i am darwin, a guy who just likes to write about yanderes, mainly. i don’t know how the ask thing works but i mean,,, i write for a lot of things so just give it a shot!!
mostly everything is drabbles and will probably never be finished—unless asked. again, don’t be afraid to ask for something; i’m lonely here.
also, i am a minor!! i am younger than 18! tbh i created this blog for other minors who wanna read about yanderes but can’t because they’re typically nsfw/accounts that don’t want minors interacting with them (which is totally valid).
(feel free to block me if you’re not comfortable interacting with my account! also feel free to enjoy my silly works!)
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Megumi Fushiguro didn’t hate Satoru Gojo—at first. It was more of a simmering annoyance, something bubbling under his skin, threatening to slip out and crash. Nothing too dramatic. Tsumiki liked the man enough so it caused Megumi to tolerate him.
“After all, he saved us. Imagine where we’d be now without him!”
Before his sister said that, Megumi uttered his first curse word in relation to Gojo.
And, after living with the man for about two months, an anomaly occurred. Typically, Gojo would be absent for about a week. He’d say, “I’m just checking on something!” or “I’ve got a long mission—I’ll be back before you know it!”
Now, he’s been gone for a month.
Not that it really matters; the two siblings have a roof over their head and a surplus of food. It’s not their business to be in Gojo’s business.
It’s not Megumi’s business to be in Gojo’s business.
There’s a creak in the house at two AM. The only creak in this house is located in the kitchen, right in front of the refrigerator. Megumi only knows this because he was tasked—by Gojo—to find every creak in a building as a survival tactic. Just in case he was kidnapped.
Or, if he wanted to sneak some food in the middle of the night. Doesn’t really matter the situation.
Megumi blinks and attempts to wipe the sleep from his eyes. The sound was minor, could easily pass as a tree scratching a window, but Megumi’s gut is twisting. It couldn’t be Tsumiki, she never gets up at night, and it couldn’t be Gojo because he always arrives back in the mornings.
So who is it?
He waddles to his bedroom door, toes twitching against the cold, wood floors. He presses on the lock, satisfied to hear a gentle click. Then, he pushes the door open. It reveals a dark hallway with several other doors in its walls. Tsumiki is just a few doors down to the left and Gojo’s room is the last room on the right. Megumi’s stomach churns as he looks to Gojo’s door.
‘Ugh, it’s so ominous…’
He pushes through anyway. The floor is smooth against his feet as he slowly makes his way down the house. Just as he reaches the middle of the staircase leading downstairs, he hears a murmur. Alarm rings through his mind and his hands shake.
What should he do? Is this an intruder? Should he leave and take Tsumiki with him? Call Gojo? Fight? His technique isn’t very refined—Gojo has been so busy lately that he wasn’t any help—and he’s never actually fought before. He could call for 911 too…
What should he do?
The murmuring gets louder, more audible. Megumi strains to hear from his spot, frozen, too scared to go up but still too scared to go down.
”M’gon’ kill that—- —watch him choke— -“
Megumi leans closer by holding onto the handrail of the staircase while praying that it doesn’t create a creak of its own.
”..she’s…mine. Mine.
“—Megumi, ah, why are you awake?”
Megumi holds his breath as he stumbles down the stairs. He, surprisingly, doesn’t feel the harsh impact of the ground against his bones. Instead, there’s a feeling of warmth and the smell of a girl. Megumi pulls away immediately. He’s quick to mask his face of fear, and instead, replaces it with a glare and a sneer. “Gojo? Why are you here?”
”Am I not allowed in my own house?” His smile is slow going, just a bit wobbly, and rather empty-looking.
Megumi jerks back even further. “Are you drunk?”
“A question answered by three other questions,” Gojo says with the bark of a laugh. His breath smells weird. Obviously there’s the stench of alcohol but there’s something else there. Lingering.
Stinking.
”You smell,” Megumi mutters. Gojo blinks down at him. “You’re stinking up the air,” he says a bit louder while conscious of Tsumiki’s gentle snoring. Gojo grins again.
”And you’re drunk. Why are you drunk? I’ve never seen you drink.”
”Awh! Am I worrying you, Megumi-chan? But don’t worry—I’m an adult, so I can do adult things like this.” Megumi cringes at the honorific and cringes even more so at Gojo’s use of ‘adult.’
”There’s no kind of adult in you.”
”..okay! Time for bed!”
Gojo swipes up Megumi and quickly warps the two into the boy’s bedroom. Megumi’s stomach churns and he wants to puke.
But underneath all the smells of alcohol, there’s a twinge of floral essence. It smells like the shampoo and perfume that Tsumiki uses. It smells like a girl.
Megumi opens his mouth to ask another question but then Gojo is gone.
“Why were you awake last night?” Gojo asks as Megumi pours cereal into a bowl. Tsumiki blinks between the two of them, her mouth full.
”I was thirsty,” Megumi says lowly and glances up to his adopted father. Gojo has dark circles under his eyes and his hair is a bit messy.
“I’m glad I didn’t wake you.” His breath permeates the air; now the aroma of mint and toothpaste. His eyes twinkle and Megumi knows that he saw through the lie.
Change is a constant in life. It’s so much of a constant that Megumi is accustomed to it. A new school, a new bed, a new life…
It doesn’t mean that he doesn’t hate change, because he hates change.
He hates coming home to tiny little curses wriggling about. He hates the new craze in Gojo’s eyes. He hates how the hallways are dark at night. He hates the muffled noise coming from Gojo’s room.
He doesn’t necessarily mind the new smell that tangles with Gojo’s cologne.
He still hates change.
Megumi wakes up at five in the morning. His stomach is killing him. It’s twisting and knotting and spinning.
He moves to the hallway bathroom and is surprised to see the light on, shining beneath the door. Gojo is gone again and Tsumiki never wakes up at night.
”Tsumiki,” he calls gently, holding his stomach. She doesn’t reply.
”Tsumiki, please let me in.”
Silence.
”…Tsumiki?”
There’s a shift of a shadow, a disturbance to the light. Megumi recoils quickly and nearly smacks his head against the picture frame behind him. His stomach rolls.
He decides to use the bathroom downstairs, unnerved.
Tsumiki closes the front door behind them. The heat is nearly unbearable so the siblings scramble to remove their socks and shoes. Soon, they lay against the cool tile floors of the kitchen. Tsumiki is looking at Megumi and Megumi is looking at the ceiling.
”It’s hot,” she groans. Megumi nods in agreement. Both of their faces are flushed feverishly. Megumi wants to take a nap against the tiles so he slowly closes his eyes.
”Hey, wanna get some popsicles?”
Megumi opens his eyes. “Yeah.”
The two stand up. Just as Megumi reaches for his sandals, Tsumiki stops him, “I’ll go—I have the money.” For proof, she takes her pocket in hand and shakes it. Change jingles loudly.
”Huh?”
”I’m gonna go. By myself. Just tell me what you want.”
Megumi’s eyebrow twitches. “But I wanna go too.”
”Just tell me what you want.”
”…fine.” Megumi proceeds to babble about a specific ice cream before Tsumiki takes off. The last words to leave her lips are: “Don’t forget to lock the door!” He dutifully follows—turning three locks until they click—but is then faced by another obstacle: boredom. He doesn’t have homework assigned and he doesn’t really have any chores that needed to be done.
Megumi lays against the tiles again. He sweats, heating the cold surface up, so he slides to another section of the floor. He repeats this three times until there’s dirt and mini pebbles sticking to his cheeks. Tsumiki is not back yet.
The boy makes his way up the stairs and into his room. He can probably find something remotely interesting inside but—oh.
Megumi pauses. His hand that was raised to open the door falls to his side.
Gojo’s room is making noises. It’s scratching and crying, almost like a sound for help. Megumi eyes the door with a tilted head. He takes a step forward and then he hears it.
Pleading.
Megumi’s guts twist and his fingers flex. He’s struggling to breathe and he’s reminded of Tsumiki’s words of “In through your nose and out through your mouth.” It’s not enough.
He staggers backwards. The noises get that much louder with a few more scratches and a few more sobs. Megumi is torn between investigating and leaving.
He chooses to depart. He moves back to the top of the stairs, grasping the handrails so tight they’ll leave marks in his palms.
—but what if this is urgent?
Megumi blinks and squeezes the handrail again and doesn’t take any further steps.
What if they need help?
He turns back to the door. His mind is full of slush and he’s hot and sticky and he just wants Tsumiki to come back with a bag full of popsicles and ice creams.
What if Gojo is hiding something?
He places his hand on the doorknob. He’s shaking. The scratches have subsided but Megumi can clearly hear a sniffle every few seconds.
The knob doesn’t turn. The door is locked.
What is Gojo hiding?
Megumi squats. He presses his face against the floor and peers into the thin crack under Gojo’s door. A single eye and bloodied finger tips stare back at him.
He screams and screams and screams and runs to the bathroom to puke.
Who is Gojo hiding?
”Megumi! I’m back!” Tsumiki calls from the front door. “And guess who I found!” She doesn’t explicitly say who and, unfortunately, the response she receives is silence.
