4THEMURDA

“C’mon, Megumiiii~” you whine, prodding at his shoulder for emphasis, “you’re being such a little grump.” 

“I’m not–I–what? I’m not a grump,” Megumi glares at you, not helping to disprove your statement. “I’m just telling you it’s not gonna work, so there’s no point in trying.” 

The two of you are currently sprawled out on the couch in the living room of your shared apartment. It’s a lazy Sunday, it’s early September, and it’s still hot out – meaning you’re in nothing but a tank top and sleep shorts, and Megumi is in nothing but a pair of dark plaid boxers. His whole chest is out, and you haven’t been able to stop staring. 

Megumi is lean but somewhat toned, his muscles only subtly visible under his pale skin when he’s relaxed. He’s beautiful all over, but the one thing really holding your attention captive is his nipples. They’re so pretty and pink, just sitting there on the gentle swell of his pecs – and you don’t think he’s ever let you touch them.  

About five minutes ago, you interrupted the show you two were watching with the out-of-pocket comment, “did you know that some guys can cum from just their nipples?” 

Megumi had instantly stiffened up, turning to look at you with an eyebrow raised. “Okay? Where did that come from?”

“I don’t know, I just thought it was interesting.” You shrugged innocently. “Did you know that?” 

Megumi had looked at you skeptically for a moment longer before turning back towards the TV. 

“No,” he grumbled. 

“Gosh, Megumi, you already sound annoyed! I didn’t even suggest anything.” 

“No, but you’re gonna, aren’t you? You never just think something’s interesting. Just go ahead, say it.” 

You laughed at him, pushing at his shoulder for his attitude. “Well, you’re a guy…and you have nipples.” 

There it is, Megumi thought. 

“No.” 

Megumi shook his head. You considered leaving the subject alone with how quick his answer was, but the noticeable blush that had crept onto his cheeks made you want to keep pushing a bit. 

“No? You don’t have nipples? Or you’re not a guy?”

“No, I do–I am. But I’m not…” Megumi flushed harder, clearing his throat. “...Not gonna try whatever you’re implying.” 

After a few minutes of back-and-forth, you had managed to convince Megumi to watch a video from your Twitter feed of a girl making a guy cum from his nipples, Megumi’s curiosity winning over his resistance. 

He watched the entire thing with a skeptical, almost judgemental look on his face, but you didn’t miss the way it made him squirm in his seat, or the way his cheeks got noticeably redder. 

However, even after the video proved you right, Megumi still didn’t seem any more willing to let you touch his nipples. 

This is what led to your current conversation that’s got Megumi’s feathers so ruffled.

“Okay, but how do you know it won’t work if you’ve never tried it?” You tilt your head at him, smirking playfully. 

“Because. I just…I know. It won’t work. It's not really gonna feel like anything, and you'll be disappointed." 

“Okay, fine, how about this,” you decide to try a new approach, “you don’t even have to think about cumming from it. Forget that idea. I just wanna touch them.” 

Megumi whines, his hands covering his face before he pushes them upwards to run through his hair, looking stressed. “Why do you wanna touch them so badly? They’re just nipples.” 

“Because they’re so cute! Plus I think they’re the only part of you that I’ve never touched, and that’s kind of evil if you think about it.” 

Megumi covers his face again at this, mumbling something unintelligible. 

You drop your head on his shoulder dramatically. “Ahhh, you’re so mean, Megumiii~ I let you touch my boobs all the time… you hate meee…” 

“What? Come on, I love you, I just–” Megumi pauses as he processes your implication. “They’re not boobs.”

“Close enough,” you mumble, deciding again to redirect your approach. 

Turning your body into Megumi’s, still leaning on his shoulder, you throw your left leg over his thigh and place your left hand on his tummy, starting to draw gentle circles into his skin. Megumi sucks in a sharp breath, and you lean into his neck, placing a kiss right under his ear. 

Megumi stiffens up, but he doesn’t protest as your hand slowly makes its way up to his chest. You’re close enough to him that you can hear his breathing picking up. You can feel his pulse quickening as you gently press kisses into the side of his neck.

Megumi lets out a soft whine as you suck gently on his pulse point, shifting his hips uncomfortably. He whispers your name almost anxiously, his left hand grabbing at your thigh to ground himself. 

“C’mon, they’re right there,” you whisper to him, tracing your middle finger in a circle around his nipple, deliberately avoiding touching it. “Can I touch them just a little? Please?”

You can feel his resolve crumbling. As soon as he whispers out a shaky “okay,” Megumi can feel your sly smile growing against his neck. 

You press another kiss below his ear, whispering “that’s my good boy,” and dragging the pad of your finger over his left nipple, gently rubbing it in a circle. 

You don’t know exactly what level of reaction you were expecting, but your hopes certainly weren’t this high. 

Megumi jerks, letting out a sharp whine, his fingers digging into your thigh. You pull your head out of his neck in surprise, watching as his dick twitches visibly in his boxers. You look at him, an eyebrow raised in pleasant astonishment, and he can only meet your eyes for a second before he drops his head against the backboard of the sofa with a shaky moan, his eyes fluttering shut. 

“My god, Megs…” you mumble, eyes lit up in excitement as you sit up straighter, hand drifting over to his other nipple. Again, he jerks sharply, whining, his right hand gripping the blanket on the sofa. As the soft pad of your finger circles this one, Megumi starts to push his hips up against the air, his cock now straining against the fabric of his boxers. 

“Ugh, I–fuck-” Megumi curses under his breath, trying to stop himself from squirming. 

Feeling elated from his positive reaction, you bring yourself to straddle him, purposely sitting far enough down on his thighs that you aren’t making contact with his dick. 

“Hey,” You bring your right hand to gently tap at his cheek, prompting him to open his eyes. “Look at me,” you whisper. Megumi feels dizzy from the way your other hand is still circling his nipple, sending sparks through his body, but he forces himself to raise his head up. “Did you know they were this sensitive?” 

Megumi lowers his head, feeling his cheeks flush impossibly warmer. “Maybe,” he mutters. 

“How is this the first time I’m finding out?” You don’t sound mad. More like you’re in awe and genuine confusion. Megumi lowers his eyes, unable to meet yours with the way you’re looking at him so hungrily, like you just found a new toy, and you’re planning to play with it until it breaks. 

But he can’t stop himself from pushing his hips up, wishing that you would scooch a couple inches higher so your weight would be on his dick. Ignoring your question, Megumi decides to lift his knees so you fall further forward onto him. Realizing what he’s trying to do, you stabilize yourself on his chest, before pinching his nipple hard. “Stop that. Answer me.” 

Megumi whines loudly at the feeling, his whole body tensing up, and a strong shiver runs down his spine. He drops his knees, but his hips continue to rock upwards involuntarily. “Fuck–please, I…it’s too much,” 

You stop pinching his nipple, rubbing it gently in apology, and Megumi lets out a shaky breath punctuated by a soft whimpery noise that you don’t think you’ve ever heard come out of him. The corner of your mouth turns upwards as you let your eyes settle on his cock, now fully hard in his underwear, the whole outline clearly visible, twitching painfully every few seconds. You stare at it until Megumi squirms, pushing his hips up at you again, before you raise your eyes back up to meet his. “Answer my question.” 

Megumi drops his head in shame, his chest rising and falling as he pants. “Don’t know. I was embarrassed.” 

“Aww. Why were you embarrassed, ‘Gumi?” You take his face in your hands, and he looks up at you, cheeks burning, still with a bit of reluctance on his face. But you see how his eyes are starting to glaze over, how he’s looking at you like he wants you to take control; to rip away his last remnants of inhibition, so he doesn’t have to think about how embarrassed he is, so he’s just yours. 

“‘Cause it makes me act like this,” he mumbles. 

“Awh,” You gently rub his cheek with your thumb before pushing it softly against his lip. Megumi makes a soft noise, pushing his hips up again as you caress his bottom lip with your thumb. “Open,” you whisper, and his mouth falls open without a second thought, his eyes fluttering shut. “Thaat’s it,” you coo at him, pressing down against his tongue. 

Megumi lets out a filthy moan around your finger, his mouth closing around it as he starts to suck. “Pwease,” he whines around your finger, watery eyes meeting yours. 

“Please what, baby?” You coo, slipping a second finger in. As soon as Megumi tries to answer, you push your fingers back into his throat, making him gag. He looks at you with wide eyes, moaning again around your fingers, trying again to answer but it’s unintelligible. 

Taking pity on him, you pull your fingers out of his mouth, causing drool to spill out around them. “Please touch me,” he gasps as soon as your fingers have passed his lips on the way out. 

“Okay love,” you rub the wetness from his mouth between your fingers on each hand before you bring them down to his nipples again, rubbing over both of them at the same time. 

“Nghh–” Megumi jolts, arching his chest up into your fingers. “N-not there–” he pants, unsure whether to squirm away from your fingers or up into them. They’re so sensitive, he can’t even tell if it feels good or if it’s too much. 

“So pretty,” you marvel, completely enamoured by his reactions, never having seen him this squirmy and sensitive before. 

“Fuck, it’s too much–” he grits out, pushing his hips up harder as you alternate between pinching and circling his sensitive nipples. “Please!”

“Please what? I’m touching you, Megs. What’re you whining about?” 

Megumi drops his head again, whining harder, feeling overwhelmed, unused to having so much stimulation there. He knew his nipples were sensitive because he feels it whenever he takes his shirt on or off. He’s tried touching them once or twice while jerking off, too, but quickly decided it was too much and stopped. He’s never experienced anything like the way you’re touching them now, and at this point, he doesn’t even have the ability to process whether it’s too much or not because his cock is so hard. 

“N-not there,” he whines again, registering the embarrassment of his request in the back of his mind but feeling too desperate to pay it any mind, knowing exactly what you want him to say. “Please...can you touch my cock?” 

Normally, asking nicely works perfectly for Megumi, as you have trouble denying him anything when he’s like this. But this time, you just smirk at him, making his blood run cold. 

“Aw, but you’re doing so good for me, ‘Gumi! Don’t you wanna see if you can cum like this?” 

Megumi shakes his head frantically, continuing to push his hips up against the air. 

“No, no…Please, I can’t. It’s not enough!” 

“But you just said it was too much?” You tilt your head at him innocently, flicking his nipples faster under your thumbs. “Which one is it, ‘Gumi?” 

“I–I–shit…ngh…” Megumi fumbles around for something to grab onto, settling on your thighs. You giggle at him, letting him white-knuckle your thighs, seemingly unaffected by this whole display. 

“Look, Megs, you’re leaking so much,” you take one hand off his nipple, bringing it down to hover over his cock, smiling at the sizable wet spot that’s formed, emphasizing where his tip is straining against the fabric. Thinking you’re finally going to touch him, Megumi’s head shoots up, eyes wide and frantic. 

“Please, please. Please.”

“Shhhhh,” you ghost the backs of your index and middle fingers over the wet spot in his boxers, petting it softly like you would with a scared animal, trying to coax it into trusting you. Megumi almost chokes on the moan that rips from his throat, his cock jumping up to meet your fingers. “Relax, ‘Gumi. Relax.” 

Megumi tries to be good, to keep his hips down, but he can’t stop his cock from twitching, nor can he stop himself from squirming under your other hand. 

“C-Can’t–ngh,” he squirms harder, “Please!”

You pout at him, pulling your fingers away from his cock slowly, a small string of precum following them for the first inch before breaking. Megumi lets out a humiliated sob as the tiny bit of stimulation you gave him is ripped away, while you sink your teeth into your own lip, swallowing a moan at how wet he is.

“Megs, you can cum from this. You definitely can.” 

“N-No,” he cries, shaking his head. “Can’t.” 

“Are you close?” 

Megumi sniffles harder, feeling his eyes burn with tears, wiping at his eyes in frustration before they even fall. “Y-Yeah,” he huffs, “b-but it’s not enough.” 

You pout at him again, planting a soft kiss on his lips in pity, before kissing down his neck to his chest. 

“Wait, no, I can’t–” 

Megumi squeezes his eyes shut as you wrap your lips around his left nipple, still rubbing his right one under your finger. His brain freezes for a second before he lets out a debauched moan, hands flying to tangle in your hair without a second thought. 

“Fuck!” he gasps for air, practically writhing underneath you, feeling the intense tingling from his nipples start to spread into his tummy. He’s rocking his hips up rhythmically into the small space between him and your stomach, stopping each thrust just when the fabric of his boxers ghosts against the fabric of your tank top. 

You lower your other hand to rest on his waist, gently stroking the skin there, not minding that fact that he’s practically bucking you around like a mechanical bull given that he’s not actually grinding on anything. You alternate between lapping against his nipple with your tongue and sucking it between your lips, while you gently flick his right one under your finger. 

Megumi feels the knot start to tighten in his lower stomach, subconsciously mirroring it in the way his hands tighten in your hair. He moans your name, sounding panicked. “Shit, shit. Feels weird. I needa cum–please–” 

You hum against his nipple, pulling away for a moment to whisper “Go ahead, Megs, you can cum.” 

“Ca-an’t,” he cries, thrashing under you, “not enough, ahh–n-need more–” 

“Okay, then don’t,” You smirk against him, not stopping your ministrations. 

“Please,” Megumi has given up on trying to stop himself from fully crying at this point. “Please, I–need to cum so bad,”

“Then do it,” you whisper again. 

Megumi groans, squeezing his eyes shut, trying to focus on the feeling building in his stomach. He feels his muscles starting to tense, and his balls starting to tighten. He gasps as his hips stutter into the air, pulling you closer against his chest. “Shit shit–I’m gonna–”

“C’mon, kitty, you can do it,” you whisper, before biting his nipple between your teeth. 

Megumi’s whole body goes taught, his toes curling, and for a moment, he’s completely silent, sound caught in his throat. Then he lets out a delicious moan, cock jumping as he shoots white ropes into his boxers. 

“O-Ohmygod,” Megumi pants, feeling his vision go spotty as he successfully cums untouched, holding your head against his chest like a lifeline as he curls in on himself.

After about thirty seconds, Megumi lets out a harsh breath, and you feel him go slack underneath you, slumping against the couch. You plant one last kiss against his overstimulated nipple before pulling your head away from his chest to get a good look at him. You feel yourself throb at the sight. 

Megumi is sprawled against the back of the couch, head tilted back, his Adam's apple bobbing as he swallows harshly between ragged breaths. His hair is slightly matted with sweat, and his entire body is dewy and flushed. His cock is still twitching periodically, along with his stomach and chest muscles, from the aftershocks of his orgasm – especially from how intensely he had to tighten them to cum untouched. The wet spot on his boxers has tripled in size, some of his cum having gone through the fabric completely, the thick, white substance contrasting the dark, wet fabric of his boxers, only serving to further emphasize the picture of his fucked out state. 

