please don't say you love me

DARLING PROFILE:

Witty

In general, Satoru’s attention is difficult to ensnare.

He’s an important man with duties that demand every waking moment of his time, leaving very little space for any sort of romantic pursuits. Besides, he’s always known it’s just a matter of time before the clan forces him into some political marriage, an alliance based solely upon what increases the capital of the Gojo clan rather than any sort of emotional, intimate connection.

And he’s fine with that, for the most part – resigned, really, which is why there are a few key characteristics that his darling must have in order to truly force his obsession to take root. One of these characteristics is that his darling absolutely must be quick on their feet in terms of banter.

They don’t necessarily need to be the funniest or smartest in the room, but someone who can keep him on his toes and make him think a little harder would immediately pique his interest. Someone who can whip out all sorts of comebacks and remarks will have excitement hammering at his chest, the rarity of someone actually challenging him – even with such low stakes – intoxicating.

He loves the fact that his darling is capable of thinking on their feet, seeing patterns and connections well enough that the words are slipping from their lips before they can really think about it. He’s used to the people around him either catering entirely to his ever-increasingly obnoxious whims, or to find him so irritating and difficult to handle that they’re desperate to get away.

And so, to find a darling who embraces his own quips, remarks, and borderline-rude comments will have him eagerly seeking out more and more, loving the way talking to them is so exhilarating. It leaves him eager to see them, to constantly be anticipating what they could say next, what looks or snarky comments they could give him, and Satoru is only slightly ashamed to admit that once his infatuation really sets in, one simply funny or well-thought out comment will have him gulping hard, blood rushing between his legs and something warm pushing against his stomach because oh…

Of course, his confidence in interacting with his darling diminishes once he starts to care way, way too much about their perception of him, but it’s still a quality he finds himself allured by, and with every comment his darling only solidifies his interest.

So go on, insult his white hair and tell him to get home to the geriatric wing – just please, please keep looking at him like that.

Meticulous

In general, he’s looking for a smart darling. He’s looking for someone who is able to hold their own with their intellect and decision-making skills, if only because it slightly lessens the paranoia he experiences when he thinks of all the danger they’re exposed to on a daily basis.

It’s helpful to know that his darling is capable, and while their intelligence can manifest in many ways, one of the most appealing to him is someone who is detail-oriented.

There’s a sense of awe that he feels when they’re able to analyze something thoroughly enough to notice small changes. It’s impressive, perhaps because he’s always been much more focused on the big picture and not the practicalities.

Regardless, if his darling were to showcase this ability in some fashion, either in conversation with him or through their actions during one of the many nights in which he spends slithering through the shadows watching them, it only further solidifies his obsession. It only furthers his fascination with them, a genuine curiosity even leading him to notice them first at all.

Perhaps it’s because it’s so opposite to his own approach to life, or perhaps it’s because it’s reallynot that different after all; where they see details in patterns, Satoru sees details in everything he looks at. It’s a sort of mental coping mechanism in a lot of ways, because there’s some comfort in knowing that although his darling is surely not seeing what he himself sees with this Six Eyes, they at least can understand to a certain extent what that experience is like.

They can better understand when he returns back from missions with a splitting headache and eyes that will barely focus, overexertion causing him to collapse and nearly black out. They’re better able to relate to him when he describes the sheer volume of information he receive in a single glance, too much data to decipher in totality.

It’s a way that he feels he’s connected with his darling, and in a world where Satoru feels very much isolated, it’s nice to have someone to talk to. It’s nice to have someone to reach out to and clutch onto, even if they can’t reach back to him. It’s just endearing, really, and he’ll marvel at each and every instance of his darling showing off this trait.

Easily Flustered

This is more wishful thinking on Satoru’s end than anything else, really. Because he’s so terrified to somehow fuck up every interaction he has with his darling, it’s extremely doubtful that Satoru will really even capitalize on this particular trait until much, much later into his obsession. He’s just not able to muster up the flirty, suave lines he casually throws at most others, the words seeming to get tangled on his tongue and never making it past his lips.

And frankly, it’s beyond frustrating – prior to his obsession really taking a hold, it’s a characteristic that he notices in his darling quickly. Before he really cared too much about their opinion of him, he’d had no problem sliding in a flirty comment or making a remark that was sure to get them feeling hot and swatting away his hand.

But the moment his obsession develops, the memories of how his darling’s responses to the teasing of others begins to haunt him. He wants so, so badly to get them to giggle and be wooed, and the knowledge that it’s easy to do so only further sours his mood.

He’s too nervous to try it once he’s fallen heard-first into his infatuation, and this particular trait actually serves to drastically heighten his possessiveness. Seeing his darling getting flustered at another man’s comments will have Satoru’s blood boiling, rage clawing up his throat and making him absolutely livid that he doesn’t have the gall to do the very same thing.

Because it’s just so damn cute; the way they squirm slightly, how they bite their lip, how they have to turn away because the attention is just too much. It makes him want to reach out and pinch their cheeks, to coo at them and see just how far he can push them.

And so it remains the sort of memory and quality he thinks of every night when he imagines his darling’s face just to get to sleep, fading into dreams that feature them in every possible scenario he can come up with (no matter how innocent or depraved).

It’s just sweet, really, and many years into his darling’s eventual kidnapping, perhaps Satoru will grow comfortable enough to really take advantage of this quirk of theirs – after all, he’d do anything to get them feeling hot under the collar, no matter what context.

Independent

There’s something innately attractive about a person who can take care of themselves. Someone who is able to prioritize, to manage their time, to lean on themselves and not expect others to pick up what they themselves slacked.

It’s a product of twenty-some odd years of being expected to be perfect that leads Satoru to value this quality; the expectations and assumptions he’s had to live up to demanded independence of him from a very, very young age, and as a result he doesn’t have a lot of patience for those who haven’t quite caught up.

He’s not expecting his darling to be entirely self-sufficient, but getting along with only minimal help from loved ones or coworkers is something that he is very, very attracted to.

Besides, it makes it so much easier on him as his obsession continues on – his busy schedule and his hesitance to truly interfere with his darling’s life prior to stealing them away seem to offset by the fact that his darling doesn’t often put themselves into situations that he feels the need to remedy. He’s paranoid for their safety, but it’s nice to know that they aren’t constantly surrounded by people that would take advantage of them.

It’s nice to know that he can step away for a few hours to complete a mission or teach at Jujutsu High (on edge the whole time, of course, because every minute that he doesn’t see them it’s like a knife is twisting through his gut) and not have to immediately panic that they’re hurt or on the verge of death. It’s a small bit of relief, and it certainly doesn’t stop Satoru from imagining and assuming the worst, but it’s a subconscious pull that he feels.

It makes his life easier, and in Satoru’s mind, he can’t help but consider it to be yet another piece of evidence for why his darling is such a perfect match for him – fated, he even thinks on particularly lonely nights spent watching his darling from the dark corner of their room. And does destiny ever lie?

GENERAL YANDERE TRAITS:

Obsessive

In a lot of ways, you become Satoru’s salvation.

Prior to your entrance into his life, he’d essentially fallen into a sort of monotonous depression. After Getou’s betrayal, his world has felt numb and detached. Even with his goal to dismantle Jujutsu Society in its current state by training and supporting his students, he’s not completely there. He’d been going through the motions of life simply to fulfill a role – really, more surviving than living.

And so, once his obsession with you takes root and begins to wrap its tendrils around his heart and squeeze, Satoru’s dim, gray-scale life slowly begins to shift. It’s certainly not an overnight change, as his infatuation with you takes a while to really solidify and drive him to the brink. But once he begins to realize just how good you make him feel, it’s already set in stone.

Sure, he’s still passionate about raising the next generation of mover-and-shaker sorcerers, but oh, does he not deserve to have any more personal goals?

His attention slowly begins to shift away from his lofty Jujutsu agenda and more toward you you you. He slowly begins growing attached, depending upon you to get through the day. And it starts small - fleeting thoughts of you grace the edges of his mind.

He’s out running a quick errand for a mission in the outskirts of Tokyo one afternoon, and as he stands ordering at the sweets shop counter, the words are falling out of his mouth before he can even think about it. Your favorite sweet sits in his palm a few moments later, wrapped all prettily in white parchment paper with a nice bow tying it all together. He’s blinking down at the small package with slightly parted lips for a moment, confused himself as to why he’d ordered it (something that he doesn’t particularly like, no less), but only shrugs it off, placing the pastry carefully to one side of the shopping bag to keep it from being crushed.

(And when it arrives on your doorstep later that evening as the sun’s setting over the horizon, Satoru can’t help the way his breath catches as he watches from the end of your street. The way the pinks and yellows glimmer and shine off your hair has him struggling to blink, the way you tilt your head and draw your brows together making his fist clench. You’re too pretty, it almost makes him mad.)

He’s watching Yuuji and Kugisaki gang up on Megumi with conniving grins painting their faces, feeling his own lip twitch slightly at the sight. Once again, his mouth is moving before he’s even consciously forming your name against his tongue – hey, d’you think Megumi kind of likes all the attention? His voice echoes out to no one in particular, the empty space beside him giving no answer as he stiffens up. You weren’t with him. Obviously. Why would you be? You had your own job and duties to attend to – you’re not with him in the middle of a Tuesday afternoon. It’s stupid and foolish and he’s almost embarrassed for a brief moment before Kugisaki starts ranting and yelling about something or another, his attention getting drawn as she growls out well it’s Gojo’s fault then! He shivers.

(In retrospect, though, Satoru couldn’t say whether it’s in response to Kugisaki’s rage or the thought of you being next to him, breathing in his air, your shoulder brushing his, the sound of your steady breaths lulling him into something sweet, calm, dangerous.)

His daily thoughts slowly begin to include you, and as time passes this habit becomes worryingly difficult to combat. It’s not until he’s mid-fight, the breeze brushing against his cheeks and eyes blown wide as his fingers curl, cursed energy swarming around him and buzzing up up up that the small, fleeting thought of whether you’d find him attractive when he’s performing such high-level cursed techniques flits through his mind.

It throws him off-focus, the cursed energy suddenly tapering out, the curse before him smirking and rushing forward to take advantage of the opening. Of course Satoru recovers a moment later, dark, viscous purple blood splattering onto the pavement below and against his shoes as his energy slices the curse’s head clean in half. And yet, it’s enough to have Satoru suddenly very, very apprehensive.

Because what the fuck was that?

It’s one thing that he’s developed a sort of puppy crush, a sentiment that he’d only minimally acknowledged and simply chalked up to repressed sexual needs and a desire for entertainment, but this is completely different. Thinking about you mid-battle – enough to let his attention slip and his cursed energy falter – isn’t simply a puppy crush.

No, it’s much, much more: enough so that it leaves Satoru frowning, something like dread settling heavy in his chest. He hasn’t felt this sort of distraction or hyperfixation on another person since his high school days – and while you’re certainly no Suguru (you’re much prettier, for one, and he’d never spent nights fisting his cock so hard and for so long that he’d been reduced to dry orgasms at the thought of Suguru), the incident is enough to leave Satoru uncomfortably aware that his feelings are veering into dangerous territory.

And from that moment on, you become not only Satoru’s salvation, but also his Achilles Heel. Because the feelings and thoughts come absolutely flooding. There’s no pseudo-mental block there anymore keeping him from realizing and confronting the fact that he’s grown nerve-wrackingly dependent upon your presence and attention.

 Instead, everything is just gushing out of him – the yearning for your attention, pushing him to buy all sorts of things and learn each and every scrap of information about your hobbies that he possibly can just so that he can impress you and have something to talk about with you. He suddenly starts feeling everything in full force, like the dam has broken and his desire, desperation, and hyperfixation on you is rushing through him at all times.

He’s seeing you out of the corner of his eye on missions – you ducking behind a corner, teasing him with just a glimpse of your profile and hair. (He’s left immediately reaching out a hand, calling your name, even starting to run towards you because oh god, you look so good and he has to talk to you and see you and hear you say his name please please please-)

You’re not there, of course, the alleyway he’d imagined you turning into completely empty, and Satoru is only able to stare with wide eyes, lips parted slightly, chest heaving because he could have sworn he saw you and the Six Eyes never lies.

He’s feeling phantom touches of your fingers against his skin – laying alone in his bed at night, the lonely penthouse he calls home feeling cold and sterile. He’s once again failing to sleep, staring at the ceiling and trying desperately to not imagine your face when he closes his eyes, only to feel the brush of soft fingers against his calf. Then fingernails down the defined lines of his abs. Then fluttering breath against his cheeks, soft lips against his neck, something warm and wet against his boxers –

There’s no one in his bed besides him, but it doesn’t stop him from jumping out of it, heart racing, mind running a mile a minute because he’s torn between taking a freezing shower and jumping back into bed to sink into the touch – your touch.

(It takes everything in his willpower to not reach out and touch you when he teleports to your room later that night, mask off as he stares at your sleeping form, counting your breaths, heartbeats, the atoms that make you up. It takes every bit of self-control to not pull your sheets aside and slide in, to take your limp, unconscious arms and wrap them around his torso, to feel your warmth against his back, to have you wrapped around him like you’re keeping him whole.

He can’t – once he starts, he won’t stop, and so he instead placates himself with a single kiss against the crown of your head – it’s long, easily ten seconds, his breath uneven and stuttered as he tries to simultaneously calm his racing heart and inhale your scent. But eventually, he takes his leave – just as your breathing stirs and you see the shadow of a man at the end of your bed.)

As time passes, Satoru’s feelings for you become more and more ingrained into his every waking moment, his yearning for you starting to feel like a physical wound that no amount of reverse cursed energy or medical attention can seem to fix. It burns, throbs, aches, becoming so impossible to ignore that he eventually gives up the battle.

He’s the Strongest, yes, but underneath all those layers of techniques, cursed energy, and confidence is Satoru as he really is: starved for love and hellbent on getting yours.

Protective

Satoru has lived all his life believing – and rightfully so – that he’s the most powerful Jujutsu Sorcerer alive, that he’s too strong to really have to worry about something as trivial as low-level curses. He’s a proud man, and a rather cocky one as well; there’s no doubt in his mind that with the exception of a few very high-level special grade curses, he can take care of just about anything he needs to.

Which is why, when you come along, at first Satoru doesn’t even blink twice at the idea that he’ll be able to protect you, that he’ll not only manage to swoop in and save you like some knight in shining armor, but that he’ll manage to look cool while doing it, and perhaps even seem suave and talented and oh so charming, which is a win-win in his eyes on every possible level.

(And god, thinking about the way you’d be so eager to thank him gets his knees feeling weak. Would you clutch onto him, pressing yourself against his chest while you say he’s so strong, thank you Satoru, you saved my life, pressing a delicate, bashful kiss against his cheek that feels like burning hot fire? Would you say you’d do anything for him? Would you say yes to never leaving his side?)

And really, that line of thinking works just fine – until suddenly he’s confronted with the harsh reality that he just can’t always be there to protect you, that he can’t keep you safe and sound and without a scratch at all times without neglecting every other duty in his life. It’s a sobering realization, and it’s one that catalyzes his desperation for you tenfold, if only because the concept of you getting hurt is absolutely mortifying.

It’s a dark evening when he wanders through the city, meandering back to the area he knows you tend to be at this hour (walking home from the nearest store or work, and you should be just getting off the bus at this point, maybe a block or two down from the station), but the moment those startling eyes meet your cowering, terrified form as the curse in front of you giggles and begins winding up to send a massive blast of cursed energy your way, Satoru feels his heart literally freeze.

His jaw drops and the bag of groceries in his hand (filled to the brim with sweets and snacks he was planning on spoiling you with, along with a few products he knows you’re almost out of even though you haven’t mentioned it) falls to the ground with a dull thud, a cold sweat forming on the back of his neck.

Your pretty eyes meet his, a small whisper of his name and hope swimming in their depths, and at the whirring noises the curse is making while it ramps up, suddenly Satoru is slicing the thing’s neck off, mercilessly beating it with his bare hands and snarling at it, going so far as to spit down at it while he breathes heavily, shoulders trembling and fingers twitching. He’s quick to turn around and check up on you, frantic hands wandering your body as he takes in the blood staining your clothing, the sweat making hair stick to your forehead, the blood trickling out of your nose while you blearily blink up at him, whispering his name and weakly clutching onto his shirt, making his heart absolutely fucking break.

You end up being fine, just a minor concussion and a few deep bruises (and of course the curse placed on you to make you forget that night), but even that is enough to have Satoru sobering up in terms of his ability to protect you, realizing that he may be strong, but does it mean fucking anything if he isn’t there to protect you, if he isn’t around to keep you out of harm’s way?

His mental state regarding you is already rather precarious, shame and guilt eating away at him because he knows it’s selfish and wrong of him to harbor feelings for you, and all it takes is a single reminder that there is a target on your back for him to remember this. It’s a crash back to reality – a brutal shattering of the delicate fantasy he’d deluded himself into believing that you were his little secret, that no curses or curse users would ever touch you.

He blames himself fully for you getting in the line of fire from that curse, and in all honesty the memory is what drives a lot of his more extreme yandere tendencies – he moves from a bit of a lovesick puppy with a penchant for craving your attention and love, and more toward an anxious, creepy mess of a man who feels as if he’s the only one who can properly care for you, who can truly take care of you.

He feels guilty about the whole ordeal, and though he wants terribly to confess to you just how regretful he is that he’d managed to fuck up the single most important responsibility he’s imposed on himself as your self-proclaimed guardian angel, but he can’t. His inability to communicate with you and be vulnerable in front of you bar him from any meaningful confession of his fanatical urge to protect you, and so Satoru deals with it in the only way he can think of: amping up the level of care he puts into making sure you’re safe, and fully, completely convincing himself that you aren’t able to take care of yourself, that you need him.

It’s disturbingly easy to do, in all honesty – he’s truly talented, and so as you walk through the streets of Tokyo, shopping or chatting with a friend, eating or waiting for the subway car, there will always be a pair of crystal blue eyes following your every move, determination set in stone to make sure that you’re never put in harm’s way again, that he’ll always be there and ready to jump in a moment’s notice, to be your true knight in shining armor and make you fall in love with him like he so desperately wants.

He tries his absolute hardest to be there with you as often as he can, but even Satoru can’t watch your every waking moment – and so, Satoru becomes extremely good at getting things done as quickly as he possibly can, just so he can run off and see you, be with you, watch you, smell you, maybe even lick a bit of your hair if you’d just get closer, please… He can’t just shrug off his sorcerer and teacher duties, as much as he’d like to, and so Satoru learns to work around his rather cramped schedule to carve out as much time as he possibly can dedicate to you.

And while it’s mostly successful, in the end Satoru resorts to means he’s not especially proud of - the tracker is just so fucking easy to slip on you. One in your phone, your purse, even one that Ieiri reluctantly placed in the back of your neck (after much pleading and promises to buy her sake for the next five years, along with some rather creative lies and misdirection when asked why).

He’s constantly whipping out his phone when he’s forced to be away from you, watching the small dot marking your location slowly move as you go about your day. He’s connected it to your Health app, tracking the number of steps you take and your movements, mentally chastising you when you have lazy days where you don’t leave your apartment. (But god, does he wish he could be right beside you on your sofa, head resting on the soft plush of your thighs and your fingers carding through his hair, his tongue slipping out to kitten lick at the seam of your sweatpants, pouty blue eyes gazing up at you because oh please, he can practically smell you and it’s making his mouth water – won’t you put him out of his misery and just let him rip the pants off of you?)

He feels a bit guiltier when he eventually installs the hacking feature into the tracker as well, accessing your banking apps, camera roll, password manager, hell, even your notes app. And he’s pouring through it all with a steady, constantly scrolling thumb, blue eyes scanning the screen compulsively to pick up any clues about what you’re doing, who you’re with, if you’re in any immediate danger.

(And he really feels guilty when he learns that he can actively tap into the camera itself, able to watch your face as you scroll through your social media, as you distract yourself on public transit, as you whine and gasp while the shitty quality porn flashes across your screen. It makes his own skin crawl to be invading your privacy like this, but he just can’t help it – not when it’s so addicting to see your face as confirmation that you’re alive and unharmed. Not when it’s cathartic to hear your voice, even if you’re just making noises and barely audible over the buzzing noise of that damn vibrator you seem to love so much. Not when it’s the only thing he can seem to focus on as his mission carries him further and further away from you, the physical distance making him panic because how will you survive if he’s not there to save you?)

He’s lucid enough to understand that his protectiveness manifests in ways that aren’t especially healthy, but Satoru clings onto the belief that he’s the only one capable of truly taking care of you and keeping you safe. He becomes completely convinced that because he’s formed such an attachment to you, he’s automatically placed you in danger as a target for his enemies. And after doing something so terrible without you even knowing, how can he not think that his devoted dedication to your safety is the bare minimum? How can he not feel that he must keep tabs on you in person or virtually every moment of the day for fear that he’ll find you in bits and pieces rather than living, breathing, whole?

His obsession is many, many things, but he’s painfully lucid in understanding exactly what position you’re put into solely because of his attentions.

And so, Satoru takes all the precautions he can – tracking, stalking, keeping tabs on your grocery supplies and heating in your apartment. Anything and everything he can to ensure that you’re taken care of. It helps to ever so slightly ease the terror and guilt constantly plaguing him for having developed something as all-consuming and dangerous as his feelings for you, and becoming your overprotective stalker helps to calm the anxiety and dread he feels every moment that he’s not physically holding you against his chest and away from the world. H

e’s obsessive about your safety, surely, fueled on by the genuine self-imposed belief that you’re completely helpless against potential enemies without him, so congratulations – you’ve landed yourself a tall, terrifying monster of a man dead set on keeping you safe and sound and his, and making sure that you know just how much he cares.

Clingy

But in a very specific way – despite the aloof, confident persona he puts forward in his day-to-day life, deep down Satoru is incredibly lonely. He’s lived his whole life being revered, idolized, and ostracized for being the Strongest, and it’s left little to no room for him to form healthy, normal human attachments.

