sleepy

You were an odd one, he thought for a while. He did not mean to spy on you, yet he often found himself hiding behind a pillar or bush just to observe the odd and overly quiet girl from Essos. You were born in YiTi. A land so distant and different from them, and Aemond had believed that your oddness was because of your land’s customs. However, as days and moons passed, he learned that you were truly just different from the other ladies of the court. 

Aemond was no stranger to the peculiar. He had seen eccentricity before, his family being a prime example. His sister was overly interested in bugs and murmuring to herself. His eldest brother had a strange fascination with women twice his age. Even his father, the king, was hyperfixated on the miniature models, spending most of his time on them instead of caring for his children. Aemond was not in a state to question nor critique your demeanour, he was simply curious. 

He was curious why you hid yourself in the desolate corners of the gardens, the shade of a weeping willow tree near a pond being your favourite. He was intrigued by why you barely spoke, and if you did, you spoke so softly, as if you were whispering a secret that was only meant for certain ears to hear. But most of all, he was eager to learn why he was so interested in you. 

Perhaps it was your appearance. Admittedly, there were not many YiTish in court– there were only three, you and your kin. Perhaps it was that. Aemond was fascinated by your fox-like eyes, heart-shaped lips, and your silky onyx hair. And as you two grew older, your already striking appearance only furthered. It was a shame you hated attention, as you were always the center of it. Aemond could not recall a day when not a single knight, lord, or even prince did not look back at you as you passed them in the halls. He noted how their pupils would always dilate ever so slightly, and some would even let their mouths hang in astonishment.

Maybe it was because of your insistence on not being noticed– maybe that is what fueled his intrigue. An ironic turn of events, for even if you try to hide yourself behind crowds and shadowy corners, he still found you. Once, you were invited to play the hiding game with other ladies of the court. Where the other ladies hid themselves behind pillars and cramped broom closets, you opted to hide in the wine cellars in hopes they would not find you and simply leave you be. Aemond found that particular memory quite amusing. Especially as it was the first time he saw your fox-like eyes turn doe-like as he caught you by surprise. 

“What are you doing here?” Aemond questioned as he saw you tilt your head to read the marking on the large, oak barrels. A surprise yelp left your lips, and it was the loudest sound Aemond had ever heard you make. He bit back his smile as you rested a hand on your chest, your other hand fisted your skirts as if to ground yourself. 

You were twelve now. You had spent the last three years in the Red Keep, but only now did Aemond decide to speak with you. He must admit that he had gotten used to simply following you about the castle, that speaking to you barely crossed his mind. It was thought that only came in the dead, silence of the night. Where, instead of sleeping, he would think of an opening phrase to utter if and when he approached. 

“My prince,” You curtised quickly, your eyes still planted on the ground, and did not even dare to look at his. “I was playing a game of hide and seek with the other ladies,” 

Aemond hummed as he cautiously took a step forward. “You are quite competitive then. Not a single one of them has even ventured near your hiding place. I suppose you could be declared the winner.” 

You gave a wry smile, eyes still planted on the ground, where you could see each cautious step the prince took to inch closer to you. Aemond observed you closely, as this was the closest he had been to you since the first day you two met. 

“You are gifted in hiding.” The prince remarked, and he felt his heart skip a beat as a small yet true smile came to your lips. “And you are gifted at seeking.” You remarked, but the smile on your lips dissipated, and a questioning frown took its place. 

“How did you even know I was here, my prince?” You asked in great confusion. Not even the ladies who invited you to their game found your hiding place. How then did the prince find you?

Aemond never answered your question. Even after moons passed, he never once explained how he would always find you; he would only appear by your side, and he was fortunate enough that once he discovered a concealed corner, you were kind enough not to leave or excuse yourself from his presence. 

The following year, a decision was made: Prince Aemond made known his intention to court you. 

You could still vividly remember the confusion that overcame you when your father informed you of his conversation with the prince. 

“He was quite eager for my approval if I were to be honest. He would not leave my side the entire afternoon. Well, at least not until I gave him my blessing.” Your father hummed as he poured himself a cup of wine. The moon was high, and so was your bewilderment. You never thought that a prince would court you. A statement not at all brought forth by modesty, but genuine confusion. When he discovered you in your hiding places, you assumed he was merely searching for somewhere to conceal himself as well. It never crossed your mind that he had been searching for you all along. “But why would he wish to court me?”

“I believe that is a question we should be asking you, my child.” Your mother hummed, a small, almost teasing smile on her lips as she did her nightly embroidery. She hummed and exchanged glances with your father, who hid a smirk behind the cup of wine he raised to his lips. “I wouldn’t even know what to answer. I, too, am just as confused as you.”

“Well then, perhaps it is best that you ask the prince the question on all our minds.” Your mother suggested, as you mindlessly nodded, standing and kissing their cheeks as you returned to your chambers. However, as you neared the door to your room, you froze in shock as you saw the prince already waiting for you in the shadowy halls. 

He had a small flower pot in his hands— a rather odd image of a royal prince holding a potted orchid in his hands when you had gotten used to seeing him holding his sword. 