Finally, your gaze makes its way up to his eyes, which are glassed over, staring at the ceiling, looking like not a single thought is behind them. You gently trace the backs of your fingers over Megumi’s tummy, watching his abs tense and relax at your touch, before gently cupping his cheek again. You rise to your knees, still straddling him, hanging your head over his to look at him.

“Hey,” you whisper, kissing the tip of his nose. “You doin’ okay?”

You watch as Megumi’s eyes lose their haze and focus on yours, and for a second, you’re unable to read his expression. Then, he lets out a breathy laugh, shutting his eyes again. “My god,” he groans. “I can’t believe that worked. Why did I let you do that to me?” 

You giggle, relieved that he's doing okay, and press a kiss against his lips, which he returns eagerly, bringing his arms up to wrap around your waist. 

“Because you love me," you grin at him.  

“Yeah, I do, yet look how you treat me” he whispers against your lips, still smiling. “You’re evil.” 

“Oh come on, Megs, you’re such a baby. You did such a good job! Didn’t I tell you you could do it? That wasn’t so bad, was it?” 

Megumi blushes, rubbing his face against yours like a cat. “Yeah, easy for you to say. I’m gonna be flinching when I take my shirt off for the next week.” 

You smile against his face before pinching his nipple one more time, making him yelp. 

“That’s what you get for keeping this secret from me for so long~”

ˏˋ°•*🕸 TAGLIST ♰ @sodomiie @koreluvsspring

©decayofalice

“SEE? HE’S AN ABSOLUTE FUCKASS.” You complained as you buried your face into your hands.

“You’re gonna be fine. It's just a week's worth of project.” Nobara sighed at you, taking a sip of her drink again

“The professor didn’t even give class time for this, either I go to his dorm or he comes to mine. No way in hell we’re going to the library. It's always frickin’ packed during midterms.” You dramatically thump your head onto the table, hoping you’ll wake up and this was a dream.

“Guess Yuuji and I can’t work on it in the library either.”

Nobara’s voice snapped you back to reality: This was not a dream.

“How about you work on it in Megumi’s dorm, and I’ll have Yuuji at our dorm. I think 4 people studying in the same room will get quite concerning.” Nobara remarked

“Ugh fine I’ll see if I can go to his dorm, see you later!!” You exclaimed as you rushed off.

You left the cafeteria, feeling defeated as you made your way over to Megumi’s dorm. You would’ve texted him if you hadn’t blocked him, but oh well.

As you approached his dorm, you noticed that he had hung up a sign that says do not disturb on his door. With your excellent personality, you had of course ignored the sign and disturbed him anyways.

You knocked on his door 3 times, waited for almost a minute before he opened the door.

“Did you not see the do not disturb sign?” He asked with an annoyed expression.

You were just about to answer when you noticed that his face was flushed, and his breathing was fairly uneven…as if he…nevermind.

“Uhm…are you going to answer my question?” Megumi asked awkwardly.

“Oh yeah” You quickly turned your attention back to the assignment, “We need to have a set time to meet up everyday, so we can work on the assignment…the deadline is next week so we gotta work on it often…do you wanna meet up at my dorm or yours?”

There was an awkward silence between the 2 of you before Megumi spoke up again.

“Mine is fine. Just not right now, my room is kind of messy.”

“It fine I don’t mind”

“No!” Megumi stepped in to block the way defensively then suddenly realized what he was doing “Uhh…I mean, I mind.”

“Alright jeez chill” You said, confused as fuck.

“If you unblock me, I’ll text you when to come over” He added awkwardly, face still flushed.

You rolled your eyes and pulled out your phone to unblock him. 

“There.”

Later that night, Megumi texted you to come over to work on the assignment. Seeing the message you started getting ready to go.

His dorm was in a different building, so naturally, you had a bit to walk.

You hated walking around already, if that wasn’t bad enough, it was raining. Hard. And you had forgotten to bring an umbrella. You ran to Megumi’s dorm as fast as you could, still getting extremely soaked in the process. Great.

Before you could even knock, the door flung open and there stood Megumi, eyeing you down.

“I wonder what happened.” He said sarcastically.

“Yeah I fucking wonder” You hissed at him as you walked in. 

“Can I borrow something to wear? I’m not about to study in this.” You asked in despair.

“Yeah sure, just wear whatever you want in the wardrobe." He said, pointing at his wardrobe.

“Great thanks,” You sighed as you walked into his wardrobe, looking for something comfortable.

You quickly decided on one of his t-shirts, stripping your wet clothes on and putting the shirt on immediately.

In the process of putting on the shirt you accidentally knock over one of his boxes. Thinking it was just more clothes, you lift it back up naively.

You caught a glimpse of what was in there and you stopped dead, quickly pulling the box out again to confirm what you just saw.

Inside were blindfolds, vibrators, ropes and many other sex toys that filled the box.

You felt your face flushing when suddenly Megumi came in frantically.

“Actually I look for some clothes for–” He was interrupted by the scene in front of him: You with just a t-shirt and panties on, with the box of his things beside you.

His face visibly started flushing and he stammered out some words that you couldn’t make clear of.

“So…I thought you were a virgin this whole time” You tried to break the awkward silence, but this sentence just made the whole thing even more awkward.

There was another long pause between the two of you before Megumi spoke up again.

“I am a virgin.”

“You are? Aren’t these for whoever you fucked with?” You asked in disbelief.

“No…these are for me” He confessed, his face flushing darker and darker by each second.

What he said suddenly made you somewhat more confident.

“Ahhh so you like being reduced to a submissive slut eh?” You stood up, feeling bolder.

That sentence alone made Megumi whimper. You pushed him out of the wardrobe and against a wall.

“I’ll give you a chance, I can give you the full experience, if you’d like.” You said, licking your lips.

His cock twitched visibly, clearly indicating that he wanted to.

“Yes” He swallows visibly.

Hearing this, you instructed him to wait on the bed, as you went back to the wardrobe to bring out Megumi’s box of toys.

“Can I take off your shirt?” You asked as you approached him with the most evil smile mankind has ever seen.

Megumi nodded eagerly, allowing you to take his shirt off.

You removed his shirt revealing toned muscles, 6 pack abs and pink, rosy nipples that were already hard.

“Hmm so our class topper has been working out eh?” You question, rubbing one of his nipples.

Megumi arched his back from the sensation and groaned, his nipples were extremely sensitive.

“I asked you a question” You said, now pinching his peck making Megumi dizzy and overwhelmed from the sensation.

“Haaahh- ngh– yes-” He answered between moans and whimpers.

“Now let's get to our main course shall we?” You whispered in his ear, nibbling the shell briefly before taking the rope out.

You tied his wrists on the headboard in a cute bowtie style, before covering his eyes with a silky blindfold..

Pushing his legs apart, you traced the outline of his clothed cock, before stripping his pants off.

His hips lift up making it easier for his pants to come off, leaving him just in his boxers with an incredibly visible wet spot on it

You sigh and remove his boxers, his cock slapping against his abdomen immediately.

The vibrator was naturally your go-to sex toy,it was not only your favorite to toy yourself with, it was also your favorite to toy others with

You turned the vibrator to the lowest speed and placed it directly on his tip, securing it with a ribbon.

Megumi’s eyes rolled back, extreme pleasure striking him.

“Wait– ngh~”

Of course you didn’t wait, turning the vibrator up another notch before starting to fiddle with his nipples.

The double stimulation was too much for him. He let out a filthy moan before cumming onto the vibrator.

You swiped some cum and tasted it. That sight alone got Megumi hard again.

“Think you can go for another round?” You challenged

“Try me.” 

Hearing this, you turned the vibrator up to full speed and shoved 2 fingers in his mouth.

“Suck” You ordered

He sucked on the 2 fingers, making sure no part of them was dry.

You hummed in approval before taking the finger out.

“Good boy”

The praise turned him on more, he was close to an orgasm again.

HewasgoingtocumHewasgoingtocumHewasgoingtocumHewasgoingtocum–

You suddenly turned the vibrator off, making him pout in disappointment.

“What’d you do that for?” He whined

“Quiet, or I’ll gag you.”

That made him shut up immediately.

Your finger circled his hole before pushing a finger in, stretching him out a bit.

You added a second finger, curling it a bit before finding the sweet spot.

“Ngh~~ hahh keep going~” Megumi arched his back and moaned.

You pressed the sweet spot with a teeny bit more pressure before he came again, this time all over his abdomen.

“You did so well” You praised as you removed his bondages and gave him a kiss on the cheek.

But Megumi knows. He's not stupid and not oblivious either. Megumi's state is more accurately described as foolishly hopeful when he shouldn't be. He knows what you've been up to the evenings you're not at home, knows about the long showers you take afterward, which fail to diminish the scents on your worn clothes. It's a heavy knowledge to entertain.

His eyes cast to you, first following the routine circles of his own hand on your leg, almost like he's watching someone else touch you, unfamiliar and strange. His attention shifts, raking over your body, imagining foreign handprints marking you, places he once called his, claimed by another. He tries not to breathe in too deep, scared to catch a scent he doesn't know. Megumi's heart clenches when he reaches your face, your eyes as beautiful as ever, attentively stuck to your screen, and he makes a point not to wonder what your fingers might be typing. For some reason, he's mad at your phone, not at you.

"How was your day?" He breaks the voidful silence, uncertainty lingering behind his eyes.

You lock your phone, an instinct you didn't explicitly acquire but one that sticks nonetheless. Your eyes find his, failing to see the weariness wading through the shadowy irises. "Fine," you exclaim, smiling at your boyfriend, consciously pushing any memory of your evening down. "How was yours?"

"Good," he nods slightly, strangely comforted by the familiarity of your conversation, "same as usual."

You lay the phone behind you while sitting up, scooting closer to your boyfriend. Your chin finds his shoulder to rest on, eyes big and exaggeratedly innocent, prompting a known timid smile. He hates himself for falling for the eyes he loves too much.

"I've missed you, you know?"

The words turn Megumi's insides. He feels both guilty and angry... mostly scared. Should your words be interpreted as an accusation? A threat to leave him if he doesn't better? He has been working more, staying away from this place longer than necessary. He even found himself in Satoru's apartment, a subconscious part needing the parental comfort - anything to save himself the pain of pretending. Looking away has become a draining exercise, but one he's willing to accept as long as he gets to play in this illusion for a day longer. Keep you surfacely his for as long as he can. After all, there's a sliver, a microscopic cell of hope he's wrong about your infidelity. That's what he tells himself.

"Yeah?" his voice is quiet, barely carrying more than a whisper, "I've missed you too."

You smile at him, eyes squinting, entirely unaware of his knowledge about your straying loyalty. "Hmmm, then you should stop working so much, don't you think?" You challenge, almost teasingly letting your voice trail. Your arms wrap around him, pulling Megumi closer.

Megumi has to avert his eyes from yours, feeling sick from your sweetness. It's heavy, and sticky, making it harder to pull away despite the nauseous side effect. His hand moves to your head, petting you - another habit he can't get rid of. It's almost comically easy to push you away like this, get your stupidly addicting features out of sight - out of mind. Still, he can't.

"Guess I should," he sighs. There's a faraway look in his eyes. He dreads this, dreads the rest of the evening, forcing smiles, forcing affection. Even more, he dreads the night, awake, wondering what about him isn't enough, if he ever had a chance with you at all.

If you'd look only a little closer, you'd see it. See the resentment, the tiredness, the heartbreak. But you don't, caught up in your mind, in the shameful excitement of other people, and caught up in the comfort that is having a boyfriend you can rely on, which you selfishly do, using him without remorse. Cruel.

"You've been doing alright?" Megumi feels his chest tighten when speaking the question. He stalks around the subject like a scared cat, a part of him begging for air, clawing at his insides to break this heavy spell of silence. Another part of him screeches at the idea of confrontation of losing you. There's a forced unawareness that you have already been lost for a long time. Maybe never really his.

You tilt your head, recognizing the question as slightly out of place. You purse your lips in thought before answering, your tone not betraying any weariness, "Of course... why shouldn't I?"

It's frustrating how good you are at pretending. Megumi's jaw clenches, and without him realizing, his thigh shakes with the nervous bounces of his leg. Of course, you've been doing alright, out with other people while he waits for you, cries for you, hides all of that for you. He stops his anxious movement before it becomes obvious.

"Just asking..." he can't look at you. "I care about you..." Megumi isn't sure what the intention behind that statement is. A try to reel you back in? Make you realize he has to offer so much more than any fling ever could? Or is it a shot at making you feel guilty, remorseful for breaking his heart at last...

"I know you do," you speak comfortably, a lazy smile around your lips. A lump forms in Megumi's throat. Your eyes finally leave his face, obstructed by his shoulder as you nuzzle yourself against his arm. A sigh falls from your lips with such misplaced comfortability it makes Megumi question if he's dreaming. How can you still be so affectionate?

Your body is warm against him, but it only feels like a heated shell of what once was. Like you're hollowed out, a mere mockery, a fake, a fraud. A heartbreaker. Worse even. Not the person Megumi fell in love with but somehow the person he now can't fall out of love with.

"You're so quiet today..."

Megumi almost flinches when your hand slips under his hoodie, caressing his skin, like you've done a million times before. Like muscle memory. Like love. It takes everything and more in him not to break. It's like watching someone rip a butterfly's wings while smiling - sadistic, inhumane, barbaric. There's a tremble, one he barely notices at first, starting in his abdomen and traveling upwards, settling finitely in his chest.

"Do you ever feel guilty?"

The pain is so great it seems like it's crushing him. Megumi barely recognizes his own voice - shaky, careful - aware its content might be the final straw. You've visibly paused, hand remaining still on his skin, even your breathing has stopped momentarily, and for a moment he allows himself hopefulness. That there's something, anything like guilt, heartache, fear. He feels like his throat is being ripped when you respond like he asked for nothing more than the weather.

"For what?"

He has to swallow, barely managing to. He isn't sure if what came up his throat was bile or an incomprehensible mix of hurt. Megumi's hands shake, even more when you reach out to hold them. How can you be so unkind to the man you claim to love, the man you're holding so tight right now. For a second, Megumi questions your humanity, or if you're a curse sent after him to make him pay for wrongdoings on a cosmic level. There might not be another explanation for you. For this gentle sadism he's become subject to.

His throat is so tight every word hurts, "I know about the others. I always have."

There's silence and Megumi doesn't know how long. He feels stuck in a vacuum, nothing above or below him, only your body, still holding him, still daring to resemble comfort after everything you've done. Everything you're doing.

“If I say it out loud, I think you’ll leave. So I don’t," the words are a whisper like that erases the fact that he did speak it out loud. Like whispers are easier to take back, easier to forget, easier to be claimed as an illusion.

He doesn't look when your eyes cast upwards. Megumi is frightened of your expression, what he might see in your eyes, or what you might see in his. Because despite the ache, he's hopelessly devoted, not ready to leave and instead sit in this vat of acid for as long as his body allows, and even then, Megumi isn't sure he'd have the strength to leave you.

