for this pls pretend that hwa-jin was never engaged to gayun, in this she never existed !! (all love to her though, i swear it just makes more sense for this).

𓂃 ࣪˖ ִֶָ𐀔

⤷ being young, you're mainly used to go undercover in circumstances that geun-dae is not able to. for example, when the ERPB are investigating an all girls school or when geun-dae is more useful sticking primarily with the computer and technology side of the whole operation. your main duties can differ from making yourself become a target for the bullies, to creating a strong bond with the popular clique in order to get inside information. depending on your situation, hwa-jin's involvement with you will differ.

› if you're the bullied - he's protective, constantly checking up on you when he is able to (ensuring there's no wandering eyes that could spoil the whole plan), han-rim is told to keep an eye on you for when he is unable to and she's under strict instruction to step in if it looks like things are going to be taken too far. he loathes seeing you with any marks or looking even slightly dishevelled when you return to him at the end of a long work day, but you reassure him that you are absolutely fine and capable of handling a little roughing up from a few highschool bullies.

› if you're the bully - he understands that you might have to get involved with some not-so-friendly treatment towards other students (if you didn't it would surely raise some eyebrows) but he makes sure none of this out of character behaviour gets to your head. he understands how easy it can be to let a 'character' consume you, especially if you're stuck at a certain school for a long period, and fights to ensure that none of the mannerisms or opinions forced on you remain permanent.

⤷ one of the advantages the two of you have working together, is never having to worry about your job being the reason you grow distant/apart due to lack of quality time. neither of you have to stress about the other sat at home, feeling neglected because you spent 12 hours a day, 7 days a week at work, you were both working (suffering maybe) together. all you had to do was turn around and hwa-jin would be hunched over a folder of paperwork needing to be read through, and all he would have to do is glance to the side to see you gossiping away with han-rim, a fond smile appearing at the sight of you bonding so well with the other important woman in his life.

⤷ your relationship unfortunately remains a secret to everyone outside of the ERPB organisation, for obvious reasons. the bureau already spends a large amount of time in the limelight for an abundance of negative reasons - that you argue are stupid, adding what would be considered a 'controversial relationship' to the mix would just make all your lives harder. so, when you were out you made a conscious effort to ensure that any interactions between the two of you could only come across to any passerby's who recognised you as platonic. it was infuriating at times, not being able to kiss your insanely good looking boyfriend whenever you wanted, but it was something you would just have to cope with. at least until the media's interest in the ERPB died down.

⤷ sometimes he worries that he's holding you back. people your age are out partying, travelling the world, having one night stands weekly and just partaking in all the stupid stuff that people who are in their early/mid twenties are supposed to be partaking in. and yet, you're with him. someone who has already done all that and now wants to be in bed by ten o'clock every evening, whose idea of a good night out is a meal at a sophisticated restaurant and then a walk around a quiet park, who is at a point in his life where he's eager to get married and have kids. it's his biggest insecurity when it comes to your relationship but thankfully, he's mature enough to come to you when he's having these thoughts so that you can talk it out. it gives you the chance to reassure him that he's not holding you back from anything. you choose to be with him because you love him, if you weren't happy then you would end things with him, and it was as simple as that.

⤷ dating him feels like a gift given from god as an apology for all the stupid boys you'd had to put up with throughout your teenage years. you no longer had to deal with a boyfriend who gave you mixed signals, had you wondering if he was secretly messaging over girls or only paid attention to you when he wanted to get into your pants. you never for a single second questioned how hwa-jin truly felt about you, he treated you like you were the reason he got out of bed in the morning. he never withheld affection, or verbal declarations of how much he loved you, and he definitely did not act selfish between the sheets. sometimes when you woke up, with his arms wrapped around you in a protective grip, you had to fight the urge to pinch yourself to make sure you weren't still asleep.

⤷ he often found himself guilty of 'parenting' you, which you absolutely hated and put a firm stop to whenever it occurred. if you had a day when you ate too much junk and too little of a balanced diet, he'd scold you and order some 'real food' for you if you were stuck at work, or cook you something if you were home. he argued that it was him caring about your wellbeing, you argued that it felt like he was telling you off like a child who wouldn't eat their vegetables. it never really led to any serious arguments or put a huge wedge between you, but it was something hwa-jin actively worked on reducing to make you happy.

⤷ han-rim was an added bonus to your relationship. the nutty girl never held back from sharing old stories regarding what the two of them got up to during their special forces era and you adored hearing her rather dramatised version of events. it was even better when she got lost in a tangent of all the embarrassing moments she had witnessed from hwa-jin throughout the years that they had spent knowing eachother, giggling her way through each story. you actively encouraged her everytime, but when hwa-jin caught onto what was happening he was quick to send han-rim away with a made up task and a slight dig to her side with his elbow. he can't have his reputation being tarnished.

⤷ the angriest you ever saw him was when someone new joined the ERPB, he wasn't actively working with your group, just in a different department, but he still felt the need to interact with your inner circle as if he had known you all for months. you all shared looks of irritation and exasperation when you saw him coming, but you bit your tongues and just dealt with the brief but painful interactions for the sake of peace and harmony. that was until said person found out about your relationship with hwa-jin, and that's when his annoying but harmless interactions became something more sinister.

› he had cornered you, in a deserted hallway just nearing the end of your shift with a scowl and the unwavering idea that the only reason you had the job he so desperately wanted was because you were sleeping with the 'boss'. he called you names, accused you of not being qualified for your position and threatened to leak your relationship to the media. by the end of it, you were in tears and riddled with anxiety for what was to come. you'd had people get in your face before, but they were usually snobby teenagers who were mostly talk, this was a grown man who was visibly bigger than you in both muscle and height, having him back you into a corner, literally, whilst he fired off threats was a terrifying ordeal.

it was geun-dae who found you sat in an empty room, using a tissue to wipe away tears that kept on falling and he was immediately frazzled by the unusual change in your usually cheerful demeanour. he approached and interrogated you, both of you unaware of the fact that hwa-jin had entered the room only a minute after geun-dae did, and that he had heard every second of your recount of what you had just dealt with barely thirty minutes ago. it wasn't until he slammed the door on his way out, too angry to care about the damage or noise he caused, that you both caught sight of him storming down the hallway through the window and it was obvious where he was heading.

you knew it was no use trying to stop what was to come, but you still chased after your raging partner in the hopes that a miracle would be granted and you would be able to calm him down before he found the man he was looking for. as expected, nothing you said to try and subdue the fury that was palpitating off of him worked and it wasn't long before he tracked down the guilty party who was excessively typing away on his phone with an unhinged smirk, no doubt getting ready to let the world know about your true relationship status. he never got the chance to release any information though, hwa-jin made sure of that when he smacked the phone out of his hand with force and grabbed the back of the man's head, smashing it down into the nearby table, temple first.

what followed was a series of very serious threats, a few degrading comments and a very satisfied hwa-jin when the man cried out for mercy whenever hwa-jin added more pressure, pushing him harder and harder into the wooden surface. he eventually let go when the man looked on the verge of passing out, and his attention instantly turned to you, wanting to make sure his girlfriend was feeling better off now that the problem had been dealt with, even if his methods had been a little unorthodox. the man handed in his resignation the next day and your relationship remained a mystery to the public for a long time after.