Aemond felt out of breath as he stared at you through the light of the moon. You looked radiant— ethereal— nymph-like. 

“This is for you,” he nervously said. Aemond was a brave man. He was courageous when he claimed his dragon. He was courageous when his eye was taken. And he was courageous when he asked for your father’s blessing to court you. However, he felt the courage he always relied on falter when he came face to face with you. 

He watched as your ever stoic gaze finally met his. In the years he had known you, he had gotten used to your overly composed state. You were reserved, like he, however, you were more consistent in your reservation. The only moments when he actually witnessed your reactions were moments when you were startled or confused.

“Why?” You asked plainly, and Aemond felt his heartbeat in his ears. “Why? Because I’ve noticed you are fond of flowers— and I do believe that your favoured ones are orchids.” He explained and held out the pot closer to you. A confused frown overcame your face. 

“No… why had you decided to court me, your highness?” You asked, not wanting to be vexed by the question the entire night. Unfortunately, your question was left unanswered once more as the prince simply reached for your hand and placed the small bundle of flowers in it. A smile on his lips as he bid you good night and left the halls. 

How do you court a lady? Aemond could not help but think. He had hoped that he would find the answer long before he asked for your father’s blessing, yet here he was, kept up at night trying of ways on how to court you. 

In hindsight, courtship should have come naturally to him. However, he was a prince– a pawn for the crown. The custom was to bind him to a lady who came from a family that could be great allies to the crown; however, Aemond had taken it upon himself to find a match made by himself, not his grandsire or mother. He had seen the effects of marriages borne out of duty, and as dutiful as he was, he’d rather not subject himself to a loveless marriage filled with misery. 

Do you win a lady through gifts? Aemond thought. Ladies of the court seemed to easily give their agreements to the lords who courted them when they were given gifts. Who was Aemond to question such traditions? Especially when he was entirely clueless about what to do. 

It started with little gifts left by your door. Each morning, you would be stirred awake with a light knock on your door and a gift left unattended. The first morning, it was a jade pendant from your home, YiTi. The light green stone was remarkable and unmistakable under the early morning sun. 

Aemond hid himself behind a pillar and watched your knitted brows as you held the necklace to your eye, a small smile on his lips as he could already foresee the image of you wearing his little gift. However, Aemond’s enthusiasm was left dim when he found you in the gardens, bare-necked, and mentioned naught about the necklace you found. 

The prince was disheartened, but not so much to easily relent. It was the first days of your courtship. Of course, he could not be so vain and arrogant to think that you would lay yourself on his feet after offering you a simple pendant. He at least thought a small blush would come to your face when you met him that day; however, he supposed he asked for much for his little effort. 

The second day, he sent a pair of pearl earrings. Pearls harvested from the mighty seas of the Orient. On the third, he sent a set of gold rings mined deep within Casterly Rock. 

When the fourth day came, he sent various rolls of fabric for your dresses. Light blue silk from Lys. Delicate white laces from Myr. A serene cream velvet from Braavos. Crimson brocades from Volantis. Fine threads of various colors from the Reach. 

Aemond almost revealed his hiding place in great concern when you opened the door, and the rolls of fabric that he set upright came toppling down. Almost crushing you if you were not agile enough to step to the side. You did not use a single fabric nor thread for any of your fine dresses. 

By the fifth day, the prince already had the inkling to quit. It was clear that you were not easily impressed– he was foolish to think you otherwise, for if you were, he certainly would not be this eager in your courtship. Nevertheless, the prince was no quitter. 

By the fifth day, he veered away from the usual gifts given to the court ladies. Instead of shiny things, the prince left a small wooden dragon that he had carved in childhood. It was imperfect– it was left dusted in some corner of his chambers for years until the moment the prince decided to offer it to you. 

When you opened your chamber doors after hearing a soft knock, you almost expected a chest of gold left by your doorstep. However, a small, yet true smile came to your lips when you saw a simple carved dragon made from oak waiting for you. Aemond almost hollered in triumph as he saw the corners of your lips curl upwards ever so slightly. Inspecting the carving with more interest than the shiny jewels he had left days before. 

He watched as your fingers delicately traced the carvings he made, a sense of giddiness at the thought that your fingers caressed the wood that bore his touch. A new sense of hope coursing in his bloodstream. 

Aemond had foolishly hoped that it was enough for you to return his affections, or at least announce your favour towards him, so the other line of suitors who paid you tribute would dissipate. However, the prince would be a fool to think that simple carving would have you swooning. 

Word got around about how you set the little carving on your bedside table, near you, even in sleep. That was enough to inspire your other suitors to send you tens of pieces of woodwork, turning your chambers into a woodcarver’s shop.

Aemond knew he must take a different approach, which led him to question once more: How do you court a lady? 

Could Aemond win you through feats of strength? 

As all know, Aemond had no care for tourneys. He found it pointless– superfluous– pathetic for a man of his station. Yet, he rode out into the grounds, adorned in his armour, hoping to seek the favour of the lady he courted. 

