sup

"I-I'm fine." That wasn't your voice. It was deeper. More masculine. What the fuck happened to your voice? 

The girl gives you another strange look but you're too busy freaking out over your new voice. Your hands are different too. A completely different skin tone, larger. 

And then you're fumbling with your pockets, clothes you know you didn't buy. The girl is calling for you again but you're too busy pulling out a fucking flip-phone and looking into the black screen, the only thing you have for a mirror. 

Purple eyes stare back. These aren't your eyes. This isn't your nose. This isn't your hair. This isn't your face. You blink. He does too. You open your mouth. So does he. You pinch your cheek. In the reflection, he winces. 

Oh, you just fucking bodysnatched someone. 

ⴵ

Ten minutes later, you conclude that your name is Geto Suguru, you are a 16-year-old boy, the year is 2006, and you attend a religious academy. 

"You're finally acting normally again." The girl-newly discovered as Ieiri- says. "No more weirdness." 

You don't blame her, considering you grabbed her by the shoulders, asking ridiculous questions like: what year is it, who am I, why am I here, who are you, am I dead, is this Hell, etc. For a teenage girl, she took your outburst well. 

"Sorry," you say and by now you've gotten used to your voice, "it must have been the stress from studying." 

She just hums, continuing to walk beside you. Though, Ieiri had a point. You were definitely calmer, and it was mostly because you figured it out. 

You were dreaming. 

You were lucid dreaming, to be more precise. Your brain was conjuring up a weird setting and you just happened to be placed in another person's body. You heard about this happening before. You were just so freaked out because this was the first time anything like this had happened to you. 

An impulsive part of you wants to tell Ieiri that this is just a dream, but you've heard weird things happen after a lucid dreamer tries to break the illusion. It's best if you just let it just play out and see where this goes. 

“Excited?” 

“Hm?” You ask. And Shoko rolls her eyes. 

“For the mission you have this evening. Special grade. Sounds scary.” She says, her sarcasm evident. 

Mission? Special grade? You don’t know what those words mean but it sounds like a school field trip. Shoko takes your hesitance as something else. 

“Ah,” she says, “so you forgot.” 

“I didn’t.” You reply on instinct. 

“I expected this from Satoru, not you. You should stop hanging out with him, he’s starting to rub off on you.”

You give a sheepish laugh, and it’s enough to quell her questions. 

She leads you into the school, all through the winding halls and through an office door. You couldn’t be more grateful, it’s not like you would have known where to go. It’s a teachers room. Two people are already inside. 

“Wait, for once, I’m early?” The boy with sunglasses asks, voice dripping with amusement. He’s leaning dangerously on a chair. You stare at him. You’ve never seen someone with white hair before. It can’t be real. 

“He forgot.” Shoko pipes up and the boy cackles. 

“That’s hilarious. I’m starting to rub off on you.” Ah, this must be Satoru. 

You give a nervous smile. “Haha, yeah.” 

The boy stops rocking in the chair. Three pairs of eyes look at you. Your uniform feels itchy.

“Gojo, stop making such a ruckus.” The man, presumably his teacher, gruffs. "You two got the briefing yesterday. Do your job and for the last time do not leave your assistant manager behind again." 

Gojo groans, and you delve into more confusion. Before you can say anything, the kid is hopping out of his seat before lazily striding out the door. Shoko and the teacher look at you expectantly. 

Oh, you were supposed to follow him. 

Not wanting to make a scene, you catch up to Gojo. He's tall, his footsteps are long and wide. But you're tall now too, so it's easy to keep up with him. This new body of yours has a lot of pros. 

"Yaga's so annoying," Gojo suddenly says, "constantly nagging us like that. It's not our fault the assistants can't keep up." 

What should you say? You clear your throat. 

"He just wants what's best for us." 

Wrong answer. 

"Where'd that come from?" He snorts. How charming. "I know you agree with me. You're just tryna' act like the nicer one, again. It's starting to get a little old." 

Is that how 16 year-olds talk? Rude, but also strangely off-putting, like he can see straight through you. Or more accurately, he can see straight through Suguru. How close are these two, anyway? 

Why did any of these questions even matter? This is a dream! You need to wake up already. 

On the campus grounds, a sleek black car waits outside for you two. Along with a miffed man in a black suit. This must be a very rich school for a field trip to have a chauffeur. Where were you two going again?

Gojo hops in the back, taking one of the window seats. You take the other. In your own body, you would've fit nicely. But Suguru's legs are long, and the spacious car feels cramped. You should've taken the passenger seat. How do tall people live like this? 

The ride is quiet. Out the corner of your eye, you catch Satoru type away on his flip phone. A moment later, yours beeps. You still have no idea how to use Suguru's phone or his password, so you ignore his message. Satoru groans. 

Quickly, you learn that Satoru has a very low attention span. When looking out the window gets boring, he bugs the chauffeur. When the chauffeur ignores him, he starts bugging you. 

"Hey heyyyy," Satoru says, "when this is all over, we should go to that new ice cream place. Like you said, we should." 

You look at him. "Uh, sure." You say. 

"And you should pay for it, 'cuz you said you owed me last time." 

Fine, whatever. "Sure thing." 

He grins. You can't see his glasses, and it makes his smile even more unnerving. This kid. 

This doesn't feel like a normal field trip at all. Why did you stop in front of some rackety house that looked as though it were about to collapse? You turn back to the only adult in the vicinity, but he's out too. He takes out a lighter and a cigarette. In front of impressionable children, too. Wonderful. 

"I'll wait out here." He says, though his tone is uncaring. "Since we're out in the country, there's no need for a veil. Do your best." 

Veil? What? Gojo's already going off again and you've already decided to be his chaperone, so you follow. You reluctantly trail behind him. Feet crunch the leaves. The house grows bleaker and bleaker. 

"Okay, I have a plan!" Gojo exclaims when he gets through the squeaky door. He's so loud, can't he be quieter? "I check upstairs and you check the ground floor and the basement. Got it?" 

Check the house? Were he and Suguru electricians in training or something? That still wouldn't explain why a grown man decided to drop off two teenagers in front of a creepy mansion. And why in God's name did Gojo want to split up?

"I-I don't think that's a good idea," you say, "shouldn't we try to stick together?" Or, better yet, leave. 

He clicks his tongue. "Ugh, you're so lame. Not like Suguru at all." 

Wait, what did he say? You're about to call out to him when he climbs up the stairs, disappearing from view. Unbelievable. 

This kid was starting to get on your nerves. Enough, you were leaving. You could have a nice dream where you met and fell in love with Zendaya, not babysitting some teenager, whilst possessing another person's body. You were going to wait outside with the man and hope your dream finally came to an end. 

Except, you couldn't go outside. The door was gone. 

It-it was right behind you, right? The entrance was right behind you. You couldn't have gotten turned around so quickly? What the hell happened? Or maybe you had gotten turned around? Considering how distracting that Gojo kid was, you might not have realized it. 

You look around the house. Looks like it'd been abandoned for a while. There's dirt on the shelves. Chairs were toppled over and left to rot. The wooden floorboards dangerously creaked beneath you. Just what had happened here? 

There's no patio door. No door leading to the outside. At the same time, you hadn't explored everything yet. Each door led to a room. The only door that didn't, led to a basement. And no, you weren't going down there. 

When you got back to where you started, you noticed something had changed. 

There was a person. Seated right at the base of the stairs? 

Gojo? Was he done with urban exploring? Maybe he knew the way out. He stands up, reaching to his full height, then higher, then higher. 

Gojo was tall, but this thing was taller. Gojo was human. This thing wasn't. 

What the fuck you can only mouth because your voice is stuck in your throat when it takes a shaky step towards you. It's a black husk of a figure, too skinny but too tall and twitching fingers. You don't know how you could've mistaken this for the kid. 

Another step. You're running, back into the house, leaping over the fallen shelves and creaky floorboards. It gives chase, and you can hear it groan behind you. It's deep and rumbly and terrifying. It just motivates you to go faster. 

It's slower than you. That's good, but it seems to realize this. You can barely celebrate your advantage before something heavy is smashed into your back, sending you toppling to the floor. You and wooden chair crash on the ground. 

It hurts. 

Everything hurts. 

Dreams aren't supposed to hurt. Because this wasn't a dream. 

This was real. You were stuck in the year 2006, stuck in another person's body, about to get mauled by a monster. 

You were going to die. 

You aren't even fighting anymore. How pathetic is that? The shock numbs your body as the thing grows closer and closer, all you can do is reach your hands up, protecting your face. 

And then the creature explodes. 

An implosion. It's skin and bones twist in a way no one should. There's a shriek, something wrong and high and inhuman before it's gone. Like it never existed in the first place. 

After all that, he's still smiling. Like the cat that just caught the mouse. 

"I guess we're not pretending anymore, are we?" Gojo asks, stretching his arms. "That's good. That game was starting to get a little boring, anyways. Now, then." 

He folds his glasses, tucking it on his uniform. Blue, his eyes are. As blue as a clear sky. 

"Let's cut the shit." The white-haired kid grins. "Who are you, and what're you doing in Suguru's body?"

ⴵ

Contrary to your belief, Gojo Satoru is a good listener. 

There's never an interruption. Not even once. Every once in a while, he nods, a hand on his chin. It's probably because he can't interrupt. You just keep going on and on. Word vomit. 

He only speaks when you pause to catch your breath. "So you are from the year 2017, and you went back in time to body-snatch someone. I had a feeling your technique had something to do with possession." 

You look at him warily. "Wait, you knew this entire time?" 

You two hadn't moved from your earlier spot. You were still sprawled on the floor, still feeling the adrenaline surge through you. Gojo had transitioned to squatting on the floor. He scratches his neck, still so casual. 

"I have good eyes. Don't worry about it." He shrugs. "Anyway, you seem pretty harmless, and as annoying as it is not having Suguru around, I doubt killing you would do any good." Why is he being so nonchalant about murder? Is this kid really sixteen?

"I think we gotta' just wait around until your technique reactivates." Gojo whistles. "2017. That's like a decade away. I wonder what happened for your technique to show up." 

You blink, trying to remember the date. 

"It was Christmas Eve..." You glance at him. "And then I was here." 

He thinks for a moment. "Yeah, I got nothing." Of course. 

He sighs, before sprawling on the dirty floor, belly up. You grimace at his antics but choose to keep your mouth shut. 

He doesn't seem very worried. At the most, he looks mildly inconvenienced. Why isn't he worried about his friend? 

When you ask him, he just snorts. 

"Sorry, but you're not that scary. Besides, I don't have to worry about Suguru. He's strong." 

Well, that's nice to know, but one other thing still bothers you. 

"You speak so casually to me," you mutter, "You know I'm older than you, right? I'm 22." 

He laughs. "22? Damn. You're old, man." 

"That isn't old!" You argue. "You have no concept of age since you're just a teenager." And why did he assume you were a man? Oh right, you were trapped in a teenage boy’s body. Of course.

"I mean, technically, I'm older than you, right?" Gojo ponders with a grin. "If you're 22 in 2017, that makes you what—11 in 2006?" 

You say nothing because you have a feeling that if you continue to argue with him, he'll just drag you down to his insanity. 

"Technique, you've said that a couple of times." You look at him. "That's what you call your 'powers', right? Does Geto have one too?" 

"Yeah," Gojo says, "but you can't use it. You have zero cursed energy. Honestly, it's at the same level as a plant. A bit lower than regular humans. It's a little impressive, actually." For one second, could he stop being so condescending? 

"What's his technique?" You ignore his comments. "Could it be related to how I got here?" 

He gives you a look over. "I doubt that, but Suguru's technique is curse manipulation. Uh, you remember that thing you saw earlier." You nod. "Yeah, he can control and absorb them." 

He sounds pretty awesome. You look at your hands. Not your hands. Geto's hands. They're paler than yours, and a lot longer. This isn't your body. Your soul can feel it. You can feel the guilt too. 

'I'd give it back if I could,' you think, 'I just don't know how.' 

Gojo's getting up. He stretches. He was lying on the ground but you can't see a speck of dirt on his uniform. 

"Okay, then. No use mopping around." He grins down at you. "Maybe Yaga can do something about you. Let's get you back to jujutsu tech." 

You blink up at him. His hand is outstretched, reaching out to you. He's still grinning that insufferable grin but his eyes have slightly melted. 

"Okay." You say, barely touching his fingertips. "Let's-" 

And then Gojo's gone. And then, you're standing. And then it's cold. 

You're wearing a coat; weren't you wearing a uniform before? There's no clear sky. It's nearly dusk. 

You were standing on the sidewalk, where people bustled all around you. You fumble through your jackets, putting out a phone. An actual iphone. You flick on the screen. 

December 24th, 2017, 7:06.

Holy shit, you were back. 

Was it because you touched Gojo? That makes no sense, but how could you explain anything else that happened so far? God. You rake a hand through your hair. Your hand. Your hair. You can't believe how much you missed yourself. It felt so good to be back. 

Your mind is spinning, you had no idea what the fuck just happened.

For now, you just wanted to turn your mind off and grab a drink. 

You know there was a bar not too far from your location. Along the way, you pass by the bustling town. There's a couple walking side by side, giggling over something you couldn't hear. Right, it's the 24th. You remember your empty bed with no one to share it with, and you cement your desire to drown yourself in alcohol today. 

Your self-pitying session is almost how you nearly miss him. His shoulder brushes past you. You're about to apologize when you hear his voice. It's familiar. 

It used to be your voice. 

It's all there. Black hair, but it's longer this time around. Of course it is, he's had years to grow it out. He's tall, he must've grown since highschool. His broad back is the only thing you see, you're almost afraid to reach out to him. 

"Suguru...?" 

He freezes like you've shot him. When he turns around, it's like looking into a fractured past. He looks older, no longer a youthful teenager. You should have paid more attention to his eyes, how scrutinizing they were, how condescending his fake smile was. All that you could think of was that it was actually him. 

"Do I know you?" He tilts his head. "Apologies, but my girls and I are quite busy." 

You don't notice the two young ladies beside him until Geto points them out. Teenagers, maybe just around the age when you first met him. He was a father now. 

You're so swept up by the emotions that you barely notice they've continued walking. You stumble behind, ducking behind the alleyway they went into. 

"Wait! Geto!" You call. "Please! We need to talk!" You still needed your answers. You didn't know care how desperate you came off as. 

In hindsight, you should have noticed that they looked more annoyed than worried about a stranger chasing them across the street. 

The one with the ponytail scoffs. "This one talks an awful lot. How annoying." 

Geto sighs. He leaves his daughters, finally standing in front of you. This is what you wanted, right? A chance to talk to him. 

Still, you can't help but feel wrongness within you. His smile is off. 

"Most monkeys are just that, unfortunately." You don't move. You can't. Not when he places a hand on your skull. "I suppose it'd be humane to put this one out of its misery." 

Geto Suguru crushes your skull. And then you die. 

ⴵ

Again. You died again. 

This is the second time Geto has killed you. Fuck, you should've realized. 

"Back again, Greeny?" Gojo asks. 

He and Suguru were sitting outside in the grass. Satoru's holding up a few playing cards. You look at Suguru's hands and find yourself doing the same. 

Not again. 

"What year is it?" You ask warily. "And what did you just call me?" 

Gojo grins with teeth. You remember he compared you to a plant before, didn't he? He's so clever with nicknames; someone should give him an award. 

"Welcome back to 2006!" Gojo beams. "It's only been a couple of days since you left. And why are you so grumpy? I'm the one who just lost a player." 

You weren't grumpy, you were pissed. You figured out what's been going on with you, and it's all because of the asshole you're possessing right now.

The look on his face when he killed you. Like you were nothing more than an animal. A monkey. Now, you feel a lot less guilty about possessing his body. 

At least you figured out two things. You know how your technique works. Whenever someone kills you, you are sent back in time to take over their body. But you can go back whenever you touch Gojo, or perhaps just another sorcerer. 

Secondly, you have access to Geto's memories. 

It didn't happen the first time you died. It must have been because the kill wasn't direct (from Getos curse, rather than himself), but milliseconds after Geto split your skull in two, your brain was overwhelmed by his past, his present, as well as his future. 

Geto was set to die on December 24th, 2017. At the hands of his best friend, Gojo Satoru. 

Fuck him. Let the bastard die. You didn't give a shit. 

You reach over to touch Gojo's arm, ready to leave. He pulls back with a snicker. Ugh, the brat must've figured out your technique, too. 

"Stop messing around." You tell him. "I need to go back to my timeline." 

"Sure, sure," he says as though speaking to a time traveler is just another Tuesday. "But first, finish the game with me." 

"No." You tell him before leaning out even further. He isn't moving away anymore, but you still can't reach him. Fuck, he must've activated his technique. 

Despite your annoyance, you decide to keep the future away from Gojo's ears. He doesn't need to know that he'll be the one to kill Suguru. He shouldn't. Not at his age. He's just a kid. 

"Just one game! I promise!" He pleads. "Then I'll let you go. Suguru never lets me beat him, I want an easy opponent to boost my ego." 

You roll your eyes, but you settle down, picking up the cards. You already know the rules; you have Geto's memories, after all. 

It's silent, save for Gojo's humming. When you place down your King of hearts, you ask:

"Hey, is my cursed energy different at all?" You ask.

"Not really." He squints. "Wait, it has grown a little. Aw, Greeny sprouted!" 

So, every time you die, your cursed energy increases. That, or your cursed energy, increases every time you time travel. It doesn't matter either way. Does this mean you can use Geto's technique now? It couldn't hurt to try, right? 

There's a demon-no, they're called curses you know that now- floating beside you, just a little ways away. Small. Barely fourth grade. You stick your hand out, calling out Geto's power. There's a pull, a rush of energy. 

A blue ball drops into your hand. 

"Holy shit." Gojo leans forward. "So you can use his techniques." Surprisingly, there's no wariness in his voice. Just awe. 

"Yeah." You breathe before glancing up at him. "Shouldn't you be focused on your cards?" 

He shrugs, tossing the cards away. "What cards?" 

You sigh before staring at the ball. Well, you captured the curse. All that's left to do is swallow it, right? You can do that. You open your mouth. Gojo is still staring. You scowl. 

"Look away." 

He rolls his eyes. "It's not like I haven't seen you do this before. Well, not you, the guy that you bodysnatched." 

Ass, you keep that in your head as you hold your breath. You swallow the ball down. 

Instantly, you choke. 

It's horrible. Like a rotten carcass on the highway, oozing blood and oil and pus. You start dry-heaving, suffocating, spit dribbles down your chin. Nothing comes out. You've already absorbed it. The taste of a cursed spirit no one knows. Like swallowing a rag that was used to wipe up vomit and shit. Exorcised. Ingested. Exorcised. Ingested. Exorcised. Ingested. Exorcised. Ingested. 

"Is it really that bad?" Gojo observes you. "That guy swallows them down, no problem." 

Because Suguru was used to this taste. He was used to the responsibility. The hoarding mass of distraught absorbing a curse comes with. It was a disgusting art. Something he'd perfected to mask for years. Until he couldn't take it anymore. 

Fuck, you might have lost your mind, too, if you kept having to eat this. To protect people who were happy you failed. 

You snapped out of it. Suguru's memories were affecting your own. That's probably a sign that you need to get out of here. No way would you be sympathizing with someone so monstrous. 

"Hopefully, I never do that again." You slowly recover, wiping your spit away with your hand. You lean back on your hands, exhausted. 

"Something I've always wondered." You call out to Gojo. "What did Suguru ever think about someone possessing his body." 

Gojo laughed. "Funny thing. He never knew." 

"What?" You look at him. "No gaps in his memory? Nothing?" 

"Nope," Gojo said, "he remembered what happened in the house, but he thinks he did everything. And then he said something weird." 

You perk up at that. "What did he say?" 

Gojo tilts his head. Then, he shrugs. 

"I forgot." Typical. 

You pinch your nose bridge. "So, did you tell anyone else about...this?" You gesture to yourself. 

"Wait, you're supposed to be a secret?" You look at him in alarm. "In my defense, I didn't know, but I haven't gotten the chance to tell anyone. After the mission, Suguru and I went to the arcade, and then I kinda' forgot about it." 

Well, at least Gojo's arrogance works in your favor sometimes. You can't let anyone know, especially anyone connected to the higher-ups. From Geto's memories, you know they don't like anything new. It's best to stay under their radar. 

"Good, well, from now on, we're keeping it a secret. Got it?" 

"What are you two keeping a secret?" A new voice pops up. You jump. 

You know him—at least from Geto's memories. Haibara beams at you. He looks so alive in the sunlight, smiling and with bright eyes.

He'll be dead within a year or so. 

Gojo takes advantage of your shock. "The bodysnatcher wants me to promise that I won't tell anyone that a curse-user is possessing Suguru's body." 

"What the hell? You just promised that you wouldn't tell anyone!" 

"Uh, technically, I didn't promise anything yet." Gojo retaliates. "But okay, fiiiiine. I won't tell anyone....except for Haibara." You groan. 

"What's going on?" Haibara's smile fades. "Wait, Gojo, is this not Geto? Is this person actually a curse-user!?" 

"I'm not a curse-user." You correct. "I'm not a sorcerer either, for the record." 

"You just used a curse technique to travel back in time to take over someone's body." Gojo enunciates. "Sounds like a sorcerer to me." 

"Wait, you're a time-traveler, Mr. Not-Geto?" Haibara asks and you are genuinely impressed he's able to keep up. 

"The name’s Greeny, Haibara." Gojo supplements. Haibara nods, still a bit unsure. 

"So...do we fight Greeny?" 

"It's not my name." You get ignored. 

"Nah, it's all good. Greeny's harmless. Just a weakling, don’t worry about it." Rude, but you don’t think you’d want Gojo to take you as much of a threat, not after knowing what he can do.

"Oh, okay!" Haibara instantly relaxes. The kid's really trusting, huh? 

"Okay, fine, but no one else can know, got it, Gojo?" This promise doesn't matter. It's not like you're planning on returning to the past anytime soon. As soon as you return to the present, you are leaving Tokyo and escaping the night parade of 100 demons. Fuck that. You don't want to die again. 

He waves you off. "Yeah, yeah."

He's so insufferable. You don't know who's worse: the genocidal maniac or this brat. 

"Give me your hand. I want to go home." 

Haibara looks confused. "Wait, why does Greeny need your hand?" 

"It's how the curse technique works," Gojo explains. "Greeny gets sent back in time, and then my true-love's touch sends him careening forward into the future." You frown at his comment, but he turns to you before you can say anything. 

"Which reminds me, Greeny: ever figure out how your technique works?" 

No way are you telling a kid that their best friend killed you....twice. Instead, you just shrug. 

"Haven't figured it out yet." 

Gojo stares at you. "Huh." He responds. "Well, if you ever figure it out, lemme' know." 

Sure you will. You hold up your hand. Gojo, finally holds his own up. Out of the corner of your eye, Haibara waves. And then you're back in your own body, on December 24th, 2017, 7:06 pm.

You waste no time. You push at the crowd, squeezing through the hoards of people. You need to get out. You need to leave before the death parade starts, before you're trapped in that terrifying cycle of death again. 

You need to leave. 

Exorcised. Ingested. 

No no no. Shut up. This wasn't you. This was Geto's memories. 

Exorcised. Ingested.  

You need to leave. 

Exorcised. Ingested. 

You need to survive. 

The taste of a cursed spirit no one knows. 

You stop, right there in the middle of the sidewalk. People glare, cursing as they move around you. They don't know this place will be a bloodbath in a matter of minutes. They'd all die. But you could stop it. 

If only if you hadn't accessed Geto's memories. If only if you hadn't eaten that damn curse. If only if you hadn't sympathized with a murderer. Maybe you'd have the courage to escape your future. 

But you'd felt that taste. Horrible. If you eat enough, you could go insane. If you were lonely enough, that would do it too. 

The taste of a cursed spirit no one knows. No one except for you. 

At 8:06 the screams start. The monsters come out to play their song. You close your eyes, forgive Suguru, and you die once more. 

ⴵ

For once, when you open your eyes, Gojo isn’t there with you. 

You’re still on the campus of Jujutsu tech. Suguru was just about to grab his soda from the vending machine. You finish his job. The can feels cold. It feels refreshing on your tongue. It’s a momentary distraction to the fact that you have no clue what you’re doing. 

You understand your cursed technique, but you still struggle with the application. Fuck, what did you do? You were utterly fucked. You’re playing a dangerous game. If you died- if Geto died- here, what would even happen? 

 The worst part is that you can’t even think of the hypothetical because there’s no other choice. You needed to do this. To not only save the people in Tokyo from the Night Parade, but to also save Geto Suguru. The man who has killed you three times now. 

Geto’s dissent starts to worsen at Riko Amanai’s death. If you could prevent that from happening, you could probably change history. But Geto’s true fracture begins with the curses themselves. They were rotting him from the inside.

You grimace, but you have to do it. You have to eat every single curse that Geto couldn’t swallow down himself. 

One was coming up. In less than an hour, Yaga will call you and Gojo for a mission. It’ll be a special-grade grave-type curse. Dispatching it will be simple, but Geto would be the one to exorcise it, ingesting the screams of all that the curse devoured. You needed to prepare yourself for that. 

Maybe you should save some of this soda to wash the taste off later. 

“Geto!” Someone cheers, you jump, but Haibara’s already poking his head around the wall. He grins. 

“Hey! Oh, you’re not Geto, aren’t you?” He tilts his head. “Greeny?” 

“Keep your voice down,” you whisper, “wait, you can recognize me?” 

He nods, after checking to make sure no one’s around, he says, “yeah, your eyes are different? It’s hard to explain.” He tells you. 

Huh. Interesting. 

“You’ve been gone a while.” Haibara beams. “It’s been a few weeks. I’m glad you’re back, Gojo was starting to get cranky.” 

It’s probably because he had no one to mess with. Poor him. He has all your sympathies. Ass. 

“I’m glad to return as his punching back.” You mutter. 

Haibara shyly shuffles his feet. 

“So, are you really from the future?” He asks. “Was Gojo telling the truth?” 

You nod. “Haibara, you haven’t told anyone, right?” 

“Of course not!” He instantly says. “Not a soul. Not even Nanami, and I tell him everything! Your secret’s safe with me.” 

“And Gojo, too! I know he doesn’t look very trustworthy, but me and him have kept it under wraps.” 

Reluctantly, you can’t help but agree with the kid. Gojo is annoying, but so far, he hasn’t done anything super harmful. 

“So anyway, Greeny.” He clears his throat. “Considering you’re from the future and all. Would you mind telling me what my future will be like?” 

You blink at him. He takes it as a sign to continue. “Nothing much! I just wanna know what I’ll be doing in 2017. Will I finally be a grade 1 sorcerer?” 

You think of Geto’s final memories of Haibara. A child burying another child. 

“Sorry,” you lie through your teeth, “but I didn’t know you in my future. Again, I’m not really a sorcerer.” 

Haibara nods, disappointed but still very excitable. He asks you about other things about the future, and you try to answer to the best of your ability, but you can’t shake off his dead glass eyes, staring at you from the morgue. 

“Another thing, we should have a code word.” Haibara exclaims. 

You blink. “A code word?” 

“If we ever meet in the future,” he explains, “y’know, in 'Groundhog’s day', he has to keep explaining what’s happening repeatedly? In order to prevent that, we should have a secret word between eachother so I instantly know who you are.” 

Not the same exact situation, but it sounds like exactly something a child would come up with. You indulge him anyway. 

“Okay, what did you have in mind?” 

“Well, it can’t be anything too crazy, or we might attract unwanted attention.” Haibara puts a hand on his chin in serious thought. You smile. 

“Got it! If you ever see me, just yell ‘brocolli head’ really really loudly. Then I’ll know.” Haibara chirps. 

“Wait, why broccoli head?”

“Because broccoli heads are green!” Haibara chirps happily.

You’re starting to learn it’s best not to question his logic.

You nod, very amused. “Sure thing, Haibara.”  

Someone calls out his name. He jumps before he waves to you. You watch as he joins with Nanami. They talk about something you can’t hear. Haibara laughs and you decide it would be a shame if his laugh was lost to death. 

Gojo finds you eventually. You can’t hide from him forever. You were walking into the school when he caught up with you. He’d ran there. His breath was slightly ragged. 

“Greeny, couldn’t get enough last time, huh?” You shoot him a look. 

“What are you talking about? Doesn’t matter, we need to go, the missions coming up.” 

Gojo’s smile dips ever so slightly. “How’d you know about that?” 

It’s probably not a good idea to tell the guy's best friend that you’re possessing that you’ve unlocked his memories. 

“Haibara told me.” 

“Ah,” He replies, “let’s go then.” 

The car ride is different this time around. Less tension. You aren’t as confused. Gojo is seated quietly beside you, watching the scenery go by. The assistant is too preoccupied with belting the radio to notice Gojo's words. 

“Figured it out yet?” He asks. “Your technique.” 

He's persistent about that answer, isn't he? You're sure the only reason Gojo cooperates with you is because he thinks you're inhabiting Suguru's on accident. How would he react if he knew you were doing it intentionally? It's best not to get on the strongests’ bad side. 

“Oh, not really, but I think it’s random. I can’t seem to find a set pattern. Maybe Suguru calls out to me, somehow?” 

“Maybe.” Gojo replies. His time is flat. Anxiety flips through your stomach. 

“You’re different this time around,” Gojo says. 

“Am I?” You ask. “I guess I’m just more determined today.” 

He gives you a look over. "Oh yeah? What for?" 

"The curse. I'll exorcise it, today." 

You don't know how you wanted Gojo to react to that, but you're still disappointed when he turns back to the window. 

"Do whatever, Greeny." 

In the end, you do swallow the curse. You manage to hold your gags in this time. 

It's worse than before. It makes sense. This curse was first-grade. Stronger. In terms of taste, it was like curdled blood and mold. You were so grateful for that soda. 

Gojo only watches with a tilted head. 

"You're getting better at that."

You give a weak grin. 

"Practice makes perfect," you reply, "do you think I'll get strong enough to absorb a special grade soon?" 

He doesn't like your question. You can see it in his stiff expression. 

"Maybe. Why do you want to swallow up curses, anyway? Last time you were here, you were practically begging to go back." 

His response wasn't exactly hostile but far from his usual playful attitude. You knew you'd have to confront this eventually. Despite how nonchalant he acted, it's clear Satrou doesn't enjoy watching someone prance around in his friend's body like this. If he starts to dislike you, it could rupture your entire plan. You need his cooperation, more than anything, to save Suguru. 

A little bit of the truth. Just a bit. It can't hurt, can it?

"Curses taste horrible," you say, looking at the ground. You can still taste the remnants of it, "it's the worst thing in the world. I can't even explain how wrong it feels to eat one. I thought...while I'm in his body...I could maybe help Suguru a little. I could ingest the curses in his stead, so that way, he still gets to absorb it." But it'll lessen the trauma it has on his mental state. 

You can't see how Gojo feels about that. Those glasses of his cover everything. But you know he's staring at you. The six eyes are taking you apart, observing you whole. 

"Did you know Suguru in the future?" He asks. 

"I didn't." The man that killed you. The man that will keep killing you. And you'd forgive him each time. 

Another beat of silence.

Finally, he just sighs. "You're the kind of person who'll jump in front of a truck to save a kitten, right?" 

You give a sheepish laugh.

"That isn't a compliment, by the way. You're just really reckless. And maybe stupid, Greeny." His tone isn't mean. 

"My name still isn't Greeny." You tell him. 

"Oh yeah, what's your name, then?" He's reverted back to that teasing lilt, and it almost makes you relax if you don't note the curiosity underneath. 

So far, you've been lax giving away information regarding the future, but you don't think you should continue that. What if you're too careless and the future changes in a way you didn't intend? A name, personal information, that could be way too dangerous. 

"Actually, just call me Greeny. I like that name a lot better." 

"You complained about it all the time, though?" Gojo argues. 

"It's starting to grow on me." You grin. "Grow? Get it, because you compared me to a plant and-"

"Stop stop, you really are an old man." Gojo groans. You just grin wider. Then, you grimace.

“I can still taste it.” You complain. “I’d kill for a cigarette right now.”