You pick up on his attachment without needing eye contact. If he didn't have any faith left in you, Megumi would have thought there was the shadow of a smile skimming your features. Your sudden movement makes him physically flinch this time.

You sit up and kiss his cheek. Your lips feel like a dagger. You get up, and Megumi recognizes a smile this time, too gentle for the words you're saying. "Then don't say it out loud." Your voice is a familiar comfort, your statement is the opposite.

You leave him there in stunned silence, retreating to the bedroom for yourself, phone held close. A part of him tries to convince him that this didn't just happen, that he's dreaming, imagining, hallucinating. Another part accepts that this is his reality. Until the ache becomes too much to bear - until he yields under the pain or finally rises from the ashes you've reduced him to.

  You and Aki worked two separate jobs, lived in separate apartments on different sides of the city一but that didn’t stop either of you from visiting each other, and to scope out each other’s workplace.

Well, that’s what you should’ve been doing when you arrived to the Public Safety HQ, but you had other, better plans in mind.

As you strolled down the extensive halls, casually greeting any passersby, you looked and searched until you found what you’d consider Aki’s office; you’ve seen the inside quite a few times as well. Usually to drop off his occasionally forgotten lunch and steal a kiss or two. But today, you showed up empty handed, pushing your way inside and allowing the chill of the tidy room to blow over you.

The sight before you triggered a stumble in your heart; there was your boyfriend, brandishing his form-fitting dark suit that you felt no shame in letting your eyes take in. But you noticed that his hair was down this time, and fuck, if you thought he didn’t look sexier you’d be lying through your teeth.

While you were struggling inwardly to maintain your composure, blue eyes snapped upward at the intrusion, but the stony clouds in them dissipated as soon as he recognized your familiar face.

With a soft smile pulling at his lips, Aki rose from his desk and strode over to you. Every step he took, though, your eyes followed一blatantly ogling his body and how each muscle moved, shifting underneath the tux as he used them to reach your side.

“Hey,” he called, his deep voice too sweet for your ears. Aki towered over you, his eyelids heavy with an acute fondness as he let your hand traverse his waistline to rub the small of his back. In return, he wrapped one arm around your shoulder and the other inched its way down to your free hand, fingers curling around it and effectively caging you into him, which you’d always allow.

Continuing to hold onto him, you smiled, letting your chin perch on his chest. “Hey,” you parroted, looking up at him through your eyelashes catching the way his cheeks subtly darkened at the look. But he must’ve caught onto your act because the blush was gone and soon he was skeptical, “So... if I didn’t forget my lunch and you’ve got nothin’ on you, did you just miss me? Or do want something out of me? Is that it?” The dark-haired man peered down at you, but your eyes were elsewhere.

Aki tried to follow your line of sight, “[name], love?” The endearment garnered your attention, but your eyes drifted down to his suit for what felt like the fiftieth time that evening. “What is it?”

“Nothin’ nothin’, I just...” you trailed off, now hiding your face in his chest. “I... I really wanna fuck you on your desk.” The declaration had Aki stuck in place, but you soon felt heat emitting from his body so you shifted around more to hide your giddy smile.

Not that that could ever stop Aki from noting your excitement. He sighed begrudgingly, “[name]. Is that seriously what to came all the way here for? Just to fuck me?” He tried to sound all scolding, but nothing could obscure the way his face burned with a pretty red from merely repeating your request; and how from your position, it did wonders for edging the stubborn tent in his slacks.

But you avoided mentioning that, for now.

“When you put it like that, you make it sound like it isn’t worth the bus fair.” You felt encouraged when he managed to chuckle at that. “Come on, Aki. You look too fine today to pass up the opportunity.” With every word you spoke, you placed chaste kisses on the man’s scorching neck, humming contentedly when the hand on shoulder roughly gripped the fabric of your sweater, and when Aki’s balance started becoming a bit unsavory.

A shaky sigh reached your ears, and soon enough Aki was backing the two of you to the edge of his desk. “Fine,” he murmured. “It’s already about my break, anyway. But just this once. I’ll go along with you. Quietly.” At the sign of a primise you smiled, kissing him, with a “thank you, babe.” But he steered you back in so he could properly reciprocate the kiss, you followed his vigorous lead and let your hands fall to cup his firm ass.

You swallowed up every lovely sound the taller man granted you, each soft moan making you harder and harder by the minute. But with one glance down, it didn’t seem like Aki was too far behind.

Undoing his belt, you disconnected your lips momentarily for a better task. Aki’s breath hitched his throat as his dark eyes watched you crouch to your knees, releasing the man’s dick from the confines of his boxers.

It was an angry, throbbing red; the tip greeted you with streams of precum that you gratefully lapped up, licking the underside of his girth before taking him in whole. A few choked moans and the hand that gripped onto your head only served as encouragement as you bobbed your head on his dick. He could be so sensitive sometimes but that didn’t make you enjoy making him unravel any less.

The next time you looked up at him as you sloppily sucked him off, you found that Aki had unbuttoned his shirt and loosened his tie, allowing for your eyes to greedily eat up the sight of his rosey pecs and sweat-coated abs. You moaned around his dick just as Aki released a groan deep enough to rattle your core. He covered his mouth in a feeble attempt to silence himself as your efforts drew him close.

But of course, you released his dick with a string of saliva connecting its eagerness with your puffy lips. Aki cursed but you moved up to soothe him with a kiss. “Any other time, I would’ve loved for you to come right then and there,” you feigned a sigh, pulling your pants and boxers down enough so your own hardened dick could be met with the chill of the air. “But you can’t come until I’ve gotten to fuck you stupid over this desk.” You fanned away wisps of his bangs as a flabbergasted Aki and his cloudy eyes looked between your own and your awaiting dick.

“Alright. Yeah. That’s fair.” Aki would never admit the pool of arousal that sat in his gut only got bigger. “So, how do you want me?” Even with his chest heaving and legs probably weaker than they’ve ever been, he still asked what you preferred.

You hummed, “On your stomach for me, please.” Aki nodded at the request, but the change of position did nothing to stop his reddening face as he laided across his desk, exposing his behind to you. But this is what you wanted, and he had no difficulty giving it to you.

He knew you were enjoying this, too一the way silence hung in the air for several intervals when your eyes were raking over his ruffled hair, his messy uniform and how it all just filled you with want. The dark-haired man looked to the side bashfully when you then lingered on the expanse of his ass. Although you didn’t want to get too lost in the moment, afterall you only had the man’s break together.

Digging into your pants’ pockets, you fished out a small bottle of lube. Aki’s mouth drops with astonishment, “My god, you fucking asshole.” And then he chuckles at the thought of you being prepared for this, but you shut him up with the feeling of that cold liquid coming into contact with his hot skin. He hisses as you lightly shush him with a kiss to the dimples in his lower back.

He shivers underneath you as the liquid comes drizzling down to catch at his tight hole. Lapping up some of it, you began to circle his rim with two fingers smirking when it twitches under your touch. Aki bucks against the desk when you finally sink your fingers into his heat, you didn’t care that your own face was burning up, but how could you when you wanted to feel that heat around your dick instead. Though you kept to the prep, easing your fingers in and out of him, matching each push with Aki’s faint little moans.

When he shuddered just right, you knew you reached that point, so pressed two fingers against it and chuckled as Aki tried not to moan to loud. He was pushing his ass back, aiming for more of your fingers but you refused; pulling the two digits out before Aki could get carried away.

You took the bottle again and coated your length in lube, giving it a few pumps as you aligned your hips with Aki’s. “I’m about to put in, Aki. You ready?” The man nodded and reached behind himself for your hand. “Of course I am. Please, just fuck me, baby.” He stared back at you, waiting and begging for you to do something.

You gulped and stuttered out a tiny, “will do.” Then you didn’t hold back, making quick work to slide past his entrance and onto Aki’s hot walls, moaning when he clenched around, molding himself perfectly for you. The dark-haired man bit down into his forearm to shield his moans, his knees almost turning into jelly as you made him feel much too full, and the arousal stirring up inside him becoming nearly unbearable.

Once you were nestled inside of him, you pulled out only to slam back inside一you kept up his pattern the sound of your hips meeting was akin to music. Aki let out little calls of your name the harder your thrusts came. You leaned over his broad shoulders to kiss at the nape of his neck, using a free hand to fist Aki’s abandoned dick. He nearly cried out at his, sloopily jutting his hips back and forth to match your actions, and you loved seeing the man’s unfathomable eagerness on full display.

“[n-name]一I’m, fuck, please一” Aki babbled, but you understood every word. Slowing your thrusts down as your rocked your hips, feeling yourself getting close to the edge as well. You didn’t stop Aki as his usually deep voice turned high when he cried, reaching his peak, you kept pump into him until you came inside, filling him up to the brim.

You two laid there catching your breaths. Letting the afterglow from the broad windows wash over you.

A sigh emitted from you as you came down from your orgasm, you sent a cheeky smile to Aki, who laid stiff as bricks underneath you.

“Well, that wasn’t so bad for a first, right?” The question only furthered Aki’s growing post-nut clarity. So instead of answering verbally to face embarrassing teasing, he kicked you in the shin.

꒰♡꒱ end note: i still can’t end fics properly sometimes so i will make a joke, sorry. anyways, ik it’s dumb as hell but this is all i came up with on short notice 💀💀 i have a better aki fic for later i promise.

but i still hope someone could enjoy even though i’m rusty lmfao

"Will you miss me, sensei? When you go back to Kyoto?"

Satoru holds out a little pink packet of candy the size of his hand. He wears a hopeful smile and those trendy round sunglasses that make him look like a polar bear cub. He brightens when you accept his gift with a nod, admiring the cute branding before slipping it into your jacket pocket.

You hum, turning your attention to him from the sunset over the forest encircling the campus. You adjust your legs where you sit on the engawa, leaning back against a wooden pillar and resting your arm over your knee. A can of soda hangs from your fingers. "Of course, Satoru. You're shaping up to become a great sorcerer. That trick you pulled with Suguru today was clever – brawn alone won't win you every fight, so I'm glad you're putting effort into strategising."

He puffs out his chest, pushing his glasses up his nose with a grin. "I took your words to heart... even though I could have won with strength alone. Still, it was a good challenge. Don't you wish I were your student, sensei?" He strikes a pose and tosses up a peace sign, making you smile. "I'd make your class average go up since I'm smart and strong."

"That's true. I've heard from your teachers that you like to slack off, though, and you drag your classmates into it. Not sure that's in your best interests."

"I wouldn't if you were my teacher. The ones here talk so slow and boring. I know most of the stuff anyway, so what's bad about napping a little?"

"Well, if you're doing fine with the content, then I don't see much of an issue. The bosses send you out far too often and I know how late you can return, so it's good to catch up on sleep. Though I wish they'd ease up on you – you're still kids, after all." You shake your head. "I digress. I have more of a problem with how you distract your classmates. Don't you think that's unfair to them?"

Satoru pouts, taking a seat next to you and tucking his knees up to his chest. He wraps his arms around his bare legs, wiggling his toes in his slides. "It's their fault for not ignoring me."

"They wouldn't have to ignore you if you weren't doing anything."

"Stop poking holes in my argument. That's mean, sensei."

You laugh softly, raising the can of soda to your lips. Condensation gathers in little droplets down the colourful brand art. "Alright, alright. I'll stop harping on about it – you probably get enough of that with your teachers." You settle down more comfortably. "Have you been taking care of yourself, Satoru? Three proper meals a day?"

He blinks. It's been a long time since anyone's asked him how he was. Every letter from his clan only requested updates regarding his technique and whether or not he'd gotten stronger, better, more efficient – he doesn't want to admit it, but on bad days, the weight of their expectations grows heavy. They can call him a natural prodigy all they like, but having to figure everything out by himself is anything but easy.

You watch him patiently, a soft concern in your gaze which you don't try to hide. His heart flutters. It feels good to be cared about. To be... seen. 

"Yeah, 'm okay," he murmurs, pressing his cheek into the tops of his knees. "Just tired sometimes. I get headaches if I leave my eyes uncovered too long, or even if I just focus too hard. Hope I'll get it under control before graduating – it'd be such a pain to deal with that every single day."

"I'm sure you will, Satoru. You're resilient. More than you know." You offer a smile that's so trusting and wholehearted that Satoru knows you aren't lying. He finds himself smiling back.

"Thanks, sensei," he breathes, giggling shyly. It's almost pitiful how much you affect him. He scratches the back of his head. "I'll really miss you when you leave tomorrow. Can't you transfer campuses? I promise I'll be quiet in your classes. I'll even, like, raise my hand to answer questions. I never do that, by the way. But I would for you."

You chuckle softly and reach over to ruffle his soft white hair. He pouts, whining, but doesn't stop you. When you retract your hand, he finds himself leaning towards you, subconsciously searching for your touch. He stops before he topples over.

"You know I can't. I have family in Kyoto. Even if I didn't, I think spreading our strength across the country is better than piling it all in one place, no? We can protect more people that way."

He hums non-committally, disappointed but not too upset by your refusal; he can't expect you to change your mind just because he asks for the twentieth time, though it'd be nice if that happened. It's a net win, anyway – he likes the sound of your laughter and the warmth of your smile. You're patient and gentle, and god knows he needs that.

"Do you have a wife?" he asks suddenly. "Children?"

You tilt your head. "Hm? No. Where'd that question come from?"

He shrugs, gnawing back an ecstatic grin. "You just seem like the kind of guy to have some. I mean, you're really nice... and handsome. Thought someone woulda snatched you up like that." He snaps his fingers.

"Oh – well, thank you, Satoru," you laugh, pleasantly surprised. "But I travel far too much to make my own family. It would be cruel – not to mention difficult – to lie to someone about what I do, too."

"You want to marry a normie?" He frowns. "What's wrong with sorcerers?"

You laugh suddenly, a little flustered. "Ah, I don't know why I didn't think of that.... I suppose I could, but clans don't take well to people who don't come from one. Nothing is gained in those partnerships. Honestly, I wouldn't really want to marry into a clan – their drama sounds ridiculously tiring from everything you've told me."

"I wouldn't want you to, either. They have a way of sapping the joy out of life. Maybe they feed off it or something – it would explain why my clan elders look so much older and wrinklier than any old person I've seen on the street." He sighs, resting the back of his hand against his forehead dramatically. "Ugh, I'm really sad that you're leaving me so soon, sensei...! You're so dependable. Feels like I can trust you with anything."

You hum, patting his back sympathetically. His skin prickles with pleasant warmth under his t-shirt.  "Don't worry, I'll be back next year. Time will fly by in the blink of an eye. After that, you'll be a fully-fledged sorcerer, and we might run into each other more around the workplace! Doesn't that sound fun?"

Satoru grins, nodding. He shuffles closer, exploiting your hand on his shoulder to lean against your side, tucking himself in there as if it's home. Your hand shifts to his other shoulder in a more comfortable position, and giddiness bubbles in his chest – it's as if you're cuddling, he thinks gleefully.

