PAIRING: best friend! satoru x fem!reader
WARNINGS: blood, gore, violence, angst, fluff, some horror elements ish? happy ending, feelings of possessiveness, the smut here is filthy nasty, dirty talk, gojo is an eater!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!, pussy EATING (more like devouring), multiple orgasms, fingering, rimming, blowjob, creampie, cum eating, p in v sex, dry humping, edging
NOTES: omg i am so excited to finally release this. this part is so much longer than i intended it to be, sorry guys hehe. i dont know how i feel about the curse stuff in this story, not really used to writing it so idk how good it is or how accurate it cuz i barely fact checked this shizzz. omg but i LOVE the smut in this fic. even if you don't like the beginning and just want the porn, bro scroll to the bottom, i promise it won't disappoint.
The second you stepped outside the hotel, the wind hit you like a wall. It was cold, damp, and forceful enough to knock the air right out of your lungs for a second. Although the rain had stopped, a heavy mist hung in the air, turning every breath into a conscious struggle.
You checked the screen of your phone.
Shit. There was seriously nothing you hated more than late-night calls. Sleep was a priority for you, and being dragged out into the field when your body was practically begging to be sleeping in bed was only going to make a tough assignment feel ten times worse.
Luckily, a bright blue taxi pulled up to the curb before you could spiral into misery over your lack of sleep. Thank God youād had the foresight to call one while you were getting dressed upstairs; at least you wouldn't be standing around freezing in the damp air waiting for a ride.
You slipped inside and gave the driver the location.
āKabukicho, Shinjuku.ā
According to the call from Principal Yaga, that was the curseās last known location. But it was a special gradeāthey were incredibly fast, mobile, and rarely stayed in one spot for long.
As the taxi pulled away, its tires hissing against the wet pavement, you leaned back against the headrest, completely unable to relax. Kabukicho was going to be a nightmare at this hour. The nightlife there would be in full swing, the neon-lit streets absolutely packed with people moving between bars, clubs, and restaurants.
Your mouth felt completely dry. This was a massive headache waiting to happen.
Dropping a massive veil over the whole district would just trap thousands of innocent civilians inside with a monster. There was no point in locking people into a danger zone if you could avoid it. Your best bet was to track the curse down first, herd it into a confined space, and then drop a smaller, targeted veil over it. If you could corner it in a small area, you could wrap the whole thing up pretty quickly.
Well, assuming thereās actually only one of them.
The thought made you frown. Satoru had mentioned that this specific special grade might be splitting pieces off from its main body. If he was right, how many of those pieces were running around? How far had they scattered? Dealing with one veil in a crowded place like Kabukicho was hard enough, but managing several by yourself? It felt completely impossible.
The loud, aggressive buzz of your ringtone suddenly shattered the quiet of the car, pulling you right out of your head. Your eyes widened the second you looked down at the caller ID.
This nincompoop had changed his contact name, probably while you were in the shower earlier. You made a mental note to fix that. Still, seeing him call did pull at your heartstrings a little. Without wasting much more time, you pick up.
"Hey, you." His voice is low and sleepy, stripped of his usual teasing lilt. "You there yet?"
"Almost, should be there in a few minutes."
"Mmm." For a few seconds, you just hear his quiet, soft breathing. "'m missing you."
If only you could see him right nowāeyes closed, sprawled out in your shared bed, arm outstretched to your empty spot, pretending you were right there beside him, your voice in his ear coming from the pillow next to him instead of through a phone.
"Miss you too, Toru." You wanted to say more. To tell him how worried you were and just hear his voice, soothing and steady, talk you down from it. But you don't. You know him too well. If he knew you were worried, he'd come anyway, no matter what you said.
You can't risk it. Curses that mess with your head are the worst kind to deal withānot only are they mentally exhausting, but theyāre also time-consuming. Gojo showing up late to this meeting was a firm no. You know those stupid geezers would take their frustration out on Yuji and dress it up as concern for the safety of the world. For once, Gojo had to be on his best behaviour. This wasn't like it was with Yuta, and even that had been an uphill battle. Yuji carried the king of curses inside him. Convincing them that sparing him was the right call wouldn't be easy, not by a long shot. So, you hold your tongue and hope it doesn't come back to bite you, and instead say, "What time do you have to be up?"
"3:30. It's sooooo early, babe. Those fossilized dinosaurs want to meet at 4:30," he whines.
You giggle. "That really is early. They're trying to make it hard for you to show up, stupid idiots. Hate how it feels like they've already made up their minds about Yuji without even hearing you out."
"I know, baby. But you know me, I'm very persuasive. So persuasive I even got you to fall for me."
"Who says I fell for you?"
"It was pretty obvious when you were grinding on me an hour ago."
"Oh my god," you huffed, your face heating up. "You are completely shameless."
"Only when it comes to you."
Before you could fire back a retort, the taxi driverās gruff voice cut through the quiet car, his eyes catching yours in the rearview mirror. "We'll be arriving in about a minute."
You gave the driver a polite nod and returned your attention to the phone. "Hey, I'm here. I have to go."
You heard Satoru let out a slow, deep exhale on the other end, the sleepiness completely vanishing from his tone. "Okay. Be careful out there. Call me if anything feels offāand I mean anything. I'm serious."
"I will. Thanks, 'toru. See you tomorrow." You murmured your goodbyes and hung up.
The lingering warmth in your chest vanished the second the screen went dark, instantly replaced by that familiar, creeping dread. It was the specific kind of heavy knot that only formed when you knew that a mission was going to be an absolute nightmare.
The taxi rolled to a stop along a relatively quiet side street just off the main strip. After thanking the driver, you stepped out of the car and into the overwhelming wall of noise and neon that defined Kabukicho. You pulled your collar up against the damp chill and blended into the crowd, scanning the bright alleyways to figure out exactly where the traces of cursed energy were.
.āāāāāā°āāāāā.
The quiet of the hotel room offered Satoru no refuge. His mind remained a relentless cycle of memories, all centering on you. For more than ten years, he had settled for the role of a friend, a position that had become a slow and constant ache. To finally hold you in the way he had envisioned for a lifetime, only to have that connection severed while he was powerless to stop it, felt like a unique form of cruelty.
He revisited every moment you shared, unable to break free from the loop of his memories. The heavy weight of his current loneliness brought a singular, undeniable truth to the surface: there was no logical explanation for this depth of grief other than the fact that he was completely in love with you. He loved every detail of your existence. When he looked into your eyes, he felt a pull so magnetic that he never wanted to find his way back. Your voice was a gentle breeze that swept him away to a place of calm, and your laughter remained the most beautiful sound he had ever known.
His entire being felt anchored to you. His heart and soul belonged to you, even if you remained unaware of the depth of his devotion. People called him the strongest, but that title felt like a hollow prize when it could not keep you near him. He would give up the power that set him apart from the rest of the world in an instant if it meant he could finally be with you. He did not care about the status or the prestige; all he wanted was for you to be there.
He eventually drifted into a light, restless sleep, but you followed him there, too. Waking or dreaming, you were the only thing occupying his mind, and he wouldnāt have it any other way.
.āāāāāā°āāāāā.
While Satoru drifted into a quiet sleep, you were out navigating the restless, crowded streets of Kabukicho. The district was alive with a frantic energy. Laughter spilled from the open doors of bars, and a rhythmic bass thudded from clubs upstairs. A group of office workers stumbled past with loosened ties and flushed faces, while couples walked beneath the glow of neon screens, their umbrellas knocking together. The earlier rain had left the pavement slick, turning every puddle into a reflection of red, blue, and gold.
You pushed through the crowded streets, filtering out the noise to focus entirely on tracking the curseās residue. You spotted a faint smudge of it on a restaurant window, barely noticeable against the bright indoor lights. Further down, there was another trace on the glass doors of a karaoke building and a third smeared across the shiny hood of a parked car. Then, you saw a trail rippling across a puddle at the entrance of a narrow alley, heading into the dark.
Everything clicked into place. The curse wasnāt touching the actual structures of the city. It was only leaving marks on reflective surfaces. It was traveling through the glass and mirrors, jumping between reflections to stay hidden.
Scanning the street with better focus, you noticed a young man slow down near the entrance of an arcade a little farther ahead. His friends kept walking and laughing at a joke, but he lagged behind. He stood frozen beside a glossy black panel near the doorway, eyes fixed on his own reflection.
You watched him closely. His shoulders went completely slack, and then his reflection smiled.
But the manās actual face stayed completely blank.
You lunged forward. āHey!ā you called out, pushing through the gap between passing strangers. āStep away from that!ā
The man didnāt react. In the glass, his reflection tilted its head with a slow, deliberate ease, the smile getting wider.
You quickened your pace. āCan you hear me?ā
By the time you reached him, his hand was lifting toward the panel, fingers trembling as they stretched toward the version of himself waiting on the other side. You caught his wrist a split second before his skin brushed the glass.
The moment your hand closed around his arm, the reflection shattered into something else.
The manās face vanished from the polished surface, and a creature looked back.
The silhouette was almost human but stretched out and warped. It loomed too tall, its limbs emaciated, and its neck bent at a sickening, fractured slant. Its face was completely blank, just a smooth mask of pale flesh with a dark, scar-like seam running across the bottom. Before you could even draw a breath, that seam split wide openāthe flesh peeling back with a wet sound into a massive, jagged grin.
You felt its heavy, suffocating attention land squarely on you. The air went ice-cold.
Around you, the crowd kept moving, completely oblivious. Someone laughed behind your shoulder, a car horn blared, and music pulsed from the arcade. But inside the glass, nothing moved. It just stared straight at you.
The black surface rippled.
You shoved the man backward, hard enough to send him stumbling into a passerby. Someone shouted in annoyance. The young man blinked rapidly, dazed and confused, like he was waking up from a deep trance.
You barely heard them. The movement inside every reflective surface on the street suddenly froze dead.
The windows, the puddles, the cars parked along the curb, the shine of rainwater on the asphalt, and even the dark screen of a phone in the hand of a passing woman. In every single one of them, that same pale face was watching you.
Your breath caught. āFound you,ā you whispered.
The curseās smile tore wider, and the streetlights flickered.
In one sharp instant, Kabukicho bent. The neon signs stretched upward into long trails of color. The pavement beneath your shoes grew soft and unstable. Sound dragged and warped, the voices of the crowd pulling thin until they melted into a distant, ringing in your ear.