⤷ birthday's are an occasion he will go all out for, no argument. he wants you to feel like the only girl in the world on your special day, and he'll do whatever he has to, to make that happen. he takes you out of the city for the day in hopes that the further you go, the less chance there is of people knowing who you are so that he can really spoil you in both affection and possessions. he'll go way too far with buying you gifts, anything you want really, even if it's as ridiculous as a bagel or as expensive as a brand new laptop for your workload, he'd get you three if that's what you really wanted (although he'd be secretly hoping that you don't for the sake of his bank account).

⤷ you can always tell when a certain case gets to him more than others, he won't rest until the victim(s) are given some form of justice, to a point where he will overwork himself beyond exhaustion. you really have to break down his walls during moments like these, any attempt to persuade him to take a well overdue break will be met with a firm dismissal, he wont even glance in your direction as he focuses on gathering the evidence needed to bring down whoever he needs to. you eventually have to physically pull him away from the computer, dragging his chair back so that he can't see the screen anymore, a task that is as hard as it sounds, but it does grab his attention and that's when you get the opportunity to have a serious talk with him. you explain that overworking himself will only lead to burning himself out, and might even cause a drop in his usually flawless worth ethic. he can still get justice even if he takes an hour to eat and refill his water bottle regularly.

⤷ you force him into doing all the things he would usually find cheesy or annoying. tiktok challenges that get posted to your private account, a photobooth when you come across one during a secret date night, wearing matching couple's costumes on halloween just for the fun of it, and anything else that comes to mind. he complains during every second of it, but he can't bring himself to tell you no when you give him that look. and honestly, the feeling he gets in his chest when he sees how happy it makes you to do these things with him makes it all worth it in the end.

⤷ when your relationship does eventually get found out by the media (because lets be real, it's bound to happen) you're both simultaneously worried and relieved, or more like you're worried and he's relieved. your head goes to the worst case scenario, the bureau is going to be torn to shreds on several platforms, people are going to protest in hundreds, you're going to have to resign and everything you've worked for is going to fall apart. hwa-jin's thought process is vastly different, all he can think about is how this is probably the best thing for your relationship. by now you've been together a few years and now you can stop hiding, no more holding back in public, no more being overly cautious outside the comfort of your shared home, you were free to behave like a normal couple finally.

› it goes without saying that the minister defends your relationship when the media outlets come knocking for answers. to him, it's not at all relevant to the work you do to better the education system throughout the country. if people want to throw away all the good the ERPB has done because of one adult relationship between coworkers, then that's their loss.

Friday nights, you see Gojo Satoru bring a different girl home and fuck her on his very bed. Saturday mornings, you hated her for waking up where you belonged.

Your new next door neighbor was nothing but a debauched, filthy whore cycling through any random woman he finds; sometimes even men. Bringing them over to his house on the weekends just to hook up with them for the night. It didn’t help that Gojo’s blinds were rarely closed all the way, seeing right into his bedroom, where you can see everything he does.

You’ve seen him naked before. You’ve came across him masturbating before. It was disgusting, not being able to relax in your own room without the view of your own window being taken over by Gojo’s degenerate and perverted behavior and routine. Seeing him plowing the back of someone else, pinning their head down on his mattress or eating a girl out out until her legs start shaking and her fists ball his bedsheets.

However, your disgust never stopped you from watching.

And it was a shame that it was never you that got to experience how filthy and freaky Gojo Satoru truly was.

All you get were small interactions on your driveway, like waving to each other when you go out at the same time. He’s never had a formal conversation with you or invites you over. Never exchanged contacts yet. But yet, he's the only man that's making you muffle your moans and whines out of shame in your own home. Playing with yourself, getting off to that filthy sight across your window... no man has ever had you become this pathetic and you secretly loved it as if he's given you all the power to ruin yourself. That once he lays a finger on you, once you finally become seen by him, you want him to make it hurt real good for you.

He was the bane of your existence but also the object of your unholy desires. God, how you wanted him in a vicious, untamable way, how you craved for him in the dark where he cannot see. Because that’s all you could do, even though you were closer to him than anybody else could be, you feel so far away, hidden in your wild fantasies until you feel your ribs ache from how much you desired him to see you so badly. You wanted to, you wanted to. More than anything else in the entire world.

To be the one caressing every single inch of his beautiful body.

To be the one savoring his sweet and hot kisses.

To be the one pinned between him and his king-sized mattress.

To be the one to scream and moan his name over and over.

To be the one submitting yourself wholly to him.

To orgasm on his mouth, his fingers, his cock, his thighs when he tells you to.

To be put in your place, to be owned by him, to let him use all your holes and treat you like his own personal cocksleeve until you’re a shattering mess, until you can’t think for yourself anymore, where the only sensation that fulfills you is his cock ramming into all of your soppy holes and spilling his hot cum into your womb.

But this forbidden and disgusting desire, this dark obsession for him— you knew it was all unhealthy. As if your obsession for him had you on this permanent threshold of an imaginary heaven, suspended in a state of perfect anticipation. This unbearable itch to have him, to touch him, smell him, or just be around him was enough to make you scream in your own pillow at night.

It was pure and utter Hell, desiring someone so bad, knowing you can’t have them at all.

You wouldn’t go out of your way to make Gojo truly yours. He wasn’t some prize to be won or a possession to be claimed, he was his own person. Probably not going out of his way to pursue a relationship. Hell, you don’t even know if he’s truly single. You would never want to take his freedom away or strip his own autonomy, even though you wish that he’d freely hand it to you one day.

But it was just so hot and fun seeing your attractive next door neighbor getting it on… nothing wrong with that at all, right?