Aemond struggled to find where you sat through the slats of his helm. His mount circled the grounds as he searched for you through the jeering crowds, when he spotted the familiar outline of your parents without you by your mother’s side. He frowned severely as he realized that you would not attend, and he could not seek your favour. 

He felt foolish as he charged his horse, his lance unadorned by a flower garland but stained by blood. He knew you well. You hid from crowds. What then led him to believe that you would willingly attend a tourney? Aemond felt no satisfaction the entire day, even if he was named the victor. The only speck of satisfaction he found was when he spotted you by a bench in the quiet gardens as a celebratory feast commenced. You said not a word when the prince sat next to you. Yet, that was enough for Aemond.

However, not enough for him to learn how to capture your favour.  Especially as Aemond heard cruel whispers of you leaving Westeros.

“You are leaving?” The prince asked in dread as he found you in your usual place, hidden inside the weeping branches of a willow tree. It had been a year after he announced his intent to court you, and it had been a year filled with gifts, flowers, and attention that you not once asked for, but Aemond was enthusiastic to give. 

He stood behind you as you sat on the cool, soft grass. His body tense, his stomach pitted, and his heart aching even if he denied it as such. 

You turned your head to glance at the prince, his eye steely– almost seething, and his hands clenched tightly by his side. Aemond swallowed thickly as the afternoon sun cast you aglow and formed an angelic halo. How could you look so beautiful even as you threatened to leave him? 

“Only for a year, my prince.” You explained and watched as Prince Aemond fervently shook his head and took his place next to you. “You are to leave for a year.” He gritted out, his fists clenching tightly around the damp grass. 

“Well, a year and two moons. It takes a month of sailing and traveling to reach YiTi.” You clarified as you set your eyes on the pond's calm waters, which reflected the afternoon light. Aemond breathed heavily at the thought of you leaving him for more than a year. What shall happen then? Would you garner new admirers in your homeland? Should you be forced to take a groom who resembles your own culture and customs? What should become Aemond then? Would he be a man who lost the only lady who consumed his thoughts for the past five years? 

“What of our courtship then?” He could not help but ask, his hand that gripped the grass, loosening as it inched closer to yours. “What of it, your highness?” 

Aemond pursed his lips. His eye was intently studying every possible expression that may come to your ever-composed face. He stayed silent, and he heard a sigh leave your lips before you turned your head to meet his gaze. 

“Do you wish to cease courting me?” You asked quietly, heartbeat erratic, and you tried your best not to let it show. 

“No.” The prince quickly answered, and you bit back a smile as you stood, watching as the prince followed each single one of your movements. “Then court me in YiTi, my prince.” 

“Another letter, my lady,” a maid called as she approached with a rather thick scroll that was wrapped tightly and bore the Targaryen seal. It had been three moons since you had left Westeros, and it had been three moons filled with consistent letters from the prince. 

You sat upright on your bed, your eyes glancing and admiring the simple wooden carving of a dragon that the prince gave you years before, placing a small smile on your lips as your maid exited your chambers and left you in your own company. 

How long must I live in agony, my lady?

You breathed out a laugh as you read the first line of the prince’s letter. You sighed dreamily as a blush came to your cheeks, and your fingers caressed the bold letters of what he wrote. 

Sometimes, at night, you feared the prince would leave you spurned. You feared that you were not enough for him to keep interested. That your overly composed and some would even say, stoic demeanor would run him off, and he’d find a lady who did not struggle in showing their affections. 

In truth, the reason why you were completely perplexed when he decided to court you was because you had been completely infatuated with him ever since you arrived in the Red Keep. As children, many feared him and his lack of one eye, but if you were being honest, you quite liked him that way. 

It was a tragedy, of course, but the silver lining was that even if he had only one eye, never once did the unique lilac orbs leave your thoughts. 

You bit your lip as you drafted your letter of reply. The prince had sent a dozen letters, yet the one you wrote would only be your fifth letter sent. You stared long and hard at the blank parchment, torn as to what to write. Fear was a powerful emotion that often left their captives paralyzed. And so, you took a deep breath and simply wrote. 

Wrote anything and everything you could think of. No direction. No aim. Simply a letter written in hopes the prince would be reminded of your existence and would wait until your return. 

I believe your dragon would enjoy the East. There is a vast valley near my grandsire’s keep that your great Vhagar would find agreeable. 

I also believe that you shall enjoy the East. I recall that you are fond of combat, and here, there are customs in which fighters do not rely on weapons but simply their bodies. Men fight with open palms, swift and fluid like water, while others strike with such force that one would think their fists forged from steel. I suspect that you shall excel in such a kind of combat, my prince. 

Aemond bit his lip as he reread your letter for the tenth time in an hour. Gods, he wanted to feel foolish. There he was, in his grandsire’s study, being forced to listen to business dealings, all the while his only thought was of you. His heart that beat for no other than you, swelled at the thought that not only did you write to him, but you as well knew of his fondness for combat and were thinking of his dragon too. 