“I caught our assistant manager smoking a while back,” Satoru suggests. “Maybe you could go and beg him for one.”

You toss him a look. “Suguru doesn’t smoke, and I’m not giving a teenager a nicotine addiction.” You have found lighters inside Suguru’s pockets, but you have a feeling it isn’t for his own cravings.

"Hey, could you do me a favor?" 

He gives a wordless hum.

"Maybe after this, could you take Suguru out to a cafe'? I can taste the aftertaste of the curse." You shudder. "Just get him something to wash it down." 

Also, Suguru couldn't go back to his dorm after this. Suguru dissented because of his fractured relationship with everyone, not just with Satoru. You'd try to bridge the gap between him and his peers as much as you can. You go through Suguru's flip phone, asking Shoko if she wants to join the two. 

When you're done with that, you snap the phone closed. 

"Okay, I'm done here. You two have fun, okay?" You raise your hand. 

Gojo just huffs, amused. "Sure sure. By the way, someone wanted to thank you." 

You blink at that. "What?" 

He shakes his head. "Don't worry about it."

He gives you a high-five, and then you're back in 2017 in your own body. 

Temporarily. So far you figured out that you get sent back an hour before the night parade happens. 8:06. Considering you have a couple more minutes to kill before you’re killed, you reach into your pocket for that cigarette you’ve been craving. You pick the first out of the box, cherry burns just out of corner of your eye.

You notice things now. The children giggled to their parents. Old couples gingerly held hands with sweet smiles. You'd save them, but first, you need to save Suguru. 

And do really do that, you'd have to save Riko. 

Easier said than done. You could go back in time, but you can't really control when to go back in time. It's been random, but your trips are typically two days away from each other. You can work with that. 

But in order to get to Riko's death, you'd have to die...a lot. Absorbing curses made Suguru lose his mind, but how well would you fare with dying over and over again? 

"Hungry?" 

Someone looms over you. A woman. She's pretty, with short hair and bangs. In her hand, she holds a bag of chips. 

"The vending machine gave me an extra." She gives a laugh. She kind of sounds like you. "Would you like one?" 

"Oh." You take it. "Thanks." 

"Don't mention it." She trots off into the crowd. You watch her.

A stranger's act of kindness. She didn't even know what would happen to her soon. You grip the bag, it crinkles in your grasp. 

It didn't matter how well you'd fare with dying over and over again. You'd get over it. So many innocent people depended on you. You can't just abandon them like this. 

You're the kind of person who'll jump in front of a truck to save a kitten, right? It's aggravating how accurate he is, honestly. 

The screams start up again, and you forgive Suguru. 

ⴵ

It takes a few cycles to finally reach the day Amanai Riko is assassinated. Whenever you deem yourself too early, you often accompany Gojo on a mission and exorcise a special-grade curse. Your overall plan is working, bit by bit. Each time you return, Suguru's memories swarm you. Each curse he remembers as less painful. 

It's why you get worried when you get there a little too late. 

"Something wrong?" Riko asks. 

You've stopped in the middle of the hallway, and of course, they're looking at you strangely. You know this place. Tengen's barrier is just an elevator ride away. Suguru, Riko, and Miss Kuroi were all almost there.

Fushiguro Toji has already arrived. 

In the first timeline, Geto leads the girls all the way down to Tengen's barrier. He puts his trust in Gojo. Of course, he would. They're the strongest. And in the end, Gojo does kill Toji. 

But the kill comes too late. Riko still dies, and the fracturing happens. 

You thought you'd have more time. If you had arrived a bit earlier, you could have fought with Gojo, and the chances of defeating Toji would have significantly increased. 

What do you do?

"What's the matter?" Miss Kuroi asks. She's supposed to die today, too. 

"Sorry, ladies." You smile. "But I need to go back for him." 

You don't answer their calls, running back up the hallway. The sun's bright, shimmering beautifully in the sky.

It contradicts the blood dripping all over the stone floor. 

Gojo's lifeless body is draped across the rubble. It's a horrifying sight. Eyes that were once like the sky are just this empty blue. A dead sea. He isn't breathing. You know, if you touched his wrist, you wouldn't feel a heartbeat. 

"Hate to break it to ya', but the Gojo kid's dead." Toji's right behind you. You can feel him grinning. 

You know Gojo isn't dead. At least, he won't be dead for a while, but seeing the boy who used to tease you, annoy the shit out of you, laugh at you, be so....it made you freeze. Falter. 

You were wasting time. 

"Sorceror killer." You say after a minute. You almost can't bring yourself to turn, to look at him. The man who kills Gojo. The man who could've killed Suguru, but chose not to. "You certainly live up to your name." 

Toji's grin widens. The only man in the world with zero cursed energy. It'd be awe-inspiring if it weren't so terrifying. 

It's funny. You weren't afraid of dying, not anymore. You were afraid of failing. Failing when you were so close, when victory was just a blink away. 

"The flyheads." You mention to the swarms of curses all around you. "That's really smart." It gives you an idea or two. 

You have Suguru's memories, but they aren't always concrete. You just have snippets. A general idea of what happened within a certain event. It makes sense. Humans can't remember everything. 

But regarding the memories of Suguru and Fushiguro, everything is crystal clear. It's almost like you were there when it happened. 

It also means that you know Suguru, at this current level, won't be able to defeat Fushiguro. 

But Suguru doesn't need to beat the sorcerer killer; he just needs to hold him off. 

Currently, Suguru's body contains 368 curses: 3 special grades, 24 grade ones, 33 grade twos, 103 grade threes, and 205 fourth grades. 

You release all 368 of them. 

In another timeline, these curses would look to you as something to devour. Today, these curses have a new target. 

It won't stop Fushiguro. You're not dumb enough to think that. But it should give you time. Hopefully, it'll be enough time. 

Your knees hurt when you collapse next to the corpse. Gojo's so beautiful, even when he's dead. 

"Gojo." You shake him. Nothing happens. "You need to wake up. Gojo." 

Nothing happens. You don't know what caused Gojo to become the strongest, Suguru wasn't there. For once, you are blind to the past. 

"Riko needs you. Wake up. You-you need to go and save her and Miss Kuroi." 

His body's so cold, and you know he's dead because when you touch his skin, you don't wake up in the present. You push against his body, and he falls limply right back to place. You're sure this sight will haunt you for the rest of your life. 

"Satoru." You beg. "It's Greeny. Please, please, please wake up."

 Nothing happens. 

Everything happens. 

The brightest blue you've ever seen. It's heavenly. A glow that warms and chills your skin. It takes a while for you to see again. When you do, Satoru is standing. 

Somehow, his eyes are even brighter. You don't think you're looking at a teenage boy anymore. 

You're sitting in front of God. 

"Greeny." he states, voice flat. "You're late." 

You manage to smile.

"Sorry." 

You’ve seen Satoru fight before. He’s always calm, body relaxed as he practically floats in the air. Those fights differed from Suguru’s memories—post Satoru’s awakening. There’s always this twinge of desperation. An aftertaste of bloodlust.

But seeing it for yourself is something else entirely. Even with Suguru’s heightened senses, you still can’t follow him. He’s barely a mirage. One milisecond you can see a blue flash, the next you see nothing.

It's barely a fight. Not this time around. Fushiguro is completely unmatched. There's a flash of purple. And then, it's over. 

Fushiguro is in shambles. You didn't realize he was human until he started to bleed and shatter. Parentage over labor. It's sobering, in a way. 

Satoru's mouth moves. You're too far away to hear anything. They stand there for a few more seconds until Fushiguro slumps. Then, he falls.

You wonder when you got so desensitized to death. 

Gojo stands there. You should let him compress, but the clock is ticking. You need to do one more thing before you can let Suguru go. 

"You need to go." You say when you're close to him. He doesn't acknowledge you. "Riko's about to enter Tengen's barrier." 

He looks at you right then. His eyes. They're so bright, but they're strangely lifeless. Like he can't process you, your words. 

"I can see you now," he says, "it was so foggy before, but now, you're crystal clear." 

Six eyes look at you. You don't think you're hiding behind Suguru's face anymore. 

You clear your throat. 

"Gojo." You remind him. "Riko. You need to stop her." 

He blinks back into focus, rising from his high. 

"Oh," he says after a moment, "right." 

You stop him before he can walk any further. You hold out your hand. 

"You and Suguru." 

For the first time in a while, Gojo hesitates to send you back. You wait a couple seconds longer. 

"Yeah," he finally says.

His skin still feels cold. 

ⴵ

This death is a lot more painful than the others. 

The curse that's holding you is more intelligent than its predecessors. It keeps you alive, tearing at your skin, feasting on your flesh. Blood is everywhere. You scream until it rips out your vocal cords. It's almost a mercy to just die. 

You forgive Suguru. 

ⴵ

Time skips a lot faster now. 

You stand in 2006, four months after the death of Fushiguro Toji. It takes a second for Geto's memories to kick in. What you see makes you nearly cry in relief. 

Gojo and Geto made it in time. You can still remember the tears spilling down Riko's cheeks, the smile on her face when Geto asked her if she wanted to go back. They were safe. They were home, with each other. 

You did it. You actually managed to pull it off. 

But you can't celebrate, not yet. From what you can gather from Suguru's memories, Geto defects after four years. You've just held off the eventual. 

It's nearly the middle of December. The air feels a bit chillier. You stay on that bench where Suguru once occupied. He was finishing his lunch. Usually, he'd eat with Satoru, but Satoru wasn't on campus these days. 

Right, you weren't finished with your work, yet. There was still one other issue. Suguru went on missions alone these days. Swallowing curses, letting them fester and rot in his body. It's isolating and grueling work. You might have been able to help him with the absorption, but your aide won't be enough to prevent his eventual downfall. 

You'll have to deal with his natural isolation. To do that, Suguru will have to make friends with people who aren't Satoru. 

Suguru does have friends, but he's the closest to Satoru. Considering Satoru is getting busier each passing day, Suguru needs to broaden his horizons a bit. 

It's a good thing this school is filled with such colorful characters. 

Haibara and Nanami were sitting in the back of the school. From Geto's memories, their dynamic was interesting. Haibara was definitely more outgoing than the two, but Nanami seemed to have a good head on his shoulders. They looked out for each other, in that way. 

Ah, Shoko was there, too. You haven't seen her since your first day. Her hair's grown longer. It lightly brushes her shoulders now. The cigarette in her hand burns a cherry red. 

Your reaction is rooted in Suguru's instinct than anything on your part. You reach out, taking the cigarette and stomping on the embers. 

"You shouldn't smoke in front of kids." You tell her, hoping she didn't read too much into your action.

Shoko scoffs, but to your satisfaction, she doesn't take out another one. 

"We're just one year below you." Nanami retaliates, but he looks more at ease now that the cigarette's out. 

"Did you finish lunch already, Geto?" Haibara asks kindly, then he takes a closer look. "Greeny?" 

You suck air through your teeth, giving Haibara a scathing look. Instead of looking exasperated, Nanami looks confused. 

"What's Greeny?" Nanami asks, and Haibara weakly laughs. 

"It's-uh-my new nickname for the tree that's growing over there!" He wildly points to something just behind you. "'Cuz it's so...green!"

"Of course." You note the hint of affection laced within his tone. 

"When'd you get back?" Haibara recovers with eagerness. 

"Recently." You grin. "Nice to see you again." 

"You saw him this morning," Nanami interjects, and you shrug. When he frowns, you know you pulled off a perfect Suguru impression. 

Suguru melds into the conversation perfectly. Haibara says something funny, Shoko and Suguru agree, Nanami disagrees. It's a lovely little cycle that ends when Nanami grumbles and picks himself up to go. Shoko starts to follow suit when you stop her. 

"Your hair's nice." You tell her. 

She hums, grabbing a strand to study it. You can see hints of dark circles beginning to form under her eyes. She looked livelier when you first met her. Curses have been popping up left and right since Fushiguro's death. Everyone is overworked, but Shoko looks like she's getting the brunt of it. She's one of the only people who can use RCT on others, and there aren't many healers on her level. All of the strongests share one thing in common it seems. 

"Pretty soon, it'll be longer than yours," Shoko replies. You smile in response. 

"Where are you going?" You ask. 

"Dorm," she replies, "I'm behind on paperwork." 

You had a feeling she always was. You gave a look of sympathy, but misery loves company. 

"I have some work too," You 'remember' the piles of papers lodged on Suguru's desk, "Maybe we can do it together later. The cafe right next to campus? It'll be my treat." 

She looks at Suguru. Her eyes are a pretty color. 

"Sure." She shrugs. "see you then." 

You feel your heart thump twice in your chest and decide that your work here is done. 

Haibara stares at Shoko's disappearing back. The forehead flick comes from both you and Suguru. 

"That hurt." Haibara whines. 

Good, you inwardly think. 

"Sorry." You tell him. He rubs his head, and you wonder if this is how kicking a puppy feels like. 

Luckily for you, Haibara recovers quickly. 

"You've been gone for a while." Haibara tilts his head. "What happened?" 

You can't exactly control your technique, it's more like it has a mind of its own, placing you exactly where you need to be placed. Instead of answering, you sigh, leaning against the wall. 

"Timeline gimmicks." You tell him tiredly. "It's hard to explain." He frowns, but he takes it as an answer.

"Do you know when Gojo's coming back?" You ask. "I think it's time for me to go back again." 

In previous time travels, you and Haibara tried to see if any physical contact would be enough to send you back. No matter how many times you two high-fived, shook hands, or even held hands. Nothing worked. Only Gojo Satoru could activate your technique. It must have something to do with the amount of cursed energy another person has. 

“He should be getting back later this evening.” Haibara muses. “But I’ll be happy to keep you company!”

It's nice to hear him chatter. If you'd let him, he'd go one and one. But you like hearing him talk about his sister. Apparently, she’s also a sorcerer, and his affection for her makes you smile.

"You remind me a lot of her, actually." He tells you. "Even though, y'know, you're a man." It's enough to get a laugh out of you. 

“Do you have anyone in your family who can see curses?” Haibaracasks.

“No,” you answer honestly, “at least, not that I can tell. My dad never spoke of curses or strange powers when I was growing up.”

You think he would have said something; after all, you two were too close to have secrets from each other. Your father was a single man, who took to raising you himself after your mother passed away. He often said you had her laugh.

“Maybe you’re one of a kind,” Haibara suggests.

You agree with him.

Gojo finds you before you can find him. He comes up to you with a grin and a wave.

“Hey, long time.”

His sunglasses are tilted down. You can see his eyes. They’ve lost the mania he had in his fight with Fushiguro. You’re relieved at that. You still can’t shake off that strange thing he said to you.

Wordlessly, you raise your hand. Satoru frowned.

“You wanna leave so soon? You just got here.”

“I’ve been here for hours,” you tell him, “also, you aren’t very concerned that someone is using your best friend’s body as a puppet.”

“He’s been through worse,” Satoru tells you off with a wave. Some friend.

“Let’s go to the arcade,” he suggests.

“Do that with Suguru.” You tell him. “I’m not hanging out with a high schooler.”

“Right right, my bad. I keep forgetting you’re an old man, Greeny.”

“22 is not old,” you say with exasperation, “didn’t your birthday just pass? You’re just five years away. I’ll see your attitude change, then.”

He grows quiet. You feel like you messed up somewhere.

“How did you know about my birthday?”

Fuck, you keep forgetting about keeping Suguru’s memories a secret. It takes everything within you to just relax.

“Haibara told me,” you say, “blabbermouth. You know him.”

“Oh.” Gojo replies. “Huh.”

You shuffle your feet. Distantly, you wonder what shoe size Suguru wears.

“How did your mission go?”

“Horrible,” he’s instantly back to his usual self, whiny and complaint, “and the curse was so ugly too. It was oozing goo everywhere.”

You frown. “Sounds gross. But you won, right?”

He doesn’t even answer. You secretly admire his sheer confidence. You certainly weren’t that when you were at his age.

“How’s Amanai and Miss Kuroi?” You ask.

“Safe.” He tells you. “The higher-ups weren’t really happy with us after that; pretty sure all these sudden missions are punishments.” He frowns. “But they’re fine. Miss Kuroi officially adopted her, so she’s a Kuroi now, too.”

You smiled. You already knew all that, but it’s nice to hear it.

“You saved them,” he says.

You laugh, “I didn’t do a thing.” You tell him. “You and Suguru did all the heavy lifting. I just caused some property damage.”

“You did.” He replies. “I don’t know how, but things always manage to work out whenever you’re around.”

You don’t like how he phrases that, but you don’t react.

“You think so? Maybe I’m lucky.” It’s supposed to be a joke of some kind. Neither of you laugh.

“You really don’t know us in the future?” He asks.

Maybe you should’ve asked Shoko if you could have a cigarette.

“I really didn't,” you say, “Honest, I—I have no idea what’s happening. I’m just as lost as you. Hopefully, I can figure out how to control my technique, and you won’t have to see me again.”

You never stopped feeling guilty for doing this to Suguru. Controlling him. Forcing him to laugh with his friends, make decisions based on your feelings rather than his. But you’re so close. You promise yourself that once you fix everything, you’ll never cause someone this much pain again. No matter how many times they kill you.

Satoru’s fists tighten. He looks even more upset at your response.

“That’s not what I—” He cuts himself off. You wait. Satoru says nothing more.

“You’re annoying.” He tells you in the end. It’s clean and cut, but it sounds like him. More confident, less wavery. “And stupid too.”

You can’t help but smile.

“Thank you. Am I done entertaining you now? Can I go?” He grumbles, holding up his hand.

“Yeah, sure, Greeny.”

ⴵ

You forgive Suguru.

ⴵ

Something’s wrong.

You can feel it. Something’s wrong.

You look through Geto’s memories. There’s nothing. Everything’s going as it should be. Everything looks perfect. Then, why do you feel so wrong?

Currently, Suguru was finishing excorcising a curse. You absorb it, swallowing down the remnant like it’s a pile of rusted nails but even the disgusting taste isn’t enough to wash away the feeling of dread.

The walls of the hospital was empty. The auxillary managers had already cleared everyone out by the time Suguru had walked in. Maybe it was the silence that added to your stress?

You walk out. Nothing changes. One of the managers comes up to you with a clipboard.

“The curse was exorcised.” Suguru tells them. “It wasn’t first grade, it was special grade. It was still disposed of.”

He curses, scribbling something down on his clipboard.

“The wrong information again.” He hisses to himself. “If we keep doing this, someone will die. We need more people, we’re way too stretched out.”

Those words are familiar. Hold on.

“Wait, what day is it?” You ask the frazzled-looking manager.

Offhandedly, he responds. He says the date so casually, and yet his mere words feel like a bear trap, tightening on your leg.

No. You should have had more time. Why weren’t you given more time?

Nanami and Haibara have probably already been dispatched. You go through Suguru’s phone, finding Haibara’s contact. It doesn’t go through. Nanami doesn’t pick up either.

You won’t make it in time. Even using Suguru’s curses, you won’t be able to reach them until it’s too late. Suguru’s memory of that day is muddled and dark, but Haibara’s dead corpse laying on the examination table. The pieces of him that Nanami could bring back.

You wouldn’t be fast enough.

He picks up on the second ring.

“...What’s up?”

“It’s Haibara.” You spit the words out as fast as you can. “Satoru, you need to go and get him right now, he isn’t going to make it—”

“—Greeny?” The exhaustion in Gojo’s voice is gone. You can hear something rustle behind him.

“Satoru, listen to me.” You beg. “Haibara and Nanami were just dispatched on a mission, but Yu isn’t going to survive it. It wasn’t a second-grade curse; it was a first grade. Please, you have to go and save him before it kills him.”

It’s silent. It feels like hours have passed when you know it’s just three seconds.

“We’ll talk later, Greeny.” The line clicks.

You’ve lost the trust of the strongest.

ⴵ

The future has changed when you get to campus. Haibara’s status is still alive. Barely. But he’s still there. Shoko’s currently taking care of him.

Nanami remains quiet the entire time since he returned with Haibara’s battered body. The only thing you can think of to offer comfort is to pat his shoulder. He barely even registers it. It’s more for you than for him. You’re self-soothing, taking care of something else, so you don’t have to recognize your own panic.

If Haibara dies, right here, on this day, everything can change. Everything can go back to the way it was in your original timeline. Haibara, with his sunshine, smiles, and bright eyes. His death is so important, and you can’t even think of him right now.

Gojo Satoru knows you’ve been deceiving him.

This is bad. So very bad. If he starts to suspect that you know more than you let on, he might deem you enough of a threat to kill, regardless of whether or not you’re in Suguru’s body. It’s not like that hasn’t stopped him before.

Gojo Satoru is selfless. He’s selfless enough to kill his best friend, if he thinks it will save everyone.

But if Gojo kills Geto here and now, would that really be bad?

You’d lose your path to the past, but the threat to your life would be over. Even if you did die in Suguru’s body, at least the people of Tokyo will be spared the Death Parade. You’ll still get what you want. And it will be much easier than your current plan.

Nanami shuffles behind you and you instantly snap out of it. That wasn’t you. It couldn’t have been you. That same lack of apathy when Fushiguro died in front of you.

It seems like dying over and over again caused you to lose bits of your humanity.

Shoko comes out. Nanami stands up, a tall ball of nervous energy. Shoko removes her mask. Her dark circles have grown even more prominent. She’s only 17.

“He’s still alive.” Nanami sags. “But he isn’t responsive. I’ve done all that I can.”

She looks at Nanami, and then she can’t anymore.

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t,” Nanami rasps, the most emotion you’ve ever seen from him, “don’t apologize. It was my fault. I should’ve taken better care of him.”

You swallow. It wasn’t his fault, you wish you could tell him that it was yours.

You wonder what Haibara’s younger sister looked like. A spitting image of him, perhaps. Shorter. Darker hair, bigger eyes. Their smiles would look identical. What would she look like when she’s told her brother died doing the profession he forbade her from doing?

You can’t do that to her. You can’t be the reason she loses her brother the second time.

You’re not sure if a God is even out there. How could there be? What kind of entity would do something like this to you? Still, you sit on that bench, right outside the room where Haibara’s body lay, and you pray for a God.

Gojo’s footsteps stop right in front of you.

It’s hard to get the words out. For a minute, he just stands there.

“Did you exorcise it?” You finally ask.

“Yeah.”

You lift your head up to look at him. Even in his school uniform, he’s regal to look at. Like a warrior of the sun, blessed by the moon, sent to vanquish beasts and monsters.

Now, his blood-soaked sword is pointed at you.

Make it quick. You can only think. Just make it quick.

“Not here.” You say.

Nanami was still shaking. Shoko was right beside him. So you stand, you drag yourself away from Haibara’s fading presence, and Gojo follows behind.

It shouldn’t be this pretty outside. The sun is bright, and the sky is clear. There should be rain. Enough rain to drown the Earth.

“I figured out your technique a while ago, y’know.” You don’t look at him. You can’t. “Dying. Death activates your technique. Each time you die, you’re sent back 12 years in the past.”

You grip the fabric of your uniform until your knuckles turn white. Satoru’s cruel enough to continue.

“But I never got why your soul kept possessing Suguru’s body. It always felt kinda’ random. Unless he was the one who was killing you. Over and over again.”

“Gojo. Stop.” You beg.

“That’s how your CT works. Every time you’re murdered, you go back in time so you can kill them when they’re at their most emotionally vulnerable moment. It’s a pretty powerful technique, all things considered. I might not even stand a chance against it. Assisted suicide, never expected that from you of all people.

But you never do. Each time Suguru kills you, you just come back and try to save him and everyone else your hands can reach. I can’t get why you did that.”

He steps in front of you so you can see him. The God that he is.

“Let’s cut the shit, Greeny. Tell me what future is so bad you’re willing to die over and over again to prevent it.”

The worst outcome you could have ever thought of was standing right in front of you.

Satoru was demanding to know his future.

And...you couldn’t.

You’re taking in a shaky breath. It’s not enough oxygen. The sky was close to crumbling, and you still couldn’t breathe.

“There’s nothing to know.” You try. “There’s nothing, I’m fixing it—”

“—by Suguru killing you, or is this considering killing yourself, now?”

“You don’t understand.” Your voice is cracking, so high-pitched that even Suguru’s vocal cords can’t keep up. “You don’t get it. You can’t.”

“Then help me understand.” His voice is as ragged as yours, he steps closer, you step back. “Tell me why my friend would do something like this to someone.”

It clicks right then. Satoru’s anger isn’t directed at you.

No, it’s directed at Suguru.

It’s even worse than you thought.

“He—he was better than me. He was supposed to be the best out of all of us. I wanna deny it all that I can but—but I can see the proof right here in front of me. And—And I don’t—” His voice breaks too much to continue. 

You’re breaking, too. How many times have you been doing this, over and over again? All alone, with no one to support you. To comfort you.

The words are right there, threatening to bubble out. It’d be so easy to tell Satoru everything.

And maybe you would’ve, but then you looked at him.

Despite how disingenuous Satoru acted, you knew he was kind. The kindest person you’ve ever met. He’d sit there and listen, and he’d break every bone in his body to help. That’s just how he was.

Satoru was selfless, he was selfless enough to kill his best friend here and now if it meant he’d save the millions in Tokyo.

You can’t put another burden on the strongest.

You can’t do that to a kid.

“It—it isn’t him.” You manage to spit out. “He isn’t doing it on purpose. It’s not his fault.

It’s the curses. They were too much for him; they overtook his body. Suguru couldn’t control them anymore.”

He says nothing. It’s like you’ve put a spell on Gojo somehow, freezing him in place. Satoru can’t do anything but stare at the talking puppet that’s his best friend.

“He lost so many people.” You continue. “Riko, Miss Kuroi, Haibara. He couldn’t take it. It was too much. His body succumbed to the curses, and they took over Shinjuku. That’s how I keep...”

It’s okay to lie like this, you justify to yourself. Because the Suguru, you know—the one with fake smiles, beady eyes, and a broken expression—isn’t the one that Satoru knows. They’re two completely different people. Years—timelines—apart from each other. They aren’t the same.

Even then, you forgave both Sugurus a lifetime ago.

You’d get on your knees if you know that would make a difference. You’d plead and beg and cry if it would get Satoru to drop it. In the end, you can only stare at him.

“All I’m asking is that you trust me.” You whisper. “Believe that I’m making this right. Please, Satoru?”

His eyes. You can’t tell what he’s thinking. He’s gone quiet and dull. The same look he had when he fully awakened his technique. The day he became God.

But he’s not a God. God’s don’t cry.

He leans ever so closely until his head rests on your shoulder. His body shakes.

“You’ll save him, right?” He asks. Gone, is his aura of confidence and resilience. He’s nothing more than a shell. If you feel something stain Suguru’s uniform, you say nothing about it.

You smile anyway.

“I will.” You tell the truth. “I will save him.”

You think of something morbidly funny.

“I’ll die trying.”

His shoulders shake with quiet, genuine laughter, the kind that’s wet and sticks to the top of your mouth.

“That’s fucked up, Greeny.” He whispers.

You hum, reaching up to pat him on the back. It takes another minute before he gathers himself up. His eyes are shiny. Satoru blinks it away.

“Haibara will be okay.” He says with such conviction. “I’ll take care of him. I’ll take care of Suguru, too.”

He doesn’t get it, not yet. He doesn’t understand that Shoko and Satoru and Haibara and Nanami need him. He’ll get it soon, though. You managed to put Suguru on the right path.

For now, it’s all you can do. 

“I know you will.” 

He scoffs, right then. 

“You’re really annoying, you know that? Next time, don’t piss me off like that. Just tell it to me straight.” 

Rely on me. Lean on me.

“I’m sorry,” you say and you truly are, “I won’t leave you in the dark from now on. I guess I just forgot that I had a friend in 2006.” 

His eyes get a little brighter. “It’s actually 2007—” 

“Shut up.” He laughs and it sounds like him again. 

You reach out your hand and his grin fades, the tiniest bit. He mirrors you, regardless. 

This time, you hesitate.

“You should learn how to be selfish every once in a while.” You tell him. “I won’t fault you if you’re selfish. I don’t think anyone will.

He doesn’t answer that, but his touch is finally warm.

ⴵ

It hurts. It hurts so much. Blood seeps into the pavement. You can hear the curse laughing. It sounds like him.

You forgive Suguru. 

ⴵ

It’s today. 

You can feel it. You don’t even have to look at the date to know.

The catalyst for December 24th, 2017.

Suguru’s already dressed. You’re currently standing in front of a shotty mirror, watching your reflection.

He looks tired. His smile’s a bit muted. You notice a scar you hadn’t seen before. An unregistered special grade curse, Suguru’s memory gives.

He’s different from when you saw him a year ago, but there’s still a spark in his eye. You cling to that hope, as hard as you can.

You step out of the room. It isn’t Suguru’s. He’d rented accommodations with an older woman and her son for the mission. Their place smelled like home. It made your stomach turn.

She smiles when she sees you coming down stairs. She looks kind; she has the eyes of a mother. You’ll never understand how a person who raised children could do something like this to another.

“Mr. Geto.” She chirps. “I’m so glad you’re awake! Would you like anything to eat?”

“No, I’m fine.” Better get this done sooner than later. “I should be heading back now, anyways.”

Suguru had already absorbed the curse tormenting the village last night. You can feel the sticky aftertaste in your mouth. He should have left the village yesterday, but the people were insistent he stayed one last day as thanks, feeding him all they could.

Now, it’s obvious that it was a way to butter him up for today.

Her smile grows a bit nervous. She shuffles her feet a bit.

“If it isn't too much.” She starts. “The head of our village asked if you could look at something.” Her eyes darken into disgust.

You fight to keep your smile.

“Of course. Please, lead the way.”

It’s worse than you ever could have imagined.

You’ve seen this play out so many times in Suguru’s memories. He reminisces about this moment a lot. Because of that, you knew this scene too, like the back of your hand.

And yet, seeing two children huddled together on the floor. Nothing could prepare you for that.

The village head is saying something. The woman who Suguru roomed with is yelling at the scared kids, but you can’t hear any of that.

Their clothes were dirty and ripped. Their cheeks were hollow, and they looked like they hadn’t eaten for days. Himiko’s eye looks swollen.

The twins.

The first time you saw them, they stepped aside and let Geto kill you. There’s something oddly poetic about you being on the other side.

They tremble as they continue to look at you, flinch whenever that woman raises her voice. They must think Suguru’s here to kill them.

They’re too young to think like that. They’re too young to see the horrors of this world so soon.

It’s a mistake to look towards the end of their cell. Dirty water and dog food.

How could a human do this to them? How could a mother do this to them?

You feel red. It coarses through your blood, your veins, your soul. It feels like there’s lava right underneath your skin. Shuddering, tittering anger.

There’s more than enough fire to burn down an entire village.

‘Suguru,’ you think to your companion, your tormentor, ‘I think I’m starting to get it now.’

You reach for the bars of the cell. The twins shrink away.

“Ah! Mr. Geto, you musn’t get too close to them—”

“I’ll take them.”

“What?” The head of the village asks.

“The children.” You straighten yourself up. “I’ll take them off your hands.”

It’s pointless to do anything to these people. They’re delusional enough to think that they’re in the right. By torturing these children, they’re protecting their own. It’s fear. That’s all it ever was. Even without a curse, it’ll fester on and on until this village is nothing but abandoned homes. There’s no point to punish these people any further.

If you look at the adults a bit too long, you’re afraid of what you’d do, even without Suguru’s interference. Instead, you focus on Himiko and Nanako, looking into their wary gazes. Their hands are so tiny. You could protect them with your own.

When you got out of this backward village, you’d find them something to eat.

ⴵ

You go to Shoko first.

She looks surprised to see the twins. You can’t imagine why. Still, her voice is calm when she speaks to them, setting both of them up in the clinic room. Since you got them into the car, Nanako and Himiko seemed to calm down. Himiko even told you the name of her doll.

A little while later, Yaga comes for a visit. He’s the principal now. Usually, his voice is filled with gruff, but he’s oddly gentle when he speaks to them. Nanako cracks a shy smile.

You can’t escape the ‘we’ll talk later’ look he gives you. Inwardly, you sympathize with Suguru. But a harsh lecture is better than being branded a murderer.