"Yeah," he sighs contentedly, watching the golden sun dip below the treetops. "Crazy to think we'll be co-workers soon. Felt like it was just yesterday that I got detention for being late for my first ever class. Time flies, huh?"

"High school's hectic, even without all the jujutsu. It's not unusual to feel that way." Finishing off your drink, you let out a soft grunt as you stand up, dusting off your trousers. You offer Satoru a brief smile. "Now that I think about it... What do you think of heading to a restaurant tonight? My treat – it's Friday. It bothers me to see you kids get swamped with the same amount of work they give me – you deserve to have some fun, relax, make the most of your youth. Maybe we could try out some karaoke afterwards? I'm pretty good, in my humble opinion."

An off-campus dinner? With you? Satoru needs to do his laundry right fucking now. He also needs to break out the ironing board, and the leather shoe polish, and his favourite cologne. But did you have preferences? Did you like stronger scents or clean ones? Floral? Vanilla? Wood?

You're still looking at him.

To his great embarrassment, he has to consciously close his mouth, his jaw gone slack. He flushes red, stuttering – your eyes crinkle in amusement.

"Dinner? W-With you? Absolutely I'd want that, holy fuck! I-I mean—" He clears his throat. "Yes. That sounds great. Thanks, sensei."

"Anytime," you laugh as he tugs and twists his hair, just for something to do with his hands. He'd bury his face in them otherwise. "Do you mind letting the other Tokyo students know? I'll tell my kids as well. I wonder if I could rope Yaga into chaperoning, too... Nah. I can look after a handful of teens. You're all well-behaved – I think."

Satoru tries not to show the way he deflates. You're inviting everyone? Damn it. There go his dreams of being hand-fed canapés under golden lights in a private booth.

"Okay," he mumbles dejectedly, only to brighten immediately – like a light switch flicked on – when you pat his head fondly. He beams, cheeks dusted pink.

As you card your fingers through his hair, he melts into your touch, and you chuckle at the sight of him butting his head into your hand like an affectionate cat. "What a sweetheart. Tell you what, Satoru – why don't we eat dinner together in the school holidays? I can come down to Tokyo. If you like, no one else has to come. You can tell me what's on your mind and ask for advice, and I'll do my best to help. You won't have to clam up because of the company."

He stares up at you with large blue eyes. You think he's disappointed because he wanted private career counselling? While you couldn't be further from the truth, it does make his heart squeeze unreasonably tight. He's Gojo Satoru, the most powerful sorcerer alive, reputed as perfect and confidently assured in everything... Yet here you are, treating him like a normal high school student with fears and worries of his own. You want him to eat good food, get enough sleep, and do well in classes. Yes, he's strong, but you neither worship him nor coddle him.

With you, he's not the Six Eyes. Not the Limitless. He's just Satoru, loud and mischievous with an obsession for anything sweet.

You refuse to let him crumble to weight and pain like so many of your peers have. You watched them isolate themselves and wave off your concern with a scoff, just to be haunted by what they run from. Because they are protectors, they can't show vulnerability, lest others begin to doubt them.

"Really?" Satoru whispers, and as much as he wants to, he can't set aside the churning emotion in his chest for simple boyish excitement over an intimate dinner.

You care for him. You really, really care for him, seeing beyond the weapon that he is.

You nod, leaning against the pillar on the engawa with one hand in your pocket. "I think you'd benefit from it. My students tell me I fret like a mother hen, but I get the feeling that having a real, honest chat with someone would do you some good. Of course, if you don't care for that kind of talk, we can always just catch up. What do kids like these days? Movies? Super Mario?"

"I like Digimon," he says softly.

"Digimon? That's different from Pokémon, right?"

He nods, still wide-eyed. Suddenly, he throws himself at you, arms wrapping tightly around your middle. He buries his head in your chest.

You laugh, startled, but you rest your arms around his shoulders anyway. "Satoru? Everything okay?"

"'M just really gonna miss you, sensei," he sniffles, his voice thick with emotion. "Damn it, it's so not fair that Kyoto gets you every day! Those dummies don't deserve you."

"Don't be mean, Satoru," you chastise, patting his back gently. "I'm not vanishing off the face of the earth, you know. You'll see me again."

"Next year's way too long," he mutters, arms tightening around you. "Even Christmas is too far. But you promise you'll come down then, right? I'm staying on campus so I'll be free every single day." Just for you, he doesn't say. "Isn't like I'll have anything more important to do."

"Then I'll let your principal know a few weeks in advance and ask him to tell you the date. That alright?"

He pulls back and nods eagerly, his thousand-watt smile almost blinding. Date! You said date! Not in the way he wishes it was, but he'll be getting ready at the asscrack of dawn regardless. He's already thinking up outfit ideas and fretting about his 'needed-a-cut-a-month-ago' hair.

He feels like he's on cloud nine. Surely Suguru won't mind being kidnapped for an hour or three while he gushes about you like a lovesick idiot, right?

—

Ten years later, Satoru stands in front of a small, mossy shrine a few steps off the forest path. Below the mountain sits the beleaguered village, quiet at this time of night and heavy with superstitious fear. Apparently they're being haunted by a grade one curse, but if Satoru is being honest, he's having a hard time coaxing it out of hiding so he can validate those reports. It seems that it only comes out when it stands a chance against unarmed and frail old villagers.

With a long-suffering sigh, he kicks a tuft of grass and shoves his hands into his pockets, scrunching his nose up at the scent of someone cooking a really good soup, carried up the hill by the rustling wind.

"Ugh, I'm hungry," he whines to the open air, nearly stomping his foot during his tantrum. "Can you just come out, already? I'm going to die of starvation before you manage to do anything. Ughhh."

Suddenly, a hand pops over his shoulder, holding an unusual-looking talisman between two fingers. He glances at it, surprised.

"Burn it," you say simply. You smile, those oh-so familiar eyes of yours crinkling with mirth. "Hello, Satoru. Been a while, hasn't it?"

Satoru stares. Then, with an excited squeal, he launches himself into your arms, kicking his feet up behind him and putting his whole weight on you. You don't stumble or even have to shift your footing, simply wrapping one arm around his middle with a hum.

"Sensei!" he gasps, feet paddling in the air. "Oh my god, hi! Hello! I missed you so much, sensei, you don't even know!"

You chuckle, a soft rumble that reverberates through your chest and sends shivers up Satoru's spine. Your hair is dashed frosty silver through your temples, and the crow's feet around your eyes are deeper when you laugh – Satoru's heart races even faster.

You smell good, too, your cologne warm and inviting with notes of cedarwood. You've changed it in the last ten years; it used to be lighter – blue – and it's not so much a betrayal of his memory of you than it is a logical evolution. You're older now, calmer. Makes sense that your signature smell is less 'soda on the beach' and more 'coffee by the fireplace'.

He's getting ahead of himself. He never did manage to catch you in the workplace – you were needed wherever he was not, and those assignments rarely overlapped.

"Hey, kid," you greet, releasing your hold on your cursed energy. Once it's no longer suppressed, Satoru recognises you immediately, warm and constant like a good hug, and his grin grows wider as he giggles and tightens his arms around your shoulders. "You havin' trouble with this curse?"

"No," he denies immediately, trying to ignore how your voice is rougher now than when you were a teacher. There's a low, pleasant gravel to it – he assumes it isn't a permanent change. Probably just tiredness, given the plane ticket stub poking out of your pocket. London? Geez. He can sympathise with those long flight hours.

He continues, "It's just embarrassed 'cause it's so much weaker than me. Where'd you get the talisman?"

"Someone from the village gave it to me. Said it was how they began their prayers to ensure the gods were listening. Try it their way – rites like this usually contain pieces of truth."

The case file never mentioned local customs. It also advised staying away from the villagers because they were snappy and suspicious of outsiders and would impede a sorcerer's work – you appeared to ignore that paragraph completely. Getting difficult people to work with you seemed to be your specialty.

Reluctantly, Satoru puts his feet back on the ground, taking the offered paper talisman and inspecting it. It doesn't seem particularly interesting, certainly not like it could summon a cursed spirit, but he's seen much weirder things. Maybe all the weirdness has been like exposure therapy for him, because he doesn't even question the idea.

"Did the higher-ups send you?" he asks curiously as he snaps his fingers and lights the paper on fire. It burns efficiently, bright orange swallowing curled blackened edges until only a corner remains. Satoru lets go, and the flames consume the remnants of the fluttering talisman before it touches the ground.

"Mm. Apparently, you've been acting extra rebellious recently, which they don't think too highly of. I'm here to supervise and report back." You push one hand into the pocket of your casual clothes. Satoru feels a flicker of annoyance spark in his chest. Can't they let you at least go home to shower after a fourteen-hour flight?

"Oh, that! Ha-ha. Did you hear about Sukuna's vessel?"

Recognition flashes in your gaze. "Yes, actually. That's part of the reason why they requested my return so suddenly. They say you've delayed the kid's execution until he consumes every finger. Is that true?"

"Affirmative," he says, playfully saluting. "He's my student at the Tokyo campus. You can't have him."

"I wouldn't want him in Kyoto, anyway. Gakuganji would probably try to kill him in his sleep, and I'm no longer there to oppose him." You glance around when your skin prickles. The wind whispers through the dark branches, picking up speed. "Feel that?"

"Yup," he says, popping the 'p' as cursed energy gathers in the air. He grins, eyes sparkling under his blindfold. He loops his arm through yours and grabs your hand, trying not to giggle nervously at the feeling of your muscles beneath your shirt. You're so tall and broad... Your thigh's the size of his waist, he realises as you stand shoulder-to-shoulder. He blushes so hard he feels dizzy.

He stands up on his toes to whisper in your ear. "Can you kill it for me, sensei?" he pleads, a cute pout on his glossy lips. Of course he'd wear lipgloss to a rural countryside exorcism. "I'm scared."

You give him a look. "No, you're not."

He blows a raspberry. "I'm tired?"

"You're not."

"Senseiii," he whines, tugging your sleeve as the curse manifests from the shadowy undergrowth, too many eyes flicking and rolling white like a terrified horse. "Please kill it for me! It's so ugly I'm gonna cry. I really will! You don't want your favourite student to cry, do you?"

You can't help but smile as Satoru cowers behind your shoulder, peeking out behind your arm and giving a dramatic little yelp when the curse scuttles closer on long, spider-like legs. A dozen eyes blink open on the legs, all pivoting towards you.

"Ew! Ew ew ew, sensei, it's getting closer!"

"Alright, alright, you big baby. Stay here," you chuckle, patting his spiky white hair. He pouts up at you as you mess it up, whining miserably.

"Hey! I spent a long time on that!"

You drop his hand. He opens his mouth to bawl about it, but his words get stuck in his throat as you dash towards the bus-sized curse.

You're barely a blur as you fight, and Satoru doesn't flinch as an insectoid leg goes flying over his head and pierces a tree behind him, making its roots shudder in the earth. He waves his hands like he's at a concert, smoothly sidestepping a section of carapace as it sails past him like a frisbee. "Whoa! Go, sensei, go! Ten outta ten, what a thrilling performance!" He claps as he watches you exorcise the curse, pinning its writhing body under a boot and wrenching off its head with a grunt and a flex of your biceps. Your jacket sleeves are putting up a better fight than the curse.

You toss the head aside with a deep sigh and step away. You glance up, wiping purple blood off your cheek with a playful wink. "Who's your daddy?" you tease, beckoning him closer with a curl of your fingers.

His knees almost give out from under him.

Satoru's on you before the curse dissolves into nothingness – he wraps his arms around yours, propping his chin on the corner of your shoulder. "You are," he says dreamily, nearly tripping over himself as you begin to walk back down the hill side-by-side. "Ahh, you're so cool, sensei... You saved my life."

You toss your head back to laugh, and Satoru's blush darkens as he admires your features. He's never been gladder for the blindfold as his gaze trails down to your lips. "You don't have to call me that anymore, Satoru. We're co-workers now, aren't we?"

He swings your hand in his own, taking little skipping steps so he brushes against you more often. "It feels weird to call you by your first name, and last names are so formal... I like calling you sensei."

You hum. "Alright, if that's what you prefer. Oh – I nearly forgot. I've got some news for you."

"You got married?" he says immediately, devastated. He clamps your arm closer to his chest.

"No, Satoru," you laugh, "I'm still single. No, I'll be based in Tokyo until Sukuna is defeated. I'm residing on campus. That's my news. I guess you got your wish after all, hm?"

Silence. Then an ear-piercing wail.

"Senseiii...!" he cries. Without a moment's notice, Satoru jumps into your arms, wrapping his limbs around you and burying his face in your shoulder where your cologne is strongest. "Sensei, this is amazing! 'M never letting you leave ever again! Never ever, okay?"

Chuckling softly, you pause to set him down. You continue towards the car on the edge of the village together, with him skipping along as he grasps your sleeve. When you try to unravel your arms to reach for your keys, however, he makes a distressed noise, locking his limbs tighter around you.

He really is a big baby, you think fondly. Shifting Satoru to free up your side, you eventually get the passenger door open and slide him inside, guiding him down on the leather seat as gently as a princess. He beams up at you, happily belting himself in, and hunts down the AUX cord in the glove box as you close his door and round the car to the driver's side.

He blasts S&M by Rihanna and half a dozen Lady Gaga songs on the ride back to campus. You wonder if he's trying to tell you something.

—

Satoru has been having the time of his life. Not even the situation regarding Sukuna could bring him down – he skips through the halls like a character in a musical, smile widening and his demeanour shifting whenever he crosses your path. He never denies the opportunity to run up to you and ramble about anything and everything, even walking in a completely opposite direction to his goal just to linger a little longer by your side.

If he had any shame, it'd be horrifically pathetic behaviour. He's lucky you think it's sweet.

Late one night, Satoru is alone in his office cubby, systematically grading tests. The room is silent, not a single soul left, and all he can hear is the scratch of his pen and his own breathing.

A gentle knock resounds at the door. "Hey, Satoru."

He perks up at the sound of your voice, a smile automatically creeping across his face. He clicks his pen and twists in his office chair. "Oh! Hi, sensei. It's late, you know. What're you doing here?"

You lift a brow, entering the room. The door swings shut behind you. "I was about to ask you the same thing. You doing alright?"

He nods agreeably. "Yep, peachy. Just couldn't really sleep, and I thought getting a head start on my work would be more productive than four hours of phone time in bed. If I had any more than a handful of students, though, phone time sounds infinitely more manageable."

Humming, you step closer and reach out to place a white plastic bag on his desk. The ends are tied to make bunny ears. "Quite mature of you. I, uh, brought you some food – I didn't see you eat today, and while I know you could've just teleported elsewhere for lunch, I just couldn't shake the thought. You don't often buy proper meals when you're alone, either – it's always candy or sweet treats, things easily eaten on the go. Plus, I remember how much you liked yakisoba, so..."

You trail off your rambles, nudging the bag closer toward him. He continues to stare at you, lips parted, as you push your hands into your pockets and rock on your heels. Heat crawls up his neck.

