car.” Another sharp slap had both of you in the video and on the couch whining. “My dirty fucking slut, couldn't wait to get dicked down, could ya’?” The vibrator buzzed louder, your toes curling as you watched the screen. Slapping skin, whines, and guttural moans had your vibrator buzzing like a beehive.

“Hey, look at me~” Turning to look at Satoru was so hard from how hard you were jerking. “You're so beautiful~ do you like your toy now? You love it?” Please say you do, please, please, please. Satoru begged in his mind as you jerked his cock harder. If you liked it, it would make phone sex a million times better.

“Toru, Toru, yes, feels good~ love it~!” Fuck you were close. Your moans were beginning to meld in with your moans from the video. Louder, desperate, and ducking porn worthy. “Toru wanna cum, wanna cum with y-you!” Satoru gritted his teeth, eyes darting to his cock, that you were jerking off like a crazed woman.

“Yeah, ah, pretty girl, I’m close~ cum with me, okay? Be a good girl and cum~” The Satoru on the television snarled as he came, while your

Satoru whimpered, thrusting into your clenched hand until ropes of hot sticky cum painted your hard and his clenching ab’s. “Cumming, of fuck yes, I’m cummin’!” He cried out in time with his television persona.

It was the combination of the vibrations, Satoru’s fast circles over your clit, and watching yourselves cum that had you gushing around your new favorite toy. You screamed, eyes rolling back into your head. You came all over the couch. Fuck when was the last time you came that hard? It was probably when you and Satoru made the video you were viewing.

“So,” Satoru asked between pants, “does the t-toy still suck?”

You didn't answer his question. You instead grabbed your phone with shaking hands, typing on the screen. Satoru was about to ask what you were doing when a little chime went off. You tossed your phone to the side before gently pulling the toy out of you.

“Aw, done already?” Satoru’s cocky voice cut off as you straddled his hips. “Y-Y/N?” You cupped his face, turning it to the side, allowing you to kiss down his neck. “Fuuuck baby.”

“Mm,” Kiss after kiss trailed down his neck, “no, I love it~ I love it so much I just bought you the matching fleshlight.”

Satoru’s large hands gripped your hips, massaging them. “Oh really?” He gasped out as you sucked and bit the crook of his neck, marking his ivory skin. “A-Are you gonna make me watch the same video when it gets here?”

“Oooh, no.” Satoru watched as you grabbed his phone, propping it against the lamp beside him. “We're making a new video,” Satoru whines louder, wincing as you bite him harder. “Oooh, good boy~ Toru~ be extra loud for us~ that way, the vibrations are super strong.”

Nanami Kento:

The second the elevator door opened, Nanmi bolted out, running towards your shared apartment. He was nearly breathless from all of the running he had done in an attempt to get home as fast as he possibly could. Fuck, if only he could teleport like Gojo, maybe his heart wouldn’t be pounding inside of his ears in fear and panic.

He had been meeting with Yaga at the school when his phone went off, alerting him of your text. You were constantly sending messages throughout the day. Asking how he was doing, what he would like for dinner, or if he needed anything while you were out shopping. He did not feel like he deserved to have someone like you in his life.

His blood ran cold when he read the screen, his heart dropping into the pit of his stomach.

Y/N: I need your help; please come home ASAP!

The second those words processed through his mind, he was moving. Telling Yaga there was an emergency and he needed to hurry home. Every single terrible thought rushed through his mind at once. Was there a cursed spirit chasing you? Did one of the students get hurt? Were you hurt? He needed answers to the questions that were on a constant loop in his mind.

“Y/N!?” Nanami yelled out as he entered the apartment, slamming the door behind him. “Y/N?!” No traces of cursed energy, a sign of intrusion, or blood was in sight.

”I-I’m in the bedroom, Kento.” Immediately, Nanami knew something was off with your voice. It was far too timid.

When he walked into the room, he expected to find something terrible awaiting him. Much to his relief, you were laying in bed, a blanket covering your lower body propped up against your pillows. That’s how he had left you this morning and countless other times. Either you received some bad news from your family, or there was something his observant eyes were missing.

”What happened? Are you okay? What’s the emergency?”

Your face twisted from unreadable to one to a pained one as you shifted slightly. Anyone else would have missed it, but Nanami knew everything about you. He moved so fast you gasped as he crawled on the bed, looking you over for injuries.

“What's going on?” the stern tone of his voice made this ten times more embarrassing.

You brought your hands to your face, rubbing them gently as you tried to find your words. “I-I uhm—” Peeking through your fingers, you found Nanami staring at you with that serious look. “It, uhm, it's stuck.” Could this day get any worse? God fuck, this was mortifying.

“Stuck? What's stuck, Y/N?”

“M-My toy.”

“Toy?”

Not wanting to get into the details of your activities, you sighed, slowly pulling the blanket off. Laying on the bed beside you was a bottle of lube, and as you spread your legs, Nanami hissed at the sight. A toy, one he had never seen before, was lodged inside of you. It was thick; it made your poor pussy throbbed and twitched around it. Your wet slick glistened around it.

Nanami sighed, looking away from you, trying to keep some composure. Fuck you looked so hot, but a twinge of insecurity hit him in the chest. Nanami loved using your toys on you. He didn’t see them as competition; they were more like allies. He’d do anything, use anything to make you feel good. You both were very good at communicating your needs and wants with each other. If you were horny, all you needed to do was ask him.

Even if you wanted to masturbate, he had no issue with that at all! He encouraged it. Nanami Kento was not one of those men who saw you pleasuring yourself as a hit to his ego. He bought you a lot of the toys you shared. Kento wanted you to be satisfied and happy. That’s all his heart desired.

But something about this stung. It wasn’t because he was hurt that you didn't ask for help. You were not required to tell him if you were horny or needed help. Nor was it the fact that you were getting off on your own. What it was was the fact you were in pain. You had hurt yourself. That’s what stung me the most.

“Kento?” The stoic look on his face said everything without the use of words. “Baby, look, I just, I—!”

Kento said nothing as he stood up, walking to the dresser. He shrugged out of his suit jacket; his suspenders stretched as he took his watch off before rolling the sleeves of his blue dress shirt up to his elbows. Nanami, not saying anything was more stressful than him yelling at you. The room was too tense; it was thick and suffocating as Nanami turned around, getting on the bed.

His hands slowly slid up your thighs, spreading them apart. “Let’s get this out of you.” He nearly whispered before glancing into your Y/E/C eyes. “Ready?” You nodded, giving him the approval to proceed. His hands gently grabbed the base of the toy, tugging it.

“O-Ow.” You winced, watching him closely.

Nanami clenched his jaw at your pained whine. “Did you not use enough lube?” Gently, he twisted the toy before pushing it back into you.

“Ah~!” A loud moan escaped you, hands covering your eyes. “N-No, I d-don’t fuck, ah fuck, c-could you maybe not push it back in?”

A blonde eyebrow cocked at your request. “Do you want this stuck inside forever?”

“No. I’m sorry; I’ll shut up. Fuck this is embarrassing.”

“Mm.” Nanami sat up on his knees, looking over you. “Keep your legs open.” You pouted, doing as he said, while he twisted the toy inside of you, watching your reactions closely. You withered under him, pleasure starting to replace the pain. “You should have known better, or you could have warmed yourself up a little more.” He chastised, twisting and pulling at the snug toy again.

Your hands gripped the sheets, fisting the fabric. “N-Nanami, please don’t scold me.” You whimpered, cheeks flushing under his gaze. “J-Just ah, fuck, take it out.” From the mixture of embarrassment and lust, your voice had a tone; one Nanami didn’t care for.

He clenched his jaw tight. “It’s not coming out because you pushed it too far in! So now I have to work it out!”

You whined louder; this was not the way you thought this would play out. You bought this toy for both of you. “Oh my god! Just fuckin yank it out! This is so fucking embarrassing! I wanna die right now.” You laid your elbow over your eye, hiding your teary gaze from him.

“I’m your boyfriend. Why is this embarrassing?!” It wasn’t often that Nanami snapped at you, but your attitude was getting under his skin.

“Because!! I ruined the surprise!!” You removed your arm, showing him your teary gaze. Nanami’s eyes went wide. “T-This is the custom toy we made. It was delivered this morning, and I freaked seeing how big it was. I wanted to see if it would fit because I didn’t want to ruin tonight. But I ended up ruining it anyway.”

Honey-brown eyes darted towards the toy. Kenton wasn’t able to tell from the base. But upon further inspection, he recognized the custom marble coloring of blue and yellow the two of you picked out when you designed it. The one that he had all added ridges and bumps, especially for your pleasure. You were doing a test drive for him. All for him.

“Y/N, love,” he smiled softly, “you didn’t need to do this. You wouldn’t have messed anything up. We could have taken it slow. Just because it got here didn’t mean I would want to use it. I would've helped ease you into it. Besides, you didn’t ruin anything.”

You were wiping at blubbering tears, only managing to smile and nod in agreement. It was so relieving to know you didn’t ruin the experience. Things would be perfect if this toy weren’t stuck inside of your pussy.

Nanami leaned down, pressing his lips against yours, kissing you deeply. “Mm Y/N~” Feeling his lips against you had you moaning as you kissed him back. Nanami pulled back, his cock throbbing in his pants. “Alright, let’s get this toy out of you. But I need you to put in some effort.” You hummed, nodding eagerly.

“Okay, how can I help?”

“Be good,” Nanami commanded before fucking the toy into you.

You threw your head back, turning it from side to side as the custom ridges and bumps hit your g-spot perfectly, just how Nanami had designed it. Your toes curled, thighs shaking as you gasped out cries of pleasure. Nanami smirked, listening to the squelching sounds of your pussy.

“Fuck, you like that? Your pretty cunt sounds like she loves it~.”

“Ah, fuck, yes!! Nnngh!” You gripped your pillow, staring at him through your lashes. “B-But I want you more~! Please, I want to feel you.”

“Yeah, you do?” His voice was full of faux curiosity. “But Y/N, you were bad.” His eyes were dark as he twisted the toy he fucked in in and out of you. “You got yourself into a situation, didn’t you? One that you had to call me to come fix.”

Your eyes were wide, pupils dilated, fixed on him. Fucking hell, he looked so fucking hot. Eyes dark, eyes focused on the toy he customized for you. You needed him inside of you. You needed him to be the one rearranging your guts. Slowly, you slid your foot over, rubbing your foot over the hard bulge straining in his dress pants. The contact had him hunching over, jaw-dropping as he groaned.

“Please, Ken~ I need you. I need you so bad.”

He was breathing heavily, glaring down at you. “Fine.” He yanked the toy out, chuckling at the gasp you let out as the giant toy popped out of your cunt. “Do you need me?” His hands quickly moved, undoing his belt before tugging them down as he slotted between your thighs.

“Yes Kento, I need yo—oooh!!!” Nanami’s cock slammed into you before you finished your plea.

“You feel so fucking good.” Kento tilted his head back, hips slamming into you at a pace that had you seeing stars. The veins in his neck popped out as he gritted his teeth. “Holy fuck, your cunt is so wet! You were feeling it, weren't you?”

You weren’t going to last. You were already so close. Nanami wasn’t doing any better himself. His cock throbbed deep inside of you as he set a brutal pace. Slamming in and out, fucking you as deep as he could. The tip of his cock slammed against your cervix. It was a painful pleasure that had your mouth dropping in an ‘O’ shape. God, you might die. This was too good.

Nanami grabbed your face, jerking your head to look at him. “You look at me when you cum, you fucking hear me?” His mouth was on yours, tongue sliding against yours, capturing every whine and moan you made as his cock slammed into every sweet spot.

As much as you wanted to close your eyes, you obeyed Nanami’s instructions. Y/E/C on his as you screamed into his mouth. You came, squirting, whining, and crying. Nanami pulled back, face flushed as he growled like a fucking incubus. Feeding off of you, your orgasm, every part of you. Feeling you cum, seeing that fucked out expression plastered across your flushed face. It had Nanami cumming so hard. His balls clenched as he emptied his seed inside of you, painting your walls.

“Fuuuck, Y/N, fuuuck.” His hips slowed, his hands gently massaging your hips as he laid down with you. His arms wrapped around you, spooning you close. “I love you, god, you’re perfect.”

Breathing heavily, you giggled, relaxing in his arms. “I-I love you too.” You lazily smiled as you ran your fingers over his forearms, tracing shapes. “Thanks for saving me, Kento.”

His chest vibrated with a rich chuckle, lips grazing your neck. “Anything for you my love.” His lips pressed against your cheek, and you knew he meant every word.

2K notes · View notes

m-ayo-o · 1 year ago

Text

jjk char reactions;

"hey baby, welcome home, what have you eaten today?"

"not much" :(

very hungry reader had no time to eat all day! fluffy + crack ish. just the main guys. older yuji + megumi. reader likes a lil spicy food. toji + megumi had some kind of relationship. soft sukuna [suggestive right at the end]

satoru gojo

totally overreacts

he'd find it amusing at first, seeing your pouty, hangry face

he will tease and goad you for being so hungry, with numerous belly pokes and cheek squeezes and saying you look cute like this

he'll pause his blabbering just to hear your tummy rumble and gurgle so he can laugh at you some more

after he's eventually finished mocking you and realises just how hungry you are, he'll pat your head and offer to get you something yummy

proceeds to teleport all over the city to collect your favourite dishes from numerous restaurants

comes home with way too much food, all packaged up in fancy boxes and bags- he can barely carry them all

of course, he got his favourites too- eats with you till you're stuffed

"You had THAT??? All day? Angel, baby, how did you survive? Aww, baby's so hungry she can't even fight back. Oh! You really are- oh, you can't stand up? Ok, just sit down here let me get your favourites. Just tell me what you need, I can get anything you want."

nanami kento

gets slightly annoyed then proceeds to mother you like you're his baby chick

he gets a bit worried; he really cares about you and needs to know you're looking after yourself

if not, he will do it for you

he will get out his cook books, have you flick through them and make a choice for your starter, main and dessert

he'll sit you on the kitchen counter while he makes the most wholesome home cooked meal, that he proceeds to serve beautifully !!!

oh, and of course, he won't be letting you feed yourself ever again- starting from tonight

he'll be taking the food to your mouth himself, just to make sure you eat it all

"That's irresponsible, honey. I can go back to making you packed lunches if you want? It really wasn't that much hassle. Ok, right, we can talk about that later. Just sit up here- yep, good girl. We have lots of fresh ingredients so just tell me whatever you want. Oh, you like my cooking? Good, well let me take care of you."

suguru geto

he's endlessly patient with you

like kento, he will be mothering you <3

he asks what exactly you've eaten in the day while stroking your belly gently

he presses sympathetic kisses to your forehead in the hopes to wipe that miserable expression off your face

of course, it works, and he takes your hand and guides you to the living room

he'll lay you down on the sofa, bring you your favourite drink and get you cosy and comfortable

he'll give you one more kiss before leaving for the kitchen

he puts on his apron and waits on you like you're his damn goddess

"Baby, come here, you've got all hangry now. Come on, I need to see your pretty face smiling ok, don't look so grumpy. Just take my hand, yeah come here. Just sit tight, I'll make your favourites, ok? Mm, does that sound good? Ok, good girl, just wait here for me."

toji fushiguro

condescending, belittling, bit mean

but still gives you the goods... eventually puts on his 'best dad' apron that Megumi got him as a joke but he secretly loves it

spanks your ass for banter but nearly makes you fall over

picks you up over his shoulder when he realises what kind of state you're in

plonks you on the sofa and strolls to the kitchen

he's not rushing around for you, he doesn't show you much sympathy in his words- but the food he gives you... says it all

places a little kiss on your cheek and tells you to enjoy the meal (it's so much that you will be full for all of tomorrow as well)

"What? That's nothing, doll. What's up with you? You didn't have any cash? No time, huh. 'kay, well since you're too dumb to prepare food for the day yourself guess I'll have to do it now, hm. Jesus- 'soon as one kid grows up and moves out, looks like I've got myself another one huh? Right, you're not my girl. And I'm not your daddy?"