He’s a tool and weapon to his family and clan members.

He’s a formidable ally whose power is the ace in the hole for fellow sorcerers.

He’s an irritating, unpredictable sensei for his students.

He was a reliable, bratty friend in his high school years.

He wears many hats and fulfils them to the best of his ability, but this constant assumption about who he is, why he exists, and what he should do leaves Satoru a shell of a man. He has no real reference point for who he actually is – what he truly wants and desires, outside of the vague goal of reforming Jujutsu society. And with the exception of Getou and Shoko, he’s always struggled to form meaningful, genuine relationships with others because of this. He felt comfortable with the two of them, but the walls surrounding his true feelings and heart are thick, solid, and nearly impossible to break down.

(And though Satoru doesn’t want to admit it, he keeps them up more out of a sense of fear than necessity. He’s terrified that one day he’ll let the wrong person in and wind up with his heart wrenched out – physically or metaphorically – and devastated. And after Getou’s defection, this concern is only amplified because now he knows exactly what that it feels like and he’ll be damned before he sets himself up for that kind of hurt again.)

He’s difficult to crack simply because the shell that needs to be split open is nearly impossible to find, even for him. And so, once you step into his life, it’s almost as if everything else shifts. The level of warmth and desire he feels toward you is dizzying, his desperation and longing for you pathetic and embarrassing even to him, though he can’t stop it.

And as a result, Satoru is constantly waging a war inside his head – he wants to be around you, but he still struggles to put himself into that position of vulnerability. He wants to have you in his sight at all times – needs you to be close enough to touch, smell, hear, and even taste, just to sate the wild, untamable terror that grips him at the thought of what could happen to you. He needs you to be attached at the hip, your eyes constantly looking at him and only him, your voice caressing the vowels of his name in the way that only you can.

It’s pathological and pushes him to spend as much time as humanly possible with you, but the moment that Satoru interacts with you, it’s like something doesn’t quite click.

He’s so hardwired into portraying this image of the Satoru Gojo that he finds it incredibly difficult to discern exactly how he should act with you. He’s not sure what mask he needs to take on with you – perhaps The Strongest? All piercing blue eyes, too-wide smiles, voice low and resolute with a sort of manic desire for violence and victory?

No, likely not – though he idly wonders whether you’d find yourself driven by some primal instinct to be around him if you could see just how capable he is, how much of a provider.

The silly, irritating Satoru?

No, probably not – it’s a show, sure, but with each comment about how annoying he can be and how both students and fellow sorcerers alike sigh the moment they see him, he worries about giving you this sort of negative connotation, too.

The egotistical, arrogant Gojo?

No, probably not – his youth is far behind him, and while he knows he’s the Strongest, he worries that he’ll accidentally offend you – something he’s always actively tried to do with others.

And really, what’s left? What other identity can he wear in front of you? What other personalities can he adopt for you?  He’s unsure, which is why you’ll often be put into situations with him that leave you entirely confused as to what’s happening. He’ll come to you, plastering on a smirk that doesn’t match his body language, palms wet with sweat and his heart racing as he forces out a compliment of you look lonely, need a big, strong man to keep you company?

It’s meant to be sweet, you think, but his delivery is oddly choppy, his weight shifting from foot to foot the moment the words leave his lips, immediate regret sinking into him because dammit, he knew he shouldn’t have copied the romcom lead’s lines.

And the awkwardness is so palpable and thick that it only ends up making you laugh, confusion lacing your tone but amusement still pushing you forward. You’re terrible, Satoru, you’ll say, and although it isn’t the bashful, flustered response he’d been aiming for, something in his knees go weak because fuck, when you say his name like that it takes everything in his power to not let his jaw go slack, a whine fall from his lips, and his body surge forward with the frantic goal of feeling your skin.

He’ll buy you all sorts of snacks and pretty trinkets, spending hours debating what he should write as a note – corny but rhyming? Serious but potentially melodramatic? He’ll practice his handwriting for a solid twenty minutes before he ever gets his pen to paper, perfecting the script to look casual but not messy, manly but not boyish.

He’ll briefly entertain the idea of giving it to you in person, keeping his gaze on you and watching the way you smile softly and thank him, but even the thought gets him swallowing heavily, panic and worry eating away at him because if you don’t respond that way he’s not sure what he’ll do, and what if what if what if?

(Instead, he’ll settle with leaving it outside the door to your apartment, a bouquet of flowers to match the pretty, sapphire bracelet he’d bought you, making sure to carefully remove the price tag before packaging it himself.)

And as time passes and his infatuation with you only grows stronger and more extreme, Satoru’s fear of being around you and potentially hurting or offending you grows more intense, too. He’s terrified that he’ll drive you away, that he won’t be able to connect with you in a normal, human way, that you’ll eventually throw him aside like the others he’s taken a chance on and let in.

It’s fear, but it doesn’t stop his desire to be around you – he fights tooth and nail, forcing himself through the fear because being away from you is somehow even more painful than the look of hatred on your face. And throughout the entire process even once he’s stolen you away, you’ll be left to blindly guess just what it is that Satoru Gojo feels for you. Obviously it’s something, but his behavior is so sporadic and difficult to interpret that you’ll eventually give up.

One moment he’s staring at you with his lips parted, a light pink dusting his cheeks as you laugh, and the next he’s curtly brushing you off, fingers skimming your hand as he smacks your arm away, fist clenched  and shoved straight into his pant pocket, his expression almost looking pained.

It’s confusing, but his presence is a constant in your life – always at the edges, present even when he goes through bouts of being unable to look at you without falling to his knees. And really, that’s much more true than you could ever know – those eyes are always watching you, the very few free moments he has between missions and obligations spent entirely on settling into the quiet, dark corner of your apartment as you sleep soundly.

His entire body is still, simply watching and soaking in your presence, and it’s in these moments that his clinginess truly shines through – he’s whispering all sorts of things into the empty air of your silent bedroom. Compliments about the way you speak, the way you smell, how the sunlight hits your skin and hair just right, how you always stop to pet animals that pass you by in the street. He’s letting his imagination run wild with ideas of reaching out and touching you – innocent touches, really, like letting his fingers trace the curve of your collarbone, cupping the muscle of your calf, running his knuckles against your own.

(Of course, they’re not always so pure – every once in a while he has a strong, disturbingly vivid urge to reach out and rip the sheets off your body, crawling between your legs and hearing the way you cry out his name, tug at his hair, cage him in with your thighs to make sure he stays you with you forever and ever –

It doesn’t happen often, but when it does Satoru immediately slaps a hand over his mouth, breathing heavily through his nose and leaning against the wall for support, forcing his body to forget the phantom taste of you against his tongue and the not-quite-there feeling of your soft skin against his. It’s completely natural to fantasize, he’s nearly thirty for Christ’s sake – but the thought of fantasizing about you makes him queasy, guilt eating away at him because he feels as if he’s defiling you in some way, tainting you. When he returns back to his apartment the following morning, teleporting just in time to miss your sleepy eyes opening, he’s immediately grasping the edge of his sink, breathing so hard he’s nearly hyperventilating, hand already wrapped painfully tight around his cock as he pulls and tugs and tries desperately to think about anything but you.)

So really, while it’s not traditional in any sense of the word, Satoru is clingy in that he’s constantly fighting with himself to be around you more, to draw your attention to him where he really craves it. He’s awkward and entirely unused to navigating a situation where someone has such strong emotional sway over him, and he’s essentially caught into limbo up until he’s forced to steal you away.

It’s pathetic, really, but each time he tries to gather the courage and simply talk to you like a normal person, he freezes up, panic engulfing him as he imagines all the ways this could go terribly wrong. It’s sad, and he knows it – but when you just shake your head and chuckle at some lame bit he’d tried on you, something between a groan and a gasp slips out of him, the desperation to have you hitting him so hard that it physically hurts.

DEALING WITH RIVALS:

Jealousy is not a pretty look on Satoru.

It’s embarrassing, pathetic, dangerous in a way that you can’t articulate but feel acutely, and it’s something that happens to him frequently. Very frequently.

It stems primarily from the fact that he’s simply never really experienced envy in a significant way. As the strongest sorcerer with ample wealth, status, and influence, there are very few circumstances that Satoru finds himself in where he becomes jealous of another. He’s often the one calling the shots in some capacity, and although his persona is a façade in many ways, the self-confidence in his own abilities is entirely genuine.

And sure, perhaps there are fleeting moments where he idly wonders what it would be like to be a completely normal person, to not have jujutsu talent or even just less of it. There are times that he gets caught in his own head, downtime typically following the resurfacing of his high school days and Getou, where he finds himself wishing that he had a better family, a better network of friends, the leisure and capacity to choose his own actions and destiny away from the crushing, overwhelming duty he feels as the Strongest. It happens, but it’s fleeting and difficult to grasp at and hold close to his chest.

And so, Satoru remains largely inexperienced of how to navigate and deal with jealousy, and once the most precious thing in his life – you – are thrown into the mix, he becomes unstable. Unsteady, turbulent, unpredictable.

Because really it’s not just a terror that you’ll be wooed by some other man – that’s certainly there, his insecurities rearing their ugly heads and leaving him panicked that you’ll want someone less irritating, more tactful, better and more your type – but the main emotion that grips him is fear. There’s fear that you’ll abandon him, that your absence in his life will leave him to fall right back into the dark abyss he’d been drowning in prior to meeting you, and the concept is genuinely terrifying. You’ve become so important and central to his life that to rip you out of his grasp would be to rip out his very heart and soul; you’re his everything, and to lose you would mean a sudden, painful death.

But even if he sees you rejecting the would-be-suitor, your words harsh or biting or even unnervingly polite, it doesn’t subside the fear that grips him. Rather, there’s the ever-present terror that you’ll be swindled or stolen away by an enemy of his.

Satoru is no fool; he’s acutely aware that he’s not exactly beloved, that there are curses, curse-users, and sorcerers alike who’d actively prey upon his downfall, and he’s not deluded enough to think that they wouldn’t employ you as a weapon in this endeavor. Because really, you’re a weakness. You’re Satoru’s Achille’s heel, the thorn in his side that he cherishes and nurtures and wants so desperately to keep isolated from the rest of the world. And he’s certainly not the only one who knows of your existence, try as he might to be subtle, to remove himself from you, to keep you completely and utterly unaffected by him.

It’s the combined fear of you abandoning him and caring for your safety that gets Satoru’s heart racing so fast that he thinks he may die, his hands trembling and his eyes blowing wide, cursed energy flaring up so strongly that it makes every living thing around him shrink back. And even as his jaw ticks and every muscle in his body clenches so hard it nearly hurts, Satoru’s gaze is staying entirely and only transfixed on you, focused entirely on the way that you’re feeling, those eyes of his catching every micro change of your expressions or body language.

And really, it’s this tunnel vision on you that leads Satoru to act; he wants to simply walk up and tear the offending man apart limb by limb, to hear his screams and desperate pleas while Satoru cages you face first into his chest, your hot breaths fanning against his racing heart, but he holds himself back. He’s so, so painfully aware of your perception of him that to simply rush in and slaughter the man while compulsively chanting she belongs to me would surely derail all of the careful work he’s put into making you like him.

(And he’s not even totally sure if it’s working – how could be possibly backpedal any positive progress he’s made just because he lost his cool over a man asking for directions on the busy streets of Tokyo?)

It takes every ounce of effort he can muster, but Satoru will force himself to refrain from immediately resorting to violence, instead clenching his jaw so tightly his teeth nearly crack and keeping a very, very close eye on the interaction. He’s studying every small shift in your behavior, scanning the man’s every move and breath for any sense of ill intent, his own pulse skyrocketing as blood rushes past his ears.

He’s so on edge that he can only focus on the two of you, momentarily entirely blind to his surroundings, straining his ears and eyes to hear the words and read your lips.

He won’t directly approach, if only because he’s not stupid enough to barge in without a plan, knowing that he’ll slip up and reveal too much of the truth, his words tinged with possessiveness, desperation, a sort of neediness that will surely make you cringe and distance yourself. Instead, he placates himself on watching, plotting and thinking, trying to decipher if this stranger is a genuine threat to your safety – and your love.

But of course, there are times when Satoru’s jealousy is simply too strong to handle, or when his observation leads him to believe that the offending man is more dangerous than he appears. It’s in these moments that Satoru’s self-control slips slightly, the raw panic that grips him at the thought of you being stolen from under his nose impossible to control.

They’ve really expanded the flavor options, haven’t they? The man’s voice behind you startles you slightly, and for a moment you ignore him, unsure who he’s talking to you.

But then he continues, and you turn around with a small, polite smile on your face. Kind of overwhelming, huh?

His voice is deep, gravelly. Your smile tightens slightly when you notice the faint scars littered around the man’s face, and you subconsciously clutch at your purse a bit harder. The café wasn’t normally busy enough to have a line formed, but a quick glance at the wall clock tells you you’re running slightly late for work – right at peak morning time.

Yeah, sometimes I freeze up at the register. You’re not really sure why you answer him, some sense of discomfort urging you to placate what appears to be a rather tense smile on his face, but you turn back toward the front of the line after your mouth closes.

It’s silent for a few more blessed seconds, only the sound of coffee grinders and the acoustic guitar playing over the speakers. Then he speaks again.

What do you normally get?

Heaving a deep breath, you swallow. I like to mix it up, you answer over your shoulder, unwilling to open the conversation up further. His presence felt ominous behind you, like something wound tight and ready to pounce.

You hear him snicker, and feel him take a step closer to you. No need to lie, sweets. Your routine is awfully easy to crack, after all.

You freeze, eyes wide ahead, fear creeping up your spine. All too slowly your gaze is darting around the café, noting how far the door is, how many other people are around, who would see you if the man stepped any closer. Your nails dig into the leather of your purse strap, fingers shaking slightly.

You’re just about to step out of line – coffee be damned, even if the headache you’ll suffer later will leave you incapacitated – when his hand comes down and sinks against your shoulder, grip tighter enough that you feel bruises begin to bloom.

Don’t bother running, I know where you live. He rattles off your address smoothly, gravelly voice sounding far too pleased with itself. A sharp gasp rips through you, and for a brief moment your eyes squint shut, muscles flexing as you prepare to dart out of line and out the front door, practically already hearing the little chime ringing in your haste-

A different hand settles at your other shoulder. The grip is just as tense, though his nails dig into you slightly less.

You hear a distinctive thwack sound behind you as the stranger smacks at the creep’s hand, effectively removing the offender’s clutch on you. You’re still slightly frozen, but the savior’s voice cuts through you like a knife.

Weren’t you ever told women don’t like creepy? Though I suppose with a face like that you don’t have many options.

Your blood runs hot suddenly, and you’re turning around before you can really think about it, the familiar head of silvery white hair towering over the other man. Satoru’s eyes are wide, unblinking, and with a small start you notice he’s omitted his sunglasses today – showcasing the uncanny, too-bright gaze he keeps hidden.

Unconsciously, you take a small, nearly unnoticeable step toward Satoru, and something in his knees goes slightly weak, Adam’s apple bobbing as a twisted, bubbling surge of pleasure sparks through his gut.

The stranger scowls, attention completely focused on Satoru, the air feeling heavier and charged between them.

Damned sorcerer, shouldn’t you be out of the country right now? Skirting your missions just for a subpar piece of ass?

Satoru’s jaw works, another wave of rage bubbling up inside him at the curse-user’s gall to insult your appearance – to even acknowledge you, really.

Keep her out of your filthy mouth. Now run along, before I stop feeling generous enough to spare you.

The man glares at Satoru for a few more moments, before scoffing and – to your horror – spitting at Satoru’s chest. His blue eyes don’t even blink, fixed entirely on watching the way the stranger stomps through the café’s door, the little bell making you release your breath.

Satoru, I –

He cuts you off, his other hand coming up to grip at your open shoulder, only to flinch when you wince, the bruises already formed. Instead, the hand moves to cup at your chin, turning your head this way and that, blue eyes scanning up and down your body in a way that makes you almost embarrassed.

Did he touch you anywhere else? Are you hurt? His voice is robotic, though you can hear the slightest edge of something in it – something that sounds suspiciously like fear.

Shaking your head, Satoru visibly relaxes, though he’s still staring down at you, and you notice in a sort of far-off way that he hasn’t blinked once since you’d turned around.

Your lips part, the start of his name and a thanks slipping off your tongue, but suddenly he’s snatching his hands back as if you’d burned him, stumbling back a few steps and breathing heavier, that intensity in his eyes vanishing and instead being replaced with something more wild.

You call out his name again as he turns on his heel and all but sprints away, the bell chime ringing again and leaving you dumbfounded. You’re just about to follow him, to ask what the hell just happened, but the barista behind the counter is looking at you expectantly, flashing you a half-irritated half-genuine smile as they say next, please.

You step to the counter, once again glancing at the clock and trying to let your tardiness occupy the spaces the man’s threats and Satoru’s words won’t seem to leave.

And a mere fifty yards away, sandwiched between old brick buildings, Satoru’s face is entirely devoid of emotion, cursed energy wrapped around the curse-user’s neck in a vice grip three feet off the ground.

Where did you get your information. It’s not a question, and the man sneers before Satoru tightens the ring of energy, leaving him to splutter and cough.

Tell me.

It’s no use though, because at the man’s silence, something in Satoru snaps, and each of the man’s limbs are pulled clean off, his screams cut short by force decapitation. And as the heavy thunk thunk thunk of his body parts landing on the wet, dirty concrete ground fill Satoru’s ears, he can only scowl, cursing and kicking at a nearby puddle.

Fuck, he mutters, shoving his hands in his pockets and gnawing at his lips. Unease and paranoia seep through him as the adrenaline and rage slowly taper out, the anger he felt upon seeing the man’s hand on you and reading his lips slowly being replaced with terror. But as he slowly stalks back to the café, catching sight of your hurried figure rushing down the sidewalk toward the bus stop to make it to work, Satoru can only sharply exhale.

He swallows, leaning back against the building wall for a brief moment, before setting off, matching your pace as he follows you from a distance. He’d need to ask around once he got back to the school – interrogate the curse-users detained, see if anyone had any leads as to how the stranger had learned your address, connection to Satoru, and morning routine.

But for now, he keeps his gaze trained on your figure, lips twitching downward at the thought of those vile man’s hands touching you.

The man’s fingers touching you even through the layers of your jacket and shirt – touching you before Satoru.

His fingers flex, already resolved to spend the night stationed at the foot of your bed, reversed-curse technique flowing from his hands into the bruises bloomed on your shoulder. He scoffs.

Bastard.

TAKING HIS DARLING AWAY:

As a general rule, Satoru tries to keep everything as consensual between the two of you as possible. He’s so incapable of building a normal relationship with you that everything moves very slowly, entirely stunted by his own crippling fear that he’ll move you too fast, that he’ll push you into something before you’re ready. He’s convinced that any sort of positive reaction you have to him can’t be completely genuine, that there’s some ulterior motive or force pushing you to feel any sort of fondness, attraction, or joy with him.

It’s paranoia at its finest, and perhaps a deep-seated insecurity that he doesn’t know how to process, but it leaves him with the compulsive need to make sure that you verbally consent repeatedly before he does literally anything. (With the exception of stalking you or any other task he deems necessary to maintain your safety and health, of course.)

And for much of your ‘relationship’, or at least the early parts, this is just fine – he’s texting if he can meet up with you for lunch, even though he knows which restaurant you’re walking to already and that you’re wearing that new pair of shoes you got and oh, you styled your hair differently today.

He’s inviting you over to his penthouse for a movie (he’d had the place meticulously cleaned, spraying his cologne throughout and then suddenly changing his mind in case it was too much), sitting next to you but not quite close enough to touch you.

He’s been thinking about it all night, but when he finally, finally gathers the courage to wrap an arm around you, he’s hovering his arm awkwardly, doubt settling in once you blink at him in confusion. It’s not verbally asking for your consent, sure, but it amounts to the same thing – and thank god for the throw pillows he’d fluffed up before you arrived, their cushiness hiding the tents in his pants well enough.

(Because when you’re this close to him he can smell you, heaving deep breaths in and out, and he can feel your body heat and even a bit of your cursed energy against his skin, the sensation making every nerve in his body feel alight and dangerously sensitive.)

And so, Satoru does genuinely want everything between the two of you to be desired on your end. He wants to be wanted by you – he needs to be wanted by you, and so the thought of pushing you into something serious like living together genuinely terrifies him. Hell, he can’t even ask you to be his girlfriend or admit that he has romantic feelings for you out of fear of scaring you or driving you away, and so the concept of moving in together is far, far more than he can reasonably bring up. His obsessive and possessive sides would be absolutely thrilled – to have you under his roof, waiting for him to come home from grueling missions with your arms and legs wide open for him is a wet dream come true.

But in actuality?

Well, he hasn’t even held your hand or kissed you yet – he’s never done this before, sure, but even he knows that it’s a little early to ask you to move in with him. And so, Satoru silently suffers, wallowing in his fantasies but never acting, trying to play the ‘long-game’ to keep you from rejecting him and to keep himself from doing something that can’t be undone.

But, like always, Jujustu society is never so kind to him. He thought he’d done well at keeping his festering obsession at bay; artfully dodging questions from his students and coworkers about why he spends so much time smiling at his phone “like some middle-school twerp who’s never even seen a girl’s underwear before”, as Kugisaki so eloquently put it.

He thought he’d done a good job at finishing his missions as quickly as possible without sacrificing thoroughness, just to maximize his time spent following you without cutting into his duties as a sorcerer.

He’d thought he was being discreet, balancing his time as teacher and sorcerer well with time carved out for you, and yet that all comes crashing down in a single sentence.

Satoru detested going to the annual clan meetings, always scowling and purposefully trying to irritate and derail the conversation, but it’s only in a lull that he hears it.

Seems you’ve been failing to live up to your namesake, eh Gojo? He could smell Naobito Zen’in’s breath before he even turned to face him, irritation already settling in his gut.

Satoru smiled, icy sharp, and kept his voice as condescending as possible. When the quality of all the infamous clans starts lacking, why should I have to be the difference?