"You noticed that?" he asks softly, tilting his head and sitting straighter in his chair.

"Of course I noticed – when you're the only one not eating, it makes you stand out a little. You can always keep the food for tomorrow, but I thought I'd just pop by. You have a lot on your plate and I wanted to make sure you're not burning yourself out."

How were you so perfect? In this cruel world where human lives are currency and children are taught to kill, how did you manage to retain such gentleness? Such... humanity?

It was easy to forget he was a person. People turned to him for reassurance and safety, turning him into something bigger than life: a protector, a saviour, a shield. Sometimes he fears he'll lose himself – his morals, his opinions on mundane things, everything that makes him human – and become something as scary as Tengen: alive for one purpose. Sequestered away until needed. Known only for what they can provide.

Alone until the end.

Satoru stands, placing his pen down, and wraps his arms around you. He doesn't jump on you, doesn't squeeze you until you wheeze – just a firm, gentle hug, every available inch of him pressed against you as if to lock you in place and keep you from leaving.

He sniffles. Silly Satoru. You'll never leave when he needs you.

"Hey?" You place your hands on his back, patting him. "Not getting sentimental over some street food, are we?"

"I am," he laughs wetly. He buries his face in your shoulder. "I'm crying over yakisoba. It's so stupid."

Even this is a little embarrassing for Satoru. He really had no walls at all around you – just pure unguarded openness.

Your arms close around him, stroking his shoulder. "Don't be ridiculous. A good meal is worth crying over."

He laughs again, airy and soft. He gives you one last squeeze before stepping back, his fingers dropping until they entwine shyly with your own. You glance down at them, but don't pull away.

"Can you stay with me, sensei? Just for a bit. I don't really wanna be alone right now," he murmurs.

You tilt your head at him, watching him closely. He swings your hands between your bodies idly.

"Alright," you agree, reaching up to rest a hand on his shoulder. You squeeze, offering a reassuring smile, and move past him to steal a neighbouring chair. You cruise your fingers over the bookshelf against the wall, picking out some academic text about the Tokyo region's topography at random. "I'll go before midnight, though, and I'm not leaving you here. Trust me when I say that overtime like this isn't a habit you want to make."

He nods, sitting back down and opening up the plastic bag. He peeks inside and lets out a satisfied sigh as he reaches in, rustling around for the disposable chopsticks and pulling out the clear plastic box, warm to the touch. "I won't. Thanks, sensei."

Cracking open the book, you settle into the chair. "Anytime, Satoru."

As promised, an hour later, you pull Satoru away from his desk. You place a hand on his back to keep him from running off, and he trots happily by your side as you lead him towards your car. He doesn't use one regularly on account of his abilities, generally finding them time-consuming and restricting. So many rules to obey.

For you, though, he'd suffer through anything.

He pulls you past the threshold of his apartment before you can protest; he shuts the door and leans back against it so you can't escape. He wears an unusually apprehensive expression.

"Sensei," he begins softly. "Can I ask you something?"

Your attention flicks down to his arms, folded around his middle. Self-soothing? "What is it, Satoru?"

Technically, he's just kidnapped you. Into his house. You don't seem particularly concerned despite the fact that he could spaghettify you in a blink.

He sighs, nibbling on his lower lip. He tugs his blindfold below his chin and ruffles his hair, stunning blue eyes flitting over your features with full clarity. His cheeks warm. "I think you know already that I really like you... as something other than a friend or co-worker."

"Oh. I do, yes."

Your lack of judgement bolsters his confidence. He straightens up, taking a deep breath. "So... if I were to, um, ask to kiss you... what would you do?"

Your eyes widen, and you pause to mull it over. He holds his breath. Then you offer a small shrug. "Why don't you find out?"

"Really? You mean it?" His heart somersaults when you nod. He barely refrains from jumping for joy. "C-Can I kiss you, YN-san?"

"Sure, Satoru." Your eyes are soft, obliging. "You may."

Like a little firework, he launches forward, lips crashing against yours. You catch him like always, but this time you place your hands on his waist in new, intimate ways.

It's happening. It's really happening. He tilts his head to deepen the kiss, making you hum softly and raise your hand to rest in the small of his back.

When you part, Satoru wears the widest, giddiest smile you've ever seen on him. It beats the time when he demolished your entire second-year class during training – you were watching and even congratulated him on his improvements afterwards. He pants softly, glancing down at your lips hopefully.

"You kiss well," you say approvingly, and Satoru nearly melts on the spot. "Have you had much experience?"

"Just a couple times. None were as important as this." He flashes a nervous smile. "This is the first time where it matters what the other person thinks."

"Oh, please. You'll make me blush." You rest your palms low on his waist, massaging his hipbone. "Satoru, are you sure you want me?" you ask in a low, careful murmur. "I'm old enough to be your father."

"Please don't say that if you want me to stay away. It has the opposite effect."

You bark out a laugh and shake your head in disbelief. He grins in return. "You're something else, Satoru. Something else entirely."

He answers with another kiss. God, he remembers dreaming about this every night, wishing he could see you more than once a year. That innocent desire faded with time, but recently, upon your return, he's been plagued with reckless dreams of a bare-chested figure above him, pressing him into the sheets and making him take and take and take until he wakes in a hot rush, breaths sharp and laboured. He can never quite remember the face, but those strong, large hands cradling him are unmistakable. All he's left with are a needy ache and a name: daddy.

It's fucked up, Satoru thinks as he plays with your silver-dashed hair, well-maintained. He gasps as you push him back against the door with a quiet thud, moaning against your lips. It's so fucked up that he chases your authority even when you're equals.

There's probably quite a bit to unpack there, but what does it matter? You're kissing him, and you're letting him feel you up under your t-shirt. That's enough of a dopamine rush to tide him over for the next few weeks.

He can feel the strength rippling beneath his touch, your muscles flexing as he pushes your shirt higher to expose your stomach and chest, and he pulls away to admire them with a debauched moan. With a shaking hand, he reaches for your lower stomach. Your skin is warm – he traces your happy trail with awe, breath hitching when his fingers dip into your belt. Dazed, he cups your chest in one hand and plays with your happy trail in the other.

"Having fun?" you murmur, amused.

Satoru blinks himself out of his trance. He turns bright red. "S-Sorry! You're just so—" He gestures vaguely towards you. "Big..."

"Yeah?" Teasingly, you place his hand on the front of your jeans, making him whine softly at the implication. You kiss the spot below his ear. "Does that excite you?"

He nods so hard his head threatens to fall off. You laugh, crow's feet deepening, and Satoru nearly forgets his name.

"Cute," you comment, tucking his hair behind his ear as you brace a hand against the door by his head, a classic pose he's sure you're doing on purpose to make him yelp. "What do you want me to do to you tonight, Satoru? Remember, tomorrow's still a weekday. Can't have you limping everywhere."

Weekday? Who cares if it's a weekday? Satoru's not giving up this chance. "Want you to fuck me," he whispers, gulping as you nibble at the side of his neck. It tickles and pinches, and heat zips down his spine and pools between his legs. "Want it hard and rough."

"Didn't I say I don't want you limping tomorrow?" You lift a brow.

Satoru clutches the front of your shirt, whining as he presses his lips against yours to sweeten the deal. "I can heal it," he protests, though he knows he won't. Why break what you fix? "Please. I'll be good."

Your eyes flash, and his heart skips a beat. You liked that.

"That so?" you mutter, hand tightening on his hip. "You gonna be a good boy for me, Satoru?"

He swallows the whine that threatens to slip out. He bobs his head desperately. "Mhm, your good boy! I'll do whatever you want as long as you fuck me. Want you to make me yours."

"Mine," you repeat, playing with a lock of his snowy hair. Your eyes flicker to his. "Could you handle being mine? Just look at you – delicate little thing, already hard from a couple of kisses. Might end up breaking you if I'm not careful."

His fists twist in your shirt, knuckles white. He's already panting hard, deep pools of blue fixed on you. His hips shuffle against your thigh, and he squeezes his eyes shut with a choked whimper as you press roughly into him.

You tilt his chin up with your finger and rest your temple against his, your lips brushing his ear. "Cat got your tongue, baby?"

His hips jerk, his cock throbbing in his pants. He gnaws on his inner cheek, grinding roughly into your denim-clad thigh. The inside of his zipper digs into his shaft. "Hn – s-sorry... I can han-handle it. You can break me... i-if you want," he whispers. "As long as I can keep kissing you, I don't mind what you do to me."

He's going to be the death of you.

"Satoru." Your voice is gentler now. He blinks, straightening slightly. "Is this your first time?"

He squeaks, trying valiantly to push aside his lust to dig up the correct memory. "Ah, y-yeah... I never had time to go all the way with someone." He peers up at you from beneath snowy white lashes. "I like that you'll be my first, though. I want you to take control."

"You like giving in to me, do you?"

He bites his lower lip and nods, playing with your collar as he gazes up at you. "Mhm. Makes me feel good."

"Oh, I can do that."

Satoru grins and leans up to kiss you, hands resting on your biceps, and he lets out a soft moan as you tug his clothes off and toss them over the nearest barstool by the kitchen island. Soon he's down to just his socks; he'd tried something similar with you, but he'd gotten completely distracted when your shirt came off. He couldn't stop touching you long enough to shed your clothes.

He squirms against the back of his front door, gasping as you hike one of his legs over your hip. He flinches when your jeans rub against his bare, swollen cock, the rough material and cold steel zipper sending sparks up his spine.

You admire his cock, sweetly flushed and leaking. You take it into your hand and his heel digs into the back of your leg as you pump him, smearing his pre into the hollow of your fist and making the glide wetter and easier. You lean in and kiss him – his eyes flutter shut.

His back arches as you squeeze his length. He sucks in a sharp breath, moaning into your mouth. Scrambling, he reaches for your belt and fumbles it open. "Ah, fuckfuckfuck – your hand feels really good—"

You glance down at his throbbing, leaky cock in your palm, engulfed completely. If you close your fist, you can't see it at all. Satoru gulps, stomach flexing at the sight, and precome dribbles down his tip. He lifts his eyes pleadingly, tugging ineffectively at your belt with clammy hands.

"So needy," you say – not meanly, but Satoru's gut still clenches – and you use one hand to flick your belt buckle free. Immediately, he moves on to your zipper. "I've barely touched you."

"I just—" he stutters as he reaches into your jeans, gliding against the warm bulge that fills his palm. "Don't be mean, sensei."

You chuckle. "Alright, princess." You don't give him time to respond before you grasp his wrist, pulling it out of your pants. "Let's not have your first time in the hallway. Bedroom?"

You can't keep doing this to him! Talking about breaking him, calling him princess, then being all gentlemanly about his first time? He's going to die! Or come. He's not sure yet.

Satoru's head bobs in assent as he takes you by the hand, dragging you hastily through his apartment. It's smaller than you thought he'd go for, cosier – and it's not a penthouse, which also comes as a surprise, given his wealth. Eight floors up, he's far enough from the street to not be constantly assaulted by the sounds of traffic, but not so high that all he sees are clouds and flashing neon billboards.

As you step into his bedroom, you wonder if you're the first person he's allowed inside. He hastily shoves unfolded laundry into his closet and shuts the door before it can fall out, then pulls you down onto the bed, leaning up to kiss you.

"Do you have protection?" he asks, a little nervously. He's never said those words in his life, and saying them now makes it all the more real. "I mean, I could probably alter Infinity to act like it, but I've never tried that before so—"

With a grin, you pull a black square from your wallet. He sighs in relief.

"Oh, good, thank god. Yeah, what was I thinking, using Infinity as a condom? Ha-ha, that was embarrassing..."

You move closer, letting him tug at your jeans. "Innovation isn't weird, Satoru."

He pouts as he slides your pants down your thighs. "Don't call it innovation... 'S far too clean a word for what I wanted to do with it."

"Maybe it's my age talking, but you get shy over the smallest of things. Funny, for someone who acts so shameless with others. Didn't you beg one of your coworkers to take you out to dinner?"

His cock jerks. "Don't... Don't keep talking about your age. Please."

"Hm?" Your gaze rakes his slender body, and you take his jaw firmly in one hand, lifting his face so he can't avoid your eyes. His breathing stutters as he grasps your wrist, eyes wide. Your voice is low, a warning. "Did my boy just try telling me what to do?"

His mouth waters and he swallows harshly, gripping his own thigh so hard he leaves red crescents in his skin. "No. No, sir, I'm sorry."

His voice is breathy, easily dispersed in the cool bedroom air. You inspect him, checking for lies, but you find nothing that indicates he's only saying what you want to hear. Those big shiny eyes tell you that he truly is remorseful.

Satoru seems surprised when you let go of his jaw without punishment. He squeaks when you grab one ankle in each hand and tug his legs apart. Instinctively, he tries to pull his thighs together, only to moan when you yank them apart with more force.

Kneeling at the end of the bed, you pry his pale thighs open and examine him coolly. He whimpers and covers his face, already growing hot with embarrassment, and his pink hole twitches as it comes into contact with the air.

"What's this, princess?" Your thumb presses against his puffy rim, shiny with lube. His breath catches in his throat. "Did you plan on bringing someone home tonight? Tsk tsk, Satoru. I thought you liked me."

He mewls as your thumb threatens to slip inside. He shakes his head, burying himself in too many pillows. "No! No. I just – I t-touched myself a bit, okay? When I couldn't sleep. It didn't, um, w-work..."

"So you're a filthy little thing, then."

"No!" He sounds devastated. He sniffles behind his hands. "Nnh... Y-You're so mean, sir..."

"Oh, sweetheart." You sigh, feigning disappointment. "Did you even manage to come?"

He bites his lip and shakes his head meekly.

"Why? Fingers not long enough?" Teasingly, you entwine your hand with his, and he shudders as yours envelops his wholly. He's not small by any means, but fuck... He can't even speak.

"How about I give you something smaller to start with, then?" you hum lightly. "Give you a little taste-test?"

He whimpers. He clutches your arms and nods so intensely he makes himself dizzy. You smile and peck his nose.

You drag him towards you and flip him over with just your hands, making a soft cry spill from his lips at the show of strength. He gasps as you spread his ass with your palms and lean closer, your intentions made crystal clear. His insides clench as your tongue – hot, wet, and firm – begins to circle his rim.

"Oh," he gasps, hips jerking backwards onto your face. His arms tremble beneath him. "Oh, mmh – f-feels weird, feels really weird!"

"Just relax, sweetheart. When you get over the embarrassment and focus on the pleasure, you'll feel better. I promise."

He's glad you can't see his face. He mumbles, "I-It already feels good..."

"See? Already doing so well for me. Don't be nervous. I got you."

He moans as your tongue flicks against his hole lightly, tempting him to push his hips back to chase more. He caves to the desire, sighs and gasps escaping his lips as you spread his cheeks and bury your face in his ass.