megumi fushiguro

acts as though it's not his problem- which it really isn't but you're feeling so needy that you just want him to buckle this once and show you some sympathy

you have to spell it out for him that you want him to help you

but once he understands that you want him to take care of you, he feels this odd sense of pride that you're asking

and of course, you've tasted his cooking before- he's amazing and you'd love to encourage him to do it more often

he knows what you like already, so he just cooks in silence and serves you the most delicious meal, filled with all the right spices

it doesn't blow your head off, but gets your tongue tingling in the most satisfying way

once you're done he tidies up immediately and asks if everything was alright

feels more relaxed now you've got everything you need- curls up on the sofa with you and snuggles all night

reminds you to eat well by text every day from now on

"Uh huh. Right. Are you going to make something then? What are you looking at? Oh, you want me to do it? Uh, ok, sure. I suppose I'm not too bad at cooking. Good, I'm glad you liked it. Sure, I can cook for you more often."

yuji itadori

like satoru, flaps around and overreacts like crazy

accidentally makes it worse by talking about all the delicious foods he'd like to eat right now if he were hungry

apologises profusely when he hears your belly rumble and immediately offers to buy you take out

starts to feel sorry that you've had such a hectic day that you couldn't even eat properly

carries you to the sofa like you're his princess and lays you down there with your favourite show on tv

shows you lots of affection and sympathy <3

sits with you and gives you little kisses till your food arrives

"What!!! I can't even imagine how hungry I'd be if that's all I ate! Are you kidding??? That's crazy, there are so many yummy places to eat out there sweetie, you couldn't choose or something? No, oh you just didn't have enough time? Oh wow, you must've been so busy baby, let me order something for you right away!!"

ryomen sukuna

he'd act like the most annoying dad at first

proceeds to chastise you like you're some kind of idiot for not being able to get a good meal all day long

teases you for what feels like an eternity, making shitty jokes about how many mouths he has to feed

finally lets up when you get on your knees on the kitchen floor to start raiding the cupboards

picks you up and you cling to him like a lil baby monkey, trying to kiss his tattooed face when he sets you on the sofa surprisingly lovingly

he just pushes you off and heads to the kitchen

he's never cooked for you before, but it's surprisingly good and you eat it all so quickly he chuckles and offers you dessert by tugging at the waistband of his pants

"Silly girl, can't even take care of herself. Ok, ok, chill out. I'm only kidding, let me do it. Here, you really are a useless brat. Just- no- lie down if you can't do anything else. Yes, I'll make something for you. Whatever. O-oh, you're still hungry...?"

reblog if ur hungry lol also idk what happened to me with this one- will never write fluff again haha

2K notes · View notes

jjkilll · 6 months ago

Text

-—✫UNTIL THE END OF TIME | JJK✫—-

warning: this is completely fictional. this story details personal injuries infilicted upon a main charater. reader discretion is advised. please read all warnings before proceeding. 18+

— pairing | ex-fiancé/idol jungkook x y/n

— summary | six months after you two broke up, you realized life's too short to not hold each other until the end of time.

— warning | personal injury (car accident), mentions of blood and surgery, a coma brought on by personal injury, mentions and the planning of marriage, pwp (big time), smut, reader giving jk a handjob, cum eating(?), spit(?), ass slapping (jk can't control himself)

— word count | 3.9K

— song | until the end of time - justin timberlake (this is gonna ruin the tour)

— a/n: flashback in bold, enjoy!!

——-—-—-—-✫-—--—-—-——

your phone rings waking you quickly. you at up answering your phone. “i’m sorry to wake you, is this y/n l/n?” a man asks through the phone. “yes, is there something wrong?” you ask eyes barely open.

“unfortunately, yes. i’m dr. hill, your fiancée has been in an accident. will you come down and provide some extra information for me?” he asks sincerely.

“what?! is he okay? is he awake?” you sit up. “um, i think it’s best if i share this news in person.” your heart drops.

you stand quickly throwing on some clothes. “i’m coming. i’m on the way.”

you and jungkook had been broken up for six months. you broke off your engagement. he really didn’t want you to go.

——-—-—-—-✫-—--—-—-——

you asked him to go with you to ask your friend to be in your wedding. you planned a lunch and jungkook never showed. you watched the clock tick and the time pass and nothing but radio silence. you tuck the handwritten letters back into your bag.

you got home and jungkook was passed out on the couch. you woke him, “hey go get in bed.” he stands barely awake, and walks into the bedroom flopping down onto your bed.

you walk past him into the bathroom. “where were you?” he mumbles. “lunch with my friends.” you say simply, taking the pins out of your hair.

“until 7 pm on a thursday? what for?” he asks. you sigh continuing to take your hair down from its high ponytail style. you don’t say anything until he groans lifting himself on the bed walking over to the bathroom door and standing in the frame. “what's wrong?” he asks you cluelessly which angers you. “nothing.” you say very monotone.

“you’re mad. why are you mad?” you don’t say anything and continue looking at yourself in the mirror. “i’m not.” you say simply. “ you aren’t even looking at me.” he grabs at your waist and you pull away. “stop.” you say moving away. ��can you just tell me what’s wrong? i’m too tired for this shit.” he spits and that’s your final straw. you we so upset with him, that you didn't say anything at first trying to make sure you didn't say anything you didn't mean.

“today was the day we were supposed to ask my friends to be in the wedding and you didn’t even show. i sat there like a dumbass checking the clock hoping you’d show up. you didn’t. you didn’t even call. so yea, it’s very fucking clear that you’re too tired for this shit.” you motion back and forth between the two of you.

“you know damn well that’s not what i meant. i’m sorry babe, things just got so hectic today,” he explains.

“then a text would have eased my mind,” you spoke.

“i was busy, baby. what do you want me to say? you know what i do prepping for a comeback isn't easy.”

“whatever jungkook.” you dismiss him not trying to get more upset.

“did they all say yes?” he asked sitting on the edge of the tub. “i didn’t give them the letters.” you say simply. “why not?” he asks. “because i need more time.” he raises his brow. “for?” he presses.

“to think. see if this is something i even need to do.” you spit.

“what does that mean?” he asks standing up beside you. “jungkook, you haven’t put your input in. you haven’t seen the venue. you don’t care about the colors and you can’t even show up to a fucking lunch. yes, i know how hard it is to prep for a comeback, but planning a wedding by yourself is bullshit. we haven’t had sex in four weeks. you don’t want this relationship as bad as i do.” you explained.

“i want you more than anything.” he says. “then you’d make time! you'd act like it! i don’t ask for weekly dinners, and i don’t complain when you get home at 3 am and leave at 6 am. but, this is different. this is our marriage. i can’t help but think this is what our marriage will be. i’ll just keep waiting on you to find a balance for this shit, the whole world gets everything you got and i just get your last name. i sit at home and watch you create a life without me. that’s why i need to think jungkook.” you finally turn and look at him.

your eyes brimming with tears. “baby, i’ll figure it out i promise. it won’t be like this forever.” you shake your head as your tears fall. “you don’t know that. you know know your job is ever changing. i love you, i do, and i know how much your job means to you. i would never ask you to choose me over your job, but i make time for you even in my schedule. i’m a personal assistant for an idol. I’m gone just as much as you are.” you explain tears choking you up. he pulls you close and you sob in his arms. “what's wrong with me? why can't you make time for me?”

you take a deep breath, “i can’t do this anymore.” you realize he’s crying too. “don’t say that. please don’t say that.” he begs. “i’m sorry jungkook.” you back away from him. you hate how quick he is to let you go. you twist the beautiful ring jungkook gave you months ago, off your finger. you place the ring in his palm. “please,” he looks down at you. “i’m sorry.” you say walking back into your bedroom. you walk into your closet grab clothes and shove them into a duffle. “you don’t have to go tonight. just stay.” he pleads.

“i’m sorry, baby, please. please don't leave.” he cries. you move faster sobbing, you hated hearing him cry. your chest is heavy, as you cry so hard it’s hard to breathe. he walks into the closet and hugs you tight. “please don’t leave me. i don’t want to be alone tonight. please if you want to leave i have to be okay with letting you go, but i want you, i need you to know that I'm not giving up on us. just one more night. stay with me one more night, let me know you're not giving up on me.” you cry. you want to fall apart. “okay.” you say. he hugs you and doesn’t let go. he holds you so tight and so sure. his hands are shaking as he pulls you in. you get this feeling in your gut, you need space and so does he. one night only.

he finally lets go and holds your hand. you strip yourselves of your clothes and lay in bed holding each other, both of you praying this wasn’t the last time you'd hold each other so close.

——-—-—-—-✫-—--—-—-——

you arrive at the hospital. “jeon jungkook.” you speak to the front desk clerk. “relationship?” she asks. “umm, he’s my-my fiance.” she types quickly as you flash your id. “room 613,” she says.

you speed to the elevator taking it up to the sixth four. you look around the floor and run up to the door. you look through the small cut-out of glass. he’s just lying there, an oxygen mask on his face. tears start to pour from your eyes.

“oh my god” you back up starting to panic. “ma’am?” a doctor calls. you turn. “i’m doctor hill. are you his fiancee?” you nod. “yes, please tell me what happened.” you beg. “unfortunately, he was on the expressway southbound, and it seems that he lost control of his motorcycle, he ran into the back of a semi. he’s helmet saved him from any brain damage, but he is having a hard time breathing on his own as he’s punctured his left lung. he hasn’t woken up since we put him under anesthesia, the surgery was a success.” he explains looking at the file in his hands.

“he’s in a coma?” you ask. he nods sincerely. “he is alive and stable, but we aren’t sure when he will come out the the coma, it could be days, maybe months.” you began to sob. “i’m so sorry.” your soul is fading, it was hard to believe. you walk back up to the glass. you stare at him and curse yourself for ever leaving his side. you open the door and walk up to him. you just look at him, and tears fall. he has a black eye and some stitches about his eyebrow.

“i’m so sorry, baby.” you sob quietly. you hold his hand and sob harder when he doesn’t do the double squeeze he’d usually do. you kiss his cheek. “i’m not going anywhere. i’ll be right here i promise.” walk to the other side lay down your purse in the chair and push it to his bedside. you sit laying your head beside him. you gripped his hand and held it tightly.

you didn’t realize that you had fallen asleep until a nurse awakes you. “i’m sorry, here’s his belongings.” she hands you a clear bag with jungkook’s stuff inside. grab the back sitting up and opening it. his jacket was covered in blood, which made your eyes brim. his wallet you noticed something poking out of it. you pulled out a small polaroid of you and him on your first date. you wore disguises and went to six flags. you’d ask another couple to take the photo after you got off the batman ride. you smile reminiscing about how much fun you both had that day.

at the bottom of the bag is a chain with a ring on it, your ring. it was covered in blood as well. you sob, the nurse turns after checking on jungkook. “i’m so sorry ma’am. is there anything i can do for you. are you hungry? coffee?” you shake your head thanking her anyway before she leaves.

you undo the chain sliding your ring off. you hold it up walking over to the sink, washing and drying it, your tears still falling. you slide the ring onto your finger, holding it close to your chest. you walk over to your chair sitting and laying next to him again. “please wake up. please.” you beg.

you wish you never left his side. this was your fault, you thought to yourself. somehow, some way you had a feeling you could've stopped this.

——-—-—-—-✫-—--—-—-——

it had been three weeks since the accident. you were at the hospital every day since. you called your mom to pack a bag for you with everything you needed. your boss a friend of jungkook’s understood, telling you to take how long it took for jungkook to get better.

“good morning aundra.” you speak to the nurse you have grown closer with since being there. “morning darling!” she says cutely. “i’m happy to see you in a better mood today.” she speaks. “yea dr. hill says jungkook can breathe on his own. he’s getting stronger.” you explain. “i know. you’ve got a trooper on your hands for sure.” she smiles.

a few hours later you’re on facetime with the boys telling them how much jungkook has been progressing since they saw him the first time. they sigh a sigh of relief. “he’s so strong guy. we know he’ll be back and kicking as soon as he wakes up. you nod, telling them you were going to try to sleep before the next nurse came to check on him telling them you’d talk to them later.

you lay your head on his lap looking at him. “my pretty boy. you’re so strong. you know i never understood this part of you. you take on so much and come back so strong. you are otherworldly, baby.” you kiss his hand and stand going to nap on the bench across the room. you lay down slowly drifting to sleep.

——-—-—-—-✫-—--—-—-——

you wake to some talking. “how long has she been here?” you hear a low familiar voice. “3 weeks. every day since the accident. this is the longest she’s slept.” you hear a female voice. you turn your eyes fluttering open. you see jungkook sitting up stuffing his mouth with food.

“jungkook!” you scream running over to him hugging him tightly and he groans. “oh im sorry! you’re just you’re awake. my god youre awake. i’m so fucking happy youre okay. jesus please you scared me half to death.” you hug him sobbing. he hold you tight. he swallows his mouthful of food. “hi baby, im sorry im just so hungry.” you giggle looking at him and pecking his lips.

“you were here this whole time?” he asks. you nod. “everyday, 24/7.” you smile. “thank you. i love you.” he looks at you pecking your lips again. he hold both your hands feeling your ring on your finger his eyes shoot down. “you put your ring back on?” you hum. “yeah… i did. i should’ve never taken it off.” he smiles.

“where were you even going?” you ask him, now you must know. he bites his sandwich and swallows before speaking, “your house. i had taken two weeks off of work, i wanted to show you i was serious. i talked to my manager, and he told me, that if i start doubling down every other day it’d speed things up for us, meaning more free time. more time for us.” you smile at him your eyes spilling with tears. he was on his way to you. you were happy he was thinking of you just as much as you were thinking of him. unfortunately, though you can't help but feel like this was your fault. you shake the thought as he grabs your hand, you interlock fingers.

“i love you so fucking much. so so fucking much jungkook.” he kisses your cheek. “i love you more baby.” he says biting his sandwich. “i heard hospital food sucks, and this could just be because i haven’t eaten in three weeks, but this sandwich is fucking amazing.” you giggle.

“oh i have to call the boys.” you speak wiping away your tears. “i talked to them earlier.” jungkook says. “how long have you been up?” you ask raising your brow. “45 minutes or so, i just didn't want to wake you. the nurse said you had barely been sleeping,” he said.

“duh! my fiancé was unconscious in a hospital bed. if someone sleeps peacefully during that, lock them up and throw away the key.” you state. he chuckles lightly.

“i like when you call me that. it feels good to hear that again.”

“what fiancé?” you ask. he nodded cutely.

“so what are the colors?” he asks all of a sudden. “colors of what?” you ask. “for the wedding. what were you thinking?” you smile and sit beside him. you quickly pull up your pinterest board showing him all your ideas. he didn’t show it but knowing you kept them, comforted him.

“white arch? it’ll clash with your dress.” he points out. “oh. oh my god, you're right! we could do green, maybe like ivy leaves?” you suggest. “i think that’ll be immaculate with my grey suit, too. yea, it’ll look amazing.” he adds.

“you already did so good without me baby.” he says. “but it’s clear that i need you. i would’ve been crying for days about that fucking arch.” he chuckles. “i’m still so stuck on flowers.” you pout. “well dr. hill says i have six weeks to recover before i can’t start schedules again. we have time.” he says. you kiss his cheek fluffing his hair.

——-—-—-—-✫-—--—-—-——

for the first time in six months, you walk into your shared apartment. your pictures still hanging on the wall, everything exactly where you left it.

you lay in bed next to him. he wraps his arm around you pulling you in. he kisses the top of your head. “the bed was so cold without you.” he whispers. “i’m never going anywhere ever again.” you peck his lips.

“i need you. i haven’t gotten a good rest in ages, my sleep paralysis started to act up again. just laying in the hospital room with you i slept more than i have in the last six months.” you say. “you just make me breathe better.” you express.

he pouts it hurts him to hear how badly you were struggling. “i was suffocating without you. i love my job but coming home to you made me feel like i won the lottery. i didn’t realize how much i had won until i lost it. i will not fuck it up this time. winning the lottery once is just luck, but twice is a sign.” you giggle rubbing your nose along his.

“i missed you so much, baby.” he says. “trust me i missed you more.” you reply. “impossible.” he whispers before kissing you deeply. you hum into the kiss, the way he kissed you makes your body tingle. you nervously bury your face into his chest. “you are so cute, why so shy? it’s just me.” he smiles. “you just got that effect on me. you make me feel like a teenager, kicking my feet and daydreaming and shit.” you mumble into his chest, he giggles brightly.