You stepped back, cursing yourself as you tried to activate your cursed technique.
The glossy panel beside the arcade warped open. A violent, magnetic pull tore through your body, and your stomach dropped as if the ground had vanished. You tried to brace yourself, digging your heel into the changing pavement, but the force only tightened, yanking you forward with impossible strength.
The last thing you saw of the real world was the young man staring at you in horror. Then the street folded inward.
You hit wet pavement hard, pain sparking through your shoulder as you rolled and caught yourself on one palm. For a moment you stayed there, breathing through the shock while the air froze in your lungs and your pulse pounding in your ears.
Slowly, you pushed yourself upright.
Kabukicho spread out around you. At least, it looked like Kabukicho.
The neon signs still buzzed, and the streets still shone with rain. Clusters of civilians blurred past with umbrellas tucked under their arms. A taxi rolled by, its blue paint flashing under the lights before vanishing around the corner.
You turned in a slow circle. The arcade stood behind you, its entrance glowing. The same bars and restaurants lined the street, and the same narrow alley opened a few steps away.
Your hand curled into a fist. āNo,ā you murmured.
Something was wrong. It took a moment to spot the glitch.
A woman in a beige coat walked past you, laughing softly into her phone. Three seconds later, she walked out of the exact same corner ahead of you and passed you again, her laugh echoing at the exact same pitch.
Across the street, a man dropped a cigarette near the curb and crushed it beneath his shoe. A beat later, he was standing back beneath the sign, bringing the unlit cigarette to his mouth for the first time.
The blue taxi rolled past the corner again, exactly as it had a moment ago. Then the traffic light changed from red to green, but none of the cars actually moved. A second later, it snapped back to red.
You exhaled slowly. A domain. No veil needed anymore you think.
The technique was incomplete, a hollow imitation of a Domain Expansion. It lacked the suffocating pressure of a refined barrier and the immediate, predatory lock of a sure-hit factor. The fabric of the space felt fragile, poorly woven at the seams. It was a stage play of a worldāconstructed from memory by an entity that barely understood what it was trying to mimic.
You checked your phone. It was frozen, so you had no way of keeping track of how long youāve been in here, great.
You moved carefully down the street, eyes flicking from surface to surface. The windows reflected the looping crowd. Puddles showed signs flickering in entirely different colours than the ones overhead. The side of a passing taxi caught your shape, but the reflection was a half-second too slow to follow your movements.
The curse was hiding somewhere inside this imitation, and you had to find the anchor holding the illusion together. This domain was likely how it caught non-sorcerers. If a human was drunk or high, theyād probably assume their own brains were playing tricks on them, completely missing the small, unnatural loops until they were trapped endlessly.
You recalled what you saw right before getting dragged in: the face in the glass. The curse had to be hiding in one of these reflective surfaces. You just needed to find the right one and destroy it before it could hop to another.
You were basically playing a high-stakes game of whack-a-mole, keeping cursed energy circulating through your fist so you could strike the instant the curse appeared.
You wandered around the district looking at every surface, your eyes aching from the constant glare of the bright lights overhead. You had no idea what time it was, and the frustration was really starting to build.
Then, as you turned your head to check another window, you caught it. That eerily creepy figure was staring back from a glass pane. Without any hesitation, you smashed the surface with your cursed energy.
Suddenly everything went black. The fake world vanished, and you felt yourself falling straight down into the earth.
You kept your eyes shut until you hit the ground with a loud, painful thud.
"Ouch," you muttered, pulling yourself up.
When you opened your eyes, you weren't in Kabukicho anymore. You were standing in the middle of Jujutsu High.
You stared out at the barren campus, the silence stretching for a heartbeat before total panic gripped you. The air felt thick, poisoned, completely wrong. You were still trapped in the belly of its domain, snagged in a different layer of the curse's reality. A cold, nauseating dread settled deep in your gut.
.āāāāāā°āāāāā.
The loud blare of his phone alarm broke the quiet of the hotel room. Satoru groaned, keeping his eyes shut as his hand swept across the nightstand until his fingers closed around the device. He swiped the screen to silence it, letting his arm drop heavily back onto the mattress. For a minute, he just lay there in the dim morning light, waiting for the lingering grogginess of sleep to clear. Then the reality of the empty room returned to him, and he remembered that you were still out on your mission.
His eyes opened. He sat up, blinking against the sudden brightness as he unlocked his screen and went directly to your messages. There were no new notifications, no missed calls, and no indication that you had tried to reach him. He stared at the blank space beneath his last message, his thumb hovering over the glass. It was common for missions to run late, especially considering it was a special grade in a crowded area like Kabukicho. He knew there were plenty of practical reasons for the delay, but the lack of an update still unsettled him.
Satoru ran a hand through his messy white hair, his gaze drifting to your empty side of the bed. He knew exactly how capable you wereāyou were one of Jujutsu High's most reliable sorcerers, and he trusted your instincts implicitly. He didnāt need to hover or treat you like an amateur. But logic did nothing to ease the suffocating silence of the room. That was the part hated: the agonizing act of waiting, left entirely in the dark about whether you were safe, completely exhausted, or just too busy to check your phone.
During your student years, the school rarely separated the two of you. Almost always deployed as a pair, meaning he could simply look to his side and see you right there. You would usually be covered in dirt, stubbornly hiding your exhaustion while scolding him for being reckless. He always laughed because he knew the frustration came from a place of genuine care.
He remembered a specific evening after a grueling assignment. You both were bruised, starving, and waiting outside a convenience store. Satoru had bought the very last sweet pastry from the shelf simply to irritate you.
You had stared at him with intense, exaggerated offense. āYou are actually the worst person I know,ā you said.
He had grinned, leaning against the glass door. āThat is a little dramatic.ā
āYou stole my dessert.ā
āYou knew I wanted it.ā
Despite the five minutes of complaints, you still sat with him on the concrete curb under the harsh glare of the vending machines, breaking the pastry in half. You took the larger piece, claiming it was a mandatory fee for emotional distress. It was a completely ordinary moment, devoid of any major declarations, but it remained one of the clearest and fondest memories he had.
Things were different now. You were no longer teenagers learning the ropes, and the higher-ups no longer kept you two together just because the two of you functioned perfectly as a team. They had individual duties, separate schedules, and distinct dangers. Satoru accepted a while ago that this was the natural progression of their lives, but he thoroughly disliked the reality of it.
It was a strange, frustrating vulnerability. He possessed the Six Eyes and the Limitless technique, making him the most powerful sorcerer alive, yet none of that power allowed him to see through the distance to ensure you were safe. He was entirely helpless to do anything but sit in a quiet room and wait.
His thumb moved over the call icon. He wanted to dial your number just to hear the line connect. Even if you answered only to reprimand him for interrupting your focus, the sound of your voice would be enough to put his mind at ease. He hesitated, then decided against it, opening the text bar instead.
Hey. Update me when you can.
He deleted it immediately because it felt too serious. Sending that felt like a manifestation, a confession that there was actually something to fear.
Instead, he typed: You better not be making me worry for nothing.
He hit send before he could reconsider, placing the phone face up on the mattress. He started getting ready for his meeting, eyes always flickering to his phone to see if you responded, but you didnāt. When he reached for his eyewear, his hand passed right over his glasses and grabbed his blindfold. Those frames were reserved for youāhe only put them on because you loved them, and he had zero desire to look attractive for a room full of old geezers. Wrapping the black cloth over his eyes, Satoru checked his phone one last time, tucked it into his pocket, and left the hotel room.
.āāāāāā°āāāāā.
The silence in the courtyard was absolute. There were no cicadas buzzing in the trees, no distant hum of traffic from the city below the mountain, and the wind had died down to nothing. The sun was stuck in a permanent, dull twilight that cast long, unnatural shadows across the dirt.
You took a tentative step toward the main building. The wooden sliding doors and stone pathways looked exactly as they always did, but the familiar warmth of the school was entirely gone.
Footsteps echoed from the corridor to your left.
You spun around, your hand instinctively rising as you prepared to channel your cursed energy. Satoru stepped out from the shadow of the building. He was wearing his standard dark uniform, his white hair messy and damp just like it had been in the hotel room. But something was wrong. His blindfold was gone, and his eyes were completely blank, staring right through you without a single trace of life.
"You should have just told me you were worried," he said. His voice was completely flat, stripped of its usual playful cadence, chillingly empty. "You should have told me you were scared so I could actually help you. But you wanted to play the hero. And now look at you... you're going to die here, entirely alone."
The words sent a sharp sting through your chest, but the mechanical delivery gave it away immediately. The real Satoru would never sound this lifeless.
"You're not him," you muttered, backing away.
The illusion did not argue. Its face twisted into a rigid snarl, jaw unhinging just slightly too wide, and it lunged ā not with the graceful, almost lazy precision of the real Satoru, but with savage, mindless velocity. Its fingers hooked like claws and drove straight for your throat.
You pivoted hard left, letting it blow past you, and buried your fist into its ribs with everything you had. Cursed energy detonated through the point of contact. The fake Satoru exploded, its torso bursting apart from the inside out in a cascade of jagged glass. Hundreds of heavy shards screamed outward. One opened a line across your cheekbone. You hissed through your teeth, pressing the back of your hand against the cut as the fragments rained down onto the dirt with a deafening, ringing clatter.
You didn't even have time to register the blood before more footsteps sounded from every direction.
Geto walked out from behind the training grounds, a cursed tool balanced in his hand. Shoko stepped off the porch of the infirmary, her fingers gripping a sharp scalpel. Even Principal Yaga emerged from the main hall. None of them spoke. They just advanced on you in perfect sync, their faces smooth and expressionless.
Panic flared in your chest. Even though you knew they were fakes, seeing the people you cherished most coming at you with lethal intent made your stomach turn to ice.
Geto struck first. He closed the distance instantly, his cursed tool whistling in a downward diagonal aimed to split your skull. You ducked under the swing, but the blade caught you, slicing open the meat of your shoulder. It wasn't a fatal blow, but it burned like a bitch.