He hasn’t come by, yet. With the twins aided for, you decide to go find him yourself.

Walking through campus feels a little nostalgic. The grounds of the infamous jujutsu technical college are a bright green. It’s summer again. You’ve met so many colorful characters since your time here. You’ve only seen snippets, mere seconds of their lives, and yet it feels like an entire lifetime.

He’s sitting on a bench when you finally see him, nursing a drink. He doesn’t acknowledge you. You have to roll your eyes at his childish behavior, plopping down beside him.

“Hey.” You say first.

“Heard you adopted two kids,” Satoru says, “Never thought Suguru would be a teen mom, but here we are.”

You laugh, light and breathless. The sky is so pretty today.

“I don’t think he’d have it any other way, personally.” You respond.

He reminisces on your words.

“This happened before too?” He asked.

It did. It was a lot less of a happy ending, however.

“Yeah,” you say regardless, “he took good care of them last time. He’ll do the same in this timeline too. I’m sure of it.”

And this time, he’d have help. Shoko, Satoru, his teachers. They’d all be there for him. Suguru’s memories haven’t changed yet, but you know the future you step into will be a different one.

“In any case, I’m glad I got to see jujutsu tech one last time. It’s a beautiful campus.”

“You act like you’re leaving,” Satoru says, uncaring. “You’ll just come back again next month. Or next year.”

You play with your fingers.

“I...won’t be doing that from now on.”

He pauses. Then, he looks at you.

“What?”

You can’t gauge his reaction, but he doesn’t look happy. You find this a bit hard to swallow.

“I fixed the future.” You smile at him. “I finally did it. Suguru won’t break. Himiko and Nanako won’t lose their father. You won’t lose a friend, anymore. There’s no reason for me to keep coming back. You’re all free.”

You phrased the last part as a joke, but Satoru isn’t laughing.

“Wait, you’re leaving? You’re...leaving leaving.”

You nod. “I can’t believe it either.” You still can’t believe you accomplished everything you set out to do. A task that seemed so impossible, now you’re standing on the other side of it.

It wasn’t truly over. Not really, but you were able to get Suguru through the worst of it. Now, you were sure Satoru and Shoko would take up your mantel, pushing Suguru through the finish line. Just like he’ll do to them.

Satoru’s quiet.

“You seem happy.” He notes.

“Well, I did just save everyone, I think I deserve to feel a little good about myself.”

For a moment, you want to ask if it’ll be okay to visit everyone in the future. To see how Shoko and Suguru and Satoru are doing as adults. You stop yourself. Of course, they wouldn’t want to see you. You needed to stop being so greedy.

This, was more than enough.

“Will you at least tell me your name?” Satoru asks.

“You know I can’t do that.” You tell him with a smile.

“Right right.” He laughs, it sounds hollow. “Time travel, bullshit. Makes sense.”

“I’ll miss you.” You tell him.

He straightens himself up.

“I’ll miss you too, old man.” He responds. “You were a lotta’ fun to mess with.”

For once, you aren’t offended by the old man’, comment. If anything, it feels somber.

“Can I ask for some advice?” He suddenly asks. “Y’know what they say, ask the old and wise or whatever.” Okay, now he was starting to push it.

“What is it?”

It’s his turn to shuffle with his fingers.

“What would you do if...there’s something you really want, but no matter how fast you run, you just can’t catch up to it?”

You glance at him. He looks earnest. Did something like that even exist for Satoru?

“Something I can’t catch up to?” You ponder out loud. “I guess I’d have to make a big enough ruckus to where it has no choice but to look back.”

He frowns. “That makes no sense. You’re growing senile.”

You laugh. You’ll miss this brat.

You wish you could stay more. You wish you could ask about Haibara, and Shoko, and Nanami, but the clock is ticking.

Suguru’s getting impatient.

“Bye, Satoru.” You reach out your hand.

He scrutinizes it, before clasping it within his own.

“Yeah, Greeny.”

Within a blink, you’re back again in the middle of Shinjuku. December 24th, 7:06 pm.

It’s the same as always. People bustle around you. Children’s laughter. Everything always repeats itself, but you don’t think you can ever get sick of it. You’ll savor this peace for as long as you can.

You reach into your pocket, flicking out a lighter and the first cigarette of the box. You don’t know why you always chose this one. Despite outmaneuvering time itself, perhaps it’s within human nature to follow what’s written stone.

You’ve relived this hour so many times that you can list everything that happens. Down to the exact minute. 7:08- a little girl wearing a red dress walks by. 7:09- a lady with short hair catches your eyes and smiles. 7:14-an old man and woman bicker with each other as they pass you by. 7:21- A little dog sniffs the bench you sit on. 7:34- Two schoolchildren run past you, babbling. 7:45- five construction workers grumble out their grievances. 7:58- a businessman talks loudly on the phone.

You wait. You sit on a bench and wait until 8:06.

Five seconds after 8:06. Twenty seconds after 8:06.

The clock clicks to 8:07.

You were expecting to feel something else. Celebration. Elation. You half-expected to cause a scene and jump for joy right there in the streets of Shinjuku.

None of that comes. There’s just a feeling of relief. A weight presses you down, and you slump in your seat.

It was over.

It was finally over.

How long do you stay like that? Hours? Days? When you feel like you can finally breathe again, it’s only 8:12. Time travel warped your sense of time.

You stand up, stretch, feel your bones crack and pop. In the second timeline, you wanted to get a drink to drown your misery of nearly getting killed by a curse and being alone on December 24th. It felt like a lifetime ago when being single was the worst of your problems.

Honestly, you’d stay celibate for the rest of your life if it meant you wouldn’t have to go through that ever again.

Tomorrow, you’ll decompress and devolve into hysteria over what happened.

Next week, you’ll check yourself into therapy.

Today, you decide to go home and sleep for a couple hundred years.

You must look like a zombie with the way you wobble down the street. Physically, your body is perfectly fine. You’ve suffered no bruises or cuts. Even the numerous times you’ve been killed leaves nothing on your skin.

Mentally, you’re in shambles. The indomitable human spirit within you is snuffed out.

The stairs to your flat is your last enemy that you must vanquish before you can reunite with your adoring bed. You cling onto the railing with dazed eyes. You don’t see the curse until you’re right before it.

Distantly, you wonder how often you’ve passed a curse and didn’t even realize it. It’s almost instinct to reach out with your hand, intent on absorbing it.

Nothing happens. You remember you aren’t Suguru anymore.

It’s a grotesque-looking thing. No eyes, too many hands, a gaping mouth. It turns and looks at you.

Strange. Its’ smile mirrors the one in the abandoned house.

Adrenaline. You feel it coarse through your veins, meld into your bones, explode in your skin. You’re stumbling back, nearly tripping down the steps in your haste to get away.

It screeches. Loud and clear and angry and you can almost feel its teeth chomp on your leg, ripping your muscles and skin to mere tatters.

You’ve died before. You’ve been skinned alive before. You’ve been eaten before. Yet, it all amounts to nothing compared to the fear you feel at the thought of the curse catching you.

It can’t have been nothing more than a third grade. If you were taller, larger, special-grade, you could have killed it immediately. But you weren’t, not anymore, you were at the same level as a plant. Useless. Helpless.

A dead man stumbling, tripping, running.

The streets were quiet. You supposed that meant there’d be fewer casualties. But it didn’t make you feel any better. And even if there were people around, no one would have been able to help you.

Your brain isn’t working as clearly. Fear is the only thing that guides you. You’re reduced to a rat scampering through a maze. Sooner or later, that rodent reaches a dead end.

The alleyway was blocked off. You felt the rough brick wall scrape your hands and even the feeling of your raw skin couldn’t assuage your heart pumping in your throat. When you whirled your head back, it was right there, and you knew you were dead.

Again.

I might kill you, if it’s feeling generous. It might cut your legs off and watch you bleed, if its feeling kind. It might eat you, if it’s a decent curse.

It shouldn’t be happening. You fixed it. You were supposed to have fixed everything. But clearly you didn't. There must have been some piece of the puzzle that you forgot. Just one thing and if you go back and fixed it, everything would be okay. You forgive Suguru—

You don’t see what happens. One moment, the curse is there. The next it isn’t.

“Those things are so annoying.” The newcomer complains.

No, not new. You know him.

You blink. He grins. It’s kind. A toothy smile that warms.

“You alright?” He asks in sympathy. “Curses are pretty scary, aren’t they? Are you hurt?”

It’s him. You weren’t in 2006. You were in the present, here and now, and he was here with you.

He actually made it.

“Ma’am?” He asks.

It wasn’t intentional. You just blurted it out, the promise you made to him. It was a decade for him. Mere hours for you.

“Um, broccoli head...?” And then you instantly regret it.

Haibara Yu takes a minute, eyes squinting like you just grew a new head.

Then, he gasps.

“Greeny?”

ⴵ

A few minutes later, you’re seated at a restaurant. Haibara has not shut up.

“—I—I can’t believe it? It’s actually you! I thought I’d never see you again ‘cuz Gojo said you weren’t gonna be around anymore, and—and then suddenly you pop up outta’ nowhere—not that I’m complaining— but—”

“—Haibara.” You interrupt. “Please, slow down.”

He stops himself, right when the server comes with drinks. He shoots the waiter a smile, and then he’s back on you.

“Sorry.” He scratches the back of his neck. “I—I got a little excited. And nervous. It’s just...well, I didn’t expect you to be a girl.”

That might have been your fault. Both Haibara and Gojo kept referring to you as a man, so you decided to roll with it. Earlier, you would have justified it by insisting the less they know about you, the better. Now, you just think you were being petty.

“So, how you’ve been? A whole decade...” You murmur to yourself.

“Fine! But what about you?” Haibara asks, concern etched into his eyes. “Where’d you go?”

Wow, he was actually worried for you. Despite being in Suguru’s body, you didn’t really feel like part of the group Shoko, Gojo, Nanami, and Haibara were part of. You felt like an outsider, being somewhere you didn’t belong. It's because you were an outsider. Nevertheless, it’s nice to know one person missed you.

“This might be a little hard to believe, but I just came back to 2017 two hours ago.”

Haibara gapes.

“Wait, so to you, that whole thing happened, today?” You nod. He leans back in his chair.

“Holy fuck.” You laugh at his awe.

“Thanks for saving me, by the way.” You change the topic. “From the curse.”

He waves it off. “I was just paying my debt. From what you did for me all those years ago.”

Ah, Gojo must have told him. Oddly enough, Haibara doesn't seem all that perturbed that he shouldn’t exist currently. At the same time, it feels just like Haibara.

He’s different from when he was younger. Taller. The baby fat is gone. His face is more built, just like the rest of his body. His eyes are less round, but they haven’t lost the spark. A few scars here and there, but he’s all in one piece.

You weren’t able to see what he looked like as an adult from Suguru’s memories, he’d never grown up. But now, you can see it for yourself. You can see the active change you made in his life, to his life.

“Haibara—”

“Yu—” He says seriously. “My friends call me Yu.”

A smile twitches on your lips.

“Tell me about everyone.” You scoot your chair closer. “You, Suguru. How is everyone doing?”

He perks up at that, clearly delighted to be talking.

“Great! Everyone’s doing great! You should totally come visit the school, sometime. They’d love to see you. Uh, even if they don’t technically know you, but I’m sure they’ll love to meet you!” He rambles, and it’s nice to know he hasn’t changed from his younger self.

“Let’s see, Kento’s teaching the first years. I teach the second years—”

“—You’re a teacher?”

He nods. “We all are! Except for Shoko, but she has her own thing going on. Anyway, Mimiko and Nanako have become second-grade semi-sorcerors. Isn’t that incredible? I’m just a first grade semi-sorceror, and at their young ages too! But Suguru wasn’t surprised, he kept saying his girls were prodigies. Oh! You probably want to know about Suguru too, right?”

You nod. Even if you hadn’t done anything, you don’t think that would have stopped his enthusiasm.

“He’s a teacher too! At least, for right now. Yaga’s been wanting to retire, and there have been talks of Suguru becoming the next principal. Principal Geto has a ring to it, right? Oh, and Shoko is currently planning the wedding. You’ll definitely be invited, of course! She said I could bring a plus-one. Oh, and—”

It goes on like that for hours, you think. Not that you mind. You listen to Yu babble on and on about his friends, his students. He talks about Nanami’s recent baking addiction, Shoko’s new office cat, Suguru’s favorite tea pot. It’s a never-ending surge of information.

Eventually, you catch on to the fact that he’s deliberately leaving someone out.

"Yu?" You interrupt him while he's talking about the prank the fourth year pulled on Nanami. "What about Satoru? What's he up to?" 

Maybe you were overthinking things. Haibara likes to talk; perhaps he forgot to exclude someone else's story in his rants. But then, he grimaces. For the first time in this entire conversation, Haibara is reluctant to talk. 

"Satoru is..." He winces, and your hands turn into fists. 

No. No. You were supposed to save everyone. Why hadn't you saved everyone? 

A warm hand grips your own. You'd been shaking. 

Yu gives a soft smile, and you remember he's no longer younger than you. 

"He's not dead." He assures you, but his smile fades. He straightens himself up, and his hand pulls away. 

"Satoru defected from Jujutsu tech. We don't know where he is." 

What? You must have misheard him wrong. Satoru wouldn't do that. That's not like him. This is some sick joke.

But there's no teasing grin on Haibara. His face is grave. You hate it more than anything. 

"It happened when he was a fourth year. No one really knows what happened. Suguru refuses to say anything about it, but I think he's just as confused as the rest of us. It came outta nowhere." 

Yeah, it definitely came out of nowhere. It's so random. Why would Satoru do that? The last time you saw him, he was so happy. He was smiling; he teased you. What happened? It made no sense. 

"So, you haven't seen him for nine years?" You ask. "Not even a glimpse?" 

Yu shakes his head. "Nothing but his residuals. That's how we know he's still alive." 

Nothing computes in your brain. None of it made any sense. You saved Suguru. That was supposed to make everyone happy, including Satoru. Why would he turn around and do this? Defecting made no sense.

"We've actually been tasked to execute him. Since he’s been branded a curse user, all four of us. " Yu laughs with no humor. "Isn't that insane? I don't think any one of us could even fathom doing that, even if it were possible." 

It wasn't possible. Gojo was the strongest. Nothing could go toe to toe with him. Once he put his mind to something, no one could stop him.

But maybe you could. 

You're shutting that idea down immediately. You were done. You were done with dying and time-travel and strange powers. You wanted it all to be over. It'd be so easy to thank Haibara for the nice meal, to go home and sleep this entire day off. Satoru dug his own grave, he can go lay in it. You weren't responsible for someone else's actions. You wouldn’t. You can’t do that another time.

You're the kind of person who'll jump in front of a truck to save a kitten, right?

You hate that brat so much. 

You close your eyes. Take in a breath. Then, you open them. 

"Haibara?" You ask. "Did Gojo tell you how my technique worked?" 

He shakes his head. You grimace because convincing him might take a while.

"Okay, well, I'll need you to do a tiny favor for me."

ⴵ

"What the fuck is wrong with you?"

"Oh, you're back already?" Satoru says casually, turning back to gaze at you. "I just left today. How did you convince Haibara to snap your neck? That guy cries after killing a mosquito.”

You’d caught him just as he was leaving campus. Yu’s body was less athletic than Suguru’s. Your breath was slightly ragged, pulled down by minor exhaustion.

It doesn’t weigh down your frustration for Gojo Satoru. The biggest pain in your ass you’ve ever met.

“Shut up.” You snap. “Just answer the question.”

“We haven’t seen each other for a year and that’s how you react?” Satoru ignores you. “That’s mean, Greeny. How ‘bout we discuss my treason over steak. Haibara can pay.”

“Satoru.” You beg, “Why are you doing this? What’s the point? Why is everyone happy with their life except for you?”

That seems to get him. His posture stiffens ever so slightly. You can see him work his jaw. He finally drops his act.

“You didn’t have to come back, y’know.” He murmurs quietly. “You could’ve just stayed in the future. Like you said, Greeny, everyone’s happy with their life. 4 outta’ five. That’s a passing grade.”

For once, you wish you could possess him. You wished you could open his brain and peer into his memories until he finally made sense.

“I could never leave you behind like that.” You say the truth just as quietly. “I’ll die a thousand more deaths than do that.”

He smiles. It looks genuine as it looks painful.

“Yeah, I know. I know you, Greeny. Always gotta’ play hero.” He gives a bitter laugh. “That’s why I defected.”

You stare at him. He’s a fourth-year now, even taller than before. You aren’t equal to him anymore in this body, now you’re starting to think you never were.

“Satoru.” You start because what he’s saying can’t be the truth. Your heart broke and broke. “Did—did you leave—did you leave everyone for a decade just so I’d come back? Why would you do that to yourself?”

He doesn’t say anything. Then, he steps forward, just a bit.

“It’s your fault,” Satoru says like it’s instinct to blame you for his actions, “this was your idea.”

What’s he talking about? And then memories of the two of you sitting on that bench just outside of campus.

What would you do if...there’s something you really want, but no matter how fast you run, you just can’t catch up to it? So that’s what he meant. You were an idiot.

“That’s not fair, Satoru,” you say regardless, “I—I never—I couldn’t expect you’d do this.”

“What choice did I fucking have, Greeny?” There’s rapid steps and he’s in front of you, desperate and wild. “You—you just left me here. You left me alone and I couldn’t even look for you because I know nothing about you. Your face, your eyes, your hair, not even your fucking name! How’s that fair?”

It’s true. It’s all true. As much as you tried to claim you tried to make everyone happy, you only focused on Suguru. And Suguru’s happiness enlisted space from the strongest. In a different timeline, things would be different between them. A button he never left behind. Words Satoru never said. That timeline held too much pain and suffering, so you scrubbed it from history. In this rendition, everything was changed. Suguru had Shoko. Yu had Kento. Who did Satoru have?

You saved Suguru in this timeline. But to save him, you neglected Satoru.

Satoru must have known. He must have known you intentionally distanced Suguru from him, but he allowed it anyway. Satoru’s selfless like that. Too giving. Too Godlike.

But he’s selfish too. Purposefully demeaning himself so he could get one more glimpse of you, uncaring if you went through hell for his sake. Too taking. Too human.

Once, you told him that if he was selfish, just once, you wouldn’t fault him. What a liar you are.

You forgive Satoru.

“I’m sorry.” Haibara’s voice is like your own. You step closer. His infinity lets you in. “I’m sorry Satoru. I didn’t mean to leave you alone.”

It’s hard to wrap him in a hug. The brat’s too big. He sinks into your touch like a tiger, filled with dangerous claws, retracted just for your sake. He shakes the tiniest bit; even now, he’s keeping himself as a pinnacle. If you hear a sniffle or two, you don’t comment on it.

It’s why your heart breaks to tell him the truth.

“I can’t give you my name.” You whisper in his ear. He pulls back. He doesn’t look at you.

“Yeah, I know. I know. time-travel bullshit—”

“For now.” You add. “I can’t do that for now.”

Three pairs of eyes look at you. You’re not hiding behind Haibara anymore. You’re not trying to.

“December 24th, 2017. 8:06. Tokyo Skytree.” You look at him. “Can you wait until then?”

For you, it’d only be an hour. For Satoru, it’d be a decade.

You expect him to reject it, to yell at you. You decide if he wants to be selfish; you’d let him.

“If you don’t show up, I’ll turn evil.” You laugh. His grin widens and he’s back again. “I’m serious. I’ll take over the world. I’ll throw the biggest temper tantrum ever.”

“You’re such a brat.” There’s no hostility in your tone. “I will. I promise.”

‘I’ll save you,’ You promise in your head because he’s too prideful to hear it.

“Is it still possible for you to go back?” You ask, the wariness present again. “The higher ups haven’t taken any action against you, right?”

He shakes his head.

“I think Yaga might yell at me, but other than that.” He shrugs. “They’ll decide it’s teen rebellion and sweep it under the rug.”

You laugh again. Satoru shoots you a toothy grin.

When you reach out a hand, Satoru mirrors you. He clasps your hand in his. For once, you wonder how they’ll feel on your own.

“See ya’ later, Greeny.”

A blink. Satoru’s gone. Your hand is empty, and you’re standing in the streets of Shinjuku once again.

ⴵ

December 24th, 2017. 8:06, at the top of the Tokyo Skytree.

Why did you decide on that date and time for all the places? You were so fucking stupid. You needed to stop being so poetic.

It’s already 7:12 when you’re desperately waving down a taxi. The driver looks disinterested when you blubber out the location. When he tells you it’ll cost extra because Sumida City isn’t part of his route, you’re more than happy to fork over the money.

It’s already 7:35 when you stumble through the interiors of Tokyo Skytree town. It’s crowded. Fuck, it’s December 24th, of course people would be out and about.

At 7:44, you finally reach the observational building. And then you hit upon a snag.

It’s closed.

Renovations, the sign reads, accompanied by an irritatingly cute drawing of a cat, please come visit us next week.

Would this excuse be enough to satisfy Satoru? You’re only human. Surely he’d understand if you couldn’t make it because the entire building was shut down.

Or wait. Was this Satoru’s doing?

You look up at the tower. Lights were still on and flickering. No crowds. No people. No prying eyes.

Let it be known that you’ve never trespassed before, until you met Gojo Satoru.

With a guilty conscious, you step over the line. You justify it by convincing yourself you were saving the world because you know Satoru wasn’t joking a decade ago.

The elevators still worked. Thank God. Yet another hint he’s paving the way for you. You made the location, but it feels like you’re a mouse stuck in a human-designed maze. Even though you set up the game, he’s still managed to rig it.

You land on the first deck at 7:52. At 7:56, you reach the second observational deck.

It’s empty. You’ve never seen the skytree so empty before. Not a single soul is here except for you. Your footsteps echo across the floor. Were you early?

Out the corner of your eye, there’s a post-it note stuck on the window. A hand-drawn arrow. Up ahead, there’s another one.

You follow the next, and then the next. All the time you don’t know how to feel about him doing all of this just for an encounter. Something bubbles in your stomach. You’re pushing it down.

You follow the post-its until there’s one placed right on top of a door.

Authorized personnel only. Why does this brat continue to test you?

But it’s already 8:03; you’re far too deep to complain.

A service elevator greets you. If you press the button, it’ll take you all the way up to the broadcast equipment, the top of the Tokyo Skytree.

It’s different from the past two elevator rides. The service elevator isn’t all that polished. The wheels squeak a little too dangerously at times. It’s slower, too.

That’s bad, because now you’re starting to think.

That familiar feeling boils within your stomach, again. You’re anxious. It’s strange to say, but meeting Satoru through Suguru, meeting Satoru through Yu, it felt like you had a protective shell around yourself. You were free from his judgement, only invoking curiosity.

If you show yourself to him, how would he react? What would he say? Would he get angry that you made him wait a decade for such a blunder? Even worse, what if he doesn’t get angry?

What if—what if he’s disappointed by you?

Cold feet. It freezes your toes. You want to go back. You want the elevator to go back down, you want to go home and hide away.

But you promised Satoru. He deserves answers.

Pathetic answers are better than no answers at all.

Instead of your soul being protected by a sorcerer's body, it’s protected by your own. You’d steel yourself for whatever comes next. You could melt after.

It’s windy up here. That’s the first thing you notice. Icy wind cuts at your face and your eyes squint so they don’t dry out so quickly. It’s colder, too; your jacket is nice protection, but nothing helps your vulnerable hands.

But the view. Oh, what a view.

The sea of twinkling lights shines from the city. The sun has set, leaving Tokyo to do nothing but shine. She’s gorgeous like she’s picked the stars from the sky, burying them within her own soul. You could stay there forever, if she let you.

It’s 8:09. Satoru was late.

Or maybe he just wasn’t planning to show up.

You lean away from the railing. It’s just like him to make huge gestures and at the last moment, ditch everything. The balloon in your lungs deflates ever so slightly.

And then, you can feel hands.

Around your shoulders, caging you in. Large and warm despite the icy air. You know these hands. They’re familiar, even a decade later. His chest presses up against your back. His face settles in the crook of your neck.

His laugh tickles your ear, and you aren’t so cold anymore.

“Caught ya, Greeny.”

(“Did something happen to you, back there in the house?”

"Hm?" Suguru asked.

They were wading through long grass and overgrown weeds. Satoru glances at his friend. Suguru looks fine. His cursed energy has gone back to normal. That's probably good.

"You were just acting weird," Satoru said, "I mean you fell on your ass in front of a curse. Embarrassing."

Suguru huffed, a red hue across his cheeks. "Shut up, don't remind me."

'So he remembered,' Satoru thinks, 'didn't expect that.'

They're almost to the car when Suguru speaks again.

"Actually, I did feel a little strange," he says, "I felt like I wasn't really all there. There was this voice, guiding me along."

"Really?" Satoru shivers. "So like possession? How scary!"

So the entity within Suguru was a bad thing after all. He should try to get rid of it if it ever comes back. It might take a complex spell or something-

"Not really." Suguru said. "It's hard to explain, but it felt....nice."

"Nice?" Satoru echoes.

"Yeah."

“These are the sparring courts. No students right now, but they’ll start training within the hour.” 

You rub at the back of your neck, cringing when your palm comes away coated with a thin layer of sweat. Gross. 

You lift your eyes to the sky, wondering how much longer this was going to take. Your little trip to Japan was to organize an exchange program with Jujutsu Tech. Your students had been begging to take a trip to Tokyo, to where their cursed energy would be closer to the source and, consequently, stronger. You had to admit, it was a good idea. A few months spent training here in Japan would do them good. From the moment you’d set foot on Japanese soil, your power had thrummed faster in your veins than ever before. 

Principal Yaga was giving you a tour of the grounds and had sealed your horrible fate when he’d decided to start outside. You barely heard a word the man said. New York was never this hot…

“Are you alright?” You blink, fanning your face as best you can. It provides no relief. God, it felt like the heat was penetrating your fucking bones… 

When your eyes slide to Principal Yaga, you’re surprised to see that he looks genuinely concerned. “Y-yeah.” You blink again, shocked by your own stutter. Maybe you were coming down with something? “I’m fine, just not used to this kind of heat, I guess.” You fan your face again and clench your jaw when it still does nothing. 

Yaga’s brows furrow and you see him glance around, like he’ll find said heat standing next to him. How was he wearing so many layers? 

“How about we head inside and take a break, then? We can continue the tour… later.” You nearly fall to the ground and kiss his feet. Air conditioning is truly God's gift to man… 

You smile and it’s all genuine. “That would be amazing. Thank you.” 

Yaga nods, but you think his eyes linger on you for just a beat too long before he turns. He still looks confused… or maybe flustered? That only leaves you confused. 

You follow after him, each step feeling like you’re sinking deep into cement. You tug at the collar of your shirt, trying to get some ventilation. When you finally reach the building you nearly sigh with relief. Air conditioning… that’ll be good. Just what you need. A few minutes inside and you’ll be good to go. You’ll just have to remember not to wear so many damn layers again when you continue the tour. 

You’re smiling as you step inside, so ready for relief that you’re practically shaking– but relief never comes. Your brows furrow. You brush your arm through the air. It… doesn’t help. It’s strange– you can feel the coolness of the air conditioning, feel it gliding up and across your skin, but the heat doesn’t subside, doesn’t so much as lessen. 

“I trust you know how to find anything you might–” Yaga clears his throat. “Need?” 

 Your brows furrow. He’d shown you all the school’s resources last night and your room was already stocked with food, toiletries, and every other thing you could possibly need. Of course you knew where everything was… 

“Yes… Thank you.” 

Yaga shifts so uncomfortably you think that maybe he’s about to pee his pants. “Right, well, you have my contact information. Let me know if I can be of assistance in connecting you to any… resources.”

You’re more confused now than you were at the start of this conversation. “Right…” 

“Take care.” 

Yaga shoots you one last– worried?- glance and stalks down the hall. You’re left wondering what the hell is happening in his mind and why he seemed so desperate to offer you resources? 

You blink, clearing your mind as best you can, but some sort of fog seems to be settling over your consciousness. Definitely coming down with something, you think. 

You make your way through the halls, steps still feeling suspiciously heavy and heat still radiating off your body. A cold shower. That’ll help. Or so you thought. The further you walk, the more each hallway starts to look like the next. Was it left or right next? Was this hallway always a dead end? Since when was there a bathroom there?

You’re leaning against the wall now, panting. Something is pooling in your gut, something warm and far too intense. Your inner thighs are wet, too. You want to convince yourself it’s sweat, but… you’re horny. More horny than you’ve ever been in your whole damn life. You think you might die if you don’t get some dick in the next ten minutes. What the fuck?

You slide yourself into the next room you see: an empty classroom. Thank fucking god. You grab the back of a chair, hands shaking with how hard you’re gripping the wood. You take a deep breath. You need to get a hold of yourself, need to figure out what the fuck is happening to you.  

You swallow and try your best to think. It’s not without difficulty. Your head feels like somebody’s filled it with glue. It takes a minute for a coherent thought to come through, but when it does, you think it’s a good one. Doctor. 

Yes– you don’t feel well, so obviously a doctor is the correct choice, right? You scramble for your phone in your back pocket but freeze when the brush of your own hand against your ass sends a jolt up your spine. What the fuck is wrong with you? 

Carefully, you extract your phone from your pocket, but it’s too difficult to even remember your fucking passcode. You press your thighs together, trying to relieve some of the overwhelming ache that’s forming between your legs. Something is definitely wrong.

You fumble with your phone, but your hands are shaking so hard it just tumbles to the floor. 

“Fuck,” you breathe. “Fuck, fuck, fuck?” 

“Yo, who’s baking cookies in here without me?” 

Your head snaps up and, with some difficulty, your eyes settle on a… man. You suck in a breath. He’s… dazzling. He’s wearing all black, but it’s not a student uniform. One of the teachers that you’ve yet to meet, then. White hair and pale skin contrasts against his clothes, but his eyes are covered by a pair of sunglasses set low on his nose. Even in your delirious state you still have the wherewithal to wonder who the fuck wears sunglasses inside. 

You get a quick look at him before a wave of intense- fuck, desire?- washes over you. You tremble again and shock yourself when a whimper tumbles from your lips. 

“Oh, shit,” you hear him say. You glance at him from the corner of your eye and watch him inhale again– deeply. His lips part. “Oh, shit.”

You clench your jaw and tighten your grip on your chair. Your legs are shaking now– you can barely stand. You squeak pitifully. 

The second the sound leaves your throat you hear footsteps– rapid, hurried, concerned, ones. Warm hands clasp your waist and you cry out at the touch, electricity sparking on your skin. 

“Shhh, it’s okay.” He turns you gently to face him, hands steadying your swaying body. “Who the fuck left you alone in here?” His hand is rubbing soothing circles on your lower back now and you think you’ve never felt something so good in your life. It’s so good that you almost miss what he said. Almost. 

“W-What?” You see his brows furrow as you peek up at him. At this angle you can see under his sunglasses. His eyes are blue. Really fucking blue. You think he might be the most attractive man you’ve ever seen, even with the expression of… anger?- that he’s currently wearing. 

“Whoever he is, I'll kill him.” 

That makes you blink. An extra sliver of clarity opens in your brain. “What are you talking about?”

He tugs you a little closer, wrapping an arm fully around your waist and pressing you up against him. You try to ignore the fact that you love it, that you want nothing more than to wrap yourself around him and climb him like a fucking tree. 

“What idiot leaves an omega going into heat?” He’s glaring at the doorway like he’s torn between staying here with you and running after said idiot to pommel him into the ground. 

“‘M not an omega.” The words are out before you’ve even stopped to consider them. It’s true. You’re not an omega. You’re a beta. You’ve always been a beta. You’ve got the little “B” on your ID card to prove it. You were tested at birth, just like everyone else, and even if you really were an omega you would have presented years ago.

He only glances down at you and snorts. “Funny, sweetheart.” His hand is still rubbing those little circles into your back and it’s enough to make that fogginess in your mind grow a little thicker. 

But your fear, your uncertainty outways your instinct. You pound a weak fist against his chest, not to push him away, but to get his attention. He’s still glaring at the doorway like he wants to murder it. 