Lord Otto eyed his grandson in curiosity and concern. For the past hour, Aemond read a letter repeatedly, would let out a yearning sigh, and stare at the wall with an odd softness in his eye that he could not believe was capable. “Are you listening, Aemond?” 

Aemond breathed out another sigh. His mind recalling what you had written, imagining your voice that uttered what you wrote echoing in his head. Gods, he missed you. He did not even think he’d miss you as intensely as he did. You were a quiet little thing, you prefer to go unnoticed, and the prince foolishly thought that he could manipulate his mind to think that you were simply hiding away in your corner, but he felt your absence deeply, and he could not concentrate on his duties. 

“This is pathetic, my prince.” He heard his grandsire sigh from his desk. The lord hand’s gaze steady on a parchment containing business while his grandson reread a letter over and over. 

“I did not ask for your opinion.” Aemond gritted out. The elation he felt just moments earlier quickly disappeared at his grandsire’s words. Otto Hightower sighed. 

“You are a prince of the realm. You have hundreds of ladies at your disposal, yet you obsess over a lady who cannot even name you as her favoured suitor. A lady who you had let distract you from your duties. Had you acting and sighing like a damsel as well.” 

 “She had made you weak. Turned you into a simpleton.” 

Prince Aemond frowned deeply, his fists clenching around air. No word of reply nor defense on his tongue as his grandsire plainly said the doubts and thoughts he fought hard to repress. Aemond had grown distracted as to who he truly was. He acted like a love-sick pup when he was meant to be a dragon prince. 

Aemond did not respond to your letter. Nor did he respond to the other two that followed. He simply let the year of your absence pass. His grandsire’s word aimed true to his heart. All his life, the only thing the prince knew was that he did not like being seen as weak. He had been weak as a child, as he let his brother and nephews constantly belittle him. He knew it could not happen once more, even if you were the reason. 

For the following moons, the prince made no move to contact you. He sent no bi-weekly letters. He sent no greetings or regards. He even hindered himself in sending you a bundle of gifts on your name day. He exercised a great feat of restraint and control for an entire year, simply lying in wait until the dawn of your return came. 

Prince Aemond stood by the docks, his veins fueled with adrenaline and his heart aching to see you once more. He did not know how he had been able to resist you for a year, yet it did not matter, for now his long suffering was to come to an end. 

However, as he watched your parents disembarked the ship, it was painfully obvious that you were left in YiTi. 

***

Prince Aemond broke your heart. Your great fears of being left spurned– of being forgotten turned true as the prince seemed to forget your existence. He ignored your letters, even if you sent three scrolls consecutively. You had spent your days staring longingly out the windows, hoping that the ravens that flew would come with a letter from a prince, but none did. 

You tried your best to hide the grief you felt at the prince’s action. You tried to act your usual detached and unemotional self. But each time you would sit alone in either the great gardens of your home or at banquets and feasts, you feel your heart pit as you had gotten used to the prince finding his way to you and accompanying you even through silence. 

The days that led to your return to Kingslanding, you made the decision to stay in YiTi. You could not subject yourself to return to Westeros with a broken heart. You could not fathom the thought of facing Prince Aemond once more. And so, you stayed. You did not return after a year and two moons. You stayed in YiTi under your grandsire’s care and hoped that the ache in your heart would dissipate soon enough. 

“The Westerns are simple-minded– especially the Targaryens. They act as if they are gods among men when in truth, they’re mere ferrets who only rose to power because of their dragons.” You hear your grandfather remark as you join him for supper. 

Your parents had sent word that they were already in Kingslanding, and they also mentioned that the courtiers had to ask why you did not return. They mentioned naught of the prince, and you did not know whether to feel grateful or not. 

“They reside on stolen land. They trample over the cultures and customs of those before them and punish those who disagree with their views. They appear to be almost the same as us, but not quite, for they trample over others they believe beneath them.” Your grandsire continued as you picked on your food. 

“They were kind hosts,” You defended quietly, but heard as your grandfather clicked his tongue and watched him shake his head. 

“It’s a lure, my child. Kindness to those men is given for their amusement– once they tire, they discard what no longer entertains them.” Your fingers tightened around the porcelain cup in your hands, holding it tightly so that you feared the warm tea might spill the moment you cracked the delicate clay. “It’s a lesson you must learn soon enough.” 

Across the narrow sea, a prince stewed in rage, anger, fear, and sadness, trying his best to figure out how to get his girl back. 

It reminds you of all the times your teachers had taught you that tattoos would influence people’s thoughts of you negatively in the business world. Evidently, they must’ve taught you wrong, because from the top of his pink head to the bottom of his polished black shoes, Ryomen Sukuna looks well to do. You catch sight of the Rolex on his other hand. Yep, if that’s real, they are very wrong.

Going against your better judgement, you shake his hand, and Sukuna’s smile grows wider. “Y/N—”

“Wanna go for a ride?”

And now you’re in a car with a stranger with obnoxious pink hair who is smoking cigarettes like secondhand smoke doesn’t exist and the wind is blowing in your hair because for some reason Sukuna likes riding with the top down.