“kiss me again,” you say looking up at him. he obeys quickly kissing your lips. jungkook never found the idea of sucking someone’s tongue until he met you. the way you kiss him had a tent quickly growing in his pants.

he hums. “i’m so hard for you right now.” he states pecking your lips. you lightly push him away tutting. “no physical activity for you sir. dr. hill told me it’s imperative that don’t do anything that requires too much physical activity, for your lungs. so no sex right now.” you explain. “what?! come on. i haven’t felt you in months. now i have to wait even longer?” you nod and he groans throwing his head back in frustration. suddenly an idea pops into your head.

“what if…” he hums letting you know he's listening, “ i give you a handjob?” you whisper. “be serious, babe. don’t tease me.” he whines in his last sentence.

you giggle sliding your hands down his sweats. you stroke him slowly. you quickly look up at his licking your fingers before swirling them on his tip. “oh shit. that feels good.” you continue stroking him at a steady pace. “fuck” he mutters. “i wasn’t trying to cum this soon.” he chuckles nervously. “it’s okay baby. give me your cum. i want it so bad” you say teasingly.

he moans biting his lip. you stroke him faster, “just like like that, ohh shit.” you groan. you stroke him just how he likes. he kisses you deeply as you stroke him. “you are so fucking hot.” he whispers. you kiss him again lightly tugging on his bottom lip. “i’m cumming.” he mumbles moaning as he shoots his thick load onto your hand and in his pants. you slide your hand out covered in him. you look at him licking his cum off your knuckles. he looks at you in awe. “mm” you hum lightly flashing him a smile.

“i just want pick you up and fuck you.” you giggle at his bluntness. “jungkook.” you laugh. “what? the way you were just looking at me when you licked your fingers, you know if i was in full health right now i would be fucking you so good.” you smile pecking his slips. “one week.” you said simply. “that’s how long dr. hill said.” you explain. he looks at you, “you think it’s possible to sleep for a week?” you pinch his nose with your fingers. “yea you were sleep for three. no more sleeping for you sir.” he giggles.

“let’s shower.” you say patting his cheek. “oh definitely, you just made me cum in my pants.” he starts to move but you stop him.

“i’m sorry.” you say for the millionth time. “for what?” he questions. “for not believing in you when you said you'd figure it you. i should’ve,” you say simply. you hold back the tears that are making your throat close up.

“look, i know things were difficult, but i knew that night when you stayed, you weren’t giving up on me. on us,” he corrects. “ you stayed by my side for three weeks. you brushed my hair, you talked to me, you gave me a sponge bath. you always believed in me. this accident was not your fault, i need to understand that.” you pout your eyes threatening to spill.

“nuh-uh, no more tears. it’s only up from here, my love.” you hold his close. his thumb wipes away your tears that fall. “now let’s get in the shower.” he pats your butt before moving and standing up quickly. he groans leaning back onto the bed. “woah, take it easy, baby.” he huffs. “i’m not used to be this slow.” he chuckles.

“in all due time. trust me next week you’ll feel much better,” you explain. he nods as you help him stand. “i got you, babe.” he groans standing. you walk into the bathroom and he leans against the sink. you help him take off his shirt as his shoulder is in pain. “you’d look so hot in scrubs.” he says admiring you as you help him.

“oh hush.” you giggle. you help him take of his pants, his semi hard cock spring out. you look up at him. “what?” he whines. “you’re still hard?” you tease. “yes! i just thought about how you look naked.” he spoke. you laugh. you lift your shirt off and undo your bra and your tits bounce out.

“see? and you expect me not to be hard right now?” you giggle turning around and turning the shower on. “okay you first.” he steps in letting the hot water hit his skin. “hurry up.” he rushes you. “have some patience,” you say raising your brown jokingly. you slip off your shorts and step in. your back faces jungkook as you reach for your shampoo, and suddenly a slap hits your ass. you stand quickly. “jungkook.” you warn.

“what? come on. your ass was on full display, it was the urges inside me.” you chuckle. “that wasn’t me, i didn’t want to slap your ass, but the parasites in me wanted to slap your ass.” you laugh loudly. “shut up!” you chide jokingly.

you apply soap onto a washcloth, and start washing his chest. “i wanna get married tomorrow.” he says suddenly. “what?!” you almost yell. you look at him in disbelief. “i don’t even have a dress.” you explain. “then let’s go thrift one. i realized that life is too short, and in this lifetime i need you to be my wife.” you smile, but you don’t say anything. “what if… we get married tomorrow, and we still have a wedding. we can still do it big, when we actually get married it’s just us. me and you like i will be forever.” you suggest. you smile at him. “okay.” you say. “okay like you're just doing it for me or you love the idea?” you chuckle as you realize his small panic. “i love the idea. just me and you.” you say.

“forever,” he adds.

“and ever, until the end of time.” you grin, finally everything feels good. you stand in front of your soon-to-be husband, excited for what the future holds.

——-—-—-—-✫-—--—-—-——

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just4koo · 1 year ago

Note

Hii! How are you doing? Can you please write hurt to comfort with Jungkook, when he walks out to cool off after an argument and Y/n thinks he left her? :)

i'm doing well, i hope you are too! i kinda got carried away on this request and wrote a lott of angst haha... (it hurt my heart)

never go to sleep angry - jjk.

summary: one of the most important rules of your relationship was to never go to sleep angry. when the rule was ignored, it led to an argument and a huge misunderstanding.

word count: 5.0k

genre/warnings: established relationship, a lot of angst, comfort, misinterpreting words, argument between them, y/n feels really shitty, mutual confusion, cute ending though

-- ˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ --

There was one rule that you and Jungkook always had set up in your relationship. It was one of the reasons that you two were able to stay together for so long. How you had gotten through so many tough times, arguments, and disagreements. One thing that you two agreed on for the past 4 years you had been together.

Never go to sleep angry.

Even though it seems like something that may not matter too much, it had always worked for you two. Being in a relationship meant disagreeing on things. Relationships could be hard, but loving Jungkook was always easy. He made all of the hard times worth it. There weren't many things the two of you fully argued about because of this one rule. Communication was key in your relationship, and the two of you were always able to deescalate the situations so they wouldn't blow up.

It was the rule until now, it seemed.

If you had realized the way that you were making your boyfriend feel, it could've turned out so different. He hadn't spoke up about it because he knew how stressed you were. Later hours at a job meant that you didn't have time for the things you used to. After covid wiped through the world, your company had taken a huge hit. Budget cuts meant people being laid off of their jobs, and the ones that weren't fired got their work loads doubled, or even tripled.

Your job was a work at home -- returning late from work hadn't been the problem. Even if it was, Jungkook knew. He understood how consuming work could be, but he had been working crazy hours everyday since he was 13. He knew how his schedule worked and how to arrange things to make time between the two of you. This workload was new for you, and so he didn't get angry when you were stuck to your laptop for hours after your scheduled workday ended.

It was more of the way you dealt with the stress that got to him. Being stressed meant that you had been getting more irritable. If he tried talking to you when you were working, he was met with a dry "mhm" or a short look that told him you weren't interested. If he tried actually getting your attention, he would just receive snippy answers. He was trying to be understanding, but that also meant ignoring the most important rule of your relationship. Just like you tried to prevent, everything blew up.

"I've just been stressed out, Jungkook! I thought you said you understood!" You shouted at your boyfriend. What had turned into a simple conversation about him asking if you could spend your free day going on a date for the first time in a couple months had turned into this argument. You wanted to take the single free day off to rest your fingers from typing until your fingers locked up, he finally felt the festering irritation out, and it wasn't turning out pretty.

"I do understand, _____! If anyone does, it's me! You've been thinking about yourself this whole time! I try to be nice, I try to be understanding. You just shut me out! Just because you're stressed out or having a hard time doesn't mean you're allowed to treat me this shitty!" You were almost speechless as you listened to him vent to you about his feelings. You had been trying to justify yourself, but the longer this argument continued, the more you realized how you had been treating him.

"I tried so hard. You only try to push me away now. I've always had draining schedules, but I never took it out on you. I knew that this whole thing was new for you, I gave you time to adjust. But I just can't stand this anymore!" Jungkook groaned, putting his face in his hands. You had become ignorant about how your boyfriend felt, trying too hard to explain why you were treating him this way. He had enough of this. You were angry right now, and anger led to you being irrational.

He knew that he needed to get out of the house before the two of you said anything else you regretted. He didn't want the two of you to be blinded by anger and the best thing to do was to cool down. He tried to take in a deep breath as he turned around to walk towards the coat rack. You watched in disbelief as he started to put on his coat and lace up his shoes. Was he really walking out on the argument?

"Are you serious right now!? You started this argument, and now you're just trying to walk away from it?!" You accused him, crossing your arms over your chest. All Jungkook did was shake his head to himself. If you wanted to be petty, then it was only fair for him to do the same. He wasn't going to let himself be a personal punching bag anymore.

"You're right, I am walking away. I can't do this, ______. Get your shit together." You only scoffed at what he said, rolling your eyes in annoyance. Too consumed by your own pride, you didn't say anything as he left, didn't try to stop him. If he wanted to walk out, that was his problem. You felt like you had an excuse for the way you had been. You hadn't even realized how badly your treatment had gotten.

You spent most of the day grouchy now, too sidetracked to focus on your work. The argument happened pretty early in the afternoon, meaning you got most of the day to think about it. You knew he was going to come back before it was bedtime, or at least you thought you knew. Because it had been the most important rule, right? So you spent the whole day trying to formulate an argument to use against him.

The longer you thought about it though, the more uneasy you felt about the situation. It was growing later and later with every passing minute, and there was no sign of your boyfriend. No text or call, no jingling of his keys in the doorway, not even a text from his brother asking what had happened. Him and his brother were very close. He was usually the person Jungkook went to whenever you got into arguments, and his brother had even helped the two of you. He always texted when Jungkook showed up at his place, but there were no notifications.

You had already taken your nightly shower and was sitting on the bed in silence, huffing to yourself. He was being too petty, you thought. Why couldn't he just understand that you were busy? He was one of the busiest people in the world after all, he should be understanding that you didn't have hours of the day to dedicate to your relationship anymore like you used to be able to do.

While stuck in your thoughts, you sort of froze. He was one of the busiest people in the world. He had countless shoots for music videos, songs, magazines, variety shows. Your boyfriend was a member of one of the most renowned music bands. He spent almost everyday practicing and even spent nights in the studio trying to perfect things. If anyone knew what it was like to live a busy life, it would be him. You'd seen how busy his schedules, how full they were. He had something almost everyday.

Yet he still made time for you.

You recounted all the times he had come home tired from work or exhausted from a performance. The days he returned with a frustrated or irritated expression from something that happened at work. Not one of those times did he ever take it out on you. He never let things that happened outside your relationship affect how he treated you. Before covid happened, he would be gone even more. Even though he had more time after the pandemic, things were getting back into motion.

He shared how overwhelmed he had been with everything. 2020 had been a break that he didn't even know he needed. He loved his fans, loved his band. But even then, he was still human. Not a machine that could work and be pushed through his schedules. When everything shut down, it meant him also being locked in his house and quarantined from everything. Now that there had been vaccinations and the urgency of the virus had died down, he was thrown right back into everything he had gotten used to being away from.

He had an album releasing soon, and it was taking a lot from him to get back into the flow of things. But he never blamed you for it. Before your job had you working crazy hours, he never got angry whenever you called him during his practices or came to surprise him at his workplace, taking away from his rehearsal time. Because it wasn't your fault for wanting to spend time with him or see him.

A pit was beginning to form in your stomach as you stared down at your lap. All of those times where you interrupted him from his work, you never realized how frustrating it could feel. Not until now when you were also working hard to produce quality work. You thought about all of the times he might've been irritated because he was trying to practice or so close to getting something right, and you came to stop him.

Yet every time he saw you, he was so excited and treated you with love. Even if you were distracting him from his job of performing in front of millions, even billions. Yet you had been doing the exact opposite. You were blaming him for wanting to spend time with you. Mad at him just because he wanted some time with his girlfriend. Fuck, you had been an idiot. Created an unnecessary argument just because you forgot to appreciate him.

You immediately reached for your phone, pressing the contact at the top of your favorites list. It was late now, almost 9pm, and you were worried. You wanted to at least see when he was coming home so you could be sure to stay up until then. You wanted to follow through with your number one rule and wait for him. You wanted to be waiting by the door when he came through to apologize to him.

Frowning when the call immediately went to voicemail, you were almost sent into a stupor. He always answered your calls, no matter what. It was strange for the phone go straight into voicemail, because in his car he always had a phone charger. One quick glance out of your window was the confirmation you needed, he did take his car.

He had his charger with him. Did that mean he was ignoring your calls then? The phone didn't even ring before it went to voicemail, quicker than any person could decline a call. You weren't someone who worried too easily, but whenever something didn't feel right it made you extremely anxious. This was one of those moments right now. There was something off about the whole situation and you didn't know.

You tried his phone at least two more times, and the same thing happened. Not even a single ring. Every time you were met with the voicemail the two of you had recorded together a couple years ago, the giggling one you recorded with him saying that if he wasn't answering the call, he was probably too busy with his beautiful girlfriend. Your heart hurt when you heard that. How much things had changed scared you.

You went to text him, sending a few messages asking if he was okay. You stared down at the notice that the message had failed to send, the frown in your face getting even deeper. You went back into your contacts app, calling his brother instead. To your short relief, the phone was ringing. But after a few long rings, the phone also went to voicemail. You felt the urge to throw your phone at the wall but instead just cursed under your breath.

You weren't even sure how slow or fast the time was passing right now. All you could do was blankly stare down at your phone, hoping for a call. Had the argument been that bad? Was he really not going to come home after 4 years of sticking to that rule? The clock was nearing 12AM now and you were fidgeting nervously. Going over the argument over and over in your mind again. One particular line suddenly caught your attention.

"You're right, I am walking away. I can't do this, ______."

Your heart practically dropped as you remembered that. It was something you overlooked in the moment because you had been so angry with him, so consumed by your own pride. Those were words he never said to you. Sure, he had left the house a few times to cool down when arguments got too heated. But he would always leave with a reminder that he would be back before dark, that he was going to his brother's house.

Did you really ruin the relationship? All because you had been too focused on your work? You could feel your heart beginning to pound in your chest. He told you that he was walking away from you, that he wasn't going to do this anymore. This, as in the relationship? And you didn't do a thing to stop him when he left. You were so stupid.

Now all of the worst thoughts were going through your mind. Any rationality was leaving you. The calls weren't going through still. Had he blocked you? That was the only conclusion you were believing at the moment. You had been treating him like he was a nuisance for the past few months even though he had always been nothing but loving towards you no matter how crazy his schedule became.

You had been ignoring him whenever he wanted to do something with you or tell him something that had happened during his work. You had taken the small amount of free days you got and spent time relaxing and focusing on yourself rather than spending time with the person you loved more than anything, the person who loved you more than anything. You forgot that a relationship was about loving someone even through hard times.

Any hope you had for yourself was draining as you dug yourself into an even deeper hole. You were someone who worried a lot, but it was something that Jungkook had always helped you work out. Without him here, the problems were coming right back. Especially because this was about him. You had been an asshole of a girlfriend and he had enough. He left, walked out, and blocked you.

All of the years in your relationship felt like they were coming back at once. All of the years you spent together. Loving each other unconditionally. You comforting him whenever he was anxious and insecure, him surprising you with date nights or coming home from trips early to spend time with you. Spending his free days surprising him with things like his favorite dinner. You guys argued as well, but it was what happened in any healthy relationship.

This didn't feel like an argument anymore. Usually they would be resolved, this just felt like the end. You were a shitty girlfriend and he could probably find anyone much better. There were so many girls out there who admired him like a god, who would treat him as such. Girls who didn't take who they got for granted until it was too late and they had already gone.

He left. He was really gone. Those words kept repeating in your mind, and yet it felt like everything was a dream. It felt like you couldn't breathe at the moment. You were the reason this happened. The panic attack was coming quicker than you could stop it, and it was hitting at full force. The clock read 2AM by now. You had been sitting in the bed since 8PM waiting for him to walk into the bedroom. He wasn't coming.

Your whole world was crashing in on itself. Tears were welling up inside your eyes as you laid back on the bed, not feeling enough strength to hold yourself upright again. As you laid down on the bed, you were greeted with the smell of your boyfriend. Was he even your boyfriend anymore? His scent flooded your senses, the familiar smell you'd grown to love so much over the years. It was your breaking point.

With shaky hands you grabbed the blanket, hugging it to your body as the sobs started. Your whole body was trembling with them, curled up as you tried desperately to grasp onto what you felt like was the last of your relationship. The only thought in your mind was that all of this was your fault. Like the ignorant person you were, you lost the most important person to you.