Then, there’s loud crying.
”Ah—Megumi!” Tsumiki hurries up the stairs with Gojo right behind her. The two find Megumi hunched over the toilet, heaving and hacking. Gojo approaches with open arms, a frown on his face.
“Megumi? What happened?”
Gojo barely grazes Megumi’s shoulder before he’s shoved away. Megumi’s glaring and sobbing. Tsumiki parts her mouth in shock—Gojo tenses up right beside her.
As Tsumiki leans in to coddle her brother, Gojo stands, watching, eyes wide and fists clenching.
What did he see?
Megumi gasps for air as he’s slammed into the fighting mattress. Gojo stands above him, a simple smile on his face. It doesn’t look real.
”I told you to bend your knees more,” Gojo says with a patronizing tone, “If you had, maybe you wouldn’t have fallen.”
That’s a lie. Gojo would have pushed him down anyway, it doesn’t matter how much force he would of had to use.
“I just… I want to learn my technique more,” Megumi says lowly. He claws at a rip in the mattress. Slowly, fluff crawls out of it. Gojo wipes it away with his foot. Megumi huffs.
”To master a technique, you need to learn basic fighting. How else did you think I became this great?” Gojo laughs obnoxiously and Megumi doesn’t feel a tug of his lips or a happy beat of his heart or anything. It’s all been stowed away since he discovered the person trapped in Gojo’s room. If that’s even a person.
Obviously, Megumi has attempted to open Gojo’s room for a while yet. The time windows have been small, unfortunately. Gojo has stayed home for a while now—the scheduling of his missions have gotten more and more bleak. As if the higher ups don’t need him. As if there are less and less curses.
That will never be true.
And besides, Megumi shouldn’t be so worried about it anyway. He could just be seeing things, or it’s some kind a curse that Gojo just wants to specifically torture. (And, even at that, Megumi’s not sure if the thing is being tortured. He’s not even sure as to what happens in that room.)
”—despite the challenges, which you’ll go through by the way, you’ll always come out on top because you have me, Megumi! Oh, and… Hey! Are you listening?”
”No,” Megumi replies before he spots a fist coming right for his forehead.
Megumi watches the two dogs zip around each other. They nip and preen and jump and yap. Their furs brush and mix and it’s pretty to look at.
Tsumiki watches too. She sits next to Megumi, playing in the grass with her toes. Leaves are falling and snow will be arriving soon, but Tsumiki is comfortable going around barefoot and wearing shorts and a tank top.
“Is it a lot of work?” she asks, “To make them play, I mean.”
Megumi shrugs. The dogs freeze for a second, a moment of stillness, but then they’re back to enjoying life.
“Well—at least it’s nice to see.”
Megumi agrees. He doesn’t say that aloud.
Gojo has a girlfriend. She smells a little like Tsumiki.
She’s sitting next to him at the table, hands in her lap, head swirled in his direction. Tsumiki admires her a lot. Megumi shifts uncomfortably in his seat as Gojo spoon feeds her. Under the blindfold, Megumi can imagine the heart eyes.
Later, the couple settle onto the couch, deciding to watch a movie. Tsumiki and Megumi are instructed to go to bed.
”Megumi…!” Tsumiki hisses when Megumi stops at the top of the stairs. “Gojo told us to go to sleep. I don’t want to be in trouble because you’re caught watching TV!”
”She’s wearing gloves, Tsumiki.”
”Huh?”
”She’s wearing gloves inside.”
”Well it’s fall and maybe she runs cold,” Tsumiki says, leaning against a nearby wall. “Or, maybe, she doesn’t have her nails done.” Tsumiki sighs dreamily. “She really is perfect.”
Megumi’s eyebrow ticks. “Ew.” He turns back to look down the staircase.
Gojo’s standing there, hands on his hips. His lips are puckered in a pouting way. “I said go to bed!!”
Tsumiki laughs.
Megumi’s up in the dead of night.
He makes his way to Gojo’s room with expectations of the sounds of creaking and moaning and crying.
There’s nothing—even as he crouches to peer under the crack of the door, whispering back, promising to help this time.
There’s nothing but faint scratch marks on the floor.
The girlfriend—you—has been around more often. Sometimes it’s babysitting while Gojo is gone (which, by the way, the siblings have never had a babysitter before, as per Gojo’s terrible parenting skills), but most of the time it’s while Gojo is around. The two of you stay in the bedroom for a majority of the visit, so Tsumiki clings to Megumi until you come out.
Currently, this is a babysitting scenario. Gojo’s been gone for two weeks and you’ve been doing your due diligence for the kids. Cooking, cleaning, and playing house seem to be your specialty.
”You’d be a great mom,” Tsumiki says. Megumi physically flinches and you pause your mindless surfing on the TV. You’re still wearing gloves.
“Oh, you think?” you ask rather awkwardly. Tsumiki nods.
”I’m just waiting for the day Gojo proposes.”
Megumi pops his mouth open, to tell Tsumiki to knock it off or something but then she stands up and announces that she will grab some snacks.
Megumi’s eyes immediately find yours after that. “I’m sorry. I…don’t know why she said that.” He feels miffed.
”It’s okay,” you smile gently. It appears that you want to say more but then stop. You curl into the side of the couch, on the complete opposite side of Megumi. You look almost sad, like something is missing in your eyes.
”You don’t have to stay here, you know,” Megumi says and you blink up at him. “I know that Gojo can be a bit pushy—“ he’s under exaggerating— “but he can’t boss you around or anything. You guys haven’t known each other for that long, right?”
Your lips part and just like before, you stop. It’s frustrating watching you pause and struggle by simply not saying what you want to say. Then it’s awkward when your eyes dart up to the clock, waiting for your cue to shout I should head home now!
And just as Megumi gives up, slinking into his side of the couch, face pressed against the armrest, you talk.
”Satoru told me what you guys have been through—so don’t think I’m upset about Tsumiki. I honestly thought it was kinda funny.” You grin a little and Megumi pouts back.
”She still shouldn’t have said that.”
”It’s whatever.” You shrug but still grin and there’s a sparkle in your eyes that is similar to Tsumiki’s. Oh. That’s what was missing in you. That’s probably what made Gojo fall for you.
You’re really nice looking.
Megumi’s face warms. He distracts himself by looking at your gloved hands. Like clockwork, you hide them in your lap, with an uncomfortable look on your face.
”I’ve, um, known Satoru my whole life,” you blurt. Megumi realizes that you don’t want him to question the gloves. “He would visit the US during his holidays and he would find me.”
Megumi leans in and curiously questions, “Find you?”
”Because he wanted me—us—to live here, in Japan, together,” you say and the sparkle leaves your eyes. You’re not so pretty anymore. “And guess what happened.”
You and Gojo must have broken up. The teacher has been disturbed lately. He screams and breaks everything in his sight and he almost appears to lose control. (Of course, this is while the kids are—supposedly—sleeping. He wouldn’t dare show unruly behavior to growing and easily-influenced children!)
Thankfully, he doesn’t lose control, less Megumi be six feet underground.
And Megumi isn’t sad. Your absence doesn’t make his heart heavy. Doesn’t make him want to cry and throw things too because that’s how Gojo does it and Megumi isn’t him. Megumi is simply Megumi. He doesn’t want you back like Gojo does. He’d just appreciate it if you visited once in a while. It would help the broken plates. It would help with the increased amount of curses.
“Sensei.”
”Sensei.”
”No Megumi! Sensei.” Gojo corrects.
”That’s what I’m saying!” Megumi groans. “It’s not like I’ve never said this before. I literally go to school, Gojo.”
”You mean sensei,” Gojo says with a sly smile. Megumi groans again.
He’s growing up. It feels slow, like each day is dragging by. It doesn’t help that Tsumiki has fallen ill, even to the point of bedriddenness. But it’s okay. Because Megumi is growing and he’s going to fix her.
He’s going to fix everything.
“Geto Suguru.” Megumi looks up to his soon-to-be teacher. “You knew him?”
Gojo shifts uncomfortably. “He was my best friend! And now I have to kill him.”
”Oh,” Megumi utters because there’s nothing else to say. He looks back down to the sheet. He squints at a near familiar name. Shoko Ieiri. Megumi taps the small picture of her. Gojo grins.
”Another friend. I don’t have to kill her.”
”Oh,” he utters again, because there’s still nothing to say.
Just before school starts, just before Gojo officially becomes Megumi’s teacher, you’re back. Standing in a pretty outfit, beaming at the two from inside Gojo’s home. Megumi stiffens and attempts to meet Gojo’s eyes. His attempts are ignored in favor of you, however.
The two make it inside. They’re sweating, at least Megumi is, from the relentless practice. And he wants to ask what you’re doing here. Why you’ve shown up out of the blue in a pretty outfit, smelling a bit like Tsumiki and not wearing gloves at all.
He’s going to ask but then you place food in front of the two and Megumi can’t say no to this.
So he eats.