“Where are we going?” You have to raise your voice a little over the wind. You must admit though, the chill feels nice against your cheeks. It makes you feel as though the ick from earlier is getting pulled off of your skin, releasing you from its hold, even if only temporarily. (The slap of your hair against your face is another story, though.)

Sukuna turns to look at you, a glint in his eye, taking one last puff from his cigarette before flicking it away. He’s bad. Just bad news. Bad for the environment, probably bad for you. He’s probably the very incarnation of trouble. You shouldn’t be here with him, really, yet your feet stay firmly planted in his car and your hands firmly clenched on your lap.

Sukuna knows the destination, but he doesn’t say, leaves you to guess all the wildest places he can possibly take you to.

You glance over at him, suspicious, and he’s still looking over at you. He should really be looking at the road ahead. He’s bad. He’s trouble. You should run away.

You don’t.

Being the paranoid thinker you are, wild possibilities pop up in your head. He’s not going to try and sell you, is he? Or take you to a damn brothel as a bad joke? Maybe he’ll just be a dick and take you home to fuck you like he does all his side pieces? It alarms you how you’re not even opposed to that last one.

Before he offers you answers, he offers you a laugh, obviously entertained by your internal dilemma. “I’ll give you a chance.”

You cock a brow, puzzled. “What do you mean?”

Thankfully, he does offer an answer this time. He brakes in the middle of the fucking road, though, ignoring all the cars that honk at him as they have to steer to the other lane to pass. This guy really does do whatever he fuck he wants, huh?

“You have two choices.” Sukuna holds up two fingers, “one, if you choose to trust me, remain seated.” You swallow the lump in your throat, waiting for your second option. “Two, if you don’t trust me, you can get out right here. I’ll even give you money to take a cab.”

With his other hand, he takes out a 10,000 yen note from his shirt pocket, holding it out to you. Entirely way too much for a single cab ride, not that Sukuna would probably even know. Not with his black Aston Martin.

“Which will it be, crybaby?”

You probably should take the money. You should take the money and take a cab home and keep the change for tomorrow’s breakfast and spend it unashamedly. But then you draw a blank for what comes next.

What is going to come next? A school break with absolutely nothing for you to do? Shoko’s internship starts early—some medical school bullshit, as she likes to call it. Getou’s going to be hanging around Satoru and that’s definitely not what you want to do. Maybe you can monopolise Getou’s time, but even you cringe at the thought. You don’t want to make things difficult for him. And you most certainly don’t want to just be thinking of Gojo Satoru all day long, which is what you might do if you’re left to your own devices.

Your hand hovers over the door handle—Sukuna eyes you expectantly, like he knows what you’re going to do. Like he’s daring you to defy his expectations.

A minute. A full minute is all it takes for you to decide. You put your hands back down on your lap and look straight ahead. “Just drive.”

“Good girl.” Sukuna smiles, all wicked and bad boy charms. Stuffs the money back in his pocket like it’s spare change, continues ignoring the honks he gets, then he speeds off. You’re pretty sure he’s over the speed limit, but you ignore the screaming in your head. Sukuna is scary in a different way than Satoru is, and he seems impulsive and rude and… thrilling.

Maybe now you know why most people are attracted to the unknown.

“Get me the usual room.”

If Sukuna had brought you to a hotel, the sirens in your head would ring. But as it is, he’s taken you to the top of a sleek black commercial building, and now you’re on the fifty-first floor in what looks like to be a very expensive teppanyaki restaurant.

You’ve rarely been to restaurants like these. The normal teppanyaki places in the middle of shopping malls, yes. But this place looks like a single dish here would cost you an arm and leg.

As the host ushers you in, you follow closely behind Sukuna, instinctively cowering behind him at all the too-friendly faces. There’s nobody else here but the staff and the both of you. You glance at the wall clock by the side of the restaurant—it’s nearly 1am. Surely this place should’ve been closed already?

You stare at the back of Sukuna’s head. Did he make these people stay behind just so he can get a late night snack? Satoru does that sometimes. Rich people privilege, Getou used to say. Though Getou is far from poor himself.

You make a mental note to remember how to exit the building in case Sukuna tries anything with you. He’s hard enough to read as it is, and now you’re even more concerned.

The host takes you to the corner most part of the restaurant, sliding open a door concealed as a wall. He bows as Sukuna enters the room. Must be nice being filthy rich and getting special treatment. Though, by extension, you guess they must be treating you as a VIP thanks to Sukuna’s presence.

This is nice.

In the private room there’s a single long table, tall stools with backrests on one side, fit for four. Already, the chef is there, cooking on the grill, and Sukuna gestures for you to sit next to him.

As much as you’d like to not be bought into this, your stomach growls and whatever’s on the grill smells good and as much as you hate to admit it, Sukuna’s not all bad to the eyes, so you take your place next to him.

Something tells you that Sukuna gets whatever he wants from whoever he wants, and a nagging feeling in your chest says you’re no exception.