It wasn’t until a few months later you find yourself creating a Tinder profile.

There was this handsome man you matched with on Tinder named Nanami Kento. Five year age gap, strong jaw, hazel eyes, blond hair, looking for something meaningful. He looked so sharp and manly and handsomely delicate. Definitely someone that knew where his life was headed, someone who wouldn’t spend every weekend chasing after temporary distractions. Someone who could fulfill that ache in your core and fuck you so stupid and dumb until you forget about that degenerate, filthy man next door.

“Shouldn’t we close the blinds?” Nanami mutters in your ear, the husk in his attractive, sultry voice sending a shiver down your spine.

During your romantic Tinder date at a luxurious restaurant Nanami took you to, you just couldn’t help but tease him, hinting how badly you wanted him and couldn’t wait to take things to your bedroom. What also surprised you was the way Nanami was flirting right back at you, never taking your interest for granted. He was confident, smooth, and respectful— never aggressive or pushy. His effortless seduction and charm was enough to make you flustered under your own skin, especially when he knows how badly you wanted it and how badly he wanted to give it to you.

“My windows are tinted, baby. Nobody’s gonna see,” you say, quickly glancing at your window to see if Gojo was in his bedroom, but his lights were off. That fucking bastard.

As Nanami slipped off your dress and admired the way your bra looked so good on you, you couldn’t help but glare at your window as he was kissing your neck and your chest. Letting out soft moans and shuddering from the sensation, you knew that just because his lights were off doesn’t mean he wasn’t home. His car is still on his driveway, probably doing God knows what in his own house. But you still wanted to throw a show. You wanted to show Gojo Satoru what he does to you, how sick and filthy and disgusting he makes you.

He is the reason why you spread your legs for a random Tinder date.

He is the reason why you’re on your knees getting your throat fucked so hard.

He is the reason why your legs quiver and shake from your pussy getting fingered and eaten out.

The reason why you’re utterly losing yourself from getting pounded so hard, being tossed and flipped in numerous positions until you’ve reached multiple orgasms, until you’re crying two octaves higher, until you’re completely spent, until your whole bedroom is a mess.

“Fuck me against the window, Nanami,” you pleaded.

“On the window? You really wanna show your neighbors how much of a slut you are, huh?”

He loved the way you were taking him so well; eyes vacant, jaw slackened, your tits pressing against the cool surface of your window. Your pussy was shamelessly pulsing on his cock, your arousal gushing all over him— but your arousal only stemmed from the thought of Gojo possibly watching you in the dark corners of his room, fantasizing of him fisting his cock to you getting fucked even if you still couldn’t see him. But that didn’t stop you from acting like an exhibitionist whore that craved for his attention so badly, pretending to moan and scream while he’s thrusting behind you while your eyes never left his window.

When you wake up the next morning, your whole bedroom was a mess. Clothes astray on the floor, your makeup vanity unorganized, some of your stuff scattered around, and your bedsheets all coming undone. When you turn over to your nightstand to check the time on your phone, you see that your favorite crystal figurine you’ve been keeping for years as a collectible was shattered on the floor.

Nanami stirred in his sleep, wanting to spoon you again until he wakes up to you sitting on the edge of the bed. “Oh. Good morning,” he grunted, softly caressing your back. “Are you okay?”

“Hey. Sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you,” you chuckled. “I was just checking the time and I didn’t realize how carried away we both got. My whole room is a mess right now. There’s glass on the floor, too.”

He sat beside you on the edge of the bed and sighed deeply. “Oh, no. I’m so sorry, sweetheart. Where did you get it from? I can buy another one for you.”

“No, no. It’s okay,” you insisted to the sweet man. “It’s not your fault. But thank you for offering, Nanami.”

You didn’t expect for him to stay the morning after, passionately kissing you while the bright rays from your window was settling over your skins. You didn’t even expect for a man like him, your first ever Tinder date, to offer to buy you a replacement for some figurine that got knocked over from him fucking you so good all over your room.

After Nanami left, you headed down to the local coffee shop across your neighborhood that you would pass by on the weekends. After ordering your usual, a sheer moment of panic takes over your body, rendering you motionless in the middle of the cafe just seeing Gojo Satoru standing in line.

You couldn’t move an inch. You wanted to pass by him unnoticed and sit down by the window, but it was already too late when his icy blue eyes caught glimpse of you, a small smile stretching across his face.

“Hey, neighbor. What did you order? It looks good.”

This was the first time you saw him, really saw him in your field of view— his skin radiating from the sun beaming through the windows, his smile so bright and genuine, his unbearably attractive self. You almost stammered on your own words and your heart couldn’t stop racing like wildfire. However, you managed to collect yourself and mirrored his smile instead, telling him what you usually order at the cafe.

“…Maybe I’ll give it a try. I’ve been wanting to go here for awhile and now I finally got to try this place out,” Gojo beamed. “Where do you usually sit, by the way? Do you mind if I come sit with you?”

And suddenly that piercing, aching sensation of desiring him so badly flitted around the atmosphere like carnivorous butterflies, unable to form a coherent thought from your mind racing erratically. “Yeah, um— I don’t mind at all,” you chuckled nervously. “I’ll be sitting by the window over there.”

Once Gojo ordered the same drink you got and sat in front of you, you looked at him as if he was the most sublime creature you’ve ever seen in your life you almost couldn’t breathe. His eyes were just so striking and vibrant in the sunlight. His messy white strands had this warm cream-colored glow under the sun. As the two of you were talking about yourselves, you couldn’t help but study his prominent features up close that you were so aching to caress, to touch, to feel.

“So, uh— how long have you lived in the neighborhood?” he asks.

“I’ve been here for about four years now. I moved when I finally finished school,” you replied, his eyes softening everytime he listens to you speak. “I know it’s not that long, but I see myself still living in the same house until I get older. I don’t live far from work, which is a good thing, too.”

“Ah, I see. You know, your house is really big and nice. You sure you live alone? No roommates or pets? Spouse’s? Family?”

You softly chuckled. “No, I live all alone. It is a big house, but hey— it’s all to myself.”

“Huh.” Gojo leaned back in his chair and folded his arms. “I wonder how a beautiful woman like you is still single.”

His words hit you so suddenly that for a fleeting moment, the synapses of your brain fall frozen. People call women beautiful all the time, but yet, hearing it from him felt entirely different, especially the way he said it so casually. His blue eyes held yours across the table as he was waiting for your answer, his soft and genuine smile making your stomach churn.