There’s comfortable conversation for you and Gojo. It’s weird not having Tsumiki sitting next to him, whispering, prying. She would be waiting for you to finish. She’d wait and wait and wait.
Megumi keeps eating. His mind feels like it’s running a little slow.
”Of course I would, Satoru… Why do you think I’m here?” You say while smiling. It looks weird.
”For me.” Gojo’s smiling too. His is easier to decode than yours. It’s a simple cypher: right corner of his mouth is a bit down and his front teeth are gnawing into the flesh. He’s not upset but maybe a bit annoyed at… something. Megumi’s not so sure. The teacher always carries a look like that when Megumi misplaces his foot. Or when the teen is up at night, creeping into the halls.
Just as Megumi’s head droops, his forehead hovering right above the countertop, he hears you gasp. Blearily, he looks to his two elders. Gojo’s hand is clutched around a wrist you’re attempting to tug back. The teacher’s face is bright red with his glasses slipping down his nose sloppily. “Satoru…!” you whine and pull back.
It’s terrifying how quickly Gojo leaps across the counter to get to you.
Megumi closes his eyes.
Itadori is a mess. He shouldn’t be here. He shouldn’t even be alive.
He shouldn’t be in Megumi’s dorm room, but he is, and he’s poking and prodding around. He says things like: “Woah Fushiguro!! What is this?!” and it’s a book about psychology. When Itadori began to open Megumi’s drawers, a pillow was thrown to his head.
“Ahhh Fushiguro, your room is so clean… Where’s all the posters?” Itadori asks. He’s peering over Megumi’s shoulder. Math homework peer right back at him.
”What posters?” Megumi attempts to shrug the other away. Itadori stays and gestures around the room. “You know, like, really hot girls in bikinis! And big butts! Like Jennifer Lawrence.”
Megumi’s face turns red. “Hell no!” And he finally swats Itadori away.
Megumi resumes his work for a few minutes longer before looking over to Itadori. He’s, again, snooping around. Megumi’s eyebrow ticks. “Put that down.” Itadori’s holding a picture frame before flipping it to green eyes. ”Who is this? Your mom or something?”
Soon-to-be. Right. Gojo and you are engaged. Have been for about a month. The wedding will happen in about three weeks from now.
Feigning boredom, Megumi looks back to his papers. “Gojo-sensei hasn’t told you about her yet? I figured he would blab about her every second he could,” he mutters. Itadori appears a bit skittish after hearing that.
”I mean, he talks about his fiancée…”
”Yeah.”
”Oh… OH!” Itadori jumps up and Megumi can practically see the cogwheels turning in his head. “So she will be your mom! Wow, okay!” Itadori turns back to the picture frame. Suddenly, a mouth manifests out of Itadori’s cheek and laughs.
”I’m sure she’ll make a great meal!”
Megumi barely suppresses the punch heading for Itadori’s face.
A runaway bride is what you are. Fleeing the night before the wedding.
Gojo has held a stifling quiet for the past 32 hours. His eyes are dull. Megumi wants to reach out and offer some sort of comfort. Instead, he says simply, “It’s probably just some misunderstanding.”
Gojo doesn’t look up. Doesn’t react, doesn’t move, and Megumi would think that he were dead if not for the gentle rising and falling of his chest.
”I’m tired of her running away,” Gojo says after a pregnant pause. “I know what she wants and she knows what I want. It’s not like I’m going to kill her.”
Megumi’s stomach rolls and it reminds him of being a kid, sneaking around and trying to get into Gojo’s room because he thinks someone’s trapped in there. It’s silly, looking back on it, but his stomach is rolling all the same again.
He makes his way back to the school. He dreams of his warm bed and warm shower and warm clothes. He’s tired of the fighting. He’s tired of Tsumiki not waking up and nagging him. He’s tired of the looks of his friends, each exhausted and on the brink of death after each mission. He’s tired of it all.
As Megumi passes a local store, he smells something like Tsumiki. Floral-ish, like flowers, like how most girls smell. It smells nice and comforting and like you.
He turns to the store. His heart seems to stop in his chest and his mouth dries.
You notice him back. Your eyes lock with wide green ones.
Megumi is right in front of you in half a second. His arms are stretched wide, a hugging gesture, but you don’t take it. You shuffle, holding a wrinkled bag in your hands. Megumi drops his arms.
”Hi,” he whispers. He doesn’t know if you’re real or if it’s just the hysteria creeping into him. He wants to touch and feel, maybe poke and prod while he’s at it. You look like you, but are you really? You smell like you, but is this fake lying?
”Hi Megumi,” you whisper back and Megumi hugs you. You’re stiff (and you shouldn’t be) but you manage to wrap your arms around his middle. Your hair tickles his mouth and he just hugs you closer.
”I missed you so much,” he says into the top of your head. He pauses for a moment to inhale. You tense up like you’re waiting for bad news—and for good reason. Gojo-sensei has been in his quiet, anger mood for far too long. Megumi can’t wait for it to end.
“We want you back home.” He inhales your scent again. Sweet. Comforting. Home.
the cigarette dangles from his lips. one wrong move and it’ll fall into the carpet—not that it will cause much of a fuss anyway. there’s already dents and stains the the murky beige. the worst that it could do is light the shit-hole ablaze.
“we should go tomorrow,” he says, cigarette tucked into the side of his lip, forcing a slur of his words. “i don’t like staying in one place for too long.”
the best thing that could happen is the flames setting this place ablaze.
you hum lowly. the bed that you’re on is stiff and smells of an attic. last night, it slammed against the wall so loudly you were afraid it was going to break. you were afraid you were going to break.
the hunter turns around. smoke fills the room despite a small window being open for ventilation. “or we could go today,” he says. you’re surprised that his cigarette doesn’t fall with the way his mouth moves.
“i don’t care.”
“‘kay.” he turns back around before tossing the cigarette out the window.
outside is a desolate place. cars have stopped moving, birds have stopped flying, and there’s no longer electricity. things have truly returned to survival of the fittest.
your head tilts to the hunter. he’s big and tough looking. he’s your stereotypical “top of the food chain” type of guy. he could survive on his own. but he doesn’t, because you’re here, dragging him down.
you don’t know why he’s taking care of you (that’s truly the most honest way to put it) and you’re too afraid to ask. the most the he’s asked of you is the opening of your legs and the aid of shaving his slow-growing stubble.
even now, while walking on broken pieces of gravel and tar, he carries your supplies with two shoulders. a lone cigarette pokes out from his mouth.
all you carry is a simple map.
“do you know where we are going next?” you ask, peering at every location he has circled in red pen on the map.
“wherever’s closest,” he mutters. you blink. his eyes are watching the ground. you watch him.
“that’ll probably be an hour or two more.”
“we’ll figure it out.” more like he will.
but you’re content on following him through hell, so long as he keeps you bubbled.
you think it’s your birthday. it’s more of a feeling rather than fact. it’s the month you remember being born in, anyway.
the hunter somehow found cupcake mix in an abandoned house you two decided to take cover in. also, more generously funded by the higher powers, there was a generator filled with a lick of gasoline in the basement of the house. today must be your lucky day.
per usual, the hunter holds a cigarette in his teeth while you hold a pastry. there wasn’t a candle but the smoke he emitted was enough to replace the item.
“i thought you’re supposed to make a wish,” he inquires softly. you shrug. “it’s not that important. and i need a candle to do that.”
it’s his turn to hum. his eyes seem to filter as he looks up. he’s…pretty. as pretty as an apocalypse can do to someone. he almost looks young, like twenty, like he was forced to grow up. everyone was forced to grow up after the bombs.
for you—you don’t even know how old you are now. it’s your birthday, but you don’t know which year it’s for.
his eyes roll down to you. you stare right back.
he plucks the cigarette from his lips and places the bud right along the zipper of your mouth. “take a drag and make your wish,” he says and pushes the toxin into you.
Suguru stares at his ceiling. The rolling sound of the hamster wheel fills the silence. Julius Caesar. What an active little thing.
His eyes find the cage. The hamster appears to be running for its life.
How simple life would be: to run in circles and think that you are escaping.
There are more and more curses appearing each day. Suguru is getting tired. Satoru just seems to be over the moon—maybe because you’re gone.
It’s a good thing, Suguru wants to believe, that your absence will be beneficial in the long run. But so far, the side effects are a lack of sleep and quite a bit of silence.
”Suguru! Look at this bug I found! Isn’t it cute?”
He turns to Satoru’s direction. Perhaps ‘silence’ isn’t the correct term. And well, there is no possible way that ‘peaceful’ is the word for it either.
”..It’s odd that it’s orange.”
Content.
”Don’t discriminate him..!”
No, that’s not right either.
Dissatisfaction.
“Leave.”
Suguru remembers it like it was yesterday.
“Huh, what?”
His heart racing and squeezing and thriving.
”Leave me the hell alone. Get away from here.”
Your lips twisting and thinning and cracking.
”I don’t..understand. Oh, is this some kind of joke—“
His eyes squinting. Your eyes flitting.
”I am going to kill you.”
He remembers your silhouette backing away quickly, near akin to the sun running from the moon.