“‘M serious,” you gasp. “I’m a beta… I don’... know whas’ happenin’… to me.” Each word is a tremendous effort to form. Your tongue seems to have lost its ability to do anything but hang limply. 

That gets his attention. He lifts a hand, gently brushing your hair back from your eyes and then cupping your jaw. “Is this your first heat?” 

You find yourself leaning into his touch despite the fact that you’ve only known him for thirty seconds. Your eyelids flutter. “N-Not a heat… jus’ feel… sick.”

His brows furrow again, deeper this time, and he shakes his head. “How old are you?”

You know why he asks. Most omegas present around eighteen or nineteen. “Older than… nineteen…” You try to laugh, but it only comes out as a whimper.

That answer only serves to make him push closer. You feel his hand trailing down your neck, skimming gently over the skin until he reaches a spot you hadn't even realized was so… sore. You keen at the touch. Fuck, no. There was no way. You had swollen fucking scent glands. 

You try to push away, but he pulls you in, burying his face in your neck. You shudder when he groans. “You smell like a damn bakery exploded,” he chuckles, and the sound is muffled by your skin. When he pulls away he makes it look like the action is physically painful. He cups your face again. “Hate to break it to you, sweetheart, but you’re an omega. If this is your first heat then…” he swallows and your eyes track the bob of his throat. “You’re just a late bloomer, baby.”

You shake your head desperately. It’s just the stupid heatwave. It’s just… hot outside… right? 

You try to think about how this could be possible. It could be that the test you took as a baby was wrong… it happened sometimes. It was rare, but it happened. But if you were an omega, what would have triggered your presentation now? What had changed? 

Your eyes widen. Japan. You’d set foot in fucking Japan. Ever since you’d gotten here, you’d felt power pulsing in your veins. Maybe it hadn’t been just power… 

“N-no–” 

A gentle thumb smooths over your cheek and you meet his eyes again. You shiver when you see a whole lot more black than blue. “You have no alpha?” 

You whimper, leaning into him. Touch me, touch me, touch me, a part of you begs. You shake your head again and a tear slides down your cheek. “No,” you whisper. 

Strong arms slide beneath your knees and you squeak when you’re suddenly suspended in the air. When you glance up he’s grinning triumphantly. “You have one now,” is all he says before he’s carrying you out of the classroom and twisting through the halls. 

Warmth rushes over you at the sensation of being held, and something begs you to give into it, to give into the heat still washing over you, to the throbbing between your legs. You fight it and fight it hard. 

“Where’re we going?” you ask, but your voice is sounding more and more like a whisper. 

His eyes stay focused ahead, even as he presses a comforting kiss to the crown of your head. “Your room, sweetheart.” 

Your brows scrunch. “How d’ you know where–” 

“‘M following your scent, baby.” 

He can do that? You bury your face in his neck, embarrassed, only to be hit by a different scent so delicious your mouth starts watering. You groan. Loudly. There’s a scent pouring from his neck that’s filling your head with memories of spices you can’t name, but suddenly know you love. 

You think you hear him chuckle and then feel a gentle hand on the back of your neck, encouraging you. You snuggle deeper into him, wrapping an arm around his shoulders and burying your fingers in his hair. Taste him, taste him, taste him your mind chants. It’s too good an offer to deny. You lick a stripe across his skin. 

Your groans are instant. He’s squeezing you closer, leaning into your touch, and you’re pulling him closer. Your fingers curl into his jacket, tugging and tugging. You lick again and now he’s the one groaning. 

“Damn, that feels good,” He sounds as surprised by that fact as you feel. The swaying of his steps comes to a sudden halt. You whine, missing the rocking of his body. “Think we’re here, princess. This it?” His hand is smoothing over your hair, slowly coaxing you away from the curve of his neck. You blink, not wanting to leave the paradise of his scent, but also feeling some overwhelming urge to please him.

Your eyes settle on a door and you recognize a little chip in the wood. You nod. “Mhm.” 

You gasp when his hand grips your hip, wriggling through your pocket until he pulls out a little brass key. 

“Perfect,” he says, and his voice sounds like he’s all too pleased with himself. He shimmies your key in the knob until the lock clicks and then you’re inside. The door slams shut loud enough to make you jump and squeak. 

“Oops, sorry, baby. Guess I’m a little excited, heh.” His hand squeezes your hip soothingly and you mewl at the wave of heat that pulses through you. Your clit throbs almost painfully and you feel something gush onto your thighs. You whimper. 

He inhales. “Oh, shit,” he breathes, and then you’re moving again. He navigates your room like he knows it. He probably does. From what you can tell, most of the rooms at Jujutsu Tech follow a standard layout. He weaves down a hall to the left and then into your bedroom on the right. 

He lays you on the bed gently, tenderly, like he’s afraid you might break if he drops you so much as an inch. “There we go,” he breathes. You can’t deny that it feels good, that it feels right, to be lying on the softness of your mattress, but it’s not enough. 

You claw at him, wrapping your arms tightly around his neck and pulling him close. You want something from him, need something, but you can’t name what. You just know that the heat boiling beneath your skin can only be sated by him, that the throbbing between your legs can only be calmed by him. “P-Please,” you whimper. Tears well in your eyes. You need him so bad it physically hurts. 

The smile he gives you is soft and genuine and it takes your breath away. He dips his head and you think you see him slide those sunglasses down his nose and toss them to the side. You don’t pay too close attention, though, because he’s kissing your neck again and your body is screaming with sensation. 

“Aw, I know, baby. Don’ worry. ‘M gonna take care of you now. Jus’ relax.” 

His words spark something in you– your last bit of consciousness. A brief moment of clarity shines through the fog of your mind and you remember what the hell is happening, what the hell you’re doing. You squeeze your eyes shut and shake your head desperately. No, no, no, this is not happening to you. There’s no way.

“Hey, now. None a’ that.” Fingers clasp your chin, holding you still. When you peek your eyes open, you see that he has in fact removed his sunglasses and that his eyes are more black pupil than dazzling blue. His jaw is clenched and his breathing is heavy. “Don’t try t’ fight it. Jus’ try to enjoy it…” His head dips and suddenly he’s nipping at your scent gland again. 

You thrash and scream, but not in fear or pain. You’ve never felt something so good in your life. Every graze of his teeth feels like heaven. Your skin zings with electricity, sending pulses of pure need straight between your thighs. 

You grab at him, tangling your fingers in his hair and tugging him closer. Your chest is heaving when you speak. “Please, p-please-” 

“Shhh…” You think you hear your shirt tearing, but you’re too focused on pulling him closer to care. His tongue licks a stripe up your throat and your eyes roll back. 

You’re sure your shirt is off now. You can feel the cool air, but it does nothing to ease the heat raging inside you, pulsing and pumping through your veins.You feel him tugging at your pants, too, and you try to raise your hips. He only shushes you again. “Jus’ relax. Let me do the work, baby.” 

Your pants are gone in seconds, even without your assistance. So is your bra and then your panties. He tries pulling away to undress himself, but you mewl and his eyes blow even blacker before he’s back over you again. He settles for popping the buttons straight off his shirt and shimmying out of his pants. 

The sight of his bare skin makes you whimper and then you’re clawing at him again, dragging your fingers across his shoulders, over his chest, down his abs. It’s a greedy touch and one that he returns. His palms move along your body, kneading and squeezing at any flesh he can grab. It feels so good that you think you might pass out– but it’s still not enough. Something is still missing. You feel… empty. 

His fingers trace across your stomach and it’s too late to realize what’s happening before he’s circling your clit. You jerk and jolt at the touch, but he presses his chest to yours, pinning you. The throbbing only worsens when his fingers settle into a rhythm. 

Tears leak down your cheeks. It’s too overwhelming. You’re burning– burning from the inside out. The pulsing between your thighs is all-consuming with its intensity, with its-

“Need! N-Need–” you’re crying out, but you don’t even know what to ask for– don’t even know what you need. 

“God, Fuck, I know, princess,” he groans. He licks a long stripe up your neck. “But ‘s your first heat. Gotta–” he has to pause to swallow. He’s panting, now, just as lost as you are, and you get the sense that he’s restraining himself. “Gotta get you ready… go slow.” 

You shake your head. Now, now, now is all you can think. You need him now. “No… please…” You bury your head in his neck and find that spot that’s pouring his spicy scent into the air. Your mouth waters and you lick him, letting your teeth graze his skin.

“Fuck!” He shivers atop you and you feel the pure strength restrained within his muscles. “Fuck- okay. Okay. Relax f’ me, princess.” 

You try, you really do, but your body refuses to do anything but try to pull him closer. You feel his fingers digging into the flesh of your thighs, pressing them up, up, up until they’re pressed tightly to your chest and your feet are dangling on his shoulders. The position makes you whine, feeling more exposed than you ever have before. 

“You on birth control, baby?” 

Your brows furrow. It’s becoming harder and harder to focus on what he’s saying rather than simply the sound of his voice. Were you? You try to think, try to remember through the pit of glue that is your brain. No…

You shake your head. “N-No…” 

There’s a slight pause, a beat of contemplation, and then he’s laughing. “Guess I’m bouta be a daddy then, heh.” He chuckles again and the sound rings through you with a wave of pure bliss. His lips brush your neck again, settling on your pulse and making you whine. “Don’t really mind as long as I get you.” Your head rolls back submissively, exposing your throat. Yes, yes, yes, your mind screams. There’s nothing you want more than that, you think.“Okay, here we go, baby.” 

There’s hardly any more warning. One second you feel him shifting between your thighs and the next he’s pressing inside of you, feeding his cock in inch by inch. The stretch is… delicious. It burns, fuels that fire inside you, but it makes the heat feel more… pleasurable. Your back arches and your head rolls back submissively. 

“Oh, fuck, princess.” His voice has gotten higher, more like a whine than anything else. When you gaze up at him you can see the flush in his cheeks, even through the fog in your mind. More, more, more your mind screams. Or maybe you say it aloud, because more is exactly what he gives you. The second you feel him tucked up against your cervix the second he begins to take you. He sets a pace that is somehow both brutal and gentle, with strokes that rattle your skull and also give you exactly what you need. His hands grip your hips, holding you still to take exactly what he wants to give. His head dips until he has his lips wrapped around your nipple, and his tongue is swirling so deliciously that you can’t help but drag your nails down his back. 

Your body rocks with every thrust, teeth rattling and eyes rolling. The heat inside you grows… tighter, like it’s all pooling to your core, waiting for something you still can’t quite name. 

“N-need…” You don’t know what you need, still. Only that you want to beg for it so badly it hurts. 

His tongue slides away from your nipple, tracing a line up between the valley of your breasts, over your collarbone, before he finally settles on your pulse once again. The nick of his teeth makes something click in your mind. This is what you need. Bite me, bite me, bite. Claim me, claim me, claim me. 

“Yes,” you breathe. Your fingers dig into his scalp, pulling him closer, coaxing his teeth to sink in, to stake their claim. “Oh God, yes. Please.” You sound delirious, you think, but then so does he when he answers. 

“Not yet, princess. Not yet.” His tongue darts out to lick across your neck again and you can only sob. Why not yet? Now, now, now… 

Tightness coils in your muscles, the throb at your core reaching a breaking point. You feel something coming, something like an orgasm but yet also not. You know that when whatever is pooling inside you releases, you will shatter, and you’re not sure you’ll ever be put back together. 

Your nails claw across his back hard enough to draw blood and the action forces out some sort of low grumble from his chest that makes you whimper and melt into the mattress. The tip of his nose draws a line up your throat. “Keep doin’ that, baby. Mark me up.” 

You don’t dare deny him. You scratch at his skin, desperately trying to pull him closer. His thrusts grow faster and your thighs begin to tremble and shake on his shoulders, overwhelmed with the intensity of all you’re feeling. You pull at him, grab at him, thread your fingers through his hair. 

Your body jolts with each thrust and you’re sure you’re going to burst any moment. But you can’t. Not yet. You still need something, something he hasn’t given you yet. He groans and the sound is so delicious that you feel it sliding over your skin and settling in your bones. 

“M’ gonna knot you now, princess,” he breathes. “Gonna make you feel so good. Gonna take care ‘ve you.”

You whimper at his words. You hope they’re true. You don’t think you can take much more of the incessant gnawing of need in your gut. 

“Please…” your voice is hardly more than a whisper. His breath is hot as it shakes against your neck. He’s licking and nipping at you ravenously, like he needs you just as badly, like he wants to claim you as badly as you want to be claimed. 

His thrusts quicken even further and your jaw falls open, neck arching. You don’t think you can hold on much longer. Apparently, neither can he. 

You feel it the moment he starts to swell inside you. It’s perfect, you think. It can’t get better than this– but then it does. 

His teeth graze your throat again, this time a little harsher and with a little more intent. “Mine,” he whispers. The second he bites you everything goes blurry. 

You’re experiencing… heaven. There is a rush of that electricity that buzzes under your skin. It bursts forth and you feel it reaching out, forming a link between the two of you that you know is now impenetrable. It pulses and burns and you can feel him, feel his pleasure, his desire, his need for you and only you– his need to make you his. You think your souls must be blending, merging, with how deep the connection runs. You think you know him, know everything you could possibly ever need to. You know he’s the one. You know he’s yours.

It’s perfect, the way it fulfills every desire you’ve ever had, the way he notches inside your cunt like that’s where he was made to be, the way his teeth clamp around your throat and bond you together forever.

You scream for him, you think, but you can’t tell through the complete and total haze of pleasure. Your walls spasm around him, milking him for every last drop, and you feel the heat of his cum coating your cervix. The heat at your center finally releases, bursting and flooding through you in a way that feels like pure bliss has been injected into your veins. Your thighs quake and tremble with the pure intensity of it all and white spots dot your vision. 

His body is tense above you, shivering with the magnitude of what’s just happened. He’s groaning into your neck, your flesh still clamped between his teeth like he never wants to let go. You’re not sure you ever want him to. 

Your breaths shake in and out, lungs heaving as you finally come down. His knot is still settled deep inside you and with the few strings of consciousness that slowly filter back into your mind you know that he’ll remain there for a while.

His teeth release from your neck with a squelch that you think you would be sickening in any other context, but only makes you whimper at the loss of contact. He only hums and finds your hand, twining your fingers together as he laps at the fresh bite on your throat. It feels… amazing. Not in the way it felt before, like he was licking pure lust straight onto your skin, but more like he’s giving you a comfort you have never known in your life. You feel safe in his arms, like nothing could ever hurt you here. 

His lips press a final kiss to your throat before you feel him shifting. He gently rolls you both onto your sides, getting comfortable and pulling you to his chest while you both wait for the next wave of lust to hit you. It will, you know. Sooner rather than later, too. Your mind has cleared enough to realize what’s happening, what’s to come. You won’t be leaving this room, this bed, for quite some time. 

A gentle hand brushes a sweaty lock of hair from your eyes before it settles on the nape of your neck, massaging the sore muscles there. You sigh and raise your gaze to find him already looking at you, an easy smile on his lips. He has dimples, you realize, and he’s… breathtaking. And now… he’s all yours.

There’s a beat of silence between you, a moment of reconciliation with what’s just happened between you, of what it means. You blink up at him, your lips parting to say something, anything, but instead your brows furrow in thought.

His smile drops instantly. He leans into you, thumb caressing your cheek. “What is it, sweetheart?” 

Your mouth runs dry. You peek up at him from beneath your lashes. “What’s your name?”

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You stepped into Gojo Satoru’s office like you were walking onto a battlefield.

The room was exactly what you expected from the infamous CEO. It was obnoxiously large, filled with expensive toys, limited-edition sneakers displayed like art, and floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking Tokyo. And there he was, lounging in his massive chair with his feet kicked up on the desk, tossing a ridiculous mechanical-bull-shaped stress ball into the air.

The moment he saw you, something shifted in his expression.

Gojo Satoru had been bored for months. Years, even. People either worshipped him, feared him, or tried to use him. But you? You walked in with a sharp black pantsuit, perfect posture, and an expression that screamed you were already done with his nonsense.

He liked that. A lot.

“Wow,” he drawled, lowering his feet and sitting up straighter, a lazy grin spreading across his face. “They really sent the final boss. I’m honored.”

You stopped a few meters from his desk, arms crossed, tablet in hand like a shield.

“Mr. Gojo,” you said, voice cool and professional, “The board has contracted me as your Reputation Crisis Manager for the next ninety days. In the past six weeks, you’ve caused four major PR disasters, cost the company over a billion yen in potential losses, and made ‘Gojo Enterprises’ trend next to ‘billionaire manchild’ on social media.”

Gojo’s grin widened. He slid his sunglasses down his nose just enough to look at you with those striking blue eyes. Most people would’ve faltered under that gaze. You didn’t even blink.

Feisty. Direct. Not impressed by me at all.

He felt a genuine thrill run through him.

“I’ve read your entire file,” you continued. “All 427 pages. Including the mechanical bull incident, the three influencers, and the ¥800 million prototype that somehow ended up in a nightclub.”

Gojo let out a low whistle, clearly delighted. “You really did your homework. I’m flattered.”

“I’m not here to flatter you,” you replied flatly. “I’m here to stop you from burning this company to the ground. That means you will follow my instructions. No spontaneous trips. No viral stunts at 3 a.m. And absolutely no more ‘team-building’ events that involve livestock or heavy machinery.”

Gojo stood up slowly, circling around his desk until he was leaning against the front of it, arms crossed to mirror your stance. He towered over you, but you held your ground without hesitation.

She’s shorter than I expected… but terrifying in the best way.

“You’re shorter than I thought,” he teased, voice playful. “Still scary though. I respect it.”

Your eyes narrowed. “And you’re exactly as exhausting as your file warned. This isn’t a game, Gojo. I don’t care how rich or charming you think you are. My job is to protect this company from you.”

Gojo’s heart did something stupid in his chest.

Charming. She’d said it so clinically, like it was just another flaw on a report. Everyone else threw themselves at him. You looked like you wanted to throw him out a window.

He was hooked.

“Alright, Crisis Manager-chan,” he said, flashing his most charming smile as he extended his hand. “Temporary truce. You handle my chaos. I’ll try to behave… mostly.”

You stared at his hand for a second before shaking it. Your grip was firm and confident. No lingering. No blushing. You pulled away quickly, all business.

Gojo’s grin faltered for half a second. He already wanted more.

As you turned to leave, he couldn’t resist one last comment.

“By the way,” he called after you, “my colleague Nanami somehow got himself a girlfriend recently. Fake dating. Contract and everything. Kinda jealous, honestly.”

You paused at the door and glanced back. For the briefest moment, the corner of your mouth twitched, almost a smile, but not quite.

“Good for him,” you said. “Some people know how to handle relationships like adults.”

Then you were gone, heels clicking sharply down the hallway.

Gojo dropped back into his chair, spinning slowly as he stared at the ceiling with the biggest, dumbest grin he’d worn in years.

She hates me.

She actually, genuinely hates me.

He laughed softly to himself, spinning faster.

This was going to be the most fun he’d had in a long time. You were going to fight him. Challenge him. Probably threaten to quit at least twice a week.

And Gojo Satoru, the man who could have anything he wanted, had just decided he wanted you.

Game on, Crisis Manager.

Less than twenty-four hours later, you were back in Gojo Satoru’s domain.

This time, it wasn’t his flashy CEO office. The board had wisely booked a neutral conference room on the 35th floor. The room was sleek, minimalist, and equipped with a long table, projector, and zero arcade machines. You arrived exactly on time, armed with a thick binder, your tablet, and a carefully prepared 90-day recovery plan.

Gojo arrived twelve minutes late, wearing a white dress shirt unbuttoned at the collar, black slacks, and those signature sunglasses even indoors. He carried two iced drinks. One strawberry-colored monstrosity for himself, and a perfectly normal iced coffee for you.

He slid the coffee across the table with a bright grin the moment he walked in.

“Peace offering,” he announced. “Oat milk, two pumps of vanilla, extra shot. I asked your assistant.”

You stared at the cup like it might explode.

“You dug into my coffee order already?”

Gojo dropped into the chair directly across from you, spinning it once for dramatic effect before leaning forward on his elbows.

“I like to be thorough,” he said, flashing that dangerous smile. “Plus, I figured if I’m going to be tortured for three months, I might as well make it fun for both of us.”

You pushed the coffee to the side and opened your binder.

“Let’s be clear, Gojo. This isn’t fun. This is damage control. Your public image is currently rated ‘chaotic billionaire’ on every major reputation index. We’re going to fix that.”

He tilted his head, studying you with open fascination. In his mind, this was already the best meeting he’d had all year.

She’s even stricter in daylight. Cute.

“First,” you continued, clicking your pen, “no unscheduled public appearances. Second, every social media post goes through me. Third, you will attend at least two charity events per month, actual charity, not just showing up with a check and leaving after photos.”

Gojo whistled. “You’re really trying to domesticate me. Bold strategy.”

You ignored the teasing and kept going, outlining the full plan: media training, scripted interviews, wardrobe guidelines (no more shirts with cartoon characters to shareholder meetings), and mandatory weekly check-ins with you.

Gojo listened… sort of. Mostly he watched the way your lips moved when you spoke, the small crease between your brows when you were focused, and how you didn’t once try to charm him or soften your tone.

Halfway through your presentation, he interrupted.

“Can I ask you something serious?”

You paused, wary. “What?”

He took off his sunglasses, revealing those striking blue eyes, and looked at you directly.

“Why aren’t you scared of me?”

The question caught you off guard. Gojo leaned back in his chair, spinning a pen between his fingers.

“Most people walk in here smiling too wide or trying to impress me. You look like you’d rather be waterboarding me than drinking coffee with me. It’s refreshing.”

You closed your binder slowly.

“Because I’ve dealt with worse than you,” you said evenly. “And unlike most people here, I don’t need anything from you. My contract is with the board, not your ego.”

Gojo felt something tighten in his chest.

She really means it.

For the first time in years, someone was sitting across from him who wasn’t trying to get close. In fact, you were actively trying to keep your distance. The realization made him want to close that distance even more.

He grinned again, but this time it was softer around the edges.

“Alright. I’ll behave. Mostly.” He paused, then added with a mischievous glint, “On one condition.”

You raised an eyebrow. “This isn’t a negotiation.”

“Everything’s a negotiation,” he countered smoothly. “Go on one fake date with me.”

The room went silent.

You stared at him. “Excuse me?”

“Not a real one,” he clarified quickly, though his eyes said otherwise. “Just for optics. The board wants me to look stable, right? What better way than to be seen with my very serious, very competent Crisis Manager? We’ll call it… professional research.”

You pinched the bridge of your nose, already feeling a headache coming on.

“Gojo—”

“Satoru,” he corrected cheerfully.

“I am not going on any kind of date with you, fake or otherwise. My job is to fix your reputation, not become part of the scandal.”

He pouted dramatically, clutching his chest. “Ouch. Rejected in under ten seconds. That’s a new record.”

Despite yourself, the tiniest hint of a smile tugged at your lips. Gojo noticed immediately and lit up like he’d won the lottery.

“There it is,” he murmured, almost to himself. “You almost smiled. I’m making progress.”

You stood up, gathering your things. “This meeting is over. Review the plan. I expect your full cooperation starting Monday.”

As you headed for the door, Gojo called after you, voice playful but carrying a new undertone: “Hey, Crisis Manager-chan?”

You glanced back.

“I’m really looking forward to these next ninety days.”

The way he said it, it was low, sincere, and far too interested made something flutter in your stomach that you immediately ignored.

You left without another word.

Gojo stayed in the conference room long after you were gone, spinning slowly in the chair with a stupid grin on his face.

She’s going to make my life hell.

And I’m going to enjoy every single second of it.

By Wednesday afternoon, you were already questioning every career choice that had led you to Gojo Enterprises.

Your carefully planned 90-day strategy had lasted exactly two and a half days before Satoru Gojo detonated it.

It started with a single text at 11:47 a.m.:

Gojo Satoru: Emergency. Conference room 42. Bring bandages for my ego. And maybe ice cream.

You stared at the message, already feeling a migraine forming. Against your better judgment, you grabbed your tablet and headed upstairs.

The moment the elevator doors opened on the 42nd floor, you knew you had entered Gojo’s personal circle of chaos.

Several employees were standing in the hallway looking equal parts amused and horrified. Inside the large glass-walled conference room, Gojo was dramatically sprawled across the long table on his back, sunglasses askew, surrounded by what looked like the remains of a photoshoot. There was bright lighting equipment, a half-assembled backdrop, and at least four confused-looking interns.

A young woman from PR was waving her hands frantically. “Sir, please get off the table! We were just trying to take some professional headshots for the new investor packet—”

“But the lighting was boring,” Gojo complained loudly, not moving an inch. “I told them to make it more dynamic. So I improvised.”

You stepped into the room and closed the door behind you. The click made Gojo sit up instantly, his face lighting up like a child spotting candy.

“Crisis Manager-chan! You came!” He hopped off the table with surprising grace. “Look at this mess. They wanted me to pose like a normal CEO. Can you believe that?”

You pinched the bridge of your nose.

“Gojo… what part of ‘no unscheduled public appearances or activities’ did you not understand?”

He grinned, walking over to you with that signature swagger. Up close, you noticed his white shirt was unbuttoned at the top, sleeves rolled up, and there was a smudge of what looked like glitter on his cheek.

“This wasn’t scheduled,” he said innocently. “It was spontaneous creativity. Big difference.”

You exhaled slowly and turned to the trembling PR intern. “Clear the room. I’ll handle him.”

Once everyone had fled, you rounded on Gojo.

“This is exactly what I was hired to prevent,” you said, voice sharp. “You can’t just hijack a photoshoot because you’re bored. Do you have any idea how this looks from the outside?”

Gojo leaned against the table, watching you with open fascination as you paced.

“You’re cute when you’re scolding me,” he murmured.

Your head snapped toward him. “This isn’t funny.”

“It’s a little funny,” he countered, but his tone softened. “Look, I’ll behave. But only if you help me fix this right now. The photographer is still waiting downstairs, and I may have… accidentally told him we’re doing an action-themed shoot instead of corporate headshots.”

You stared at him. “You what?”

Before you could protest, Gojo grabbed your wrist gently but firmly and started pulling you toward the door.

“Come on! You’re my Crisis Manager. Crisis just happened. Time to manage it.”

“Gojo—”

“Satoru,” he corrected cheerfully, still dragging you along. “And consider this your official welcome into my beautiful, chaotic world.”

The next two hours were absolute madness.

You somehow got roped into supervising an emergency re-shoot. Gojo insisted on doing dramatic poses. By jumping in the air, pretending to fight invisible enemies, even trying to get you into one of the shots “for scale.” You refused, but he still managed to pull you into the frame at one point, slinging an arm around your shoulders while the camera clicked rapidly.

“See?” he whispered near your ear, voice playful. “We look good together. Very ‘power couple fixing the company’ energy.”

Your face heated up. You elbowed him lightly and stepped away, but the damage was done. The photographer had already taken several shots.

By the time you finally got him back to his office, you were exhausted, slightly glitter-covered, and dangerously close to laughing at the absurdity of it all.

Gojo collapsed onto his couch, patting the spot next to him.

“Sit. You’ve earned it. I’ll even let you yell at me some more if it makes you feel better.”

You remained standing, arms crossed. “You’re impossible.”

“I know,” he said, grinning. But then his expression shifted into something more sincere. “But thank you. Most people would’ve just let the interns handle the mess and run damage control later. You actually came and fixed it with me.”

You hesitated, then finally sat on the opposite end of the couch.

Gojo turned toward you, resting his cheek on his hand.

“Can I ask you something?” he said quietly.

You nodded warily.

“Why do you do this job? You’re clearly overqualified for babysitting billionaires.”

You looked down at your hands. “Because someone has to clean up the messes people like you make. And… I’m good at it.”

Gojo was quiet for a moment, unusually so.

“I’m not just a mess, you know,” he said eventually, voice lighter but with a serious edge underneath. “Though I get why it looks that way.”

For the first time, you caught a glimpse of something real beneath the chaos. There was a flicker of loneliness in those bright blue eyes.

You softened, just a little.

“I know you’re not just a mess,” you admitted. “But you make it very easy to forget that sometimes.”

Gojo’s grin returned, though gentler this time.

“Then stick around longer,” he said. “Maybe you’ll get to see the non-mess parts too.”

You stood up before he could see how his words affected you.

“I should get back to work. And you should stay out of trouble for at least 48 hours.”

As you reached the door, Gojo called after you.

“Hey, Crisis Manager-chan?”

You glanced back.

“Same time tomorrow? I promise I’ll cause a smaller disaster.”

You couldn’t stop the small laugh that escaped you. “You’re exhausting.”

“But you’re smiling,” he pointed out triumphantly. “Progress.”

You left his office shaking your head, cheeks warm, already knowing you were getting pulled deeper into Gojo Satoru’s chaotic orbit.

And the scariest part?

You weren’t entirely sure you wanted to escape.

By the end of your first week, you had officially become a permanent fixture in Gojo Satoru’s chaotic universe.

It started innocently enough, or as innocent as anything involving Gojo could be.

Gojo Satoru: Charity gala tonight at 7:30. Black tie. The board wants me to “look responsible.” You’re coming with me. Professional supervision only 😉

You had stared at the message for a full minute before replying with a single word:

You: Fine.

Now here you were, standing in front of the mirror in a sleek, floor-length black evening gown you’d bought specifically for crisis management purposes. Elegant. Professional. Safe.

At exactly 7:10 p.m., a sleek black Rolls Royce pulled up outside your apartment building. Gojo stepped out looking illegally good in a tailored black tuxedo, white shirt unbuttoned at the top, and his usual sunglasses even in the evening light.

He whistled when he saw you.

“Wow. Crisis Manager-chan cleans up dangerously well,” he said, offering his hand like a gentleman. “I almost don’t want to cause chaos tonight. Almost.”

You took his hand, ignoring the way your pulse jumped at the contact.

“This is work, Gojo. We go in, you smile politely, donate a reasonable amount, and we leave without any headlines.”

He opened the car door for you with a dramatic bow. “Your wish is my command. Mostly.”

The ride to the gala was surprisingly calm. Gojo spent most of it trying to get you to laugh by telling increasingly ridiculous stories about board members, showing you memes about himself, and occasionally glancing over with that sharp, curious look he’d been giving you more often lately.

When you arrived at the lavish hotel ballroom, cameras flashed immediately. Gojo placed a hand on your lower back as you walked in. His touch was light, but unmistakably possessive.

“Relax,” he murmured near your ear. “Just pretend you don’t hate me for two hours.”

“I don’t hate you,” you muttered back. “I’m just… immune to your charm.”

Gojo’s grin widened. “Challenge accepted.”

The evening started smoothly. Gojo was shockingly well-behaved for the first forty minutes. He was just shaking hands, making polite small talk, even delivering a short, surprisingly heartfelt speech about supporting education for underprivileged children. You stood off to the side, watching him with reluctant admiration.

Then the chaos found him.

A famous actress approached him, clearly interested in more than conversation. She laughed too loudly at his jokes and kept touching his arm. Gojo, being Gojo, played along just enough to be entertaining.

You felt something sharp twist in your stomach. Jealousy? No. That was ridiculous. This was work.

Still, you walked over and smoothly inserted yourself between them.

“Mr. Gojo,” you said sweetly, placing a hand on his forearm, “they’re about to start the silent auction. You mentioned wanting to bid on the private island getaway?”

The actress raised an eyebrow. Gojo’s eyes sparkled with pure delight.

“Ah, yes! My lovely Crisis Manager keeps me on schedule,” he said, wrapping an arm around your waist. “We should go check that out. Together.”

The actress excused herself politely. The moment she was gone, Gojo leaned down, lips brushing your ear.

“Jealous?” he whispered.

You elbowed him. “Professional intervention.”

“Sure it was,” he teased, but didn’t remove his arm from your waist.

The rest of the night blurred into a mix of controlled chaos only Gojo could create. He accidentally started a bidding war on a ridiculous piece of modern art (winning it for ¥45 million), made an entire table of old executives laugh until they cried with his stories, and somehow convinced the DJ to play a ridiculous pop song during the formal portion.