Is it finally time?

Is this actually leading somewhere?

“I just… haven’t found the right guy for me yet,” you admitted, your gaze drifting towards the window. “I am looking for a long term relationship, though. Someone to settle down with. Get married and grow old in the house together.”

Gojo’s saccharine lips stretch to a smile, the way he looked at you causing your heart to flutter. “Aw. Well, speaking of long term— I just got out of one. I think I mentioned earlier when I moved here, I needed a change of scenery. I forgot to mention that I’m newly divorced and I’ve been spending time healing and working on myself.”

Working on himself?

By bringing random hookups into his house and fucking them all over the bedroom?

“Oh. I’m very sorry to hear about your divorce, Gojo,” you consoled, reaching for your drink just to have your hand near his over the table. For some reason when he mentioned getting recently divorced, your heart raced from this sudden rush of excitement. Your opportunity was sitting right in front of you and you were desperate to clutch onto it before it was too late.

“It’s okay. You know, things happen,” he shrugged, taking his hand that was beside yours to grab his drink. “But that’s also why… I’m not really looking for anything at the moment.”

The moment he gulped down his drink, time suddenly came to a full stop all around you. Your own heart dropped to your stomach that you almost felt sick from your breakfast. You could feel your own blood being forced through your veins with every loud thump from such unimaginable, staggering rage lighting a fire within you. Jealousy. Betrayal. Disappointment. Disbelief. Confusion.

How fucking foolish.

“Oh. I mean, uh— it is a bit too soon to be looking for a relationship right after a divorce, so that’s reasonable,” you fretted. “I do hope you find the right person for you.”

Gojo gave a small smile this time, sitting up from his seat. “I hope the same for you as well. And it was nice to finally meet you. Hopefully I can run into you again on your driveway and we can always plan something.”

After your encounter at the coffee shop, you couldn’t stop thinking all day about how much his words stung you, worse than any rejection out there and it wasn’t even a rejection. You clenched your jaw in aggravation as you kept replaying the conversation in your head— even though you spent several months of secretly watching him from a distance that it ruined you, at least you managed to sit across from him so painfully normal and have a normal conversation. But still; you knew you had no right to be disappointed. Gojo didn’t flirt nor promise anything. In fact, he was just being honest. Kind, even. But yet, this gut-wrenching feeling of humiliation wouldn’t go away.

By nightfall, you made it to The Green Man; the crystal shop in town that you haven’t stopped by for months. Everything was rearranged, new, and renovated. Your eyes wander around the crystals, rocks, herbs, spell candles, psychic readings, oils, books and other spiritual items until you finally find the collectible you were looking for, tucked in the bottom display shelf that you had to squat down for.

When you got up with the box, something else from the shelves beside you caught your eye. A small cardboard stand with a retro red and cream-colored design, tiny sparkles scattered across the packaging, and the words curved across the display. Organized neatly in the cardboard stand were these triangular prism-shaped boxes, the bright red graphics wrapped around the cream colored box, curving over the angled surfaces in cheerful swirls.

‎ ‎ 𝓞𝓝𝓔 𝓦𝓘𝓢𝓗 𝓦𝓘𝓛𝓛𝓞𝓦

‎ ‎ 𝓐𝓜𝓐𝓩𝓔 𝓨𝓞𝓤𝓡 𝓕𝓡𝓘𝓔𝓝𝓓𝓢

‎ ‎ 𝓞𝓝𝓛𝓨 $6.99

‎ ‎ 𝓖𝓔𝓣 𝓨𝓞𝓤𝓡𝓢 𝓣𝓞𝓓𝓐𝓨!

Out of curiosity, you take one of the boxes, its pointed ridge pressed lightly against your fingertips while the overhead lighting reflected across the glossy cardboard. Nothing about it looked magical. Nothing about it looked dangerous. It was nothing but a cheap novelty toy or charm, another possible collectible you can display somewhere in your house until it collects dust.

𝗬𝗼𝘂 𝗼𝗻𝗹𝘆 𝗴𝗲𝘁 𝗢𝗡𝗘 𝗪𝗜𝗦𝗛, it reads.

After checking out from the store and taking a bit longer than you expected, your interaction with Gojo this morning still replayed in your head as you drove home. That fleeting feeling of ecstasy, that beautiful moment he noticed you first at the cafe, turning into nothing but dismay upon realizing you were never going to be his first choice. The letdown gripped your stomach, allowing it to devour your entire body and soul.

I wonder how a beautiful woman like you is still single.

Your jaw clenched tighter. Gojo Satoru was like a drug, your high, your fixation. He was the only man woven into your brain coursing straight through your veins, and you just wanted more of him, more of him and not anyone else— for this unquinched thirst and unrelenting hunger made you just debauched as he is.

If only you could’ve said something to make your interest for him obvious. Something that would’ve made him look at you differently, literally anything to make him choose you. Anything to make him love you more than anything in the fucking world.

As you drove through your neighborhood, you find yourself easing off the gas when you passed by his house. The streets were quiet. Warm yellow light glowed from his windows. You see his car sitting on the driveway as well as his porch lights on. Gojo was obviously home, doing his own thing as usual late at night when you weren’t watching.

You find it so absurd— degrading, even, how easily your attention always returns to this man. You hate this feeling. You hate how much you hunger for him. You can’t help but savor the violence of wanting what corrodes you entirely. After months of imagining what it would feel like if he noticed you the way you noticed him, you were nothing more than just the sweet girl next door who secretly masturbates to him and forces down your dark obsession until it chokes you…

The rays from streetlights gleamed onto the One Wish Willow box that was peaking through your shopping bag. You felt this strange and foreign magnetic feeling towards it, just like what you experienced seeing the display for the first time. You reached over to the passenger seat and picked up the box, your thumb brushing across the cardboard surface.

‎ ‎ ONE WISH WILLOW

REMOVE FROM THE BOX AND JUST MAKE A WISH!

SPARK THE MIDDLE AND BREAK IT IN HALF.

You opened the box, suddenly flinching when a loud jingle started playing. Inside rested a small, fragile willow twig. As you held it between your hands, it felt almost ridiculous, thinking that this cheap novelty charm was going to actually work. Your car was idling with nobody around, the neighborhood silent while stars above were sloshing behind moldy gray clouds. You take one more glance at his house again and sighed deeply.

“I wish for Gojo Satoru to love me more than anyone in the entire world.”

Crack.