”I will kill you.”
He remembers your tears dripping to the floor.
”Please.”
He remembers you.
And, really, it’s always been the moon scaring the sun away.
Suguru is such a liar. To himself. His family. Satoru. His hands itch as he types into his computer with vigor. His eyes dart and squint at street names and Facebook profiles.
He’s a liar because he wants to find you. Not seek you out, not even talk to you. He just wants to find you. Know you’re safe. Know that he’s not in reach of you.
A few clicks later and he’s finding your address and where you’re working at: Exotic Strip Club, Friendly Girls! He frowns at the name, his gut wrenching. He wants to puke but holds it down. Julius Caesar sprints from behind him—he can hear the squeaks of the wheel.
Suguru clicks on a picture of you. It’s your high school graduation photo. You had braces on then—bright blue and clunky—and fat Chucks that increased your height by one and a half inches. The photo is endearing.
His cursor slides to a newer photo of you. You’re dressed in baggy jeans and a thick sweater. Another’s hand is on your left shoulder, but the person is cut out of the photo, unidentifiable.
After that, there’s a picture of you standing in front of your new apartment, open for all to see. Suguru tastes the bile crawling up his throat in waves before he makes it to the bathroom.
In the quiet moments of his life, the man finds himself thinking about his baby. It would be a boy, most certainly, and it would look like you. He would want the baby to look like you because you’re you and Suguru is just Suguru. He’d want the child to be beautiful.
Maybe the boy would have black hair—he’d be born with a head full of it—and long legs. Tall for his age. He’d grow into a prodigy, have brains and a nice taste of humor. Suguru would want him to have your stupid humor and your dumb laugh and your teeth. Maybe the way your eyes crinkle when you smile and the way your nose flares. He wouldn’t be you at all, but he’d be comparable, the closest any being would ever be to you.
Suguru wouldn’t want the baby to be like him.
And he thinks about it in the shower while watching the blood from the day’s battles wash down the drain. He thinks about your face twisted into a look that doesn’t suit you. A rage in your eyes but also a heartbreak. Your hands hold your stomach. Not in tenderness, but in grief.
Suguru thinks about the baby the two of you would have had if not for him.
Again, he’s a liar. He just wanted to know where you were, not find you in person. That’s it. That’s all he wanted.
(But is it? Stalking your ex—is that what you want? Keep her tied to you, force her open, and take out all her insides? Take everything you want? Need?)
You're sitting in front of him. Oblivious. Reading out of a newspaper (despite your phone sitting right next to you) and sipping out of an oddly shaped mug. All of this is you. And Suguru thinks he wants it again.
You stand up, stretch, glance in his direction (his heart palpitates), before trekking out of the café. He follows, a wool hat over his head and a black coat tight around his shoulders in a quick attempt to hide himself. The whole plan was rushed; one moment he was feeding Caesar, the next he found himself catching your eyes in a coffee shop. And he doesn’t even like coffee.
Besides that, why are you on this side of town? Why are you in town? You shouldn’t be—you must know there’s a chance that your estranged husband lives here. That you used to live here. You moved away for a reason. Why come back? Why?
(For a moment—just for a fraction of a second—Suguru thinks that you came back to him with some kind of twisted news.
He thinks you want him.)
The questions are answered as you make your way to a familiar street but it’s not Suguru’s. Instead, it’s your best friend, who he assumed he already silenced and ended your connections to each other. Well, clearly not as he watches the two of you hug and kiss. Soon, you make your way off of the doorstep and into the house.
On Suguru’s way back home, he kills twenty curses, two of which bear the slightest resemblance of him and his struggles.
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Your mother’s face is all you see as she tells you about the new house. “New and exotic,” she says and her eyes sparkle. You like her sparkly eyes, so you repeat: “New and exotic.”
She smiles, bright and pretty as always. Your brother coughs beside you and her smile hides behind the pinks of her lips.
“No, no, Kaju, be careful! Slow. In and out.” She exaggerates by adding a hand to her chest. Kaju watches, his chubby baby cheeks full and round, and he copies very slowly. You watch too, imitating with small movements.
Your mother sees you and squints. “Not you, baby. You’re normal.” And then she turns back to Kaju, still squinting, her sparkly eyes gone.
You lean back into your car seat. Normal. Kaju is hurting, trying to breathe. Normal.
Kaju has something wrong with him. He coughs and maybe food comes out and Mom always says, “No Kaju! Slow now!” in sloppy English. Sometimes she speaks in Spanish, but she wants Kaju to learn a lot of English so he can be a doctor. You want to be a doctor too, but when you tell Mom, she loses her sparkle eyes and squints.
So, you think about being an artist. Mom likes your paintings of dogs and cats. You only have a few paintings because there’s not a lot of dogs in the countryside. Only long, tall grass and old trees. You try to paint the trees and the grass but Mom squints at them and Kaju does too.
So dogs and cats are the best. You want a dog and a cat to pet and paint. They are the best.
“Mommy?” you ask as she prepares lunch. Her fingers are digging into rices and corns. She hums and her pretty face is glowing. “I want a dog.”
Her head tilts and she looks at you. Her eyes are wide and sparkly and you smile because she’s so pretty.
“Perro? A dog?” Her eyes go wider and she smiles.
Kaju is at the table in his high chair. He’s looking at you. You look back.
Kaju coughs just as you say you want a cat too. Mom goes to Kaju.
School is foreign, and as Mom likes to say, exotic. “It is great for you and Kaju. Education is well,” she said once, fully in English. She seems to learn more each time you come back from church. Her friends are kind to teach her.
But you frowned when you heard about school. Older kids in church grumbled about homework. You were scared of homework.
Not anymore though. When you make it back home from school, your first day, Mom smiles and Kaju smiles. You smile too because homework is so fun!
You and Mom and Kaju look at papers your teachers gave to you. You don’t understand much but Mom reads it quickly. “This is good, baby,” she says before pushing them back into a pile. Kaju says, “Baby, baby, baby!” You grin because Mom is so happy.
“And soon, Kaju will be with you.” Mom glances at him and curls his hair around her fingers. Kaju still chants ‘baby’ and you look at the papers.
“Oh, Mom,” you say and she hums, fingers still busy styling Kaju. “I want a dog and a cat.”
“Two?” Sparkle, sparkle, sparkle are her eyes.
“Yes. Please,” you say the new word ‘please’ that you learned in class and Mom smiles.
“Kaju, do you want animals?” Mom asks him but he looks at you. His cheeks look a little smaller. He’s getting big.
“Dog! Cat! Baby!” he chants with glee. You feel glee too because you don’t think he’s coughed yet today. And that Mom is happy. And that homework is easy.
Homework is not easy when you’re walking a dog. Times tables jumble up your brain and Perro barks a lot, ruining your thought process.
“Perro!” You whine and Perro gives you his big puppy eyes. “I gotta learn nines. Nine, eighteen, twenty—um…” You glance at your fingers to count again.
Perro barks and tugs on the leash. “Perro!” you yell again. He’s a fat dog and pulls really hard and your wrist is all scratched up from his tugging.
He pulls more, barks, and the leash breaks. Perro runs across the street. You move to follow—there’s never cars—but you see someone standing in the tall grass. Perro trots up to him—a boy with white hair and shorts and a tank top. The boy extends a pale hand and Perro greedily slobbers all over it. He laughs and his head turns to you. He has dark sunglasses on.
“Perro!” you call rather weakly. It’s weird seeing someone your age around here. Of course, Perro doesn’t listen, and rubs his chunky body on the boy’s legs.
“I’m, I’m sorry,” you stammer and walk across the street. There’s an embarrassing heat in your cheeks and you don’t think it’s from the sun. But the boy tilts his head and gives you a smile. It’s pretty, like your Mom’s.
“It’s okay. I like fat dogs. They are cute,” he says and he has an odd accent. You know you have an accent too, but his is different. Before, you were thinking he was from around here.
You reach for Perro and hook the leash back in place. He huffs and finally turns around.
“His name is Perro?” the boy asks out of nowhere. You blink. “Yeah.”
“Well, what does Perro mean?” he asks and it comes out snappy. You shrink a little backwards and look across the street. You want to leave.
“It’s dog in Spanish.”
“Spanish,” he says just as you take a step. “Yeah,” you say rather lamely. But you don’t want to talk to him. He is odd and his hair is white and it’s all confusing. And as you take another step closer to the road, the boy is close to you. He—he’s so fast you didn’t even see him move.
“So that’s why you talk so weird.” He smiles and it’s not so pretty anymore. You feel a little offended and frown a bit. “You talk weird too,” you whisper and you see his eyebrows shoot up above the sunglasses.
“I’m on vacation,” he says with a cross of his arms, “I don’t live here. I’m not like you.”
“Then where are you from?” Curiosity takes over your mind.
“Japan.”
“Japan?” you repeat and think about all you know about Japan. Well, nothing comes to mind except for a girl whose family vacations to Japan. She’s in your class and her name is Jessie.