Not deep, but enough. Pain flared bright and hot, and you used it, let it sharpen your focus instead of scattering it. You surged upward, driving your elbow into Geto's chin with bone-jarring force. His head snapped back, and you got one clean look at his empty eyes before Shoko's scalpel raked across your forearm. Instead of letting the shock break your rhythm, you weaponized it, using the adrenaline to lock your focus. You exploded upward, slamming your elbow into the underside of Geto's jaw. The impact rattled up your arm as his head jerked back, exposing the vacant, unseeing look in his eyes. Then, out of nowhere, Shoko's scalpel raked across your forearm.
You cried out, staggering. The blade had caught you across the meat of your left forearm and blood welled up instantly, running hot between your fingers and dripping into the dirt. Your arm burned like a brand had been pressed against it. You had to clench your jaw to keep from going to your knees.
Yaga was already on top of you. He didn't use a weapon ā he didn't need one. His fist connected with your ribs like a falling beam, and the world whited out for a half-second. You felt something creak inside your chest, praying all your ribs were still intact. You smashed the back of your skull against his face as he grabbed you from behind, and the grip loosened just enough for you to wrench yourself free, gasping.
Three more copies emerged from the shadows to replace the ones you'd shattered.
Then it clicked. The curse was trying to exhaust you. If you kept fighting these puppets, you would be completely drained of cursed energy and blood before you ever found the real threat.
You stopped focusing on the copies. You dropped your stance, ignored the fresh wave of pain from your arm and ribs, and gathered a massive amount of cursed energy into both palms. You drove your hands directly into the stone pathway beneath your feet with a sound like a thunderclap.
The energy erupted outward in a violent wave.
You don't see it in time.
The shockwave tears through the courtyard in every direction ā but you are at the center of it, and the recoil is brutal. The stone beneath your hands pulverizes and kicks back into your palms, shredding the skin raw. You're thrown backward, rolling hard across fractured rock, and when you finally stop, you're facedown in the dirt with gravel embedded in your cheek and both hands screaming.
For a moment you just breathe.
Slowly, you push yourself to your knees. Blood patters steadily from your forearm. Your ribs ache with every inhale. But around you, cracks have spread across every surface, climbing up the walls of the buildings, splintering through the sky above like broken glass. With a deafening roar, the entire illusion of Jujutsu High tears apart, dissolving into nothingness.
The false sanctuary vanished, and the sensation of solid ground disappeared with it.
You didn't fall so much as drop out of existence ā a stomach-lurching plunge through cold, lightless nothing before the void caught you and held you suspended, weightless, in the middle of absolute dark. No floor. No ceiling. No walls you could reach even if you screamed and swam toward them for hours.
And glass was everywhere.
Thousands of jagged shards hung motionless in the air around you, ranging from splinters the size of your thumbnail to vast, door-wide panels that dwarfed you completely. They weren't floating randomly. They were arranged in a deliberate way. Every single one angled just enough to catch your reflection, so no matter which direction you turned, you were surrounded by fractured versions of your own face staring back at you.
The curse hung at the center of the void, coiled around a massive ornate mirror like a pale spider guarding an egg. Up close the thing was enormous. Its spindly limbs were wrapped multiple times around the mirror's gilded frame, fingers curled possessively into the carved edges. Its head lolled at that same sickening angle, neck bent at a degree that should have been impossible and fatal. And its mouth ā that stitched, lipless mouth ā had pulled back into a wide, serene grin.
It had been waiting for you to fall in.
You felt the domain's sure-hit factor settle over you like a physical weight. It was a pressure behind your eyes, a heaviness across your shoulders, the horrible biological certainty of prey that has just realized the trap has already closed. There was no exit. The boundary had sealed without a single flaw.
Every floating shard in the void rotated simultaneously, pivoting on nothing until every fractured reflection of your body faced the curse directly.
The curse didn't move from its spot. It didn't need to.
With the slow, lazy confidence of something that had already won, it raised a long, pale hand. It reached out toward a shattered shard of glass floating right beside its chestāa shard that was currently mirroring a clear reflection of your right arm. Slowly, the curse drew two sharp fingers right across your reflection.
The pain arrived before your brain could even process what it was looking at.
Three deep gashes tore open across your actual right forearm, the flesh splitting apart like a zipper being ripped open from the inside. The cuts were long, clean, and immediately catastrophic. For one terrifying heartbeat, the wound didn't even burn; the next second, the agony was entirely blinding. You choked on a breath, unable to scream, and clutched your arm as blood instantly soaked through your sleeve in a heavy, dark stain.
There had been no projectile. No burst of wind. No physical attack to dodge or counter. The curse hadn't touched you at all. It had simply sliced the glass, and whatever happened to your reflection happened instantly to your body.
Your stomach dropped, a cold spike of adrenaline hitting you right in the chest.
The curse tilted its head in that horrible, boneless way, its dead eyes fixing on a large fragment of glass floating to your left. That specific shard was mirroring your entire torso.
You were running completely on empty. Pushing through the curse's previous attacks had bled your reserves dry, and what little cursed energy you had left felt thin and weak, like a candle burning down to its last millimeter of wick. Blood was dripping steadily from your arm, pooling onto the floor, and you were locked completely alone inside the core of this domain. No exit, no backup, and a creature that could rip you apart just by touching a mirror.
The curse raised its hand, fingers spread wide, aiming right for your reflected chest.
There was no point in trying to dive out of the way; if your reflection was in the glass, you were a sitting duck. Instead, acting on pure, desperate survival instinct, you scraped together every painful remainder of your cursed energy. You forced all of it into your torso, compressing it into a rigid, invisible armor across your chest and ribs a fraction of a second before the curse's claws slashed across the glass.
The phantom impact hit your body like a speeding car.
The claws shredded through your clothes and into your skin in four parallel lines, but your desperate reinforcement held just enough to keep the gashes from going deep. What it couldn't block was the sheer force of the blowāmassive, blunt, like being struck dead-on with a steel pipe.
The air left your lungs in one violent gasp. The impact threw you backward, coughing up a mouthful of blood that sprayed across the space between you and the monster.
You stumbled, hunched over and trembling as you tried to steady your footing on the fractured floor of the domain.
Think. Think right now, or you don't get to think again.
Your eyes tracked the fresh blood dripping onto the ground, and then quickly shot toward the dense cluster of glass shards floating closest to the curseāthe ones currently mirroring your reflection in the highest concentration.
You moved before your brain could even finish the thought.
Swiping both hands across your bleeding wounds to coat your palms in thick, fresh crimson, you flung it hard across the cluster of nearby shards. The dark red blood splattered and smeared over the glass, instantly blotting out your reflection surface by surface. It wasn't elegant. It was messy, desperate, and uglyābut it worked. The domain's sure-hit effect stuttered. Without a clear image to target, the invisible lock on your body flickered like a failing light bulb.
A split second was all you were going to get.
You lunged toward the largest shard behind you, planting both boots firmly against its surface. You bent your knees, channeled some of the last bits of your energy into your legs, and pushed off with everything you had.
The glass shattered into dust under the force of your kick as you launched yourself straight across the void like a stone from a slingāaiming right for the curse's chest, bleeding, furious, and completely out of options.
The curse reacted instantly. Two of its impossibly long limbs uncoiled from the mirror frame and snapped outward to intercept you. You twisted your body mid-flight, letting the first blade-like limb slice past your ear.
But there was no dodging the next one. The second limb caught you right across the ribs like a battering ram.
The sound your body made was sickeningāa dense, wet cracking that you felt deep inside your ribs rather than heard. It was a sharp vibration that instantly told you something vital had just given way.
The force of the blow sent you flying backward. You crashed back-first into a floating cluster of jagged glass, punching right through them in an explosion of razored edges. The fragments tore through your clothes, slicing into your back and legs in a dozen different places. Yet, through sheer, blind momentum, you kept moving forward, teeth clenched so hard they threatened to shatter, your vision swimming in a haze of red.
The thought hit you with startling, crystal clarity, cutting straight through the blinding agony. You were not going to die in some stupid curses domain and leave him waiting.
Your hand snapped out, fingers locking like a vice around the curse's extended arm.
Hand over fist, you hauled yourself up the length of its emaciated limb while the creature writhed and convulsed beneath you. You dragged your broken ribs and shredded back forward through sheer, grinding refusal to die. The curse snarledāa metallic, ear-splitting shriek that vibrated horribly in your molarsāand its free hand shot toward the surface of the massive master mirror behind it.
One scratch on that glass and you were dead. You didnāt know what part of you it reflected, and you weren't about to find out.
You slammed your body weight directly into the monster a split second before its fingers could make contact.
Squeezing your eyes shut, you forced every single scraping, burning remnant of your remaining cursed energy straight into your fist. You felt the power circulate in a tight, violent spiral through your knuckles until the pressure became unbearable, making your entire hand shake.
Your fist connected with the curse's face with a crack that sounded like a gunshot echoing through the narrow space. Its jaw didn't just break, it caved entirely. The smooth, pale face distorted inward under your knuckles, and the sheer shockwave of the impact traveled down your arm, throwing your body forward and slamming you directly into the ornate mirror at the center of the domain.
A massive fracture ripped right across the glass, branching and blooming outward like ice snapping on a frozen lake.
The curse screamed. It was a sound made of metal and static and something older, and the entire void shook.
The floating shards around you began to fracture, then crumble, then dissolve into fine glittering dust. The black walls of the domain started peeling away in long curling strips like burning paper, revealing nothing beneath except darkness.
The curse's body came apart. It dissolved, losing cohesion the way smoke disperses in wind, its limbs unfurling from the cracked mirror and pulling apart into nothing. The grip around the frame released, and as it did the domain folded in on itself in one final, violent contraction.
You didn't fall through it so much as get spat out.
You hit the asphalt at full speed, hip and shoulder taking the brunt of it, skidding across wet pavement in a graceless heap. Rain was falling and the distant sound of the city came flooding back all at once, traffic and voices and a pop song from somewhere up the street.
You lay there on the wet ground of a secluded alleyway and breathed.
Every inhale pulled at your cracked ribs. Your forearm was still bleeding heavily, soaking through your sleeve and dripping onto the pavement beneath you. Your back felt like someone had dragged you across gravel. Your hand ā the one you'd hit it with ā had stopped shaking only because it had gone mostly numb.
Even though you were bleeding out, entirely depleted of cursed energy, and hovering right on the edge of unconsciousness, a faint smile still tugged at your lips. You were finally out. You tried to force your heavy eyelids open, desperate to make your body stand up, but the weight of it was just too much.