Every time things threatened to spiral, you were right there. You’d do your job by pulling him back, whispering corrections in his ear, fixing his crooked bowtie, and managing the narrative with the press.

By the time you both slipped out onto a quiet balcony for air, you were exhausted but strangely exhilarated.

Gojo leaned against the railing beside you, staring out at the glittering Tokyo night.

“You’re really good at this,” he said quietly. “Most people just try to contain me. You actually make me… better. It’s annoying.”

You laughed softly. “High praise.”

He turned to face you fully. The playful mask slipped for a moment, revealing something more vulnerable underneath.

“I wasn’t joking earlier,” he said. “About being jealous of Nanami. Watching him slowly fall for someone through that stupid contract… it made me realize how tired I am of everything being fake. Surface-level.”

You looked up at him. The city lights reflected in his eyes, making them even more striking.

“So what are you saying?” you asked carefully.

Gojo stepped closer, his usual cocky smile softening into something more genuine.

“I’m saying I like having you around. Even when you’re scolding me. Especially when you’re scolding me.” He reached up and gently tucked a strand of hair behind your ear. “And I’m dangerously close to wanting this to stop being purely professional.”

Your heart hammered against your ribs. You were standing on the edge of something dangerous. This was the exact thing you told yourself you wouldn’t do.

Before you could respond, Gojo’s phone buzzed. He glanced at it and groaned.

“Board wants pictures. Of course they do.” He offered you his hand again. “Come on. One more round of pretending we’re civilized.”

You took his hand.

As the two of you walked back inside together. His fingers warm around yours, you realized with quiet horror that you were no longer just managing Gojo Satoru’s chaos.

You were starting to enjoy being part of it.

The following Monday started relatively normally which should have been your first warning.

You arrived at Gojo Enterprises at 8:15 a.m. with a fresh game plan and a very strong coffee. By 8:47 a.m., Gojo had already derailed everything.

Your phone buzzed.

Gojo Satoru: Emergency meeting in my office. Code: Sweet Red Bean. Bring reinforcements.

You sighed and headed upstairs, already regretting every decision.

When you opened the door to his office, the scene that greeted you was pure chaos.

Gojo was sitting cross-legged on his expensive desk, surrounded by what looked like an entire mochi factory explosion. Colorful boxes, half-eaten mochi, and wrappers were scattered everywhere. Two interns were desperately trying to clean up while Gojo happily popped another piece into his mouth.

“Finally!” he exclaimed the moment he saw you. “Crisis Manager-chan, save me. I’m having a flavor emergency.”

You stopped dead in the doorway. “... What happened?”

“I may have stress-ordered 47 different seasonal mochi flavors at 3 a.m.,” he said cheerfully, cheeks slightly puffed out like a hamster. “Now I need your professional opinion on which ones are worthy of the Gojo name.”

One of the interns whispered, “He’s been like this for forty minutes…”

You pinched the bridge of your nose. “Gojo, you have a 9:30 strategy meeting with the board.”

“Exactly! I need emotional support mochi before I face those fossils.” He held up a bright pink one. “Try this. It’s yuzu. Very sophisticated. Very ‘I’m a responsible CEO.’”

Before you could refuse, he leaned forward and playfully pressed the mochi toward your mouth. You instinctively took a bite then immediately regretted it as the overly sweet filling exploded.

Gojo’s eyes sparkled with mischief. “Cute. You’ve got a little—” He reached out and brushed his thumb across the corner of your lip, wiping away a stray bit of filling.

Your face burned. The interns suddenly found the carpet very interesting.

“Gojo,” you warned, stepping back.

“Satoru,” he corrected, grinning. “And admit it. You’re starting to like my chaos.”

You were saved by his poor assistant bursting into the room. “Sir! The board members are arriving early and— oh no.”

The assistant’s eyes widened at the mochi battlefield.

What followed was ten minutes of pure comedy.

You tried directing the interns to hide the evidence while Gojo kept “helping” by eating more mochi and offering you pieces like a very annoying cat bringing dead birds. At one point, he dramatically pretended to faint onto the couch.

“I can’t go to the meeting,” he declared, hand on his forehead. “I’ve been poisoned by superior sweetness. You’ll have to carry me.”

“You’re going to that meeting if I have to drag you by your expensive tie,” you shot back.

Gojo peeked at you through his fingers. “Kinky. I’m into it.”

You threw a mochi wrapper at his head. He caught it mid-air and laughed. The sound of his laugh was loud, bright, and far too charming for someone causing this much trouble.

By some miracle, you managed to get him cleaned up, semi-presentable, and into the boardroom with only two minutes to spare. During the actual meeting, Gojo behaved… mostly. He kept sneaking glances at you where you sat off to the side, occasionally sending you ridiculous texts under the table.

Gojo Satoru: Save me. They’re talking about quarterly growth again. I’m dying. If I fake a medical emergency, will you give me mouth-to-mouth?

You replied with a single emoji: 

You: 🙄

He grinned like he’d won something.

After the meeting finally ended, Gojo caught up with you in the hallway, hands in his pockets, looking far too pleased with himself.

“So,” he said casually, “I’ve decided we’re doing lunch. My treat. Consider it part of my rehabilitation program.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Is that what we’re calling your chaos now?”

“Character development,” he corrected. “Come on. There’s this amazing ramen place that doesn’t allow cameras. Very low scandal risk. You can lecture me the whole time.”

Against your better judgment, and despite the voice in your head screaming professional boundaries, you agreed.

Lunch turned out to be surprisingly enjoyable. The ramen place was quiet and cozy. Gojo, for once, didn’t cause any major scenes. He did, however, insist on ordering one of every topping “for science” and tried to feed you a perfectly cooked chashu slice with his chopsticks.

“You’re ridiculous,” you muttered, but accepted it anyway.

Gojo watched you with a softer expression than usual.

“You know,” he said between bites, “most people get tired of me after a week. You’re still here. Fighting me. Fixing my messes. It’s… nice.”

You looked up, caught off guard by the sincerity in his voice.

Before you could respond, his phone started ringing. Then yours. Then both at the same time.

A new scandal had just broken: someone had leaked photos from last night’s gala. Specifically the ones of Gojo with his arm around your waist and the two of you looking far too comfortable on the balcony.

The headline trending?

“Gojo Satoru’s New Mystery Woman: Reputation Manager or Secret Romance?”

Gojo looked at his phone, then at you, and burst out laughing.

“Well,” he said, eyes sparkling with pure chaos, “looks like we’re officially trending, Crisis Manager-chan.”

You dropped your chopsticks.

“... I’m going to kill you.”

“Go ahead,” he replied, still laughing. “But at least take me on a real date first.”

You groaned, but you couldn’t quite hide your smile.

You were officially, completely sucked into Gojo Satoru’s world.

And the worst part?

You were starting to like it.

The leaked gala photos turned your carefully constructed PR plan into complete carnage by 9 a.m. the next morning.

Your phone wouldn’t stop buzzing. News alerts, texts from the board, and increasingly unhinged messages from Gojo flooded your screen. You were already in damage-control mode when you stormed into his office at 9:30 sharp.

Gojo was lounging on his couch like this was all a delightful game, scrolling through the trending posts on his phone with a massive grin.

“Look at this one!” he said excitedly, turning the screen toward you. The headline read: “Gojo Satoru’s Secret Office Romance? Mystery Woman Spotted Getting Handsy at Charity Gala.”

There was a particularly clear photo of him with his arm around your waist and his lips far too close to your ear.

You rubbed your temples. “This is a nightmare.”

“This is gold,” Gojo countered, clearly thrilled. “We look hot together. The internet agrees. We’re trending higher than that time I accidentally bought a yacht during a livestream.”

You dropped your bag on his desk and pulled out your tablet, already drafting a response plan.

“Options,” you said briskly. “One: We issue a statement saying I’m strictly your Reputation Manager and the photos are misleading. Two: We lean into a soft ‘close professional relationship’ narrative. Three: You hide in another country for three weeks while I fix this.”

Gojo sat up, suddenly serious. “I vote for option four.”

“There is no option four.”

He stood and walked over to you, invading your personal space with that signature confidence. “We go on a very public, very controlled date. Show them we’re comfortable together. Kill the scandal with charm.”

You stared at him. “That is the opposite of damage control.”

“Or,” he said, voice dropping playfully, “it’s the best kind. People love a good romance. Especially when the woman is as terrifyingly competent as you.”

Your cheeks warmed despite yourself. Before you could respond, the door burst open.

Shoko Ieiri from Legal walked in holding a thick folder, looking exhausted. “The board is losing their minds. They want a joint statement within the hour. Also, Gojo, stop enjoying this.”

“I’m not enjoying it,” Gojo lied smoothly. “I’m suffering. Tragically.”

Shoko gave him a deadpan look. “You just liked three different fan edits of you and her on the balcony.”

You groaned. “I need a new job.”

Gojo gasped dramatically. “Don’t say that! Who else will scold me so beautifully every day?”

The next few hours were pure comedic chaos.

You tried to draft a professional statement in Gojo’s office, but he kept interrupting with increasingly ridiculous suggestions:

“What if we say we’re engaged? Too soon?” “We could announce we’re business partners… with benefits.” “Or we just post a thirst trap together. I look great shirtless.”

Every time you glared at him, he grinned wider, clearly living for your reactions.

At one point, he disappeared for ten minutes and returned wearing a fake mustache and glasses.

“Disguise mode activated,” he announced. “No one will recognize me. We can sneak out for lunch.”

You stared at him in disbelief. “You look like a discount detective.”

“Rude. I think I look mysterious.” He struck a pose. “Come on, Crisis Manager-chan. Live a little. One normal lunch where I’m not Gojo Satoru, just Satoru.”

Against every professional instinct, you agreed.

The lunch was… surprisingly nice.

He took you to a small, hidden okonomiyaki place in a quiet neighborhood. No paparazzi. No cameras. Just the two of you at a tiny corner table. Gojo (still wearing the ridiculous fake mustache for the first fifteen minutes) kept making you laugh with terrible impressions of the board members and stories from his university days.

At one point, he got sauce on his cheek. Without thinking, you reached over and wiped it off with your thumb. The same way he’d done with the mochi filling yesterday.

Gojo froze.

The playful mask slipped again. For a few seconds, he just looked at you with something soft and dangerously genuine in his eyes.

“You’re dangerous,” he said quietly. “You know that?”

You pulled your hand back, heart racing. “You’re the dangerous one.”

He smiled, small and real. “Maybe we’re both screwed then.”

The quiet moment didn’t last long. As you were leaving the restaurant, a group of fans recognized him despite the terrible disguise. Within seconds, you were surrounded by excited people asking for photos and autographs.

Gojo handled it gracefully at first, but when one fan asked if you were his girlfriend, he didn’t deny it immediately. He simply grinned and said, “She’s someone very important.”

You dragged him away before he could cause more damage, pulling him into the waiting car.

Back at the office, the trending hashtags had evolved:

#GojoNewGirlfriend was now #GojoAndHisHandler

You threw your hands up. “This is getting worse.”

Gojo leaned against his desk, watching you with that intense blue gaze.

“Or,” he said slowly, “we stop running from it.”

The air between you thickened. He stepped closer, voice lower than usual. “I know this started as a job. But I don’t want it to stay that way. Not anymore.”

Your breath caught. Before you could answer, he gently tilted your chin up with two fingers.

“One real date,” he whispered. “No cameras. No scandals. Just you and me. Let me show you I’m not only chaos.”

You were silent for a long moment, heart pounding.

Then, barely above a whisper, you said:

“… Fine. One date.”

Gojo’s entire face lit up like he’d just won the lottery, the stock market, and the world cup all at once.

But instead of his usual dramatic celebration, he simply leaned down and pressed a soft, quick kiss to your forehead.

“You won’t regret it,” he murmured against your skin. As he pulled away, the familiar mischievous grin returned. “Now help me draft that statement before I accidentally propose to you on live television.”

You laughed despite yourself, shaking your head.

You were deep in Gojo Satoru’s world now.

And for the first time, you weren’t sure you wanted to find your way out.

The “one real date” happened faster than you expected.

Gojo, being Gojo, refused to wait. By Friday evening he had already sent three outfit suggestions (all ridiculous), two location options, and one extremely dramatic voice note begging you not to cancel.

You settled on something simple but nice. A sleek navy dress and coat and told yourself repeatedly that this was not a big deal. It was research. Damage control. Definitely not butterflies in your stomach.

At exactly 6:50 p.m., a sleek black car pulled up outside your building. Gojo stepped out wearing a fitted black turtleneck, dark trousers, and miraculously no sunglasses for once. His hair was slightly tousled, and when he saw you, his usual cocky grin softened into something warmer.

“Wow,” he said, voice uncharacteristically quiet for a moment. “You look… incredible.”

You raised an eyebrow. “No jokes about me dressing up for you?”

“I’m saving my best material for dinner,” he teased, but his eyes stayed soft as he opened the car door for you. “Tonight, I’m on my best behavior. Scout’s honor.”

“You were never a scout.”

“Details.”

The car took you to a beautiful, secluded rooftop restaurant overlooking the city. Gojo had rented out the entire space. “For privacy,” he claimed, though you suspected it was also because he wanted to show off a little.

The first twenty minutes were surprisingly peaceful. Gojo was attentive, funny without being overwhelming, and asked genuine questions about your life outside of cleaning up his messes. You learned he actually loved sweet things because they reminded him of his younger cousin, and he hated being alone in big spaces.

Then the chaos inevitably returned.

Halfway through the appetizers, Gojo’s phone started blowing up. He ignored it until it rang for the third time. With a dramatic sigh, he answered on speaker.

“Nanami,” he whined, “I’m on a date. A real one. Stop ruining my vibe.”

Nanami’s deadpan voice came through clearly: “The board just saw the new trending photos of you two leaving the okonomiyaki place. They want an emergency meeting. Also, you still owe me the revised Q3 projections.”

Gojo gasped theatrically. “Betrayal! My own colleague choosing spreadsheets over my love life!”

You choked on your wine.

Gojo looked at you with wide, innocent eyes. “Did you just laugh? I heard it. Progress!”

Nanami sighed on the other end. “Handle your situation. And tell her she has my condolences.”

The call ended. Gojo turned back to you, grinning like an idiot.

“See? Even Nanami is invested now. He never gives anyone condolences unless he thinks they’re doomed.”

You shook your head, smiling despite yourself. “You’re a menace.”

“Your menace,” he corrected smoothly, reaching across the table to steal a piece of sushi from your plate. When you glared, he simply opened his mouth expectantly.

You fed him the piece just to shut him up. His satisfied hum was annoyingly cute.

The rest of dinner was filled with more ridiculous moments. Gojo tried (and failed) to impress you by attempting to juggle three pieces of sashimi. He nearly knocked over a candle. Later, he convinced the chef to come out and explain every ingredient in dramatic detail, then proceeded to ask increasingly absurd questions like “But what if we deep-fried the entire menu?”

By the time dessert arrived, a beautiful matcha tiramisu meant for sharing, you were laughing more than you had in months.

Gojo watched you take the first bite, chin resting on his hand.

“You know,” he said softly, “I didn’t think this would feel real. I thought I’d just annoy you until you gave in. But sitting here with you… it’s nice. Scary nice.”

You looked up, caught off guard by the sincerity.

He continued, voice quieter. “Most people want Gojo Satoru, the CEO. The money. The power. The fun chaos. You seem to want none of that. You just… see me. Even when I’m being impossible.”

You set your spoon down. “You’re still impossible.”

“I know.” He gave you a crooked smile. “But I’m trying. For you.”

The air between you shifted. Gojo reached across the table and gently took your hand, thumb brushing over your knuckles.

“No pressure,” he said. “But I really like you. Not the game. Not the chaos management. You.”

Your heart was beating so loudly you were sure he could hear it. Before you could overthink it, you squeezed his hand back.

“I like you too,” you admitted. “Even though you make my job ten times harder.”

Gojo’s entire face lit up. He looked like you’d just handed him the moon.

The romantic moment was immediately ruined when he dramatically pretended to faint onto the table.

“I’ve won!” he cried, voice muffled against the tablecloth. “The terrifying Crisis Manager likes me! Someone write this down! Frame it!”

You burst out laughing and threw your napkin at his head. “You’re such a child.”

He sat up, grinning ear to ear, then suddenly leaned across the table and pressed a quick, playful kiss to your cheek.

“Best date ever,” he declared.

As the car drove you both back through the glowing city later that night, Gojo kept your hand in his the entire time. No jokes. No theatrics. Just quiet warmth and occasional soft glances.

When the car stopped outside your building, he walked you to your door like a proper gentleman.

At the entrance, he hesitated, then cupped your face gently with both hands.

“Can I kiss you?” he asked, voice surprisingly soft. “For real this time.”

You nodded.

Gojo leaned in slowly, giving you every chance to pull away before he could kiss you. It started gentle, almost careful, but quickly deepened as weeks of tension finally snapped. His lips were warm, confident, and tasted faintly like the matcha tiramisu you’d shared. One of his hands slid to the back of your neck, tilting your head as he kissed you like he’d been waiting to do this since the moment you first walked into his office.

When he finally pulled back, both of you breathing harder, he rested his forehead against yours.

“Best. Decision. Ever.” he whispered.

You smiled, still a little dazed. “Don’t make me regret it, Gojo.”

“Satoru,” he corrected, kissing the tip of your nose. “And I promise I’ll only cause manageable amounts of chaos from now on.”

You both knew that was a lie.

But as he kissed you once more, you realized something important:

You didn’t mind the chaos anymore.

Not when it came with him.

Monday arrived like a freight train.

You walked into Gojo Enterprises at 8:20 a.m. still feeling the ghost of Saturday night’s kiss on your lips. Your plan was simple: stay professional, keep the relationship low-key, and try not to let Gojo derail your entire existence.

That plan lasted approximately eleven minutes.

The moment the elevator doors opened on the executive floor, you were greeted by absolute pandemonium.

Streamers. Balloons. A massive banner that read “Congratulations on Not Being Single Anymore, Boss!” in glittery letters. Haibara from Marketing was handing out cupcakes to confused employees while Shoko leaned against a wall, smoking a cigarette indoors despite every policy in existence.

And in the middle of it all stood Gojo Satoru, wearing a ridiculous party hat tilted sideways, looking far too proud of himself.

“Surprise!” he exclaimed the second he saw you, throwing his arms wide. “I threw us a ‘We’re Officially Trending’ party!”

You stopped dead in your tracks. “Gojo… what did you do?”

He bounded over to you, grabbed your hand, and spun you once dramatically. “First of all, good morning, beautiful. Second, I may have sent a company-wide email at 6 a.m. announcing that I’m off the market. The board is currently having a collective stroke in the group chat.”

You pinched the bridge of your nose. “Tell me you’re joking.”

“I’m not! Look—” He pulled out his phone and showed you the email titled “Big News: I’ve Been Tamed (Sort Of)” with several heart emojis and a selfie of the two of you from the rooftop date.

You wanted to scream. You also wanted to laugh. The conflicting emotions were giving you whiplash.

Shoko wandered over, exhaling smoke. “He also forwarded the trending photos to every executive. You’re both trending on Weibo now. Congratulations.”

Gojo beamed. “We look great in them, right? Especially that one where I’m kissing your cheek. Very tasteful.”

You grabbed his arm and dragged him toward his office, ignoring the cheering employees. The moment the door closed behind you, you rounded on him.

“I said one date. One. Not a company-wide announcement!”

Gojo leaned against his desk, looking ridiculously pleased with himself. “Technically, I didn’t announce we’re dating. I just said I’m off the market. The internet filled in the blanks.”

You stared at him. “You’re impossible.”

He stepped closer, voice dropping into that dangerously soft tone he’d been using more often lately. “But you like me anyway.”

Your resolve cracked. He noticed immediately and took full advantage, wrapping his arms around your waist and pulling you against him.

“Hi,” he whispered, forehead resting against yours. “Missed you yesterday. Spent the whole day thinking about that kiss.”

Your hands instinctively rested on his chest. “You’re going to get me fired.”

“Nah. I’ll just buy the entire company and promote you to CEO of Keeping Me In Line.”

You laughed despite yourself. Gojo’s grin widened at the sound, and he leaned in to kiss you. One that was slow, warm, and far too addictive for 8:45 a.m. on a Monday.

The kiss was just starting to deepen when the door burst open.

Nanami stood there, looking thoroughly done with life.

“Whatever this is,” he said flatly, gesturing at the two of you, “take it somewhere with a lock. The board wants both of you in the conference room in ten minutes. They’re calling it an ‘emergency reputation alignment meeting.’”

Gojo groaned, still holding you close. “Five more minutes, Nanamin. I’m having a moment.”

“You’ve had enough moments,” Nanami replied, already walking away. “Try not to traumatize the interns.”

The emergency meeting was pure comedy.

The entire board sat on one side of the table looking various shades of horrified and exhausted. You and Gojo sat on the other side. He kept trying to hold your hand under the table while you repeatedly swatted him away.

The chairman cleared his throat. “Miss, we hired you to control his behavior, not… whatever this is.”

Gojo gasped dramatically. “This is true love! Or at least very strong like. Don’t be haters.”

You kicked his ankle under the table. He just grinned wider.

After twenty minutes of painful discussion, the board reluctantly agreed to a soft-launch approach: you would continue as his Reputation Manager publicly, while your personal relationship stayed “private” (which everyone knew was already impossible).

As you left the meeting, Gojo slung an arm around your shoulders in the hallway.

“See? They love us. We’re basically corporate royalty now.”

“You’re going to be the death of me,” you muttered.

He stopped walking, turned you to face him, and cupped your cheeks gently.

“Hey,” he said, suddenly serious. “If it ever gets too much. All the chaos, the attention, the endless memes, tell me. I’ll dial it back. I mean it.”

The sincerity in his eyes made your chest tighten. You reached up and adjusted his slightly crooked collar.

“I know,” you said softly. “And I’m still here. Even when you’re being a menace.”

Gojo’s expression melted. He leaned down and kissed you again right there in the middle of the executive hallway where anyone could see. This time he didn’t hold back. The kiss was deep, hungry, and full of all the weeks of tension that had built between you.

When he pulled back, he rested his forehead against yours.

“I’m really falling for you,” he whispered. “Like, actually falling. Not the fake kind.”

Your heart skipped several beats.

Before you could respond, Haibara ran past yelling, “The mechanical bull is back in the building! Someone stop him!”

Gojo’s head snapped up. “Oh! I ordered it for team building!”

You stared at him. “Gojo—”

“Satoru,” he corrected with a bright laugh, already starting to pull you toward the chaos. “Come on, Crisis Manager-chan. Time to manage another crisis together.”

You groaned, but let him drag you along.

Deep down, you knew the truth:

You weren’t just managing his chaos anymore.

You were happily, dangerously, falling right into it with him.

The following week turned Gojo Enterprises into a full-blown spectacle.

Your relationship with Gojo was no longer a rumor, it was corporate legend. The mechanical bull had been banished to the basement (again), but the gossip had reached critical mass. Employees kept sneaking glances at you in the hallways. Someone had even started a betting pool on when Gojo would propose.

You were hiding in the finance wing on Wednesday afternoon, pretending to review reports, when a familiar calm voice interrupted your peace.

“You look like you’re contemplating resignation.”

You turned to see Nanami Kento standing beside your temporary desk, arms crossed, expression as impeccably done with life as always. He was holding two cups of coffee. One black, one exactly how you liked it.

“Nanami,” you greeted with visible relief. “Please tell me you’re here to save me from your colleague.”

Nanami handed you the coffee. “I’m here because Gojo has been sending me updates every thirty minutes. He titled the last one ‘Operation: Make Her Fall Irrevocably in Love.’ I needed to see the damage for myself.”

You took a long sip. “How bad is it?”

“Last night he tried to have flowers delivered to every floor with your name on them. I stopped him before HR had an aneurysm.”

A familiar chaotic voice echoed down the hallway.

“Nanamin! You’re not supposed to be stealing my girlfriend for emotional support!”

Gojo appeared like a whirlwind, white hair slightly messy, sleeves rolled up, looking unfairly handsome in a half-unbuttoned dress shirt. He immediately wrapped his arms around you from behind, resting his chin on your shoulder.

“Mine,” he declared dramatically, nuzzling your neck. “You can’t have her, Nanami. You already have your own contract girlfriend.”

Nanami sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose exactly like he did in your original timeline with him. “She is still your Reputation Manager on paper. Try to remember that before you cause another scandal.”

Gojo grinned against your skin. “Too late. We’re trending again. Someone made a compilation of every time she’s glared at me. It has three million views.”

You elbowed him lightly. “You’re enjoying this way too much.”

“I’m enjoying you,” he corrected, pressing a quick kiss to your temple. “Very different.”

Shoko Ieiri wandered in next, cigarette in hand despite the no-smoking policy. “The board is having another emergency meeting. They want both of you there. Nanami and I have been summoned as ‘witnesses.’ This should be entertaining.”

The emergency meeting was peak comedy as usual.

The board sat on one side of the long table looking exhausted. You, Gojo, Nanami, and Shoko sat on the other.

The chairman cleared his throat. “Miss, when we hired you, the goal was to reduce chaos. Not become the center of it.”

Gojo raised his hand like an eager student. “Objection! She’s the best thing that’s ever happened to this company. My productivity is up 300%. Mostly because I want to impress her.”

Nanami pinched the bridge of his nose again. “Your ‘productivity’ consists of sending her 47 memes per hour.”

Shoko snorted. “He also tried to declare the executive floor a ‘no work, only flirting’ zone yesterday.”

You buried your face in your hands. “I’m so sorry.”

Gojo gasped. “Don’t apologize! This is true love!”

Nanami turned to you with something almost like sympathy. “If it helps, my own… arrangement started as strictly contractual. These things have a way of spiraling.”

Gojo’s head snapped toward him. “Wait. You’re admitting yours isn’t fake anymore? Nanamin! I’m so proud of you!”

Nanami’s ears went faintly pink, the most emotion he usually showed. “That is not the point of this meeting.”

The board eventually settled on a compromise: you would continue as Gojo’s official Reputation Manager, but the company would acknowledge the relationship publicly in a “tasteful” way. Gojo was banned from any more company-wide emails as well as a result from the last meeting.

As everyone filed out, Nanami lingered near you.

“If he becomes too much,” he said quietly, “you have my number. I’ve had years of experience managing him.”

Gojo immediately appeared between you, pouting. “No stealing my girlfriend with emotional maturity, Nanami. That’s cheating.”

Nanami gave him a flat look. “Try not to exhaust her completely.”

After Nanami left, Gojo pulled you into his office and locked the door.

“Finally,” he sighed, backing you gently against his desk. “I’ve been waiting to do this all day.”

He kissed you deeply, hands sliding to your waist. Unlike his usual playful energy, this kiss was slower, more intense. When he pulled back, his forehead rested against yours.

Outside the office, you could hear Haibara yelling something about ordering celebratory cake for the entire floor.

Gojo chuckled against your neck. “We should probably stop them before they order another mechanical bull.”

You laughed. “Probably.”

But neither of you moved for a long moment. Just holding each other in the middle of the beautiful disaster he called his life.

You were no longer just managing Gojo Satoru’s chaos.

You had become a willing part of it, and you were happier than you’d ever been.

As the meeting finally wrapped up, chaos found you once again.

A loud mechanical whirring echoed from the direction of the executive elevators. Haibara came sprinting down the hallway, eyes wide.

“Sir! The mechanical bull is back! Marketing thought it would be funny to bring it up as a joke, but it’s fully operational and Gojo’s assistant just challenged the legal department to a ride-off!”

Gojo’s eyes lit up like a child on Christmas morning. “This is the best day ever!”

Before you could stop him, he grabbed your hand and dragged you toward the commotion. The executive lounge had been transformed into a makeshift rodeo arena. The mechanical bull was bucking wildly in the center of the room while several department heads cheered from the sidelines. Shoko was filming everything with a deadpan expression, and Nanami stood off to the side looking like he was calculating the exact amount this would cost in HR complaints.

“Gojo, no—” you started, but it was too late.

He had already shrugged off his jacket and hopped onto the bull with dramatic flair.

“Watch this!” he yelled, grinning at you. “This is how I impress my girlfriend!”

The bull started moving. Gojo lasted approximately four seconds before he was launched off dramatically, landing in a pile of cushions that someone had clearly prepared in advance. He lay sprawled on the floor, laughing hysterically.

You marched over, grabbed him by the collar, and pulled him up.

“You absolute menace,” you hissed, though you were fighting a smile.

Gojo wrapped his arms around your waist, still laughing. “Did you see that? I almost had it! Next time I’ll do it blindfolded for extra romance points.”

Nanami walked past, adjusting his glasses. “The medical claims from this alone will be impressive.”

Shoko zoomed in with her phone. “This is going on the group chat.”

You sighed, but couldn’t stop the laugh that escaped when Gojo dramatically dipped you right there in the middle of the chaos, pressing a loud kiss to your cheek while the mechanical bull continued bucking behind you.

“Welcome to my world, baby,” he whispered playfully. “Chaos comes standard.”

After the mechanical bull incident, which somehow only resulted in minor bruises and one very confused cleaning crew, Gojo surprised you by suggesting something completely out of character.

A quiet night. Just the two of you. At his penthouse.

No parties. No dramatic gestures. No mechanical bulls.

When you arrived that Friday evening, the penthouse was surprisingly calm. Soft lighting, city skyline sparkling through the massive windows, and gentle music playing in the background. Gojo greeted you at the door wearing a simple black hoodie and sweatpants, looking more relaxed than you’d ever seen him at the office.

“No chaos tonight,” he promised, taking your coat. “I even told Haibara to lose my number for 24 hours.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Should I be worried?”

He laughed and pulled you into a warm hug, burying his face in your neck. “I just wanted one night where it’s only us. No audience. No trending hashtags. Just… me being normal. Ish.”

Dinner was surprisingly simple. He’d ordered from your favorite quiet Italian place and set the table himself. Though the plates were slightly mismatched because “aesthetics are overrated sometimes.”

As you ate, Gojo was unusually subdued. He asked about your life before him. Asking about your old job, your family, what made you want to go into crisis management. You told him stories about cleaning up other people’s messes, and he listened with genuine interest, chin resting on his hand.

Later, you both moved to the huge sectional couch overlooking the city. Gojo pulled you against his chest, arms wrapped around you like he was afraid you might disappear.

“You know,” he said quietly after a long silence, “I used to hate nights like this. Too quiet. Made me feel… empty. But with you here, it’s different. It feels good.”

You turned in his arms to look at him. The usual playful mask was gone. This was just Satoru. Soft, a little vulnerable, and completely focused on you.

“I’m glad,” you whispered, brushing your fingers through his hair. “You don’t always have to be ‘on,’ you know. I like this version of you too.”

His eyes darkened. He cupped your face and kissed you slowly, deeply, pouring everything he usually hid behind jokes and chaos into it. The kiss grew heated quickly. His hands slid under your shirt, warm against your skin, while yours tangled in his hair.

He pulled back just enough to murmur against your lips, “Stay the night?”

You nodded.

What followed was slow, intense, and full of the kind of passion you’d come to expect from Gojo. But this time it was softer around the edges. He took his time undressing you, kissing every inch of skin he revealed, whispering how beautiful you were, how much he wanted you. When he finally sank into you, it was with a low groan and your name on his lips.

The night was filled with laughter too. When he nearly fell off the bed trying to reach for something, and when he dramatically declared you “addictive” after you made him see stars.

Afterward, tangled together in his massive bed with the city lights glowing softly through the windows, Gojo held you close, tracing lazy patterns on your back.

“I meant what I said earlier,” he whispered into the quiet. “I’m really falling for you. Hard.”

You pressed a kiss to his chest. “I’m falling too, Satoru.”

He smiled against your hair, arms tightening around you. For once, the infinite chaos was quiet and in that quiet, you both found something real.

The board finally gave you both an ultimatum: attend the annual shareholder retreat in Kyoto as a couple and “present a united, responsible front” or face another emergency reputation meeting.

Gojo, of course, turned it into an opportunity.

“Think of it as a romantic getaway!” he declared on the private jet. “Just you, me, beautiful temples, and maybe one tiny mechanical bull I definitely didn’t sneak into the luggage.”