“What! Don’t tell me you don’t know about Japan!” he says loudly but he doesn’t sound angry. “I’ve heard about Americans being dumb. I didn’t think it would transfer to immigrants.” You’re stunned and it seems Perro notices your mood change and begins to growl. The boy only smiles at you. Yeah, it’s definitely not a pretty smile.
“That’s so…” You don’t know what to say, and with embarrassment thrumming throughout your body, you turn around.
The boy’s laughter leaves your head a mess and you forget about homework.
“What is wrong, baby? You have been different,” Mom says next to you. Kaju is on the floor in front of her, scribbling on a piece of paper. Today is Saturday, the best day of the week.
Because there’s no school.
“Nothing.” You hum and continue your painting of Kaju. His face is a little flat today and he’s more pale than usual. He has been coughing a lot.
“Nothing?” Mom blinks at you. Her hands fidget. “Is it school?”
There’s really nothing bothering you. Middle school is just.. middle school. More homework, more classes, more people.
So: “Nothing, Mom.” You look at her and force a grin. Her shoulders sloop down and she smiles back. “Okay, baby.”
You resume your painting of Kaju. You highlight the tip of his nose, his forehead, his chin. You detail his fingers, his pencil, the scribbles he’s making on that paper.
Kaju coughs. You pause and glance at Mom. Her head is facing the window next to the couch. Kaju coughs again. You watch Mom. She is looking outside.
Kaju coughs and makes a strangled sound. Spit trickles down his front and he’s holding his neck.
Mom turns and helps him then.
You close the front door behind you. Your painting is glossy in the sun as you lay it down on a small wooden bench. You can hear Kaju’s screaming. What you can’t hear is Mom. You don’t hear a gentle “slow, Kaju. In and out” from Mom. Just Kaju. And it’s never just Kaju.
You walk away from the house. You do your times tables of thirteen. You do it past one hundred. And when you focus back to the world, you realize you’ve crossed the street. Tall grass dangles around you and the wind curves them into waves.
“Hey,” a voice says from behind. You turn and blink wildly at that white haired boy from years ago. He’s most definitely taller and still wears dark sunglasses. It makes sense though. Arizona is hot.
Alas, you frown. “Why are you here?” you ask.
He grins, boyishly. “I knew you were gonna be here.”
You tilt your head. “Huh? No way.”
His leg moves forward and yours moves back. His cheeks are tan and blushy. The grass tickles your knees. You want to leave.
“I’m on vacation again. You should come hang out at my house,” he says and jerks his head to the side, gesturing the direction of his home. You look on and see the endless green of trees and grass.
“I’m not allowed to leave,” you mutter. The boy shrugs.
“It’s not far. And who cares about rules? I don’t.”
“Well, I do.” You wiggle your way through the grass and walk over to the dirt of the road. Rocks slide into your flip-flops and you cringe.
He grabs your hand. He’s warm—burning and you try to pull away but he grips harder. You bite your lip and freeze.
His sunglasses are on top of his hair. His eyes are shock blue and shine and sparkle. This sparkle is different from your mother’s. You don’t like it. You don’t like anything about this boy.
“Come with me.” He smiles and your mouth opens but you blink and it’s not so hot anymore. His hand is still on yours and there are still rocks in your shoes but the sun is not beaming down your back. You blink again, and there’s a bed in front of you—the kind you’d see in movies—with long windows behind it. Instead of a shaggy green carpet touching your toes, there is a cold wood floor.
You shout and jump and the boy laughs. “You’re fine! See? We’re in my home!” He lets go of your hand and jumps onto the big bed.
“In Japan?!” You shout again and feel a rock in your throat. But the boy shakes his head, a cheesy grin on his face. “Of course not. This is the vacation home.” He flattens himself against his bed. You stand awkwardly.
“You wanna get something to eat?” You hear him ask.
“No,” you say but your stomach complains by growling loudly. He snickers and you want to go home.
“Oh my baby! All done with middle school!” Mom sings while driving. You continue drawing in your sketchbook and before long you have created large blue eyes and white hair and a boyish grin. It’s, unfortunately, Satoru Gojo. He paid you twenty dollars the last time you saw him and he asked for you to create an image of him. Whatever. Easy money.
“Mami! I’m going into sixth!” Kaju yells, wanting attention. She looks at him in the rear view mirror. “Ah, yes! Kaju is going into middle school. Don’t you feel so old?” Kaju shouts something like “I’m not old!” and Mom laughs and you shove your earbuds further into your ears.
The drawing is finished. It looks like Satoru, unfairly pretty with white teeth. You think it’s kind of weird how you can draw him so easily without having him stand right next to you. You can only do that with Kaju and Mom because you know them.
—and you don’t really know Satoru. Well, except for the fact that he’s one year older than you. His family is rich, maybe, probably, everytime he..teleports you to the vacation home, it’s grand on the inside. Not that you’ve met any of his family members and not that he mentions any of them. It’s all just a big guess on your part.
Satoru knows about you though. He knows about Kaju and Mom and how Perro died. He knows about your passion for art and your more secret passion for doctors. He knows what school you go to, where you live, and your favorite color. He knows so much and you trust him. He’s really your only friend after all.
The car stops and you glance up. Home is ahead, small, tiny, and dirty all around. It’s a trailer. Kaju and Mom are still talking so you climb out of the car and stretch.
Satoru is coming today for his summer long vacation. You hold the sketchbook close to you. You feel excited.
Satoru is there, across the street. Tall, pretty, and grinning. You’re glad that your art piece matches him.
“Hello!” He yells and waves and you jog over. His eyes look at the sketchbook—he takes his glasses off around you now. You hand the pad over to him and watch his pupils dilate.
“Like it?” you ask and for some reason you feel a little shy. He nods wordlessly and cradles the sketchbook. Maybe he likes it too much.
“Can I keep it?”
“Yeah.” You’ve never had anyone ask to keep a drawing of yours.
He looks up at you and his eyes are unreadable. “I wanna take you somewhere new. You’ll like it, I promise.” So you shrug and grab his hand and blink. New things can be scary, like starting high school and moving. You expect to be scared, Satoru likes pranks, but you blink twice and the air smells good and you see pink petals.
You look up. Pretty trees flow in the wind and you gape. Their leaves are pink!
“What are they?” You breathe out, still holding Satoru’s hand. He chuckles next to you. “Cherry blossoms. I—we’re in Japan.” You look at him and squint. “Satoru!”
“But it’s okay! I’ll bring you back, I promise.” His cheeks are as pink as the trees. “I just wanted to show you.” You want to be mad at him, but as much as you try, you can’t. So you look back up and smile.
Satoru’s head falls onto your shoulder. His breaths are quick and shallow. He sounds sick. He sounds like your brother.
“Can we…” He starts but the words die in the wind. “What?” you whisper. His hand tightens around yours.
“I want us to be together.”
You giggle. He’s joking, he must be. “We can’t, Satoru! I don’t want to live in Japan.” At that, he shoves his face further into your neck, and you swear you feel his lips tremble against your pulse.
Hiii I really like your posts of crybaby and cute,cuddly and soft and I was wondering if you were going to do a part 3
i’ve been thinking about that except i’m running out of ideas lol. i most likely will, but i don’t know when. hopefully within two weeks. thanks for asking!
You pretty thing with your twisting arms and arching back. The soft glow of the room creates nice lighting on your skin. The dress you wear—the one that makes Aki’s heart race—rides up on your thighs as you walk up to him.
Puffy lips curve into a smile that has no emotions. “Aki,” your voice greets the younger man. He’s an acquaintance, but close enough that you call each other by first name.
Aki, in his brain, likes to call you other things.
“Hello (y.n).” Aki looks around before his eyes land back on you. “Thanks for inviting me. It looks great.”
The room is decorated to look like a formal party. A rich person gathering. Something Makima would attend, not Aki.
But you invited him, and you rarely do that, so Aki follows you into a room upstairs with a blank mind. There’s a large bed with soft looking sheets. The room is clean and lightly decorated, as if it’s for a short-timed stay. It smells good. It smells like you.
You sit on the bed, dress sliding up, straps slipping. You’re mesmerizing, do you know that?
You must know—you must know what you’re doing to Aki.
His hands clench.
“Aki, tell me how long you have left.” The sentence comes out sharp enough to stab him. It doesn’t, but Aki flinches anyway. “Why?” He presses back.
You frown. Your pretty lips twist in an ugly way and Aki feels bad so he says, “Two years!” so you won’t get disappointed.
Your frown deepens. “Why did you use the sword?”
Aki hesitates, feeling a burning in his eyes, but your dress slips more, revealing that you’re not wearing a bra. “To save Himeno.” He blurts out. His gaze is heavy on your chest.
“You have no shame, Aki.” You laugh a little, insincere. “Did you love her?”
“No.”
The questions on your tongue stop. Aki takes a slow step forward and you let him. You look almost shocked.
“Are you lying to me, Hayakawa?” You whisper.
“I would never.” Aki breathes out.
You close your eyes and lean back into the bed. It’s dark in your room. So dark, but Aki can see your dress slipping away, your bare skin, things he’s never seen before.