“Seems like you were asking for it, no?” Sukuna mumbles later as he devours whatever Chef—you glance at his jacket to make sure—Souma puts on his plate. You’d spent the last half hour venting to him about Satoru, though you’re not sure how much of it got through to his thick head.

You mirror Sukuna’s movements, because every single piece of meat Chef Souma gives you is soft and absolutely delectable. “How the fuck was I asking for it?”

There’s one thing you learned about Sukuna so far—he’s an insensitive prick.

Sukuna shrugs, putting down his chopsticks and taking a sip of the now lukewarm ocha in front of him. “You knew he was using you for sex, using you to get over this chick, and you still confessed?”

“Well, when you put it like that it sounds dumb.”

“It is dumb,” he corrects you.

He leans forward to ask the chef for some more of their homemade sauce and when he does, you catch the trail of his neck tattoo going down toward his chest. Toned, arms larger than Satoru’s, though you don’t know which one of them would be stronger.

“What were you even doing there? Doubt you were invited.” Because Sukuna definitely wasn’t invited. The party was meant for the soccer team to celebrate their win at the nationals. You’re always with Captain Gojo too, so people expect you there, plus a few other groups of people who seem to be regulars at a party. But this is the first you’ve seen Sukuna appear anywhere. Before this you thought he might’ve just been a myth.

“S’posed to pick some kid up, couldn’t find ‘em,” and that’s all the explanation he offers. Probably because he’d know you’d harp on the word kid, because what would a kid be doing at a party?

Before you can do exactly that, your phone on the table vibrates. You’re half hoping it’s a text from Satoru apologising and saying that he at least needs to talk (ha—how pathetic can you get), but it’s just a reminder text asking you to submit the company you’re going for an internship at for the next semester.

The Gojo Corp company name seems like it’s screaming at you through the screen. Before tonight, everything was set in stone. You’d submit for an internship at Gojo Corp and work with Satoru and maybe sometimes have a quickie in the printer room. Easy peasy. After the night you had, though? You really don’t feel like seeing the guy who ‘dumped’ you every single day for six whole months. There are other alternatives, but none that would give the same sparkle in a recruiter’s eyes should you say you’ve worked there before. You’re a great worker for sure, you know enough to be confident that you’d do a great job anywhere, but you didn’t. Because you knew you’d get into Gojo Corp anyway.

Fuck.

It’s then that you turn to the guy next to you. If you remember correctly, Satoru had once complained about Sukuna being the reason the Gojos lost a huge client. Something about how that bastard fucking helped the Zenins to poach my client, as per Satoru’s own words. He was furious that day too, saying how Gojo Sr would chew him out for letting that happen. Yeah, Satoru’s dad isn’t someone you’d like to end up on the bad books of, either.

“The fuck are you starin’ at?” Sukuna huffs, and you realise you’ve just been staring a hole through his head. You whip your head away, embarrassed. How are you even going to try and ask Sukuna for a favour when you just met him?

“Nothing.”

“You know,” Sukuna coos, drawing closer to you, his strong arm around your shoulder. “I wouldn’t mind if you wanted to get back at that asshole.”

Despite Satoru not being your first, he has been your recent. He’s the only one who’s been fucking you senseless ever since your first boyfriend. You’re used to his soft hands and gentle lips and shameless whispering in your ear about how he’d fuck you over the damn table if the lecture hall was empty.

But now it’s not him.

Sukuna’s hand on your thigh is calloused, like he’s been doing a lot of manual labour though you know that’s probably not it. His chuckle in your ear is lower than Satoru’s, and it makes your hair stand on edge—not because you’re scared but more because it’s unfamiliar. It’s not bad, but you’re struggling to decide whether it’s good.

“You just want to shove it in his face too, don’t you?”

Because you have an inkling that tells you these two men have more beef than just simple business feuds.

“Maybe.” His lips are still grazing your ear, and you’re trying to will yourself to move but some part of you really doesn’t want to. Some part of you wants to forget. And you want Sukuna to be the one who helps you forget. Partly maybe because you know this guy would bother Satoru more than anyone else.

With a simple snap of Sukuna’s finger, Chef Souma bows and exits the room, and now it’s just you and Sukuna and you have a feeling that all the staff here know exactly what’s going to happen and frankly, you don’t have the energy to care.

The hand on your thigh grips harder and Sukuna’s lips find your throat, teeth latching on and bound to leave a mark once you’re done. An involuntary gasp leaves your lips and Sukuna grins against your skin, “you like that, huh?”

And you shouldn’t. You really really shouldn’t. But you really really do, and you’re wishing that his hand on your thigh would start moving upwards and that you have more self-control than this but hey, tonight’s been a very disappointing night already, why should it stop here?

When Sukuna reaches over to carry you onto the table, you don’t stop him, instead you help him. He sets you down, roughly so that your shoulders hurt a little from the landing but gentle enough that you don’t injure your head from it. His fingers heed your wishes, traveling up your inner thighs, and his eager crimson eyes watch as you unbutton the top few buttons of your dress. You feel the blood rush down to your cunt, thighs subconsciously trying to rub against each other but Sukuna keeps them apart, smirking when he meets your eyes.