You felt like you would do anything to fix this. To just get one more chance to see him. You would beg at your knees if you needed. Anything to promise him that you would be a better girlfriend to him. But he wasn't going to give you another chance. You only realized now how insignificant your work seemed when he left you. You'd been too distracted by your work that you forgot about the one thing that was more important.

You wanted to do so many things. Scream, throw your laptop at the wall, go out and look for him. But you just couldn't. The realization you felt, the pit in your stomach, the overwhelming sense of guilt. It was all too much for you to move a single limb. You felt overly nauseous, like you would throw up if you moved.

You weren't someone that was completely dependent on Jungkook. You didn't need him to go about your day correctly. You could spend time apart with him. It was something you actually got used to with him going off on tours. But at this moment, it felt like your world was caving in on you. He was the one person who was always there for you no matter what, and now you had to come to terms with that changing. You sobbed even harder as you realized that.

This was the state that Jungkook saw as he walked back into the house. He knew that he had been gone for a long time, well over 12 hours. He had been cooling off by himself. He didn't even know how long he'd been out. His brother had been gone on vacation, meaning that he didn't have a place to go to. He didn't want to bother his bandmates with his relationship problems, so he could only think of one thing.

He spent the whole day hiking. One of the things he had done as a child growing up in Busan, it was something that helped him clear his mind. He drove a couple hours to the mountains and spend a big majority of the day in the nature. He had no service when he was out there, which helped him refrain from calling you before he had the opportunity to sort out his thoughts.

It had been well past nightfall when he got back down the mountain and he hadn't even realized how late it was. Not until he gained his signal back after he spent even longer at the small village by the bottom of the mountain. He had spent quite a while speaking to some of the elders that he lost track of time and saw it was nearly midnight. He had quickly said goodbye and promised to visit again before leaving.

It was only when he had gotten back onto the main highway that his signal returned and the notifications flooded his phone. He frowned as he looked at all of the missed calls from you, the worried texts. Your most recent one was the most concerning one, one that you had sent just twenty minutes prior.

"i'm sorry i was so shitty. i can pack all of my stuff and be gone in the morning."

He was confused as to why you were texting him that. Why were you packing your stuff and talking about leaving? He tried to call you multiple times, but none of the calls picked up. His own panic was building up as he stepped on the gas, speeding more than he would've liked to admit. It was a two hour drive back and right now he was cursing himself for picking a place so far away.

You usually never called or texted him when you were separated to cool down from arguments, so he knew that something was different this time. He couldn't think of what was different this time, what had happened that led to you saying that you would be packing up to leave. Was he too harsh on you? Should he have just pushed the problem off even more?

You didn't even register the sound of the door opening, too consumed by your grief. Jungkook had rushed into the apartment, looking around for you. He checked the living room first, and then went straight to the bedroom. He stopped completely in his tracks when he saw you. Curled up on the bed into a ball, clutching your shared blanket to your chest, shaking with quiet and violent sobs.

For a few moments he could do nothing but stare at the sight. Wondering if he really had been too hard on you. He didn't think that his words were too harsh when he was saying them. He had only been speaking his feelings. But as he watched you right now, he felt his heart shattering. He never wanted this. He regretted ever saying anything.

You jumped as you felt a hand lay on your shoulder. Your eyes were swollen from all of your crying, you could barely make out the sight of Jungkook knelt down beside you, frowning with immense concern. You almost couldn't believe that he was right in front of you. Your sobs died down a bit as the two of you stared. You were the first one to break down.

"J-Jungkook, I'm so sorry. I was too consumed with my work and I didn't realize how shitty I treated you. You were right. You've always been so busy with work and you never treated me the way I treated you. I was so stressed by my job that I let it out on you. I was such a bad girlfriend, and I understand why you don't want to be with me anymore. I'm just sorry I didn't notice how bad I was." The way you spoke with small sniffles almost broke his heart and distracted him from what you said.

After he processed his words, his frown only deepened. Why were you speaking to him like this? Saying that you would pack all of your stuff, that he didn't want to be with you anymore, that you were a bad girlfriend? All of his anger was completely gone now and at the moment he just felt extremely confused along with distraught from how destroyed you looked.

"Baby, what are you talking about? Why are you saying all of this?" Jungkook asked with pure bewilderment in his tone. This made you look back at him with an equally confused expression. You weren't expecting this response from him. He seemed like he genuinely didn't know what you were talking about and it made you question everything.

"But.. you blocked me. You said that.. that you couldn't do this and were walking away?" You questioned, your voice cracking with how weak it was after sobbing. Jungkook tilted his head a bit as he tried to recall when he ever said that. After going through the argument in his head, the realization hit him. His eyes widened as he recalled what he said in the heat of the moment. He hadn't clarified what he meant and you had been left alone for however many hours thinking that he had ended the relationship.

"______, I know how those words seemed, but that's not at all what I meant. I was saying that I couldn't do the argument, not the relationship. I would never end things off. I only said I was walking away so I could cool off." Jungkook explained as he pinched the bridge of his nose. Not at all irritated by you, but instead angry at himself. He had only said what he was feeling in the heat of the moment and left.

"What about your phone..? None of my calls went through." You asked him, your voice still full with hurt and doubt. He felt terrible for even making you think for a moment that he wanted to end the relationship. Even though he had been pissed off, he would never end the relationship like that in the heat of the moment. Even enraged he knew it would be the worst mistake he would ever make.

"I went to the mountains to hike and get everything off my mind. My brother is on vacation so that's why I didn't go to him. The place I went had no service and so none of the calls or texts could've gotten through." He told you, and your eyes slightly widened. He was really telling the truth? He didn't want to break up with you? At this point you just felt like you had fallen asleep and this was all a dream.

To confirm this was real, you couldn't hold yourself back anymore and reached out for him, and he wasted no time. He sat down on the bed next to you and pulled you right into his arms. Your body froze as you felt his familiar warmth, smelled his scent with the addition of the smell of nature he'd been around all day. This was real. He wasn't leaving you.

The tears instantly started falling from your eyes, but it was different this time. It was relief. You spent so long crying because you thought he had broken up with you, but it all ended up being a misunderstanding. He wasn't leaving you and you had nothing to worry about. In the past 12 hours it felt like your life had completely ended, but it hadn't.

Jungkook held you closely to him, his fingers carding through your slightly tangled hair while his other hand rubbed small circles into your back. He rested his head on the top of yours, knowing that it was better for you to just get all of your feelings out. Even though nothing made him feel worse than knowing he was the reason that you were crying like this, it was better for you to just let it all out so it didn't bottle up. He had been doing that for the past few months and it turned out like this.

You didn't know how long you had been laying like that in his arms, but when you were finally able to stop crying, you noticed the beginnings of light peeking through the windows. The whole time Jungkook was there for you, whispering sweet things to help you calm down. How much he loved you, how he wasn't going to leave you, that he wasn't angry with you. Anything he could think of to help you calm down.

When you finally had a level enough mind to fully process everything, you felt so much relief. But you still felt the same guilt from before. You were the one that disregarded what he felt and now he was comforting you after an argument that was your fault. You needed to say something to him, to apologize and promise that you would be better. There was no way that you were ever going to let your work consume you again.

"I know I already said this, but I want to say that I'm so sorry. I was so stressed out with my new hours that I got angry and irritated whenever you just wanted to spend time with me. I never should've done that and I realize now how much I took you for granted. You've always made the time for me and I should've done the same for you. I know now how wrong and unfair I was being to you, and I want to be better." You said to him, your voice filled with regret.

Jungkook smiled lightly when he heard your apology. There was no longer any anger in his eyes. No resentment. To him, that was all in the past now. He could hear the sincerity in every word you said. After all, this was the reason that he had started dating you. You were so sweet and considerate towards others. You just needed to realize what you were doing wrong. You were distracted and didn't know you were bring rude.

"It's okay, my love. I know how stressful it's been for you and I'm not angry anymore. I understand how you feel and I accept your apology. I know you didn't realize how you were treating me." Jungkook replied, putting his fingers under your chin so he could tilt your head up to look at him. Even with your red, puffy eyes and runny nose you were so beautiful to him. He gently kissed the tip of your nose before resting his forehead against yours.

"I love you so much. Thank you for always being the best." You mumbled, closing your eyes as you took the time to let yourself bask in the moment. Letting go of all doubts that you felt previously. There was no reason to dwell on this argument, because you knew that you wouldn't make this mistake anymore going on.

"I love you too, always. No matter what happens." Jungkook replied with a bit of reassurance in his tone. You smiled as he said those words to you, leaning forward to close the small gap between the two of you. You were fully calmed down as your lips met and any thoughts that you had melted away in the moment. Everything was okay in this moment.

Even though this argument had been rough, the two of you had stuck to your most important rule. The two of you went to sleep shortly afterwards, no more feelings of anger or resentment. You would never go to bed angry anymore, realizing just how important that rule was.

2K notes · View notes

bkgexe · 27 days ago

Text

the defiance of a life spent almost in touch

geto x reader ✾ 15.7k ✾ part one of two ✾ ao3 link

info! (canon au, haibara lives and geto never defects.) Your cursed technique allows you to read people—to see into their minds—when you touch them. It's not pleasant, but to jujutsu society, it's useful. Which means you end up in close proximity to Geto Suguru, who you've been avoiding for nearly a decade since seeing just how frightening it is inside his head. Though it's something you vowed never to repeat, it seems that there are powerful people vested in having you read him once again. ✾ tw! reader is scared of geto, typical jjk gore/violence, geto is. mentally unwell. like he didn't defect but he's Wrong ✾ notes! part two should be out end of january!!!

When the jujutsu higher-ups ask you for help, they always send Kento, because you have a hard time saying no to him.

To his credit, he always looks sorry. You have the number of every other sorcerer you know blocked. He still comes in person because he knows the blow will be softer if you can complain to him after. He drives you to the appointed location, a small town on the border of Yamanashi Prefecture. The ride is mostly silent. When the car stops in front of a small, traditional house, Kento sighs deep, a sound you got so well acquainted with in high school that you can still conjure it in your mind on command.

A familiar look: why are you doing this. Another: you can say no.

“You know why I have to,” you say.

The sigh again. “Fair enough.”

You left jujutsu society for a few reasons.

The first: your cursed technique is useless in a fight. You had to rely on strength and agility alone, which got you to Grade B—but you saw what happened to Haibara. The higher-ups send lower grade sorcerers out as a test, a toe in the water. They misjudged the grades of so many curses that at a certain point, you started to suspect that they were making it all up. That they had no way to accurately measure the strength of a curse until it had drawn a sorcerer’s blood. You didn’t want to be a body in a hospital bed, cut so deep through the middle that you had claw marks on the inside of your spine.

Haibara lived, but not without consequences.

The second: three men wait inside the house you’ve been called to. The window that alerted the higher-ups, a non-sorcerer passed out on the ground—and him. Geto smiles warmly when he sees you. You used to like his smiles before you saw the inside of his head. Now all you see is fox teeth hidden behind a stretched mouth.

Though your cursed technique isn’t useful in a fight, it’s still useful. Skin-to-skin contact allows you a look into another person’s mind. Just flashes, and nothing specific, but it’s helpful when the only witnesses you have are comatose or otherwise indisposed. You’re allowed a normal life for these few visitations. The higher-ups don’t bother you anymore. Even Gojo stopped asking you to come back and teach somewhere along the line, distracted by things more (or less, knowing him) important than your existence.

Geto never tried. You can at least respect him for that.

He explains to you that six people have been found in the same state as the man in front of you. It’s not a normal coma—something is smothering their soul, stretching it far from their body. As if they’re standing on the sidewalk across the street from themselves, watching the inside of their head through a lit window in the middle of the night. You’d forgotten what Geto’s voice sounded like, all friendly tones and half-hidden condescension.

When you touch the unconscious man, you don’t see anything at first, which is odd. His wrist is clammy and cold, his whole body covered in sweat. You briefly wonder if his soul is so disconnected that you won’t be able to read him.

And then, memories: noodles in warm broth, a pair of leather shoes with buckles, a live wire at the power plant, what it would feel like to put your hands on it?, to feel electricity for the first time in so long?, to take something into you r body that was never supposed to be there?, hands wrapped around spark-soaked copper—

Outside, you throw up behind a camellia bush. Bile burns your throat, the roof of your mouth. The flowers smell of putrid rot when you know they shouldn’t. Cold air digs needles into your cheeks, so you’re stinging inside and out. Kento hadn’t given you enough notice for you to skip breakfast, but the higher-ups hadn’t given him any notice that they’d need you.

People are predisposed to show you either wants or memories. Never both, for reasons beyond your understanding. Memories are worse than wants. They burrow deeper, which makes them harder to expel.

Instinct tells you the hand is coming before it connects, and you dodge contact—Geto at your shoulder, asking if you’re alright. He doesn’t miss that you flinch away from him. “I’d have brought a bucket inside if I knew,” he tells you. His face says: I’m sorry for overlooking this detail. He’s very good at lying with it.

“It’s at the power plant,” you say. “Whatever’s causing this.”

“Do you want to read any of the others before you go?” The question feels cruel. His face says it isn’t.

You shake your head and leave without a word.

Kento drops you off at your building and you thank him. You could invite him up easily. The two of you have known each other for so long, have experienced so much together, that being with him feels natural. It’s possible to turn off your brain around him, to touch him and only experience the smallest flashes of memory.

You thank him and say good night.

It would be selfish. You would give anything to be the kind of person that could be a good partner to him. He’s an easy man to love, which is exactly why you can never love him. You’re difficult, a puzzle that comes with a sizable warning.

When you fall asleep in your cramped apartment, you see soup and silver buckles, live wires and burning flesh.

✾

An unknown number calls when you’re at work. You pick up because it breaks the monotony of clicking around account records and absorbing none of the numbers on the screen.

“Are you busy?” the person on the line asks, and you realize you never blocked Geto’s number because you never had it in the first place.

You tell him you’re not, even though you have a project deadline this week. If you sit in this closet-turned-office for five more minutes you’re going to explode all over the walls. You're not sure why you entertain him—why you didn't just hang up the second you heard his voice. There's something about him that compels you. A terrible, morbid curiosity that sometimes, when you're not looking directly at him, overrides your fear.

He meets you at the same house as last time, but today there’s no window. Just you and him. Kento didn’t drive you. For some odd reason, you thought there’d be someone else here, as if jujutsu society at large should know that you always need a buffer when it comes to Geto. A witness. And you realize that despite the curiosity, despite the compulsion, you should never have entertained this man on the phone for more than ten seconds. You shouldn't be here. You keep your keys spiked between your fingers, as if you’d ever be able to stop one of the most powerful sorcerers alive from doing whatever he wanted with you.

“I didn’t find anything at the power plant,” he says, leading you down a wooded path behind the house. You emerge onto a dirt road on the other side, a near-identical house sitting before you, its sloping, tiled roof dripping with excess morning rain. “Have you had lunch?”

You shake your head. He smiles with his hidden fox teeth.

The man you read this time is just as feverish as the other, but his wrist is hot. This isn’t relevant to reading a person, but you notice these things because you touch people so infrequently. Each time you do it’s a research experience, notes taken inside your head, recorded to compare against other studies you’ve done over the years.

The memories are instant: rough hands that have hardened from years of manual labor, watching baseball with the other construction workers after projects done in town, your daughter moving to Tokyo for college, radishes that she used to grow in the backyard that she boiled and roasted every day after harvest, and who will you eat them with now? and who will grow them? and who will you make your hands rough for? you don’t like baseball.

Pulling away from the man’s mind is like extracting yourself from honey in the process of crystallizing. His consciousness clings to you as you leave, trying its best to suck you back in. You’re the only company it’s had in a while.

“I didn’t get anything,” you say, and your voice is rough. Your throat burns even though you didn’t throw up.

Geto sits in one of the two plastic folding chairs in the house’s main room. He plays with the piece of his hair that’s loose from his bun, twirling it between slim fingers. You haven’t seen him in a jujutsu tech uniform since high school, though you’re pretty sure Gojo still wears one daily. Geto’s always in crisp white or black button-downs, slacks, expensive oxfords. Maybe playing dress-up makes him feel less like a sorcerer and more like a human.

“I can try again,” you say, and you’re not sure why. It’s for this suffering man, you think, even though your savior complex was left behind with the jujutsu world.