You gave him a long stare. “Satoru.”

He grinned and pulled you into his lap despite the seatbelt sign. “Kidding. Mostly.”

The first day in Kyoto was surprisingly peaceful. Gojo behaved mostly. He held your hand as you walked through the autumn leaves at Fushimi Inari Shrine, took photos of you instead of causing scenes, and even wore a simple black sweater and coat instead of something flashy.

You were starting to relax when chaos, predictably, found him again.

While you were admiring the thousands of red torii gates, Gojo disappeared for ten minutes. When he returned, he was wearing a cheap tourist headband with fox ears and carrying two matching ones.

“For couple coordination,” he said solemnly, placing the headband on your head before you could protest. “We’re now officially fox spirits. Very elegant. Very on-brand.”

You tried to look stern but failed miserably when he took a dozen selfies of the two of you making ridiculous poses. A group of tourists recognized him and started whispering excitedly. Within minutes, you were both politely swarmed.

Gojo handled it with surprising grace. By signing autographs, taking photos, but always keeping an arm around you protectively. When one fan asked if you were his girlfriend, he didn’t hesitate.

“She’s the woman who keeps me in line,” he said with a soft smile. “And the best thing that’s ever happened to me.”

Your heart did a dangerous flip.

Later that evening, back at the luxurious ryokan the company had booked, Gojo surprised you again.

He had arranged a private kaiseki dinner in your room overlooking a beautiful garden with a koi pond. No staff. No cameras. Just the two of you in yukata, sitting on tatami mats.

Halfway through the meal, he set his chopsticks down and looked at you seriously.

“I’ve been thinking,” he said. “About how this all started. You walking into my office looking like you wanted to murder me… best day of my life.”

You smiled. “You were incredibly annoying.”

“Still am,” he admitted with a laugh. “But I’m trying to be better. For you.”

He reached across the low table and took your hand.

“I know I’m chaotic. Loud. A lot to handle. But being with you makes me want to be… more. Not just the CEO who throws parties and buys ridiculous things. I want to be someone you’re proud to be with.”

The vulnerability in his voice caught you off guard. You moved around the table and settled in his lap, wrapping your arms around his neck.

“I am proud of you,” you said softly. “Even when you’re driving me insane.”

Gojo's hands settled on your waist, pulling you closer. The air between you shifted. What started as a gentle kiss quickly grew heated. He kissed you like he was starving. Desperate hands sliding under your yukata to caress bare skin.

You ended up on the futon, yukatas discarded, bodies pressed together. Gojo took his time, worshipping every inch of you with his mouth and hands, whispering praises between kisses.

"God, you're perfect," he murmured against your skin as his lips traced a path down your stomach. "Every part of you is exactly what I need."

His hands gripped your hips as he settled between your thighs, his blue eyes dark with desire as he looked up at you. "Can I taste you? Please?"

Your breath hitched at the reverence in his voice. You could only nod, words failing you as he lowered his head.

The first touch of his tongue against your sensitive flesh made you gasp. Gojo was methodical, worshipful, learning every spot that made you tremble. His praises were constant, mumbled against your skin as he explored you with his mouth.

"You taste like heaven," he groaned, fingers digging into your thighs. "I could stay here forever."

When his tongue found that perfect spot, your back arched off the futon. "Satoru," you breathed, hands tangling in his white hair.

He hummed in response, the vibration sending waves of pleasure through you. "That's it, beautiful. Let me hear you."

He continued his ministrations until you were trembling, your body wound tight with pleasure. When you finally shattered, he held you through it, lapping gently as you came down from your high.

After a moment, you tugged at his hair. "Your turn," you whispered, already moving to reverse your positions.

Gojo's eyes widened slightly before a slow, appreciative smile spread across his face. "Bossy," he murmured, but there was nothing but delight in his voice as he settled back against the pillows.

You took your time, exploring his body with the same reverence he'd shown you. His reactions were more vocal than yours. His gasps and groans filled the quiet room as you took him into your mouth.

"Fuck, just like that," he breathed, hips shifting restlessly. "You're so good at this. So perfect."

You looked up at him through your lashes, watching his face as you worked. His head was thrown back, throat exposed, a picture of ecstasy that made your heart ache with affection.

When he finally came, it was with your name on his lips, his body trembling with the force of his release.

You moved up to kiss him, sharing the taste of yourselves between you. Gojo wrapped his arms around you, pulling you flush against his chest.

But you weren't done. Neither was he.

His hands roamed your body, rekindling the fire that had barely dimmed. When he positioned himself above you, his blue eyes were dark with need.

"Are you ready for me?" he asked, voice husky.

You wrapped your legs around his waist, pulling him closer. "I've been ready," you whispered.

He entered you slowly, giving you time to adjust to his size. The stretch was delicious, a perfect fullness that made you arch against him. When he was fully seated inside you, he paused, forehead pressed to yours.

"You feel so good," he breathed, his voice thick with emotion. "So perfect around me."

He began to move, slowly at first, then with increasing urgency. Each thrust was deliberate, hitting that perfect spot inside you that made stars burst behind your eyes. His hands gripped your hips, pulling you to meet each movement.

"Faster," you gasped, nails digging into his shoulders.

Gojo complied, his movements becoming more erratic, more desperate. The sound of skin against skin filled the room, mingling with your breathless moans and his whispered praises.

"Look at me," he demanded, his voice strained. "I want to see you when you come."

Your eyes locked as the pleasure built to an impossible height. His name was a prayer on your lips as you shattered around him, your body convulsing with the force of your orgasm.

The sight of you coming undone beneath him was his undoing. With a guttural groan, he buried himself deep inside you, his release hot and overwhelming as he filled you completely.

He collapsed against you, his weight a welcome pressure as you both struggled to catch your breath. After a moment, he rolled to the side, pulling you into his arms.

"I love you," he whispered suddenly.

You froze. He felt it and chuckled softly.

"You don't have to say it back yet," he said, pressing a kiss to your shoulder. "I just wanted you to know. I'm all in. Chaos and all."

You turned in his arms and kissed him deeply.

"I love you too, Satoru," you whispered against his lips.

His smile in the darkness was brighter than any chaos he'd ever created.

Outside, the quiet Kyoto night continued peacefully.

Inside, the man who once thrived on infinite chaos had finally found something worth quieting down for.

Even if only a little.

Returning to Tokyo felt like stepping back into a whirlwind.

The Kyoto trip had been a beautiful bubble. Your quiet nights, soft confessions, and Gojo surprisingly toned-down. But reality hit the moment the private jet landed.

Your phone exploded with notifications. News outlets had picked up on the Kyoto photos, especially the ones of you two wearing matching fox ear headbands. The internet had dubbed you “Gojo’s Handler” and created several edits set to romantic songs.

Gojo, of course, thought it was hilarious.

“Look at this one!” he laughed, showing you his phone as the car drove you both back to the office. “They put your glare on my face and my smile on yours. We’re soulmates.”

You groaned, sinking deeper into the leather seat. “I need a new PR strategy. One that doesn’t involve me becoming a meme.”

Gojo leaned over and kissed your temple. “But you wear the meme look so well.”

The office was worse.

The moment you stepped onto the executive floor, employees started clapping. Someone had hung a new banner that read “Welcome Back, Power Couple!” Haibara was handing out cupcakes again, this time with little fox ear decorations.

Nanami was waiting near your desk, looking more exhausted than usual.

“I tried to stop them,” he said dryly. “Gojo sent a company-wide email from the plane saying ‘We’re in love, please celebrate responsibly.’” Being shocked that he still managed to send a company-wide email was an understatement.

Gojo appeared behind you, wrapping his arms around your waist. “I thought it was very responsible! I even added a GIF.”

Shoko walked by, exhaling smoke. “The board wants another meeting. They’re calling it ‘Image Stabilization Round Three.’”

You sighed. “I should’ve stayed in Kyoto.”

Gojo gasped dramatically. “Betrayal! We were having such a nice love story arc.”

The board meeting was painful but predictable.

They praised the positive media coverage from Kyoto but expressed “deep concern” about the fox ear headbands going viral.

Gojo, sitting beside you, kept sneaking his hand onto your thigh under the table. Every time you swatted it away, he would grin innocently.

“Miss,” the chairman said, “do you believe you can continue managing Mr. Gojo’s public image while being… involved with him?”

Before you could answer, Gojo spoke up.

“She’s the only one who can,” he said, unusually serious. “She doesn’t let me get away with anything. And I don’t want her to.”

The room went quiet. Even Nanami looked slightly impressed.

After the meeting, Gojo pulled you into his office again. The second the door locked, he had you pressed against it, kissing you hungrily.

“I’ve wanted to do that since we landed,” he murmured between kisses. His hands roamed your sides, pulling you closer. “Kyoto spoiled me. I got used to having you all to myself.”

You laughed breathlessly, tugging at his shirt. “You’re going to get us in trouble again.”

“Worth it.”

Things were heating up fast when a frantic knock interrupted.

“Sir!” Haibara’s voice came through the door. “The mechanical bull is stuck in the elevator again! Legal is threatening to sue the manufacturer!”

Gojo groaned against your neck. “I swear I didn’t do it this time.”

You pushed him back gently, fixing your clothes. “Go handle your chaos. I’ll draft a new statement.”

He pouted but stole one last kiss. “Meet me at my place tonight? I’ll cook. Or order something fancy. Whatever makes you stay.”

You smiled. “I’ll be there.”

Later that night at his penthouse, Gojo actually tried to cook.

It went about as well as expected.

You walked in to find smoke detectors beeping, Gojo dramatically waving a towel at a flaming pan, and several worried delivery bags already on the counter as backup.

“I tried!” he declared when he saw you. “I really did. The internet said salmon was romantic. No one told me it would stage a rebellion.”

You couldn’t stop laughing as you helped him put out the minor fire. Once the kitchen was safe, he ordered your favorite food and the two of you ended up eating on his massive couch, legs tangled together.

Gojo kept stealing glances at you, softer than usual.

“You know,” he said quietly, setting his chopsticks down, “I used to think being with someone would feel suffocating. Like I’d lose my freedom. But with you… it feels like I finally have something real to come home to.”

He pulled you into his lap, hands gentle on your waist.

“I love you,” he said again, like he couldn’t stop saying it now that he’d started. “I’m serious about this. About us.”

You cupped his face and kissed him slowly.

“I love you too,” you whispered. “Chaos and all.”

The rest of the night was spent wrapped up in each other. Passionate, playful, and full of whispered promises between kisses and laughter.

As you fell asleep in his arms, city lights glowing softly through the windows, you realized something important:

You had stopped trying to manage Gojo Satoru’s chaos.

Instead, you had chosen to dance in it with him and you had never been happier.

The honeymoon phase lasted exactly nine days.

By the second week back in Tokyo, the board had reached its limit.

You were in Gojo’s office reviewing the latest media coverage when the official summons arrived: a formal email requesting both of you attend a “mandatory governance meeting” with the full board and major shareholders.

Gojo read it over your shoulder and laughed.

“They’re so dramatic. It’s like they’ve never seen two people in love before.”

You gave him a pointed look. “They’ve never seen you in love before. That’s the problem.”

He spun his chair toward you, pulling you between his legs with a mischievous grin. “Are you saying I’m extra chaotic when I’m happy? That’s rude. And accurate.”

Before you could respond, he tugged you down into his lap and kissed you. The kind of kiss that made you forget there was an entire board waiting to scold you both. His hands slid under your blouse, warm against your skin, and for a moment you considered canceling the meeting entirely.

A sharp knock on the door ruined the mood.

Nanami’s voice came through, dry as ever: “If you’re not decent, I’m coming in anyway. The board is already seated and visibly irritated.”

Gojo groaned against your neck. “Five more minutes, Nanamin!”

“You’ve had three years of minutes,” Nanami replied. “Let’s go.”

The meeting was brutal.

The large conference room felt more like a courtroom. Two dozen serious faces stared at you and Gojo from across the long table. Charts showing stock fluctuations, media sentiment graphs, and several printed screenshots of the fox-ear headband photos were displayed on the projector.

The chairman spoke first.

“While we appreciate the… positive attention your relationship has brought, the board is concerned about long-term stability. Mr. Gojo has historically been… unpredictable. We need assurances that this won’t become another scandal.”

Gojo, who had been unusually quiet, suddenly leaned forward.

“You want assurances?” he said, voice calm but carrying a rare edge. “Here’s one: I’ve never taken anything seriously until her. She doesn’t put up with my shit. She calls me out. She makes me want to be better. So if you’re worried about stability, she’s the best thing that’s ever happened to this company.”

The room went silent.

You felt your chest tighten. Under the table, Gojo found your hand and squeezed it.

Shoko, attending as legal counsel, smirked. “He’s not wrong. Productivity is up. HR complaints are actually down for once.”

Nanami added quietly, “She’s competent. That should be enough.”

The board eventually backed down, but not before issuing a formal warning: no more viral incidents for at least six months.

As soon as the meeting ended, Gojo pulled you into the nearest empty office, locked the door, and kissed you like he’d been dying for the entire meeting.

“You were amazing in there,” you whispered between kisses.

“I was honest,” he murmured, pressing you against the wall. “I meant every word.”

Things quickly grew heated. His hands roamed under your skirt, lips trailing down your neck as he pressed his body against yours. You were seconds away from losing all sense of professionalism when his phone started ringing incessantly.

Gojo groaned. “If that’s the board again, I’m quitting.”

It wasn’t the board.

It was a video call from his younger cousin, who had apparently heard about the relationship through the internet and was now demanding to meet you.

Gojo paled dramatically. “Oh no. He’s worse than the board.”

That evening, you found yourself at Gojo’s penthouse again, this time facing his cousin on a large video screen. He was sharp, energetic, and immediately started interrogating you with the same chaotic energy as his cousin.

“So you’re the one who finally tamed him?” he asked, eyes narrowing. “Took long enough. Do you know how many terrible exes he’s had?”

Gojo whined in the background. “Stop exposing me!”

You laughed and answered his questions honestly. By the end of the call, his cousin gave his reluctant approval.

“She’s too good for you,” he told Gojo. “Don’t mess this up.”

After the call ended, Gojo tackled you onto the couch dramatically.

“I’m doomed,” he declared, burying his face in your chest. “Between the board, my cousin, and you. Everyone’s out to keep me in line.”

You ran your fingers through his hair. “You like being kept in line.”

He lifted his head, eyes sparkling with that familiar mischief and something much deeper.

“Yeah,” he admitted softly. “I do. Especially when it’s you.”

The rest of the night was soft and intimate. Gojo ordered your favorite food, refused to let you lift a finger, and spent hours showing you just how much he appreciated you with slow kisses, wandering hands, and whispered confessions between every touch.

As you lay tangled together later, Gojo traced lazy circles on your bare shoulder.

“I used to think love would be boring,” he murmured. “But with you… it’s the best kind of chaos I’ve ever had.”

You smiled and kissed him softly.

And for the first time, Gojo Satoru—the man who once needed infinite chaos to feel alive—finally understood that the best kind of infinite was the one he got to share with you.

The rumors started on a random Thursday.

By Friday morning, they had exploded into full-blown speculation: Gojo Satoru is planning to propose.

It began with a single blurry photo someone leaked. Showing Gojo leaving a high-end jewelry store with a small bag. Within hours, the internet had connected every dot, created conspiracy threads, and started a countdown.

You stared at the trending hashtag #GojoProposal in your office with growing dread.

Gojo, naturally, found the whole thing hilarious.

He strolled into your office at 10 a.m. carrying two coffees and wearing the most innocent expression you’d ever seen on him.

“Good morning, future Mrs. Gojo~” he sang, setting the coffee down.

You slowly turned your monitor toward him, showing the trending posts.

“Satoru. Explain.”

He leaned over your desk, grinning like a cat who’d eaten an entire flock of canaries.

“I was buying a watch,” he said smoothly. “For my cousin. Totally normal. Not suspicious at all.”

You narrowed your eyes. “You don’t have a cousin in Tokyo.”

“Newly discovered cousin,” he replied without missing a beat. “Very distant. Very watch-needing.”

You stood up, crossing your arms. “Satoru.”

He laughed and pulled you into his arms, kissing the top of your head. “Okay, fine. I may have been looking at rings. Purely hypothetical. For research purposes.”

Your heart skipped. “Research.”

“Mhm.” He nuzzled into your neck. “Very important research. Needed to know your size. And what kind of stone would look best on your finger while you’re scolding me.”

You pulled back to look at him. “You’re actually serious.”

Gojo’s usual playful mask softened. He cupped your face gently.

“I know it’s fast,” he said quietly. “We’ve only been official for a couple months. But I’ve never been more sure of anything in my life. You make the chaos feel like home.”

Before you could respond, the door opened and Haibara poked his head in.

“Boss! The board heard about the ring rumors and they’re having another meltdown in Conference Room A!”

Gojo groaned. “Tell them I’m busy proposing!”

“You’re not proposing right now,” you hissed, half laughing, half panicking.

“Not yet,” he corrected with a wink.

The rest of the day was pure chaos.

The board demanded an emergency meeting (again). Nanami showed up looking like he’d aged ten years. Shoko kept sending you memes of Gojo with diamond emojis over his head. Haibara started taking bets on the ring size.

By 6 p.m., you were exhausted.

Gojo found you hiding on the rooftop terrace, staring out at the city.

He approached quietly and wrapped his arms around you from behind, resting his chin on your shoulder.

“Too much?” he asked softly.

You leaned back into him. “A little. I love you. I love us. But the whole world watching every step is… a lot.”

Gojo was unusually quiet for a long moment.

“Then let’s slow down,” he said. “No pressure. No rumors. Just you and me figuring this out.”

He turned you around to face him. The evening light caught in his blue eyes, making them glow.

“I don’t need a ring or a big spectacle to know I want forever with you,” he murmured. “I just need you to stay. That’s enough for me.”

Your heart swelled. You reached up and kissed him softly.

“I’m staying,” you whispered against his lips. “Ring or no ring. Chaos or no chaos.”

Gojo smiled into the kiss, then deepened it, pressing you gently against the railing. The kiss grew heated quickly. His hands sliding under your blouse, your fingers tangling in his hair. For once, there were no interruptions. No board meetings. No mechanical bulls.

Just the two of you, high above the city, wrapped up in each other.

Later that night at his penthouse, Gojo cooked (with heavy supervision) and the two of you spent the evening on the couch, talking about everything and nothing. He kept stealing kisses between sentences, hands wandering teasingly until you finally dragged him to the bedroom.

The night was slow and passionate. Gojo took his time, worshipping you with his mouth and body until you were trembling beneath him. When he finally pushed inside you, he kept his eyes locked on yours, whispering “I love you” with every deep thrust.

Afterward, curled up together in the dark, Gojo traced circles on your skin.

“One day,” he said softly, “when you’re ready… I’m going to propose properly. No rumors. No leaks. Just you and me.”

You smiled against his chest.

“I’ll say yes.”

He hugged you tighter, pressing a kiss to your hair.

For the first time in his life, Gojo Satoru wasn’t rushing toward the next chaotic thrill.

He was perfectly happy staying right here in the quiet, infinite chaos of loving you.

Three months later, the chaos had become something almost... manageable.

The board had finally stopped having weekly emergencies. The media had moved on to newer scandals. And Gojo Satoru had somehow learned (with your constant guidance) how to be a functioning CEO who occasionally remembered to attend meetings on time.

But some things never changed.

On a crisp Saturday afternoon, Gojo dragged you to a private rooftop garden he had rented out for “absolutely no reason at all.” Lanterns hung from strings, fairy lights twinkled, and a long table was set for six people.

“You’re being suspiciously romantic,” you said, narrowing your eyes at him. “What did you do?”

Gojo gasped, placing a hand over his heart. “I’m wounded. Can’t a man just want to have a nice dinner with his girlfriend and a few friends?”

Before you could interrogate him further, the guests started arriving.

First came Nanami Kento, looking as composed as ever in a casual button-down. Beside him was his girlfriend. The woman from his contractual relationship, now very much in a real relationship with him. She smiled warmly when she saw you.

“So you’re the one who finally tamed Gojo,” She said with a knowing grin. “I’ve heard stories.”

Gojo slung an arm around your shoulders. “She didn’t tame me. She just made the chaos better.”

Nanami exhaled through his nose. “She survived you. That’s impressive enough.”

Shoko and Haibara arrived shortly after, completing the small group. The dinner was surprisingly civilized for the first hour. With good food, laughter, and stories being swapped between the two couples.

Nanami’s girlfriend leaned toward you at one point. “How do you handle him on a daily basis? I thought Kento was difficult with his contracts, but Gojo seems like an entirely different level.”

You laughed. “I gave up trying to control it. Now I just ride the wave.”

Gojo overheard and grinned proudly. “See? She gets me.”

Nanami gave his own girlfriend a soft look. “Our arrangement started with eight pages of rules. Yours started with pure chaos. I’m not sure which is worse.”

Gojo gasped. “Hey! My chaos is premium quality.”

The night continued with plenty of teasing and laughter. At one point, Haibara tried to convince everyone to play a drinking game. Shoko threatened to show old embarrassing videos of Gojo from university. Nanami looked one second away from leaving early.

But the real moment came after dessert.

Gojo stood up, unusually nervous, and offered you his hand.

“Come with me for a second?”

He led you to the edge of the rooftop, away from the others. The city sparkled below like a sea of stars. Gojo turned to face you, taking both of your hands in his.

“I know I joke a lot,” he said, voice softer than usual. “But I meant what I said in Kyoto. I’m all in. You make me want to be a better man, even if I still fail spectacularly sometimes.”

He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small velvet box.

Your heart stopped.

“I’m not proposing right now,” he said quickly, seeing your expression. “Not officially. Not with an audience. But I wanted you to know this exists.” He opened the box.

Inside was a stunning ring. Elegant, not overly flashy, with a beautiful central stone that caught the light perfectly.

“I had it made the week after Kyoto,” he admitted. “I’ve been carrying it around like an idiot ever since, waiting for the right moment. But I realized… every moment with you feels right.”

Tears pricked your eyes.

Gojo smiled, a little shy for once. “So when you’re ready… whenever you’re ready… I want forever with you. Chaos, board meetings, mechanical bulls, and all.”

You laughed through the tears and pulled him down into a deep kiss.

“Yes,” you whispered against his lips. “Not now. But soon. Yes.”

Gojo’s grin was blinding. He kissed you again, lifting you off the ground and spinning you once before setting you back down.

From behind you, Haibara started cheering. Nanami sighed but looked secretly pleased. Shoko smirked. Nanami’s girlfriend clapped with a bright smile.

Gojo rested his forehead against yours. “I love you.”

“I love you too,” you whispered. “Even when you’re impossible.”

He laughed and kissed you once more. His kisses were always slow, sweet, and full of promise.

Later that night, after everyone had left, Gojo pulled you into his arms on the couch, the ring box sitting safely on the coffee table.

“Ready for the next chapter?” he asked, nuzzling your neck.

You smiled. “With you? Always.”

The man who once thrived on infinite chaos had finally found his favorite kind. The beautiful, messy, perfect chaos of loving you.

And you had never been happier to be part of it.

Still, time-out on is own, he could tolerate. The fact that his punishment meant Suguru was withholding food until the next morning was less easily dealt with. He was an apex predator. He needed raw meat, a lot of it, and as often as he could shovel it into his mouth. More damningly, he was a spoiled housecat. Skipping a meal wasn’t an inconvenience — it was torture. By that evening, he was grumbling. By sunset, he was sharpening his claws on the aluminum bars. By midnight, he was curled into a ball, snarling at every shadow that flickered across the empty room and whipping his tail against the floor. Not that it mattered. He could growl and scream all night if he wanted to. Suguru was too stubborn to fall for something like that. He couldn’t be coming to check on Satoru until tomorrow morn—

His rounded ears perked up as the bedroom door opened, soft footsteps scampering through the hallway and into the kitchen. He heard the plastic clacking of someone rummaging through the fridge, the metallic chafe of a knife cutting on marble. Eventually, your feet came into view, dragging anxiously. There was something wet and red in your left hand.

You crouched in front of his crate and held out your offering — a slice of raw meat about the size of your palm, the edges ragged where someone had hacked it away from a larger chunk. Glaring at you, he snatched the cut away and sank his fangs in. You watched him eat in silence, those big empty eyes of yours glossy with curiosity. When he was done, you asked, “What is it?”

“Dog,” he snarled. It was an obvious lie, not even really a clever one. Boar or rabbit would’ve been more realistic. Satoru couldn’t tell. He’d never had an overly discerning palate. Preference was counterintuitive to survival. Hunger was hunger. Meat was meat.

He expected you to flinch back. Bare your teeth at him, even. Instead, you just blinked and continued you stare blankly.

Satoru’s frown deepened. “You do know you’re a dog, right?”

“Mhm.”

“A common breed, at that. Easily replaceable.”

“Yeah! I think you’ve mentioned that, before.”

Satoru groaned. Even you couldn’t be this stupid. “It’s like you want to end up on somebody’s plate.”

“I mean, I wouldn’t mind. Not if it’s yours.” Your ugly tail was starting to wag. “As long as I’m helping.”

“You really don’t know what that word means, do you?”

Even in the dark, that idiotic smile of yours was brighter than the sun. “Of course. It means I’m helping you.”

If Satoru hadn’t been such a well-behaved, beautiful, noble creature, he would’ve reached through the bars of his crate to throttle you.

“Go back to bed, puppy.”

“Okay!” Your blunt claws scratched against the floor as you scrambled to your feet. You started towards the bedroom, but paused, glancing over your shoulder and letting your tail droop. “But, you’ll be alone.”

And it would still be better than spending another minute with you. “I’ll be fine.”

You pouted. He curled up and clenched his eyes shut as you scampered off toward the bedroom, only to circle back a few seconds later, rest something against his crate, and retreat without another word. He only dared to check once he knew you were gone, not wanting to deal with your stupidity first-hand again so soon.

You’d left him one of your stuffed animals. Suguru had bought you a legion of them when he first brought you home, and the handful Satoru hadn’t desecrated beyond repair were now your most prized possessions. You’d left him one of your favorites — a little white cat, all neatly combed fur and gigantic blue eyes.

Something turned over in Satoru’s stomach. Carefully, with gentle hands, he pulled the stuffed into his crate, dragged a nail down the length of its stomach, and spent the rest of the night tearing it to shreds.

~

You’d been a nuisance before. After that night, you became unbearable.

No matter how hard he tried to pretend that you simply didn’t exist, he couldn’t seem to stop noticing you. The way your body curled into the smallest possible ball as you napped in the backyard on sunny days. How your tail would beat against the floor whenever someone spoke after a long silence. The tasks you left half-finished because, no matter what you were doing or how much time it had taken, you’d forget about it entirely if he or Suguru called your name at any point. It was frustrating. Worse — it was smothering. He’d always thought of you as annoying, but ignorable, on par with a tacky rug or broken lamp. Now, you were more like a housefly. Always flitting about in his peripheral but never close enough to swat.

And you were gloating, too. Inescapably. All the time. Grinning like an idiot and stepping on his heels as you asked if there was anything you could help with, anything he needed. You even started sleeping on the foot of Suguru’s bed, which was obviously Satoru’s spot. He had his own room and hammock, sure, and he wouldn’t be caught dead putting himself below a human, but still. You should’ve known. You should’ve stayed away.

Or, at least, pretended to be sorry when he slipped into Suguru’s bedroom in the early hours of the morning and caught you red-handed. You weren’t smart enough to grovel, though. You weren’t even smart enough to wake up. It took long, groggy seconds before your nose began to twitch, your eyes flashing open a second later. You tensed then, recognizing the shape looming over you, relaxed. After wasting more of his time to yawn and stretch, you smiled up at him.

“Do you need help with something, ‘toru?”

You made no effort to keep your voice down. His gaze shifted to Suguru — still sound asleep on the other side of the mattress. He’s been away for longer than usual, that day, and he’d come back with bruises over his knuckles and bandages on his chest. Something about an escapee at the research facility — Satoru wasn’t sure. But he’d seen Suguru come home like that before. He wouldn’t budge up until sunrise, if even then. No amount of noise could possibly wake him up.

But you didn’t know that.

Satoru nodded. “We have to be quiet, though. Really quiet.”

He’d never seen your brainless eyes so wide. “I can do that.”

“You have to promise, puppy.”

You rolled onto your chest, clambering toward the side of the bed. “I—” Already too pitchy, already too loud. Satoru cringed, and you fell into a harsh whisper. “I promise.”

And yet, you yelped as he grabbed your waist. It would be pointless to try and explain what he wanted when the only words that made it through your thick canine skull were ‘sit’, ‘stay’, and ‘roll over’. It was easier just to pull and jerk you into position — your lower body hanging off the edge of the mattress while your hands grabbed at Suguru’s sheets. For a predator species, you had terrible reflexes. It took you long, clumsy seconds for you to get your feet on the ground and even longer before you thought to look at him, more confused than alarmed. Again, Satoru opted not to waste his breath. You’d get it soon enough.

Or you wouldn’t. Satoru could’ve purred at the thought alone.

You didn’t wear much to bed. One of Suguru’s t-shirts, but nothing else, nothing close to the silk sets Satoru needed to keep his fur unmatted. The flimsy material rose up as you squirmed, leaving your ass and cunt exposed. You made no attempt to cover yourself. Whether your last owner had been less strict about human modesty practices or you were just genuinely that oblivious, Satoru couldn’t tell. By way of punishment, he dug his fangs into the curve of your ass, his ears perking up to better catch the pitchy bark you only halfway choked down in response. Your hands darted to your face, covering your mouth. Good. You were finally catching on.

He edged your thighs apart with his shoulders, settling between your legs. Admittedly, he didn’t have much experience with other hybrids save for the videos he caught Suguru watching every now and then, but he was a smart cat, and the details weren’t that hard to figure out. You were already wet — your cunt slick and glistening in the bedroom’s dim light. Experimentally, Satoru ran his tongue over the length of your cunt, his rough bristles catching on the sensitive skin. You let out another strangled noise, something between a groan and a whimper, before whining. “Wait, I— That feels—”

“Quiet,” he hissed, the command forced out between pointed fangs. “Or are you just too stupid to keep your mouth shut?”

He felt you stiffen above him, then shift. When you spoke, your voice was muted, barely above a whisper. If he hadn’t known better, he might’ve thought you sounded a little upset. “Right, ‘toru. I’m sorry.”

Satisfaction coursed through him, as warm as sunlight on concrete. Maybe you were good for something, after all.

He couldn’t afford to waste more time on your impromptu training. He settled back into place, shutting his eyes and letting instinct take over. The flat of his tongue fit perfectly over your pussy, never leaving more than an inch of you exposed at a time. You wriggled, and when that didn’t help, buried your face in a pile of bedsheets and moaned. Suguru never so much as stirred.

He couldn’t get to enough of you, like this. Curling his hands around your thighs, he dragged you back, creating more room between you and the edge of the mattress — room that he was quick to fill. You were starting to drip, now, and Satoru lapped up your arousal before a drop could go to waste. You tasted sweet. Not saccharine or sugary, but sweet. Like fresh cream or raw honey. Like uncooked meat.

Hungrily, he pushed deeper, letting the curled tip of his tongue slip inside of you. Your body twitched underneath him, but that didn’t matter, you weren’t strong enough for it to matter. Holding you down was child’s play, but as always, you failed to acknowledge the prowess of your betters. Your smaller body continued to buck and writhe while he curled and flexed his tongue inside of you, his broadened feline nose grinding against your clit all the while. You were getting loud again, but for whatever reason, he found it hard to be annoyed by your little pained noises. Probably because it was the closest thing to an intelligent sound you would ever make.

It happened too quickly to savor. Your thighs shuddered around his head, your cunt clenching around him, and then, you were cumming on his tongue. It was humiliating and hot and twitchy, and he drank it down without stopping to think. When the aftershocks waned, you slumped into the bed, exhausted when all you’d done was lie there and take what he was kind enough to give you. He should’ve expected as much, really. You’d always been an ungrateful mutt.

Wiping the back of his hand over his mouth, he pushed himself to his feet. You raised your head, tracking him as he silently padded across the room. The last thing he saw before he closed the door was your wide, glassy eyes, unblinking and unfalteringly trained on him.