Naobito’s eye twitched at that, his smirk turning into a scowl. They say it’s a girl draggin’ you down. Say the whore’s slowing you down, distracting you, and that maybe she’s a curse herself – though intel suggests she’s nothing even remotely special in terms of Jujutsu.

And though he’d kept his face completely neutral, the weight of his words weren’t lost on Satoru. If Naobito – drunkard that he is – knew about you, it was too late. They knew about you.

They knew about you.

The rest of the meeting had been a blur – muffled voices and pointless arguments, the Gojo heir uncharacteristically silent. All Satoru could think about was you – they knew about you, and he had no doubts they knew your name, address, weaknesses, anything and everything. No doubts that his attachment to you would be capitalized on, used to control him, your life simply becoming leverage to manipulate the weapon that is Satoru Gojo for the higher-ups’ whims.

Sleep eludes him that night, and he spends the long hours settled on your bedroom floor, sitting and staring unblinkingly at your sleeping face, allowing himself to edge closer and closer, until your soft, warm breaths fanned across his face.

No tears slipped down his cheeks, only a feeling of bitter, resentful acceptance ebbing through him like waves.

But even as he pried himself off your floor right as the sun rose through your window, finding himself in the medical bay with Shoko a mere hour later, her words are the final nail in the coffin, punctuating the hours of silent, fretful contemplation. Are you doing okay?

It makes him bark out a laugh, sounding strained, and Shoko merely sighs, turning around to put something away in a wall shelf. You look like shit, so don’t bother answering.

It’s silent for a moment, and Satoru clasps his hands together tightly, sitting hunched over on the chair in the corner of the room.

You know you can’t keep this up, right? Shoko’s voice is hard, and Satoru closes his eyes. I don’t care if she’s your own personal Mairlyn Monroe. Either you get your shit together and remember you’re the most depended-on sorcerer, or they’ll kill her.

Shoko takes a drag of her cigarette, and Satoru stares blankly at the floor.

He’d left some twenty minutes later, Shoko’s voice carrying him out with a if you love her, you won’t do that to her.

And later that same night, Satoru finds himself once again stationed beside your bed, your breathing even and deep, little groans and sounds slipping past your sleeping lips that make something in his chest ache. Guilt eats away at him as he quickly reaches out and swipes at the pressure point in your neck, your sharp little inhale making him bite his lip. And yet it doesn’t stop him from carefully gathering you in his arms, taking care to keep you pressed securely against his chest as his arms loop behind your back and knees.

Transporting you is simple, the familiar walls of the small home he’d quietly purchased months ago greeting him. It’d been a plea to placate some of the overwhelming paranoia eating away at him, the knowledge that he have a small, remote home already prepared for you making him feel ever so slightly calmer, ever so slightly more sane.

And it’d been an outlet for a long while to help funnel his obsessiveness into something productive, useful – the completely outfitted home was evidence of that.

Closets full of clothes in your exact size with luxurious materials, all in your favorite colors, styles, and fabrics. (Lots of baby blue and white items, too, regardless of whether you like them, simply because he subconsciously couldn’t resist the mental image of you in his colors, the thought making something pleasant and possessive curl in his gut. Like he’s staking a claim on you. He hasn’t put the pretty, white lingerie set into the closet yet, keeping it stashed away safely in his own closet, but one day you’ll wake up to find it there. Probably. Though the off-white stains are a bit embarrassing.)

Your favorite snacks and sweets stuffing the kitchen cabinets full, waiting for you to devour. (And god, what he’d give to hand feed you – to see your pretty lips open wide, to let him drop a piece of candy against your tongue, the let his fingers linger and press against the insides of your teeth, only to return them back to his own mouth and suck, trying to taste every bit of you he can.)

He’s bought an exact replica of your bed, all the way down to the mattress, sheets, pillows, and blankets. (He’s slept in them before, clutching the pillow to his chest and murmuring your name lowly under his breath, fantasizing about the moment that he’ll finally have you slipped under these sheets, too, your face smoothed into the pillow, into his chest, against his lips.)

Your favorite shampoos and body products, even the ones you eyed in the stores but ultimately deemed too expensive. (And no, not every single one has been tampered with. Only a few. Well, most of them, but even Satoru Gojo can’t finish into every single bottle of your products – he has to save some for you, after all, even if the thought of fucking you is far, far too much for him right now.)

Your favorite books, movies, and shows all sitting around, filling every nook and cranny of the small home, the TV set up to access streaming devices but nothing live or connected to the greater world. (With a small couch to match, so that you can be completely comfortable while watching and so that he can join you, if you’d let him.)

The house is even built in the style he knows you love – regardless of expense, he’s pulled out all the stops to make it as comfortable as possible to help ease a transition into captive life that he knows you don’t want. And this sense of lucidity and shame for his actions and feelings becomes very apparent once he’s stolen you away.

That is, Satoru is not a suffocating captor. Of course, his presence is a constant – always hovering in doorways or in the corners of the room, always looking at you (often without any eye coverings, but you can still feel it even through the blindfold or glasses, as much as you try to ignore it). He’s always just sort of there, lingering and basking in the pleasure of seeing you and being physically near you, even if he’s not speaking to you or touching you.

He has very minimal expectations of you, instead allowing you to do whatever you so please so long as your safety isn’t in question. And speaking of, that’s another major component of being Satoru’s captive: he absolutely will not allow you to anything potentially dangerous.

He’s not especially patronizing in most aspects of his feelings (aside from the very obvious power and strength imbalance between the two of you), but he’s removed all the knives, peelers, scrapers, and graters from the kitchen. The stove is set to only reach the lowest possible temperature needed to boil water, and there’s a kid-proof lock sitting in the neighboring cabinet that he doesn’t want to install but will should you need your privilege to safely use the heat revoked. Even in the restrooms, he’s purposefully keeping the shower water just hot enough to be refreshing but not hot enough to burn, and the toilet seat is purposefully angled so that your head won’t fit no matter how hard you try.

It makes him feel guilty, yes, but he’s able to excuse it as simply caring for your safety. Because while he knows he shouldn’t have stolen you away from your old life, the threat of other sorcerers and curses coming after you is only slightly more terrifying than the thought of you managing to injure yourself. He cares too deeply to let even a scratch mar your pretty skin, so it’s really in your best interest to just deal with the rather humiliating task of asking him to chop vegetables for you, or to shave your legs.

(He’s terrible at chopping vegetables and will blanch slightly at the ask, but he’ll actually have the gall to look genuinely offended at the latter request. It’s not often that you see him truly at a loss for words, but how can he possibly convey to you that your body is absolutely perfect? That he’s simultaneously endeared and aroused by the shape and curve of your legs, every hair, blemish, and scar included? How can he possibly tell you he’s had dry orgasms to the thought of those legs wrapped around his waist, your hair feeling soft against his lower back as the muscles clench and squeeze, his thrusts turning harder and faster and more and more desperate as his orgasm draws closer and closer?)

‘Living’ with Satoru is really more a matter of getting used to the monotony of captivity and staving off the loneliness during bouts where he’s feeling especially unworthy and unsure of how to interact with you. You’ll never be placed into danger, and frankly he spoils you more than you’d thought humanly possible. With the highest quality foods just to your liking, the best entertainment he can provide you without allowing you to connect with others besides him, and the presence of an over-eager, terrified man following you like your second shadow, there’s a very good chance that your resentment and hatred of Satoru will slowly ebb into something duller, then something apathetic, and then perhaps even something warm, sickly, wanting.

Because while he may be terrifying in his own way with his excessive knowledge of you and penchant for stalking you even in the home he’s forced you into, eventually Satoru will wear you down. Knowingly or not, it doesn’t matter. You’re safe with him, after all – he tells you as such, when he thinks you’re asleep, curled up on the floor and staring eye-level as you softly snore.

 Safe from anyone and everything, locked up where neither man nor curse can harm you – the only one you really need to watch out for is Satoru himself, for as his obsession eats him whole, eventually it’ll devour you, too.

PUNISHMENTS:

Though Satoru slowly grows more comfortable with the idea of emotional intimacy, it’s a very, very gradual process. His walls are shrouded so high around his heart, and the idea of crumbling them down little by little is equal parts daunting and terrifying. He’s just too afraid of rejection, of pain, of the very possible reality that you won’t ever want someone who is as emotionally scarred and alien as he is.

The longer his obsession goes on, festering and sinking its claws into him, the more Satoru is convinced that he genuinely can’t love you like a normal man could. He wants to – god does he want to – but he’s simply not wired for it. He’s feeling something closely resembling love, sure, but it’s like looking in a distorted mirror. It’s the right shape, soft and fragile in the palm of his hand, reverent in the way his lips round and edge around the syllables of your name like a prayer. But there’s something ever so slightly off about it, something uncanny and strange and uncomfortable, like a poison dressed as a perfume.

Where other men are flustered and nervous to approach the woman of their dreams, Satoru is terrified – what does he say? How does he start the conversation? How should he act, behave, speak, look, how does he make himself appear more human?

Where other men are able to casually reach an arm around their partner’s shoulders or press a teasing, soft kiss to their temple, Satoru’s tongue only lamely jerks against the inside of his teeth, pushing and trying desperately to escape, only to no avail.

Where other men are easygoing, natural, and calming, Satoru is only empty, blank, needy.

He’s entirely unsure of how to even go about developing your loose friendship into something more, and as a result nearly every aspect of his infatuation with you is tinted by this fact. He relies more on stalking than actual conversation. He bites his lip and fumes when other men approach you rather than immediately cutting in and saying some suave line, simultaneously marking his claim over you and coming off as cool in your eyes. He aches and nearly sobs himself to sleep some nights alone in his too-big, too-cold bed before he’s stolen you away, clutching at the sheets and trying desperately to not think about your smile, lips, body, or voice.

He’s pathetic, really, so wrapped up in his own head and how you’ll perceive him, and nothing shows this off worse than once he’s finally stolen you away, keeping you under lock and key in the house he’d purchased specially for you. And specifically, Satoru’s inability to communicate and approach you in a normal, healthy way will really show when it comes to how he handles your uncooperative behavior. As a kidnapper, he’s generally pretty hot-and-cold, unpredictable to the extreme in whether he demands your attention or skirts away from it. And so, while he certainly isn’t trying to be difficult, you’ll be left to wonder exactly what it is that Satoru wants from you.

He constantly sends you mixed signals. One moment he’ll be biting his lip and staring at you with wide, unblinking eyes, the muscles in his fingers twitching every once in a while, his knee bouncing from where he sits on the other end of the sofa from you.

(You could swear you saw him lick his lips, too, his blue eyes flashing down to your own mouth for a split second, but it’d happened so fast you can’t be sure, and you’re still not entirely sure what that meant. Does he want to kiss you? Rip your tongue out? Some unknown third option? You’re not sure, so it’s best to just ignore it.)

But the next second he’s staring past you, almost through you, not listening to a word you’re saying and instead clenching his jaw tight, guilt eating through him because he can physically see how distraught you are at being trapped here. With him. With him.

And this whiplash will lead to there being very few hard and fast rules under Satoru’s dominion. He’s not strict with you by any stretch of the imagination, and rather is almost too hands-off. He’s not telling you what you can and can’t eat, what television programs you can watch. (Of course, he’d curated the selection in the first place, tending to avoid your favorite picks where he deems the actors to be too attractive, and any containing intimate scenes with actors who are particularly well endowed. Not that Satoru has anything to worry about, really, something you’ll be more than aware of the first time you see the way just your smile gets those slacks of his fitting very, very snugly, but Satoru insists.)

He’s not even threatening you against attempting to escape or lashing out at him, his lucidity forcing him to bear the brunt and pain of knowing that you want to leave him and hate him. And because he doesn’t enforce any sort of rule-based system once he’s stolen you away, it’s very rare that anything resembling a punishment for your ‘misbehaviors’ will occur. So rare, in fact, that it takes a catastrophic situation for him to really even consider any sort of negative action against you in retaliation for something you’ve done.

It’s the sort of situation that would only happen if multiple things go wrong – maybe Satoru is gone away for a mission (something he hates having to do once he’s taken you if only because his paranoia eats away at him all the while), maybe you’re feeling particularly rebellious and angry, and maybe the curse that manages to edge its way in has some sort of object distortion ability that lets it phase through the very heavily reinforced walls of the house. It has to be the perfect storm to ruffle Satoru’s feathers enough to make him panic and take such extreme action, because his punishments are always the result of an extreme emotional reaction on his end.

But even then, he’d never, ever hurt you – he worships the ground you walk on, and so no fleck of cursed energy or touch with the intention of violence will ever land on you. Rather, his panic will drive him to rely on something less tangible, something more psychological – forcing you to recognize that although you may hate him, and although his love for you may be the root of many dangers, you need him. He’s sworn to protect you better than you could ever hope to protect yourself, and he’ll make good on that promise – he’ll show you as much.

In retrospect, perhaps you’d been just a bit too loud. Yelling and screaming through the empty house, the dozens of padlocks and curses placed on the doors much too strong for you to every have any chance of breaking through. After three days of Satoru’s absence, the hallways had grown less euphorically empty and more annoyingly boring, the sensation of being not only stuck in the same building but stuck with only yourself driving you insane.

It’d been stupid to taunt the curse, you know that. Satoru had told you as much, really, during the very brief and very hesitant spiel he’d given you about the world of Jujutsu when you’d continued to ask over and over again. His words hadn’t prepared you for how truly vile the creature would look, though; sickly, pale skin dotted with flecks of black and blood red covered its eight limbs, some thicker and longer than others. Rows upon rows of jagged, cracked teeth set against three independently moving eyes making bile rise up the back of your throat, the high-pitched gurgling noises it’s emitting making it hard to breath.

It’d appeared when you turned around, and immediately you’d backed up to cower against the nearest wall, panic gripping you and making your breathing come in harsher. Satoru had been away for work for nearly 72 hours, and for the first time in many, many months you find yourself almost wishing he’d return just so you wouldn’t have to look at this thing or smell the putrid scent of death wafting off of it.

It takes a step closer, then another, then another and another and another, the uneven scrape scrape sound of its limbs dragging against the wooden floor making you yelp.

It’s close – much too close, and without a second thought your hand blindly reaches out to grab whatever was nearest, the paperback book shaking in your hands. The creature’s hot breath fans against your calf, something like a sick grin twisting up its thin, bloody lips, and with a scream you bring the book down, hoping and praying that you’d at least manage some damage through sheer brute force –

Contact isn’t made. Instead, a sudden piercing, bellowing scream fills the house, and the creature’s suddenly slumped down, limp. The book falls to the floor, and only then do you hear the ragged breathing at your side.

Cold hands grasp onto your shoulders, a thumb roughly running over your cheek and eyebrow bone, Satoru’s eyes frantically darting all around your face and chest, his own heaving much too quickly to be safe.

A moment passes before he’s placing two trembling hands at your sides and hauling you up, ignoring the way your half-hearted pleas bounce across the room. Fast steps bring you down the corridor and to the small broom closet under the steps, and before you know it darkness shrouds your eyes.

The door slams shut behind you, a lock resounding and making something cold and icy trickle down your spine. It’s not a fear like the curse had given you, but something much, much worse. Something manmade, something human.

Satoru, let me out! I didn’t let the curse in, I don’t know what happened, please just let me out! Your fist bangs on the door, the wood shaking but not budging even a centimeter. Please! You can’t keep me in here!

You continue on for what feels like hours, your voice growing horse and your fists on the verge of bleeding, before eventually sliding down the back wall until you were sitting, bringing your knees up to your chest.

The door is still locked, no sign of Satoru on the other side. Burying your face into your hands, it’s not long before the tears start up.

Your sobs are quiet, but not quiet enough to slip by Satoru unnoticed. Kneeling on the other side of the door, ear pressed tightly against the wood, each cry slices through Satoru deeply enough to ache. His fist is clenched so tightly that his nails draw a bit of blood on his palm, his other hand completely flat against the wood. Flat against the part closest to where you’re sitting.

His eyes are closed, a grimace spread across his lips and a familiar tingling sensation building up in his nose. It hurts, the hand fisted up moving to instead clutch at his ribs. Fuck, fuck, fuck…

Listening to you cry is agony, every nerve in his body lighting up and begging him to bust the door down and wrap you in his arms, to keep you tucked against his chest and erase the memory of the curse from your mind, to tell you that he’d never, ever let something come that close to you again, his missions and duties be damned.

But he can’t. Not until you get the message – not until you realize just how damn stupid you could be sometimes.

What were you thinking? His voice is barely above a whisper, yet still slips through the cracks in the doorframe well enough for you to hear. You could have died.

He’s met with silence for a moment, before your bitter, hiccupped laugh. And who’s fault is that?

He winces, a muscle in his jaw flexing. What were you thinking? A book? Are you fucking serious?

You don’t respond, and he bangs his fist against the door. His voice is louder this time. The curse would’ve killed you. It would’ve ripped you apart limb by limb, dug holes into your stomach, pried your eyes out one at a time. It would’ve slaughtered you, and you thought a damn book would be enough to save you?

His hand comes up to wipe down his face, his shoulders starting to wrack slightly. You would’ve died.

You’re both silent for a few minutes, Satoru’s silent tears slowly rolling to a step, before he feels something slump against the door from your side. He tenses, blue eyes watching your body through the wood of the door, the familiar sight of your body and cursed energy making something slightly softer edge into the sharp, jagged edges of panic and anger sitting in his chest.

And perhaps it’s your body reeling from the sheer terror of the curse, exhaustion from the last few months of being stuck in this godforsaken cabin, or perhaps it’s the way you can see the outline of Satoru’s knees and legs in the thin patch of light between the door and ground. You’re not really sure what brings you to say it, or what forced you to move to the other side of the closet. Perhaps some combination of all three, or perhaps the traitorous, filthy part of you that feel something dangerously close to relief at the sound of Satoru’s voice and the familiar crushing feeling of his physical proximity.

You’re not sure, but the words are slipping from your lips before you can stop them, your voice barely even a whisper. I’m sorry, Satoru.

He hears it anyway.

His hand freezes, and for a moment his heart does, too.

When he eventually unlocks the closet, some twenty minutes later, it’s still quiet. You exit without looking at him, hugging yourself and slowly, gently settling onto the couch (your favorite color and style, of course). Satoru’s eyes follow you, staring openly, before hesitantly following you. He sits on the other side of the couch, body stiff and flexed, licking his lips absentmindedly.

Neither of you speak again the rest of the night, but this time, when he lingers at your doorframe as he watches you pretend to sleep, you scoot over to make slight room on your mattress. It’s an invitation, and for one brief, tantalizing moment, Satoru’s heart leaps in his chest, a rush of euphoria shooting through him at your blatant offer, but he only allows himself to walk over and press the back of his knuckles to your cheek.

He watches your eyelids flutter but stay closed, and slowly exhales. I’m sorry, too.

You don’t talk about it in the morning, and Satoru declines the next multi-day mission Yaga sends his way. Give it to Nanami, I don’t have time. I’m a busy guy, y’know?

OVERALL DANGER:

3/10

Satoru is less of a danger and more of a living wreck. His feelings for you are so foreign to him, so unshakable and overwhelming and terrifying that he’s genuinely at a complete loss as to how to navigate them. There’s a desire to have you, of course – an all-consuming desperation to see you and feel the touch of your skin at all times that settles deep into his bones.

But yet, there’s also the terror of letting you past his emotional guards that makes Satoru borderline hyperventilate, because it spells not only disaster for his own sake should you eventually abandon him just like Getou, but it also places you in grave peril with a target on your back. And really, that’s what a lot of Satoru’s obsession is – a push and pull between his heart and his head, a tug-of-war between what he knows is right and what he knows is wrong.

He’s hyperprotective over you, excessively aware of just how dangerous the world can be for someone who doesn’t have his prowess over Jujutsu or combat. He’s clingy in a half-present way, depending on you to get the rush of dopamine that gives him a sense of purpose in his otherwise dull life, while simultaneously blocking himself off from further connection with you because he’s convinced he can’t give you what you deserve. He’s obsessive because he fills the empty void this self-imposed distance creates with compulsively learning everything he can about you, becoming greedy to understand you in ways that no one else possibly can.

He’s a walking juxtaposition, and because of this he’s less inherently dangerous and more pitiful. You’ll be confused for a good portion of your time spent as his darling, unsure what is going through his head at any given time, and from this aspect Satoru does represent at least a bit of danger. Because where there’s pity, there’s care, and eventually you’ll find yourself almost feeling bad for him. Sure, he’s kidnapped you, stalked you for months, repeatedly broken into your apartment and has done very, very invasive things with your pillowcase, but there’s something about those pretty, alien eyes and too-perfect smile that’ll leave you soft on him, even for all his flaws.

And eventually, as Satoru warms up to the idea of fully baring his soul to you, that pity will even turn to fondness – because you’ve really never been able to say no to a stray, have you?

In front of you stood Yuta, a really close friend and a co-worker of yours with a concerned expression on his face. He was one person who had been actively helping you cope with the loss of your grandma for the past few months.

“It's my first shot though.” You roll your eyes, placing the shot glass on the bar table.

“Well, that's what you said last time too and ended up throwing up all over me.” Yuta pointed out, his tone teasing you.

“Shut up. Don't remind me.” You grunted, turning away from him and hiding your face in embarrassment, he let out a hearty laugh at your behavior, you stared at him for a moment before returning a chuckle.

“But for real, it's true. This is my first shot.” You affirm, giving him a reassuring smile, he nods, deciding to trust you. You both begin to chat for a bit about life. You felt butterflies in your stomach when he shot you a charming smile. You quickly looked away, not wanting him to catch you staring intently.

He always knew how to make you feel better at times like this.

You mentally scold yourself for feeling this way about him, you both had gotten a lot closer in the past few months, closer than you guys ever were. Such a change in situation caused a few shifts in your perspective about him, especially when he was so kind, you soon found yourself crushing on him.