The branch snapped easily between your hands, echoing inside your car and leaving you in dreadful silence. You scoffed, tossing the broken pieces back into the bag and ready to drive back home, which was literally right there.

But it wasn’t until you turned your head back to Gojo’s house.

Your heart thumped in your chest when you noticed him standing right on his porch, the lighting barely illuminating him. You instantly recognize his broad shoulders, his figure, his disheveled hair. He just stood there perfectly still like a dark shape carved from the night itself; one hand hanging loosely at his side while the other in his pocket, his head tilted ever so slightly at your direction. Your body seized like a deer trapped in headlights, refusing to move an inch in your seat or start the car as he was watching you. The intensity of it sent a cold shiver down your spine, your mind screaming for you to drive off, but also to stay back...

Because for the first time, Gojo Satoru was finally looking at you the way you’ve always looked at him.

‎ ‎ TO BE CONTINUED.

𝐀𝐋𝐋 𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐊𝐒 𝐁𝐄𝐋𝐎𝐍𝐆 𝐓𝐎 𝐕𝐈𝐋𝐒𝐎𝐎 © 𝟐𝟎𝟐𝟔. do not steal, plagiarize, translate, repost elsewhere, or use my work for ai training purposes. this is not proofread, so forgive me for any grammatical errors! artist unknown, but i found the art here on pinterest!

He bumps into you in the hallway. Harder than necessary. Doesn’t apologize. Just mutters, “Watch where you’re going, bitch.”

You don’t react.

You don’t glare.

You don’t snap back.

You don’t even slow down.

You keep walking like he didn’t just exist behind you.

And that makes his stomach drop.

Not because he hurt you.

Because he didn’t matter.

So he escalates.

Pulls your hair when no one’s watching. Shoves your shoulder. Corners you against walls and leans too close, voice low, breath hot, eyes bright and mean. Tells you you’re useless. Tells you you don’t belong here. Tells you you should go back to wherever the fuck you crawled out of.

And he does it in front of people too.

Especially Suguru.

Especially Shoko.

Like he needs witnesses.

Like he needs to prove something.

He degrades you out loud. Calls you names. Laughs at you. Makes you the punchline of conversations you’re not even part of. He turns your existence into a public inconvenience. A joke. A stain.

And the fucked up part?

You still don’t react.

You don’t cry.

You don’t beg.

You don’t explode.

You just… exist around it.

Which drives him insane.

Because he wants impact. He wants reaction. He wants proof that he can reach you. Hurt you. Move you. Make you feel anything about him. And you’re giving him nothing. He’s pouring gasoline on concrete and wondering why it won’t burn.

So it gets physical.

Not brutal — not yet — but invasive. Smacking you into walls under the guise of “accidents.” Twisting your wrist too hard when you try to walk away. Leaning over you until you’re cornered and whispering shit like, “You think you’re special? You’re nothing.”

And the whole time, his eyes are too alive.

Bright.

Focused.

Wrong.

Like he’s trying to scrape something out of you.

Suguru and Shoko get worried.

Not about you — at first — but about him. Because this isn’t normal. This isn’t playful. This isn’t teasing. This is fixation. This is obsession wearing the mask of hatred.

They call him out.

Tell him he’s acting weird. Tell him he’s overdoing it. Tell him he needs to chill the fuck out.

He laughs too fast.

Too loud.

“As if. I just hate her. That’s it.”

But his eyes are wide when he says it. Focused. Like he’s trying to convince a jury that doesn’t exist.

He keeps talking. Keeps explaining. Keeps justifying.

“She thinks she’s special. She’s not. She’s just annoying.”

But nobody even asked.

And that’s the part that’s unsettling.

His words come out like he’s arguing with himself.

Like he’s trying to convince someone invisible.

And the truth is, he is.

Because he doesn’t hate you.

He’s obsessed with you.

But his brain doesn’t have a category for that. He doesn’t know what attachment feels like unless it’s rivalry or worship or possession. He doesn’t know how to want something without wanting to own it, dominate it, break it, or bend it until it fits into something familiar.

So his mind rewrites the narrative.

You’re obsessed with him.

Yeah. That makes more sense.

You’re just playing hard to get.

You’re just pretending not to care.

You’re just trying to get his attention in some fucked up way.

That must be it.

Because the alternative — that you genuinely don’t care — is unbearable.

So he builds this whole story in his head.

That you stare at him when he’s not looking.

That you listen when he talks.

That you flinch when he’s close because you’re nervous, not scared.

That you ignore him because you want him to chase you.

And every time you don’t react, he rewrites it as restraint.

Every time you walk away, he rewrites it as longing.

Every time you don’t speak, he rewrites it as shyness.

He decides you’re in love with him.

Deeply.

Desperately.

Pathetically.

And that you’re just bad at showing it.

And that’s when it gets really bad.

Because now, in his head, you’re not a person anymore.

You’re a narrative.

A character in a story where he is still the protagonist and you’re the love interest who doesn’t know her place yet.

So the abuse shifts.

He stops trying to humiliate you publicly.

Not because he feels bad.

Because, in his head, “Why would he hurt someone who loves him?”

Now it’s quieter.

More private.

More controlled.

He corners you alone. Lowers his voice. Gets closer. Talks softer but more threatening. Tells you things like, “You don’t have to pretend around me.” “I know what you’re doing.” “You don’t have to play dumb.”

And when you look at him like you don’t understand what the fuck he’s talking about, his expression doesn’t change — but something in his eyes tightens.

Because that doesn’t fit the script.

So he decides you’re lying.

And lying means manipulation.

And manipulation means you’re dangerous.

Which justifies everything.

He starts monitoring you.

Not consciously at first. Just noticing where you sit. Who you talk to. How long you laugh. Whether your smile looks real or fake. He memorizes your schedule without meaning to. Knows when you leave rooms before you do. Knows when you’re alone. Knows when you’re vulnerable.

And anytime someone else talks to you?

His mood tanks.

Not visibly. Not explosively. Just… colder. Sharper. Meaner. He gets snippy with Suguru. Short with Shoko. Aggressive with strangers. Like his nervous system is on fire and he doesn’t know why.

Because in his head, you’re his.

Not officially. Not verbally. Not consensually.

But narratively.

And seeing you interact with other people feels like cheating.

Which pisses him off.

But he can’t confront you about that — because you’re “playing hard to get,” remember? So instead, he punishes you indirectly. He escalates the bullying again. Gets rougher. Crueler. More invasive. Tells you you’re trash. Tells you no one actually likes you. Tells you everyone just tolerates you. Tells you you should be grateful he even looks at you.