Using the absolute last ounce of strength left in your limbs, you fumbled in your pocket and pulled out your phone. When you turned it on, you saw a notification from Daddy Long Legs was waiting for you.
The ridiculous name made you smile a little wider. A wave of profound relief washed over you, just seeing his name made you feel entirely safe. It was the sudden, comforting certainty that he still cared and that no matter how hidden you were, he would find you. You didn't need to force yourself to stand anymore. You could just close your eyes for a minute and wait for him to come get you. With that final thought, the phone slipped from your numb fingers, clattering against the pavement as your eyes fluttered completely shut.
.āāāāāā°āāāāā.
The second the meeting with the higher-ups finally concluded, Satoru didnāt look back. He didnāt offer a parting snarky comment, he simply slid his chair back and walked out, his stride long and hurried as he pulled his phone from his pocket.
Nothing. The screen remained entirely blank. No new notifications, no missed calls, and no text indicating that you had made it back safely from Kabukicho.
A sharp, cold knot tied itself deep in his stomach. The prolonged silence from you felt heavy, pressing down on his chest until his breathing turned shallow. He unlocked the phone again, staring at his last sent message, hoping the interface was simply lagging. The text sat there, unread.
He didnāt wait another second.
Satoru clamped his right hand into a sharp, rigid hand sign, drawing upon the Limitless to compress the massive physical distance between his location and Kabukico. The space around him folded inward with a violent, deafening crack of displaced air.
He dropped right into the center of Kabukicho. The frantic, neon-soaked chaos of the district hit him all at onceāthe blare of music from nearby bars, the chatter of late-night crowds, and the smell of damp asphalt from the earlier rain.
He began to move through the streets, his pace rapidly shifting from a fast walk to an outright sprint. To the civilians pushing past, he looked entirely unhinged. His blindfold was slightly pulled down, exposing the frantic, piercing brightness of the Six Eyes as they scanned every window, every doorway, and every passing face. He was completely blind to the people staring at him; his entire universe had shrunk down to a desperate search for your specific cursed energy signature.
But there was nothing. The air was completely clear of residual energy. One might have taken the absence of a curse as a sign of success, assuming you had wrapped up the job and left, but the total lack of any trace only made the nausea in his throat grow thicker. If the fight was over, why werenāt you answering?
Satoru sprinted past the mouth of a narrow, poorly lit alleyway, his momentum carrying him several steps forward before his mind caught up with what his eyes had just registered.
He stopped dead in his tracks. His boots skidded against the wet pavement as he spun around and retraced his steps, his chest heaving as he stared into the shadows of the brick corridor.
The air left his lungs completely.
You were lying on the hard, wet asphalt, your body small and entirely still beneath the glare of the neon lights above. Below you, a dark, heavy pool of crimson was slowly spreading across the concrete, mixing with the rainwater and staining the hem of your uniform.
Satoru felt a sudden, violent surge of bile rise in his throat. For the first time in his life, the Six Eyes failed to process the information in front of him. His mind fractured into a chaotic, terrifying spiral, a thousand worst-case scenarios screaming through his head all at once. No. No, this isn't real. This is an illusion. It's a remnant of the domain. He stumbled forward, his legs suddenly feeling heavy and uncoordinated, completely stripped of his usual effortless grace.
"Hey," he choked out, his voice cracking, devoid of any volume. "Hey, stop it. This isn't funny."
He dropped heavily to his knees right into the middle of the blood, completely ignoring how the dark fluid soaked straight through his uniform trousers. He reached out, his fingers trembling violently as they brushed against your cheek.
Your skin was ice-cold. The vibrant, stubborn warmth he was so used to holding was entirely gone, replaced by a pale stillness that made his heart violently hammer against his ribs. Your eyes were closed, your face entirely blank, completely unresponsive to his touch.
A horrific, suffocating panic took hold of him, tearing through his chest like physical claws. Satoruāthe strongest, the man who held the power to alter the balance of the worldācould do absolutely nothing to stop the shaking in his hands. He couldn't fight this. There was no enemy here to crush, no curse to tear apart with Blue or Red. There was only you, bleeding out on the dirty ground while he sat by and watched.
"Wake up," he whispered, his hands moving frantically to cup your face, his thumbs sweeping over your pale skin as if he could friction-burn the life back into you. "Please angel, just look at me. You promised you'd come back."
A choked, desperate sob broke from his throat, a raw and ugly sound he didn't even recognize as his own. The absolute certainty he always carried vanished, leaving behind a terrified man who was completely out of options. His mind screamed at him that he was too late, that his obligations to the higher-ups and his responsibilities to everyone else had cost him the only thing that actually kept him anchored to his own humanity.
Satoru gathered you into his arms, pulling your limp weight securely against his chest. He held you so tightly his muscles strained, tucking your head beneath his chin as if his own body could shield you from the reality of your injuries. His fingers dug into the fabric of your clothes, terrified that if he loosened his grip even a fraction, you would slip away entirely.
He didn't care about a clean path. He didn't care about the strict conditions of long-distance warping or the strain it would put on his brain. With a desperate, feral focus, he forced his cursed energy to spike, locking onto the coordinates of the Jujutsu High infirmary.
The neon lights of Kabukicho blurred into a sharp, painful smear of white, and the sound of the city was instantly swallowed by a roaring vacuum as he tore through space, carrying your cold body back toward the only place left that could save you.
The vacuum of warped space collapsed with a deafening thud as Satoru materialized inside the Jujutsu High infirmary. The sudden, violent displacement of air rattled the medical cabinets and sent a stack of loose papers flying across the floor.
Just a second before, Shoko and Suguru had been standing by the counter, sharing a quiet conversation. Faint, relaxed smiles graced their faces. But the moment the air pressure plummeted; their heads snapped toward the center of the room. Sorcerer instincts kicked in instantly, their bodies tensing for a threat, but the defense mechanism shattered the moment they saw what Satoru was holding.
Satoru watched in real time as the blood completely drained from Suguruās face, his eyes widening in a rare, uncharacteristic look of sheer horror. Shoko froze, her entire posture locking up as her gaze dropped from Satoruās frantic, uncovered eyes to the limp, crimson-soaked figure tucked against his chest. Tears immediately welled up in her eyes, blurring her vision as she took in the gray, waxy pallor of your skin and the heavy, terrifying volume of blood coating your uniform. The easy warmth that had filled the room a second ago vanished, replaced by a suffocating, heavy dread.
Satoru stood there, his chest heaving, his muscles trembling under the weight of your body. His throat caught, a thousand frantic explanations choking him from the inside. There was so much he wanted to scream, so much panic tearing through his mind, but his voice failed him. All he could manage to force out through his trembling lips was a desperate, broken whisper.
There was nothing else he could say.
Before the words even finished leaving his mouth, Shoko was already moving. The initial shock vanished, replaced by the sharp, cold efficiency of a doctor who had looked death in the face a hundred times. She didnāt waste a single second crying or asking what happened. She rushed forward, her hands moving with practiced precision as she pointed directly to the sterile metal operating table in the center of the room.
āPut her down. Right there,ā Shoko ordered, her voice tight but commanding. She glanced up at Satoru, then at Suguru. āThen both of you get the hell out.ā
Satoruās jaw tightened. A sudden, feral instinct flared up inside him, the absolute refusal to leave your side, the overwhelming need to stay and watch over you, to ensure that no one, not even Shoko, separated him from you right now. He opened his mouth to argue, his posture shifting defensively as he prepared to dig his heels in.
Shoko caught the movement instantly. She looked him dead in the eyes, her expression a mix of grief and authority. āSatoru, move. You donāt want to see her like this.ā
Her words felt like a harsh slap in the face. The anger flared in his chest, hot and defensive, but beneath it, a crushing realization took hold. He looked down at your face, then at Shokoās hands, which were already beginning to glow with a faint, steady hum of positive energy. He understood what she meant. Shoko was going to have to expose the deepest, most gruesome wounds inflicted by the domain's sure-hit effect. If he stayed, if he had to watch his own classmate fight a losing battle against time to piece the love of his life back together, he didn't know how he would survive it. If she failed while he was in the room, the raw power inside him would likely tear the entire campus apart.
Before Satoru could spiral any further, a heavy, familiar hand settled firmly on his shoulder.
Suguru stepped up beside him. His grip was tight, grounded, and unyielding. Suguruās own face was pale, his stomach twisting at the sight of you, but he knew his best friend was entirely untethered right now. He didn't say a word, he just applied a steady, guiding pressure, gently pulling Satoru away from the table.
For once in his life, Satoru didn't offer a single complaint or sarcastic remark. He let himself be led, his boots dragging against the floorboards. Just before the heavy clinic doors swung shut, he caught one last look back at you over his shoulder. Your hand was hanging limply off the edge of the metal table, pale and still, while Shoko hurriedly ripped open your torn uniform jacket to assess the damage.
The door clicked shut, cutting off the sights and sounds of the infirmary.
Satoru collapsed onto the wooden bench in the hallway, his strength completely deserting him. He buried his face in his crossed legs, his long frame hunched over as he tried to block out the entire world. The silence of the corridor was agonizing. Every tick of the clock down the hall felt like a strike against his chest.
Satoru collapsed onto the wooden bench in the hallway, his strength completely deserting him. He buried his face in his crossed legs, his long frame hunched over as he tried to block out the entire world. The silence of the corridor was agonizing.
Suguru sat down right beside him, leaning his back against the wall and staring blankly at the floorboards across from them. His hands were clasped tightly between his knees. He didn't try to offer any empty platitudes, and he didn't tell Satoru that everything was going to be fine. He knew there wasn't a single combination of words in the human language that could ease the torment his best friend was experiencing. Suguru knew exactly what you meant to him, how you were the only person who could consistently make the strongest sorcerer alive forget about his burdens and just be a human being. Watching Satoru break like this made a cold, hollow ache settle deep within Suguru's own chest.
"Before she left..." Satoruās voice was barely a whisper, thick and fractured. He didn't lift his head from his knees. "Right before she left for the mission. We... it finally happened, Suguru. After all this time. And then she gets called out to some damn mission that she wasnāt supposed to do until the next morning, and the next thing I see is..."
He choked on the words, his jaw tightening so hard it ached. He couldn't finish the sentence. The image of you lying still in that pool of blood was burned into his retinas, playing on a loop every time he closed his eyes.