Your conversation comes to an abrupt end when one of your mutual friends grabs Yuta and drags him to the table in the middle, jokingly asking your permission to borrow him for a game, which you all laugh at.

You think about taking a second shot before deciding you've had enough, concluding that one shot was enough after what Yuta told you. You really shouldn't be developing an alcohol problem over grief, so now you're just watching him from across the room, observing how the game is unfolding.

“So, when are you going to ask him out?” A familiar voice echoed in your ears, you turned to face towards that direction, seeing the familiar dark green hair catch your eye. It was Maki.

“Ask who out?” You blinked, trying to process what she was implying.

“Oh don't play dumb, I'm obviously talking about Yuta.” She rolls her eyes, grabbing her own drink as she chugs it down.

“Uh, I don't know. I'm not sure.” You reply quickly, feeling conflicted about your own feelings. You felt your hands turn moist at the sheer nervousness you were feeling from this conversation alone.

“Just do it, I'm pretty sure he also has some sort of feelings for you.” Maki nudges you, nodding her head to the direction he's in. You felt embarrassed, shaking your head.

“Eh, I don't know. It's probably best not to ruin things we have right now.” You shrug it off, Maki doesn't prod you further, and just backs off.

The conversation soon shifted to Maki talking about her life. You were so deeply invested, until you felt someone bump into your shoulder really hard, causing you to fall back at the sheer force, almost like they purposefully pushed you.

You landed on your butt with a hiss, cursing the man, who didn't bother stopping to apologize, Maki quickly came to your aid, lifting you up and checking if you're okay.

“What the fuck is wrong with some people dude.” She muttered under her breath, glaring at the man disappearing off to the exit in a rush. You felt irritated, huffing in anger as you tried to hold back the rage you felt.

But then something on the floor caught your eye. You bent down, picking it up as you stared at the package with a scowl on your face. It was likely dropped by the man in a rush earlier.

“The hell is this?” You mutter underneath your breath, and Maki looks over your shoulder.

“One wish willow? What's that?” You almost scoff, reading the label and warnings, anyone can tell that this is a scam, but you still analyze it.

“Should I return it back to him?” You ask Maki, genuinely considering going after that man to return it. She quickly takes it away from your hand, reading the label.

“Nah, that asshole knocked you over, you don't owe him that courtesy, besides it's probably just some occult bullshit.” She sighs, tossing it back into your hands. “Maybe you could wish for Yuta's love since you can't bring yourself to confess. You'll need all the luck in the world.” Maki suggests, mocking you in a friendly way all while raising an eyebrow.

“Fuck you. I'm not that desperate.” You scrunch your face at your friend's suggestion before chuckling, you slip the thing into your pocket, reminding yourself to throw it away later as you continue to chat away with Maki.

And soon it was time to go, you booked a taxi to your house until Yuta chimed in, grabbing your phone and cancelling the ride. He asked you if he could drive you home, which you reluctantly agreed to, feeling bad for troubling him like that.

“I hope you're taking care of yourself after you know—, it's been a while since we got some alone time like this.” Yuta broke the silence first.

“I am, but I miss her sometimes but honestly, you all make up for it. Especially you.” You reply, exhaling as you relax in the car, letting your body go loose.

“I'm glad.” Yuta replies shortly, hands gripping the steering wheel as he takes a turn, one of it slides down, grabbing a hold of your thigh which makes you jump slightly as if it was unexpected.

He gently caresses your thigh, drawing soothing circles for a bit before he retreats it back, the absence of his hand was much more noticeable than when he was caressing you, you missed the warmth already.

“You know i—” Yuta begins before quickly shutting himself up. He takes a deep breath.

“Mhm?” You hum in question.

“Nothing, I forgot what I wanted to say.” He runs a hand through his hair.

“Thank you for being here, Yuta.” You begin, all of a sudden, as you gaze out of the window, staring at the night sky, feeling really sentimental for some reason. “I really appreciate you.” You turn your head towards him, giving him a smile. Yuta remains quiet for a while, before he nods.

“Of course, I'm always here. We're friends after all.” He replies back, though there was a slight hesitation in his words.

Comfortable silence falls over the two of you, and soon enough, you reach your home. You unlock the car door, opening it and stepping a foot outside before you're yanked inside into the car once again.

You shriek, confused when you see Yuta gripping your wrist tightly.

“What's wrong?” You ask when he loosens his grip, he swallows nervously biting his lip and shaking his head no.

“Sorry, I just wanted you to be here for a little longer. For some reason I feel like something bad is going to happen.” He answers, letting out a deep sigh. “I know it's stupid—”

“It's not. Don't worry, I'll stay here for a bit.” You cut him off, settling down into the car once again, letting the moments pass by in silence.

“What do you think of us?” Yuta asks all of a sudden, making your mind go blank since you did not expect him to be straightforward. You feel your throat closing up as you struggle to answer.

“We're really good friends aren't we?” You let out a nervous chuckle and you swear you see something dark pass by in Yuta's eyes before his expression changes into a smile.

“Right. We're. Friends.” His tone had slightly shifted, leaving a gap between each word when he spoke them. You nodded, wanting to facepalm yourself because what the fuck, why did you miss a great opportunity to profess your love? Gosh you're such a fucking coward.

“Actually I—” You whisper quietly under your breath, trying to get the words out, finally building up your courage.

“Good night.” Yuta cuts you off, most likely because he wasn't able to hear you since he seemed spaced out and occupied with his own thoughts. He shot you a tight lipped smile, the one that didn't reach his eyes.

You blinked, the courage you gathered deflating immediately, you didn't speak up again, and just nodded, shooting him an awkward smile.

You don't waste another second getting out of the car, bending down and sending off Yuta with a good night. You walk back into your house, mentally exhausted from everything. Internally groaning as you open the front door and slamming it shut before you hang your coat, throwing your bag on the couch and plopping face down on it. Letting out a muffled screech at the chance you blew.

Maybe this was for the better.

It's better to move on.

You press your cheek to the seat, staring at the texture of the sofa's fabric, noticing a patchy stitch that was a complete contrast from the rest of the plain design.

It was a spot your grandma stitched up a few months ago before her passing, she didn't want you to waste money on a new sofa. You gently caress the patch, the stitch lines bumping into your fingertips as you trace it.

You wish she was still alive, she probably would be laughing in your face if you had told her what just happened with Yuta.

You let out a bitter chuckle, remembering her playfulness before you take a deep breath, trying to hold back the tears from falling.

You prop yourself up, sitting upright and going to your bathroom to wash this day's exhaustion off. After showering, you grab your dirty clothes and put them in the laundry basket, just when you grab your pants— the triangular shaped box from earlier falls out of it. You pick it up, setting it on the table and not paying it any mind as you put your clothes away.

Now you're on a phone call with Maki, who enthusiastically called you because she looked up information about the one wish willow online, telling you that it's a real deal, you have to break the stick for it to come into reality.

“No way, let me check it myself.” You put her on speaker, quickly going to the search engine to look for it.

“Nah maki, it has mixed reviews, some say it's real, some say it doesn't work. I'm telling you, it's just bullshit.” You argue adamantly, annoyed by this stupid little ordeal.

“Why don't you wish for something then?” She suggests again, and you think for a while.

“I mean, it isn't like anything bad will happen, on one hand, your wish will come true, while then on the other, it just turns out to be a fake.” She adds, which makes you grab the thing off the table and open it.

“Wish for like a billion dollars for something, we'll be rich in no time— oh wait fuck! ugh, fuck off— wait I'll call you right back, my sister made a mess everywhere..” Maki hurriedly hung up before you could get a word in. Though you understood what she meant since you could literally hear her sister throwing up in the background when you both were talking. You set your phone down, now intensely staring at the box before prying it open, a weird melody plays when you open it and take the stick out.

You ponder deeply what you should wish for, because a billion dollars would be too suspicious if this was real, like you could be taxed, and if it did come true— how will you explain it to the authorities? you think hard for a few moments before realising how stupid you look right now, all this effort going into something that has absolutely no chance of coming true. You groan, laying down on your sofa.

You don't put a single thought behind your words, choosing to be really dramatic instead of logical, “I wish Yuta was madly in love with me.” You say out loud before putting pressure onto the willow slowly, though you didn't intend on breaking it.

Yeah no, you weren't that desperate—

BOOM!

The ground ends up rattling, as if an earthquake had hit, making you jump and sit up out of panic before you hear the sound of thunder, it scares the absolute crap out of you. You snap your head to the window at that moment, watching flashes of light reflect off the curtain before you hear a few more roars of thunder follow suit with the noise of rain pouring outside.

You let out an exhale after processing what happened, It was just rain. You shake your head in disbelief before turning your attention back to the willow, mind drifting off again to a wish you wanted to make, a simple one.

Probably something like getting a salary hike at the cafe you were currently working for.

You look down, ready to snap the willow.

But your eyes widen when you realise.

The stick now rested in your hands, broken into two pieces.

You must've snapped it in half out of panic unknowingly.

“Fuck noooo that wasn't what I wanted to wish for.” You whine to yourself, voice grating with annoyance.

You were so fucking careless.

You slowly felt something in your gut churn, a feeling of dread but you decided to ignore it.

Ugh whatever, not like it's real or anything, you're getting way too worked up over it.

You get up off the couch, brushing the weird feeling off you and quickly discard the broken pieces and make your way back to your couch, you text Maki.

‘This shit is not real lmao.’

You put your phone down and turn on the TV, trying to find a good show to watch, you immerse yourself in whatever show that is playing right now for a good few minutes, completely getting into the plot—

Ding Dong!

You hear the door bell ring. You furrow your brows, getting off the couch and walking up to the door, wondering who it could be this late. When you look through the peephole, your eyes widen when you see Yuta standing there.

You quickly open the door, surprised by his sudden presence, he probably should've reached his home by now, what was he doing here? Not to mention, he was completely drenched head to toe and breathing heavily as if he had run a marathon.

Your mind wanders off to the wish from earlier, there is no way right?—

Yuta sneezes, which snaps you out.

“Y-Yuta?! Are you okay?” You quickly ask in a worried tone, pulling him inside, before rushing off to get some towels for him.

“Yeah, I'm fine. My car broke down and it started raining so I rushed here.” He sighed, taking the towel from your hands, his hold lingering for a bit longer than usual. You didn't think much of it.

“I don't have spare clothes for you, so you'll have to make do with this bathrobe.” You hand him the bathrobe, to which he quickly grabs before he grabs the hem of his shirt and takes it off.

You turn around, not wanting to look at him as he undresses.

But why the fuck was he undressing right in front of you in the first place? You felt weirded out, this was something Yuta would've never done.

You furrow your brows, quickly turning around to face him only to find him standing still, staring at you in his bathrobe blankly. He suddenly lunges forward, grabbing you by your arms as he pulls you into a hug.

“I'm so sorry. I'm so scared.” He mutters, dipping his head into the crook of your neck before inhaling your scent.

You freeze when he does that, eyes widening with your hands pushing up against his chest to get him off you.

What fuck is wrong with him?

He notices you trying to push him away and steps back, his eyes widening when he sees you.

“Wait, what the fuck? Are you alright?” He asks genuinely concerned, stepping back, his tone shifted way too eerily for you to not notice as if he snapped out of something, you took a step back, not wanting to be near him.

“Uhm, no. You should probably ride a taxi home, let me book one for you. We can deal with the car later.” You blink, weirded out, before reaching for your phone from the couch. But Yuta grabs a hold of your hand before you can reach for it.

“No, please let me stay, I don't want to be alone right now.” He pleads, staring at you with teary eyes which make you feel bad. He lets go of your hand, before hunching down and burying his face in his hands.

“I've been.. having such a bad day. I don't think I cannot be alone with my thoughts. They're scary.” His voice was cracking, emotion spilling out in between as he drags his hands along his face before slowly clutching his hair as if he was going insane.

“Can I just stay here, for the night? Please.” He drops his hands, stands up straight and looks directly into your eyes, you swallowed the lump in your throat, trying to speak.

But, no words would come out, for some reason you felt intimated by him. So you just nodded. He gave you a smile.

“Thank you.” He muttered before he quickly turned and walked towards your bedroom.

“Wait Yuta— that's not the guest room.” You call out, he stops before slowly turning around.

“I know.” He replies before opening your bedroom door and going inside.

Something was genuinely off about him, and it started to scare you. You plop down back on the sofa as you think through what just happened. Yuta is behaving really oddly. You could tell because you're both close enough for you to realise something is wrong with him.

There was no way the wish willow was real, right? If it was, you just practically doomed Yuta's life.

This isn't what you wanted.

But then again, you can't say for sure because Yuta has never once been vulnerable in front of anyone, not even his close friends, not you, no one. What if this odd behavior is just him finally being vulnerable? Just a side that you've never seen before? He did seem pretty desperate and scared. You felt bad, maybe you should give him time to recover until the next morning.

You turn off the TV playing in the living room and quickly move to the guest room, deciding that you'll be the one sleeping in it since Yuta was sleeping in your room. You locked the door before turning off the lights and crawling into the bed.

The soft mattress welcomes you, followed by the warmth under the blankets putting you in a cozy mood. The clock on the wall ticks with every second, the noise echoing through the silent room. Your sense of hearing is heightened as you take in all the noise, the rain, the clock, the soft thuds of droplets hitting the window all lulled you to sleep.

You slowly drift off to sleep as a few minutes pass by, the exhaustion from the day finally kicking in.

All of a sudden, a violent bang rattled through the door, making you snap your eyes open and sit up.

Your heart starts beating quickly, breathing becoming heavy as the banging gets louder and louder.

“Yes?” You call out loudly, your voice shaky, and then the banging stops, you see the door knob twist and turn erratically while the door frame jangles, yet the door doesn't open since you locked it. The relentless banging starts again after the struggle with the door knob stops, which scares you.

“Yuta?” You call out again, and then it stops again, but this time followed by an eerie silence.

The silence is shortly broken.

“[Name], it's me, please open the door.” You hear his voice on the other side. “Please, please, why did you lock it? Please. I can't be alone, why did you leave me alone?” He speaks, you can hear him sniffling loudly as he sounds like he's on the verge of a breakdown.

“Yuta please stop, you're scaring me.” You reply, breathing heavily.

“Why aren't you in bed with me?” He asks, shaking the door.

“Why the fuck would I be in bed the with you? It's not appropriate.” You are taken aback by his question, you could hear your own shock in your reply.

“Please, I keep having nightmares about something bad happening to you. It's scaring me on top of my own thoughts, just be together with me.” He begs, trying to twist the door knob open again. That's when your mind drifts off to the moment in the car, Yuta behaved in a similar manner when he grabbed you to stay with him in the car for a few more minutes, when he told you that he felt like something bad might happen.

“Yuta, I'll be fine.” You affirm, trying to calm him down, but then you hear him sobbing outside your door.

“Please— don't leave me. Please. Please. Please.” He cries out, which makes you feel like the shittiest person alive, but you still hesitate, quickly letting out a deep sigh, you throw the blanket off you and go to the door before unlocking it.

The moment Yuta hears you unlock it, he wastes no time barging in, it makes you back up out of fear and regret your decision of unlocking the door but then he pulls you into a hug, a tight suffocating hug.

His tears soak through your shirt as he cries on your shoulder, body shaking as he sobs really loudly.

“I'm sorry, I don't know what has gotten into me today.” He sniffles, pulling back from the hug. “In the car— I felt like you might be in danger, so I made you stay for a few more minutes, but it never went away even when I started driving back home.” He explains himself.

“So I rushed here pretty quickly to check on you. Yet the feeling hasn't gone away at all. In fact it keeps getting worse every second. I'm so sorry for being paranoid, but please let me stay with you.” He adds, staring into your eyes, you furrow your brows, something wasn't adding up.

“But you said your car broke down.” You mutter and you felt the room go completely silent, Yuta stopped sobbing abruptly, going completely silent.

“I- uh, yeah, it broke down, it was a sign for me to go to you. I think. But it doesn't matter, please just be with me.” He began to sob again, which burdens you with emotion again. You nod.

“Fine, but I'll sleep on the floor.” You agree with a condition. You grab a few spare pillows from the bed before making your way to your bedroom and laying them on the floor. Yuta follows shortly, settling down on the bed as he watches you lay down on the floor.

“You could just share a bed with me. I don't mind.” He proposed, you shook your head, grabbed the blanket and pulled it over your head.

Yuta didn't bother you after that, so you quickly fell asleep.

The morning arrives quickly, you hear your alarm go off, you reach for it blindly to turn it off, face scrunched up is disturbance, before settling into the soft sheets, changing position as you twist on the soft mattress of your bed.

You snap your eyes open.

Soft?

You wake up immediately, examining your surroundings as you find yourself in the middle of your bed. You check to your side, expecting to see Yuta, but he's nowhere to be found. Though, there is a note on the bedside table.

‘Sorry for the trouble I caused :(, I left early cause I needed to get my car fixed as well. Thank you for letting me stay over. Btw, I moved you to the bed since you look uncomfortable on the floor. Don't worry, I didn't do anything. See you at work!

Love Yuta <3’

You chuckled when you read it, finding it cute at the small symbols he used.

Maybe you were just overthinking after all, he was probably just having a bad day yesterday. You felt stupid for being so paranoid and scared.

Quickly, you get off the bed and begin getting ready for work, grabbing the robe Yuta discarded and throwing it in the laundry to wash later. You hoped his clothes were dry by the time he left, cause it rained all through the night.

You wear your outfit for work, and head out.

When you reach the cafe, you already see Yuta clocked in behind the counter, sorting everything out and making sure the machine is working properly. His eyes immediately lock on to you when you walk in.

“Good morning.” He greets you as usual with a bright smile on his face, which you return before clocking in as well.

The cafe bustles with customers immediately after opening, Yuta handles all customers and orders like he usually does while you and Maki prepare the drinks. You spend your entire day like that, working full time before your shift officially concludes.

You stay behind to close the cafe, helping Maki out while Yuta has already left.

“I don't know if you've noticed, but Yuta has been staring at you all day.” She speaks, finishing up her task and washing her hands. “Like, at first I thought it was normal, but then it was so constant, I was starting to get weirded out.”

“I think he's just been going through something,” You say, blinking at her as you untie your apron. “He came over yesterday night and started acting all weird.”

“Did anything happen?” She asks which makes you shake your head. You quickly fill her in on the details about what happened last night.

“That's crazy.” She lets out an exasperated reaction.

“By the way, is the wish truly not real?” She asks, changing topics since she noticed how uncomfortable you felt recalling last night's events.

“Uh, yeah. It's not real, I did as it said and nothing changed.” You fidget with your fingers.

“What did you wish for?” She tilts her head in a questioning manner.

“A salary hike here.” You don't know why you're lying, but it technically wasn't a lie cause you were going to wish for it, keyword: were, but you broke the willow on a separate wish entirely.

“Yeah no, that's never happening in this life at least.” Maki jokes wrapping an arm around your shoulder as she pulls you close, you chuckle awkwardly, feeling guilty.

You both exit through the backdoor, chatting away about different things when you suddenly spot Yuta, who was leaning against his car as if he was waiting for someone.

Did he leave like an hour ago? Why is he still here?

Maki is probably questioning the same thing.

His face lights up when he spots you, immediately waving at you to come over.

“Let me drop you home today as well.” He spoke while grabbing your hand and pulling you away from Maki.

“Uh no Yuta, I brought my own car—”

“The tire is flat.” He interrupts you and you furrow your brows, going over to your car to examine it.

The tire was indeed flat, but what was the reason? You check it further and spot a bunch of huge knife slashes on various spots.

“Who could've done this?” Maki asks, confused.

“I don't know. It was like that when I was leaving, I just waited until you both were done to drop her off. But I didn't know it would take an hour.” He answers.

“Anyway, let's go. I'll call someone to come repair it. It's getting late.” He grabs you before dragging you away from further examining it, you follow him into his car, too much on your mind right now to just think straight, you wave a quick goodbye to Maki before Yuta drives away.

You couldn't wrap your brain around the fact why he didn't just come in and tell you if he spotted that your tires were flat. You would've repaired it before it got too late. It felt like he deliberately waited to tell you so he could drive you home.

And the slashes? Who the fuck would do such a thing? They looked clumsy, as if they were done in a hurry and in a fit of insanity.

“There's something I always wanted to tell you.” You tense up when Yuta speaks, his eyes were on the road yet he was speaking to you.

“I— I've been hiding it for too long but I like you. No— I love you. I've been too much of a coward to admit it.” He confesses. “Last night, you've seen the worst of me. I always wanted to look cool from your perspective, you know? But ughhh. I don't give a fuck anymore.” He whispered the last part.

You felt your heart flutter at his confession before a heat rose up your cheeks.

“What?” Is all that you could let out.

“I love you.” He repeats, pulling the car over before halting it. He faces you directly, caressing your cheek, his eyes examining your entire face.

“Yuta— are you sure?” You ask, heart beating loudly in your chest. He nods, thumb grazing over your bottom lip, his finger pad was soft to the touch.

“Do you like me?” His eyes flicker to your lips shortly.

You swallow, nodding.

“I do, I like you.” You finally confess your feelings as well. Yuta gives you a soft smile before he leans in.

You slowly close your eyes, and hold your breath.

And then you feel it, his soft lips against yours, pressing lightly as he kisses you, slowly tilting his face to the side before he swipes your bottom lip with his tongue in between, asking for permission to let him in.

When you do, he wastes no time in pushing his tongue in, hand moving your cheek to the back of your head as he presses your face into his, his kiss turns desperate as he breathes heavily before you both pull away.

He pulls you in for another kiss again, before he stops, inches away from your lips, his eyes widen like he snapped out a trance as he observes your face, your eyes still closed, anticipating another kiss from him.

He slowly pushes his lips against yours, this time it feels different, his earlier kiss was full of confidence, yet now it feels like he is hesitant and unsure, but he continues to kiss you awkwardly anyway, you shoot your eyes open, slightly pulling away, wondering what's wrong with him, but then the hand resting on the back of your head pushes you, his kiss now transitions into like how it was earlier.

It was weird, but you push the thought away to the back of your mind.