Your stubble scratches pleasingly against his soft, sensitive inner thighs. It sends hot sparks up his spine and out to his limbs, making his toes curl and his fingers dig into the bedsheets. You press into him deeper and your tongue slips inside his rim.

His back arches. He lets out a sharp sob, fisting the sheets so hard they threaten to rip. He shoves his hips back, your writhing tongue reaching new depths and making his cock spurt. 

"Mmh, daddy!"

Immediately, he claps a hand over his mouth, horrified. He glances over his shoulder, but you're not glaring at him in disgust. In fact, you haven't pulled away at all, and the only reason he knows that you heard is because of the way you suddenly eat him out more fervently, hands pushing and pulling at his creamy thighs and ass until his legs are shaking. You groan into his skin, hungrier the more you devour him, and Satoru keens, burying his face into the sheets to hide the heat in it.

Heart pounding in his chest, his lips part, quivering with nerves as his voice comes out in a whisper. "'M gonna c-come, daddy..."

In response, he receives a low, raspy groan and a tongue that thrusts deeper inside him, licking the inner edge of his rim. It's joined soon by your thumb – he mewls as it slowly pushes in and pulls out, gently stretching him open.

The pleasure and the shame light a fire in his stomach, ecstasy hot, heavy, and sharp like a poker. His body feels uncharacteristically weak, disobeying his orders to hold steady – it's all he can do to stay propped up on his hands and knees, his hips twitching shyly to force your tongue deeper inside him.

You pull away and a sound of distress pierces the room, high and desperate. He burns red. It's far louder than he expected.

"Easy, princess," you chuckle, licking your lips and dragging your thumb over the corner of your mouth. His hole feels wet and tender, hypersensitive – there's a lingering tingle on his inner thighs where the scratch of your stubble had him clenching and shoving his ass into your face.

He shudders, lips jutted out in forlorn shame as the depravity of his own actions catches up to him. You're eating his ass. His dick is inches away from your face – the one he's imagined countless times kissing him all over and telling him how loved he is. It feels corrupting, taking his dreams and twisting them into icky fantasies about his dick in your mouth and his come on your broad chest.

He squeezes his eyes shut, panting harder as you press two fingers, then three, inside him to the first knuckle. No, Satoru, don't imagine coming on your face! Don't imagine your face buried below his cock!

Fuck. He's imagining it. His dick pulses in time with his heartbeat as his nails claw the sheets, a string of sobbed whines torn from his throat. He arches like a cat, hips chasing your mouth with trembling jerky movements, and comes like a truck, nearly screaming as your hand swiftly attaches to his cock and jerks him off. He shudders, eyes damp and blurry, as each movement, backwards or forwards, brings him to a new high. 

Finally, he collapses onto the bed, arms too weak to hold himself up. You pull away, kissing his twitching hole, and gently guide him to lie on his back, his long legs limp and spread apart. His flushed, pretty cock twitches against his pale stomach, a messy trail of come shiny all the way up to his chest. His lip quivers when you roll the condom over your length, his dick jerking to life and already weeping.

Huh. Youths these days have so much energy.

He sighs in pleasure as you settle between his legs and lean down to kiss him, making him taste himself on your tongue. He moans with reddened cheeks.

"Good boy, baby, you did so well for me," you murmur, and he shudders hard, gripping your shoulders. He glances down, swallowing the gathering saliva in his mouth. You're not wearing any pants. You catch him staring and you grin as you take yourself into one hand, stroking yourself and slapping your thick tip against his balls. He flinches, biting back a needy moan. "Want it, Satoru?"

"Please," he nearly weeps, reaching down and pulling his hardening cock and balls out of the way. They fit comfortably in his slender pianist's hand. He arches his back. "I want it, daddy. I want it so bad! F-Fuck me, please."

Then, he feels you press against his puffy entrance, big and thick and heavy. It twitches against him, and as it presses forward, his bravado absolutely shatters, a pitiful whine echoing off his bedroom walls.

"Wait! 'S'too big, it's never gonna fit," he sobs, pushing weakly against your shoulder. "It's too big, too much, oh, god..."

"I'm not even inside you yet," you say, a touch amused.

He takes a deep breath, his exhale shaky. He shifts on the bed. "Ah..." He gulps as he notices your cock resting against his stomach. "It really is big, daddy..."

"Yeah, baby. Think you can take it?"

He whines. "J-Just go slow, please...?"

"Mm, of course. Wanna hold hands?" Your voice is light, playful, as you offer one – he takes it, pouting slightly but appreciative. It's obvious how nervous he is.

You talk him through it, murmuring in his ear as you push in, making him gasp at the unfamiliarity. The stretch burns, but you take it slow enough that it doesn't hurt too much, and the tears that prick at his eyes are from pleasure rather than pain. His nails dig into your shoulders, his mouth perpetually open to pant and moan, and he's so tight you swear you can feel his heartbeat through his walls.

Squeezing your hand, his head falls back against the pillows, breathy moans puffing warmly on each exhale. You caress his soft thigh as you inch inside him, pausing and thrusting shallowly until his expression loses its edge. His hair sticks to his temples, dark silver with sweat.

Eventually, you pause deep inside him – so deep that with each breath, he can feel your dick shifting inside him. The idea makes him unreasonably needy. He's never going to feel as good with anyone else – not when his hole's perfectly shaped to fit your cock.

He reaches for your other hand, teary azure eyes glazed and glossy. Limp on the bed, he tenses every so often, desperately trying to stave off his high. What would you think of him if he came twice and you hadn't even come once?

"'S'it in...?" he slurs, eyelids fluttering. "Mmh, 'm so full..."

Your mouth twitches in a sympathetic smile. "Not quite, baby. Just a little more, okay? Can you do that?"

He lets out a choked whimper but nods, gripping your hands. You shift, leaning on your knuckles with his fingers entwined with yours, and ever-so-gently bury yourself inside him to the hilt with a soft plap.

Satoru's jaw drops as his eyes widen. Your hips are pressed against his ass, your balls hot and velvety against his skin – that's all of you inside him. This is how big your dick is. When he clamps down, he can feel you pulsing inside him, hot and hungry deep in his belly.

When he looks down, his mind goes fuzzy – there's a slight bump in his stomach that moves as you do. He sniffles and lets out a hiccuped sob as he presses down on it, the pressure setting his nerves alight with bliss. He raises his clouded eyes to yours, so full he can barely breathe, and comes with a silent scream, body seizing up and eyes rolling as thick ropes of white spurt onto his stomach and chest, dripping down the split of his chest and gathering in the dips of his heaving stomach.

He throws his head back against the bed. He lets out a belated cry, loud and ruined, as his hips jerk and his hole milks your cock with rippling waves, his walls slick and hot like oil.

He cries out when you begin to move, your shaft tugging his swollen rim with every thrust.

"Oh – fuck, fuck," he half-sobs, wrapping his shaking legs tighter around your waist. His breath catches in his throat as you tug him closer, holding his hips up to fuck into him at another angle – harder, faster, deeper. Your balls slap his ass. "Fuuuck...!"

You hiss, low grunts drowned out by Satoru's constant whiny moans. "Shit, boy, got a dirty mouth on you. This is what you wanted, isn't it? I told you I might break you. Have I got you hooked already?"

The speed and vigour with which he nods makes his head spin. He clutches your wrists on his waist, your callused warm palms firm on his ass, and feels so damn small as you fuck into him, jostling his body back and forth as if he weighs half of what he does.

"Yes, daddy," he mewls, body rolling in a clumsy attempt to match your pace. He gives up after a few tries, too busy drooling over your dick to spare the brain power for anything else. He's perfectly pliable, taking you like he was made for it. The outline of your cock shifts in his stomach. "Ah, mm – only w-want your cock, only ever wanted you, daddy! Awh, fuck, 'm gonna come again—!"

You grab his jaw and force him to look at you, making him cry out as you fold him further in half. His cock bounces above his stomach, painfully red and leaking fervently despite the ample mess already glazing his stomach.

"That right, Satoru? You never thought about picking up a boy your age with that pretty face of yours?" you ask softly, and he shudders at the use of his name. It feels far more intimate. 'Baby' makes his thoughts melt, but his name has an extra layer to it that sharpens the pleasure – he's got years' worth of memories where you call out to him, and hearing it now while you drill into his ass reminds him of how he used to feel about you.

"N-No," he whimpers, tongue darting out to wet his lips. His glossy eyes flit between your face and the bulge in his tummy. "W-Wanted a real man's cock t-to – hahh – pop my cherry." He giggles dreamily, his hands twisting the pillow under his head. "Nnh—! S-So fucking good, daddy," he slurs, voice thick with bliss. His eyes are half-lidded, the whites showing as you crush his swollen prostate, every drag making his thighs jolt. The sheer size of you means you're almost constantly pressing against it, and Satoru swears he can feel your dick in his damn brain.

You let him slump back to the sheets, picking up the pace. He huffs sharply as you hook his knees over your elbows. He can't tell if he's dizzy from a lack of air or from coming relentlessly. Regardless, he feels like he's floating, and he really wishes he'd chased you down at work so he could've gotten this treatment earlier. Years of missing out... he has to make up for it, doesn't he?

You can barely recognise Satoru. Usually so chatty and composed, he can no longer string together a single proper sentence without stuttering. And Satoru never stutters. You're probably not helping by knocking the wind out of him, but he looks so adorably helpless that you can't gather the strength to pity him. It isn't as if he can't handle it – he giggles between shouts and moans, locking his ankles behind your back to keep you from pulling out too far. Seems as if he enjoys being filled so completely.

"Oh, sweetheart – can't resist a cock like mine, huh? If only you could see yourself right now." You go to say more, but you cut yourself off, mulling over your words. You glance at his wardrobe's mirrored sliding doors, and an idea pops into your head. You grab him like a doll and pivot, making him gasp, and twist a fist in his hair, pinning his head to the side.

"Take a nice long look, sweetheart," you murmur as he babbles, eyes wide and wet as he watches your dick disappear into his hole over and over again. "Look how needy you are, taking all my cock like a champ – you sure you're a virgin? Couldn't've guessed an ass so greedy would've never tasted cock."

Satoru whimpers wetly, eyes trailing over his pale, flushed body, so slender under yours. Even your hand in his hair looks big compared to his head, your forearm thick and heavy. His dick weeps as it bounces against his stomach, and he can barely think, pounded into the mattress like a common whore. His lips are parted, one of his arms looped limply around your hand in his hair, and he lifts his trembling thigh against your shoulder to get a better glimpse of your thick cock sliding into him, every thrust making his ass ripple.

His moans grow louder, more desperate. He looks like such a slut! It's so embarrassing. He wants to close his eyes, look away, but you're watching him closely, making sure he takes it all in. He sniffles, whining, as you kiss his calf, his leg pinned high over your shoulder.

"Daddy," he gasps, voice pitching higher as his balls tighten and pleasure boils in his core. "Ohh, daddy, 'm coming! I love your dick so muh-much! Gonna come, gonna come, I c-can't hold it, fuck—!"

You pick him up only to shove him back into the bed, making him cry out in bliss as his tears wet the sheets. You hike his other leg onto your shoulder as well and he cries out as you fold him in half, slamming into his ass with relentless desire. He hiccups, eyes rolling back to show their whites as he comes hard, semi-clear fluid splattering his chest in long pulses.

You slap his thigh, making him warble out a drawled moan. "Eyes open," you order, and his lashes flutter as he forces his body to obey. "Watch yourself come."

He sobs as you fuck him harder, rougher, your pace losing its rhythm as you chase your high. He can barely keep his mirror's reflection in focus, and his gaze drifts from his body to yours – against your wishes, but he can't help it. Why would he look at himself when you're right there?

"Daddy," he whispers dreamily, voice high and soft and sweet as sugar. You growl as you thrust once, twice, and your high crashes over you as he tightens, walls rippling hungrily as he milks you, as if he can bypass the latex through willpower alone. He lets out a string of loud, sharp moans as he feels heat bloom inside him, your dick throbbing and twitching against his prostate and dragging out his own peak. Creamy warmth douses his stomach and drips down his sides.

Gently, you let go of him, bracing against the mattress as you lower his legs to the bed. They fall limply, his hole still clenching and hips still jerking, as you lean down and allow him to pull you into a messy, open-mouthed kiss, more panting than actual kissing. He moans as he wraps his arms around your shoulders, his whole body trembling as you lazily thrust into him, letting his mind catch up before you pull away completely.

"Still with me, baby?" you murmur, breath hot against his jaw. He giggles and nods, working his lower lip between his teeth, and sighs adoringly as you pull out of him with a hot, slick pop. He pouts, dazed and feeling all too empty all of a sudden. His hole throbs, stretched and gaped far wider than he's ever done by himself. It feels heavenly.

You toss the condom into the bin, moving to get up, but Satoru whines and curls himself around you, twisting you over and pinning you to the bed. He nuzzles into your shoulder, breathing in the sweet, musky scent of sex and body heat, and moans quietly, your bare cock pressed against his stomach. If he moves just right, he can grind against it, his dick twitching as his tip catches on the ridges and veins.

He swallows an unholy amount of saliva. Would you let him suck it next time?

Eventually, you let out a soft hum, your hands rubbing patterns into his waist. "Gotta clean up, Satoru."

"Don't wanna, daddy," he argues, words slurring as he holds you tighter. He buries his face in your shoulder, taking deep, slow breaths. "Jus' wanna... wanna stay here..."

And, just like that, he's snoring softly on top of you, out like a light with his limbs twisted with yours.

You chuckle, a low rumble in your chest, and gently shift his hips off to the side, letting you turn slightly to cradle him. "Really tired you out, hm?" At least he's no longer unable to sleep. You wonder if it'll become a regular thing to fix his insomnia – you can't promise you'll deny him if he ever asks for it again.

Your lips thin into a line as you lean back against the pillows. Oh, what's the harm? He deserves a little happiness in life, and if he finds that in you, then it'd be cruel to shake him off when you feel the same way.

Rather than standing up to collect your clothes, you tug the bedsheets over Satoru's waist and tuck his hair gently behind his ear. You slide an arm under your head and close your eyes, cradling him to your chest, and sink into a deep sleep to the soft sound of his breathing.

The smell in the alley is the first red flag.

Metallic. Sticky like honey on the roof of his mouth. He welcomes like the old friend it is.

Blood. What else was it gonna be?

Satoru steps forward, slipping in the darkness. Not familiar — he’s got no need for stealth, usually, he’s too efficient for that. His style’s more ‘Now you see me, now you’re dead.’ But there’s no streetlights in the alley, so in the darkness he goes, eyes and ears wide open.

No traces of cursed energy except yours, so faint it must be only residuals. So you were here. It’s a start.

A big bunch of nothing, a sullen voice in the back of his head says.

A start, another, more reasonable one counters. It sounds like you. We can follow residuals. We can find him.

There’s a third voice. Louder than any other, so loud that it’s getting real hard to ignore.