"I just..." Satoru let out a ragged, trembling breath, his fingers digging into his hair. "I really fucking hate this job sometimes."
Suguru didn't turn to look at him immediately. He kept his eyes fixed on the empty floor, his expression pulling into something weary and dark. He understood that hatred better than anyone. He spent his own days dragging his feet through the mire of their responsibilities, constantly searching for a reason to keep fighting, to keep bleeding for a world that just kept taking from them. He knew the suffocating weight of realizing that no matter how strong you were, the jujutsu world would always find a way to bleed you dry.
"I know," Suguru said softly, his voice heavy with a shared, bitter exhaustion. "I know, Satoru."
Inside the sterile, cold infirmary, Shoko was entirely alone with the ticking clock.
She took a deep, steadying breath, forcing the tears back from her eyes as she focused entirely on her technique. Reverse Cursed Technique was an incredibly rare, delicate process. Unlike standard negative cursed energy, which was used for destruction, Shoko had to take her own negative energy and multiply it within herself to generate positive energy, the unique output capable of regenerating living human flesh.
She placed both of her palms flat against your chest. The positive energy surged from her hands, manifesting as a soft, rhythmic glow that immediately began to combat the trauma in your body.
It was a grueling, meticulous process. The special grade curse's sure-hit effect had executed its attacks from the inside out, meaning the invisible slashes had cleaved through your deeper tissues before tearing the skin. Shoko had to work backward. She focused her energy deep within your torso first, manually forcing the torn, bleeding arteries to knit back together, sealing the internal hemorrhaging that was rapidly draining your life.
Next came the lungs. She directed the positive energy to mend the punctured tissue, forcing the collapsed structures to expand once more so your body could actually process oxygen. Only when the vital organs were stabilized did she pull her hands upward, drawing the glowing energy across your skin to close the deep, jagged lacerations marring your chest and arms. New layers of dermis and muscle fibers rapidly spun into existence under her palms, sealing the raw gashes until the bleeding stopped entirely.
Shokoās breathing turned ragged, sweat beading along her forehead from the sheer concentration and the massive amount of energy the output required. She didn't stop until your pulse beneath her fingers shifted from a faint, erratic flutter to a slow, steady, and recognizable rhythm.
Outside in the hallway, the sudden, sharp silence was broken by the sound of the infirmary door sliding open. Satoruās head snapped up instantly, his blindfold completely forgotten on the bench beside him as his piercing blue eyes locked onto Shoko.
Shoko stepped into the corridor, leaning heavily against the doorframe. She looked thoroughly exhausted, her shoulders slumped, but as she looked at the two boys waiting in terror, the tension in her face finally softened. She wiped a stray smudge of blood from her cheek with the back of her hand and gave a single, tired nod.
"She's stable," Shoko said, her voice quiet but clear. "The internal damage is fixed. She just needs to rest and recover her cursed energy."
The breath Satoru had been holding for the last hour finally left his lungs in a long, shuddering exhale. He didn't wait for Suguru or ask for permission, he just pushed past Shoko into the room, his eyes instantly tracking to where you lay breathing softly under a clean white sheet, finally warm, and finally safe.
He walked over to the side of the infirmary bed where Shoko had moved you, his eyes fixed on you.
The moment he saw the slow, rhythmic rise and fall of your chest beneath the white sheets, he felt himself instantly relax. The tight, agonizing knot that had been winding up in his stomach for hours finally unraveled, and an overwhelming sense of joy washed through him. You were alive. You weren't awake yet, but you were there. The gray, waxy pallor that had terrified him in the alleyway was gone; the beautiful, familiar color had finally returned to your face, painting your skin with the soft warmth of life. Even though you were sleeping and entirely unconscious, you were right in front of him.
Standing over you in the quiet of the clinic, he looked down at your hands, now clean and unmarred by the jagged cuts of the domain and knew with absolute certainty that he could never let you go again. The mere thought of going through this a second time made his chest tighten with a suffocating dread. He could not imagine a life where he had to see you like that again; so bloody, so worn out, so utterly lifeless and dead. It had nearly broken him. He was the strongest sorcerer alive, the anchor of the jujutsu world, but without you, the world was just an empty, loud room he had to keep from burning down. He wouldn't put himself through that torment again.
He pulled the wooden stool close to the mattress and sat down, his long frame hunching forward as he rested his elbows on the mattress. Gently, as if he were afraid you might shatter like the glass that hurt you, he slid his hand beneath yours. He locked his fingers with yours, pressing his palm flat against your skin just to feel the steady, reassuring pulse beating against his thumb.
Hours dissolved into the quiet night. The sterile scent of the infirmary faded, replaced by the cool, familiar air of the morning as the sun began to rise over the campus mountains.
Your eyelashes fluttered.
A low, faint groan caught in the back of your throat as awareness slowly leaked back into your mind. Your muscles felt incredibly heavy, and your skin tingled with the residual warmth of Shoko's positive energy, but the sharp, agonizing pain from the domain was entirely gone. You blinked against the soft morning light, your vision shifting from blurry shadows into focus.
The first thing you saw was blue.
Satoru was leaning over you, his face just inches from yours. His white hair was messy, falling into his face, and his eyes were wide, brimming with an intense, raw emotion that he didn't even try to hide behind a smile or a joke.
"Satoru..." you murmured, your voice rough and dry from exhaustion.
The sound of his name breaking through your lips cracked the last of his restraint. He let out a shaky breath, leaning down to press his forehead gently against yours, his grip on your hand tightening until it was almost bruising.
"You're awake," he whispered, his voice thick and unpolished, scraped raw at the edges. "You're actually awake." He said it like he was still trying to convince himself.
"Yeah," you breathed, blinking slowly up at him, "I'm awake, Toru. I'm right here. I'm not going anywhere."
Something in his face broke open at that. He pulled you in before you could say another word, arms wrapping around you with a force that was just short of desperate, like he needed to feel the warmth of you, the realness of you, pressed against him before he could fully believe it. You wound your arms around him as tightly as your tired body would allow, pressing your face into his shoulder.
When you finally pulled back and looked up at him properly, you blinked. Then, despite everything, despite the bone-deep exhaustion and the ache still humming beneath your skin, a slow, scandalized look crossed your face.
"...Are you serious?" you said flatly.
"The blindfold, Satoru." You stared at him. "I almost died, and the first thing I wake up to is that god awful strip of fabric on your face." You let out the most exhausted, theatrical sigh you could manage given your current state. "I have been through enough today. I deserve your glasses."
He stared at you for exactly one second. Then he laughed, sudden and unguarded, one that started somewhere deep in his chest and spilled out before he could stop it. The last of the tension in his shoulders finally dissolved with it.
"You're unbelievable," he said, shaking his head slowly, but the relief in his voice was so thick it was almost visible. "I almost lose you and the first thing out of your mouthā"
He reached up and tugged it off without another word, tucking it into his pocket. His bright, sleep-deprived eyes found yours, and for just a moment, before the grin fully settled back into place, there was something unbearably sincere in the way he looked at you.
"Better?" he asked quietly.
"Much," you said softly, as you looked into those icy, sparkling blue eyes.
He smiled, bringing a hand up to cup the side of your face as he leaned in. But just as the distance between you vanished, leaving mere centimeters between your lips, the infirmary door burst open with the unmistakable, chaotic energy of your three students.
Satoru backed away instantly. It wasn't because he wanted to keep you a secretāhonestly, he would love nothing more than for them to find out. He wanted the whole damn world to know; he wished he could scream it at the top of his lungs. But he couldn't let the kids in on anything because, truthfully, he didn't even know where things stood himself. The two of you still hadn't put a label on whatever this was, let alone found the time to actually sit down and discuss everything that had transpired two nights ago.
Yuji and Nobara hit you at almost the same velocity, both of them folding around you, not leaving any room for personal space but you didn't particularly care. You laughed, startled, reaching up to hold them back.
Megumi stood at the foot of the bed.
He didn't rush in. He didn't say anything right away. He just stood there and looked at you; at the machines still monitoring your heartbeat, at the clean bandages where the worst of the wounds had been, at the hand that had been holding Gojo's before you'd let go to hug the others. His jaw was set, his expression carefully arranged into its usual cool neutrality, but his eyes revealed the true worry that he felt.
"We just heard," Nobara said against your shoulder, voice thicker than she probably intended. "We came as fast as we could. We were so scaredā"
"I know, I know. I'm sorry for worrying you." You squeezed them both, before gently disentangling yourself enough to breathe. "I'm okay. I promise I'm okay."
Then, into the small silence that followed, Megumi spoke. Just four words, completely flat, like he was asking about the weather.
It was cold and blunt. But you knew him, you'd known him long enough to know exactly what that question was carrying under its surface. You looked at him directly, making sure he could see your face when you answered.
"No," you said gently. "None. I'm okay, Megumi. Really."
His shoulders dropped, and the breath he let out was a little longer, a little more deliberate than it needed to be. Like your words had reached in and loosened something that had been pulled very tight for a very long time.
He gave a single, short nod and looked away.
The sliding door moved with a dull scrape, breaking the quiet of the room.
Shoko came in first. She looked completely spent. Her lab coat was rumpled, her hair was tied back loosely with a few stray strands falling into her face, and the dark circles under her eyes looked heavier than usual.
You looked up at her, offering a small, tired smile. You knew exactly what it took to pull someone on the brink of death back to life, and you knew she was the only one who carried that specific burden.
"Hey," you said softly. "Thanks for saving my life."
Shoko didn't say anything at first. She just walked over to the side of the bed. When you reached out, she leaned down and let you pull her into a brief hug. She held on for a second longer than she normally would, her palm resting gently against the back of your head just to assure herself that you were actually solid.
"Don't make a habit of it," she murmured into your hair, her voice dry but quiet. "I'm running out of patience with you people."
"Heyā" Satoru's voice broke in from the corner, his tone immediately shifting into an exaggerated, wounded whine. "What about me? I sat out in that hallway for hours."
You pulled back from Shoko, leaning your head back against the pillows as you looked at him. "You sat out there and spiraled. Shoko actually did the work. There's a big difference."
"I was providing vital moral support from the bench."
"You were curled up like a shrimp," Shoko corrected flatly, stepping away from the bed and pulling a pack of cigarettes from her pocket before remembering where she was and shoving them back in. "It's not the same thing."