❀❀❀❀❀❀

A week passes.

You and Yuta now became official, everything was going so well— or you had assumed.

Yuta has been behaving really oddly, getting weirder and weirder as the time passed.

“Yuta, what the fuck is wrong with you?” You question genuinely, spitting out the coffee he made into the sink before pouring it down the drain. He stares at you like he was heartbroken.

“Why the fuck would you cum in my coffee? How long have you been doing that for? That's fucking disgusting!” You freak out, grabbing your head as you realise what he's been doing since the past week.

He hasn't left your side for the past week and it was beginning to get suffocating. At first you let him stay over, thinking nothing of it, but the next day, he brought his clothes over and started living with you.

Everything was fine for like one whole day initially, but then it got worse. Yuta was extremely possessive, from the second day onwards, he monitored every action of yours, where you went, what you ate, who you were with, how long you've been in the bathroom for. It was obsessive.

You'd caught him sniffing your pillow, or your dirty clothes in the laundry, which you were weirded off by, the relationship felt like it was progressively getting weirder and creepier.

This isn't what you thought it would be like to be in a relationship with him.

And today? you found out that he came in your cup of coffee which he makes everyday for you in the morning before work. You only found that out because it tasted so weird today.

He was the one that admitted to it.

Like it was the most casual and normal thing ever.

You felt like crying and throwing up, why would he ever think of doing this?

But when he started crying, you couldn't help but feel bad, falling to his knees as he apologized, promising that he'll never do it again. You felt awkward and had no choice but to forgive him. You pull up to his feet and give him a hug which he returns, holding you tightly in his grip, inhaling your scent.

You thought that would be the end of the weird things.

But you were wrong.

The very next night, Yuta initiated intimacy like he did in the past week, his hands slid around your waist as you both laid in the bed, tugging your shirt upwards, you quickly shoved his hands away and fixed yourself. You weren't comfortable being intimate that early on into the relationship.

“Yuta, no, I don't want to.” You firmly say, rejecting him once again, pissed off that the cute cuddling moment was ruined by his advances, you didn't want to be pressured into doing that so early into the relationship, you wanted to take your own time opening up, you constantly had to keep on denying him for the past week.

You turn your back to him, laying on your side facing away from him.

Yuta blinks, his face going blank, “Sorry.” He quickly replies before turning away from you.

It was a constant cycle, he'd initiate, you'd say no, he'd say sorry, and everything would go back to normal because you'd forgive him, but it was starting to irritate you now, even though you made it clear multiple times.

“It's oka—” Before you could finish your usual sentence, you hear Yuta scream into his pillow really loudly out of anger, the sound was muffled yet still roaring, the grating screech of his scream scared you. You backed away slightly out of fear, the monstrous cry continued for what felt like an eternity before he abruptly stopped and turned to face you.

Silence occupies the room again, the only noise you could hear was your heavy breathing.

What the fuck was that?

He gives you a sweet smile before he pulls you towards him, cuddling into you, acting as if he didn't just let out a blood-curdling scream just seconds ago. You went still, just letting him cozy up against you.

You couldn't sleep well that night.

Is this how Yuta behaves in a relationship? It couldn't be, right? From your time with him, he was an absolute gentleman, a sweetheart who's always helped you out, so why is he suddenly going insane like this?

Did something trigger this?

Yuta left for work early the next day, you didn't have a shift today, so you were grateful that you could spend some time alone away from him.

Through, he left you a present on the couch, a note sticking to it.

‘To make up for last night.’ You thought it would be an apology gift, maybe he finally understood? It was probably something to cheer you up because of the way he behaved last night— is what you had assumed until you opened the box, but you immediately dropped it, letting it fall to the floor.

In the box were your used panties, torn at the base and covered in fresh cum. It was your favourite pair too. Why was he doing this to you?

You tried to take your mind off it, sleeping the entire day, too frustrated to deal with it. You regret getting into a relationship with Yuta. He was getting progressively worse. You decide to address the elephant in the room immediately after he came back home from his work.

You wake up to a phone call, and immediately pick up.

“Hello?” You speak, voice hoarse.

“Yo, [name], I just found out something insane.” You hear maki speak.

“Do you remember the slashes on your tires? I checked the cctv footage and holy fuck. I shared it with you. But Yuta was the one who slashed them.” You sit up immediately the minute you hear that.

You exit the call, opening the message she sent you and watching the video.

In the footage, Yuta loomed over your tire so scarily still before he started stabbing it like a madman, he made multiple punctures before he threw the knife away and went back to his car, standing there eerily, just waiting.

“This is so fucking crazy, I've never seen him act like that before.” You hear Maki's voice as your mind goes blank.

Just then you hear the front door open.

“I'll call you later, okay?” You tell her before hanging up. Yuta calls out your name before he spots you in your bed. He greets you before sitting down next to you and cuddling against you.

The revelation of the tire thing made you wonder, how he changed into such a deranged person overnight, because it wasn't like him to do so, and besides it was not a weekly progression like you had initially thought when he started behaving off, no, he had been deranged from the day.

The day since you made the wish.

“Yuta,” You call his name, he hums in response, looking at you with a sparkle in his eyes.

You pause for a brief moment, too shaken by this revelation.

You needed a break to figure this shit out.

“I think we need some space—”

“NO!” Yuta yells, screaming on the top of his lungs, recoiling away from you. “Why? Why? Why? What did I do? Did I upset you? I'm sorry I'll never do it again. Please don't say that.” He blabbled wildly, grabbing you by your shoulders. You were taken aback by his outburst, seeing him whine and hearing his voice distort as if he was glitching or recalibrating.

“The things you do— they're weird, it's almost like you're trying to scare me away.” You quickly add, getting it out of your system before he begins to make you feel bad.

“Why would I do that?” He asks, furrowing his brows. “I'm literally madly in love with you, why the fuck would I try to scare you away?” He declared and you went quiet.

“What?” You questioned, breathlessly, “Madly in love with me?” The familiar wording brought a sense of dread over you, as it slowly started clicking to you. That he has indeed been like this since the day you made the wish. You recalled all the moments from the past week, when all of a sudden he would snap out of something, questioning you if he had hurt you before behaving like his unusual self. He would sometimes apologize out of turn. And that one time when he was kissing you?— it felt like you were kissing two different people.

You think you broke him, unknowing of the actual truth on why he's snapping into different personas.

You stare at the man in front of you, his familiar face suddenly becoming unfamiliar as he shoots you a shy smile before he nods.

“Yes, I'm madly in love with you.” You could hear the tone drop in his voice as he gazed at you like he's high, drunk on love.

You slowly feel your surroundings blending together.

This was wrong, very wrong.

What have you done?

The wish was real.

His words just confirmed it, especially the specifics of it.

You just fucked him over.

You take a deep breath, trying to first focus on what to do. He reacted violently at the sheer mention of taking space, so you need to thread carefully. You slowly blink, giving him a smile.

“I'm glad.” You reply, trying to play it safe and he immediately hugs you tightly, forgetting the prior argument.

You cuddle him until he slowly drifts off, watching the man in front of you fall asleep as he takes small breaths, he must've been exhausted.

After making sure he's deep in his sleep, you quickly break free from his grasp, tip-toeing into your living room before searching for the box that the willow stick came in. You were glad you didn't throw it away. You grab your phone from the nightstand as well.

You immediately search for something that can be helpful, like a manufacturing address, customer helpline— which the later one you find, you don't waste any time, locking yourself in the bathroom as you call the number.

The phone rings for a couple of seconds before someone picks it up.

“Hello?” The monotonous voice of a guy on the other line breaks through, you take a deep breath.

“Uh hi, is this the one wish willow?” You ask, voice shaking.

“Yes.” The answer was short, followed by a silence, you purse your lips waiting for them to say anything else but they don't.

“So uh— I have something I'd like to request.”

“What is it?” The uninterested voice inquires you, you could hear their heavy breathing which set you off.

“I uh made a wish on accident, it was a crazy one— I snapped the willow on accident over it. And now there's a person suffering because of me, I think, I don't know if it's still real or not.” You mutter, biting your lip nervously.

“Just because it was an accident, doesn't make it any less real. It's real.” You hear the confirmation that makes your gut drop.

“I want to cancel it. Please, he isn't like himself and is acting very weirdly because of me. I want him to be free. He's suffering because of a wish I made by accident.” You ramble on, panic coating your voice.

“I'm afraid it isn't possible, a wish cannot be reversed once it has been made.” The representative replies, which makes you want to break into sobs.

“So he'll be like this forever?” You tighten the grip on your phone.

“Well… yes, as long as you're alive.”

The bathroom stills for a moment.

Your brain processes what he just said.

The implication was as clear as day.

You need to die for him to be free.

Before you could ask any further questions, the bathroom door slams open, the hinges flying off, and the door opening with a brute force that almost made it break in half, Yuta steps in slowly.

You panic and hang up, immediately getting on guard as he walks in.

“Yuta what the fuck?” You question, horrified at what he had done.

He quickly rushes over to you.

“Who were you talking to? Are you cheating on me?” His face contorts into rage, you shake your head really quickly.

“No, no, it was just Maki.” You lie, which makes him tilt his head in disbelief.

“I heard a man’s voice.” He replies before he dips down, grabbing you by your legs before throwing you over his shoulder and taking you out the bathroom.

Yuta takes you over to your bedroom before throwing you on the bed. He pries the phone away from your hand, you quickly press the home button to turn the screen off before he can access it.

“What's the password?” He asks before he turns the phone towards you, luckily you had face recognition off.

You remain quiet not telling him anything.

“So you are cheating on me.” His voice breaks as he drops your phone to the ground and climbs up the bed, grabbing you by your shoulders.

“Why? Why? Why? Why? Am I not enough?” He chants, gripping your shoulders tight, all while you could only stare at him with a scared expression.

He starts to sob.

“I love you so much, yet you do this to me, is that why you don't let me touch you? Because you're fucking some other guy?” Your mouth slightly parts in shock from the baseless accusations he was throwing at you.

Yuta never left you alone for you to have a secret rendezvous of any sorts, you couldn't even hang out with your friends without him joining, so he isn't making any sense throwing around these claims.

It genuinely offended you when he accused you of cheating on him.

“Yuta— listen to me, no I'm not cheating on you. How can you even assume that? You're always around me 24/7! You know damn well I would never cheat on you.” You argue back.

“Then why won't you let me fuck you?”

What?

His voice went flat as he stopped sobbing when he uttered those words, his expression shifting from a sad one to a blank yet serious one, he looked at you with his sunken eyes, something dark clouding in them.

You're appalled by that question. You blink rapidly and let out a huff of confusion.

“Tell me,” He shakes you “Why can't I fuck you? You always reject my advances. Do you hate me? I love you, I want to do everything couples do, but you don't let me.” His lips tremble slightly.

“Because— it has only been a week, it's too early, I wasn't ready.” You tell him truthfully. “We already talked about this.” You remind him.

“Why does time matter? If you truly loved me you would let me do it. I don't want you think I'm just here for your body— I love all of you, but fuck,” He takes a deep breath “I want to merge my soul with yours.” He whispers that last part.

You wanted to push him off, scream that he doesn't actually love you but were forced by your own accident. You wanted to tell him, but you hesitate, wondering if it will escalate the situation.

“And the only thing closest to the feeling is to be buried inside you, our bodies pressed together, I want access to your deepest parts, because I fucking love you.” He adds.

He drops his face, his head resting on your shoulder as his tight grip loosens.

“You don't love me, Yuta.” You declare, deciding to just say it. “You're forced to. I'm sorry.” He raises his head, letting out a breath of disbelief before shaking his head.

“No, I love you, I love you, I love you so so so much [name]. I really do. Why would you say that? That hurts me.” He insisted, grip tightening in a painful vice.

“I know you do. But Yuta doesn't, Yuta would never do this. Yuta doesn't love me.” Tears well up in your eyes as you feel the guilt in your heart swell up, everything finally crashing onto you know. “I'm a fool. I should've noticed. Why did I just go along without questioning it?” You sniff, tears falling down your cheeks, staring at the man in front of you, who had an expression of confusion plastered across his face.

“What are you talking about? I am Yuta, I love you.” He replies and you shake your head, denying him.

“You are not Yuta.” You affirm.

“Yes I am.” He corrects you.

“No you're not.”

“I am.”

“You are not—”

“I TOLD you I am Yuta!” He screams loudly as his hand suddenly grabs you by your throat, squeezing it. He tightened his grip brutally before you could react. You try prying his hand off your throat since he was choking you so hard to the point you began seeing spots in your vision, slowly becoming unable to breathe.

You land small hits on his arm, struggling to break free. “Y-yuta.. stop.” You choke out, gasping for air as he looks at you, his eyes short wide with a darkness in them that mirrored a void as he continues to squeeze your throat further and tug your face close to his, you swore you saw a psychotic glint in his eyes for a brief moment.

But then it shifts, panic flooding his irises.

“Wait, what the fuck? What the fuck?” He repeated in shock, eyes shooting wide as he withdrew his hand immediately as if he snapped out of something, scrambling back in fear and falling off the bed.

You cough up a few breaths, rubbing your chest as you take in the air.

“Did I hurt you? I'm sorry. Are you okay? I'm sorry. I didn't mean it. I would never do that. I love you. I really do. I would never hurt you. I just can't get back—” He freaks out, eyeballs shaking as he trembles, rambling off on his own, he's staring at his trembling hands in shock, as if he couldn't believe what he had done— before he blinks, and stops trembling. An eerie calm washes over him again when he lifts his gaze to meet yours. He looks at you for a moment tilting his head sideways.

He climbs back into the bed again. “I love you so much.” He whispers, grabbing your face with his hands gently, pressing a soft kiss to your cheek as you stare at him traumatized.

You were seconds away from breaking down.

Yuta pulls you into a hug, caressing the back of your head, you didn't know he would break this badly, you genuinely wonder if there was no other way to bring him back to normal. You were pretty sure the spell was beginning to cloud his logical judgement as well.

Though it was far from the truth, you began believing in it.

Yuta's voice breaks you away from your thoughts.

“I-I feel like you don't love me as much as I do.” He stutters breathlessly. “Am I just some decision you made on a whim? Did you really want to date me? Do you even love me?”

The question causes your brain to recall the words that the one wish willow representative uttered.

‘Just because it was an accident doesn't make it any less real.’

You pull away from the hug, staring into Yuta's eyes, noticing the pain in them. He was the one suffering the consequences of your actions.

This yuta loves you a lot, he was altered just to love you, madly.

You have a moral obligation to be there for him, whether you want it or not.

“I'm sorry. I'm sorry for saying that you don't love me.” You apologize to him, acknowledging that this Yuta's love is real, and that it definitely hurt him when you uttered the earlier words, he looks at you, expression softening as he caresses your cheeks.

“It's okay.” The corners of his mouth lift up.

He closes the distance between you suddenly, pressing his lips against yours. You were caught off guard by him as you tried to push him away, but he didn't budge, instead his hands snake around you and pull you closer.

He pushes you down on the bed, your back hits the mattress and you're pressed to it by his weight as he gets on top of you. You try to move your head and break away from the kiss, but he refuses to let go and resorts to biting your lip to prevent you from turning your face away.

It hurts so you just let him continue kissing you and hoping he'd be done with just that.

But then you feel his hand tug on your bottoms, making you snap your eyes open.

You grab his wrist trying to prevent him from pulling them down, but he yanks away your hand, breaking free from it and immediately ripping them apart, you whine, trying to wiggle underneath him while he's still kissing you.

You feel the cool hit you down there, as he tears the fabric and throws it to the side, his hand cupping your cunt. You use both your hands to grab him now, yet he still doesn't let go.

He makes some space, plopping onto the side to make it more comfortable and accessible, but you use that to scoot away, only for him to drag you and hold you in place.

He breaks the kiss, “Stop.” He had the audacity to warn you. But before you could say anything, he captures your lips again, preventing you from speaking. He suckles on your bottom lip before licking it and pushing his tongue inside you.

Regardless of his warning, you grip tightly onto his wrist but it isn't enough to stop. You let out an involuntary gasp when you feel his cool finger dip between your pads and into your folds, your grip falters.

Yuta pulls away from the kiss to catch his breath, pressing his forehead against yours as he stares into your eyes. He was panting heavily while looking at you, his fingers slowly rubbing your clit.

“Please, I need this.” He whimpers, his voice shaking like he was recovering from a high. You try to speak but you can only let out a small squeak when you feel his finger prod at your entrance.

He's scooping the wetness that was leaking from down there, bringing it upwards to your clit before rubbing it slowly, he repeated the movements like he was under a spell, coating your folds with your wetness.

“You also need this.” He gently kisses your forehead as if he's trying to hypnotise you, now fully focusing on massaging your bundle of nerves to disrupt your thinking process.

You feel arousal rise in between your legs, you bite your lip, trying to fight the feeling but the stimulation followed by Yuta peppering kisses along your jaw makes your brain melt. You need to push him off, especially when you know he's not in control of his body, what if Yuta doesn't want this? You were about to move away but then you felt Yuta's finger dip downwards, his pauses at your entrance for a second before he slowly pushes his finger in. You let out a sigh at the sensation, his warm digit slipped in and out slowly, stretching you out patiently before he inserted another finger.

Your cunt contracted around his digits as if it's trying to suck him in completely, Yuta's mouth parts open in awe as he stares downwards and feels the way your walls are gripping his fingers. He bites his lip, wondering how tightly you'll cling on to his cock if he was inside you.

He pumps his fingers with precision and technique, fingers pressing to your upper wall, maintaining the pace all while trying to feel the one spot that should elicit a reaction out of you.

All while he's searching for that, he presses his thumb against your clit, applying pressure on it simultaneously. You almost see stars when he does so. You felt yourself burn with desire, mind becoming cloudy as Yuta slowly peeled away the layers of your resistance.

He used his free hand to push up your top, fondling your breasts through the bra before he pulled it down. Your nipples pebbled up naturally when they met the cool air of the night, his soft thumb grazed over them, toying and playing with your nipples as if they were his entertainment.

He tugged on one of your nipples before twisting it gently— causing you to shiver visibly.

Why was his touch so addictive?

You wanted to pull yourself out of it, but you couldn't, not when his fingers were thrusting in and out of you, not when he's toying with your nipples, and especially not when he finally finds your sweet spot, that caused you to let out a choked gasp.

You whined, throwing your head back in pleasure as his fingers repeatedly hit your g-spot. You felt your entire body getting even more hotter than before, hands gripping the sheets below in anticipation.

Yuta observed your reaction with a smirk on his face, loving every second of it as he maintained the steady rhythm, now precisely hitting your sensitive spot with a lot of accuracy.

Your high toppled over unexpectedly due to Yuta's consistent effort, causing your body to convulse as your walls clenched around him, shuddering around his finger while you moaned, arching your back while you almost went blind. You heaved in a heavy breath.

The bliss of your orgasm settled over you, you watched Yuta pull his fingers out before slowly giving them a lick, closing his eyes in pleasure as he tasted your tangy essence, he sucked on his own fingers like his life depended on it.

He lets his fingers go with a wet ‘pop’ before he looks at you.

The cloud of bliss quickly fades when the clarity settles in much harder after your orgasm, the reality of what just happened. You shoot up from the bed, trying to push him away and escape him but he grabs your wrist before you could fully leave and pushes you back down again, pinning you to the bed.

“Where are you escaping to, huh?” He questions, holding you down tightly as you struggle underneath.

“Yuta, We can't do this!” You protest, twisting your wrists to try and escape his grasp.

“Why not? Is having sex with me that disgusting in your perspective?” He grips you tighter.

You don't know how you can ever explain it to him, the outburst from earlier made you fear for your life.

And it's all your fault.

Yuta’s freed your wrists before he's tearing at your bra, trying to get you fully naked in front of him, he grabs it really roughly before yanking it away.

You try to use your legs to kick him off, but Yuta straddles them, using his weight to pin you down and prevent you from escaping him, meanwhile he too undresses. He grabs the hem of his shirt before pulling it over his head as he takes it off himself. Leaving him topless in front of you.

He presses you down with one of his hands while he gets off your legs in order to take his pants off before quickly assuming the same position again.

“Always wanted to embrace you like this.” He whispers before he lays on top of you, pulling you flush against him, he buries his face in your neck while he feels every part of him make contact with you. He sighs into your ear.

“You're so warm.”

You struggle beneath his weight.

He pushes one knee between your legs, using it to force your leg to the side as settles himself down between your legs. You go completely still when you feel his bare crotch rub against yours.

You feel his crotch press up against you, squishing against your cunt while his stiff cock twitches at your lower abdomen, and then he begins to move— pressing and rubbing himself against you, his satisfactory sighs feel warm against your ear while he humps you like an animal.

He reels himself to his knees, sitting back as he holds your legs open, admiring the front view before he lifts off slightly, grabbing the underside of your thigh before pushing your leg towards your chest as he lines himself against your entrance.

There is a humming ache in your thighs at the position, sending prickling tingles throughout your entire leg as it stretches uncomfortably. You feel his tip press against your hole before he leans forward, throwing your legs over his shoulder as he places his hands next to your head.

His cock slowly inches in, pushing into you in a controlled manner, your cunt welcomes him, the orgasm from earlier and wetness aiding him with a struggle-free entry.

You see him visibly shiver as he stares at you from above, biting his lip.

“Awh, fuck baby,” He curses, shutting his eyes close as he bottoms out.

You lay there, just staring at him now, the fight has left your body as you just accepted your fate, struggling was futile and only exhausted you out— besides, Yuta already made up his mind.

He opened his eyes again, the corners of his mouth lifted up slightly as he shot you a gentle smile. He withdrew his hips slowly before he thrust with a harsh force that made you wince.

His lips parted in awe at the sensation as he set the pace, ramming his dick in and out of you. He quickly grabbed a hold of your hands once again, intertwining yours with his as he moaned.

“Been wanting to do this— hah, for a while now.” He speaks, panting as he moves from above. “Do you know how many nights I spent beating my cock to the thought of you?” He grunts, staring at you from above.