“You don’t have to,” Geto says, dropping the strand of hair and leaning forward. His language is careful. He’s not telling you no. The way he watches you, elbows on his knees, hands clasped in the middle, makes you feel like you’re being tested.

You try again. This time: getting your wedding ring engraved, sitting on the porch in late spring sipping on plum wine, nearly crying when you see your daughter playing with the girls that have caused the town so much misfortune, the relief when they ’re finally gone, the relief when your daughter brings new best friends home and their eyes aren’t shadowed and sharp and too old for their sockets—

Retching is your second-least favorite thing, right behind actually vomiting. Your body rejects the images you’ve seen, trying to empty your stomach before the memories can begin to digest.

You tell Geto what you saw.

His question: “Does he remember what happened to the girls?”

“If he does, I didn’t see it,” you say. When Geto is silent, you tell him, “I can’t do it again. I can’t.”

After a tense, quiet moment, he smiles at you. You still feel nauseous, but you can’t tell if it’s because of your cursed technique or because of the bone-deep malaise that spreads into your skin like a balm when he looks at you—when you’re reminded of what you once saw lurking in the corners of his mind. “Of course,” he says. “Let’s get you home.”

✾

Kento meets you at your usual coffee shop a few weeks later. Your throat no longer feels raw every time you swallow. He has a drink waiting for you when you get there—(describing Kento as punctual would be doing the man a disservice)—and it’s your favorite, with all the little add-ons that you get too nervous to ask for at risk of being a burden to the already overworked baristas. You’re positive he tipped heavy after putting in your order.

He asks you what you think about the murder mystery you’ve both been reading. You tell him about your job, the monotony, the fantasies of exploding. He tells you about jujutsu business, even though he’s not supposed to. This has never stopped him in the past and won’t ever stop him in the future.

“The higher-ups are pleased with your work,” he tells you. He doesn’t sound pleased.

“Kento.” A warning.

He hmms at you as if actually considering your warning before speaking his mind. “Having a foot in either world is difficult. It’s impossible to keep your balance.”

Your drink suddenly disgusts you. You taste bile. The cup is hot between your hands as you roll it back and forth with your palms. “Are you saying I should come back to Jujutsu Tech?”

“I’m saying that if you want to leave entirely, you should.”

You consider this: a normal life, surrounded by normal people, with a normal job and normal friends and a normal partner, maybe, if you’re lucky. The higher-ups would never let this happen. If you wrong them, they make sure to wrong you back. “You know why I can’t.”

“I’d take care of it. You wouldn’t be bothered by anyone.” He speaks with such confidence that you could almost believe him.

You tell him you’ll think about it. The coffee stings your palms. A terrible feeling sits in your throat like a weathered rock.

There’s something other than the threat of retaliation that stops you from pulling the trigger—from fully leaving the world you grew up in, as Kento once did. Maybe you’re not as brave as him. Maybe you can’t reconcile how quickly he ended up going back. Or maybe you just feel so inextricably tied to the world in which you were raised that you need to have it in your life somehow, even if it’s in brief, unpleasant flashes of memory and want.

“You can make your decisions for yourself,” he says. He’s not disappointed with you, you’re sure—just worried. The same way you often worry about him. “They’re pleased. Geto found the curse and exorcised it the same day thanks to you. I can see why the higher-ups don’t want to let you go.”

The stone in your throat grows edges, forgets its weathering. His name always unnerves you, but Kento’s words unnerve you more. “He exorcised it—the same day we drove out there?”

Kento nods, sips his tea. “He can be vicious.”

A tremor begins in your fingers and lodges deep in your elbows, your shoulders, your very soul. “He didn’t need me to read another victim?”

Kento’s a smart man. His eyes narrow. “Not to my knowledge. Or anyone else’s.”

You wave off his concern (suspicion, really, but you love to downplay these things), and your coffee is finished, and you really should be going, anyway. “He didn’t do anything,” you lie, standing and folding your coat over your arm. “He called and asked me to come back out, but I said no.”

It’s easy to see that Kento doesn’t believe you, but he doesn’t press you either. He knows that if you tell him half-truths, once you have all of your feelings together, you’ll tell him everything. He’s done the same, and you’ve given him the grace he’s currently allowing you. He puts up with a lot—but that’s the nature of living the lives into which you both were born.

“Thank you for the coffee,” you say.

“You’ll call me soon?”

“You’re on speed dial,” you tell him—and it’s true. His contact is the only one in your phone that’s favorited.

Kento smiles—something you rarely see. You wish it didn’t call to mind the shine of fox teeth.

✾

How you ended up coming into contact with the wants of Geto Suguru: he showed up at Ieiri’s dorm with his ribs visible through his uniform.

You remember very specific things from that day. The heavy knock, the thud of him collapsing, blood soaking the tatami floors. Shockingly white bone beneath torn skin and muscle, his ink-black hair coming undone, silk-soft and slipping across your fingers as you dragged him inside. Ieiri’s hands were shaking. She smelled like cigarette smoke and metal. Pressure here, she told you, ripping away the remains of Geto’s jacket, and when you touched him everything was skin-muscle-bone-blood and: bodies. bodies of people that have wronged you. people that haven’t. their blood thick beneath your fingernails like orange peel. how easy it is to snuff out each life. to take from them what they have forgotten to value. you could kill more. you could kill everyone.

When you pulled away from Geto, his skin was knitting together beneath Ieiri’s shaking hands—hands you knew well, her black nail polish chipped around the edges because she bit at her nails when she was somewhere she couldn’t smoke. His ribs faded from view, and then muscle, and then his skin was pink and shiny, scar-new, as if whoever had done this to him had simply taken a paint brush to his bare chest and drawn a bold X.

Blood was underneath your fingernails. Orange peel. It’s all you remember about the aftermath. Getting back to your room and locking yourself in the washroom were voided from your memory. Your head was all bodies. All bone. An undeniable feeling of righteousness, completely sure that they hadn’t deserved what you’d taken from them. And on top of that, the most frightening thing: relief that they were dead.

You washed your hands so much that the skin was raw, peeling, but you still couldn’t get your fingernails clean.

✾

You ignore his calls.

The frequency with which you receive them makes you uneasy. You don’t have his number saved. The first few digits become a bad omen.

In school, he and Gojo had a reputation for toying with people. Mostly women, mostly in a romantic sense. The difference between the two is that Gojo was easy to understand—a spoiled boy-prince that liked the attention. He wanted girls to fawn after him, to beg for more when he finally graced them with a kiss, to cry when he dropped them.

Geto always seemed worse, somehow. He would date girls and leave them behind like candy wrappers, charming them into giving him a taste and only revealing his true appetite when his prize had reached the inescapable vicinity of his jaws.

It’s more insidious than simply liking attention. He liked power. Having control over someone.

Whatever he’s doing now is insidious in nature, too. You can feel it. So you ignore his calls and keep working the days away until you can’t ignore him, because he shows up at your office with the confidence of someone supposed to be there, hands in his pockets, leaning against the frame of your door.

You jump so hard that your bones creak, almost louder than the creaking plastic of your poor hand-me-down rolling chair.

“Your instincts are a little dull,” he says. “I thought you would’ve heard me coming.”

Standing up feels necessary. You don’t want to feel smaller than him, even though he towers in your doorway. “I’m not supposed to be bothered by sorcerers without advance notice.”

He smiles. “I tried calling.”

Your heart is pounding like a rabbit at the foot of a wolf, partly torn to shreds but conscious enough to experience the abject terror of what comes next. “Who let you up here?”

“I was hoping you might be willing to humor me without advance notice.”

“I’m calling security.”

“I need your help,” he says.

“Like you needed my help last time?”

He sits with that for a moment. “Is it a crime to be curious about you? What you’re capable of?”

“You lied to me,” you reiterate. “You didn’t need me to read that man. And, what—it was so you could see more of my technique?”

“Yes,” he says plainly, as if it's a perfectly sane response.

“Why didn’t you just ask?”

He chuckles, the sound rich and deep and calm, as if you’re having a nice conversation between old friends. “Are you saying you’d have responded well if I just asked?”

You remain silent, staring at the sticky notes on your monitor with reminders and deadlines written in blue pen. Tanaka account today. Get stapler back from Yoishi!!!! You both know his question is rhetorical.

He crosses his arms, taps his long fingers against his bicep. Is it impatience, you wonder, or his inability to sit still for too long? His face belies nothing. “Would you read me if I asked?”

Your veins feel too tight, constricting muscle. It must be a leading question—he’s suspicious of your aversion to him, maybe. The exterior he’s built is charming and handsome and kind. That’s probably how he got to your office. You wouldn’t be surprised if the receptionist saw a handsome face and caved immediately. It’s not his fault you see through it. If you could go back and revoke your touch, remove the bodies from your memory, you would. But you can’t, and the things in his mind scare you. It’s part of what made you leave. The idea of working with a man like that, who held such terrors in his head, was incomprehensible to you. It still is. You would always be thinking about the ease with which you could become one of those bodies.

When you read people who project to you in wants, it’s usually easier. Makes you feel less sick. But not him. He wanted those people dead, whoever they were. He wanted blood on his hands. He was thinking, concretely, that he could have killed them all. That they deserved it.

The relief was the worst part. Seeing all those people dead, and the resounding thought that outshone everything else: finally.

He steps forward, hand extended slightly. “If I—”

“No. Just—don’t,” you say, and you stumble a little as your legs hit your chair and push it, rattling, against the wall. Your office has never been this small. You never want to be inside his head again. You'd do anything to get him out of your space. “Tell me what you need my help with and we can go.”

He doesn’t look pleased. It seems people in your life are operating on a theme. Still, his hand retreats, and he smiles, slouches a little, as if to make himself smaller. Less intimidating. “Thank you.”

As you leave your office, you give him a wide berth, though you could swear his body goes taut, as if suppressing the urge to touch you.

The Ueno Zoo is closed during operating hours. This hasn’t happened in the entire time you’ve lived in Tokyo. The woman at the gate is a window—the look she gives Geto is one of recognition, respect. He and Gojo are the most well-respected sorcerers currently active, though you believe entirely that Kento is much more deserving of respect than they are. The window lets the both of you inside without a word.

Geto leads you to the vivarium, just to the right of the gate. It’s a beautiful glass building, the windows fogged with humidity to keep its plant and animal residents comfortable. You haven’t been to the zoo in a long time, but when you used to come with family and friends, you always visited the vivarium before you left. The air was heavy and hot, birdsong piped in through speakers, echoing off the glass walls like prism-dispersed light. Every animal inside moved slowly, heavily, and if you listened closely enough, you could hear the soft slide of scales against stone, the heavy thud of a taloned foot into packed dirt. A haven for living in calm and peace.

Inside, it’s chaos.

Display cases are smashed, plants and trees are torn up from the roots, stone walls have been dismantled and crushed. In the center of the rubble, the strewn dirt and bundled roots: jaws. Alligator jaws, crocodile jaws, all long and horrible teeth, and when you look closer—the jaws of snakes, fanged and dripping venom, and others from what you can only assume would be turtles, small and rounded.

The skin remains perfectly intact on every jaw. Muscle, bone, blood. You see bodies. You see limbs. You remember: finally.

“Don’t look at that,” Geto says from beside you. “Look at me.”

With a deep breath, you do—though looking at him does nothing to dispel the unrest in your stomach, the pit in your chest.

“Good.” He’s not smiling anymore. You wonder if he’s decided to drop his disguise or if the orphaned jaws are more horrifying than the wants he carries like stones. “Come this way.”

He leads you away from the viscera, into a small office next to the stairs. A man sits in the single chair, staring into the security monitors on the desk in front of him. His gaze is absent, hollow. His hands clasp and unclasp on his lap. Blood is spattered across his face and the front of his cheery yellow jumpsuit.

“He’s been like this since I got here,” Geto tells you. “I need you to read him.”

Ieiri used to tell you that if humans come into contact with curses and live, you have to monitor them closely for cardiogenic shock—stress and fear mounting to such a peak that the heart can’t handle the pressure. It’s not a peaceful death. “He needs to go to a hospital.”

“I’ll take him after.”

“How long has he been in shock?”

“Read him first,” he says, more curt than you’ve ever heard.

This is the thing lurking under the surface. The wolf peeking through the mouth of the sheepskin. It sits in him waiting to be called forth. You’ve seen it already—it’s no surprise to you that it lives in him still. It is, however, a surprise that he let his facade slip so badly.

He smiles, fox teeth a little sharper than usual. “Please.”

You put your hand on the side of the man’s neck, the only skin available to you. Touching people’s faces horrifies you. Such an intimate thing tarnished by the images that flood your brain.

Memories on a loop: guttural screeching, death cries that couldn’t be conjured by a human mind, and from the ceiling, from the ceiling the jaws falling, falling, falling, blood everywhere and on you and you can taste it ??? in your mouth ??? on your tongue ??? metal and rot, and there is something discarding these jaws from the bodies of animals it eats while clinging to the vivarium’s rafters something ??? when you met your wife you knew you were going to propose to her in the zoo in the vivarium because of the beautiful glass the beautiful plants she loves plants something there is something there is something you cannot see some thing ???

This time, Geto has a trash can waiting for you. You’ve gotten very good at gathering your hair up with one hand at a moment’s notice. He puts the trash next to the desk when you’re done, and you tell him everything useful that you gathered on the curse. Everything else, you keep to yourself. You’ve gotten very good at that too.

You wipe your mouth with the back of your wrist. The bile tastes more like copper than usual. “Is that everything?”

He holds his hand out to you and you hide your flinch poorly. “Gum?”

The foil-wrapped stick shimmers green, held between his fingers like a cigarette. You stare at it for a beat too long. It’s your favorite brand, spearmint flavored.

“It won’t bite,” he says. He tilts his head to the side, eyes crinkling with mirth. As if you weren’t tasting blood just a moment ago. When you still don’t take the gum, he laughs softly and it reminds you of high school. His laughter has always been a little mean, as if it gets harder for him to hide his true nature when amused. It reminds you of a housecat playing with a bug. “I won’t either.”

A funny thing for someone with such sharp teeth to claim.

You take the gum from him, careful to grab the very end so there’s no chance of your fingers brushing his. “Thanks.”

He smiles and nods as if he’s done you a favor. You appreciate the gum, but you’d appreciate him ceasing contact with you more. “I’ll see you soon,” he tells you.

“Get him help, Geto.”

He smiles wide in response.

✾

You lost your virginity to Kento during your graduating year at Jujutsu Tech.

Haibara was recovering, still in the hospital for the third consecutive month. He had to learn how to walk again, the implants in his spine acclimating to him at the same rate that he was acclimating to them. You and Kento were the only two students in your year that made it to graduation. The two of you felt like celebrating but when you began drinking, you realized it was more commiseration than anything celebratory.

“Do you always see things?” Kento asked. He never drank—saw it as beneath him—so when he did, he was a lightweight. “When you touch people?”

“Yeah,” you said. The both of you sat against the headboard of your bed, passing a bottle of gin back and forth—the only thing you could find in Yaga’s campus stash. It stopped tasting like liquor twenty minutes prior. “I can make it quieter. But I really have to focus. Like—I couldn’t make it quiet now, I don’t think.”

Kento turned towards you and said, “Try.”

And always, you would protest when people suggested this. It was like a party trick to people that didn’t have to deal with the fallout. They all wanted to know what you saw in their mind, whether it was wants or memories that jumped to the forefront, what their subconscious decided was important enough to broadcast.

You didn’t believe at all that Kento was asking for those reasons. It’s why you touched him.

Wedging the bottle between Kento’s thigh and yours, you turned towards him and reached for his face. This, for some reason, was your first instinct. His skin was soft, a little dry. His mouth was set in a nervous slant.

And you got a few things from him: finishing your favorite book for the third time, going to the beach with your mother, finding out how cold the sea was. Memories, unfortunately. The feelings behind them.

But what you felt was mostly your own.

You pushed his bangs back from his face, and you couldn’t take your eyes from the slant of his lips, and suddenly you were in Kento’s lap, kissing him, and he was kissing you back, hands on your hips, groaning softly into your mouth.

The gin tumbled off the bed and spilled all over your floor. Your dorm would smell like liquor for weeks.

It was awkward the way a first time should be for teenagers, misplaced limbs and kisses with knocking teeth. You both tried to take care of each other the best you could while shit-faced and entirely inexperienced. You hadn’t kissed anyone before then—you hadn’t touched someone’s face since you were little.