~

You didn’t leave the bedroom the next day, or the day after that. Satoru lounged outside your door as Suguru came and went, looking paler and more strung-out than usual, toting medication or blankets or water bottles by the armfuls. The door was kept shut, but even from the corridor, he could smell you. Not that dirty, muggy, wet-dog smell no amount of Suguru’s expensive hair products could wash away, but the other one. Raw meat, sweet and fresh and bloody.

On the third day of your quarantine, Suguru had to go out. “Work emergency,” he explained, as he pulled on his shoes. A plain folder was tucked under his arm, and he’d been scowling for the past fifteen minutes. “I’ll be back in an hour.”

Satoru watched from the other side of the corridor. His tail thrashed to either side, sweeping over the floor. “And the dog?”

“(Y/n)?” Suguru grimaced. “I’ll handle it when I get back.”

He grinned, closing the distance between them. He crouched, balancing on the balls of his feet and resting his cheek against Suguru’s inner thigh. “I can help.”

A calloused hand landed on top of his head. Satoru began to lean into it, but fingertips quickly knotted themselves in his hair and dragged him away by force. “I’ll handle it when I get back,” he repeated, his voice as dense and as heavy as lead. “Behave yourself.”

Satoru huffed, rolling his eyes. Suguru left without another word and for once, Satoru wasn’t sad to see him go.

The bedroom door was locked. Amateur mistake. Closed doors only made cats more curious. Satoru used one of his claws to unhook the fastener and let himself in. Your scent had been strong, at a distance. Inside, it was suffocating. The air seemed thick with it, as hot and as humid as the flesh of a fresh kill. Satoru closed his eyes, breathing it in. Maybe, if you were always so appealing, he could forget how much he hated you.

You were a wreck. Curled up on the center of the bed, your knees pulled up against your chest and your tail tucked between your legs. You’d piled sheets and blankets around yourself, walling yourself in to a miserable little den. You were still wearing Suguru’s shirt, but just barely, the thin material bunched up above the curve of your chest. There was something inside of you, too — bright pink and bulbed where it pressed against your cunt. A toy, molded in the shape of a knotted cock.

Immediately, Satoru’s smile fell away. As if you needed something like that when you had him.

You barely acknowledged him. There was a slight lift of your head as he climbed onto the mattress, a low whimper as he trampled over your makeshift barriers, but that was all. You only looked at him once he was on top of you — his larger form bent over yours. Your face was flushed, your hair plastered down with sweat. You blinked lazily at him, your usual intensity dulled into something soft and liquid. Your entire body radiated warmth, so strong he could feel it from inches away.

You were in heat.

Perfect.

“Wake up, puppy.” You eyes were already open, but he slapped your cheek softly for good measure. “I need your help.”

“‘toru?” Airy and uncertain, as if you didn’t recognize him. As if anyone else would bother to check on you. “I can’t really— I’m in a lot of—”

“Then you’re useless.” You shrank that much smaller. Satoru took you by the shoulder, pawing you onto your back. “Fine. When Suguru comes home, I can tell him that you don’t want to do your job, anymore. That you’d rather just lie around and whine. That you’d rather be in the pound.”

“No!” You clenched your eyes shut, features scrunching. “Please, please don’t. I can— I’ll do anything you want. Just— Anything but that.”

His hand fell to your knee. “Spread your legs.”

Despite your begging, you were reluctant. “It hurts, ‘toru.”

“Do you want me to make it hurt more?”

Your ears flattened against your head. He could see the corner of your lips begin to curl back, the thinnest sliver of pointed teeth, but it was gone just as soon as it’d appeared. Obediently, you held still while he pried your thighs apart, pushing until your knees were flat against the bed. That ugly thing was still inside of you. He tore it out as quickly as he could, your hips chasing the toy despite your pained mewls. As if you needed it. As if it did anything for you that he couldn’t do better.

With it gone, your pussy clenched around nothing. You were dripping wet, literally. Slick coated the inside of your thighs, dampening the sheets underneath you. Satoru lapped as much as he could up before letting his mouth drift north — to your navel, then your neck. He could feel your pulse beating under your skin, as fast and as frantic as any prey animal. You were scared of him.

His cock twitched. He wasn’t going to last much longer, at this rate.

Pulling away, he forced himself to focus on your cunt. His cock was hard to the touch, the slanted head already beginning to leak. He wasted time he didn’t have lining himself up, giving you a chance to crane your neck and squeak, recoiling hastily. Satoru laughed.

“You’ve never mated with a cat, have you?”

A beat of hesitation, then a quick shake of your head. Of course not. He’d be surprised if you even knew the meaning of the word.

Most cat-hybrids had some kind of barb, larger species included. You wouldn’t have noticed them last time you saw his cock, too focused on choking him down to wonder what was pricking the inside of your mouth. They weren’t meant to cause pain. Most female cat-hybrids had a way to deal with the discomfort, but you weren’t a cat-hybrid.

And judging by the look on your face, you’d realized that too.

He pushed into you before you without warning, without giving you a chance to pull away. The sound you made was pitiful — so pitchy and so heartbreaking and so, so good. He pulled back just as harshly, pounding into you again, and again, and again, a pathetic little sound meeting every thrust. Your body writhed and twisted beneath his, more snared rabbit than cornered dog. He could feel your claws on his back, scratching away at his skin, make out the bulge of his cock through your lower stomach. He ground his hips into yours and you arched against him, your open mouth finding the side of his throat. It took long, clumsy seconds for your dull teeth to break his skin. If he hadn’t known better, he might’ve thought you were actually trying to hurt him.

It was a testament to Satoru’s feline superiority that he didn’t cum on the spot. Rather, he savored the feeling of your saliva dripping down his neck and fucked you that much harder, giving into the needy, instinctual part of himself that howled for something to claim, something to have. Because that’s what you were, weren’t you? Suguru had gotten you for him. You were in a comfortable bed instead of a concrete cell because of him. You were pampered and coddled and loved because he needed you. You were his. You were—

His conscious thoughts broke off into a euphorically empty void. His hands caught underneath your knees, shoving your legs up until they pressed into your chest. Your body folded perfectly underneath him, your mouth finally unlatching in favor of moaning, whining, screaming — every sound you were capable of making melding together in Satoru’s sensitive ears to form one prolonged declaration of gratitude. Your pussy clenched around him, and he buried himself that much deeper inside of you. Warmth flooded through him and filled you to bursting, the excess forming a white ring around the base of his cock. He couldn’t be mad. The only thing you’d ever done right was take what he had to give you.

When it was over, he didn’t move. He stayed here, prone on top of you, watching his cum leak out of your ungrateful body. When he could stand to look away, he found your wide eyes boring into him, glossy with tears and all-but vacant. Your heat had broken, leaving behind only raw hurt in its place.

Your voice was barely above a whisper. “Why do you hate me?”

“I don’t hate you, puppy,” he laughed, licking a stripe up your cheek. For the first time, you grimaced, melting away from him. Not that it mattered.

It wasn’t as if he was ever going to let you go again.

a little puppy, still so full of life and—literally—following them around like a lost puppy, yapping their fluffy ears off about everything you possibly could, and then some more.

they found it adorable at how clueless you were, they didn’t bully you per say but they did small remarks that should hint that they didn’t see you as nothing more than a first year student, but after some time they found themselves actually enjoying your company—hell, even going out of their way to find you whenever you weren’t attached to their hip.

they genuinely could not fathom how someone could be so energetic, smile all the time, and still be so positive after all the missions and even some lost classmates, you were truly weird, but that was what also made them so attached later on.

they would find you anywhere, no matter if you were on or off campus they would find you, when Shoko told them its creepy but they just shushed her up, too busy looking for their pup.

you were basically their emotional support pup, they would fidget with your floppy cute ears, fluffy chubby cheeks and that adorable snout while complaining about the higher ups, and you didn’t mind one bit, because why would you mind the attention after all? you were just thrilled that they accepted you into their pack.

it came to a point where they tried to move your things to the third year section in the dorms, but sadly you and Yaga caught them, which made Yaga scold them heavily, even though they tried to explain it was for your safety, the old brute just refused to listen!

you can imagine how they are whenever you have a solo mission, or even just any kind of mission, because your classmates are little wimps, and they wouldn’t protect you as good as they could. they often just stalk you from far away, Suguru’s rainbow dragon is really useful for that.

even if you try to prove that you’re a fully capable sorcerer, a second grade one at that, they will just coo at you while patting your head, telling you how cute you are, making it basically impossible to prove yourself as anything other than a cute pup.

and don’t get me started on getting hurt, if you come back with a broken bone you can expect a fate worse than scolding, because they will go full on overly-doting and overly-concerned mode, making you unable to move on your own because they will insist on carrying you everywhere, instead of just letting you walk normally like other people.

to them, you are just a little pup, basically a toddler in their eyes, and you cannot exactly escape that box, because they refuse to see you as anything else, and they will never take their eyes off of you.

The years of your childhood with Satoru had taught you how to navigate his moods. But three years have passed ; and you are out of practice. The ease you two once had has died and withered out. He sits across from you now, drumming his fingers on the coffee table—and every time your eyes meet, it feels like sticking your hand into the maw of a jaguar.

You want to say there is no ill will. In fact, Satoru had greeted you as if you were long lost friends, separated by distance instead of bitter heartbreak. He had hugged you, maybe too tight. And he had nuzzled against your throat. Not quite scenting, but something else that was still too inappropriate for a public reconciliation.

Your heart pounded in your chest. Your hand shook, and Satoru tracked the motion, as you reached for the teacup.

"So, how're things?" Satoru inquires, as if he doesn't already know.

"Good." You said, stiffly.

You don't mention the strange black cars always parked outside of your house. The Christmas packages. Flowers. Birthday gifts. You don't mention the burner Instagram accounts that pop up faster than you can block them. You don't mention that you've changed your number twice now. And somehow, Satoru had managed to shoot you a text anyway.

"You should come over on Saturday," He says, delicate finger tracing the rim of his own teacup. His blue eyes shift to pin you in place. "We'll cook dinner. It'll be nice"

Even though he says the words casually, you know it isn't a proposal. Satoru has come here with the intent of making sure you know you'll be having dinner with them both on Saturday and that you need to prepare yourself. Annoyance prickles down the line of your shoulders.

Your hands retreat underneath the table, where you discreetly attempt to wipe your sweaty palms off on your jeans. You tried going for a look that said This-Is-Just-An-Average-Thing-For-Me, but Satoru's version of casualness seems to blow you out of the water.

His hair edges the line between carelessness and wanting to impress. An expensive woolen coat tossed over the back of his chair. Black pants. A turtleneck sweater made of a lighter fabric. Like he could have been meeting his fellow house-wives for brunch or stepped out of a business meeting.

"Maybe" You start, trying to keep the distaste off of your face. In truth—you can think of nothing worse than dinner with your ex-best friend and your ex-boyfriend. Your mouth opens, breathing shakily. "I better not, actually"

Don't say sorry, you think, digging your nails into your thigh. Don't over-explain yourself. No means no.

Satoru huffed and exhaled sharply. You hated the way your body stiffened to attention, perking upwards. Even three years later, he has you eating out of the palm of his hand.

Yet another thing he was better than you at.

He had always been prettier. Smarter. His scent turned heads. Alphas glanced longingly at his long legs and were captivated by his pretty blue eyes. Teachers praised his grades. He was always picked first in gym-class. Even though he was an omega, you have never known Satoru to submit to anything.

Satoru would watch you watch other alphas. They never wanted anything to do with you of course, a plain, meek omega. But it would never be long until those same alphas were trailing after him—or him parading them right in front of you. As if to say, why would they want you if they could have me?

You dug your nails into the palm of your hand again and pushed the thought away. Your therapist says that it's most likely not the case. Satoru makes you feel inferior as an omega, so your brain will try to attempt to twist old memories to reaffirm what your insecurities tell you.

You wanted to tell her that she didn't know Satoru like you did. But you had to admit that it made sense. He's never gone out and said it. Maybe he just liked all the same alphas you did. Maybe, maybe, maybe.

"Let's go to how things were" Satoru says, trying for a new angle. When that gets little to no reaction from you, he tries again. "We miss you"

At that, your armor cracked. Your features contorted into an expression of pain. Ashamed, you brushed aside his hand and hung your head. Cheeks heating, you rapidly blinked your eyes to stop yourself from crying.

You missed them, of course you did. Your best friend. Your boyfriend. Even three years later, they consumed much of your time. It was all you thought about. Reconciliation. Making it work. There was no such thing as making it work. Not when they were fated mates and you were the force that had brought them together.

Because of course, the one thing you wanted, the inane fairy tale dizzy little omegas dreamed of—an alpha just for them. Of course Satoru got that and you didn't.

Because, ultimately, Satoru's how things were and your how things were, were two different things.

"No" You said, proud of the way your voice didn't waver or shake. "No, Satoru. I don't want to do that."

It took everything you had not to fall apart. You thought nothing of it at first, meeting here in this cafe. The perfect halfway mark between your house and where you thought they might have lived currently. But had that been apart of Satoru's plan too? Get you here to make sure you felt inferior, in front of an audience? A pay-back for daring to up and leave?

Breathe. You obeyed the whispering thought deep within. There you were, being silly again. You weren't the same, secretly insecure riddled thing from three years ago. Sure, the betrayal had stung deeply. But you had moved on. Of course you moved on. You lifted your head.

Satoru tilted his head, as if assessing you for weaknesses anew. "No, you don't want to do that?" You nodded. Satoru hummed, as if to say, too bad. His fingers skirted along your knuckles. "Suguru wants to see you"

A sudden sharp ache. Like the mere mention of him was a wound, and Satoru was a hand that sprinkled salt on top. Or, more befitting of his nature—twisting a blade deeper. You sucked in a sharp breath, pulling back from him.

"I don't think that's a good idea" You murmured, voice sounding scratchy. You shook your head, and aimed for something more assertive. "It's not a good idea. None of this. I shouldn't have com—"

"It was just a suggestion" He said, whipper-snap fast. He too seemed poised for action, mirroring your position. Satoru sucked his teeth. "You're being difficult. I want you to come home"

Everything is always what you want, you think with a twinge of bitterness. Everything has always been what Satoru wants. Satoru wants you to match yukatas for summer festivities. Satoru wants his things in your nest. Satoru wants to don you in pretty things. Satoru wants to kiss you sometimes, when he's lonely, or scared.

"I don't—" Your words tumble out wrong, too sharp. Like you're attempting to challenge him. You try again. "I can't just forget what happened."

"I know" Satoru nodded gravely. "He knows too. We tried to make it work before and it didn't work out the right way. We just need to try again"

His words picked up in speed. His hands moved about in wild increments. You were upset, he assured you he understood that. But. If you just came over on Saturday—for dinner. Then things would be OK again.

One thing stood out to you : Satoru had not apologized.

You came here, because you thought he might apologize. All you wanted was for someone to say they were sorry for you, and what you had endured.

The thought was laughable. Why would you assume that? Satoru never apologized. Regret, shame, guilt...those were not things he felt. He felt only desire, and everything he desired, he would have. If he did not already have it.

He didn't mean to steal Suguru away from you, your mind whispered. The part that still submitted to Satoru and his whiles. The part of yourself that you fought everyday. That wasn't his intention. He was your best friend. He can't help who the Fates tie him to.

And didn't you try to make it work at first? The horrid attempt at making a pack. But how could you make pack with the people who you felt betrayed by? It was as though you and Satoru were constantly at each other's throats—with Suguru left to break them up. If not that, then the opposite, with Satoru and Suguru struggling to figure out the depths of their new bond and constantly fighting over you.

And somehow, in the middle of it all, you became neglected.

Then, came the awful situation of marking. You attempted to mark Satoru, despite the fact that omega's couldn't mark one another. You just wanted—you wanted a sign. Let your mark on him stay, and you would too. The mark faded. But the one tethering Suguru and Satoru together did not.

You packed your bags and left under the cover of night shortly thereafter.

Hopelessly, your gaze lingered on Satoru's throat. His only olive branch was the sweater he wore. You couldn't see all of it. Just a little bit, peeking out over the top. A perfect impression of Suguru's teeth. A healthy, successful bond. An alpha who loved and cherished him.

Everything you've always wanted.

You recoiled from the thought, from Satoru, and the fact that you had attempted to reach out for his hand. Sweat bead along your hairline. The cafè suddenly felt stifling. Eyes. So many eyes. Everyone (or perhaps just Satoru) were watching you.

How did the two of you look, to wandering eyes? A scene from a drama, most likely. Satoru played the part of the romance lead. You, the second-lead. Unwanted. He sat confidently across from you. You looked like you were trying to mend down into your chair.

Could everyone see you the way you always seemed to see yourself?

"I can't. I'm so—" Don't say sorry. "I need to go. This was a mistake"

"Please?" Satoru never begged. Of course not. And he wasn't starting now. This was just another ploy. To get you to give in.

You nearly fell on top of the table in your haste to stand. The chair screaming as it slid along the floor. Eyes. People watching you. Sending you dark, annoyed looks.

"I have to go" You said fervently, gathering your things. "I. Please delete my number. I don't want to see either of you. Please respect t-that"

You escaped for the door before Satoru could follow. As the chilly early-March air brushed against your cheeks, you thought you caught a glimpse of him still sitting there. You kept your eyes trained to the ground, getting to the car parked half a block away out of sheer luck.

It felt as though you couldn't breathe until you were home again. Until you were safe. You ignored the flowers and your favorite chocolates lying innocently against the dining room table. Zapped totally of all energy, you collapsed into bed and did not rise again until the next morning.

When you were in your third year of high school, you had a crush on an alpha. Suzuki, or something. He was tall, and his skin was always slightly tan from all the time he spent outside on his family's ranch. He had a woodsy, grassy scent that you liked—you had no idea if it was his real scent or just what clung to his clothes after all of that work outside.

He had hair that curled slightly at the nape of his neck. It had seemed, over the course of the summer the year before, Suzuki had grown handsome. Once, he had been willowy. And then, built. You liked to sit behind him in class. Once, he had turned to ask for a pencil. That had been the highlight of your year.

Satoru had come over for the summer. He usually does. You weren't known as yourself. You were known as hot Satoru's clumsy best friend—and he didn't even live there. He had barreled into your home the same way he always had, and immediately set to reconstructing your nest so that it was big enough to fit two.

He had you in there, lying on top of you, stealing every snatch of air from your lungs.

You stroked the back of his head where you knew he liked it best. His purr rumbled into your own chest, relaxing your tense muscles. He was ranting about his favorite topic lately : how much he hated alphas.

"And, to add insult to injury, she asked to scent me twenty minutes into our date!" Satoru whined, and then began to gnaw puppy-like on your finger, which made you giggle. "Alphas are so annoying. You're so lucky you don't have to deal with them"

The words stung. You gave him a wan little smile, lips stretched thin. He didn't mean it, you told yourself. It's not like you would ever say anything to him about it. You didn't want to come off as insecure or pathetic.

But didn't he realize that it wasn't normal to be practically invisible to alphas? With the way they treated you, you might as well be a beta. Not that there was an issue with being a beta. But was it so wrong to want an alpha to look at you and see potential for a relationship?

His finger trailed down the side of your throat. He was peering at you strangely. "It would be so much easier if we dated instead"

Your face flushed immediately. You wanted to brush it off as a joke, but you knew there was some degree of truth to the admission. Not because of his tone, or the look in his eyes. But because you knew him as though he were an extension of your own hand.

"I-I...uhm" You stammered, glancing away. "But we're both omegas..."

"So?" Satoru scoffed, rolling his eyes. "You don't seriously believe in all of that traditional bullshit, do you?"

"No of course not!" You weren't a bigot. "I. Well...I guess I just always saw myself with an alpha?"

"But how would you know?" He asked, pressing the pads of his fingers more firmly against the scent gland on your throat, where an alpha's mating mark would someday be. "You've never been with an alpha before"

The reminder of your virginity stung. Satoru had been with alphas. He had even gone all the way. He had no issue finding an alpha to spend his heats with.

If things continued at this snails pace; you would end up losing your virginity on your wedding night to whatever alpha your parents managed to find for you. And how embarrassing would that be?

"You've never been with an omega before" You pointed out. When Satoru said nothing, looking away, you faltered. "...have you?"

"No." He said, flippant "I'm not interested in omegas"

"But you just said—"

"I said we" Satoru stressed, as if that was somehow different. "It's not the same if it's you. Duh. You're...you're special. Different. And at this rate, my attraction to alphas fades every day"

A beat of silence passed. Satoru leaned back and straddled your waist. For some reason, your heart pounded inside of your chest. He toyed with the collar of your shirt absently. "If you were an alpha, what kind of omega would you go for?"

"Erm" You said, stupidly. "I don't know? A nice one?"

That made him laugh. "You're so cute" he teased, eyes fond. When you squirmed and looked away, he laughed louder. "Just the cutest. I'm gonna be so sad when an alpha finally takes you away"

Again, there was an odd bit of truth. It was a fear of his, you could sense it. You could not possibly see a world where you and Satoru were not close. You could both be eighty and still sharing the same nest.

"Come on now, Satoru" You murmured, gently massaging his scent gland to let some of his sweet persimmon-peach scent into the room. "You wouldn't lose to an alpha"

He laughed, and all was restored.

"No, of course not" Satoru leaned close and brushed your noses together. You returned the gesture. He moved his head down and your lips hardly brushed together. It happened sometimes. "I'll never let an alpha take you away from me"

When Saturday inevitably came, you found yourself sick with nerves.

No, literally. You woke up from a nightmare and went to spew up last nights dinner into the toilet. You clung limply to the bowl, gasping for air. You skipped work, barely remembering to properly call out (you sounded so awful over the phone that your manager didn't even kick up a fuss).

A pit had formed at the bottom of your stomach. It grew its roots until there was nothing left inside of you but fear for what was to come. Suddenly, your phone lit up with a text. You didn't have to look at it to know that it was from Satoru. Somehow, you just knew.

8.00. Don't be late :) !

You hurled again but nothing came up but bile that burned your throat. You wiped your mouth, flushed and then gurgled a lot of water to regain any fluids potentially lost. You brushed your teeth and forced yourself back into bed. When you woke from your nap (that conveniently lasted the whole day), it was 4:48 PM.

At 5:02, you got out of bed for the second time today and forced yourself into the shower. The water was scalding hot, just the way you needed it. So hot that it bordered on uncomfortable. So hot you couldn't even anxiously spiral about the whole Satoru-Suguru situation. You spent a long time underneath the shower-head, and then even longer sitting butt naked on the floor of your closet, wondering what to even wear.

If you were going. And that was a big if. Technically, you said no. You said you wanted nothing more to do with that. Them. So if you didn't want to go, what could they do? Drag you to their house? Chain you down and force you to stay?

You chuckled bitterly. That didn't seem so far from possibility with Satoru in mind. Suguru at least, had minimum contact with you these last few years. He sent you a happy birthday text once and very rarely liked your story posts on Instagram from his business account.

He wasn't like Satoru—who you suspected had somehow gotten flowers inside your house. Suguru respected your wishes enough to leave you alone.

In the end, you said fuck it, pulling on simple pants and a nice enough blouse (hiding it underneath a light jacket) and left your house with nothing but your wallet, house-key and phone. You weren't going.

Instead, you walked without any real destination in mind. It was a habit you hadn't managed to break. Back in your hometown, you could walk anywhere and eventually end up where you began. There was safety and familiarity in the same places. Whenever you became stressed, agitated, you would just set out walking. The scenery would calm you down.

You didn't think of how much of an easy target you made. An unmated omega without scent patches. It wouldn't be hard for an alpha with the wrong sorts of intentions to find you.

That was how you met Suguru, actually. An alpha with the right sort of intentions; stopping you from ending up on the channel 9 news. Immediately, you scrubbed the memory from your mind. You didn't want to think about him. If there was a way to forget them both completely, you were you would take it.

Eventually, you happened upon a park. It seemed familiar. Maybe all parks were that way—pockets of nostalgia that held the word together in its plastic slides and chain-link swings. You walked the perimeter of it for what felt like a dozen times and collapsed onto the nearest bench with a relieved groan.

Your legs and feet were pleasantly sore. You propped one leg up onto the other and gently rolled your ankle as though it were a ball on a hinge. The bone creaked and popped—maybe this was a sign that you were getting older.

You brought up one hand, fingers massaging the middle of your forehead. A killer headache was approaching. The sound of you greedily inhaling air was the only thing around for what seemed like miles. Until a car pulled up to a screeching stop and killed the engine. It wasn't a model you recognized.

Body frozen with fear, you watched apprehensively as the driver got out of the car and briskly made his way over. He didn't slam the door—that was never Suguru's style. Heart trapped wildly in your throat, you could say nothing when he called out to you.

He said your name again, this time with a familiar expression. His lips thinned and his left brow jumped, before a furrow appeared between them. You felt like a scolded child. It was weird when paired with the fact that when you saw him, you felt relief. Pure, unadulterated relief. You wanted to jump into his arms and let him make everything right again.

Ruthlessly, you squandered that down. Suguru was Satoru's alpha now.

"What are you doing here?" You asked instead, and your voice only sounded slightly winded, which you were proud of.

Suguru glanced around. "This is where you always go when you're stressed out, dear. I figured I'd check here when you didn't show"

The reminder made you want to grind your teeth together. Again with the assumption that you would just do whatever they wanted. Like you hadn't left on your own. Like you haven't survived three whole years, on your own.

"Well tough shit" You heard yourself say. Internally, you preened at the display of strength. At not crumbling. "I said I didn't want to go"

To that, Suguru said nothing. Your eyes bounced on him and away again. You didn't want to oogle him, to see all the ways his appearance might have changed or otherwise stayed the same. You didn't want him to look at you either, but you could feel his eyes sliding over your body anyway.

When he continued to say nothing, you scoffed and stood up. Pain flared in your legs and feet but you refused to show it. Hands shaking, you pulled up the maps app on your phone and quickly typed in the directions to the nearest bus stop.

"Wait, wait" He said, sounding all out of breath. You did not, and put one foot in front of the other. Suguru exhaled a sharp breath (how similar he and Satoru were, in some lights) and grabbed onto your arm. Of course you tried to break free, but there was no beating the natural strength of an alpha. "Let's just talk about this, alright?"

You shook your head, saying nothing. You didn't want to talk. Talking with Suguru was worse than fighting. He had such a way of words. Spinning them in such a way that you got all mixed up and tired—always admitting defeat. Shamefully, you felt tears rising up at the threat of a verbal confrontation with him and harshly scrubbed them away with the palm of your free hand. More tears fell.

A lump formed in your throat as you pushed down a hiccuping cry. Stupid. You were stupid for leaving the house. This whole situation was stupid. You were just a stupid girl who never seemed to learn.

"What are you doing out here, all by yourself?" You heard him ask. Suguru's voice was soft and slightly condescending, as if you couldn't be trusted to make decisions for yourself. "It's late. Your phone doesn't have much battery left to it. What if something had happened to you, dear? Could you really walk nine miles back to your house?"

"How did you–?" You stopped crying long enough to blink your teary-eyed gaze up at him quizzically. You powered on your phone. Just like he said, the battery was pitifully low. Then, you glanced down at your feet. Had you really walked nine miles? You shook your head. That didn't matter. "I can take care of myself. You...you don't have to worry about me anymore"

"I always worry about you" Suguru said, and his face looked perfectly believable.

You tried to scoff, but it sounded weak. And more importantly, it sounded like you were about to cry again. Once more, you tried to tug away from him. He didn't let you—instead crowding too close into your space. Stop, let go of me, you said pathetically quiet , but he cut you off with soft shushing noises.

Suguru pressed your foreheads together. And it reminded you so painfully of Satoru, and the sweet way you always brushed your noses against one another. His eyes were open, unblinking as they bore down on you. Even when you screwed your own eyes shut (which you couldn't do forever, and then opened), you felt his stare keenly.

"Why didn't you come?"

You set your jaw, swallowing thickly. "I...I was scared"

"What's there to be afraid of?" He asked "It's just us"

And therein lied the problem. You felt yourself sighing heavily, trying to resist him. It wasn't worth getting yourself hurt again. You knew that. No matter how badly you wanted to feel loved again, it wasn't worth being passed back and forth between them like a chew toy. But before you loved Suguru, there was Satoru. And he was always impossible to resist.

That's why you needed to get away. And stay away. Because no matter what Satoru did to you, it was impossible to truly hate him. Not when he was so wrapped up in your DNA you couldn't tell where he ended and you began. You spent the past three years shuffling through the motions, hardly living.

You said nothing. Maybe you didn't need to. Suguru knew you well. How many times had you cried into his chest, feeling pathetic and worthless without Satoru there to guide you? Before they even met, he hated Satoru, for what he put you through. You wondered how that worked. Being fated for a person you could only half-stand. Maybe these three years had given the two of them plenty of time to sort everything out.

"It's alright" You heard him murmur. His hand snaked underneath your jacket, unzipping it to expose your top. You feared only for a second what he would do before your inner omega calmed that right down. It was Suguru. Suguru would never do anything to hurt you. His hand pressed against your unbitten mating gland. He studied it silently for a bit, gently tipping your head this way and that to get a better look at it.

Then, without another word, his palm slid to the back of your neck, and he scruffed you.

With a panicked noise, you fell into his chest, breathing hard against the instincts that made you submit to him. It didn't take long at all for that too to die out, leaving you boneless against him.

"I know you don't like being scruffed, honey." You heard him say as he gently hoisted you up into his arms and walked over to the park. "But you can't run away forever. We need you back"

"I le-left..." You slurred; with great effort as he gently deposited your prone form into the passenger side. "I don't...I wan–I wanna go home"

"We are going home" Suguru murmured, buckling you in and kissing your forehead, and again on your slack mouth. "Now sit tight. That'll wear off by the time we get there, don't worry"

You felt sick the entire ride there, like you did this morning. In reality, it couldn't have been longer than 30 minutes. You tried to focus on the scenery, maybe deduce where Suguru could be taking you. But your instincts and mind were all muddled.

Because Suguru scuffed you. Something that alphas did not to reign in their unruly omegas—something that was meant as a last resort. He used the intrinsic trust placed in him by you and he took away your autonomy. You never thought he would do something like that to you.

Your head lolled in the seat as you tried to wait for the effects to run out. Suguru drove with one hand on your thigh; making soft conversation with himself. He didn't seem to mind the fact that the only thing you could get out were incomprehensible little noises.

Just like he said, the effects of the scruffing wore off just as he pulled into the driveway of a luxurious penthouse complex. The sort you would never be able to afford. Your heart dropped right to your ass and when Suguru rounded the car to open the door for you, you fitfully whimpered.

"None of that now," He chided, gently kissing you on the mouth again. You hated how much that relaxed you.

To that, you said nothing, allowing him to hold your hand as he led you inside. The man at the front desk, nor security, seemed to care that there was a fearful smelling omega clutching at one of the alphas. He simply waved a greeting and that was the end of it.

Your body thrummed with nerves as Suguru herded you into the elevator. There was no one else present. A small mercy. Even with the constant touching meant to soothe, you were terrified. You didn't want to be there. You wanted to go home. But you weren't so sure either of them would let you.

At one point (just how high up was this penthouse), Suguru crowded you against the back wall, chuffing into your throat. He didn't seem to mind that your scent stunk of distress. If anything, he just made more soothing noises and rubbed your sides—his own scent smelling completely at ease.

Like this was normal.

The elevator lurched to a stop, and your heart with it. You planted your feet on the floor, a last ditch effort, wildly shaking your head as Suguru made move toward you.

"No, no, I don't—" Want to. You could laugh so hard that you burst into tears. It was clearly obvious that neither of them cared what you wanted. Instead, you tried for a different angle. "He's going to be angry with me"

Suguru glanced at you, and hummed. "Only for a little while" He said, and pulled you out. You could feel the searing warmth of his hand on the back of your shoulders—as if he didn't trust you not to make a break for it at the first chance.

You were completely silent as he led you down the hall. You gnawed at your inner cheek harshly, tasting the copper of blood as he slid the key expertly into the lock. Suguru ushered in you inside with an amused huff and a gentle shove.