“Hm, maybe you’re not as boring as I thought you’d be,” he mumbles, to himself or you you have no idea, but you take it as a good thing. At least you know he’s interested.

You hoist yourself to sit up, pulling Sukuna in by the belt, his erection rock hard under his pants, your fingers skillfully undoing it, but before you can unzip them, he grips both your wrists with one hand, holding them in place.

“What? Don’t want it?”

You’re gone. You’re way beyond gone. You won’t usually sleep with a guy you barely know. You’ve never done that before, that’s for sure. But you’re so desperate to wash off the bad news from tonight that you’re almost going to plead with him to help you forget.

Is that how Satoru felt that night he first knocked on your door looking for more?

Sukuna’s eyes don’t leave yours, not even as he dips down to your chest, placing a kiss, closer and closer to your heart. “If I’m helping you forget and get back at him, what’re you gonna do for me, huh?”

Does Sukuna have to treat everything like a business transaction? You think it’s out of pocket when his free hand is already under your dress and you’re about to just let him take you here and now, but you don’t blame him. Look at where willfully helping someone forget has gotten you. Maybe you can learn a thing or two from him.

A part of you thinks that maybe Sukuna is trying to play a game of chicken with you, like he doesn’t believe you’re capable of actually getting back at Satoru because you’re too down bad for him. Lucky for you, you have a rebellious streak. You look up at him defiantly, mirroring his smirk, that up-to-no-good, troublemaker smirk.

“I’ll be anything you need, just tell me.”

Sukuna swallows the lump in his throat, the way you say those words sounding strangely appetising to him. The way you say anything, insinuating that he can do as he pleases in more ways than one. No wonder Gojo’s kept you around for so long.

His grip around your wrist tightens as he moves his free hand up, fingers pressing up against your clothed cunt, smiling as he feels the familiar wetness against his skin. You’re eager. Way too eager.

“Are you sure about that, baby?” He whispers in your ear, moving his fingers and eliciting a whimper out of you.

“Mhm,” you say as you press your lips against his neck, “I promise you I’m useful.”

His cock only gets harder, pants only getting tighter. Sukuna sighs inwardly because if he was dumb, he’d fuck you right here, give you what you want, give you a chance to turn your back and run once you get a piece of him. God, how he wishes he was dumb. But no, Sukuna’s smarter than that. He’ll have to confirm a few things first.

Your high comes crashing down when he pulls back and releases his hold on you, sitting back down on the stool like nothing happened. He snickers when he sees the indignant look on your face, “you’re so wet.”

Embarrassed, you kick him in the shin, a bitch! flying out his mouth.

“Calm down, woman. I’ll help you.” He’s glaring at you and rubbing his shin, but at least he’s saying something you like.

“But?” You continue sitting on the table, dumbfounded by his actions.

Sukuna winks at you. “You need to prove yourself first,” he tells you, holding his hand out to you as he stands up.

Cautiously, you take it, and the way he holds it in his palm is surprisingly gentle. “What do I have to do?”

As he leads you out of the room, he turns to ask, “how good are you with your mouth?”

Turns out, what he means is not what you thought. Or at least, so far it isn’t.

As usual, Sukuna doesn’t offer any explanations on the way back. Doesn’t even tell you anything; only asks you your address, drops you off, ignores your thanks for the ride and supper, and tells you to be ready for tomorrow night.

So the next night, you find yourself in a familiar black Aston Martin, inhaling the familiar secondhand smoke, the familiar chill of the wind against your cheeks.

“Where are we going?”

And it’s really not fair how each time Sukuna only looks at you and smirks in response, like he’s enjoying your handheld fear, like he likes to watch you squirm. One day you’ll let him have it, but not before you get to see what he’s up to tonight.

Maybe he’ll be nice and take you to a nice fancy restaurant for dinner. What else would you use your mouth for, right? If he wanted you to suck him off he’d have let you take off his pants last night in the restaurant. (And no, unfortunately, your attraction to him has not waned off yet; you can still faintly sense the sensation of his teeth against your chest if you think hard enough.)

To your dismay, he takes you to a shady club, Kang's, near the cluster of downtown alleys that Satoru never lets you step in. But you shake the thoughts of him away.

You find out he’s meeting someone there. He tells the bouncer a name you don’t know. Toji Fushiguro. And by the way one of the hostesses asks him would you like your regular? you can guess that he comes here often.

Sukuna says no, though, putting an arm around you before leading you in. The hostess eyes you up and down, discernibly unhappy for just a second, before that fake smile is back on her face. She gets a little touchy with Sukuna still, long red fingernails raking against his chest, because he has more buttons undone today on his gray dress shirt. Sometimes you think he just shouldn’t bother with a shirt at all, but maybe that’s just your wishful thinking.