And then five minutes later, he’ll be standing too close, voice low, tone almost gentle, saying, “Why do you always look like that around me?” “You don’t have to be scared.” “I’m not gonna hurt you.”

While actively hurting you.

And the scariest part?

He genuinely believes both versions of himself.

He believes he hates you.

He believes you love him.

He believes he’s the victim.

He believes you’re provoking him.

He believes he’s responding, not initiating.

So when Suguru finally snaps and tells him to leave you the fuck alone?

Satoru laughs.

Like actually laughs.

“Bro,” he says, “she’s obsessed with me.”

Suguru blinks. “What?”

“She’s just pretending she hates me,” he says casually. “It’s obvious.”

“Obvious how?”

“She never reacts,” he says. “She watches me when she thinks I’m not looking. She acts all cold but that’s just because she doesn’t know how to talk to me.”

None of that is true.

But he says it like it is.

Like it’s a fact.

Like it’s common sense.

Like everyone else is stupid for not seeing it.

And when Suguru tells him that sounds insane?

Satoru gets defensive again.

Not angry — insulted.

Like how dare you question the narrative in his head.

“You don’t get it,” he says. “You’re not there when she looks at me.”

“She doesn’t look at you,” Suguru says.

Satoru stares at him.

Long.

Flat.

Wrong.

“Yeah,” he says slowly. “She does.”

And from that point on, reality stops mattering.

Everything you do becomes evidence.

If you ignore him — you’re playing games.

If you avoid him — you’re shy.

If you flinch — you’re nervous because you like him.

If you get angry — you’re emotional because you care.

If you tell him to leave you alone — you’re lying to yourself.

There is no action you can take that doesn’t reinforce his delusion.

You’re trapped in a narrative you didn’t consent to.

And he starts acting like it.

He stops degrading you publicly, but he becomes territorial privately. Interrupts your conversations. Stands too close to people you’re talking to. Inserts himself physically between you and others. Smiles while doing it. Casual. Friendly. Possessive in a way that feels accidental until it doesn’t.

And when you call him out?

He looks genuinely confused.

“What?” he says. “I’m just talking.”

“You’re always near me,” you say.

He tilts his head. “We’re in the same building.”

“You touch me,” you say.

He shrugs. “Accidents happen.”

“You won’t leave me alone,” you say.

And that’s when his smile drops just enough to show teeth.

“I am leaving you alone.”

Which is terrifying, because he genuinely believes it.

Meanwhile, his internal world is rotting.

He thinks about you constantly.

Not in a romantic way — not soft — but compulsive. Intrusive. Like an itch in his skull. He replays your expressions. Your tone. The way your mouth twists when you’re annoyed. The way your eyes narrow when you’re tired. He memorizes micro-expressions he pretends not to notice.

He imagines conversations with you.

Arguments.

Confessions.

Moments where you finally break and admit you like him.

He doesn’t fantasize about kissing you.

He fantasizes about you snapping.

About you yelling at him. Crying. Losing control. Finally reacting. Finally cracking. Finally proving he exists to you.

That’s what he wants.

Impact.

Reaction.

Proof.

And when he doesn’t get it, he gets meaner.

Not louder.

Sharper.

Colder.

More surgical.

He starts isolating you without realizing that’s what he’s doing. Interrupts friendships. Sows doubt. Makes people uncomfortable around you by association. Says shit casually like, “You know she talks shit about you, right?” then denies it when confronted. Makes you look unstable. Difficult. Dramatic. The problem.

Because if no one else wants you, then obviously you’ll turn to him.

Which, again, makes sense in his head.

And the entire time, he keeps telling himself:

“I hate her.”

“I can’t stand her.”

“She’s annoying.”

“She’s nothing.”

“She’s beneath me.”

“She’s irrelevant.”

But he knows what time you leave.

He knows who you talk to.

He knows what mood you’re in before you speak.

He knows when you’re tired.

He knows when you’re lying.

He knows when you’re alone.

And when he sees you laughing with someone else?

Something in him goes cold and bright and violent.

Not outwardly.

Internally.

Like glass snapping under pressure.

He starts seeing everyone else as threats.

Not rivals.

Threats.

Like they’re stealing something from him.

Not affection — ownership.

And that’s when the thoughts shift from harassment to control.

Not “How do I get her attention?”

But “How do I make her stop leaving?”

Not “How do I make her look at me?”

But “How do I make her stay?”

And the scariest part?

He doesn’t think of it as trapping you.

He thinks of it as protecting you.

Because in his head, the world is cruel to you. People misunderstand you. No one sees you the way he does. No one knows the “real you” like he does. Everyone else treats you like you’re nothing — he treats you like you’re important.

He thinks he’s the only one being honest with you.

The only one seeing you clearly.

The only one who understands you.

Which is insane, because he doesn’t know you at all.

He knows the version of you he invented.

And that version loves him.

So when you finally lose it — when you scream at him to leave you alone, when you tell him he scares you, when you tell him you hate him —

He doesn’t get angry.

He gets soft.

Genuinely soft.

Like, voice low. Calm. Almost gentle.

“You don’t mean that,” he says.

And when you tell him you absolutely do?

He smiles.

Not cruel.

Not mocking.

Fond.

Like you’re adorable for thinking that.

“No,” he says. “You don't.”

And that’s when you realize:

There is nothing you can say that will reach him.

There is no reaction you can have that he won’t reinterpret.

There is no version of reality where you’re allowed to just not want him.

Because in his head, your rejection isn’t rejection.

It’s denial.

And denial means he just needs to push harder.

Be closer.

Stay longer.

Wear you down.

Not violently.

Not loudly.

Just… persistently.

Relentlessly.

Like gravity.

And the fucked up thing?

He still thinks he hates you.

He still tells people he hates you.

He still calls you annoying. Useless. A waste of space.

But he watches you like you’re oxygen.

Like you’re weather.

Like you’re gravity.

Like you’re something that exists whether he wants you to or not — and now that you do, he doesn’t know how to survive without orbiting.

And he’ll never call it love.

He’ll never call it obsession.

He’ll never call it possession.

He’ll call it:

“I just can’t stand her.”

While memorizing the sound of your breathing when you’re tired.

While tracking your movements without thinking.

While rewriting reality to make you his.

While genuinely believing you’re in love with him.