You’d been scared. He figured out how to make that okay.

✾

Gojo is in your office when you come into work, reclining in your chair with his feet up on your desk. He peers at you over his glasses, eyes like jeweled robin eggs. “Running kinda late, huh?”

“I don’t have to be here until nine,” you tell him. “It’s eight forty-five.”

“Semantics.”

“You’re in my office.” You don’t even have the good grace to make it sound like a question—just an admonishment.

“Or is it syntax?”

“Can you please get out?”

“Can’t you pretend you’re happy I’m here?” He pouts, taking his feet from your desk. “I won’t even ask you to do anything. I basically just came here to say hey.”

“That would certainly be a first.” You walk behind your desk and shoo him away from your computer, waking it from its slumber. An orange post-it note on the top of your monitor reminds you that tax reports are due TODAY!!!!!!, and you try to prepare yourself for a grueling eight-to-twelve hours of tax filing, depending on how smoothly things go. Gojo Satoru showing up at your office before you is not your definition of smooth. “You said hey. Why are you still here?”

Gojo slowly spins in your chair, pushing himself in circles lazily with one long leg. Avoids looking at you. “You’ve been working with Suguru a lot lately.”

“Twice.” You open up the tiny K-Cup machine you have on your desk and start preparing the world’s smallest cup of coffee. Three times, technically, but you still don’t know what to make of the second time he called you out to Yamanashi Prefecture. When he lied to you. “That hardly constitutes a lot.”

“Enough that it got back to me.” He slows the chair, then starts spinning the other way. “You got any idea why he’s taken an interest?”

Your tiny mug clatters against the K-Cup machine. Geto is probably miles from here, dealing with important jujutsu business, but your heart beats like a prey animal nonetheless, the way it often does under his gaze.“I don’t think he’s taken an interest.”

“As much as I’d love to be flattering you, that’s not what I mean.” He stops the chair entirely, body directed at you. “You’ve been useful.”

There’s nothing you hate more than being talked about like a tool. Your coffee finishes brewing and you take a sip before you really should. It burns your lips. You lean against your desk and look at Gojo, trying to read anything from his face, his body language. As always, you glean nothing. Though you see Geto as the more insidious of the two, you’re keenly aware that Gojo is just as good at pretending.

“I’ve been useful,” you repeat. “So what?”

“You don’t think you’ve been pretty unnecessary for the missions you’ve been asked to help with?” Though his glasses are on, it's as if you can sense the intensity of his gaze through the darkened lenses. “Suguru could’ve found and exorcised either of those curses easy. I could’ve done it even easier.”

Every meeting with Gojo requires a mandatory ego-stroking period. You decide to get it over with quickly. “Yes, you’re both very strong. What’s your point?”

“Do you know what happened that night?” he asks, taking off his glasses—and this is what really instills a fear in you that something terrible is about to happen. A full view of eyes like glittering sapphires. There’s no question what night he’s talking about.

You don’t like thinking about that time in general. You don’t like thinking about Geto’s ribs. You don’t like thinking about the bodies. “A non-sorcerer tried to stop the merger. You guys… neutralized him.”

His gaze clouds for a moment. You’re aware that Gojo carries his burdens, despite his unbearable ego. He’s somewhere else, seeing things that you have the good fortune of never having to see. You briefly wonder whether you’d read memories or wants from him. You’re content with not knowing. “Don’t play coy,” he tells you. “You’re smarter than that.”

“You killed him.”

“I killed him.”

Gojo’s account of the day you read Geto: both he and his best friend so narrowly avoided death that they still remember its taste.

A mercenary whittled down Gojo’s endurance and attacked just as they were delivering Amanai Riko to Tengen for their merger. Gojo stayed back to deal with things. Geto escorted Amanai. Gojo was slit from throat to hip with a blade so sharp he didn’t feel the pain until his blood was already varnishing the floor. Geto was carved apart by that same blade, left alive only because of the curses he stored and their indeterminable state upon his death. Amanai, quick on her feet, made it to Tengen. The merger was successful. Things settled down and another Star Plasma Vessel wouldn’t have to be found for a long, long time.

Gojo shows you the scar on his forehead, shiny rib-white, usually hidden by his hair or his blindfold. Being so close to death changed him, he tells you—he fully understood the limits of his cursed energy and what it could do.

It changed Geto too.

“I’m not telling you all this for nothing,” he says, a disarming smile appearing on his face so suddenly after a serious conversation that the speed makes you nauseous. “I just have one tiny favor to ask you.”

It’s long into the day. The details took a while to get through. Your lunch hour is coming up and your appetite is nonexistent and tax forms sit unfiled on your desk. Gojo asking for a favor is always bad news. You can taste vomit and you wish you had a piece of gum or alternatively that you were born an entirely different person. “I don’t want any trouble—”

“No trouble. Promise.” He lifts his right hand, pinkie out, grinning—as if it’s funny that you, specifically, can’t touch him. “I just want you to read him for me.”

Your heart slams into the base of your throat. “That’s… You know that’s not a small ask.”

He drops his hand, shrugs. “C’mon—look, it’ll give you an excuse to get close to him.”

“Why would I want that?” you ask.

“As if I didn’t clock your embarrassing crush on him in high school.”

“Excuse me?”

“Excused. It won’t even be bad,” he says. “I only need you to read him one time, probably.”

“Why?”

“Just curious.”

“Gojo.”

Weighing the cost of telling you a half-truth versus keeping you in the dark seems to take a toll on him, his smile turning brittle at its corners. You think he knows that you won’t do anything for him without more information. Not that you’d read Geto ever, at all—but Gojo hasn’t always been good at believing people when they say never. Hesitantly, he tells you, “Something happened.”

“Like what?”

“I don’t know, something,” he says, finally a little exasperated. “I wouldn’t be asking if I already had answers.”

There are things he’s not telling you, very obviously. He’s minimizing. Jujutsu sorcerers are good at that. And he and Geto are best friends, two people so closely intertwined that they could count as one. “Why can’t you just ask him?”

For the first time in your acquaintance with him, Gojo is silent.

“He doesn’t know you’re asking me to do this,” you say. It would be a question if you weren’t already so sure.

“Oh, no, he’d kill me if he knew I was here.”

“I’ll call him and tell him to come get you.”

“I’d like to see you follow through on that.” He grins, peeks at you over his glasses. “Bet you won’t.”

Geto answers on the first ring, your name spoken in question.

“Your dog’s in my office. Come pick him up.”

He does.

Gojo could easily leave before Geto arrives, but he doesn’t even try. He sits in your chair, still reclined, surely doing immeasurable damage to the hydraulics. Asking him about his motives would be wasted breath—he’ll never tell you something he doesn’t want to, regardless of how much you wheedle him. He’ll enjoy the wheedling, though, and you don’t want to give him the ego boost of being begged.

Instead, you shoo him out of the way of your desk and start working on submitting the tax forms, leaning awkwardly over your computer. Gojo hums and your back aches, and you refuse to be curious about this entire situation because it’s none of your business. This is what you do now. Taxes and filing.

Geto arrives at your office once again without needing your permission to come up. You wonder who’s working reception.

“Sorry about him,” Geto says, leaning in your doorway. His hair is loose, strands falling softly against his face. You forget how tall he is sometimes. How handsome. It makes your stomach turn. “Badly trained.”

“I think the fault is more the owner’s than the dog’s,” you say.

He shrugs. “If you tried training the dog in question, maybe your opinion would change.”

“Can you guys stop talking about me like I’m not here?” Gojo asks.

Geto grabs him by the back of the collar. “Walk’s over. Time to go home.” He smiles at you over his shoulder as he leaves, his hair so inky black that it almost blends into his dark dress shirt. You remember how it felt sliding through your fingers years ago. Even though you never touched his wound, you think you can remember the texture of his ribs.

You consider Gojo’s proposition long after you’ve submitted the tax forms, after you’ve arrived home late once again, after you stare out your bedroom window into the night sky and see nothing but storm-cloud gray.

You expect Geto to be the kind of person to keep secrets. It shouldn’t worry you. But keeping secrets from the one person he views as an equal makes you uneasy. The bodies are in your head. You wonder how close you are to finally. When you sleep, it’s fitful, and you wake in the night to the feeling of silk-soft hair running through your fingers, falling so quickly that it’s impossible to grasp.

✾

Kento is antsy when he comes over for dinner. It wouldn’t bother you if he didn’t also happen to be the calmest man you know. He keeps bouncing his leg as he sits at the little two-top table in your kitchen, drumming his fingers incessantly on the tiled surface. He’s not wearing his glasses—and he usually watches your cooking like a hawk, just in case you make a grievous mistake—but instead holds them in his hand, twirling them back and forth.

The one-sided conversation you have with him is unbearable. Did you have a nice day? Mmmhmm. No crazy assignments? Just the usual. Should I use soy sauce or sesame oil? Oil. My favorite author is doing a book signing next month. Do you want to go with me? Sure. Is something up? Not at all.

Eventually, you’ve had enough. “I’m going to burn the cabbage.”

He glances over at the pan you’re wielding. “It looks fine.”

“I’m going to do it on purpose and I’m going to make you eat it,” you say, pointing your spatula in his direction so he’s positive that it’s him who’ll have to eat the ruined meal. “I’ll spoon-feed it to you.”

Kento is bewildered by this, his eyebrows raised very slightly—shock has always been a micro-expression for him. “I’m sorry. I’ve been a little absent.”

“More than a little.” You stir the cabbage again. “You know I don’t want to pry.”

He nods. The space you offer each other is a give-and-take. If neither of you are ready to speak about something, there’s usually no pressure to do so.

But this time is different. You’re worried that the strange things happening around you are begging to connect, veins folding over each other to become arteries, blood flowing into your life and staining the foundations. You need to tell him about everything that's happened over the past few weeks. But first, you need to ask. “Does this have something to do with Geto?”

His leg stops bouncing. His fingers quiet against the tabletop. “So you know.”

You tell him everything. Being called out to the village again, going to the vivarium, the jaws. Gojo showing up unannounced, though that's the most usual thing out of everything that's happened. “He asked me to read Geto,” you say. “There are secrets being kept.”

You told Kento about the bodies only once. The two of you had just recently graduated. You shared a studio apartment in Tokyo for three months before your Jujutsu Tech paychecks started coming in. In his arms, you saw memories of a kind-hearted blonde woman, the scent of coffee and pastries, the cool chill of the air in the mountains of Denmark, and you had to pull away from him, trying not to gag and failing.

When you returned from the bathroom, teeth minty-fresh and tongue burning, he apologized so earnestly. As if he had done anything other than hold you close and thread his fingers through yours.

It was then you began to understand that you could never be his, though the realization didn’t settle in for a while. You told him not to apologize. You told him that nothing was his fault. And then for some reason, you told him about the bodies and the orange peel and the finally and he asked if he could comfort you and you had to say no because you didn’t want to throw up again. From then on, he was wary of Geto. Maybe not as much as you—though that’s understandable.

Knowing what’s going on in his head is one thing. Experiencing it is another.

Kento sighs, familiar. He joins you in the kitchen, in the heat that radiates from the stove. The cabbage is burning slightly even though you never meant to follow through on your threat. Your attention has been elsewhere. “Let me,” he murmurs, and his hand brushes yours as he takes the spatula from you: fresh bread from the bakery at the end of the block, long nights at the office alone, a deep hatred of the word ergonomic— He begins to peel the burning cabbage from the bottom of the pan. “He’s been quiet lately.”

“Isn’t he usually?” You remember Geto being reserved, but then again, maybe that’s only because your memories of him are often in the context of Gojo.

“He can be.” Kento takes the pan to the trash and scrapes off the burnt cabbage, then returns to where you wait for him, leaning against your counter. He opens the top drawer next to the stove and pulls out the menu of the Indian restaurant nearby that you both like. “He’s exorcising Special Grade curses that he shouldn’t even attempt to take on by himself, no matter how strong he is. There are days where he’s cleared missions back-to-back without stopping to sleep.”

“You think he’s focused on work because something’s wrong.”

“Yes,” Kento says, and chews on the thought for a moment. “I don’t like it when he’s focused like this. He gets… obsessive.”

“Him and Gojo were always odd, though,” you say. Minimizing whatever is happening with Geto feels crucial. You’ve never seen Kento this worried.

He hums. “In different ways, perhaps. Gojo’s obsessive nature is more self-centered. But Geto—when he’s consumed by something, it’s like nothing else matters. He’d raze the world to ash if it meant doing what he felt needed doing.”

“Should I be worried?” you ask.

You should. You already know this.

Another sigh. He can’t quite look you in the eyes. You both think: bodies. You both think: finally . “Biryani for you?” he asks. “Or do you want something different this time?”

“Biryani’s fine.”

“Great,” he says, proceeding to order your food. And you don’t talk about it again that night.

✾

You’ve been a regular at the same coffee shop for nearly half a decade. The times you come in vary, depending on work or your weekend plans. You know the regulars and have seen thousands of faces pass through the cozy little building. Not once have you seen Geto here.

Yet he’s at the back of the line when you arrive, smiling pleasantly when he sees you walk through the door. Almost as if his arrival was timed.

If he hadn’t already seen you, you would’ve left. Even as you step into line behind him, you still consider it: bolting out the door and down the street, sprinting your way home as if he’d catch you if you stopped running. He stares at you expectantly while you think about your escape. It puts a shiver deep into your bones, his handsome face and kind eyes and warm smile, all tactics granted by genetics and lifted straight out of a manual on inviting body language. Instead of doing what your instincts tell you is right, you say, “Hi.”

“It's good to see you.” His smile widens, Cheshire in nature despite not showing teeth. “I didn’t know anyone else knew about this place.”

You almost tell him you live close by, but then think better of it. “It’s Kento’s favorite.”

“Of course,” he says. “Haibara took me here a few years ago.”

Yu is kind to a fault. Neither you or Kento have ever talked to him about what you saw in Geto’s head—mostly because you're scared to tell too many people, but also because of the blind respect Yu has for Geto. As if he's a story-book hero that could never do anything wrong. You care about Yu too much to disappoint him with the truth.

“I’ve gotten the same thing here for a long time,” Geto tells you. He gazes up at the menu, such concentration on his face, pulling at the strand of hair loose from his bun for a moment before turning back to you. You remember what Kento said about him not sleeping. His obsessiveness. Nearly imperceptible purple smudges lurk under his eyes. “Would you like to try something new with me?”

You can’t decide if you say yes out of sick curiosity or the fear of what would happen if you said no. Geto pays for both of your drinks—you insist that he shouldn’t, enough times in a row that it’s rude and very obviously makes the cashier uncomfortable, but his insistence wins out.

Waiting at the drink counter with him is torture. You hate when people buy things for you because it makes you feel like you owe them something. For Geto, it’s time. He paid for your presence, at least for however long it takes the baristas to make your drinks. He asks you about your work. You tell him about the books you’ve been balancing, hoping to bore him. Instead he asks more questions about how you like your office, whether your coworkers are nice, if your boss is treating you well.

“Are you looking for a new job?” You fail to keep vitriol from lacing the underside of your words. “We’re not hiring.”

If Geto is bothered by your attitude, he doesn’t let on. He even seems a touch amused. “I enjoy what I’m doing now, but thanks for keeping me in the loop.”

The barista calls out Geto’s name, and he grabs your drink first, hands it to you. You ordered a cappuccino with a syrup that you’ve been curious about but have never tried. The coffee smells amazing even at arm's length, creamy and strong and a little like cinnamon.

“Thanks.” You slowly turn to leave. “I should be—”

“Wait,” he says, reaching towards you.

You flinch so hard that a slim stream of coffee shoots from the lid’s mouthpiece, burning hot when it lands on your hand. Geto never makes contact, but his arm is still outstretched, as if waiting for you to calm down so he can go through with touching you. You think of Gojo’s request, of the cases where Geto has asked for your help but hasn’t needed it. Yu might have shown him this coffee shop however long ago, but why is he here now? Why have you never seen him here before if he’s a regular?

“Get away from me,” you snap, stern and quiet enough that your words lace themselves underneath the shop’s easy-listening music.

He does, hands raised and palms open, proclaiming innocence. Slowly, he lowers them. The barista calls his name again, his coffee still waiting on the counter.

“If you ever make me read you against my will,” you tell him, “I will never forgive you.”