A faint, breathless laugh went around the room. Even Megumi, standing near the window, let out a tiny huff of amusement.
Suguru stepped forward next. He had been waiting by the door, letting Shoko have her space, his hands tucked loosely into his pockets and his long hair falling over his shoulder. He had that typical, calm expression on his faceāthe one that didn't reveal much to outsiders, but always felt incredibly grounded to the people who knew him.
You extended a hand toward him.
He moved over without hesitation, sitting carefully on the edge of the mattress so he wouldn't disturb your injuries. When he leaned down to hug you, his arms were steady and unhurried. Satoruās embrace had been frantic and tight, born out of pure panic, but Suguruās was slow and grounded. He placed a warm palm between your shoulder blades, just holding you there for a quiet moment to make sure you were real.
"Good to have you back," he said quietly, his voice right next to your ear.
You pressed your face briefly into the fabric of his uniform, swallowing the lump in your throat.
"Good to be back," you whispered.
The room was now filled with the easy, hum of all their voicesāa casual, comforting chaos that filled the space completely. Looking around at them, a profound sense of warmth settled deep in your chest. After being trapped in the freezing, isolated abyss of that domain, seeing the people you cared about most alive, bickering, and crowded together in the same room made you feel entirely whole again.
.āāāāāā°āāāāā.
Later that evening, Shoko gave you one final check-up before clearing you to leave. Your body had always been quick to recover, so she wasn't too worried about discharging you early.
Satoru had remained by your side for the entire day. Even after the students, Shoko, and Suguru had all filtered out to give you some space to rest, he stayed right where he was.
"Arenāt you going to be uncomfortable sitting in that chair all night?" you asked, looking over at him.
"Nah, I'll be fine. Don't worry your pretty little head about me," he said, flashing you a soft smile.
You felt a familiar flutter in your stomach. He was being so incredibly gentle with you that it made your chest ache.
"Cāmere." You tapped the narrow space on the mattress beside you.
Satoruās eyebrows shot up, genuinely surprised by the invitation. But without a second thought, he slid onto the infirmary bed and pulled you back against his chest. Your heart hammered against your ribs as he slipped his arm under your shirt, his palm resting warm and solid against your waist. His comforting presence instantly anchored you, pulling you down into a deep, heavy sleep.
Watching your eyes flutter shut, Satoru leaned down and pressed a soft kiss to your forehead.
You smiled, thinking back to the moment from just a few hours ago. It felt a little silly to be like this, a grown adult getting entirely giddy over small touches and romantic tension, like a teenager bumbling through their very first relationship.
Satoruās voice suddenly broke through your thoughts. āIāll drive you back to my place so you can stay there for the night. Just in case anything goes wrong, I can bring you back here a lot faster than if you were on your own.ā
Maybe you agreed a little too quickly, but you couldnāt bring yourself to care. You both knew he was offering a total bullshit excuse; if there was even the slightest chance of your injuries flaring up, Shoko would have never let you leave her sight. You knew it, he knew it, and Shoko definitely knew it.
That was exactly why she raised an eyebrow at his declaration. He honestly might as well have just said he wanted you in his bed out loud.
.āāāāāā°āāāāā.
The heavy oak door to Satoruās apartment had barely clicked shut behind you before you made a bee line straight to his master bathroom, desperate to just wash the entire night away.
Stepping into the shower, you turned the handle to an extremely high temperature, waiting for the water to steam. When the stream finally hit your skin, you leaned your forehead against the cool tile wall and simply breathed. Watching your feet, you could see the dark swirl of dirt, gray street grime, and pale crimson blood pooling around the drain before the heavy rush of hot water washed it completely away.
Across the apartment, Satoru wasn't wasting any time either. Knowing him, the thought of sitting around waiting for you to finishālosing even twenty minutes of your presence after almost watching you dieāwas out of the question. He had immediately disappeared into the secondary washroom down the hall to clean up simultaneously, driven by a restless, frantic need to be back in the same room as you as quickly as possible.
You finished first, stepping out into the steam-fogged room and drying off with one of his ridiculously plush towels. Over the years, you had never bothered keeping a dedicated drawer of spare pajamas at his place; his wardrobe was massive enough that half of it went untouched anyway, making his clothes the obvious choice whenever you needed something to wear. You sifted through the hangers until your hand settled on a massive, oversized cotton t-shirt. Before pulling it over your head, you paused, bringing the fabric up to your nose and breathing in deeply. It was intoxicatingāit smelled entirely of him, a distinct blend of expensive, clean cologne mixed with fresh laundry soap and just a hint of sweetness.
You slid into the shirt, which swallowed you down to your mid-thighs, before pulling on a pair of his boxers and padding into the bedroom, letting your weight plop heavily onto the center of his unmade bed.
A few minutes later, the door clicked open. You looked up, and your brain completely short-circuited. You had to physically force your jaw to stay shut to keep from drooling.
His damp, white hair was completely loose, falling messily over his forehead without his blindfold or glasses to hide his striking blue eyes. He had completely bypassed his usual loose, comfortable lounge hoodies, instead opting for a pitch-black, short-sleeved compression shirt that hugged every single contour of his upper body like a second skin. The fabric was stretched tight across the broad expanse of his chest, putting his defined, sculpted abs and the heavy musculature of his shoulders on full display. Every time he shifted, the sharp lines of his biceps and forearms flexed effortlessly under the room's soft lighting.
Your eyes involuntarily drifted down to his lower half. He was wearing a pair of light gray, low-rise sweatpants, the soft fabric secured loosely at his hips with a dark, knotted draw-string. The material hung loosely around his calves, but it clung unfairly well to his upper thighs and groināleaving the distinct, unmistakable outline of his print clearly visible beneath the cotton.
He stood in the doorway for a second, leaning his long frame against the casing with a faint, knowing tilt of his head as he caught you staring.
However, his teasing grin was immediately wiped clean from his face the moment he fully took in the sight of you. You were completely swallowed whole by the massive expanse of his shirt, your hardened nipples pressing directly against the thin cotton fabric, completely on display. His eyes dragged down the length of your bare legs, the smooth stretch of skin practically screaming at him to climb onto the mattress and pin you down.
As his gaze lingered on your thighs, a sudden realization hit him, making his head go entirely dizzy as his blood rushed violently downward. You never kept any of your own clothes here ānot even underwear. It meant that beneath the hem of his shirt, your pussy was completely bare, rubbing directly against the soft fabric of his boxers with every slight shift and movement of your lower body. The explicit thought of you getting wet right there on his sheets, your slick juices slowly soaking into the heavy cotton of his own underwear, sent a dark wave of desire through his chest that made his mind go absolutely crazy.
You notice his gaze locking onto you, and the sheer intensity of it makes a sudden, heavy wave of shyness crest over you. You turn your face slightly, pretending to study the rumpled sheets beside you, but it does little to calm the warmth rising in your cheeks.
When Satoru finally breaks from the trance youāve put him in, the heavy, dark desire in his eyes doesn't completely vanish, but it gets shoved down and a more sincere look rises to the surface. He crosses the room, the casual grace of his long frame muted by a rare, deliberate seriousness. He sits on the edge of the bed facing you, his knee brushing against yours. You can practically see him forcing his physical urges to the side, swallowing down the heat of the moment because there is something he has been carrying for the last twenty-four hours that he needs to get out.
"Hey," he murmurs. His tone is low, stripped of that loud, sing-song cadence he usually projects to the world.
"Hey," you reply softly. You slide closer to him across the sheets, your movement natural and unhurried as you reach out and intertwine your fingers with his. His hand is warm, his grip tightening around yours the second your knuckles touch.
He doesn't look at you when he speaks next. He looks down at your joined hands, his thumb tracing a slow, almost anxious line over the back of your knuckles. For a man who casually defines himself as the strongest, the sheer vulnerability of this moment is clearly pushing him to his absolute limit. He lets out a short, self-deprecating huff of a laughāthe one he uses when he's trying to mask just how deeply something is shaking him.
"Iām bad at this," he admits, his voice rough at the edges. "Usually, I just say whatever stupid thing pops into my head, but... damn. Seeing you out there in that alley? It completely broke my brain. All I could think about on the way to Jujutsu High was what we did right before you left. How we finally crossed that line."
He stops, jaw tightening as he pulls his gaze up to meet yours, his piercing blue eyes holding you captive with raw, completely undisguised honesty. "I don't ever want you thinking that was just about... you know, sex. Or that I just want your body. Because itās not that. You mean way too much to me. This job... we both know how it is. It can take everything away from you in the blink of an eye."
He leans in closer, stripping away every last bit of his usual armor. "I donāt want this to be a temporary thing we just do sometimes," he murmurs, his eyes locked on yours. "I want everything. I want it forever. A real life, where you're mine and I'm yours, completely. I can't live through another second of wondering if our job is going to take you away before I can tell you that..." He swallows hard, his throat bobbing against the tension. "I love you. I really fucking love you."
His raw honesty knocks the breath right out of you. Tears immediately blur your vision, making it hard to focus on his face. You're so used to the Satoru who uses jokes and arrogance to keep the world at arm's length. Seeing him completely strip away that armor, choosing to be uncomfortably serious and transparent with you, sends a wave of overwhelming warmth straight to your chest.
Because heās still looking a little thrown by his own honesty, his eyes casting down slightly as if waiting for the impact, you reach up with your free hand. Your palm cups his jaw, your fingers gentle against his stubble-free cheek as you guide his face back up to meet your gaze.
"I love you too, Satoru," you say, your voice trembling slightly but completely certain. "I don't even know how to put words to it. When you weren't there... when I was trapped in that domain, everything felt entirely empty. I don't know when it happened, or how you managed it, but you've become a part of me."
The second the words leave your mouth, the tension in his shoulders completely evaporates. A brilliant, genuinely giddy smile breaks across his face, the unbearable weight heād been carrying since you left for your mission lifting off him all at once.
"Yeah? Good. Because I wasn't going to let you go anyway," he chuckles, his usual confident demeanor flaring back to life, though it's entirely soft now.
Before you can even blink, his large hands loop under your arms. He lifts your body with effortless ease, pulling you cleanly into his lap so your legs drape over his thighs. He wraps his long arms around you, burying his face into the crook of your neck and squeezing you into a massive, suffocating hugāholding you so close and so tight that you can feel the steady, relieved thud of his heart beating perfectly against your own.