While slowly, quietly, methodically erasing every version of your life that doesn’t include him.

that is until you come around. now he wants nothing more than to feel your body against his, no matter what it takes.

you’re a fresh face he notices in his class one day but he tries not to pay you too much attention, knowing how sad he’ll be if you happen not to come back and he doesn’t get to ogle that beautiful body of yours anymore. so when you begin to make regular appearances, he’s more than just thrilled, he’s ecstatic.

during class, his eyes not only flicker towards you more than any other woman in the room as he speaks, but they linger on your body longer as he makes his way around the class, too. often times he’ll find any excuse to touch you even though your form doesn’t need the slightest bit of fixing. the women with keen senses pick up on the small details that most normal people would overlook when it comes to gojo and his attention. you’re suddenly given unwelcomed looks of spite from them, completely unaware that they’re jealous you’ve caught the hot yoga instructor’s eye instead of them.

it’s not until one day as you’re rolling up your mat that you’re suddenly aware of the special liking gojo has taken to you. you’re the last one left in the room with him and he approaches you, appearing to make small talk with you, but his glances at your breast don’t go unnoticed. after a few minutes, he lets you go and wishes you a nice afternoon, but not before he lets his hand go to your back as you’re about to walk away.

the next few classes go by without incident and gojo starts to think he won’t get his way after all, maybe he should’ve just given into one of the other dumb broads in the first place. he’s starting to feel dejected and seeing you regularly only makes him feel worse. soon, he’s back to his usual self though, showing every woman in the class an equal amount of attention again, telling himself to give up and forget you.

weeks later, you find yourself to be the last one to leave class again today. 

now, the way everything went down from that point is up for debate, depending on who’s asked, gojo or yourself. the only thing that’s not up for debate right now is how gojo’s got you pressed up against the mirror in the studio with your back nicely arched as satoru digs his fingers into the soft flesh of your ass which is sure to leave marks, keeping your cheeks spread wide so he can watch his cock disappear into your juicy pussy with each thrust.

condensation fogs up the area of the mirror where your face is pressed to the glass, eyes shut as gojo’s deep voice tells you all the dirty thoughts he’s had of you. an opaque white ring clings to the base of gojo’s pale dick, a result of your juices leaking onto his shaft from the constant friction. deep blue eyes glance up at your pretty and fucked out face, taking in the sight of you. 

you’re really all his at this moment. submitting your entire self to him, letting him use you to his liking just like a fuck toy. without even realizing it, his hips come to an involuntarily halt as spurts of hot cum shoot into your pussy making your soft walls flutter around him.

gojo doesn’t go soft, he’s still extremely hard and ready for more, so without another thought he wastes no time in maneuvering both your bodies onto the floor, manhandling you into a perfect position for fucking that he’s taught in class before.

So when it ended, they didn't hesitate. They married, holding onto their love before it could be taken from them too.

She chose to stay, even after knowing what his life meant. That he would not grow old beside her.

Yuji had thought about it often. The slow passing of time on her, the way it would leave him untouched. It was never something he could accept, only something he decided he would endure. For her, he would make it worth it. He would give her a life where she never had to doubt that she was loved.

He would spend the rest of her life making sure she is loved.

But that wasn't how it happened.

She didn't fade with time. She was taken from him in their early thirties, sudden and final.

Yuji had not been ready for that kind of ending.

Something in him went quiet after she was gone. The world moved, but he refused to follow. The things that once held meaning slipped past him, leaving him distant from everything he used to care about.

And the worst part was knowing this would not be the last time. That this kind of loss would follow him, again and again, until every person he had ever known was gone.

He couldn't face Megumi after that. There had been no words, no promise spoken out loud, but it still felt like he had broken something between them.

So he left.

He didn't return. Not for Maki funeral. Not for Yuta passing. Not even for Megumi.

From a distance, he watched their lives unfold and end, one after another. They had built something for themselves. Families, legacies, lives that continued without him.

He remained outside of it all, someone who no longer belonged.

It didn't matter that the people they left behind would never know him, or understand what he had meant to them.

Maybe it was better that way.

Because in the end, he kept walking forward.

And that was when he met little naive you.

You were a sorcerer. Not the strongest, not the weakest. Strong enough to survive, but not always enough to win.

Yuji knew that the moment he saw you.

And when Yuji crossed paths with you during your mission, his body tensed to the point of cracking.

He didn’t need to know your last name to know who you were. It was a presence he had grown far too familiar with during his teenage years. And while some would argue that you were a spitting image of your parents, Yuji would disagree.

He only saw one person in you.

His wife.

He knew, from the very first moment, that he should have walked away.

Instead, he stayed.

He stepped in under the excuse of helping you on your mission and lingered longer than necessary. When it was over, he still didn’t leave. He walked you back, matching your pace, stretching a short distance into something that lasted.

When night fell, he stayed again. Staying up the entire night sharing mindless conversations in the hotel. Well, it wasn’t just a conversation that passed between the two of you.

He definitely shouldn’t have kissed you when you leaned too close.

After all, it wasn’t fair to you.

You didn’t even know he was the Itadori Yuji you had brought up in a few of the many topics discussed during the night. You had been blushing the entire way back, thinking of your kiss, sparing frequent glances and small conversations.

Yuji, on the other hand, felt guilt.

He had told himself this would be his last act of goodwill towards the Fushiguro family, just for old times’ sake.

A final favor for his dear friend, for failing to protect his sister.

That’s what he told himself.

But he knew if that were entirely true, he wouldn’t have initiated that kiss.

Because in the back of his mind, he couldn’t see anyone but his first and only love.

Traveling had taken another day, finally reaching the school he once remembered every hallway of.

He should have walked away then, yet he waited for you to finish your mission report, telling you he’d walk you home since it was getting late.

He should have left it at that.

He should have stopped at your door.

He shouldn’t have gone inside.

And you shouldn’t have taken him to your bed.

Yuji could barely believe you already lived away from your family at 19.

The apartment unnerved him just a bit, especially when he noticed the photos scattered throughout your place, all neatly framed. Pictures of you with your parents, with Megumi, with Hana, and even with Nobara.

Each one was placed with care, quietly filling the space, making it clear that this was your life built with people who were still present in it in some way, shape, or form.

It was a reminder of who you really were, not someone his delusional mind tried to replace with the past.

But it didn't even matter when your lips collided with his in need, already in your bedroom before he realized.

Any crumbs of morality that had built up in the previous seconds were washed away as he melted into the rough kiss.