Your forgiveness probably means little to him, but it’s the only thing you can threaten. You don’t know him well enough to understand what he holds dear—but you remember respect being important to him when you were at school. Respect and forgiveness.

“I wouldn’t,” he says. “Never.”

You thank him for the coffee again in lieu of a goodbye. The air outside stings against your face, your neck, the spots on your skin where the coffee burned you, steamed milk already drying to film. You’ll wash your hands when you get home. And you’ll wash them again. And again. Eventually they’ll feel clean enough.

✾

Yu calls you at 3:06 in the morning. “They’re dead because of me,” he tells you, and then he’s crying and you’re already walking down the block, heading toward his apartment in your pajamas and large winter coat.

After his injury, Yu wasn’t sent on more dangerous missions for a long time. Even when he was healed fully, despite the nasty scar that twisted and puckered the width of his chest, the higher-ups didn’t think he would be psychologically ready to take on anything too stressful.

They were right. One of the few things you’ve agreed with them about. Yu had always been the most hopeful out of all of you, the most caring. But he was also the most sensitive. Getting so close to death did nothing but make that worse.

He’s on the couch when you get there, using your key to let yourself in. You and Kento were given copies at the housewarming party, which had consisted of four bottles of peach soju, the three of you, and Ieiri for a few hours before she was called back to the school. His eyes are red and puffy, and he’s curled into himself, laying on his side. It looks like he’s been crying for the entire evening. The worn leather of the seat is darkened beneath his face.

You’re by his side immediately, brushing hair back from his face, wiping stray tears from his cheeks: i wish i’d known i should have !!! known how did how did i not know how i wish i “Hey, it’s okay. I'm here,” you say, trying a little more pointedly to keep your fingers off his scalp. The thing he wants, simply: to have done better. “Can you tell me what happened?”

“I messed up,” he says, and you’ve never heard him sound so defeated. Even during his recovery he sounded less broken than this. “I don’t—I don’t know how I didn’t see it.”

At seventeen, you and your classmates began to receive solo assignments. Yu always got the easier ones—still recovering from his injury, both physically and mentally. He tells you about a mission he had almost forgotten: a curse terrorizing a village on the outskirts of Yamanashi Prefecture. The curse was easily exorcized, easily forgotten—what Yu remembered well were the whispers that came after. They called him a devil, named him unnatural, said that he could see things no one else could because he was damned. Just like the two little girls that lived in the village, their late mother’s otherness somewhere in the same vein.

He thought nothing of it. He would get rid of the curse, and the village would go back to normal. Yes, they were skeptical and untrusting of anything that could be perceived as even slightly supernatural, but most non-sorcerers were. Sometimes you had to protect people that would never thank you—that could never comprehend the things you’d given up to offer said protection. Whatever oddities they attributed to other people would fade away once the curse was gone, and the village would go back to normal. Everyone would trust everyone again.

The bodies of the girls had been exhumed during a construction project aiming to bring affordable housing to prefectures outside of Tokyo. The Hasaba twins, Nanako and Mimiko, reported truant by their school over a decade ago. Their mother wasn’t alive to receive the report. Their father hadn’t been there from the beginning. The town didn’t report them missing—they knew exactly where the girls were. From the remains, bones weak and brittle, authorities determined that they died of malnutrition.

“I could’ve helped them.” Yu’s lip trembles and he bites it so hard that you see the skin around his mouth turn bone-white. “They might have been alive then. If I paid more attention, I just—how could they have done that? How can anyone justify that?”

You don’t know. How does anyone justify anything? How many times do you have to tell yourself you’re doing the right thing before you believe it? You wonder if the inhabitants of that village let out a breath when the sisters had finally passed—whether they, too, had a moment of finally.

Yu cries for a little longer and you hold him carefully. It’s all you can do. You’d call Kento if you didn’t know that Yu would be mortified to cry in front of someone he views as his superior at work, despite their friendship. After a while, he pulls his phone out and opens up a message chain. A groupchat for Jujutsu Tech staff. Ieiri’s text, attached to the official posting from the higher-ups: zen’in clan are holding a service for the girls on sunday. gakuganji wants us there to pay respects so everyone better show up. In the report, there are photos of each of the girls, from Picture Day at their school, judging by the uniforms—and you recognize them.

You’ve seen these girls inside a man’s memories. A man that you read for Geto.

Your heart beats so hard that you’re sure Yu can feel it through your shirt, through your skin. When you’ve reassured him as much as possible that he couldn’t possibly be at fault, when he promises you that he’ll be able to sleep without the feeling of guilt crushing him under its heavy heel, you head further into the city instead of back towards home.

The apartment building you come to is sleek, flashy, piercing the night sky like a blade. The doorman lets you in—you’ve been here before. On business only, and never of your own volition. You take the elevator to the top floor and slam your fist against the hallway’s only door, choosing to ignore the shiny golden doorbell and the even shinier knocker. After a few moments of you hitting the wood so hard that it feels like the meat of your palm is going to split, the door opens.

A terribly annoying grin greets you. “I would’ve invited you up if you called me.”

“Why,” you say, trying your best to be calm, “do you want me to read him?”

Gojo’s expression flickers. A moment, a fleeting instant of concern. He’s without glasses or blindfold—you must have woken him up. It’s probably nearing five in the morning. The first trains will start running soon. “Hello, business,” he says. “I’ve got to admit, I’d hoped I was talking to pleasure.”

“It has to do with the girls, doesn’t it?”

“I don’t ask Suguru about what girls he’s seeing—”

“I saw them, Gojo,” you say.

This shuts him up.

“I read someone who knew them.” You’re not sure why, but it feels necessary to not tell him that you read the man because Geto asked you to. “He didn’t like them playing with his daughter because they were different.”

He stands, silent and contemplating, eyes pearlescent and glowing in the soft shadow that precedes sunrise.

There’s a terrible phantom that lurks between your ribs, a sticky feeling that slimes along your bones. You think of Geto’s sudden reappearance in your life, you think of Gojo’s intimidating request, you think finally, finally, finally. “Did he kill them?”

His eyes snap to yours, fluorescent, flaring—you had forgotten that the hottest part of a flame is blue. “No.”

He’s so serious that your heart rate picks up, your body going into fight-or-flight at the coldness of that single word. “Gojo—”

“He wouldn’t.”

“Okay—it’s okay. I believe you.” You don’t, but you’ll say anything to remove the hardness from his eyes, his tone—the same hardness as when he sat in your office and told you not to sugarcoat things. I killed him. “Then why do you want me to read him?”

“I told you,” he says, and his voice is back to normal but his eyes are nowhere close. “I’m just curious.”

Your hand darts forward on instinct. You want to know what’s inside his head so bad that you can’t control yourself—until you remember exactly who you’re trying to touch and exactly what his power is. Forget being untouchable—he could physically destroy you. He could snap your arm like a matchstick. He could pull at the broken end until the limb splits completely. You step back, but the movement was too obvious to have been anything else.

He grins again. Holds his hand out. “Wanna touch?”

“Good night, Gojo.”

He watches as you get in the elevator, as you press the button for the lobby, as the doors slide shut. All the while, eyes burning.

✾

You’re at a run-down warehouse in Roppongi with a cursed weapon in your hand when you wonder where your life went wrong. Kento called you half an hour ago—cornered, bleeding, his cleaver knocked out of his grip. “I wouldn’t have called you,” he said, “but no one else is picking up.”

It didn’t matter. If he needed you, you would be there. That had been the case for the better part of a decade.

The warehouse was a storage facility for flour and corn, most likely. The floor is covered in rancid mold. Your knife—Sound Eater, the cursed tool you’d conveniently forgotten to return to the armory when you left Jujutsu Tech—is familiar in your palm. Its handle is worn to the shape of you.

You feel comfortable like this. More comfortable than at your job filing accounts, at your apartment reading or watching some awful reality TV show. It’s because this is how you grew up, you think. You’re remembering the person you were for twenty years before you became someone else.

At the far end of the warehouse, a stone staircase leads to the basement—where Kento is. Where the curse is. You can sense it, the same feeling as being watched. A specter’s ghostly nails tracing the ridge of your spine.

The basement smells mustier than the warehouse. A single light blinks ahead, allowing you flashes of the series of hallways that lead deeper into the warehouse’s underground storage. The floor is wet, and the viscous liquid that coats the stone soaks through the soles of your shoes. Your socks stick coldly to your feet. You listen to your weapon to see if you can locate the curse, its energy responding to the curse’s with vibrations and muted shrieks that sing through your bones unpleasantly. The curse seems to be everywhere, spread through the basement like an even layer of butter.

You find Kento’s cleaver before you find him. It’s deep in the tunnel system—you’ve already been walking for two or three minutes, and there’s been no sign that anyone else is down here with you.

Taking his weapon as a sign that you’re close, you even your breathing, measure your steps—stealth training from long ago functioning like a ghost limb, sending signals through your body despite not having been used for years.

You enter a large antechamber—some sort of production facility—and though it’s quiet, you hear breathing from behind a burnt-out piece of machinery. Slowly, you approach, Sound Eater singing against your skin. This is not the cursed tool’s energy responding to a curse. It can only be Kento. Your heart still beats violently against your ribs, bruising bone.

His shoulder is a mess. Dress shirt torn, blood adorning the fabric and the shiny plastic buttons, face haggard—he’s in pain, and the sight sends you back to your youth as quick as a fist to the face. Group missions, Kento’s injuries, your injuries, the way you started always wearing black because it hid bloodstains most effectively.

You’re at his side quickly, a hand gingerly against his shoulder, checking for damage. He groans. His shoulder is dislocated, but he already knows this. “Help me get it back in,” he tells you. His shirt is still intact enough that you won’t have to touch his skin, which is good. You can’t risk being weakened right now.

Shoulders always relocate with a sickening crack, as if a bone that had been broken is being rebroken and set. A badly healed bone is a liability, Ieiri has told you. Dislocation is easier to fix. You feel a little less sick when the sight of distended skin and incorrectly puzzled bone is straightened out, set right.

“Details,” you demand.

“A semi-first grade, four-legged,” he says, taking his cleaver from you. “It’s using whatever’s on the floor—sticks you in place. Its left flank is injured.”

The one question that Kento doesn’t seem to be able to answer: where is it?

Sound Eater answers that question for you in the span of seconds, buzzing against your palm, shocks working their way down your fingers. You nod your head towards the north entrance to the production facility, where your weapon is attempting to drag you. Once it gets close enough to a curse, its energy begins to magnetize. The stronger the curse, the stronger the magnetization. You try to ignore the way your hands shake with effort to keep Sound Eater in place.

Kento is up, breathing labored. You hate this for him—that he feels like it’s his duty to deal with this, that his purpose is nothing more than being a jujutsu sorcerer. That knowing what it feels like to exorcise a curse makes it nearly impossible to want to do anything else.

You understand. This is the most alive you’ve felt in years.

In the abridged sign that you and he used to employ during group missions, he tells you, Go right. Distract.

You dart into the clearing, the curse’s eyes immediately finding you from across the large room. They’re yellow, the familiar color of bile, and they shine out from its gray body, the blob-like consistency of a snail on top of four muscled legs, identical to those of a wolf.

Which means it’s fast.

Your shoulder takes the brunt of the pressure as you roll out of the way of the curse’s first strike. It crosses ground more quickly than you can comprehend. When you right yourself, you can see just how grotesque the creature really is. Its mouth is a wide wound stuffed with teeth. Its eyes are scared, childlike. In its twisted voice, it says hello hello hello? hello who's there hello? and Sound Killer wants to taste its skin.

As it readies its weight on its back legs to strike again, Kento comes down from above, his cleaver hitting the back of the curse’s neck with intense force—almost 7:3. You hear a crack, a hiss, but the curse backs up, head still attached to its body by a thread.

The floor is suddenly very cold. It radiates up through your feet, spiking into your calves, your thighs. You try to move and fail. Sound Eater begs you to let it get closer to its target.

You’re not sure if the curse can only freeze one person at a time. Kento tries to move forward to strike again and his body jerks and stills, glued to its vulnerable position. The curse readies itself again to strike, its head knitting itself back onto its body. Its wound-mouth opens wide, ready for an offering.

Sound Eater whistles as you lift it to shoulder-level, as you aim to throw it into the curse’s open mouth before it consumes Kento.

It’s stupid, Gojo once told you, to lose your weapon on the field if your cursed technique is useless. You got very good at throwing weapons with dead aim, taking out curses with a single slice, Sound Eater a perfect match for you because of its draw to the cores of such curses. Part of you got good at this to spite him. You’ll continue to spite him, even now.

The curse lunges. Sound Eater slices through air. An echoing click fills the chamber as the cursed tool hits tooth, cracking bone but doing no more. The curse halts its attack, scared yellow eyes focused on you now.

And your cursed tool lays beneath its feet, glittering under a layer of pungent slime. You briefly try to appreciate the irony of the situation: if you hadn’t left the jujutsu world, you wouldn’t be as rusty as you are now, and maybe you would have lived.

Your feet are unlocked so suddenly that you fall to your knees, slime coating your pants, your legs, your hands as you push yourself back up. The curse lies inert in between you and Kento—clearly breathing, but nowhere near conscious. Asleep.

It’s like you can sense him before he speaks, your blood chilling in its well-traveled arteries.

“I’m glad you’re both okay,” he says. Grins without teeth. The same way Gojo grins—confident and so hopelessly self-impressed. There’s a curse beside him, one that he controls, its energy definitely potent but not malicious towards you. It’s familiar, in a way—eyes that crackle with electricity, sparking skin, long claws. You’ve seen it before, but not personally. Geto’s gaze flits between you and Sound Eater on the ground next to the downed curse. “Did Nanami call you out of retirement? Or were you just having a little fun?”

Kento says Geto’s name—a warning. He’s injured, hurting. He doesn’t have patience for games.

“It doesn’t matter why I’m here,” you say, offering Kento help to stand. His body is a heavy weight that pulls at your shoulder, activating muscles you haven’t used since right after high school. “Ieiri still runs the clinic at school, right?”

“Of course,” Geto responds, all fox teeth. He points at the unconscious curse. “First, though.”

You’ve never seen Geto absorb a curse before. You know some details about the process, mostly from Kento and Yu telling you stories about happenings in the field, but you’d never actually witnessed it. It amazes you how the body curls up into such a compact ball of shadow, how it can be contained within the walls of Geto’s cursed energy. The expression he makes while he consumes it is familiar to you. You know that strain, that effort put into controlling every single muscle in your face, veins in the neck straining hard against skin. They must taste awful. You think about the gum he offered you at the vivarium—wonder if he carries it for purposes you hadn’t considered until now.

He dismisses the other curse with a small movement of his hand, and the energy in the room evens out so quickly that your head feels full of falling sand. Sound Eater goes quiet, and you collect it from beneath a viscous layer of filth. “We should go,” Geto says, gesturing to one of the entrances to the production facility. Knowing him, he probably has the entire compound mapped out in his head.

“Did you call a car?” you ask.

“I already have one waiting. Figured we might need a quick exit.”

You nod. He still unnerves you, but you’re not entirely without manners. “Thank you.”

He looks at you for a moment longer than you’re comfortable with. Everything seems calculated in his eyes. He never simply sees things—he analyzes them. “My pleasure,” he says. You can't read his tone because he always keeps it even, friendly. But you’re sure that there’s something to read in those words that you can’t quite see right now. “Shall we?”

Despite the way you feel about him, you allow enough tentative trust for him to lead you out of the darkness and back into the sun.

✾

He insists on escorting you home from the school.

There are company cars you could’ve requested rides from—the higher-ups at least owe you a free ride home for everything you’ve done today—but you don’t want to take anything from them that they haven’t already offered. They can be tricky about which of their favors require repayment.

This leaves you and Geto on the last train of the night, alone. He stands despite the long rows of empty seats, leaning back against the Do Not Lean On Doors sign, arms crossed. There’s not even a hint of him trying to hide that he’s watching you intently.

On any other day, you would stand, unwilling to give him any advantage—but you’re exhausted. You need a shower so badly. Layers of slime have dried on you and you feel more disgusting than you ever knew was possible. You sit opposite him, leaning back in the uncomfortable plasticky chair. Meeting his eyes feels foolish. Taking your attention off of him feels even more foolish. Staring at his shoes is a happy medium.

The car rolls steady across its tracks, its wheels whistling slightly when the train reaches top speed between stations.