He pulled his face back from your neck and looked at you, the heavy desire he had forced himself to push down earlier rushing back into his body with full force. You leaned in and kissed him first, and a second later, he returned it with desperate, hungry intensityāthe kiss turning deep, messy, and urgent. Your hands reached for the hem of his compression shirt, tugging upward; he caught your drift immediately, ripping it over his head and tossing it somewhere across the room. He removed your shirt right after, pulling your bare torso impossibly closer until your sensitive, hardened nipples rubbed directly against the smooth muscle of his chest with every movement.
You could feel his cock hardening to a solid ridge beneath you, and you instinctively began to grind down against it, hard and fast. The friction of your clit rubbing against him through the fabric felt incredible, and you couldn't help but let out a series of broken, breathless whines that Satoru quickly swallowed up with his mouth. Suddenly, that familiar, intense sensation began to ripple through your lower body; your stomach tightened, and you felt yourself right on the edge of an orgasm. Your eyes fluttered shut, and your lips parted from Satoru's as your head lolled back.
He could tell instantly that you were about to cum. His large hands clamped onto your hips with a bruising grip, completely halting your movement.
"No, no, no, please," you begged, pathetically trying to force your cunt to move against his clothed cock, but his hands were glued to your hips, his grip simply too strong for your attempts to go anywhere.
Satoru looked entirely too pleased with himself, a dark, low chuckle vibrating in his chest as he hushed you softly, trying to soothe your frustration. "Sorry, angel. 'M being selfish," he murmured, his voice thick and rough against your ear. "Need the first time you cum tonight to be right on my tongue. Bet you taste fucking delicious."
Even though you were burning with frustration from the denied orgasm, your pussy only got wetter at his words, a fresh wave of slick soaking straight into his boxers.
He lifted you effortlessly from his lap and repositioned you, sliding you down until your hips rested right at the edge of the mattress. Dropping heavily to his knees on the floor between your thighs, he spread your legs wide open. Now that he was face-to-face with your clothed heat, his eyes immediately locked onto the massive, dark wet spot dampening the cotton. He felt his cock throb, hardening even further if that was even possible. Reaching up, his fingers hooked into the waistband of the boxers and peeled them down your legs, carefully setting them on the nightstand for later.
Then, his full attention shifted to you completely bare. To him, you were an absolute work of art. Your folds glistened with your own slick, and your hole helplessly clenched and unclenched around nothing because you were so desperate to be filled. Satoru loved it; every single part of you was beautiful, looking as if you had been perfectly made just for him.
Unable to wait another second, he leaned in and pressed his mouth right against you. He flattened his tongue and delivered a long, deliberate stroke, licking from the very bottom of your slit all the way up to your swollen clit. The expression on his face the moment he finally tasted you was entirely sinful. His deep, sapphire eyes rolled back, and a desperate, low, guttural groan rumbled from deep in his chest.
He couldn't believe he had spent his entire life missing out on this. He was instantly, hopelessly addicted. He couldn't even find the words to describe itāit just tasted like you, pure and overwhelming, and the scent of your slick in the air was driving him entirely crazy. He kept his mouth glued to you, his tongue lapping greedily at your folds before his lips latched directly onto your clit, sucking down hard.
You were a complete, moaning mess now. The slick heat of his mouth felt incredible, and the deep, possessive vibrations of his groans vibrated directly into your core, multiplying the pleasure. Your legs naturally draped over his broad shoulders, your heels digging into his back to pull his body even closer, while your fingers tangled desperately into his damp white hair, guiding his mouth firmly against your center.
"I canāt get enough of you, you know that?" he murmured against your wet skin, his hot breath sending a shiver straight through you as he continued to wind you up. "I could stay down here eating this pretty pussy for hours..."
"IāI'm close, 'Toru," you gasped out, your voice breaking.
He gave a tight nod against your thigh, telling you to let go. You didn't hesitate. Your back arched violently off the bed and your grip on his hair tightened to a death grip as your orgasm tore through you, pulsing and soaking right over his tongue.
Breathless and trembling, you slowly sat up on your elbows to look down at him. Satoru looked back up, his eyes dark and intensely focused, his mouth completely wet with your contrast. Before you could even ask what he was thinking, he grabbed your hips, effortlessly flipping you over onto your stomach. He pulled your hips back, forcing your face down into the pillows while your ass was lifted high into the air.
All you heard was a low, rough murmur against your skin: "Not done yet."
Before you could even process the words, he leaned back in, shifting his relentless, soaking wet assault from your pussy directly onto your tight asshole instead.
You gasped aloud the moment the hot wetness of his mouth made contact. His tongue began to circle deeply around your rim, while his thick, long fingers slicked themselves with your juices and slid straight inside your pussy, fingering you deeply while stretching you wide open. You let out a loud, uninhibited moan, your fingers blindly clawing into the bedsheets and twisting the fabric harshly, needing anything to ground you from the immense, overwhelming pleasure ripping through your body.
Satoruās eyes drifted shut as he ate your ass, completely lost in the sensation. To him, this was absolute heaven. He had fantasized about this for so longājust being able to taste and possess every single part of youāand now that he finally had you like this, he didnāt know how heād ever be able to stop. He kept up the ruthless rhythm, his fingers driving into you while his tongue worked over your skin, until he heard your broken voice breathlessly crying out that you were about to cum again.
Once your second orgasm finally finished pulsing around his hand, he slowly drew his fingers out. He brought them straight to his own lips, lazily licking them clean as if savoring every last drop of your flavor.
He then hooked his hands under your arms, lifting your pliant body to turn you around and place you flat in the middle of the mattress. Standing over you for a brief second, he stripped off his sweatpants and boxers, discarding them onto the floor before climbing onto the bed and pinning you beneath his weight. He looked down, staring at how beautifully fucked-out you lookedāyour eyes half-closed, your chest heaving up and down as you desperately tried to catch your breath, and your inner thighs still spasming slightly from the aftershocks. He thought you looked absolutely gorgeous like this, entirely unraveled under his touch.
He leaned down, pressing a soft, chaste kiss to your lips before pulling back just enough to look into your face. "You okay, baby?" he asked, his voice unexpectedly tender.
You opened your eyes, giving him a quiet nod and a genuine smile. Your hands reached up to tangle into his soft white hair, gently pulling his face back down to press another kiss against his mouth. When you finally parted, you locked your eyes with his brilliant blue ones, your voice dropping to a breathless whisper. "I really need you to fuck me, Satoru."
The shift in his expression was instantaneous. That all-too-familiar, confident smirk returned to his lips, his eyes darkening with a heavy heat. "Who am I to deny my sweet girl?"
He sat up on his knees, and you shifted up as well, your gaze naturally dropping down to his lap. You involuntarily swallowed hard at the sight of his cock. You didn't know why you were even surprised; everything about this man was completely oversizedāhis height, his broad hands, his heavy musculatureāso it only made sense that his length would be the exact same. Sitting there completely naked beneath him, a sudden, thrilling spike of apprehension shot through your core. You felt a wave of absurd heat at the thought of being stretched out and destroyed by him, a desperate ache settling deep in your stomach.
Without overthinking, you reached out and wrapped your fingers around the thick base of his shaft, completely enamoured. The broad head was flushed a deep pink and already leaking a heavy bead of precum, making you salivate a little at the sight. Slowly, you leaned your head down, pressing your lips to the tip and delivering a slow, wet lap of your tongue. The salty taste of his precum hit your mouth, and you let out a soft moan against his skin.
Satoru looked down at you in absolute amazement. He froze completely the moment your mouth made contact, holding his breath as if any sudden movement would cause the moment to disappear. But the second you began to lick him, the raw intensity of the pleasure broke his trance. His hand immediately tangled in your hair, trying to gently pull your head back because it just felt too good, and he was terrified of wasting his load before he could even get inside you.
You refused to let him back away, though. Instead, you pushed forward, sliding your lips down his shaft and taking more and more of his thick length into your mouth. You pushed until you hit the very base, burying his cock completely down your throat. As if you knew exactly how to break his composure, you looked straight up at him through your eyelashes, your eyes wide and desperate. Satoru let out a ragged, choked sound; between the sight of your helpless gaze and the feeling of his entire length stuffed to the brim inside your throat, he felt like he could blow his mind right then and there.
He was losing his grip completely. The longer your mouth moved rhythmically against his shaft, the closer he ticked toward the edge. You could tell exactly when he was about to breakāhis grip tightly locked in your hair, and his hips instinctively twitched, trying to thrust deeper into your mouth. Before he could lose control, you suddenly pulled your mouth completely off his cock with a distinct, wet pop.
Your face looked entirely too happy, a smug grin spreading across your lips. "Gotcha back," you teased.
Satoru sat there completely breathless, his chest heaving, his cock throbbing and violently close to the edge. He stared down at you with a mix of raw desire and sheer disbelief, only able to mutter a rough, "I hate you."
You didn't answer with words. Instead, you crawled over him, climbing onto his lap so you two were in the lotus position. You leaned your head up, bringing your mouth dangerously close to his ear as you began to playfully nibble and lick at his lobe, before whispering directly into his ear, "Yeah? Show me how much you hate me then."
"Fuck. You have no idea what you do to me," Satoru growled, his voice dropping into a register so dark and low it sent a violent shiver straight down your spine.
His large hand gripped your hip, lifting you effortlessly from his lap just enough to guide the broad, leaking head of his cock against your soaking entrance. He paused there for a fraction of a second, his blue eyes blown out with pure, unadulterated hunger, before he slowly started lowering you down onto him.
The initial stretch was overwhelming. Your eyes went wide, your fingers digging frantically into the thick muscle of his shoulders as your walls were forced to part for his immense girth. You felt every single inch of his thick shaft forcing its way inside you, stretching you so wide it felt borderline impossible.
"You're... you're too big, 'Toru," you whimpered, a breathless, desperate hiccup escaping your throat as you tried to take him all in.
He let out a rough, gravelly groan at the tight, burning friction, his hands tightening on your waist to anchor you. "Yeah? You think this tight little pussy can take all of me, sweetheart? Look at how well you're wrapping around me."
You could only nod absentmindedly, your brain completely melting from the sheer fullness of him. Satoru didn't rush it; he kept the pace agonizingly slow, forcing your body to accommodate his size until his hips finally flushed completely against yours, bottoming out deep inside your core. The sensation of being entirely filled by him was intoxicating, a heavy, throbbing ache settling deep in your lower stomach.