It’s been too long. It’s been a few hours at most. Still too long. He would’ve never taken so long to return. He would’ve come back to lick his wounds. He would’ve called for help if he’d needed it. It’s been too long.

Satoru knows you inside out, by now. All your quirks and little habits. Like how you bite your cheek when you’re focusing on something. How you never sleep on your back because you’re scared shitless of sleep paralysis. How you make it a point to keep him in the loop when you go on missions, because you know he gets nervous when he doesn’t hear from you for too long.

It’s been too long.

There’s something in this alley. Something that makes his hair stand on end, an unpleasantly familiar shiver down his spine. Something that he’s missing, but he can’t tell what it is just yet.

Something’s wrong. No visible threat for now, but he’s learned his lesson when it comes to things he can’t see — learned it the hard way. Something’s wrong.

It’s been too long.

A moist sound. Soft and sticky under the sole of his shoe — the blood that’s been stinking up the alley. A lot of it, from what he can tell.

There’s a shape just ahead. Barely distinguishable in the darkness, but there. His mind assesses, quick as a whip. Unmoving. No immediate threat. He steps closer.

It’s a body.

𖦹

Humans are just meat that talks.

That’s what Satoru tells himself, when he looks down at the body laid before him. The girl was once a bright, living thing, full of hopes and promise. Now she’s a lump of meat on cold metal. She’s not the first or the last, and the casualness with which her body’s treated in the morgue is a painful reminder. It raises his hackles.

Add this one to the pile, right?

You knew her; he did not. You stand over her together anyway, both looking at her face silently.

You were the one who retrieved her body. For the occasion, Shoko allowed you to smoke inside. You’ve already smoked two in the hallway. You light the third one over her.

“Do we know if she had any family?” You ask quietly. As if afraid to disturb her rest.

Shoko takes a second to answer. Lights her own cigarette, pockets the lighter. Takes a deep drag.

“What was her name again?” She eventually says.

“Yumeko,” you reply. You take a drag. Shoko takes a drag. Those things will kill you, Satoru wants to joke. But you look a little too sad for that, right now. “Sawai.”

“Sawai Yumeko…” Shoko turns in her seat to type at her computer. “Found her dad. Should I leave you the honors?”

“Fuck no.”

No one says anything for a while after that. Shoko sighs, puts out her cigarette, and steps out.

“So, how’d this happen?” Satoru finally asks. His tongue was getting itchy.

“The intel was wrong.” You sound weary, but not surprised. He isn’t, either. This is commonplace. “It wasn’t a cluster of Grade Threes, it was a Grade One.”

A job for him. Or for you. But not for Yumeko. Poor kid.

Another moment of silence. Satoru’s never known what to say in those situations. Pretty ironic, considering he can’t keep his fucking mouth shut most of the time. Or is it fitting? Gojo Satoru, the guy who can’t come through when it actually matters.

He threads his fingers through yours and pulls you away from the table. Away from the body and the smell of formaldehyde. You put out your smoke as you walk out.

He knows what you’re thinking — he’s thinking it, too. How many more will have to die because the people on high can’t be bothered to do their fucking job right?

“You think they knew?” you ask when you’ve stepped outside.

He hasn’t let go of your hand. It’s starting to feel like he never will. “Oh, yeah. They knew.”

And they sent Yumeko to her death anyway. Add this one to the pile.

You won’t let go of this. Neither will he. It’ll fester and keep festering.

𖦹

He doesn’t recognize the body — it’s a relief until it isn’t. Intel said one curse user, one, and you don’t deviate from your mission. Ever.

It’s not pretty. You did a number on the guy, almost savage in the violence you’ve inflicted. Like a cornered predator that lashed out. Your residuals are all over him.

You would’ve wiped them if the job had gone right. Wouldn’t have left him in such a state in the first place.

There’s two more bodies— no, three. One is collapsed in a heap just two paces ahead in a similar pool of blood. The second is to Satoru’s right, flat on his back. This one, he recognizes. The curse user you were after. A gun rests loosely in his palm, coated in dark, flaky blood. The simple sight makes him shiver, brings back memories he’d really, really like to keep buried.

The third one is farther. Hunched against the wall, head hanging limp. Covered in blood, like the others.

Dead like the others, but different. Satoru feels it immediately. Your residuals are clustered there.

He ignores the alarm bells in the back of his head, the instinct screaming at him that this is wrong, wrong, there’s something wrong about that body—

He can see the fatal wound. An entry, on what was the temple, probably caused by a bullet. Might be an exit, too. Might not. Either way, it’s not nice to look at.

These kinds of wounds are ugly on anyone, but here it’s a whole other story.

His stomach turns. The world tilts on its axis, the ground drops from under his feet— that face, that body, it’s—

His brain simply refuses to process the information, at first. Can’t connect the dots between this lifeless lump of meat before his eyes and… and…

𖦹

“It’ll be easy. One and done. I’ll be home for dinner.”

Satoru hums skeptically, burrowing his face at the junction between your neck and shoulder. The gentle morning sun warms his back, feather light like the touch you ran up his spine to pull him from sleep.

At first he didn’t understand why you woke him early just to lounge in bed, doing nothing. Not like he dislikes doing nothing with you, the opposite really. Still, a couple of extra hours of unconsciousness before facing the world would’ve been nice. He woke up disgruntled, but settled quickly, warm and mellow with the sun and your arms around him.

It makes sense about an hour of lazing around in. When you break the news to him in the softest voice you can muster, caressing his cheek with your knuckles.

Emergency in Kyoto. Experienced sorcerer needed for a curse user hunt.

They could’ve called literally anyone. But no. They called you. It feels intentional. It’s probably intentional. You’ve been a little too open and vocal about your dislike for the higher-ups, lately — they can’t have that.

It was supposed to be just the two of you today. No interruptions, no obligations, just you and him and him and you, Netflix and chill both literal and figurative. Displeased, Satoru rolls over to his side, turning his back to you. It gets cold when he rolls into the shadow, when your arms slip from his waist.

He should’ve expected it, honestly. No, really, because after all why would he have been able to have a nice, relaxing day with his man? He can’t have nice things. Ever.

You don’t leave him in the cold for too long. You chase, shifting to press against his back, eager to leave no space at all between him and you. It makes him feel better. A little. Your arm wraps around his shoulder and you reach up to poke his cheek playfully.

“C’mon, babydoll,” you purr in his ear. Bastard. You know exactly what you’re doing. “Don’t be mad. I’ll be back before you know it.”

“Hm.”

You chuckle, squeezing his cheek to force his lips into a deeper pout. “Swear. You won’t even realize I’m gone.”

“Whatever.” Satoru rolls his eyes, pushing your hand off his face. He stays silent for a moment. Then, “I just think it’s funny how you’re needed for a sudden emergency on our first day off together in, like, two months.”

You exhale a little sigh through your nose, softening. The teasing urge falls away as you press a kiss on his nape.

“Yeah,” you say lowly. “I know.”

“For each you see, there’s ten that you don’t. You know, like cockroaches. It starts with one and ends up with you gone three weeks trying to take down the whole shtick.”

“I know, Satoru,” you say again. Sharper.

He turns to brace himself on his forearms, narrowing his eyes at you. “What, ‘m I not allowed to be pissed?”

“You’re allowed to be pissed.” You roll to your back, running a hand down your face with a long-suffering sigh. “Just… please.”

Right. No, you’re right. He shouldn’t get pissy with you for something that’s completely out of your hands, especially when you’re clearly just as pissed. Even worse, because you just wanna enjoy the time you have left with him before you go. He’s horrible.

He settles back down, head nestled against your shoulder and a hand braced on your chest. He pats you gently to calm you down.

“We should go out tonight,” he murmurs to make amends. “When you get back. Himawari Ramen?”

“Yeah. Yeah, that’s perfect.” You lean down to kiss the crown of his head, and Satoru melts into you once more, closing his eyes. “Just what I need.”

You stay like that for a moment, basking in each other’s warmth. The morning sun warms his back.

Eventually, you have to get up. He feels you shift him off you, already half-asleep. Your lips kiss his cheek and your voice says: “Love you.”

𖦹

Most sorcerers don’t have the luxury of experiencing the five stages of grief. There’s too much death happening all the time, civilians and coworkers alike. If you want to live, you accept the death and you move on. Or at least you grieve in silence and keep doing your damn job.

It’s true for Satoru as much as anyone else. He’s been affected by deaths before, sure, felt sorry for the victim or angry that another life was snuffed unnecessarily. He’s been moved. Grieved? He’s only done that once. He’s a grief-virgin in that sense.

But of course, in his world no one is spared. He just hadn’t expected it to hit immediately.

Denial comes first.

First, his brain’s refusal to process the information it’s receiving. Your face damaged and covered in blood, the sheer wrongness of the bullet hole deforming your head grotesquely. Then, his mind’s inability to face the truth.

It can’t be. It just can’t. There’s… there’s no way, right? No way.

You said you’d be home for dinner. You said you’d be back before he knew it. You said you wanted to go out for some ramen. There’s no way you’re just… what you’ve been reduced to, what he’s seeing, it’s…

Just meat that used to talk.

He stays frozen, fingers trembling, eyes bouncing all over your body in a desperate search for life. He finds nothing, nothing but residuals of your cursed energy on your clothes, and your immediate surroundings. That can’t be, there’s no way, there’s no fucking way, there has to be something, anything.

He can’t move. Can’t think. Can’t breathe. This can’t be real. This is a nightmare. Just a nightmare, and he’s gonna wake up. And you’re gonna kiss it better, hug him and tell him you love him, and you’ll go out for ramen together and it’ll be just fine. He’ll forget about the nightmare eventually and… and…

He can’t bear to look away, but each new detail only serves to hurt him further. There’s more than just the bullet wound on your skull. Your knee is busted, there’s a dark stain on your side, one of your hands is missing—

The sight of you is gnarly, cruel in its honesty. This morning you were warm and soft. This morning you told him you loved him. Now you’re a fucking corpse left to rot in a dirty Kyoto alleyway.

Denial clings, still. Because there’s no way three lowly curse users did this to you, there’s just no way. The state you’re in, and the state you left them in — how could this happen?

His thinking becomes practical. He can’t stand to think of you as a person for too long, he needs to think about something else, needs to think about what he can do to… to fix this? Find the people responsible? He doesn’t know.

He scans the alleyway, looking for tracks, residuals that he missed, anything. He comes up empty. Either there were others responsible and they covered their tracks remarkably well, or… or maybe it’s just those three curse users.

Denial falls away and anger takes its place. Not at the people that killed you. At you directly.

How could you let this happen? You’re better than this. You’re stronger than those three curse users combined, you’re— how could you let this happen? What the hell were you even doing, to get jumped and torn apart like that? Were you admiring the view or something? Petting a stray cat? What the fuck is your problem? You were supposed to be home by dinner. You were supposed to go out for ramen with him. You swore you would. Did that mean nothing to you? Is that just the kind of guy you are — the kind that breaks his promises like that, like they’re nothing?

He feels guilty, but he also doesn’t. He means it. At least, part of him means it, all of it.

The thoughts don’t last. He’s angry because he wants you back. Nothing more than that.

He crouches beside you. The hand you have left is also spotted with blood. Do you simply have no clean skin left? He brushes your hand with his fingers all the same, wondering what the hell he did to deserve this.

Isn’t he good? Isn’t he always doing the right thing? He tries and tries and tries, he gives it all he has and what is he given in return? Resentment and adoration in equal measure. One blessing that gets torn away.

He calls your name, voice surprisingly steady.

He just wants you back. Isn’t that normal? He’d do anything to have you back. Just come back.

“Get up right now.”

You don’t move. Obviously. What does he need to do to have you back? He’ll do it. Whatever he has left to give, he’ll give it. Anything. Anything.

I love you. I love you. Please get up.

Stubbornly, you remain still, as corpses tend to be.

Please. Please. Get up. Just get up and come home.

He’s not sure how long he stays there, staring at your fingers.

Please. Don’t leave me. Don’t leave me. You can’t leave me. You’re all I have. I love you. You can’t die. Please don’t die.

Hoping they’ll twitch.

Don’t leave me. I love you. Don’t leave me. Don’t do this to me.

Silently begging.

I love you. I love you. I love you. I love you. Don’t leave me. Don’t leave me. Please, don’t leave me. I love you. I love you. I—

At some point, he stands. He can’t leave you like this.

He reaches for his phone and calls the first person who’d be any help.

Ijichi’s voice is sharp and alert, even in the middle of the night. Up writing reports. Probably Satoru’s. Who fucking cares.

“G-gojo-san? It’s… it’s midnight—”

“Sent you my location.” He sounds so steady. So calm. Who even is he right now? “Call the Kyoto school and have them send a clean-up crew.”

“A-a clean-up crew? Why—”

Satoru hangs up. He doesn’t care to hear whatever Ijichi has to say. That call took all his energy. He feels drained, heavy. He needs to get out of here.

His feet stay glued to the ground.

He can’t leave you like this. He should wait for clean-up. Or maybe he should just… take your body himself. He doesn’t trust anyone to handle you right.

A sound in the alley tears him from his deliberating.

Sharp and wet, like a bone snapping. He hears it once. Twice. Then, just as he turns to see what the fuck is going on behind him—

Your body’s no longer collapsed against the wall. You’re standing, but…

He sees the wrongness of it immediately. It kills any hope that tried to flare in his chest, snuffs out the remaining light he had in him.

Your head is limp on your chest, still. It’s not like you’re standing; more like your body’s being held up on strings, like a puppet. All at once you drop to the ground in a heap, but something remains.

A dark shape, almost a silhouette. Darker than darkness, thick as blood, quiet like it’s not even there. Pure curse energy, he realizes instantly. Cursed spirit. Goosebumps run down the back of his neck, his mind assesses, quick as a whip—

Threat. Imminent threat.

He takes half a step back, ready to exorcise the curse, but— but then the weirdest thing—

“Satoru…”

It’s your voice, but it’s not. It’s wrong, off, distorted in the slightest way. A shiver runs down his back. It’s wrong. So wrong. It’s not you. It’s not you.

Except it is. It is you.

The curse lowers to the ground, slithers closer— he should do something, he should exorcise it, he should do anything other than just fucking stand there—

“Satoru, don’t go…”

He’s gonna throw up.

You push closer, blood and goo dripping from your still forming arms. You get close enough to touch him.

Your hand grabs his ankle, and his entire body tenses in revulsion. It’s cold, it’s holding him too tightly, it just feels wrong, but…

But it also feels like you. It’s still you. Isn’t it?

“Don’t go. Satoru, don’t go. Satoru, I love you...”

Satoru’s stomach lurches violently and he does the first thing he can think of: he slams his palms together and teleports the fuck away.

He lands hard on a wooden floor, tumbling to his knees immediately. He’s not sure where he is, can’t tell because the world just won’t stop spinning — it doesn’t matter. What matters is that he’s far, very far from that alley. Far from the bodies. Your body.

Your body.