Their combined scents slapped you in the face. It was potent, maybe even more so with so much distance and time between you. Even your own place didn't smell this strongly. Openly curious, your eyes traveled around the place.

It looked how you would imagine. Clean, like something out of a magazine. Suguru's work, no doubt. If there was a mess made from dinner, there was no way of knowing. The kitchen was spotless and slightly smelled like cleaning products. The lights were off, save a lamp in the sitting room and a small one over the stove. Satoru was nowhere in sight.

Confused, your steps faltered, clumsily sliding out of your shoes. "Where's—?"

"Here." Suguru said, gentle smile on his face, bangs slightly obscuring his eyes. His hand settled on the small of your back as he once again herded you around. He led you to what you could only assume was their bedroom.

Your stomach churned with nerves. You tried planting your feet again, shaking your head. "W-wait. Wait, I changed my mind. I don't, I want to go home—"

"Ssshh" He soothed, and kissed your cheek from behind. His chest was like a brick wall behind you. He pushed the door open, gently guiding you inside. The door closed behind you both with a click, and the lock sliding into place sounded like the end of any further escape attempts.

Just like the rest of the penthouse, the big lights in the bedroom were killed. There were a couple of floor lamps that illuminated the space into a gentle glow.

And there he was.

Satoru was sitting on a plush chair. He was wearing a large shirt—probably Suguru's, and...a pair of your sheer pajama shorts. You recognized the blue fabric immediately. How long had that set been missing? Why, after three years, is Satoru wearing your lingerie? Why had Suguru kissed you, not once, but twice. Why do neither of them seem to accept the word 'no' for an answer?

The lamp made shadows against his face. He looked sweet, gentle, kind, white hair framing his face as his slender fingers splayed across the book pages. It must have been act. You have never willingly seen him pick up a book. He glanced up at you, and you felt the air around you prickle.

He wore a blank expression. You couldn't tell if he was pissed off or the happiest man on the planet. It wasn't like a couple of days ago—when he saw you and leapt into your arms. Satoru studied you for a few moments, and then tossed the book aside. He waved you over, though not unkindly, somehow, that was worse.

You knew what he expected of you. You turned your head, glanced once more at Suguru. He wasn't going to save you. Not when he wanted the same thing Satoru did. The omega's eyes tracked you as you stepped closer. He widened his legs a bit and sighed pleasurably once you straddled his lap and hugged him.

Of course, three years wasn't nearly enough time for you to unlearn him. Not all of him. You carded your fingers through his hair and let him nuzzle and lick at your chin and cheek.

"I'm really hurt, you know?" Satoru murmured, eyes flickering upwards to meet your own. You said nothing, but nodded to signal that you understood him. "I worked really hard, all week, to make dinner for you. I wanted to make you feel special. And you didn't even show!"

"I'm sorry" You said immediately, because the pout in Satoru's voice was so familiar. As youth, you never did anything truly heinous to him. Your biggest offense was always not giving enough of your attention to him. All you had to do to get back into his good graces was dote on him some, pet his hair and croon about how sorry you were. How you'd always be right where he wanted. "I'm sorry for not showing up, Satoru"

You felt him sag against you at the sound of his given name.

"No you're not" He said suddenly. Terrified, you watched as his expression went from cheery to hard. As if you were nothing. "I don't believe you. You'll leave again. The minute we turn around....you'll leave. You always leave. You're always trying to leave us"

"Ow–ow, Satoru, you're hurting me—"

His hand presses bruises in the shape of his fingertips around your forearm as you foolishly attempt to get up. He quickly follows after you, and the more you fight him, the harder it gets to break your way free. Until you can do nothing but huff, scent tinted with heavy fear and distress.

Satoru's purring now, happy and pleased now that he has you restricted underneath him. He's wrapped himself around you—and the omega is much too tall and gangly for the hold to feel anything but terrifying. It takes great force to relax, trying to project notes of soothing into your scent so that he'll let go of you.

He doesn't. He just purrs louder.

You're forced at an eye level with his mating mark. Only then do you seem to remember that Suguru is still there. His feet sound almost silently as he crosses the room over to the bed. A shadow falls over you both and Satoru lets up only a bit so that you can look the alpha in the eye.

"I get to have her first" Satoru says, voice thin once Suguru attempts to touch. He pulls you in against your chest and restricts your airflow with the strength of it. "Remember?"

"You're going to make her pass out" Comes Suguru's blithe reply, somewhere above you.

Satoru makes a noise of surprise, releasing you all together. You get a handful of seconds max to categorize your positions before everything shifts again as he begins pressing hurried little kisses all over your face. "Lemme make it up to you baby, 'm sorry"

A whimper gets caught in your throat as Suguru maneuvers your form on the bed. You try to fight him, but Satoru pins down your arms as the alpha unbuttons your slacks and pulls them down your legs and then off; tossing them somewhere you can't see.

The omega pulls a face. "I wish you would have worn sexier panties" He says, like he has any right to dictate what underwear you choose. Satoru's fingers find the band and snap them against your hips. Then does it again once you flinch. "Hm. Nevermind. I can sorta see the appeal to these, can't you, Suguru?"

"The simple ones have their charms" He agrees, studying the lower half of your body. "I think the white makes her legs look longer"

Satoru tilts his head and sucks his teeth. "Yeah, you're right. Baby, you've got really pretty legs, you know that?"

Two sets of eyes shift upwards to where you're desperately trying not to cry. You know you should say something. You know you just can't lie there and let them fuck you. But your mind is drawing a blank. Satoru sucks his teeth again and murmurs, why's she upset? And to which Suguru replies, maybe she's tired of you teasing her.

Even if you can somehow get past Satoru and Suguru both, there's no way you're going to escape the penthouse. Much less the locked bedroom door. And what would you do then? Run down to the lobby with no pants on? As you struggle to think of an escape plan (with the dawning horror that there might not be one), the mated pair strip you bare from the rest of your clothes.

Once you're naked and trying to curl up on yourself, you're forced to watch them both makeout. Even when you turn away you can still hear them, Satoru's exaggerated moaning and them swapping spit. It dredges up bad, awful memories. You walking in on them the very first time, Suguru's teeth at his throat, both of them naked from the waist down like they just couldn't wait.

And when Suguru gets a hand on you, rolling you once more onto your back, Satoru snarls and goes—"I get to go first"

"I know that," Suguru says, and has the gall to roll his eyes. "I'm just getting her ready for you, is that okay, you big baby?"

"No" Satoru snaps, petulant. You say nothing, watching with wide fearful eyes, hardly daring to breathe as the alpha and omega regard one another with a series of looks. At last Suguru gives in, hands held up in surrender and Satoru crowds your entire vision, smiling.

"Hi" He says, booping your nose.

"Hello" You reply, sniffling.

"Don't worry, I wouldn't let that brute go first" The omega murmurs, spreading your legs around his waist. Like that's the source of your concern. "You haven't fucked an alpha in a while. I bet his cock would break your poor pussy, wouldn't it?"

The words make it feel more real, suddenly. Satoru is going to fuck you. He found you, tracked you down. Stalker you. Got you to meet him at the cafe with the intention that on Saturday (today), he was going to fuck you. Your omega ex best friend is going to fuck you and his alpha is probably next and there's nothing you can really do about it.

"Please, no, please–" Satoru rolls his eyes, but the words won't stop pouring. "I don't—please. Please don't, Satoru. 'm sorry. I'm not....'m not ready. I can't—"

"Of course you're not ready, silly" The omega says, grinning as he sucks on two of his fingers before bringing them down to your hole. "It's been three years. Did you think I was just going to stick my cock in?"

You try to snap your legs shut, sniffling and whimpering. But Suguru pins down your knees and keeps you spread open. Satoru's fingers are thick, a little longer than what you're used to. They seem to reach deep inside, scooping out most of your coherent thoughts.

It's good, I don't like this, it feels really good, I don't want to do this; I want to go home—

All the while, Satoru shushes your cries, like the sea lapping against rock. Sssh, sssh, sssh. He coos at you, flicks your clit with his thumb to get you wet. Noses along your scent gland and murmurs, "That's it baby, just like that. Feels good, doesn't it? Your omega's makin you reel good"

He seems to have never ending patience. Goes slow until your body feels laden and heavy, pussy noisily sucking in his fingers. Two, then three, Satoru mumbling encouragements while hovering exactly three centimeters away from your face all the while. Reassures you that he isn't mad. Not anymore. Tells you how much he loves you, how happy he is to have you home. How long he's been waiting for this.

It makes you sick. Even worse when the omega pulls his fingers free and you whine, dazedly wanting to feel full again. You don't even try to close your legs again, maybe because Suguru is still there and you know he wouldn't let you. Maybe because you like it and you want Satoru to keep going.

You just lie there, sucking in lungfuls of air and mentally prepare yourself. They'll have to stop sometime, won't they? And then you can leave. All you have to do is endure for a little while, and it'll be over.

Satoru teased you with his cock, smirking. He's more well endowed than what you would expect a male omega to be, but you know from personal experience that Suguru's much bigger. Satoru though, is a little shorter than 6 inches, and pretty girthy. And as much as you hate to admit it, you're glad he's going first.

Because Satoru is right—you haven't had sex with anyone, much less an alpha male, in close to three years. And there seems to be this superstition that omegas are always loose and wet, but that isn't really the case. Of course omegas slick up, but mostly during heat cycles. Outside of that, your pussy is meant to stretch to birth pups, not to take alpha cocks without prep.

"Ready?" Satoru asks, and you bite down on your lip as his cock pushed in. The omega grunts, bucks his hips, and shoves inside all in one thrust. You yelp, legs threatening to snap shut. Satoru smiled smugly against your cheek. "Big stretch, sweetheart, yeah, you can take it. Good girl"

You turn your face into the sheets, keeping your noises trapped behind your teeth as Satoru starts fucking you entirely too quickly. How to describe it? It's unlike anything you've ever felt before. You and Suguru had what most would 'lovemaking'.

He was hardly ever rough with you. It was soft and slow and gentle—like every whispered fairy tale omegan girls told themselves, sighing and simpering amongst their own second gender. This wasn't that.

Satoru was fucking you meanly. Like he was punishing you for leaving even though he swore he wasn't mad anymore. If you moved too much against him, hips trying to get some sort of relief, he would attack your throat, growling lowly until you stopped trying to run.

The noises you tried to bite back escaped, and it was too intense to be called pleasurable, really—it was too much feeling for all of it to feel good. You couldn't describe it, just that your whimpers turned to wails that you were sure others could hear (which only embarrassed you further), hands scrabbling at Satoru's slick sweaty skin.

He delighted in the markings, even if you were sure they had to hurt. He pinned your hips down to the mattress, laving at the skin of your scent gland with his wet tongue as soft, animalistic noises pouring out of his throat.

"We coulda had this the whole time" He grunted, grabbing your chin in his hand and directing your attention back to his face. "Isn't this nice, baby?"

You didn't answer him, you weren't sure you could. A series of strangled gasps left your lips, hand maybe trying to shove Satoru off or pull him closer. "I can't" it's not even higher than a gasp. You register Suguru's hands brushing your hair back. "I c-can't—I can't—please....please"

"Ssssh, it's okay" Suguru, this time. Your eyes lift to meet his, and you realize that your head is pillowed in his lap. You can feel his hard cock jerking against the side of your face, which fills you with disgust. "You're having fun honey, that's all. I know it's a lot. But you're doing so well. I'm proud of you"

You slap your hand over your mouth, mouth making a wild, panicking sound as your orgasm slams into you suddenly like a train. Your vision whites out for a second. You're scared, you've never felt like this before, and you want so badly to go home.

"Yeah, see?" Satoru murmurs, a bit breathless. "We're having fun"

He makes a noise of appreciation, pulling out for a moment to watch your cum trickle out of you in slow trickles before gently, ever so gently, sliding back in again. You make a pained sound, oversensitive, but Satoru just shushes you. He coos, a more omega sound, and that settles your nerves enough to let him continue sliding into your puffy cunt with slow, languid strokes without much protest, save for the occasional whimper.

Suguru suddenly moves. He does not toss your head out of his lap, but he is not all too gentle either. The suddenness throws you off guard, so you miss the look the mated pair share.

Teeth settle over your throat. Instinctively, you suck in a breath, panicked sound caught in your throat, trapped on a plea, right as Suguru bears down and bites. The pain is blinding, and you squeal, to which Satoru easily holds you down, gives a couple of jerky thrusts, and cums.

He rests his head on your shoulder. Both of them do, one on each side. Panting. Hair tickles your neck, your sensitive gland, your face. You join them, caught in a sea of nothingness that seems to bobble as far as the metaphorical eye can see.

You're brought back to the present as someone bites down again. Satoru this time. You don't even struggle. You don't even feel much of anything. Even the pain seems distant. You register him licking the wound clean, followed by the sound of kissing from above.

They marked me, they marked me, theymarkedme how am I supposed to leave–they marked me—

Bonded omegas can't survive without their mates. Not this early. It'll kill you, or the bond sickness will become so bad that death will seem like the merciful thing to endure.

Satoru pulls out. His fingers push his spend back into your cunt. "Hey Suguru?" He says, questioning lilt in his tone. You can feel his eyes piercing into you. "It would be something if I got her pregnant before you did, huh?"

Suguru growls. A proper alpha one that has the hairs raising on your arms and the back of your neck. You start whining, plaintive little noises to try to calm him down—even though you don't care in the slightest. Your mind is suddenly overwrought with alpha mad, alpha's mad at me—

"No, no, not you sweetheart" Suguru murmurs, holding onto your cheek and stroking away your tears with his thumb. "Satoru just got me riled up, that's all"

You can hear Satoru cackling. You try to sit up, body aching. It's hard. Especially when Suguru intercepts the action with a soft, not yet baby—loops that toned arm around your waist and gently turns you over. You find yourself on your hands and knees. Not that the position lasts very long, because he pushes down lightly on your lower back, and you collapse like a house of cards, which delights Satoru greatly.

"Ready?" Suguru asks. Which is pointless. Of course you're not ready. You panic a little in the clutch, whimpering and trying to get away from him, summoning what little fight you have left. All Suguru has to do to put a stop to it is nibble on your mating mark. You turn your face into the sheets with a gasp, breathing in the dank scent of sex as the alpha pushes inside.

He's big. Of course. All alphas are (or so you've heard). Even though you feel like Satoru had fucked you to hell and back already, nothing really quite compares to the way Suguru's cock reaches in deeper, deeper than where Satoru could ever go, and molds your pussy to his shape.

Tears wet your cheeks, and you stile a sob as the alpha bottoms out. He groans, slides out an inch before slamming back in, his balls slapping against your ass.

"I know" Satoru murmurs, sounding almost wistful. You can't tell if he wants to be in your position or if he just wants to fuck you again. Hands that had once pinned you down and restricted your movements now brush the wetness from your face, followed by soft kisses.

"Fuck" Suguru isn't one for cursing. Even in spite of everything, you find yourself thinking, maybe he's changed this way, too. His head must hand forward, because you can feel his hair, like a curtain of ink, sliding over your back.

"Good?"

He nods. You can feel it. The curtain moving. "It's been so long"

"Careful" Satoru says, exposing a hint of teeth. "She was my omega first, and I might get jealous"

"Mmm...I let you have your turn" Suguru replies, running wide hands down the sides of your body. He sounds like he could have been trying for nonchalant, but more realistically, it sounds like he's short of breath.

Maybe it's the bond. Maybe it's just Satoru, who is undeniably closer. But you swear you can feel his breath on your skin.

"Alright, dear" Spittle trickles out of your mouth, and you can only summon a strangled noises as Suguru adjusts your position slightly, notching your hips upwards a bit. His hand rests on the innermost part of one of your thighs to keep you upright. Your eyes meet, or what you can see of him anyway, through blurred tears. "Oh, you really are so pretty. Okay, I'm going to start now"

"Oh, boo" Satoru says, leaning down to literally lick up your drool, kissing your forehead as you attempt to draw back from him. "You never fuck me that gentle"

"You don't like it gentle" Suguru points, and you think he might be rolling his eyes.

You want to protest that this doesn't feel gentle. But Suguru isn't jackrabbiting into your pussy, it's deeper than that. Your hands grip tightly onto the sheets, mewling as he finds your spot with uncanny precision and proceeds to target it ruthlessly. Your mouth cracks open on a moan—and then you just don't stop.

It sounds pornographic. It's made worse with the bond, you think. Suguru's satisfaction scrambles your brain, makes the room feel like it's spinning on a wobbly carousel. It feels like wading into a pool, except the water rushes up far too soon before you're ready, and overwhelms you.

At the bottom of the pool is Satoru. Or perhaps he is the water. Everywhere, inescapable. The beginning and the ends of your psyche. When Satoru fucked you, it felt like entirely too much from the beginning. Too much, too fast, too deep, no time to breathe. It's similar with Suguru, but different too. You don't know which is better or which is worse. All you know is that you want to stop.

There's a shaky cry, a hiccuping gasp that Satoru brushes away as you choke on air, mewling and pleading for mercy. To stop. Neither of them pay you any mind. To them, it's just another part of the fantasy. Your thighs tremble, and then you just...grunt, too exhausted to even move. Suguru adapts brilliantly, follows you down, molds himself to your back, and doesn't let up even for a second.

The bond is chokingly tight. It grips you tighter, and tighter until...

Until everything just goes black.

You wake to the sun shining entirely too bright, a killer headache and an absolutely terrible taste in your mouth. Stomach lurching uncontrollably and body feeling as though you were slammed into a brick wall, you groan and smack your lips; throat scorching hot and dry.

"I know sweetheart," A voice says. It sounds as though it could be nearly angelic. "I bet you've got quite the headache, let me see what I can do about that. Open up"

Dutifully, you crack open your eyelids and pain stabs through your entire form. The voice chuckles.

"Your mouth, darling" Suguru admonishes, playfully. Oh. You do, and small tablets are dropped onto your tongue, followed by a large gush of water to help it all down. Weakly, you guzzle for more, wetting your aching throat. At last, that weird foul taste seems to go away.

Memories suddenly come forward, each one as painful and quick as the last. No, baby, we're not done. You didn't think we were done, did you? With a lurch, your body jerks up so fast that the painkillers (or whatever they were) are nearly thrown up.

"Woah" Suguru whistles "Not too much, too fast. How do you feel?"

Disgusting. Sick. Broken. "I...I don't–not good" You grasp for something. Anything. "Hungry."

The alpha leans in and kisses your forehead. Satoru must feel it through the bond, because you can feel him skimming back. That'll take some getting used to.

"I know, my poor omega" Suguru murmurs "Don't worry. We'll get some food in you soon. Satoru's making breakfast"

That causes your brows to jump to your hairline, even amidst all the pain currently wreaking havoc on your body. Satoru? Cooking? When you were younger you distinctly remembered that he hated anything that could be considered slightly omega-like. Especially since everyone around you framed it as something to be done in service for an alpha.

Cooking, cleaning, babysitting. He refused to do any of it. When he was younger, everyone swore he would grow out of it. He did not. Then everyone just made peace with the fact that his future alpha would have to know what they were getting into, mating an omega as highbrow as Gojo Satoru.

Suguru traced his fingers down the side of the bite, which made your stomach lurch again. "He did it for you; you know? Wanted to impress you. Though if you ask me, I just think he did it so I couldn't take the glory of being the one to make all of your meals"

You're only half listening. Satoru taught himself how to cook. Satoru and Suguru, at some point, must have been thinking about this for a very long time. They knew, somewhere at the back of their minds, that you would not come to them willingly.

Maybe they knew you wouldn't show. That was how Suguru knew how to find you. And then he scuffed you. Fucked you. Both of them. And now there are two burning mating marks on the side of your throat that you can't get rid of.

"I think 'm gonna be sick" You gurgle weakly.

The alpha makes a noise of surprise, and grabs the trashcan just in time for you to hurl into it. He rubs your back all the while, murmurs his little there-there's. Once it's all out of your system, Suguru thumbs away a line of spittle.

"Might have been just a little too rough" He says, "I apologize on both of our behalves. We were...excited"

You squeeze your eyes shut so that you won't cry.

Suguru doesn't wait to see if you'll accept his apology. Maybe he doesn't really care. He got what he wanted from you. The bond flowers, bursts of happiness that take control of your thoughts and whisk them away to a more pleasant place.

One of them....maybe both. They're doing that. They're forcing you to feel good. Not even my thoughts are my own anymore.

"How about a bath?" Suguru says, too close to your face.

"Okay" You say, because what else is there to say.

"Good girl" The alpha responds, and smiles, very obviously happy. He lifts you up (still naked, covered in marks and bruises—and oh god, they didn't stop—even when you passed out they didn't—). "We're going to treat you so well here, darling. It'll be like nothing ever happened, you'll see"

There's a mirror, on the way to the bathroom. You catch a glimpse at the marks marring your throat. Suguru's, deeper, redder, then Satoru's. Like a Venn diagram. The skin between them mottled and puffy.

You lay your head down on Suguru's shoulder. You try to summon the tears to cry, but you can't. It like there's something physically blocking you from those feelings. You wonder how much longer it'll be before you even forget to feel sad and hurt over what happened to you.

As your alpha helps you into the tub, gently scooping the copious amounts of cum out of your cunt, you think to yourself, no one said that mating would make me feel this helpless. It was supposed to be glorious. Magical. Your fairy tale ending. This is a nightmare that you can't wake up from. You feel cheated. You wish you had never accepted Satoru's invitation in the first place.

But really, you snort, and Suguru says, what's funny, quirking his brow and you tell him, nothing. And then you think, realistically, how much longer would you have been to resist them?

“I know but it's—” He grabs one of your breasts, squeezing the flesh and fondling it “It's hard to resist, just excuse me this one time yeah? I'm only gonna touch.” He finished, thumb grazing over your nipples as he drew small circles around the bud. He presses against your bud, making you jolt in surprise.

You could feel his breath against you, which made you nervous, Satoru played with your tits, you looked away, not wanting to watch yourself get toyed by him.

But then you felt it, the wetness of a warm tongue enveloping your bud into its damp environment before the same tongue flicked it up and down and proceeded to suckle onto it.

Your eyes widened at the scene, you thrashed in Suguru's hold as you tried to get Satoru off you.

“‘Toru— you— you said you're only gonna touch!” You gasped repeating what he said earlier, but Satoru just smiled, humming in agreement while he continued to suck on your tit. He let go momentarily to respond.

“Haah—? Yeah I am touching, wiffth my mouffh.” His words were slurred and muffled as he latched on again, pushing you down onto his bed. This caused Suguru to let go of your hands.

You immediately use that opportunity to pry Satoru off but he slaps your hand away. While you're focused on him, Suguru makes his move, you feel another wet tongue enveloping your free breast and sucking on it.

You tried to push them off but they were heavy, so you tugged on their hair, it was just useless cause they instead just bit onto your breast to hang on. You gave up with a heavy sigh, knowing resisting will only make it worse.

Satoru fully immersed himself, sucking on your tit with his eyes closed, licking the bud with generous care and precision that caused wetness to pool in between your legs.

Suguru on the other hand, held eye contact as he looked up at you, teeth grazing and nibbling on your nipple as you let out a gasp at the pain before he quickly soothed it with his saliva.

It felt degrading, having both of them suck on each of your breasts like you were some sort of treat.

“Mhmm, so fucking cute.” Suguru let go of your tit with a pop before he shifted a little upwards and captured your lips in a hot kiss. You shook your head trying to tell him no, but he didn't listen and continued to do as he pleased.

You just laid there, having Satoru suck on your tits while Suguru engulfs your mouth, pushing his tongue inside while he cruelly pinches the nipple which was abused by his mouth previously.

But then the mattress underneath your head dips, causing you to look up and see Suguru. His thighs were placed on either side of your head as he hovered over you, pulling down his pants and boxers.

Suguru pulls away from the kiss, at the same time, Satoru lets go of your tit as well.

You think they're finally done.

You realised what was happening and tried to get up but Suguru forced you down with one hand, holding you by your jaw as he shoved a finger into your mouth.

“N-no please don’t—.” You beg as you watch him stroke his cock while staring at you from above. He pried your jaw open a little.

Tears began to form in your eyes as you shook your head, but defying your wishes, Suguru shoves his fat and thick cock right into your mouth.

You closed your eyes in pain, your jaw muscles ache while your mouth struggled to stay open as he pushed his cock inside your throat. You felt him pass the back of your throat and deep inside causing you to gag and choke.

“Holy shiiit.” Suguru gasped, shutting his eyes in pleasure as your warm mouth and throat welcomed him. He bites his lip at the way your throat was bulging because of him, he could see the outline of his cock as he settled as deep as possible.

He felt you gag around him, your throat muscles clamped around his dick which made him let out a lewd grunt as he controlled himself. He didn't want to bruise your throat like the last time.

While you and your throat took its time to adjust to Suguru, Satoru was on the move, he stripped off your bottom apparel in a swift motion, pulling your panties along with it too. It made you even more panicked cause you couldn't see what was going on because of Suguru.

You flailed your legs, trying to kick Satoru off as you tried to pull yourself away from their hold. For a second you thought you succeeded in escaping from them when you felt Suguru's cock pull from your throat.

Yet, that moment was short lived when Suguru pistoned his hips forward and pushed himself further into your throat. You choked around his length, throat burning at the stretch while tears continued to fall from your eyes.

You took deep breaths, trying to not suffocate to death due to Suguru's cock.

Your legs were held by Satoru who seemed annoyed by your reaction a few moments ago. He forcefully pushed open your legs, spreading them as wide as they could go before positioning himself at your entrance. You felt his tip press into your clit, you wondered when he'd unbuckled his pants cause you didn't hear any sound— probably because your ears were too busy ringing from Suguru’s assault.

“She's so wet and yet pretends like she doesn't want us or like us doing this to her.” Satoru mocks as he rubs his tip against your cunt, letting the tip bump into your clit, ultimately stimulating you.

Everything was made worse by the fact that you weren't able to move your neck to see him, all you could do was just feel him.

His mushroom-headed tip continued to rub against your vulva, coating his shaft in your wetness while his precum leaked out in beads. Satoru bit his lip in arousal before he grabbed you by your thighs.

He let go of one thigh momentarily as he guided his cock to your hole before pressing his tip right against your entrance before he held onto your thigh again and pushed into you.

You wanted to scream at the way he was stretching you, he was way too big and was shoving himself instead without letting you loosen fully. You couldn't scream because your mouth and throat were occupied, so all you let out was a failed form of wails. Suguru hushed you, gently caressing your jaw.

“Oh god— fuck.” Satoru whispers breathelessly, completely indulging himself in the way you feel wrapped around him. He closes his eyes, basking in the feeling for a little while.

He then begins to move slowly, pulling out before he thrusted in, this makes your body push upwards and take more of Suguru's cock into your throat. You shut your eyes in acceptance, knowing there was no escape because they both had you locked up below and above.

Suguru withdrew his hips, grabbing your throat with both his hands, using it as leverage to thrust himself in your mouth and throat.

Both men continued to ram into your holes messily, but that didn't last long as they developed a rhythm soon after. When Satoru would withdraw, Suguru would thrust, pushing your body downwards and causing your cunt to envelop his cock and vice versa.

Your body continued to rock between the two men as they continued their abuse on you. You felt yourself losing your mind as your brain scattered to make this experience make sense. You breathed in slowly and tried to calm yourself to make this less painful and humiliating.

Saying that this situation made you feel embarrassed would be an understatement, it was truly degrading to the highest extent. They were both using you like a fleshtoy, one in your throat and one in your cunt, pervading your holes as they wished without a care for you.

You shouldn't have agreed to anything they demanded, you thought they would stop if you just took your top off, but they prodded further, making you take your bra off too, then they wanted to see, and then touch, and then— thrust!— you let out a squeak when you felt Satoru’s tip bump into your cervix.

Their demands will never end until they get what they want.

You should've known.

Because this wasn't the first time it happened.

You hated how you couldn't stand up for yourself, how you mend so easily by people's demands because no one ever taught you to put yourself first.

You'd always gotten taken advantage of due to your personality, but not to this extent.

Others would only take advantage of you for basic tasks by dumping all their chores and work onto you, basically running errands for them, your dignity, shame, and everything would still be intact.

But Satoru and Suguru strip you bare, they take advantage of you from all the sides, making you do their work, their chores, and completely use you as they wish. Most people didn't push you as far as these two did, because unlike these two, they are decent human beings.

Satoru and Suguru however, never miss a chance, it is literally so easy for them, they just need to get you all helpless and in a situation where you cannot refuse them— even if you do refuse, they just won't stop. It's not like you refusing would change their already made up minds.

Even if you didn't voluntarily take your top off and instead refused; they would've just ripped it into shreds and put you in this situation anyway, cause that's what they both do everytime.

Satoru grabs your tits with both hands, groping them and squeezing them like they're some kind of stress balls to play with, cruelly digging his nails into them while he thrusts into your cunt extremely rough.

Suguru slaps his hands away, shooting a glare at Satoru before his own hands gently caress the area where Satoru's nails dug in, a gesture that was supposed to be comforting.

It would've been if he wasn't inches deep inside your throat and fucking it like a madman.

Satoru let out a grunt before his hands found your clit, he rubbed the sensitive bundle of nerves gently before slowly getting faster.

The sensation made your gut churn in excitement much to your horror, you felt your body voluntarily chasing it and bucking into his hips instinctively. Satoru smirked when he noticed it and continued to do it.

He wanted to rip an orgasm out of you so badly.

Satoru's thrusts sped up, a rhythm that was starting to get familiar was shattered due to him. Suguru did the same, rutting his hips at a high speed, he could see the line of his cock thrusting in and out of your throat.

You were losing air, choking and suffocating around his cock, you felt like passing out.

Suguru lets out a loud moan, pushing his cock further inside your throat as it twitches, shooting his load inside you, forcing you to instinctively swallow it. He stays there like that for a minute before pulling out.

Your body automatically whiffs in a huge amount of air the minute he leaves your mouth, making you let out a loud gasp. You could still feel his sticky residue in your mouth which you swallow since you know that spitting it out would make Suguru upset.

You shouldn't care if it upsets him, but you do for some reason.

Just when you thought you could catch a little break, a familiar knot begins to tighten in your stomach, you lift your head up to see Satoru rubbing your clit faster and harder, all while his tip brushes into your gspot.

You couldn't even process the feeling or the sight before your body is overloaded with an intense amount of pleasure, it courses through your nerves, evoking goosebumps at the sheer intensity of it. Your body twitches, back arches as you let out a filthy whine-like moan of Satoru's name.

You shut your eyes because you felt like you'd go blind if you didn't, that's how intense the orgasm was.

Satoru smiles in satisfaction before shifting upwards and capturing your lips in a kiss, his tongue licks the inside of your cheeks, he could taste Suguru which made him let out a whine.

He continued to kiss you as he thrusted in and out. His hand reached for yours as he held you gently, before locking his hand with yours.

The moment felt so oddly romantic and intimate, but it quickly went away with your senses returning back to you.

Satoru didn't take long to finish after that, shooting his load inside you. He rode out his high for a moment before pulling out and watching his semen leak, dripping out from your pussy.

He scooped it up with a finger and pressed it against your lips before forcing it in and making you suck on his finger.

“I want you to taste me too.” He muttered before he pecked your cheek and pulled away.

You laid there, staring at the ceiling as they both cleaned and fixed themselves up. You felt enraged, gross, disgusted, constantly being used like this. You wanted to say something, tell them to fuck off and leave you alone.

But the thought of being alone and not having friends makes you hesitate.

You sit up in defeat before you clean yourself and dress up again properly, it takes a while but you're finally able to work on the project again.

Suguru makes you sit on his lap while Satoru comes up with a draft and multiple ideas on how to go about the topic. Suguru felt warm and cozy unlike just a few moments ago, and Satoru's words don't feel condescending. It feels so normal.

Moments like this make you question whether what happened just moments ago is actually real or not.

It's truly pathetic.

Perhaps that is why you can never truly stand up for yourself, as cruel as they are, they also make you feel comforted at the same time, give you the attention and care you lack from others.

You wanted to laugh at yourself.