He didn't give you a chance to adjust. The moment he was fully inside, Satoru locked his hands onto your hips and began thrusting up into you at an unrelenting, merciless pace. The sheer power behind each upward drive lifted your body slightly off his lap, the friction hitting your clit perfectly with every single stroke. Your tits bounced heavily right in front of his face with the rhythm, and the sight was entirely too much for him. He leaned forward, latching his mouth hungrily over one of your swollen nipples, drawing it deep between his lips and sucking hard while his hips continued to hammer up into you.
The stimulation was astronomical. You were being hit from every possible angleāthe deep, invading stretch inside you, the agonizingly good friction against your clit, and the hot, wet suction on your breast. Your senses were completely overloaded. Realizing you were spinning rapidly toward the edge, you instinctively wrapped your legs tighter around his waist and started fucking down against him, matching his frantic rhythm blow for blow. The squelching sound of your mixed juices echoed loudly in the quiet bedroom, driving him completely insane.
"I-I'm gonna cum, 'Toru... I'm close!" you cried out, your head tossing back as your internal walls began to twitch and pre-clench around his shaft.
Satoruās breathing turned completely ragged, his thrusts becoming faster, shallower, and completely frantic as your tight heat pushed him to his absolute limit. "Yeah? Me too, baby," he gasped out against your skin, his grip on your hips turning downright bruising. "Cum for me. I'm gonna fill your pretty pussy up to the brim, and then I'm gonna eat every single drop of it out of you."
Those filthy, possessive words were the exact breaking point. Your vision went completely white as your orgasm tore through you, your spasming walls clamping down on his cock in violent, rhythmic waves. The tight, milking pressure of your climax instantly snapped his remaining control. Satoru let out a loud, uninhibited roar, throwing his head back as his hips gave one last, deep, desperate shove, burying himself as far inside you as physically possible as he violently came, pumping wave after wave of thick, hot seed deep into your womb.
For several minutes, the room was entirely silent save for the sound of your shared, heavy breathing. You collapsed forward against his chest, completely spent, your forehead resting against his collarbone while his long arms remained wrapped tightly around your waist, keeping you securely pinned to his lap.
Once the ringing in your ears finally subsided and you regained a fraction of your strength, you cleared your throat, your voice incredibly small and raspy. "We... we should clean up."
You carefully shifted your weight, looking down to where your bodies were still tightly connected. The sight made your face heat up; a heavy amount of thick, white semen was slowly dripping out from your stretched opening, tracking down the base of his cock and pooling onto his pubic hair.
"Mmm. You're right," Satoru murmured, his voice laced with a lazy, satisfied post-coital rumble.
He slowly and carefully withdrew himself from inside you, the sudden absence of his thickness making you let out a soft sigh. But before you could even think about moving toward the bathroom, his hands gripped your thighs. He lifted your semi-limp body up and shimmied himself down the mattress with practiced ease, sliding his long frame underneath you until your leaking, hyper-sensitive cunt was positioned directly over his face.
"W-What are you doingā?" you sputtered out.
Satoru looked up at you through his long white eyelashes, his shiny aquamarine eyes glittering with a lazy, unbothered amusement, as if you were entirely in the wrong for questioning him.
"I'm cleaning up," he said simply, a shameless smirk pulling at his lips right before his warm tongue darted out, lapping greedily at the hot mess dripping down your inner thighs.
And with that, his large hands clamped around your thighs with an unyielding, bruising grip, effortlessly hauling your body down until your leaking center was pinned completely against his mouth.
He didnāt waste a single second. Satoru buried his face into your wet heat and began to eat you out with a feral, relentless hunger. At this point, you were entirely exhausted, your muscles trembling and your brain so fried from the previous climaxes that you didn't even think it was biologically possible for you to orgasm again. But the sheer possessiveness of his movements quickly proved you wrong. He wasn't just licking you; he was taking up space, his fingers digging so deeply into the soft flesh of your thighs that he was physically forcing you down onto his face, demanding that you take every relentless stroke of his tongue.
The flavour inside his mouth was intoxicating. The thick, creamy saltiness of his own semen mixed with the sweet, intoxicating taste of your slick, creating a combination so potent it made his head spin. His brilliant blue eyes rolled back behind his closed lids, a dark, muffled groan vibrating straight from his throat into your sensitive core. The taste only fueled his obsession, driving any lingering sanity right out of his mind. He didn't care that your body was heavy against his face or that it was becoming increasingly difficult to breathe beneath you; Satoru would have gladly suffocated and died right there between your thighs if it meant he got to keep you pinned to his mouth forever.
He lapped greedily at your folds, his tongue flattening out to deliver deep, heavy strokes before his lips latched tightly onto your swollen clit, sucking the sensitive nub into his mouth. The sudden, intense friction sent a violent shockwave straight to your stomach, and you instinctively began to rock your hips back and forth against his lips, chasing the feeling.
He felt the subtle shift in your movement instantly. Knowing that he had wound you right back up to the edge after completely exhausting you brought a deep, intoxicating surge of pride roaring through his chest. He was the only one who could do this to you. He was the only one allowed to see you completely unraveled, hearing the pathetic, broken noises that left your throat every time his tongue flicked over your skin.
As your back arched and your internal muscles clamped down in a sudden, violent orgasm, pulsing your mixed fluids straight over his lips and tongue, a dark, primal finality settled deep within Satoru's mind. He drank you down greedily, his grip tightening on your hips until you were completely locked in place. Watching you shiver and break beneath him, the only thought consuming his brain was that he would be the absolute last person to ever possess you like this. He was never going to let you out of his sight again. Now that he finally had you in his bed, entirely marked by his scent and his seed, he was going to hold onto you foreverāand he would destroy anything in the world that dared try to take you away from him.
Once the final, trembling aftershocks of your orgasm finally subsided, the fierce, possessive intensity in Satoru's posture dissolved back into his usual playful selfājust with a lot more tenderness. He lifted your worn-out body with gentle care, settling you back onto the pillows before lazily rolling out of bed. A minute later, he padded back from the bathroom carrying a warm, damp towel. With a soft chuckle at how completely dazed you looked, he carefully wiped away the remnants of your shared intimacy, cleaning your skin with an unexpectedly gentle touch before taking care of himself.
He slid back under the heavy duvet, pulling the sheets up over both of you before immediately hauling you backward by your waist. He tucked you flush against his chest, wrapping his long arms and legs around you like a giant, needy koala, effectively trapping you in his warmth.
"How are you feeling, angel?" he whispered directly into your ear. His voice was a low, rough murmur, followed by a sequence of soft, lingering kisses pressed against the curve of your shoulder and the nape of your neck.
Your heart felt entirely full at the quiet sincerity in his voice, the simple act of him checking in on you grounding you completely. "Amazing," you breathed, a soft, sleepy giggle slipping past your lips.
Satoru smiled against your skin, his chest expanding with a deep, relieved breath as he held you closer. The exhaustion of the grueling night was finally catching up to both of you, the heavy pull of sleep tugging at the edges of your consciousness. But just as your eyes were drifting shut, Satoru reached down and blindly grabbed your left hand. He lifted it up into the dim light of the bedroom, holding it right in your shared line of sight. His long fingers lazily toyed with yours, his thumb settling specifically on your ring finger and sliding up and down the bare skin.
"Y'know, this finger is looking a bit empty, donāt ya think?" he murmured, his voice dripping with playful mischief. "Kind of a tragedy, honestly."
You smiled, well aware of his likeness for throwing absurd, dramatic comments whenever the silence lasted too long. Playing along with his banter, you tilted your head back slightly to look at him through the corner of your eye. "Yeah, I agree. It's a real shame. You gonna do something about it, or just complain?"
"Oh, I'm absolutely gonna do something about it," he said, a thoroughly smug, self-satisfied grin spreading across his face as he squeezed your hand. "Just you wait. I've got big plans."
He let out a soft huff of a laugh, kissing the top of your head before burying his face back into your hair. Even though you knew he was just being his usual, teasing self to lighten the mood, you closed your eyes and let yourself finally sink into the safety of his embrace. A quiet, profound thought settled deep in your chest: if Satoru actually did pop the question right now, you canāt imagine saying anything other than yes.
.āāāāāā°āāāāā.
Ā "What are you even talking about, Megumi? Thereās no way," Nobara said, crossing her arms and rolling her eyes.
"Donāt believe me then. I don't care," Megumi replied flatly, not even looking up from his book.
"Wait, Iām completely lost," Yuji muttered, scratching the back of his head with a confused frown.
"Catch up, idiot," Nobara sighed, gesturing dramatically toward Megumi. "Fushiguro here thinks our two senseis are in love or something just because he saw them holding hands while she was recovering in the infirmary."
Yuji blinked, looking between the two of them. "But... canāt friends just hold hands? Like, to be supportive?"
"Youāre an idiot," Megumi said blankly.
Before Nobara could launch into a full lecture on the nuances of romantic body language, the classroom door slid open and Suguru walked in. The trio immediately paused, collectively realizing that the perfect source of information had just walked through the door.
"Geto-sensei!" Nobara called out instantly. āDo they actually like you know, love each other?"
Suguru stopped near the podium, raising an eyebrow. He didn't even need to ask who the "they" in question was, it could only be you and Gojo.
A knowing, slightly weary smile graced Suguru's face. He let out a soft huff of a laugh and shook his head.
Suguru setting his lesson materials down on the desk says, "Theyāve been completely in love with each other since we were all teenagers."
Megumi let out a sharp, triumphant, "I knew it."
Nobara let out a loud, miserable groan, reaching into her uniform pocket and aggressively slapping a few thousand-yen bills into Megumi's open palm.
"I hate this school," she grumbled, sulking back into her chair.
a/n: okay what r we thinking guys. was the smut goon worthy or no. be honest guys i promise i can take it. anyways i acc had sooo much fun writing the smut, like i literally had a fat smile on my face like i was the one experiencing ts.
im thinking the next fic will be a more smut focused one w police officer toji who pulls you over for speeding ( Ķ”Ā° ĶŹ Ķ”Ā°) totally not based off of my real life where i got pulled over by a fine shyt officer today
also guys if theres something you want me to write, my requests are open :)
taglist: @mrskamikazekaito @buuldakcarbonara