Lips stretching into a grin. Teeth shining. “You don’t love me, right Aki? You’re not in love with me.” It’s a statement Aki is supposed to agree upon, and he does so verbally, but he’s lying.
You don’t want him to lie but he must so he can be close to you.
this is not completed!! i have been working on this off and on for a while, but now i’m sick of it. i may continue if people actually like it ((not edited!!))
With the sun kissing your exposed shoulders, you haul chunks of wood into your metal bucket. The hand-made wrist brace you wear does not help your sprained wrist in the slightest. Carrying heavy objects is such a pain.
As you groan and huff, your little brother screams from behind you. “Olive is here! Olive!!” You spin your head around, ignoring the cracking your neck emits. Your brother is smiling with his arms stretched out above his head. “Olive” stands behind an old oak tree. Your chest tightens.
“Get over here.” You snap at your brother. Either he doesn’t hear you or he ignores you because he doesn’t come, so you drop your bucket filled with wood to snatch him up. “Why ain’t ya listening to me?” You whisper and place him on your hip. Your brother continues to watch “Olive” with a big, gummy smile. You frown before your eyes find the boy “Olive” yourself, except no one is there.
It’s just the big, old, oak tree.
“He’s talkin’ about that boy Olive again.” Your father remarks. He’s holding a newspaper to his face as if he can read, but he can’t. Not one person in your family can read. No one has ever gone to school.
Unless you count Melissa, your brand new step-mom. She’s a pretty, former city girl. She acts all kind and wise but your stomach always gets sickly around her. The perfume she wears is too sweet and she’s always smiling.
Like now. Cherry cheeks and pale skin. Her hands are soft and gentle as she sets them on your shoulders. Your bare shoulders, where her fingernails can dig into your flesh.
You want to throw up.
“I’ve heard that too, Henry.” Melissa says. “I’ve only seen Olive once. I don’t know if he’s even a boy.” She makes it sound like a joke, and somehow, some way, your father smiles back.
Your father never smiles, not since your mother left.
Damned witch, you think and you grit your teeth so you won’t spit in her face.
You sit on a fallen tree trunk and chug some water. Your muscles twitch in pain. It’s hard labour, but you’ve always done it—at least since you were eight. You now work the fields and tend to the cattle. There’s something new every day so it’s not boring, but there’s a want inside of you. A want of exploration. An education. Friends.
Well, there’s that stranger boy that comes around sometimes. Your brother first spotted him and called him Olive because of his hair colour. “Olive” stood behind the oak tree which is a mile from your house. It’s where you and your brother would play.
Would play, because Melissa told you to grow up. She smiled after that and kissed you on the cheek.
Your stomach churns before you drink more water.
The sun is still out, the animals are crying—you always have work. So you stand and wipe the dirt off your clothes. It’s been a habit since Melissa began nagging you about your hygiene. “Clean freak.” You mutter in a quiet rebellion.
Heading back to work, you glance at the oak tree. Surprisingly, “Olive” is standing there. You’re closer to the tree than you were yesterday, so the boy appears to have a larger build.
Dirt is caked on his skin and he has scars lining his biceps.
You cringe.
“What are you doin’ here?” You ask, trying to ignore your pounding heart. As always, he doesn’t say anything, only staring you down. Your face turns taut. “This isn’t your property. Get out of here before we shoot ya.”
You expect him to run for the hills, but he takes a step forward, no longer hiding behind the thick bole of the tree.
Heart now racing, you pull out a switchblade your father gave to you. It’s light and fast but would probably break upon impact. It was in case you encountered a wild animal.
It was never meant for a human.
“I said get!” You yell. Your hands are shaking and your eyebrows twitch.
The boy looks on, but he begins to back away, a frown growing on his lip.
You scramble back to the house once he’s out of sight, tears bubbling in your eyes. Your poor lungs beg for air when you hike the mile to your safety.
Slamming open the front door, you collapse onto the dirty mat inside.
Melissa immediately comes to your aid. “What happened?” she asks, “What did you do?”
“Did you take care of those animals?”
Your head spins as you shake your head.
All you manage to do is throw up.
“I’m going to town.. would you like to come with me?” Your ears buzzed as soon as you heard “town.”
Going to town was a foreign thing, as your family didn’t have access to a car, and you had everything you needed at home. At least, that’s what your father says.
That’s why you’re giddy once you see the large buildings. Your heart is racing once you spot street lamps and crowds of people. People of all kinds—young, old, black and white. You chew on your lips once you and Melissa get into a red streetcar.
It’s all so exhilarating and exotic.
It’s the high you wanted.
But once Melissa’s arms are full, and the sunlight is dimming bit by bit, you realize it’s nearly time to go home. You frown at the rocky path you must take and walk as slowly as you can.
School children walk the streets together, bright smiles and big book bags. You feel envy growling inside you. They can read and write, probably speak more than one language.
Before you turn your head forward to head into the forest, Melissa speaks up.
“Do you want to go to school?”
You spot her arms trembling from the weight of the items.
“No.”
School makes you weak.
“Oh, alright. Let’s go home then.” She smiles, beginning to walk.
Just as you turn around, you see that stranger boy, “Olive,” in that bundle of students. He’s looking at you.
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it pours outside. megumi pulls his umbrella out of a rack, shaking it slightly. he checks for tampering, but there’s nothing. yuji’s pranks are so dumb sometimes..most of the time...
..every time.
he walks outside and his umbrella pops open. it’s a dark navy blue colour. he forgot where he bought it from. and you’re standing there next to him, hands shoved under the waistband of your skirt. he looks at you with a sour expression. quickly, as if pretending it didn’t happen, your hands fly out of your skirt and hide behind your back, a wide smile growing on your face. he blinks back, under his umbrella, not exactly knowing what to think.
how stupid you are, is one thing that he could think about.
“just..pretend you didn’t see that..” you mumble, your blinding smile now straining your cheeks. megumi sighs. “my mouth is shut.”
your smile drops.
the sounds of harsh rain doesn’t cover up the silence, but megumi doesn’t know what to say. it’s awkward standing with you, and he should be leaving, except he doesn’t want to, not when you’re alone, just standing here in the pouring rain without a jacket. you’re so cold that you had even resorted to shoving your hands in your skirt. well, blame the designers for not giving skirts pockets.
megumi awkwardly coughs. “do you..want to use my umbrella?” you shift a bit on your feet, body turning oddly warm. megumi turns warm too, and he’s sure that his neck is a bit red, but he shuffles to stand beside you, holding the umbrella up high so it covers both of your heads. “thanks,” you say, your hands fidgeting with the hem of your skirt. “don’t worry about it.” he responds before taking a step into the pouring rain.
Like an ant on the ground, his shoe pushes into your body and kills you like it’s nothing. Like taking another’s life is nothing. Means nothing.
You’re nothing.
Not without him, at least. Not without the pure gold he laces you up with, flaunting you about for others to see, and only see. You’re a rarity just to spot, despite his taunts of showing you to the world. He does so, but only to few. His people barely hear the whispers of your name. And even then, it’s only at night, when children tell their horror stories with wide eyes.
“He was enchanted by their pure beauty!”
“They seduced him and drove him mad!”
“He’s killed hundreds to find them!”
Each and every tale ends in tragedy. You either die, or he dies, or you both do. Like it’s nothing. Like death means nothing.
He’s nothing.
Not without his status, at least. Not without the sheer amount of anger he boils up to make others fall. To make you, and himself, fall into the deep pit of horrors. For you both to scream and wail, kick and moan. It’s pointless to struggle; he’s got you tied down and you’ve got him scared to leave you. He’s scared— so scared that when you first tried, when you first told him off, first stormed away from the disgusting emotions of rage, he broke down, turned red, felt so hot and so mad and so, so scared that he began to cry. He began to rush after you, blinded by his feelings, and gripping you so tight you both began to bleed. He breathed hard—you did too—as his hands curled up your body, squeezing so tight that your eyes almost popped out of their sockets.
He squeezed and squeezed and squeezed—
Like an ant on the ground, his shoe pushes into your body and kills you like it’s nothing. Like taking another’s life is nothing. Means nothing.
Each and every tale ends in tragedy. You either die, or he dies, or you both do. Like it’s nothing. Like death means nothing.
ahhh, i could not get this out of my head...! just adding onto the shy/crybaby reader with pushy bakugoukxkxeididejsjsksoiss
“B-Bakugou, I don’t think we should—“
“It’s Katsuki.” His voice cuts through yours. “And you’re..you’re dating me now, so we can order each other around.” He mutters the last part with a red face and furrowed brows. “Then I don’t wanna—“ Your voice is cut short when he pushes you into the janitor closet. It’s cramped, and smells of bleach, and you feel Katsuki’s hands on your hips. His fingers begin to crawl upwards under your button up; blunt nails tapping your sides.
“I..I don’t really like this..” You whisper. Your eyes are already brimmed with red. Katsuki huffs, “You wanna touch me too?” His touch leaves for only a second to lift his shirt high enough to see his abs. His hands immediately climb under your shirt when he’s done. “N-no..!!” You gasp, trying to pull away. Your breathing begins to labour.