He throws up everything his stomach has to give, shivering violently. Then, he simply rolls to his back and pants. Stares at the ceiling until the dizziness fades. Maybe it takes minutes, maybe a few hours. He simply can’t tell.

His vision evens out — his breathing doesn’t. At last he realizes where he is.

His apartment. In Tokyo. The one he shares with you.

He curls into a ball, trembling all over. Paralyzed with fear.

What did he do? What the fuck did he do to you?

𖦹

The next couple of days pass by in a blur. Satoru floats through the hours, like a passenger in his own body.

He knows he shouldn’t, but he pulls some strings and gets his hands on the report from the Kyoto crew. Reads it, again and again and again. To the point where he has it memorized. Masochism in its purest form.

Every building in an fifty-meter radius around the alley was reduced to rubble. Three civilians dead. Fifty-two injured, including thirteen in critical condition. The Kyoto sorcerers didn’t retrieve the bodies of the curse users — report states there “wasn’t enough left to retrieve.”

They found you, though. Brought you back to Tokyo.

Shoko covered your body with a thin, white sheet after the autopsy. She left him alone in the morgue, to take a breather, let him figure out what he wants to do with you.

Burn the body, don’t burn the body. In the end, it’s all the same to him. What’s this lump of meat good for? It’s not you. Just another corpse he can add to the pile.

You haven’t manifested since that first time. He can’t feel your cursed energy, and he can’t figure out why. It’s not like curses just vanish into thin air.

He can’t track you, and it makes him anxious. He can’t have you killing any more people, and if he can’t control you...

Better not to think about it. He’s great at avoiding tough topics, even in his own head.

Slowly, he reaches out. The sheet is thin, smooth to the touch.

The autopsy table’s sent flying before he has time to react.

Shit.

Satoru covers his head with his arm as you fly past him. The autopsy table hits the wall with a metallic clang!, and you grab your body midair, slamming it into the wall. Hard. Again and again and again, screeching in fury.

You’re fully manifested. On school grounds. You could not have had worse timing.

“Cursed Technique Lapse: Blue!”

You’re ripped away and sent flying to the other end of the room. You slam against the wall and crawl up to the ceiling, snarling at him. You almost sound offended.

“Whatever!” Satoru shouts back.

You try to jump past him again, but he’s ready this time, and he extends Infinity’s reach to push you back. With another indignant screech, you scuttle back up to the ceiling, pacing around like a caged tiger.

Shoko chooses that exact moment to burst into the room. Positively incredible timing on her part, too.

“Gojo, what is—”

She catches your attention, and your head snaps to her. He sees you bunch together to pounce and skids in front of her.

“No!” He points a finger at you menacingly, and crazily, it’s enough to make you back down. Like you’re a misbehaving puppy and not a seven-foot tall bloodthirsty Special Grade.

Because that’s what you are. He can tell, now that you’re fully manifested. Special Grade. His doing.

“No,” he repeats, low and firm. Great. Now he’s scolding you like you’re a pet. He’s lost it.

Behind him, Shoko clears her throat. Satoru turns halfway, to face her and still keep you in sight.

“Uh... I can explain?”

She gives him a sharp look. “You sure?”

She looks up to the ceiling. You’re pacing again, losing interest in the situation but restless with buzzing energy. Yeah, okay. He can see why she’s skeptical. Satoru rubs the back of his neck, feeling overwhelmed.

“I’m, uh. Maybe sit down?”

“I’ll stand.” Shoko reaches in her white coat’s pocket for her pack and a lighter. She stays silent for a moment. Takes the time to light her cigarette, take a drag. “...It’s him, isn’t it?”

Satoru doesn’t answer immediately. It’s one thing to know what he did — what he did to you. It’s another to have someone else say it. Be a witness to it.

“Yeah,” he breathes. “Yeah, it’s him.”

They both look at you, pacing around on the ceiling, looking almost harmless in the cold light.

“I’m not gonna ask what happened,” Shoko says.

Of course she isn’t. She already knows. She’s had your body on the table, and looking at you now, it doesn’t take a genius to figure it out. A curse as powerful as that? Yeah. Doesn’t take a genius.

Satoru almost thanks her for it. He’s not ready to admit it just yet. That he’s the one he put you in that state. That he’s the one who condemned you to such an existence.

“What are you gonna do?” Shoko continues.

The merciful thing would be to exorcize you, wouldn’t it? Or at least find a way to undo what he did. Let you rest in some way.

“...I dunno,” he replies, defeated.

Shoko looks around the room. Her overturned desk, the computer and files scattered on the floor. The blood you’ve left over the wall and the ceiling. And on the other side, the bloody mess against the white tile. “At least he listens to you, right?” She lets out, dry and dead.

Satoru follows her gazes. He crosses the room to inspect the damage.

There’s not much to look at. You haven’t left much of your body for him to scoop up. Guess he’s burning you after all.

He turns to look at you. “Why’d you go and do that, huh?”

You pause in your movements. Your head snaps towards him, with a crack, almost like you snapped your own neck to look at him faster.

“You were scared,” you say lowly. He can feel your voice in his chest, like a purr. “And sad. Angry.”

It stuns him for a moment. The tunnel vision you have when it comes to him.

You didn’t even recognize your own dead body. You just saw it as a threat to him.

“Well,” Shoko sighs. “Shit.”

Yeah. Satoru couldn’t have said it better.

𖦹

Another week passes without you ever manifesting. Satoru’s life goes on as normal as it can. He goes through the motions mechanically, like he did before. Only now he has no one to talk to. No one to curl up against at night. No one to brush his teeth with. He feels less and less like a person each day. Like he only existed because you were there to perceive him.

It’s the opposite now, he supposes.

At first he couldn’t figure out how you did it, simply disappearing into thin air at will. He thought you had to go somewhere. A curse like you would be attached to an object, something of significance to you while you were alive. He combed through your stuff about a thousand times, looking for the thing.

It’s nothing of yours. It’s his apartment key. The one you offered to him about six months into your relationship, just after you bought the place.

“In case you need a place to crash,” you’d said. In case you need a place to get away, was what you really meant.

It started as an occasional thing. He’d pop up for a night. Sometimes two. Then he started staying over after every date. Then he started leaving his things there. At some point he couldn’t recall the last time he’d gone to his place on the Jujutsu Tech campus.

He still hasn’t gone back to that place. The key sits untouched in his pocket. Your cursed energy is there, dormant; he couldn’t feel it because it’s too intertwined with his. He’s part of you. You’re part of him.

He barely sleeps these days, even less than before. He lies on his back and stares at the ceiling. He wonders what he’s gonna do with you.

Really, he’s just going in circles. He knows what he should do. He knows the practical, logical answer. You’re a curse. His job’s to eradicate curses. There’s only one way this can go.

But this is different. Isn’t it? You weren’t always like this, he’s the reason you’re like this. He should find a way to free you. Undo the curse. Let go of you.

Besides, doesn’t he owe it to you, who he claims to love? Shouldn’t he be merciful to the man he loves?

But Satoru’s never been merciful. Not once in his life. And he’s not about to start now, is he? Not even for you. Not when love is the whole reason you’re still here in the first place.

Don’t leave me. Don’t leave me. I love you.

Who’s the real monster here, you or him?

“Satoru...”

You sensed his distress, likely, and now you’re here to protect him. Funny. He’s the scariest thing in the country.

Satoru pushes himself up to a sit, keeping his back to you. He lowers his Infinity, still. Eager to feel your touch. Your hand slips up his arm, to squeeze his shoulder. You did that when you were alive. To comfort him, without overwhelming him. Is it muscle memory? The idea that you may still be as considerate now as you were then makes him want to throw up.

“You can go back,” he murmurs. “There’s nothing here, Y/N.”

Your hand moves to the back of his neck. Your claws graze the sensitive skin. He feels the sting. You cut him.

“There’s you,” you reply.

Is it because you understand that he’s his own worst enemy right now, or did you just want to see him? He couldn’t make sense of you before — great to see he still can’t. He thought curses were simple creatures. Easy to read, easy to predict. It’s always been easy for him.

Maybe you’re just hell bent on turning the world upside down for him.

“Why don’t you come back when I’m in actual danger?”

He meant it as a tease — you haven’t shown up once while he was fighting curses, though he thought you’d be eager to help him. But you take it seriously.

“You’re never in danger,” you say accusingly. “How would I see you?”

Satoru turns to face you. “It was a joke. Jeez, don’t you curses have a sense of—”

Your grip turns harsh, and you push him to his back, pinning him. Familiar, and not.

“You just don’t want to see me!” Your voice changes, becomes less human and more other. “Just admit it!”

“I’m not playing this game with you,” Satoru grits out, struggling against your grip. It’s instinct. Curse nearby equals danger.

“You said you loved me!”

“I do!”

And just like that, you calm down as quickly as you got angry. Your grip loosens, it’s less punishing. Almost tender. Satoru’s not sure why he still hasn’t shoved you off.

“I do,” he breathes. “Of course I do.”

You lean over him, pleased. Your tongue lolls out, far longer than a human’s. It slides over his jaw, up to his ear and back to his face, to run over his lips. Satoru reaches up to grab your head and turn it away. He turns his face in the other direction, almost coy. His chest is heaving.

You push his hand off you easily and return to him. Slower, like you’re afraid to spook him. As if. You’re far from the scariest thing he’s ever seen.

You lean down and kiss him, as well as you can with that mouth full of teeth. You bite at his lips, push your tongue in his mouth. He welcomes you eagerly. He doesn’t care that he’s bleeding. He has you again. His heart is racing.

𖦹

He found the curse users that killed you.

Not the perpetrators themselves, of course, you took care of them yourself. But he tracked down the organization they belonged to.

Because there is an organization. He was right, in the end. If you hadn’t died, you’d still be in Kyoto, chipping away at it to get to the core. Far, far away from him. Maybe what happened was for the best.

The building’s deceptively mundane. Three stories, all grey concrete and big, modern glass windows. Gleaming under the setting sun. Fits the surroundings: the more modern part of Kyoto, downtown. Easily glossed over. Easily forgotten.

Technically, Satoru’s off duty right now. But a guy’s allowed to have hobbies, right? It might be a little revenge trip for him, but at the end of the day, it’s about thirty less curse users that Jujutsu society has to worry about. A win-win.

He lowers a veil, because he’s not a complete maniac. Waltzes in like he owns the place. They didn’t even put up a barrier, choosing stealth over protection. Big mistake.

The lobby’s empty.

“Hey, baby,” he murmurs, clutching his key in his pocket. “You wanna come out? Have some fun with me?”

This time you answer immediately. The pressure of your presence is crushing, even for him — the curse users are bound to come running.

You prowl on all fours, rubbing against him affectionately. “Yes, Satoru?”

“You wanna help me clear out this place?”

You face contorts. You’re trying to smile.

“Okay!” You let out cheerfully.

Satoru catches movement in the corner of his eye. The curse users are starting to spill in. Two, three, four. They see him — see you — and step back warily, arms and weapons raised in self-defense.

Good, he thinks, suddenly thirsty for blood. You should be fucking scared.

Seven. Eight. Nine. They keep coming. He sees you bunch together, prepared to pounce. Anticipation buzzes under his skin.

“It’s Gojo Satoru!” One of them shouts. “Fall ba—”

He never finishes his sentence, because in an instant you’ve leaped and ripped his head off.

It’s a slaughter, to put it plainly. It’s his first time seeing you like this, feral and hungry and horrifying in so many ways. Not so different from when you were alive. Not so different from him.

He doesn’t step in. Doesn’t intervene once. He lets you have your revenge, lets you bite and tear and rip, lets you prowl through the building to find the rest of them.

Doesn’t let a single one of them touch you. Not like they’d ever come close to exorcizing you, anyway. You overwhelm them as well as he would’ve.

The walls are slick with blood, by the time you’ve killed the last one. You are, too. You prance back to him almost happily, crawling all over the walls and the ceiling. You even bring him back an arm, like a cat showing off its hunting prize. His heart is racing.

He doesn’t call clean-up when he lowers the veil and leaves. They can fucking rot.

𖦹

TWO YEARS LATER.

After swallowing a corpse’s mummified finger and a high school principal’s handmade doll coming to life, Yuji was convinced he’d seen the weirdest jujutsu had to offer. Monsters are real and they kill people, and he can do something about it? Okay, cool. He can do that. How weirder could it get?

Clearly, much weirder. Gojo-sensei’s full of surprises.

The first years’ first official training session as a class starts out nothing out of the ordinary. Some warm-up. Then, taking turns sparring against each other. Yuji’s in the middle of beating up Fushiguro when Gojo steps on the field, waving cheerfully.

“Hey everyone! How’s it going?”

Yuji waves back, just as enthusiastic. “Going great, sensei!”

Somewhere on the floor behind him, Fushiguro grumbles. Seems like he doesn’t agree.

Gojo steps closer, hands in his pocket, and as always when he gets close, Sukuna’s hackles raise, cursed energy spiking slightly. Yuji thinks nothing of it, neither does anyone else, but this time—

This time something pops up behind Gojo-sensei. Arms, legs, until a full-blown curse is leaping in front of his teacher, screeching at him.

Yuji leaps back, and behind him he hears his classmates doing the same.

“A curse?!” Nobara lets out. “Isn’t the school supposed to be protected?”

But Gojo-sensei doesn’t look the slightest bit worried.

“Hey, hey, everyone, let’s all take it down a notch!” He pushes your head down forcefully, and you relent, rubbing against his legs and— purring? “Everything’s okay, he’s just a little riled up right now!”

“Gojo-sensei.” Yuji tilts his head incredulously. “Why are you petting the curse?”

“Hm? Oh, right.” Gojo moves to grab under your chin, shaking your head affectionately. You smile. Or at least Yuji thinks it’s a smile? Maybe? “Everyone, this is my husband, Y/N! Don’t worry, he’s totally harmless! Mostly!”

Like they’re in each other’s head, Yuji and Kugasaki turn to look at Fushiguro. Fushiguro looks away. Shrugs. Then turns his back to them completely.

“Fushiguro!” Nobara grabs the boy’s chin to forcefully turn his head. “Give us explanations!”

“Ask him explanations, not me!”

Gojo chuckles at their antics, scratching under your chin. You roll over to your back. Like... a cat.

“Don’t worry,” Gojo says lightly. Like this is completely normal and he’s wondering why everyone’s making such a fuss. “Think he might’ve just sensed Sukuna and decided to come see what’s up! He won’t hurt you. I think.”

Not too reassuring, but... Well, if Gojo says it’s fine, then it must be, right? Yuji gives a salute. “Got it, sensei! I won’t attack your curse husband!”

Behind him, Fushiguro and Kugisaki both sigh.

“You’re way too easy-going, Itadori.”

“I have a feeling this teacher is a problem...”

this one was a delight to write, honestly. it flowed really smoothly. also i genuinely had to stop myself from writing a full blown smut scene between satoru and curse!reader. anyway thanks for reading!