“Many, I wanted to make a move but I was too fucking scared, but I'm glad you're mine now. I'm so glad I could finally do this to you.” He pressed a kiss to your cheek.

You furrow your brows in both confusion and pleasure, wondering if it is Yuta's true memories speaking or the deluded ones this version made up.

If it was the actual Yuta you were with right now— you'd be blushing at those words. And that Yuta would never force you to have sex with him and would wait until you were ready to do it. He wouldn't torment you every day by doing creepy things.

But it wasn't him.

The person above you, doing this to you isn't him.

This is why you wanted to avoid it after the phone call, but ultimately failed. Yuta was not the one in control of his own autonomy and by extension, sex with you would also be something he probably wouldn't want at the moment.

“I wanted this so badly, craved it everyday I was with you. I love you so much.” He whispers, casting the air of warm breath.

‘No you don't.’ You wanted to reply.

But then another realisation hit you, that made your gut churn with even more guilt.

The assumption that Yuta did not want this made you realise that he probably doesn't want to force himself on you either. This entire situation is happening because of the wish.

You stare up at Yuta's blissed out expression as you feel him invade your walls, mind spinning when you realise what your actions were making him do to you.

Everything was your fault.

You made him do this to you— even if it was an accident, the consequences were very real.

Your thoughts only spiral further as you continue to stare at him but then they come to an abrupt end when he hits brushes against your sweet spot, it makes you gasp, your body slowly gets hotter and hotter as heat and arousal travels all across it. You shouldn't be feeling this way, especially with the way your emotions are all over the place. But you had no control over any of the reactions.

What made it worse is the fact that your conscious and subconscious are fighting, one accepting it and the other one making you feel guilty.

And the way he's rocking above you, hair all disheveled while he's gasping and letting out soft moans as he's completely losing himself in you made the dilemma worse.

The bed creaks with a rhythm, filling the gap in between Yuta’s moans with a squeak. The headboard slams into the wall, hard thuds echoing in the room.

You were sure it might leave a dent.

You tighten your lips, pressing them into a line to prevent the also lewd noises from escaping you, a form of resistance especially with the way he made you feel.

His tip smooched your cervix with every thrust, and it just dawned on you how big he was.

Yuta narrows his eyes, letting out a disappointed sigh when he catches you holding back your moans, one of his hands comes up to your face, thumb tugging on your chin to free your lips that you pressed together.

And when he does free them, he caresses your lips, pushing a thumb between them, making you open your mouth.

“Let me hear you.” He mutters.

But you only cry, feeling the guilt crashing down on you with immense pressure that suffocated you. The constant voice in the back of your brain telling you that it's your fault, blaming yourself for the wish you made, and the way Yuta was looking at you so lovingly from above was the final straw, especially when you convinced yourself that he didn't want it.

Yuta is taken aback by your cries, but he doesn't stop, but instead only changes his pace into a slower one while hushing you.

“Shh, it's okay. It's too big right? It won't hurt once you get used to me.” He caresses your cheek, believing the cause of your crying to be all because he's too big.

You couldn't respond properly.

“I'll be gentle, okay? See, I've slowed my pace. It won't hurt, baby. I don't want to hurt you.” His gaze softened.

“Just don't deny me okay? It hurts when you do that. I promise it'll get better eventually. I cannot live without you. Please don't tell me you don't want this again.” His voice shakes with emotion, turmoil forming in his eyes at just the thought of you rejecting him. It made you feel like a criminal of some sort.

You had every right to reject him, it's a fundamental right. But the Yuta you wished for doesn't know anything and doesn't care for it cause all he knows is to love you, albeit in his own selfish way. And you can never truly place the blame on one person in this situation, knowing you were just as guilty, if not more guilty than Yuta because you were the cause of this.

Your hand reaches up to him, thumb gently touching his cheek as you trace his cheekbone.

“I'm sorry. It's all my fault.” You apologize.

Yuta looks at you in confusion but leans into your touch.

But he stops.

He stops moving his hips, and the trembling gaze returns again as he stares at you beneath him, taking in the way your hair was splayed all across the pillow and the way tears were streaming down your face as you looked at him with sadness.

He tries to pull out from you in a panic, but your cunt clenches around him at that exact moment that causes him to collapse onto his elbows as he buries his face in your neck.

“I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry.” He chants as he begins to move his hips again, his moans becoming louder than before. “I don't want to do this to you— but I can't pull out— no won't let me pull out.” He croaks.

“Please tell me you want this. Please. I want you too. I want you so bad.” He cries while bucking against you.

You wrap your arounds around his shoulder, embracing him.

Your heart couldn't bear to watch him break like this constantly, overwhelmed by emotions due to your carelessness.

“I want this.” You softly whisper, caressing the back of his head.

You feel him press a soft kiss to your neck.

“I want you to remember, even if I'm like this. I do indeed love you. I want this. I want to fuck you. But I want you to want me too. It might not be me, but I love you.” His shoulders soften as he melts into you.

You pause.

“What? What do you mean it might not be you?” You voiced with concern, which made Yuta pull himself back onto his arms again, looking at you directly. He opens his mouth to speak, but you see his face visibly change. It suddenly became more uncanny.

He doesn't elaborate further and instead leans down and captures your lips in a hungry kiss as if he was mad at something. He moves them with such fervor and hunger that it's hard to keep up. His tongue slips into your mouth easily while his hand roams all over your body, groping your tits really roughly.

His pace changes too, now becoming more rough and faster as you cling onto him, hands placed on his firm shoulders as you try to process what he meant.

But it's difficult to do so when he's rocking you up and down and kissing you really roughly.

“Mhm fuck, I love you.” He rasped against your lips before kissing you again.

You too were letting out noises now, the lewd sounds of skin slapping against one another fills up the room, followed by the way you're both now gasping and moaning, his dick drove you crazy, making you forget any prior thoughts you had.

You felt your lower abdomen tighten as you concentrated on it, the way his cock is hitting every inch inside you, his hands on your tits and his intoxicating kiss and the desire to come undone clouded your judgement.

And then it snapped, the tight knot in your stomach split, sending pleasure signals across your body as the endorphin and serotonin released from your brain, causing you to get lost in the moment as you held Yuta tightly against you.

Yuta grunted at the way he felt your pussy contract around him, he broke the kiss and trailed multiple smooches down your neck as his hips faltered as well, unable to hold himself back anymore.

He almost collapsed on top of you when his orgasm hit him, but he held himself up as he pushed his cock deeper before he went completely still, his hips bucked lightly as his cock released his semen so deep inside you.

It splattered all over inside you and directly against your cervix, drenching it in his spend as he came a lot.

You felt your cunt ache from overstimulation, since you just came back to back.

Yuta slowly pulls out, his cock becoming flaccid all while you feel his cum leak from inside you. He topples over to the side, falling onto the pillow with a satisfied hum as he catches his breath.

“That was amazing.” He says before turning to face you, softly caressing your cheek as his hand travels downwards towards your chest, he passes by it and instead stops at your waist. He wraps his arm around, pulling you closer by it.

He rests his head on your shoulder after giving a kiss to you. Exhaustion overwhelms him and he slowly drifts off.

You, however, are wide awake.

You swallow the lump in your throat as you stare at the ceiling, minutes pass by with thoughts clouding your brain again.

You unwrap his arms from around you, slowly getting up and grabbing clothes from the closet before putting them on, being careful not to make a noise in order to not wake him up.

This is the second time you'd be sneaking out, you hope he doesn't wake up like the last time.

‘As long as you're alive.’

You hear those words again.

You make up your mind, feeling way too guilty after what happened and turn to leave the room.

“[Name].”

You still.

You slowly turn on your feet, facing Yuta, expecting him to be awake and bombard you with questions about where you're going.

But you're taken aback when you see him laying there, still asleep.

Did you mishear him?

“[Name], it's me, Yuta.” Your eyes widened, not knowing if this was just him playing tricks or actually the real Yuta who finally broke through.

You teared up at the realisation that he was probably still in there, just unable to get his body back.

“Yuta? Is it actually you? Yuta? Please, I'm so sorry.” You whisper, voice shaking with emotion.

“Yes, it's me. I don't know what happened to me, I can't get back my control, and I'm putting you through hell.” His voice wavers “I didn't mean to force you into it. I'm sorry.” He apologizes.

“I know, Yuta.” You reply softly. “It's all my fault, I didn't think the wish was real.”

“What do you mean? What wish?” He asks.

You tell him everything that happened, from how you got the one wish willow, to how you accidentally broke it, and how you didn't believe it at first but now fully do, because the situation currently is the proof of it being real.

Yuta went quiet, you panicked, thinking he lost control.

“You didn't know. It's okay.” He answered after a while, you shook your head.

“No, no, it doesn't matter if I didn't know. I should've been more careful. I wished for a cursed thing.”

Yuta goes quiet again after that, he just hummed.

“But I still love you.” He breaks the silence.

“I tried so hard to snap back, I even did it multiple times but I cannot gain full control— maybe if I resist harder, I can break out of it.” He speaks.

“You were able to snap back?” You question, unaware that it was actually happening. But then it made sense, the brief moments where Yuta's expression would be of panic, and how sometimes he behaved way too differently. You thought the split personality was just him being weird due to the wish.

But no, it was the real Yuta snapping in and out.

“Yes, I think I'll gain full control back if i—”

“No you cannot.” You cut him off, swallowing a lump in your throat.

“You're under a spell out by me Yuta, you cannot undo it. Unless…” You trail off, wondering if it's something you should tell him.

“Unless?” His voice asks back.

“You cannot return back as long as I am alive.”

The room goes still, like it was holding its breath at the revelation. Yuta doesn't say anything for a long time, but he could sense something was off.

“Where are you headed off to?” He suddenly questions, too concerned about you than himself.

“I'm going out for a walk.” You lie, quickly turning on your heel and taking steps out of the bedroom.

“No, no, no, [name]. Get back here, no there might be another way. Please don't do that to yourself. Please, please. I cannot lose you. Please.” Yuta pleads, immediately seeing through your lie. He cannot move, because the other version Yuta was still asleep so he can only plead.

You lock the bedroom door, muffling his pleas that made you more guilty before you went inside your bathroom.

You looked at the broken bathroom door for a moment before stepping further inside and searching the cabinets for your grandma's medicine. You grew frustrated each minute, looking at the labels for all the bottles she had, desperately searching for the one you needed.

Then you heard a loud bang against your bedroom door, the door rattling and shaking as you heard Yuta's monstrous screams.

Your hands shook as adrenaline pumped through you, you scanned the shelves quickly before finding what you wanted and grabbing the bottle.

You needed to be quick.

You struggled with opening the cap, wondering why it was tightened so much, and your hands being shaky didn't help in the slightest either.

Just then, the bedroom door breaks open, and at the same time, the bottle pops open. You quickly collect a bunch of them, emptying the bottle into your hand just as Yuta spotted your silhouette in the bathroom and he ran towards you in a frenzy.

You tried to be quicker, to make sure you ingest the pills but Yuta reaches you by then, grabbing your hand before you could put the pills in your mouth and twisting it away from your face cruelly.

You wince in pain, hand reflexively letting go of the pills, they drop to the floor and scatter everywhere. His grip on your wrist was painful, fingers digging into your flesh as he looked at you with what you could describe as sheer disappointment with a touch of insanity.

He tugged you out of the bathroom, dragging you out forcefully as you tried to stay planted, you hissed feeling his nails bite into your skin, tears forming in your eyes at the pain.

He uses force and yanks you to the front before letting you go, you stumble forward and lose your balance, falling to the floor with a thud right in front of him.

He kneels down grabbing you by your face.

“Is being with me that horrible?” He asked. “Tell me, please tell me what I can do to fix it. Just don't resort to this, we'll find another way to fix everything okay?.” He squeezed your face, mushing your cheeks together.

“You cannot leave me like this, not when I finally fucking have you.” He grit his teeth.

“I don't mind being stuck—” He then abruptly stops.

And then,

He yawns all of a sudden, blinking his eyes slowly.

“Baby? What happened? Why are you on the floor?” His pupils became blown out as his eyes widened slowly as if he just woke up, he looked around, assessing the situation and realising you were a complete mess before he quickly picked you up, before taking you back into your bedroom.

What is going on?

“How did we end up on the floor but are you okay? Was I sleep walking?” He asked you, gently placing you down on the bed.

“Yuta?” You question, your mind too confused to understand what was happening, is this the real Yuta currently speaking to you?

“Mhm?” He looked at you, waiting for you to speak.

“Nothing.” You cut the conversation short.

Yuta tucks you into bed, wrapping his arms extremely tightly around you this time, to make sure there is no chance of you leaving. He falls back asleep, as if nothing happened.

As if he couldn't recall anything.

Your eyes close on their own as your body enters a state of tiredness, your fight or flight state calming down but also taking your energy with it. You shut your eyes.

“I don't mind being stuck like this forever if it means I can have you.”

You catch Yuta's voice right before you fall deep into your slumber.

❀❀❀❀❀

You wake up feeling horrible the next day, feeling more tired and exhausted rather than relaxed. Your body felt stiff as you tried to move, muscles aching as they contracted. You stared to the side where Yuta should be, but it was empty, just a dent left behind from where he slept. You quickly get up, recalling everything from last night.

It didn't feel real at all.

The fact that Yuta was still in there?

You needed to break him out and save him.

You get up off your bed, noticing that the broken door of the bedroom had been completely removed, same with the bathroom door.

You sighed, realising you might need to call someone to fix it later.

But for now, your focus is on Yuta.

You take baby steps into the living room, you see Yuta there, sitting on the sofa and watching the TV, he also had two plates on the table in front of it. He spots you and gives you a quick smile.

“Come, I made breakfast.” He urges you, which you awkwardly obey.

You hated this.

The way he pretends everything is normal while you're left with a heavy feeling in your chest.

You sit on the sofa next to him and grab your plate, you scan for weird translucent and sticky stuff before deciding it is safe to eat. Yuta chuckles at your behavior.

“Don't worry, I didn't cum in it. I don't need to anymore.” He blushes, recalling the events of last night. You look away, feeling self conscious for some reason.

You began consuming the said breakfast while trying to watch the show, but you couldn't focus due to Yuta's intense staring in your direction.

You needed to get the original Yuta back, you can't have him suffer like this anymore. You finish your breakfast quickly and get up to put the plates away.

Yuta continues to watch you, not taking his eyes off you as come back from the kitchen and then you go into your bedroom, searching for the phone Yuta discarded. You found it on the floor, you quickly grabbed it, unlocked it, and opened a search engine to try and see where you could get more one wish willows.

You quickly make your way into the living room, Yuta still sitting on the sofa and continuing to stare at you as you approach him.

“Yuta— I'll be going out. I'll be quick okay?” You tell him.

“Let me come with you.” He gets up, stepping forward.

“No. Just stay home okay? Don't go anywhere, or else I'll be really uh— mad.” You cut him off, pushing him back down onto the sofa.

He pouts, eyes glistening with tears as he holds your wrists. “Okay… Please don't be mad at me.” He replies, voice all down and sad. You nod, cupping his face and pressing a kiss to forehead to pass it off as something genuine, so he doesn't go batshit insane like last night.

“I love you, okay? I love you a lot.” You affirm, staring into his eyes, he looks away feeling shy, blood rushing to his cheeks at your affection.

“I love you too.” He murmurs back before looking up at you again, giving you a small smile.

“I'll go now, see ya.” You step back, waving a goodbye to which he returns the gesture.

You quickly step outside, hurrying to your car as you enter the location of the shop the search engine showed you.

The drive there felt like hours even though it was just a few minutes away, your mind was occupied with events of last night and every situation that led to this.

Why did you even say such a thing out loud back then? Especially when you didn't fully know if it would work? You shouldn't have picked the thing the stranger dropped, you should've thrown it away, you shouldn't have gone to the bar that night—

Your mind spirals, scattering everywhere as it comes up with multiple scenarios that could've prevented this, everything seemed like your fault.

You felt a sense of doom when you reached the occult shop, you quickly parked your car and rushed into the shop, going up to the cashier in a panic.

“Uh hey, hi, do you have the one wish willows here? you know? the kind you snap?” You ask in a hurry and he looks confused which makes you panic, thinking they might not have it.

If they don't have it here, you’d have to go to another shop which is an hour drive from where you were, you were scared what Yuta might do if he sees that you're gone for longer than necessary.

“Oh yeah, there's one left. Right over here.” He points to the side, showing the display that had them.

You let out a sigh of relief before grabbing it and paying for it. You quickly open it, a melody breaking through the air, the same one that played on that night, now it seemed more haunting.

“I wish for my previous wish to be undone.” You say out loud before you try to break it.

But it doesn't snap, you use more force, but it still doesn't break.

The cashier looks at you for a moment.

“You can only make one wish.” He says, eyes flickering between the willow and you.

You hand it over to him when you quickly register what he said.

“Can you break it for me? I found myself in such a shitty situation, I think I've ruined a person— just repeat after me please, I need to save him.” You nudge the willow to him, he shakes his head.

“I can't, I already made my wish.” He says regretfully.

Fuck.

You let out an annoyed sigh before you take the willow back and leave the shop in a hurry.

You need to find someone who can undo this wish.

Maki? No, you cannot face her like this.

And then, an idea enters your mind.

You could pay a stranger to do it.

You look around trying to find a stranger who could make the wish for you, before you quickly spot one. You rush up to the lady.

“Hi, excuse me— can you take this and repeat after me and then break it? I'll give you 100 bucks if you do it. Please.” You request, the stranger looks taken aback and distrustful at first but then you mention the money to which her eyes light up, she quickly grabs the stick.

“I don't know what this is, but money is money. You better keep your promise, I hope this isn't some voodoo shit.” She narrows her eyes. “Go ahead, tell me what I'm supposed to repeat.”

Your eyes light up.

“Just say, ‘I wish for [full name]’s wish to be undone and everything to return to normal.’ Okay?” You blink, swallowing a lump in your throat.

She nods, repeating after you and snapping the willow.

You stay there for a few moments, hoping that everything is reversed now, the only way to confirm it is to go home and check.

“Where's the money?” The lady makes you snap out, you nod, quickly sending her 100 bucks digitally. She gives you a satisfied smile before she waves a goodbye.

You get back in your car and drive home, thinking about how you're going to apologize to Yuta for causing all this.

You were so thankful you had the thought of buying another one wish willow and undoing the wish— though you couldn't do it yourself, it still would've undid everything, right?

You reach your house after a few minutes, you lock your car before rushing into your house, only to see Yuta still sitting in the same spot, watching TV. He lights up when he sees you.

“Where did you go?” He asks, tilting his head to the side before he gets up and walks over to you and pulls into a hug.

He buries his face in the crook of your neck, inhaling your scent.

“I missed you.” He whispers, warm breath cascading down your neck.

You are frozen, mind reeling as you question the situation. You pull away from the hug wondering if anything changed.

“Yuta, how do you feel?” You inquire, doubt clouding your mind.

But he lifts you up all of a sudden, throwing you over his shoulder as he takes you to the bedroom.

“Free.” He replies after he settles you down on the bed.

“I-i finally have control of my body now.” He adds, “What did you do?” He questions, climbing up the bed, you back away slowly.

“Well, it doesn't matter now. Sorry you had to see that side of me. It seemed like my restraints completely broke free because of the wish you made, and I couldn't control them enough to not scare you. But don't worry, I'll be in control now.” Your eyes widen when you see the same psychotic smile etched onto his face.

What?

“Don't worry, everything will be okay now, my love. I'm so thankful you made that wish, like I said before— you didn't have to bring me back, I wouldn't mind staying stuck if it means you won't leave me.” He leans in, pressing his forehead to yours.

“But I understand, the side of me without any restraint can be too much to handle. I'll be careful.” He smooches your eyes. “I don't want to hurt you in the process, you know?”

“Anyway I'm glad, it's finally my turn now.” He whispers before pressing his lips against yours and pushing you into the mattress.

“I can't wait to love you like you deserve. You'll forgive me right? Please? I love you, I promise not to hurt you or put you through emotional turmoil this time.” He mutters staring into your eyes with a lot of love pouring from him, you brain could barely form any thought at his words, at the reveal that everything you experienced was a personality of his without any restraints.

What the actual fuck?

Yuta was madly in love with you since the beginning, your wish— was just a mere catalyst.

You let out a sigh of relief as the sharp pain slowly fades, involuntarily bucking your hips against his face without realisation as it feels very soothing.

The wetness seeps out of you in embarassing amounts, which only serves as a device to mock you later when he does this all over again.

“Oh fuck— she's soaking f'me.” You hear his muffled voice, his breath felt warm in between your thights.

You drop your head in shame, because you can hear how disgustingly wet you've gotten due to his actions, the slurrping noises echo in your ears like a mockery and a reminder of how your body chooses to betray you everytime.

All because of him.

He feels his cock twitch in his pants, getting harder and harder each and every second. But he stays focused, continuing to devour your cunt like a man starved.

He groans into it, causing vibrations to shoot up in your core, making you shiver in an unwelcomed satisfaction.

He drinks up all the juices you were leaking like it was nectar, letting out satisfactory noises as if he's eating a fancy meal. You're chest breaks out involuntary moans no matter how much you try to contain them, which only makes him feral knowing that he's the reason, it makes him feel very validated to and egoistic.

“Mhm? At least some part of you is honest with me.” He mutters, rubbing salt into your wound, adding more to the shame you were feeling.

He presses kisses all over it, sighing when he feels your clit flutter in his mouth when he traps it in his mouth.

“Fuck, you're so divine baby. I love you so so so so so much.” He adds breathlessly, face flustered as he dines on your cunt.

You swallow the lump in your throat, toes curling in pleasure when you feel a familiar knot tighten in your stomach. You start squirming again, not wanting the knot in your stomach to snap and betray you wholly.

But it was impossible not when he's below you, working his mouth like he's desperate.

You brace yourself for the impact.

Yet, nothing happens, in fact, you feel the absence of his mouth which makes you look down, he had pulled away right before you could cum.