“Well, you feel..good. And soft. N’ shit.” Katsuki blushes. His head falls onto your shoulder.
A whine crawls up your throat. Katsuki’s chin digs into your shoulder. “Please Bakugou..please stop.” Of course, the hot-headed boy clenches his jaw in anger. His fingers dig deeper into your side when he pulls his head away. “Stop? What the hell? And it’s Katsuki, (y.n).” His head pulls away even further to observe your face. “And you’re cryin’?”
And you truly have a face full of snot and tears. “I... I...” You can’t think, nonetheless talk as your self proclaimed boyfriend jams himself onto you. “Your... Your hands, Bakugou!” You wail.
His hands fall from your sides.
“Oh, t-thank you, thank you..!” You hiccup, and fall to the ground in a heap of sobs. “Thank you...thank you..” It’s all mumbles because of your hands covering your face.
Things go quiet aside from your murmurs and cries.
“..what’re you sayin’ thank you for?” Katsuki breaks the stillness. “I mean..you haven’t even said my name yet!” He says it like a joke. Like his hands are on his knees as he grins with glee. But his hands aren’t on himself, they’re on you. One cups your chin and the other hooks itself under your armpit. He lifts you with ease.
“Now move your hands.” He says, already doing it for you. “I don’t know why you always try to hide your face. It’s..it’s really..pretty.” His palm harshly wipes away your tears, but it only eggs more on. You cry fat, big baby tears.
Katsuki doesn’t seem to mind it all that much when he embraces you. His fingers dance along your back, slowly inching downward. “I want you to say my name, (y.n).” He says into your shoulder. It’s quiet enough that you can’t hear it over your hyperventilating—even with your quirk. His fingers crawl further down.
“It’s one word. You don’t have to be so damn stubborn.”
No, you’re not stubborn, Katsuki’s just winning a cheating game.
“..are you scared of me?” his thousands of mouths ask collectively. it echoes around your head, always bouncing back to inflict more pain than the first time. his fingers worm around your brain and squeeze your eyeballs. the fingertips melt into each crevice that is Your Brain. a mouth covers your face, miniature tongues fighting their way into your nostrils. you can’t breathe, But You Can, at the same time. his body molds into yours like clay. he is clay. you are the model. his hair tells you to not be afraid as it clogs up your ears, curling and pulling and ripping and stealing your thoughts.
“no.” you gasp the little air you have left, inhaling salty tears and broken promises. your fingers claw away, tearing, bleeding, but there’s no attention to the pain you cause. instead, everything becomes Him as he penetrates. your insides become mush as liquid fills you to the brim. more, more, more. it doesn’t stop. you’re a liar. it’s Your fault.
“good.” he sinks his teeth deep into your heart and your belly. he’s not done tasting you.
He’s not the gentle giant you’ve always dreamt of. He can’t smile without crooked teeth, or buy you your favourite flowers—lilacs. He doesn’t know how to make promises and whisper sweet nothings.
Katsuki just can’t be you—no matter how he tries.
Whenever he spares you a grin, your eyes bug out and you flinch, nearly curling into yourself. That time on Valentine’s, when Katsuki got down on one knee to ask you out, his hand that was so tightly clenched around the flowers’ thorns began to bleed. Of course he bought you fucking roses.
And poor, poor you, stuck with the beast on your doorstep. His red eyes practically stabbed you with how hard he glared at you. He would stutter on his words, but you would never notice. You were akin to a shaken leaf.
The skies must have agreed as they began to weep, for the sweetest thing in the world was about to be tainted.
“B-Bakugou...” You start but the words die in your throat as Katsuki begins to go into a deep bow. “Be my Valentine..” He mumbles, cheeks turning bright red. God, he hopes it doesn’t match the colour of his eyes. Or the roses in his hand. Or the blood that is leaking down said hand.
“I, um, I can’t—“ You stumble over your words too. As always, you’re absolutely adorable, and Katsuki knows this because he lifts his eyes to spot your face. Well, you’re like this always, but this is a special moment. It’s his time to see you this vulnerable and speechless.
But, the more you stutter, the quieter you become, and before long, you’ve stopped talking. “What?” Katsuki asks after a moment. “Don’t like the flowers?” He observes the roses before crushing (and exploding) them in his hand. Before long, ashes slip through his fingers and make a pile on your doorstep. “Better?” He gruffly questions, genuinely curious, because you’re still silent.
You look a bit peeved before you answer. “I just..didn’t hear what you first said. That’s all.” You manage to squeak out, clammy hands and all.
Katsuki feels like an idiot. No wonder why you’ve been so damn quiet.
“I said..go out with me! Date me! Whatever you fuckin’ call it!” He huffs. Like normal, you flinch with your hands already moving to cover your ears. “My—My quirk..!” You cry out. Crystal tears are already flying down your baby cheeks. Katsuki blanches. “Damn it! I’m sorry! Sorry!” He can’t help but yell and flail about as your emotions worsen.
“Just go, Bakugou!” You begin to slink back inside your house, eyes puffy and red. “But..but..!” His hands reach out desperately. Luckily, his fingers catch hold of the door, immediately prying it open. “Listen, I’m sorry about yellin’.” He says in a softer, more gentle voice. “Can you just be my Valentine? I’ll take you out and act all sappy and whatever. We can..hold hands..couple stuff like that...” He goes on, observing you all the while.
Skittish, a bit embarrassed maybe. You’re still hiding in a little shell that Katsuki can’t wait to open up.
And your fingers are still glued to the door. They tremble as they try to pull back. It’s no use. Katsuki’s about a head taller than you. He could so easily break into your house right now and do whatever he wants. That’s why you’re trembling. You’re goddamn scared.
“I’ll treat you right. You’ll have anything in the world!” He pauses when you flinch again. “..sorry.” He whispers. His head falls down low enough to make proper eye contact with you. “I jus’ kinda want you, (y.n).” Intimately, like lovers—almost, his breaths fan your parted lips. “I really, really do.”
When your bottom lip trembles, Katsuki feels his heart stop beating.
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It's 8:30 in the morning and he gets up. He moves to the restroom only ten seconds later; he's counting.
Pulling on short white socks, it's 8:37 AM when he makes a move to look over at the sleeping person in their shared bed. He watched their eyelids and how they moved briefly, opening, before falling back down in slumber. A dopey grin rises onto his face, but then his eyes land on his clock, and sees the time go from 8:40 to 8:41 AM.
He finishes cooking two eggs at 8:48, and slides them onto a clean plate before stabbing a fork into them both, taking a bite after. It's gross, like always. He never learned how to cook properly. He could only use some YouTube tutorials he found that actually went at his own pace.
It's 8:55 when footsteps are heard by the man. He pauses his eating briefly. It was surprising how fast he could eat; the two eggs were almost gone.
It's more surprising when he sees the person of his dreams staring at him in horror.
"...where am I? And who are you?"
He gently sets down his fork, too focused on the other to continue. Well, not too focused; he could hear the ticking clock from in the living room, reminding him that he had places to be. He could hear Lily, the orange tabby cat, licking away at herself. He liked that she focused on hygiene, unlike Eddie, the dark brown cat who seemed to laze away his days sitting in the sun.
He stood up slowly, "I have to go, honey." He didn't answer their questions.
He moved to the front door, grabbed a light tan jacket, and slipped his arms through both holes. Footsteps grew loud behind him.
"What? Where are you going? Who are you? Where is my dad?"
They were close to him; their morning breath was tickling the back of his throat almost in a sensual way, but it wasn't, and he had to keep his nasty thoughts to himself, because he had important things to do and important places to go.
"I'll be back before you know it," his voice turned chippier, and a light crisp laugh escaped him as his hands worked on unlocking the seven locks bolted into the door, and the few connected to the wall. Sweat was rolling down his back and he felt hot when a small hand landed on his shoulder. It shook him almost lovingly- but he knew it wasn't because they don't- *no one* loves him like that. It was impossible. Simply impossible.
"Please..! What is going on-?" He turned around so fast- too fast since he almost knocked them over. He whispered an apology in his head, but even it sounded insincere. "Goodbye, honey," he grabbed ahold of the hand that was on his shoulder, and placed a sloppy kiss upon it. His palms were sweaty and his mind was running a thousand miles per hour. He couldn't focus.
They pulled back, mouth agape and eyes bugged out wide. He didn't have time to console them, it was 8:58 and he was going to be late if they kept this up. So he turned on his heels swiftly, hands reaching for the tempting knob that had a sheen to it. It was his escape from this tight atmosphere.
"You- You can't leave me! Wait-"
It's 9:00 in the morning and he gets in his car. He backs out of his driveway ten seconds later; he's counting.
You’re sure you’re a bit younger than the guy standing in front of you judging by his broad shoulders and deep voice.
You probably shouldn’t be judging right now. There’s a lot of blood leaking from your head that you don’t exactly appreciate.