“Do you ever see things you don’t want to?” he asks after a three-stop stretch of silence.

All the time. It seems you’ll always be stuck in this cycle of attempting normalcy only to be tasked with experiencing the unpleasant wants and memories of people you don’t know. You’re not going to tell him that, though. Him asking you questions makes you queasy. Your knees feel weak even though you’re sitting down. “Doesn’t everyone?”

“You’re very good at avoiding my questions.”

“You don’t make it hard.”

The train rolls on, and on, and on.

He hooks his arm around the closest stanchion pole, then leans in your direction. The strand of hair that hangs loose against his face sways alongside the train's ebbs and flows. Blinding brightness from the overhead LEDs paint his face in baroque shadows. He could be a devil, or a killer, or simply a man. “Does it scare you?”

Many things about this situation scare you. You ask him to clarify.

“When you read people. I’m sure you’ve seen some… unsavory things.” You think: bodies. You think: blood and muscle and sinew and bone. “It would make sense if those things scared you.”

“They don’t,” you lie.

He considers you for a long moment, seeming to lean even farther forward, and the idea of him getting closer pierces your stomach like a nail. But the train once again sways on its tracks and his body follows, leaning back on his heels and removing himself from what could have almost been your space. “I always wondered what it was you saw.”

“What do you mean?” you ask. You know what he means.

He smiles, almost condescending—an expression that says come now, are we really going to play this game? The way he says your name in response, so pleasant and even-keeled, makes you feel like a cold stone. Prey trapped in a small space with its most vicious predator. You go so still your blood stops flowing.

Until now, you’d never been sure whether he actually knew that you’d read him. You’re positive he doesn’t want anyone to know what’s inside his head. He paints an image of himself over what he really is, but it’s a faulty veneer. Apply enough pressure and it’ll fracture in all the little places that hold the worst rotted of the flesh beneath.

You know he would do anything to keep this image of himself spotless, whole. You’re sure of it. “Kento will know something’s wrong if I don’t talk to him in the next few days.”

His brows draw low over his dark eyes—first in confusion, and then in a sort of amused incredulity. “You think I’m going to kill you.”

“I think you want to.”

The lights flash in the car as it passes under a tunnel. “What is it that defines a good person?”

“...why are you asking me?”

He grins, and your stomach constricts. “Good and bad are large concepts in a small world. They touch and overlap in more places than any of us could ever anticipate. But we’re supposed to fit neatly into one or the other.”

You don’t respond. You’re too focused on the stretch of his lips.

“So what defines a good person?”

“The things they’ve done,” you say, more to get him to stop asking you questions than anything.

“I don’t remember doing anything particularly harmful to you,” he says—and here it is. What he really wants from you. “It can’t be my actions. So is it my desires that define me as a bad person in your eyes, or my memories?”

Your stomach constricts tighter. Painfully. You’re still four stops away from the one by your apartment. “Geto.”

“It has to be one or the other. Those are the two categories that you can read, right?”

“It was a long time ago.”

“Ten years,” he says. “And you can barely look me in the eye.”

You try, as if you could prove him wrong, but you can’t maintain eye contact with him for more than a moment before you feel a terrible coldness in your gut.

“I’d always wondered if you read me that night, but I was never sure.” He wraps his loose strand of hair around a long finger, then unwraps it. Repeats these movements like a question and answer, like a catechism. “Not until I saw you again.”

“The second time you called me out to the village—you were lying to me.”

“We’ve established that.”

“You put that man in a coma,” you say. "You absorbed the curse that was at the power plant."

He nods, face calm, as if altering someone’s state of being is a normal thing to do. “But I woke him up right after you left and he was unharmed. I paid him for his time.”

“Why?”

“I needed to know what it was that scared you. The situation itself…” he says, holding out one hand flat—and then the other, his hands mimicking the sides of a scale, the second option heavier than the first. “Or me.”

“I’d have told you that if you asked,” you say, and you would have. No point in keeping it from him. “You didn’t have to lie. That was underhanded.”

“I think reading me without my consent counts as underhanded.”

Bone, muscle, blood, sinew. Bone-white beneath his uniform. And the blood, the blood, the blood, orange-peel thick. “I didn’t want to. You don’t understand, you were—I could see your ribs. It was—we didn’t think—”

“I understand,” he says.

“I know you do,” you concede. Because he was there for it all. He experienced it all. He woke up when he was healed and immediately went to search for the body of his best friend, not knowing that Gojo had already woken himself up from the brink of death. “I wish it happened differently.”

“Doesn’t everyone?” he asks, parroting your response from earlier.

Maybe they do. Maybe things could have gone much differently—worse, even. You could know more than his wants. You could have seen them realized.

“What did you see?” he asks, careful. Quiet. There's a weight to his voice you're unfamiliar with. It sounds like more than passing curiosity.

It’s what makes you answer honestly. “Blood. Bodies.” Finally. “Relief.”

“Which of those scared you the most?”

You look at him, jaw tight, because he knows which one it was.

“And that makes me a bad person?” he asks.

“I never said you were a bad person.”

“You just thought it.”

You have. You’ve thought it every day since seeing his true desires. You’re not sure that you’re a good person either, but your hidden wants will never be as gruesome as his. “It’s not that simple.”

“Of course it’s not.” Again, he smiles—but there’s something brittle to it. Gojo, in your office when you pushed too hard. A mask beginning to crack.

The train stills, doors opening. You're still a few stops away from home. No one gets on, no one gets off. It's just you and Geto on the car, filling its silence with more than words.

“If I asked you to read me now,” he asks, “would you?”

Your head jerks up, and you look past him, at the closing doors, at the windows of the train car. The whistling starts again, the train gaining speed. You’re between stops. There’s no exit. “No.”

“It could be different than last time.”

“You don’t know that,” you say, but what you really want to tell him is that it won’t be.

“What if it is?” he asks. “Maybe you have the wrong idea of me.”

You don’t think that’s the case. You’re not going to tell him this.

“I was angry. Hurt. I thought Satoru had just been murdered.” He says these things like easy facts. His tone takes the emotion out of them entirely, as if those factors didn’t contribute to what you’re sure is massive unresolved trauma. “I thought I was going to die.”

“You didn’t.”

“No,” he says—and here you get a flash of something deeper, again unfamiliar. Because he won’t look at you, even though he’s the kind of person that always makes eye contact. He leans back, distancing himself. “Have you ever experienced that? A moment where you know you’re going to die?”

“I haven’t.”

His lips twist into a muted frown. He looks young, the way he used to in high school. He stares out of the darkened window at nothing. At the walls of the underground tunnels. At blackness, pure and complete. The bags under his eyes are more prominent. Because of the lighting, maybe. “You think a lot of things. You realize a lot of things. And none of it is particularly fair.”

This has to be manipulation. He’s good at that. He always has been. But—something about this moment feels vulnerable, and you’ve never known Geto to be vulnerable. Not with anyone. Even on the brink of death, even just recovered, his chest still terribly scarred—there was nothing. He smiled at you and Ieiri before he left, that fox-teeth smile you hate so much. I’ll be back shortly, he told the two of you, as if his blood wasn’t coating the bottom of your shoes, staining the skin of your knees, clotting underneath your fingernails.

You’ve read people for long enough that you’re sure: this moment is different. “Why do you want me to read you?” you ask, so quiet that your voice is nearly swallowed by the sound of the train wheels scrolling across their metal track.

“Because I want to know,” he says, his voice a little hoarse at its core, “what you see.”

You shouldn’t. You’re too kind. Kento tells you this often.

You shouldn’t.

When you put your hand out, palm up, Geto places his fingers atop yours so gently—a breeze of a touch. And then: bodies. bodies. bodies. bodies. bodies. bodies. bodies. bodies. bodies. bodies. bodies. suguru should we kill these guys ? bodies. bodies. bodies. bodies. it could’ve been different i could’ve been different bodies. bodies. bodies. bodies. bodies. bodies. we could do it together no. i could do it alone bodies. bodies. bodies— You vomit onto the floor of the train.

Geto is on his knees in front of you, clear of the mess, and your fingers are tangled in his shirt, fists bunching the material at each shoulder. You want to let go so badly but you can’t—you’re heaving, sobbing, your forehead pressed against your fist, tears running hot onto the back of your hand.

It’s just so bad. It’s so terrible. He wants this to happen. He feels like people deserve this. You never should have let him convince you to read him. You shouldn’t have been drawn in by the vulnerability. Not when—not when it’s that in his head, still, a decade later.

You can’t stop heaving, nearly retching. You can’t stop pulling in breaths too quickly, not deep enough. Your forehead is flush against his shoulder now, and your tears are staining his shirt, and you can’t let go. You’re paralyzed.

He holds you while you cry. Only touches your back, your arms. Not your hair or face or hands. You couldn’t handle it again. You couldn’t handle it again but you can’t move right now.

As you quiet, as your breaths turn slow, heavier, you realize he’s been speaking to you. Maybe the whole time—you’re not sure. Quiet reassurance. It’s okay, you’re okay. Breathe.

You don’t feel okay. You feel more sick than you ever have. “Why would you want that?” you ask, and your words blend into tears. Into panic.

He’s quiet, one large hand smoothing down your back over and over, as if reassuring you that you’re safe. Safe in the arms of someone with that many bodies in his head. He sighs, tired, and his breath makes your hair flutter, caresses the curve of your ear.

The shock of fear to your system from realizing just how close he is gives you the strength to pull away—to sit back in the seat again, untwine your fingers from his shirt. It’s creased on each shoulder from your vice grip. There’s vomit on the floor of the train to the right of him. He’s on both knees in front of you, hands in his lap now that you’ve freed yourself from his grasp.

Was it real? The vulnerability? The hoarseness to his voice when he told you that he wanted to know what you would see?

“I’m sorry,” he says.

“Why would you want that?” you repeat.

He sighs again. Sits back on his heels, begins running his hand through his hair before remembering it’s tied up. He just leaves his hand on the top of his head, fingers curling inwards until he’s gripping his hair, and you wonder if it feels the same as it did on the night you read him for the first time. “I don’t know,” he tells you.

The train stops again. The voice says something you don't hear. You can't get up. “That’s not true.”

The doors close and there's the whistling once again, the darkness that surrounds the both of you, the speed you can just hardly feel. “Why did you decide to quit being a sorcerer?” he asks.

You don’t want to tell him. “There were a lot of reasons.”

“How is it fair?” He drops his hand. His hair is disheveled, just like his shirt. He looks so un-put together that he hardly resembles the Geto you’ve always had an image of in your head. “So many of us die. So many of us have injuries that take years to really heal. And it’s their fault. Humans.”

“You’re human.”

“I’m a sorcerer.”

“They’re not mutually exclusive.”

“I’m the one that has to deal with the consequences of their actions,” he says, as if that means something. As if that puts him in a different group from them entirely.

“So you want to kill them?”

“No,” he says, quick—because that’s what he’s supposed to say, you think. Then he quiets for a moment and seems to actually consider your question. “No. But—I do think about it.”

You both sit with the admission. Though the train car is empty, you feel cloistered, walls too tight around you.

“It makes me worry that I’m not a good person anymore,” he tells you.

“Did you want me to read you so you could decide whether you’re good or not?”

“I wanted you to read me because when I heard about those little girls that died, Satoru had to talk me down from going to that village and killing everyone.”

The conductor comes on the speakers, announcing the last few stops. It's both shocking and reassuring to have another person so close. You can't believe this conversation is happening in such close proximity to a person that couldn't even begin to understand the nature of its contents. Strangely enough, the admission quiets some of the fear inside you. Because you can understand it, on some level. Those girls were sorcerers. They were also nine.

“I had to see if there was anything inside me that didn’t want to do it,” he says. “Because—if there’s not—”

“I don’t see everything,” you tell him. There's more you could say, but you've never been comfortable revealing the true extent of what you can do. You've been a tool for long enough that you know being more effective begets more use. “I don’t think you should use me as a metric.”

“It’s obvious that what you saw wasn’t very good.”

“They starved to death,” you say. “I’d be angry too.”

And you're not angry, you realize. Not in the way that he is. Two little girls were starved to death for being somewhat different, and you can't get yourself to feel more than disgust. More than frustration. Parts of you have been quelled over time—being a jujutsu sorcerer necessitates this. You can't get angry over everything because everything is unjust, and everything is unfair, and eventually it'll all build up. Maybe into what Geto is experiencing now. If you hadn't desensitized yourself like this, maybe you would have bodies in your head.

It's unlikely. Not to the extent he does. But it's not like you're a stranger to violence.

“Maybe I’m not a good person because I’m not angry the way that you are,” you say.

“I don't think that's true,” he says, smiling, a little slight and a little sad.

It's the only time since you'd read him at the edge of death that you don't see fox teeth—but the smile is still not entirely kind. His words don't speak of reassurance. Perhaps a sort of envy. You're familiar with want. Uncomfortably so. You recognize it even when you try not to. Maybe he wants to feel the way you do. Less angry. Or maybe he does truly see you as good, in a certain context, and he wants to be there on that level with you.

“The first time I ingested a curse," he tells you, “I was so sick I couldn’t stand. I didn’t realize how awful it would taste. There’s nothing I could compare it to. After it was done, I threw up until my stomach was empty, and then kept going. The stomach acid burned my throat so badly that I had to go to the hospital. I was still young.”

You stay still and quiet. You don't want to relate to him so you try not to.

“And sometimes I wonder—would any non-sorcerer ever understand that? Could they?”

You try not to, and you fail at it. “Will you show me?”

He looks at you in askance. You don't tell people that you can do this. Only Kento knows. It's not something you should allow Geto. Not when he scares you the way he does.

“The first time,” you say, because despite knowing you shouldn't do this, it's that sick curiosity again that pushes you forward. And maybe something else—a want. A need to relate. To be sure that someone else has known what you've felt your entire life. “If you really concentrate on the memory—I want to see it.”

To show you, he touches your face: it’s so dark and i’m scared. and mom said to come home soon. but i saw this thing and i want to see if i can beat it no. i’m lying to you. there is a way i want this memory to go. i am a good child and i want to go home to my mother but i am so curious. i am so curious i am so curious. i want to see what that thing looks like when i kill it. i know i can. i know i am different. i scare my mother and father and they still love me very much because it is so dark and i am so scared and i am just a child. but i am not scared. i follow the thing into dense trees that shadow the park. i play here with my friends. i kill it. i don’t know how i know what to do but i do and !!! oh !!! god !!! oh god please. please. please. don’t make me do it again don’t make me do it again don’t make me do it again i want to go home i want to see my mother i do i’m sorry it hurts it hurts oh god oh i want to be good. i’m sorry. i want to be good. i’m sorry. i want to be sorry. i’m god.

The way you come out of a reading is usually like a free-fall without a parachute. One second you’re tumbling through the air, and the next you’ve been abruptly stopped. Being shown something is different. Kento would show you his childhood when you asked, moments with his family, bad parts of missions that he didn't want to voice but still wanted to share. It’s a little easier to stomach.

Usually.

His hand lingers near your face, resting on your shoulder. He’s so close to you and he smells like very expensive cologne and you suddenly see how tired he is. His smile hides more than you thought it did. Maybe more than you had been looking for.

“Do you have a final verdict?” he asks. “Or should I decide for myself?”

There’s a predilection in him, you think. He’s predisposed to anger, the self-righteous kind. So is every other sorcerer you’ve ever met. And yet it’s different with him—more complex. Something else is very wrong with him. Deeply.

“I don’t like it when people touch my face.”

“I can keep that in mind.”

“I want you to apologize.”

“Of course,” he says, gentle. Was his voice always this gentle? Or is it because of all he’s shared with you on this train? “I’m sorry.”

The doors of the train open and a tinny voice announces that you’ve reached the last stop of the night. You missed your station a long time ago. You’ll have to pay for a cab. “I don’t think you’re a bad person,” you tell him. “But I'm afraid of you.”

He nods. Sits back on his heels again. “Will you be okay getting home?”

“Yes,” you say. “Thank you.”

You make it home just after one in the morning and lay in your bed with your clothes on and you don’t sleep. You don’t sleep at all.

i will link part two here when it is posted!

#geto x reader #suguru geto x reader #fics #this took me forever to write that's why im posting part one im like this will actually make me finish part two #geto is just SOOOOO hard to write #like incredibly. i am like. hope i did. at least a little justice lmao #if there is anything I forgot that I should put in the tw or the info pls lmk!!!

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