The feeling in your stomach fades, but not in a way that you expected it to, it left behind a frustrating ache that gnawed in your gut, it made you irritated. You let out a huff in disappointment reflexively.

You thought maybe he'd stop, maybe he's had his fill? whatever that means.

You expect him to pull you off him, but he doesn't do that, he reattaches himself again, once again capturing your cunt wholly, tongue prodding at your entrance as he slowly tries shoving the wet muscles in.

You're left confused, wondering what he's planning, but nonetheless you feel the knot form in your stomach again.

You expect it to snap, but once again, it's abruptly interrupted, leaving a sense of frustration behind. You open your mouth to question— but you're quickly shut up when you feel his mouth on you again.

He repeats it everytime you're near a few more times.

It leaves you more frustrated than ever, overriding every other emotion. You whine in disappointment as your orgasm is abruptly stolen once again.

You let out a frustrated cry, brows furrowed as you feel tears welling up in your eyes, you press your hips down, pushing your cunt against his mouth involuntarily as the irritation of being denied your bliss was driving you insane.

“What is it baby? Wanna cum?” He asked, huffing against your bud. You looked down, staring into his eyes as he gave you a smirk.

He was doing this on purpose.

“If you don't use your voice, I'll just have to keep on doing this.” He mumbled, pressing a kiss to your bottom lips.

You stayed quiet, trying to break away from his grip, hands tugging against the rope to loosen it but it doesn't work.

He starts his shenanigan once again, maneuvering you down and pressing you flush to his face.

You gasp, feeling your high build up slowly, you squirm against his face, pressing your cunt flat against his mouth but he turns his head away, causing you to almost collapse forward in exasperation.

“Please...” You bite your lip, voice coming out meekly.

“Please what baby?” He asks, smooching your inner thigh. “You want to cum?” He adds.

You nod, head moving up and down as you look at him with a neediness you've never experienced before.

“Beg.” He comands, thumb drawing circles on your thigh.

He is so fucking mean, asking you to beg for something you didn't want in the first place— usually he'd make you cum without asking you for anything, but today, he shifted his plans, dead set on making you betray your own self.

You didn't want to, but you know that he'll torture you like this for hours if you didn't.

“P-please, I want to cum.” You murmer, voice shaky as he drags his tongue across your slit after hearing that.

“More.” He tuts.

“Please, I wanna cum, I want to cum so badly. Please let me cum.” You beg, humiliation churning in your gut. “Oh fuck—!” You choke on your words when he pushes his tongue inside you. You could feel the warm muscle invade your depths causing you to see stars, your cunt clenches around it, trying to grip it but it causes the soft muscle to be pushed out instead.

He continues working his mouth, soft pants leaving from him too as he makes out with your pussy.

“Tell me you love me.” He utters, fingers digging into your flesh, causing a little amount of pain.

You shut your eyes, feeling the same knot build up in your stomach for the nth time.

“I'll stop if you don't. I can play the long game.” He threatens, slowing down but you panic, shaking your head.

“No! Please, I love you, I love you.” You chant frantically, not wanting him to stop as the knot begins to feel like it's about to rip apart.

“I love you— I love you so much! please please please,” You repeat it over and over again, earning a satisfactory groan from him. “Ahh! oh!— fuck fuck—” You choke, letting out a loud moan as your high crashes down on you.

It hit harder than any other orgasm you've experienced before, you collapsed forward due to the sheer intensity, face landing into the soft mattress of the bed that you learnt to call your home.

Your body twitched as you collected yourself, hips bucking into his face, riding your orgasm out. Your thighs trembled, body shaking visibly due to the aftermath of your orgasm.

His hands slide up your waist gently before they come down, he lifts one of your thighs planted on the side of his head to pull himself away from beneath and sits up straight as he turns to look at you.

You collapse to your side, hands still behind your back as you gasp for air, chest back and forth.

He smiles cruelly, pushing you onto your back before undoing his pants and lining himself against your freshly abused cunt, he could see the way it was still swollen, still throbbing in desperation.

“I love you too.” He cooes before pushing himself inside without a warning.

— gojo satoru, geto suguru, yuta okkotsu, yuji itadori, tamsy caines, dabi, katuski bakugo, + feel free to imagine any character you like!

all characters mentioned are all obviously aged up.

Katsuki precuts the food now. Not at all because he doesn't trust her with knives, the thought deservedly being the farthest from his mind, but purely out of caution and concern, because ever since he’d pressed the sharp silverware to her skin, she’d resulted to reacting with soul-seizing panic-attacks upon seeing them, especially when seeing him with one, falling completely apart into a heap of weak bones, cowering on the floor, unable to voice anything but sobs, tears spilling rapidly, shaking, rocking until she drops unconscious, tuckering herself out into a curled up ball, jolting like she’s having the worst nightmares, like demons kicking her in her sleep all throughout the entire night, just like she’d done each time he’d sunk the razor-sharp blade into her.

He’ll be left watching over her at sleepless nights, eyes dry and itchy yet un-allowed to fall close. It’s his punishment. Sitting there thinking, in his own doing, un-allowed to feel anything but the bottomless pits of regret and guilt. Though, in his true selfish nature, more than his gut wrenches in hatred of himself, his heart aches in bittersweet nostalgia of hearing her soft giggles when he’d have her tiny frame against the counter, feeling her relax against his chest while his arms covered hers, large scathed hands guiding smaller softer ones as he taught her how to cook. 

He fucked everything up.

But, he shouldn't be allowed to miss it when he ruined it, he shouldn't be allowed to wish for it, he shouldn't be allowed to want it back, but he does, more than anything. For her to look at him the same way, and not as though he’s some fucking monster.

Don't think he hadn't given it a good amount of consideration when sitting there, trying to talk himself into consulting one purple-haired freak who just so happens to have a quirk that has it in its power to erase and manipulate memories, even brainwashing them completely away if need be, erasing them form existence, making it as though it never even happened. He could even have asked him to do the same to him, though... he isn't one to run from his mistakes and he has good experience atoning for his sins, by now, one might say he even welcomes all the pain, accepting the toll with open arms. 

But, he can't help but think that if not for his sake then at least for hers. He could live with the burden of knowing what he’s done so long as she doesn't have to. And if making her forget heals her, rids her of zoning out and hyperventilating upon hearing his voice in a particular manor or whimpering and shaking like she’s caught in a seizure when feeling his hands on her, if it relieves her of horror and pain and leaves her all soft and gullible and childlike again, blissfully naive of knowing him like that... maybe it isn't such a selfish thing to consider at all.

TAKAMI KEIGO - HAWKS

It was an easy decision. Between his darling’s panic attacks and his icky stomach feelings, home didn't seem like home anymore. So yes, it was an easy decision, packing what little sentiments Keigo had for the decorations in his skyline apartment, knowing what equally lush interior furniture was waiting for them in whatever other suit he were to settle on, it was all in a days work. 

What wasn't easy was the realization that his trademark quick fix, out-of-sight-out-of-mind philosophy didn't cut it this time.

He must have bought close to a dozen beds, none of them soft enough to tame what monsters hid beneath them. She will still freeze and seize upon seeing the white Egyptian-cotton sheets, shake at the feel of the plushie dow-feathers fluffing up the pillows and duvet, forget to breathe upon drowning in the mattress. But, nothing compares to when he touches her, poor thing will scream until her throat is raw and her face distressed with tears streaking tender cheeks into an itchy bloated red, unable to see him, unable to hear him, unable to think about anything else but dying.

But it’s only in the bedroom, if he overlooks the split-second flinching cowering every time he does something as trivial as brushing past her, or the slight brimming of tears in her eyes when she sees him detach red feathers from his wings, the small whimpering gasps she’s unable to withhold during cuddling, when his hands travel to places that still haven't quite healed. It’s to the point where she’ll even ask him what she’s done wrong once he begins to palm himself, hand slipping inside his cargo-pants, shaking and bowing her head, blinking away tears, turning into a blubbering mess as she’s torn between clinging to him for her life and fervently trying to push him away, jolting like a toddler after throwing a tantrum once he finally manages to calm her down, taking her face between his palms, forehead pressing into forehead, telling her to breathe.

There are certain triggers and he’s steadily learning to avoid them. He notices that kisses are always welcome, even down there, where she’ll show not even a shred of discomfort, probably due to the fact that he didn't kiss her during the incident. But, carding his hand through her hair will only succeed in making her fight as though for her life, the same goes for touching her throat and wrists and ankles, reminding her all too much of how he abused then to keep her still and hold her down. 

He’s learning to like having her on top, though it can be awkward with his wings in the way when he lies on his back. They’re experimenting with sitting and standing instead, though lifting her up on the kitchen counter was a grave mistake that had her threatening him with a knife, or rather... had her threatening him by threatening to split her own wrists open if he didn't back away. She had him kneeling by the end of it, wings laid flat like a blanket draped over his shoulders and onto the floors, his head bowed, lips nearly kissing the floor as she stood on wobbly unstable weak knees gripping a steak-knife, already having it pressed skin-deep before dropping it with a clatter to the floor, falling apart herself shortly after, sobbing like her whole body ached as Keigo cradled her on the pretty marble blood-flecked floors.

Which of course beckons the issue of food. Understandably, she doesn't feel too eager to cook anymore, something that Keigo takes as a bitter most regrettable loss where she’d finally become the outmost perfect little housewife for him, now ruined, mind scrambling, reeling in on itself, stomach folding in every which way, wrenching each time she smells the ingredients that go into chicken-soup. Which really is unfortunate. Because, despite everything, it’s still his favorite.

MIDORIYA IZUKU - DEKU

Izuku wasn't ever violent with her, all except that one time. 

He’d never hurt her, albeit soft playful pinching of the fat of her ass, small painless slaps to doughy flesh, twisting sensitive perky nipples and otherwise squeezing the pillowy mounds, and bending her arms behind her back when having her face down on the bed, mounted behind her and driving every thick inch his fat cock inside the comfort of her tight precious pussy. 

But, never anything like the monstrosity she’d awoken in him on that day. 

Her ass was still bruised a pretty galactic purple and red, swelled with popped veins. However, it was her arms that had been dealt the worst of it. She hadn't felt it at once, but the day after, once she woke up with Deku’s large arm wrapped tightly around her waist, she was only barely able to move them as stretched with pain as they were after he’d yanked them behind her back with her struggling to free herself. It was surprising to her now, how he hadn't very well ripped her hands clean off in the process where her wrists were left looking scathed like though from rope and flecked with an ugly greenish black. 

It probably didn't do her much good to go around rubbing the soreness of them day in and day out, but she couldn't help that her fingers felt as though they were detaching, as if the bones themselves wanted to pop off each time she tried doing anything as simple as pulling her underwear off, where tying her shoes seemed absolutely hopeless as her fingers didn't seem to want to cooperate with her whatsoever, stiff and strained, knuckles and joints aching from every small gesture she tries.

Good thing Deku likes helping her in and out of her outfits anyway. Likes treading her pretty pearl-white knee-highs up over her heal and calf and knees, liking the girlish squealing giggles flourishing from her bosom once he places those ticklish pecks onto the inside of her thighs. Loves lacing up the back to her pretty intricate doll dress, place small kisses to her shoulder and neck while having her rub down sweetly onto his lap. 

She’d been pliant for a long time, long before he decided to exercise his brutish strength on her frail dainty delicate body. But now, she’s way more than just pliant, she’s dependent. And he won't lie... he shamelessly likes seeing her this helpless. She’s cute when she lets that endearing tinge of fear flavor her expression, but she’s never quite as cute as she is when needing him, when sweetened with gratitude, all precious with that blush dusting her cheeks, batting her eyelashes ever so shyly, biting into the plumpness of her lips.

She doesn't risk taking a single step outside when there’s the slightest chance of catching a cold anymore. Even with the littlest of a mere tiny hint of rainfall, she’ll keep herself on lockdown inside where it’s safe. She doesn't dare venture in the garden unless the sky’s a spotless blue, the winds still, the grass dry and the birds chirping. She’ll even feel the need to ask him for permission now, too scared to trust her own judgement of what’s safe for her or not, having completely left the possibility of going outside when Deku’s at work in the dust, thinking to better play it safe and not sorry where she wouldn't be able to forgive herself if she made him worry again like she did before. 

The battlefield was nothing but ruins now.

Broken concrete, collapsed towers, and the faint stench of charred curses that refused to fade no matter how many weeks passed. It was supposed to be the end—the end. The fight that decided everything.

And it had been.

Gojo. Nanami. Megumi. Too many names to count. Faces you couldn’t stop seeing in your dreams. They were all gone, swallowed by the kind of death that didn’t leave space for goodbyes.

And you—

You had walked out alive, but not whole.

Your voice had shattered that day. It wasn’t just silence that claimed you, but the brutal irony of it—because your voice had been your power. Screams sharp enough to split curses into ribbons, words heavy enough to bend energy into form. You had screamed until your throat tore, until your own ability burned you from the inside out. And when the smoke cleared, nothing came out of your mouth but breath.

Not a word. Not a sound.

Yuji had been the first to reach you, his body trembling, blood dripping from cuts he didn’t even notice. He caught you before you hit the ground, clutching you so tightly you thought your ribs might crack. His eyes were wild, red-rimmed, horrified.

“Y/N—your voice—no, no, no, this is my fault.” His words tumbled out, frantic, breaking. “I shouldn’t have eaten those damn fingers. If it wasn’t for me—if Sukuna hadn’t—everyone’s gone because of me. And now you, too…”

You tried to speak, but nothing came. The ache in your throat was raw, empty, final.

So instead, you pressed your hand weakly against his, squeezing his wrist with what little strength you had left. Your way of saying I’m still here. Don’t break.

He stared at you like you had just pulled him from drowning. His grip tightened, desperate, like if he let go you’d vanish with the rest of them. His forehead pressed against yours, and his voice cracked apart into something barely human.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered again and again, the words spilling into your silence. “I’m so damn sorry…”

You stayed that way until the fires burned out around you. Two survivors in a graveyard of friends, clinging to each other because there was nothing else left.

And now—

The world was quiet. Too quiet. The kind of quiet that left space for his smile, for the way he shoved a ridiculous plush keychain in your face, grinning like a child.

“Look, Y/N! Doesn’t it look like me?” he said, waving the silly thing, his laughter too bright for the shadows it came from.

You blinked at it once, then at him. His grin stretched wider, like he was waiting for you to roll your eyes. Instead, you let the corner of your lips twitch into the faintest smile.

His eyes lit up instantly.

“There it is,” he said softly, almost to himself. “Knew I could make you smile.”

He stuffed the keychain into his pocket, still grinning, before plopping down on the couch beside you. His knee bumped yours—deliberate, playful.

“Alright, serious question,” he announced suddenly, leaning closer like he was about to let you in on a secret. “What do you want for dinner tonight? Ramen? Curry? Or…” He squinted, pretending to think hard. “Do we finally go wild and try my cooking?”

You tilted your head, raising an eyebrow.

He laughed immediately, hands flying up in mock defense. “Hey, don’t give me that look! I’ve improved, I swear. No more burnt rice, promise!”

The expression on your face softened despite yourself, your silent skepticism enough to make his laughter ring louder. He reached out, brushing his hand lightly over yours, the touch warm, grounding.

“You don’t have to answer,” he said after a beat, his voice gentler now. “I’ll figure it out. I always do.”

And just like that, the moment passed—sweet, harmless, ordinary. Nothing wrong at all.

At least, that’s how it looked on the surface.

Dinner talk didn’t end with his silly suggestion. Yuji never let things end easily; he always found a way to keep the conversation alive, even if you couldn’t answer. He leaned back against the couch, legs sprawled out like he owned the entire space, and tilted his head at you with that boyish, expectant grin.

“Okay, hear me out,” he said, lifting a finger dramatically. “We could order sushi. But! Last time we ordered sushi, I got food poisoning. Or maybe it was the wasabi’s fault—seriously, how was I supposed to know that much green stuff wasn’t guacamole?”

He laughed at his own joke, so hard his shoulders shook. You only shook your head lightly, hiding the small smile that tugged at your lips behind your hand. He noticed, of course he did, and his laughter softened into something quieter, more intimate.

“I like when you do that,” he murmured suddenly. “When you try not to laugh. You’re so bad at hiding it.”

You blinked at him, a little startled at the shift in tone. His eyes lingered on you a moment too long before he broke into another grin, playful again. “Anyway! We’re not repeating sushi night. So it’s ramen, curry, or Yuji’s special mystery dish. Final vote?”

Your hand hovered in the air before you pointed toward the takeout menus stacked by the counter. Ramen.

He jumped to his feet like you’d just given him the winning answer on a game show. “Ramen it is! Excellent choice, Y/N. I’ll make the call—no, wait, you sit there, don’t move, I’ll handle everything.”

You didn’t move. You rarely did when he got like this, bounding from one corner of the room to the other, too full of energy to contain. You just watched, silent, taking in every little detail—the way his voice pitched higher when he tried to sound persuasive on the phone, the way he paced in wide circles while waiting for the line to connect.

When he finally hung up, his excitement hadn’t dimmed. He dropped onto the couch beside you again, this time leaning so close his shoulder pressed into yours. “Twenty minutes. Think we can survive until then?”

You tilted your head, pretending to consider it, before giving a very small shrug.

—

The wait wasn’t unbearable. Yuji had a way of filling every empty second, even when nothing was happening. He grabbed the remote, flipping through channels with exaggerated commentary, like a sports announcer calling out the highlights of your evening.

“And here we have… yet another boring drama,” he groaned, dragging the words out as he flicked past it. “Seriously, who even watches these anymore? Oh! Cartoons! Cartoons are always a safe bet, right?”

You gave him a side look, deadpan, as he stopped on some over-the-top animated show with voices far too loud for how tiny the characters looked. He laughed, catching the faintest twitch at the corner of your mouth, and settled in like he’d just scored a victory.

So the two of you sat there, bathed in the glow of the screen. His running commentary continued, sometimes stupid, sometimes so ridiculous you couldn’t help the small huffs of laughter that slipped out. And every time, he noticed—pointing at you, grinning like he’d just uncovered a rare treasure.

By the time the knock at the door came, Yuji was already on his feet like a rocket, tearing to grab the bags with an energy that would’ve been embarrassing on anyone else. He returned seconds later, arms piled high with steaming containers, setting them out across the low table.

“Okay, okay, look at this spread,” he announced, waving his arms like a magician revealing his grand trick. “Best ramen in town, guaranteed. And—oh! They gave us extra gyoza. Jackpot.”

You shook your head, smiling faintly as he handed you chopsticks with the care of someone passing along a priceless artifact. He immediately tore into his own bowl, slurping noodles noisily, groaning with exaggerated delight.

“This is heaven,” he declared through a mouthful, pointing at you with his chopsticks. “You made the right call. Genius. Certified ramen expert, that’s you.”

You rolled your eyes, amused, and shook your head again. He grinned wider, leaning across the table to nudge your arm. “Don’t deny it, Y/N. You’re proud of yourself right now.”

You chuckled under your breath, the sound soft but enough to make him beam. Dinner carried on like that—his endless blabbering, your quiet smiles and small gestures. For a moment, it was easy to pretend this was all life would ever be.

Until your phone buzzed.

The sound was small, but sharp against the warmth of the evening. Your gaze flicked to the device resting beside you, the screen lighting up with a notification. Yuji followed your line of sight, his chewing slowing as he tilted his head.

“What’s up? Who’s it?”

You picked up the phone, thumb hovering for a second before you turned the screen toward him. A message. Just one. From Shoko.

"How are you holding up? Are you eating? Sleeping?"

Yuji’s eyes softened as he read it, but before he could say anything, you pulled the phone back, your fingers flying across the screen. A tired smile touched your lips, one that didn’t quite reach your eyes, as you typed out a response. The expression was different—gentler, aching, like a window had opened somewhere far away, back to Jujutsu High, back to people you would never see again.

Yuji watched in silence, chopsticks paused halfway to his mouth. He shifted a little, hand lifting toward his neck, scratching at the skin there with sudden awkwardness.

When you set the phone down again, exhaling softly, your smile still lingered. But it wasn’t for him.

He swallowed, his throat tight.

“Shoko, huh?” His voice was casual, but the hesitation cracked through the words. “She… she must miss you.”

You only nodded once, brushing a strand of hair back from your face. That tired smile stayed, fragile but real.

Your phone buzzed again while you ate, the screen dimly glowing between the dishes. After a moment of hesitation, you tapped it open, typed quickly, then slid the device across the table toward him.

_I’m thinking of meeting her… and the others at Jujutsu High. It’s been a while._

Yuji blinked down at the words, chopsticks frozen halfway to his mouth. His eyes flickered to yours, wide and caught off guard. For a beat too long, he didn’t move.

Then, as if remembering himself, he let out a quick, nervous laugh and bobbed his head three times in rapid succession, exaggerated like he understood perfectly. “Yeah! Yeah, totally. Makes sense.”

But the way he suddenly shoveled noodles into his mouth, chewing fast and avoiding your gaze, told a different story. You tilted your head at him, lips tugging downward in a quiet sigh, but you didn’t push. Instead, you turned back to your food, letting the silence hang between the clink of chopsticks and the hum of the TV.

The next morning came with soft sunlight spilling into the apartment. You moved around the room, pulling clothes from drawers, setting aside your bag, sliding little necessities into place. Yuji was there, of course—he was always there—but he wasn’t himself. No rambling, no jokes, just the sound of him shifting his weight and the low rustle of fabric as he stood by the door, watching you.

You finally tilted your head at him, brows furrowed, that silent expression asking, _What’s wrong, you silly?_

He blinked, startled out of his haze, then rubbed the back of his neck, gaze dropping to the floor. “Nothing,” he muttered quickly, voice too small for him.

You chuckled softly, shaking your head at his obvious lie before turning back to your bag. Zipping it closed, you reached for a dress, holding the fabric up against yourself as if testing the color. His eyes followed you, lingering longer than they should have, and when you glanced back at him, his lips parted hesitantly.