Your clothes were off, and soon, his were too.

His rough, calloused hands explored every inch of your newly exposed skin. He took his time, savoring the feel of you beneath his fingertips as they mapped the contours of your body.

He bent you to his will, molding you like clay in the hands of a master sculptor. Your body yielded easily to his touch, pliant and eager to be shaped by his desire.

Whether it be with your legs thrown over his shoulders as he greedily ate you out, or when you relaxed your jaw to fit his length, proving that you were no virgin.

He did it all without a single glance at your face, thinking he might just break if he does.

Still, the urge lingered.

He wanted to give in.

To meet your eyes and, just for a moment, pretend you were her, even if it only lasted the night.

Just once, he promised himself.

And then he'll stay away.

Only once.

And he will never return.

He wanted to give in.

He knows he will.

And he does.

Shoving himself to the hilt, a strangled cry tore from your throat as the sudden fullness overwhelmed you, your clit already throbbing from the various orgasms his mouth had drawn out.

 "Ahh, fuck!" you gasped, back arching off the bed, fingers scrambling for purchase on the sweat-dampened sheets.

He had you on your back, your legs wrapped around his hips, ankles locked for leverage. Your hands were pinned under his, fingers intertwined as his weight kept you from moving.

He swallowed your lips with ease, drinking in your moans and pleas.

Pretty fucking vanilla.

At least for 83-yar-old Yuji.

But not for the Yuji who loves his wife.

His thrusts were slow. So fucking slow that you had to buck your hips for the needed friction. Yuji didn't do anything about it, just continued the back and forth, melting into your pussy as if he might just cry.

He didn't want to cum just yet. Your stamina had already given out from being relentlessly eaten out. You were already done for the day, so the sooner he comes, the sooner this ends.

And wanting this to end was the last thing he could ever want in this feverish moment.

He wanted to stay like this for the rest of his never-ending life.

Maybe he could even learn to love you.

Create a small, fragile domestic life that would last only your lifespan, knowing exactly how it would end and choosing it anyway.

He could play husband with you, building a world of lies, arranging it carefully, piece by piece, until it looked real enough to believe.

It would be like decorating a dollhouse

You would be the doll. And he, the maker.

Yuji broke the searing kiss, pulling back just enough for your moans to fill the room unimpeded. His face hovered inches from yours, breaths mingling and mingling with each gasping, ragged exhale.

His forehead rested against yours, sweat-dampened skin touching, as he loomed over you, pinning you with his intense, dark gaze.

"Pleasee- sir-! Please go faster..."

Ahh, there it was. The reality, cutting through everything.

You hadn't even learnt his name, yet you had let him into your home, the place you lived in alone and unguarded.

Letting a stranger fuck you as if your body meant nothing.

It made his chest tighten, something sharp and ugly settling in as the comparison took hold, the realization sinking in all at once.

Because no matter how much you resembled her, you were nothing like his wife. Not graceful, not sophisticated. Nothing resembled her as you gave yourself now.

You were stupid and naive. Reckless in a way that didn’t suit the name you carried.

So unlike a Fushiguro.

So unlike her.

How could he have ever imagined to find her in you?

"Quit calling me sir...-!" He emphasized with the first actual thrust of his cock.

You noticed the change in his voice, but were already too fucked out to be concerned

"Hahh-! I don't know- ahh-! what to call you-!"

Your speech was broken as he thrusted deeper and harder, your thighs rippling under the force.

"Yuji."

Your eyes widen a little.

"Yu-ji-?"

His lips suck your neck purple, feeling his name pulsate behind your throat.

"Yeah, sweetheart, moan my name, will you?"

He speeds up, finally letting go of your hands to let you wrap your arms around his neck.

You're half on his lap, feeling his cock fuck deeper as his vacant hands held your hips to physically drive you closer each time.

Digging his fingers into the fat of your hips, you could already feel the bruises forming beneath it.

But you didn't care. You just did what he asked.

You moaned his name.

Like your life fucking depended on it.

"Yuji-! Hahhh-!"

You're clawing at his back, crying into his neck, feeling your legs give out with your rushing orgasm.

"Fuck-! Fuck-! Fuck-!"

Yuji moans in unison, the word 'fuck' holding him back from saying the name he truly wanted to say.

He feels your body jolt when you come, pussy spasming so hard that he almost doubles over.

Even then, he could only cruse, not knowing which name would hurt him more. Yours, or his wife's?

Either one would be a reality check. And Yuji's reality proves to be the shittiest of them all.

Soon, he comes too, filling you up with shallow strokes.

He fills you as if he wanted something out of it, like you mean something to him.

"Ohh fuckk-! babyy..."

He groans into your neck before sealing his lips on yours.

This kiss felt deeper this time, and you couldn't understand why.

Maybe because you were on his lap with him still balls deep.

Or maybe because your arms wrapped around each other in a sensitive hug as you share that kiss.

You couldn't figure it out, and a part of you—the pit that had formed in your stomach—didn't want to.

For Yuji, on the other hand, it was painfully clear.

This was the last kiss he would ever have with his wife, at least in the way his mind chose to believe it. He knew it wasn’t real, knew it never could be, but he held onto it anyway.

So he cherished it with his entire being, branding it into his memories with a subtle burn.

Your swollen, soft lips. Your running tears. Your squishy, warm walls. Your pretty tits. Your lovely ass. Your hollow throat.

Her lovely hair. Her beautiful smile. Her soft skin. Her gorgeous face. Her cute dimples. Her warm body. Her.

He cherished it one last time.

It was the better part of the morning now, nearing eight by the time he finally pulled himself from your sheets.

You were still asleep, body worn and heavy from the night before, breathing slow and undisturbed. Yuji didn’t wake you.

He didn’t want to. He didn’t need to.

Pulling his clothes back on, he steps out of your bedroom and into the narrow hallway, moving through it without a sound.

His hand lifts to pull his jacket hood over his head, but he stops at the end of the hallway.

Tea.

The faint scent of tea freshly brewed lingered in the air, warm and out of place in a house that should have been empty.

Yuji stopped mid-step.

Slowly, he turned his head.

There, at the small dining table, someone sat, a cup of tea in hand, as if they had always been there.

The cup was set down with a soft sound.

And then, they looked at him.

"You're fucking sick, Itadori."

Well fuck.

"Kugisaki."

a/n: did i just make this fic just so i could write the last scene? um yeah. does that make me a sick fuck? prolly.

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