“Um, hey..excuse me?” You call out as gently yet commandingly as you could to the man. He turns, his own blood dripping down his lips. You bite back a gag.
“Can you...um, help me out here, maybe? I’m..kind of..scared...” You continue to talk, but his eyes favour the sight behind you. “Move!” He shouts before running over and hauling you on his shoulder.
“Divine Dogs!”
You’re able to lift your head the slightest bit to be able to spot the thing that was behind you. Located below, enormous animals growl, bark, and claw at it, except that’s all you’re able to see before the man springs past them all with you on his shoulder.
“Are you all right?” His steps don’t falter as he asks.
“Yeah..I think. But my head hurts.”
“That’s okay.”
There’s the slamming sound of a door opening paired with the sudden flash of light in your eyes.
The guy’s hands find themselves under your arms. They pull you off and onto the ground, where your knees nearly buckle. “Can you walk?” He asks. You twist and turn your head all around. You’re outside. Huh.
“..well? Can you?” He moves his head so he’s the only thing you can see. “I..I think so. Yeah.” You turn away again and blink.
You can’t remember the last time you've felt the sun.
Bandaged legs swing back and forth. Gojo looks on with silence.
“Are you..his teacher?” You ask, voice so quiet it’s a whisper.
“Megumi, right? Then yup!” Gojo’s voice is so loud in comparison. His pretty face makes up for it though. Pretty things always make up for ugly things.
“That’s cool,” your face wrinkles when your voice cracks, “but whad'ya teach? What’s all of that jujutsu stuff about?” Your body turns and there’s a light in your eyes when you ask. You look like a normal teenager.
Not a victim.
Gojo smiles. “I can’t tell you yet. How about you ask Megumi when he feels better?”
“Ask me what?”
Speak of the devil and he shall arrive.
Megumi’s voice is deeper than what you remember, and huskier. It doesn’t sound right. And like you, he’s covered in gauze from head to toe.
Gojo stands with a long stretch of his arms, much akin to a lazy cat. “Oh, you know,” Gojo hums with the corner of his mouth tugged upwards, “your dogs.” The two stare at each other in silence before Megumi looks away with a scoff.
The three of you leave together. You lag behind for the most part, but the older teen steals glances at you from time to time.
He doesn’t seem to be fond of you.
There’s haste in your steps as you exit your school.
“Ready to leave already? It’s only the first day.” Gojo jokes. His hand then slaps the roof of—presumably—his car. “Yeah,” you say, sliding into the backseat with Megumi. He plays on his phone until you poke him. “Hi.” You smile. His dark eyes glance up at you.
“Hey.”
He looks back at his phone.
Gojo moves into the front seat. “I’m going to be busy today so..” His eyes flicker up beneath his glasses, gazing into the rear view mirror. It’s silent but you don’t decide to break it. Instead, you watch Megumi rise from his slouched position to stare back at Gojo.
They always have moments like this. Just staring as if that could speak enough words. Perhaps you could ask Megumi about that, too.
Speaking of, the boy leans back, pockets his phone, and gazes at you.
You try smiling.
He frowns instead.
“It’s...a room, I guess. You know, my room.” You look around, open drawers and the like while Megumi awkwardly stands by the door. “It’s cool.” You comment after a little while.
He shows you some other, currently vacant, rooms. “Are these only for people who go to your school?” You ask after peering into a room. “Yeah. Basically.” He responds, arms crossed while seated on a bed. You choose to sit next to him.
“Can I go to this school?” You’re so quiet Megumi almost doesn’t hear you. But he does, and he actually thinks about the question. He thinks about what it would be like learning alongside you. What it would be like sleeping in the room next to you. Sparring with you. Fighting with you.
It’s not exactly a bad thought, but there’s honestly no pros about it. All he’d get was another person to talk to almost daily.
And...he just saved your life. Things would be too traumatic for you. Your mind is vulnerable right now.
“I don’t think so. I mean, can you even see curses?” He cocks his head to the right. Of course, you look on blankly. You don’t even know what curses are.
“Like..your..dogs?”
“..sure. They’re good curses, though. They help me. They hurt the bad curses.”
You nod, slowly, with your hair slipping in front of your face. “Do you think..you could show them to me?” Your voice is low again, and Megumi hears you again.
“Divine Dogs.”
The two animals appear right in front of your face. A black and a white one. “They’re..sorta cute.” You say, reaching out a hand to pat the fluffy creatures. “Sorta?” Megumi asks as if he is offended in some sort of way. Giggling, you shake your head. “They just look kinda...mean. Kinda like you.” Megumi huffs before he flops backwards.
Well, if you’re comparing them to him, you said they’re cute, right?
“..what the hell do you mean I look mean..?!”
You zip through crowds of people to reach your school’s gates. You expect to see Gojo standing there with his car, having a casual smirk on his face. Instead, Megumi is leaning on a wall next to a bike.
“Megumi?” His head perks up from the sound of his name. “Where’s Gojo?”
“Busy.” Megumi sighs. “So I’m here to pick you up.”
“With..that?” You gesture to the bike. There’s only one seat.
“You’ll stand on the back.” Megumi takes a hold of your hand, guiding you to the two pegs that poke out of the back wheel. He sits himself on the bike and pats his shoulders. “Hold onto me.” You do so, carefully.
“This isn’t bad.” You remark as the two of you glide down the sidewalk. There’s a gentle breeze that comes with the ride, and you’re able to see nature more clearly.
Megumi slips up once in a while—staring at you, that is. He observes your contentment, your brief smiles, your hands on his shoulders. It can almost make him smile.
There’s a quick turn of the bike that makes you gasp. “What was that?” You ask Megumi. He must’ve stifled a laugh because he covers his mouth when he answers.
“A rock.”
You turn your head around to spot the rock.
“It’s a pebble…”
Megumi chuckles.
“I only see a few…” You mumble dejectedly. “A few is better than none.” Gojo smiles. The curses are pretty ugly looking. They’re giant and tough. They’re also the first ones you’ve seen since Megumi..saved you.
“Now, watch Yuji.” Your eyes find the cursed boy whose skin is inked in black. Eyes roll out of his cheekbones as a devilish grin stretches out his face. The curses turn to flee, but they’re destroyed in seconds.
“That’s who Sukuna is.” Gojo says quietly. You nod in false understanding. You don’t know who Sukuna is. You just know that Yuji is a bit like you.
“Anyway,” Gojo turns to you with a beaming smile, “let’s go into town! I bet we’re all hungry!” He ushers you into his car first. You wait a little while before the others come. Megumi, per usual, takes the seat beside you. Nobara sits next to him and Yuji is buckled in the front. You watch how everyone interacts with each other.
Nobara is prideful. Yuji is energetic.
Megumi seems to always have a stoic face.
Except..when you’re alone together, usually in his room. He’s a bit more chatty and not all serious. He relaxes but never really smiles.
Well, you’re in Megumi's room, right now, with busy hands tangled in his twin dogs’ fur. You decide to ask an odd question because you always think about it: “..why don’t you smile?” Megumi, who was previously just laying back on his bed, leans up with a raised eyebrow. “Why don’t I smile..?” “Yeah.”
Your question is so innocent and casual that Megumi doesn’t know why he sits and stares at you for a bit. Your eyes glance back as you jerk your chin, inviting an answer that Megumi isn’t sure he has.
“I.. I don’t really know, I guess…” He leans back into his bed with his hands covering his face. You continue to eye him before resuming your play with the animals. God, that was the lamest thing he could say. But he really didn’t have an answer. Nothing came to mind.
Still, he could have thought of something better.
“..that’s okay.” You whisper. He hears you, like always.
Sitting up, Megumi reaches for his dogs, copying you. “Have you ever even seen me smile?” He asks. You shrug, which makes sense, but there’s a thing bubbling inside Megumi. He wants your reaction—though he’s not too sure on why he’s so hung up on this smile thing.
“Have you been trying to make me smile?” Perhaps his goal is to rile you up. Probably make you seem as if you’re the desperate one, and not him. It’s not entirely intentional, but as you turn to him with a twisted up face like that, his gut squeezes.
“..not really.” You mutter, your head moving to face a different direction. However, Megumi’s hand stops the movement. His fingers grip your jaw as he tilts your head back to him. He doesn’t feel in control of his own body as his face draws near.
He kisses you so softly, so gently, you barely feel it.
Nothing really happens a few minutes after that. You both pull away. Your eyes are focused on the floor as Megumi feels your rapid emotions. He’s just ruined the fragile thing called friendship you both took so long to make.
“I think I’m gonna go get something to eat,” you quickly push off the bed to stand up, “do you want me to get something for you?” Megumi slinks back to get a good look at you. Even though he just..kissed you, you still offer.
You’re too kind. You’re not built for this.
For him.
“Uh...no. Thanks.” He mumbles with a tingling face. The dogs must favour you as they fall behind on your track to the door.
”Wait.” Megumi calls just as you begin to close the door. “Will you come back?”
”..yeah.” You say with that quiet tone of yours. The door closes with a click.
Expectedly, the door doesn’t open for the rest of the night.