“Y/N…” His voice was low, strained. “Do we really have to go?”

The question sat heavy in the air, but you understood without needing more. The way his shoulders hunched, the way his fingers curled against his sides—this wasn’t laziness. This was dread. Going back meant reopening every wound he’d never really let heal.

You set the dress aside and stepped closer, closing the space between you until he finally looked up. Your touch wasn’t grand or loud—just your hand brushing lightly against his arm, enough warmth to tell him you were there, and that was enough. His face went scarlet instantly, ears burning red, his whole posture stiffening as though he’d been caught off guard by something dangerous.

And then, just to tease, you leaned in and pressed the quickest peck to his lips.

“Wha—?!” He jumped back slightly, face now blazing full red as he fumbled with his words. “H-Hey, you can’t just—! That’s cheating, you can’t—” His hands flailed as if trying to erase the moment from the air, but the goofy, boyish grin that broke across his face betrayed him completely.

You only shook your head, amused, returning to your bag as if nothing happened, while his entire world quietly spun out from one stolen second.

—

By the time you both reached the station, the crowd was already beginning to thicken—commuters shuffling past with bags slung over their shoulders, the distant screech of brakes echoing along the tracks. Yuji walked just a half-step ahead of you, glancing back every few seconds to make sure you hadn’t drifted away, his protective shadow as unshakable as ever.

At the security line, he stepped forward first. The guard, a man probably in his mid-thirties, gave Yuji a quick once-over before patting him down, brisk and professional. Yuji grinned through it, awkward but cooperative, arms out like a kid playing airplane. “See? Nothing suspicious here. Just your friendly neighborhood ramen enthusiast.”

The guard’s lips twitched at that, but he didn’t reply, already stepping aside. His eyes flicked toward you next. He opened his mouth, hesitated, then leaned slightly forward.

“Are you alone, miss?”

You blinked. For a second, the question felt heavier than it was. But then you shook your head with a small laugh, lifting a finger to point at Yuji still standing a step away, half-listening but clearly more focused on retrieving the bag he’d set down.

The guard chuckled softly, and—was that the faintest blush coloring his cheeks? He gave a sheepish nod before stepping aside to let you through.

Yuji turned just in time to see the exchange, brows furrowed in complete confusion. He blinked at you, then at the guard, then back at you again, his mouth parting as though he was about to ask what had just happened. But instead, he only shut it with a faint huff and trailed after you in silence, still looking faintly baffled.

You caught the way his lips pressed together, the crease between his brows, and couldn’t help the quiet smile that tugged at your lips. To you, the whole thing was harmless. To him, clearly, it was some kind of unsolvable riddle.

By the time you reached the platform, the train whistle echoed faintly in the distance. Yuji glanced at the vending stall nearby, then back at you, and suddenly perked up.

“Oh wait—I’ll grab us some extra water bottles, just in case.”

You widened your eyes, tugging lightly at his sleeve in protest, but he was already jogging off, waving a hand over his shoulder.

“Don’t move! I’ll be fast!”

You sighed, exasperated but not surprised, and stepped onto the train. The carriage was still half-empty, the air cooler than outside, humming with the faint vibration of engines warming. You slid into a window seat, setting your bag by your side as you checked the clock.

Another whistle. Louder this time. Your heart gave a sharp jolt. He wasn’t back yet.

Quickly, you pulled out your phone, thumb hovering over his contact. You tapped call, pressing the device to your ear, ready to tell him to hurry the hell up—

And then something icy touched your cheek.

You startled, jerking your head to the side, only to see Yuji grinning down at you, holding a sweating bottle of water against your skin. His chest rose and fell with uneven breaths, hair a little damp from the rush.

“Made it,” he panted lightly, grin never faltering. “Told you I’d be quick.”

You exhaled a sharp breath, half-annoyed, half-relieved, shaking your head at him. He just laughed, plopping down beside you without hesitation, his shoulder bumping into yours.

You tapped the empty space more firmly, signaling him to stay put, and he nodded eagerly like a scolded puppy finally given permission to sit.

“Alright, alright, I’m not moving,” he said, tearing open the cap with a sharp twist. “Now we’ve got enough water to survive the apocalypse. Or, you know, a two-hour train ride.”

You rolled your eyes, but your lips betrayed you with a faint curve upward as the train lurched into motion, carrying you both forward—toward Jujutsu High, toward ghosts neither of you were quite ready to face.

The grounds of Jujutsu High hadn’t changed much. The mountain wind still stung sharp against your skin, the stone paths still cracked beneath your feet, but the silence was heavier now—heavier than it had ever been when the place bustled with voices you’d never hear again.

Yuji walked close, his usual chatter muted. His hand hovered at your back once, like he wanted to touch, to anchor, but he pulled it away before it could land.

Empty classrooms. Barren training yards. Everything too still, too preserved, like the world had moved on but this place refused to.

Shoko’s office was the only door that held a light. The faint smell of cigarettes and alcohol clung to the air as you stepped in. She looked up, her eyes tired but sharper than ever, and a slow smile curved her lips.

“Well. Look at you.” Her voice softened at the edges. “It’s been a while, hasn’t it?”

You nodded quickly, lips twitching upward.

She leaned back in her chair, gesturing loosely. “Sit.” Her gaze swept over you the way only a doctor’s could, observant, quiet. “Any pain in your throat? Trouble breathing? Spells of dizziness?”

You shook your head each time.

Her smirk pulled tired but fond. “Tougher than you look, then.” But her tone shifted, dipping into something quieter, the faint crease of her brow barely there. “And Itadori? Nothing… strange you’ve noticed?”

Your breath caught. Brows furrowed. You shook your head firmly. No. Nothing strange.

Shoko only hummed, lips pressing into a thin line. “Mm. Alright.”

The door opened before you could ask what she meant.

“Talking about me?” Yuji’s grin appeared first, bright, boyish, carrying too much sunshine into the stale room.

“Actually, yes,” Shoko said smoothly, leaning back with a knowing look.

Yuji blinked, then laughed, rubbing the back of his neck. “Uh-oh. Hope it’s good things?”

“Depends who you ask,” she replied.

You clapped a hand over your mouth, stifling the chuckle that slipped out at his mock-offended face. Yuji pressed a hand to his chest dramatically. “Et tu, Y/N?”

The moment was lighter again, Yuji’s charm flooding the room like it always did. But Shoko’s earlier question lodged in your chest like a splinter you couldn’t pull out.

---

That night, the apartment was dark except for the pale glow of your phone. Yuji was beside you, already asleep, arm draped heavy across the sheets, his face soft in dreamless slumber.

You scrolled absently until a headline stopped your thumb cold.

Attempted Murder at Osaka Station – Suspect at Large.

Your pulse jumped. You tapped it open.

The article was short, the words clinical. A security guard injured late afternoon. The suspect had fled before authorities arrived. No motive.

But the grainy footage told more.

A blur of movement. A figure. Short hair. Pink.

Your lungs squeezed tight. That station. Your station. The same one you’d left from just this morning.

It couldn’t be. No—it was impossible. You turned your head, heart hammering, to the boy sleeping soundly beside you, his cheek pressed into the pillow, lips parted in innocent breath.

Guilt twisted hard. You shook your head, forcing it away. Not him. Don’t think that. Don’t.

With trembling fingers, you clicked your phone dark and set it aside. Curling on your side, you shut your eyes, desperate for sleep.

The silence held, broken only by Yuji’s steady breathing.

—

A few days later, life had folded itself back into something resembling normal. The apartment was warm with the scent of instant coffee, Yuji’s voice filling the room as it always did, spilling over with stories you weren’t even sure had beginnings or ends.

He sat cross-legged on the edge of the bed, fiddling with the loose thread of his hoodie while you leaned close to the mirror, finishing the last touches of your makeup.

“—and then the cashier looked at me like I was the crazy one. I mean, come on, who puts milk chocolate and cheese crackers in the same bag? That’s like a crime, right?” He snorted, his grin wide as ever, waiting for your reaction.

You only shook your head softly, half a smile pulling at your lips as you reached for your lipstick. He noticed anyway, his grin brightening like you’d given him the punchline.

“Exactly! Thank you. Finally, someone who gets me.”

He stretched with a yawn, rolling off the bed to grab something from the kitchen. “Alright, fine, I’ll stop bothering you. Do your thing, Y/N. Don’t take too long, though.”

You breathed out a soundless chuckle, tying your hair loosely as the room grew quiet without him. A few minutes passed, nothing unusual—until the soft pad of his footsteps returned.

You caught his reflection in the mirror first, leaning against the doorframe, arms folded. His eyes were on you, steady.

“Where are you going?” His voice was different. Lower. Not harsh, not loud, but carrying something that made your stomach dip. “Didn’t I say no?”

Your fingers stilled mid-motion, the hair tie slipping loose. Slowly, you turned, dumbfounded, staring up at him.

_What…?_ The word never left your lips, but it echoed in your head, loud and heavy.

His face looked—different. The same, but… sharper somehow. Shadows carved deeper at the corners of his mouth, his eyes holding something unfamiliar, a weight that didn’t belong to Yuji.

Your chest tightened.

But then, suddenly—he laughed. A small, easy sound, boyish as ever. “What? Why are you staring at me like that? You’re acting weird, Y/N.”

The sharpness was gone. His grin stretched bright, careless, as he stepped closer, tapping the mirror lightly with one finger. “Hurry up, or you’ll be late.”

You blinked hard, your heart stuttering in confusion. The shift had been so quick, so seamless, you almost doubted it happened at all.

The night air outside had been calm, almost sweet. Your friend had met you halfway down the street, and the two of you lingered on a bench, passing your phone back and forth with scribbled notes on the screen. It’s been too long. I missed this. They smiled warmly, replying in kind, their words like quiet comfort: You look healthier than last time. I’m glad.

For a while, it was easy. Silent laughter shared over simple notes, small gestures that didn’t need sound. And on the walk back, your thoughts drifted toward Yuji.

He had been unusually tense lately—more so than usual—and you found yourself peeking into shop windows, scanning shelves until you spotted something he’d love: a silly keychain of his favorite character from that gacha game he never admitted he still played. You bought it, tucking it carefully into your bag, already imagining his boyish grin when he saw it.

But when you reached your doorway, everything stilled.

The apartment was dark. Too dark. Not the cozy kind of quiet you were used to, but a suffocating silence. And through the crack in the door, you saw it—shards of glass glittering across the floor like spilled stars. The coffee table overturned. Curtains torn. Even the light fixtures dangled uselessly, wires exposed.

Your breath hitched.

Yuji.

Your mind scrambled. Had something happened to him? Was he hurt? No, no, it couldn’t be—he was too strong, too stubborn to—

Heart hammering, you pushed the door open, each step a cautious echo against the broken floor. “Yuji?” The sound never left your lips, but it pulsed inside you like a prayer. You climbed the stairs, pulse thrumming in your ears, desperate for any sign of him.

And then—

“Done fucking around?”

The voice cracked through the silence like a blade. You spun, your body stiff, eyes wide, searching the shadows.

He was there. Standing at the end of the hall, swallowed by the lack of light. His outline was familiar, unmistakable—but his face, blurred in darkness, was twisted by something that wasn’t him.

“No matter how much I fuck you,” he drawled, each word dripping venom, “guess it’s not enough for a slut like you, huh?”

Your throat locked. That voice—that cruelty—it didn’t belong to Yuji. He had never, ever spoken to you that way.

But he stepped closer, his shadow stretching long against the walls. “This damn brat,” he spat, dragging his nails across his own arm, tearing through skin until angry red welts surfaced, “keeps fighting me, keeps clawing to stay in control. Fucking pathetic. He’s terrified.” His grin split wide, jagged. “Scared that you’ll see him for what he really is. Jealous as hell.”

You froze, the words stabbing through you. Terrified, your eyes darted to the wounds he carved into himself—raw, deliberate. He had been hiding them. All this time, he had been hiding the proof of his battles beneath his sleeves.

And suddenly, the stares, the sudden mood swings, the slips in his voice, the sharpness behind his smiles—they all stitched together into a picture so horrific you almost collapsed.

That wasn’t Yuji.

Your lips formed the word, trembling, even if no sound left you. S-Sukuna…

But before your thoughts could steady, instinct screamed at you to run. You spun on your heel—

Only for your head to snap back violently as fingers tangled in your hair, yanking you off balance.

A silent scream tore through your lungs, useless and raw, as he dragged you deeper into the ruined apartment, your scalp burning with every pull.

“Where the fuck do you think you’re going?” His grin glimmered in the dim, sharp and sadistic, his breath hot against your ear. He leaned in, voice cruelly amused, “You really thought you’d escape me? Pathetic.”

He shoved you harshly onto the bed, the frame creaking ominously under the sudden impact. He loomed over you, eyes glinting with malice in the scant moonlight filtering through the shattered window. Without a word, he grabbed the collar of your shirt and tore it violently down the center, exposing your heaving chest. His gaze raked over your newly bared skin, a sneer twisting his lips.

"Look at you, quivering like a bitch in heat. You're loving this, aren't you? Getting fucked by the monster you claim to love so much." His voice dripped with derision as his hands roamed roughly over your breasts, squeezing the soft flesh hard enough to leave bruises.

He shoved you hard against the wall, knocking the air from your lungs. His hand clamped around your throat, squeezing just hard enough to make breathing a struggle. You could feel the heat of his skin, the power coiled in his muscles, as he pressed the length of his body against yours, pinning you in place.

"Listen up, you little bitch," he snarled, his voice a brutal rasp in your ear. "You're not going anywhere. You belong to me now, understand?" His other hand fumbled with the waistband of your pants, popping the button and yanking down the zipper in one violent motion. Cool air hit your skin as he tugged your pants and underwear down to your knees.You tried to clench your thighs together, to protect yourself, but his knee forced its way between your legs, spreading you open. A choked whimper escaped your lips as he pushed two fingers into your dry, tight passage without warning.

He pumped his fingers roughly, not giving your body time to adjust.

His thumb found your clit, rubbing the sensitive nub hard and fast, sending jolts of painful pleasure through you. You tried to turn your face away, but he grabbed your chin, forcing you to look at him. His eyes were wild, feral, consumed by a hunger that terrified you.

"You're not allowed to leave, you hear me?" He said, his voice a menacing hiss. "You're mine now, all mine. I'll fucking destroy anyone who tries to take you away from meI won't let anyone save you. You're MINE now, understand? I'll make sure you can't leave, can't escape me ever again!"  His voice rose in a frenzy as he shoved his pants down, freeing his massive, rock-hard cock.

It throbbed angrily, the swollen head an angry purple, leaking pre-cum. He grabbed your hips, his fingers digging into your soft flesh hard enough to bruise as he lifted you up and forced your legs around his waist. Your dripping, unprepared slit hovered inches from the tip of his throbbing dick, the heat radiating against your tender folds. His eyes blazed with manic intensity as he stared at you, a cruel smirk twisting his handsome face into something vicious and terrifying.

"I'll make sure you can't fucking walk, can't even think of anything but my cock splitting you open and filling you up. You're MINE now, bitch. Forever. Now shut the fuck up and take it!" With those harsh words, he slammed his hips forward, burying every brutal inch of his massive, pulsing cock into your defenseless, virgin pussy in one cruel thrust.

A scream ripped from your throat, echoing through the ruined apartment as you felt your tender walls stretch and tear around his invading thickness, your body struggling to accommodate the ruthless intrusion. He didn't pause, didn't give you any time to adjust. He started pounding into you mercilessly, each thrust shaking your entire body and slamming you against the wall.

The obscene sound of flesh slapping against flesh filled the air, mingling with your sobs and his harsh grunts of pleasure. His cock was so deep, so huge, slamming against your cervix with every brutal stroke and something that you knew—Itadori would never do...

—

The house was too quiet. No hum of the refrigerator, no creak of the boards, no trace of the storm that had torn through only hours before. Just silence, heavy and unbearable, draped over the wreckage like a shroud.

Yuji stirred first. His lashes fluttered open to the gray wash of morning light seeping through the broken blinds. His body ached, raw and heavy, but the ache was nothing compared to the hollow pit in his chest.

He shifted, and that’s when he saw you.

Beside him. Skin bare, bruised in places he couldn’t bring himself to look at. The sheets tangled limply around your body, your face turned toward him. You were asleep, but exhaustion weighed you down so deeply that it didn’t look peaceful—it looked defeated. Your cheeks were still streaked with dried tears.

Yuji’s heart dropped into his stomach.

No. No, no, no.

His hands shot up to his hair, fisting tight until his scalp screamed. His knees drew to his chest as he turned away from you, rocking slightly in place. The curses slipped out broken, half-muttered, half-choked.

“Fuck… fuck, no—what the hell did I—?!” His voice cracked as he pulled harder at his hair. “It wasn’t me—it was—no, no, I let it—I let him—” His words collapsed into guttural sounds, a whirl of self-loathing that wouldn’t stop spilling out. “I should just… I should fucking end it—I can’t—”

The sound of him tore at you before your eyes even opened. You blinked slowly awake, your body stiff, fragile, like the marrow itself had been drained from you. The first thing you saw was his hunched frame, trembling, clawing at himself like he wanted to rip his skin open and crawl out.

Your throat clenched. Despite everything—despite what you remembered—you found your hand rising, slow and hesitant, until your fingers brushed the curve of his back.

He flinched instantly, twisting toward you with wide, wet eyes.

“Y/N…” Your name fell from his lips like a plea, over and over. His tears ran fast down his face, his mouth trembling as he stuttered out apologies that tripped over themselves. “I didn’t mean it—I swear—I didn’t want to—I hate myself, I hate this—I should just—please, I didn’t—” His voice broke again, dissolving into sobs that racked his chest.

He collapsed into you then, desperate, clutching at your waist as though you were the only thing keeping him from dissolving. His forehead pressed against you, his cries muffled into your skin, hot and damp and frantic.

“Don’t forgive me,” he begged between gasps. “Don’t. Don’t… I don’t deserve—”

But you didn’t pull away. You couldn’t. Even with the memory of last night clawing at the edges of your mind, raw and unbearable, your arms moved on their own, circling around him. You held him, gentle, quiet, like the world hadn’t just broken apart.

His sobs shook through you, each one carving another hollow into your chest. You let him stay there, clinging to you as though he would drown without you.

And inside, you whispered the lie you were trying to make yourself believe: It’s not his fault. It was never his fault.

You told yourself that. Over and over. You had to.

But This… was your biggest mistake.

No matter how normal he looked, you couldn’t forget.

The way his hands had pressed you down. The way his voice—his, but not—had twisted cruel. Even when he woke now with his boyish grin, even when he offered to share the last bite of his snack or muttered about silly commercials on TV, you felt your body flinch at the smallest gesture. A brush of his arm against yours, a hand reaching too fast. Every nerve braced for him to snap again. For Sukuna to bleed through.

You forgot how to laugh at his dumb jokes. Forgot how to roll your eyes at his dramatics. The silence between you grew heavy, thick.

And Yuji noticed. Of course he noticed.

But instead of teasing, instead of begging for your attention like he always had, he only asked the same thing, again and again, his voice quiet and unshakable:

“Y/N… do you love me?”

You’d look away every time, your throat closing around the words you couldn’t give him. Your phone sat untouched. Your notes app stayed closed. He didn’t let you anymore. No more scribbled messages. No more signing. No more careful reassurances.

It was like he was folding the walls tighter around you.

And the most terrifying part was that even with all of it—your heart still ached for him. Stupidly, traitorously, you loved him. Loved him even as your mind screamed that you were suffocating, that you had to escape, that you weren’t safe.

One evening, the two of you sat in the living room, a movie flickering faintly on the TV. You had put the smallest sliver of distance between you on the couch—just enough that his warmth couldn’t reach you. He leaned forward, elbows on his knees, silent for a long while.

Then his voice cut through.

“You hate me.”

You froze, the remote limp in your hand.

“You don’t trust me anymore.” His tone trembled, weak but sharp, a knife against itself. He turned, his eyes dark and wet. “I don’t… I don’t blame you. You’ve already suffered enough because of me.”

He dragged a hand down his face, almost clawing at his skin. Then suddenly, his body lurched toward you, desperate, frantic. “But you know, right? It’s not me—it’s not me! It’s him! It’s Sukuna!”

The snap in his voice made you jolt, your back pressing into the arm of the couch. His body loomed over you, pleading but suffocating, his breath hot, his eyes wild. You shifted, hands pressing lightly to his chest, trying to push him back just an inch.

And he stopped.

Just like that, he froze. His breath hitched, his whole frame shaking. Slowly, he leaned back, fear flashing across his own features as if he were the one cornered. His mouth fell open, trembling, spilling out apologies in broken whispers.

“I’m sorry—I’m sorry—I didn’t mean—please don’t—” His words crumbled into tears, his shoulders curling inward, his sniffles weak and uneven.

You didn’t know what to do anymore. You didn’t know what was Yuji, what was Sukuna, what was slipping through the cracks. But something in his eyes looked too raw, too human, and you found yourself reaching out, your fingers brushing his sleeve. Just a tuck, soft. Enough to calm a child. Enough to say, I’m here.

His whole body shuddered at the touch. He turned his face away, sniffling into his sleeve. “Y/N… it’s not me. It’s not me. Trust me. I love you so much—I’d never hurt you—I don’t know what’s wrong with me. It’s all his doing. Please. Don’t leave me. Don’t…”

The rest of the afternoon passed like that, his words unraveling, your silence stitching over them, until finally exhaustion took him. His head drooped against the back of the couch, lips parted, his face slack in sleep.

You stared at him for a long moment, your chest tight, before finally rising on unsteady legs. Moving to the corner of the room, you pulled out your phone, the screen’s glow too bright in the dim apartment.

Your fingers hovered, then typed slowly:

Shoko… remember what you asked me? If Yuji was acting weird? I didn’t understand then. But now… maybe I do.

You were about to hit send but—

The message hadn’t even cleared before a voice sliced through the silence.

“Didn’t I say that it’s him… and not me?”