Obediently, you follow Sukuna closely, chest pressed to his side because frankly, you’re afraid of bumping into anyone in the room. They all look like the kind of people who wouldn’t hesitate to put you in a body bag if you so much as touched them. You’re pretty sure some of these people are yakuza. Or are you overthinking again? You’re afraid, instinctively wrapping your arm around Sukuna’s waist the deeper you go in.

“Afraid?” He whispers in your ear. He’s teasing you, with that tone of his, but you nod anyway, earnest. Sukuna scoffs, because he doesn’t know what you have to be afraid of, he’s probably the biggest asshole in the room yet you’re pressing up to him anyway.

You feel him tug you closer, and while he hasn’t scored a single point in the compassion department, you still appreciate it. Even if it’s just a fluke.

As you approach a private room, your heart thumps faster. What’s his plan? Is he planning to make you sell yourself? Should you escape while you can? Do you even know the way out? Knowing yourself, you’d probably end up running into some shady business deal that’s going on and get yourself killed.

“Stop spacing out,” Sukuna growls in your ear, his crimson eyes closer than you expect them to be. Were you that obvious?

With your weak nod, he leads the way inside, and it’s as dim as the outside, with dark red walls that match his eyes and neon lights flashing around the room in periodic motion. In one corner of the sofa lining the walls, you spot a man. Bigger than Sukuna, looks older too, with a scar extending vertically on the right side of his mouth. His arm is wrapped around who you presume to be one of the hostesses, her porcelain skin and wide doe eyes making her look like a doll.

If Sukuna looked shady, this guy’s doing much better in that department.

“Yo, who’s she?”

“The girl I told you about,” Sukuna remarks casually, taking a seat next to the hostess. “Hey Mika, leave us alone for a bit, yeah?”

Indignant, Mika tries to lay hands on Sukuna, though he’s quick to grab her wrist and stop her. She’s whimpering, and you don’t blame her because Sukuna doesn’t look anything but menacing right now.

“I said, get the fuck out.”

This time she obeys, rushing past you before you can even process anything that’s happening.

The other man eyes you, scrutinizing your figure. Sukuna didn’t exactly tell you where you were headed in the first place, but you highly doubt that even if you knew you were heading here that you’d know the appropriate attire. You’ve been to clubs before but not clubs like these. Maybe your usual tube top and black flare bottoms aren’t apropos after all.

“What’s her name?”

They continue to talk as if you aren’t even here.

Sukuna hums in contemplation, turning to you, “what’s your name again?”

Dick, can’t even remember your name.

You take a deep breath. You don’t know what this is about, but you don’t think you want to find out. “Look, I’m not interested in working as a hostess or anything of the sorts,” you preempt them, eyeing the surroundings suspiciously. Definitely what Sukuna meant by good with your mouth, right? “So, sorry to waste your time but I’m leaving.”

The man sighs in exasperation. “You didn’t tell her what you brought her here for?”

Judging by the cunning smile on his face, Sukuna had expected that kind of reaction out of you. “Couldn’t resist. She’s such a fucking goody-two-shoes,” he says, scrunching his nose slightly as he turns to look at Toji. “Wanted to see her overreact and squirm a little.”

“You’re hopeless.”

“Come on, Toji. Couldn’t have let her panic a little longer?”

It’s only after Toji chides on him for making you stand there like a dumb fool for so long (thank you Toji?) that Sukuna explains what you’re there for. “Relax, it’s a job interview.”

At least you were sort of right.

Toji stands and holds his hand out to you, your hand coming up to shake it before you notice. “Toji Fushiguro. Head of People at Zenin Group.”

You still for a moment. Zenin Group? That was the one Satoru and Getou were talking about, the one where Sukuna works. You know this; they’re the multinational group that’s been expanding rapidly these past few years. They started in real estate, but undoubtedly they’re now dominating in several other sectors too. You’ve heard of them, though you never actually knew anyone who worked for them.

Then… job interview? Meaning—

“Surely you’re not planning to spend your internship at Gojo Corp, are you?” Sukuna taunts. He must’ve seen the text you received yesterday.

Your hand is still in Toji’s, and you realise he’s bringing it up to his lips, a gentle kiss placed on the back of your fingers. He gives the same playful smile Sukuna always gives when he realises you’re flustered by something. (You really should fix that.)

Apparently, by ‘job interview’, Sukuna means a very informal introduction of you to Toji, coupled with a few serious questions and a ton of annoying ones. (You only say that because Sukuna gets bored with the serious ones and likes to throw in a few dirty questions every few seconds, like so how good are you with your mouth? and hey Toji, think she could fit under your desk?)

“Will she do?” Sukuna asks, after Toji throws you a flurry of situational questions (and judging by the look of approval on his face, you aced them).

“She’ll be fine,” Toji tells him, lighting a cigarette between his lips. “What do you even need this favour for, anyway? She would’ve passed the interview without my help, a smart girl like her.”

While you try to let the recognition sink in, a comment in your ear disturbs your thoughts, Sukuna sounding like the devil himself, as if you’ve sold your soul to him. “Because she belongs to me now, and I have plans for her.”

“And what makes you think I’ll listen?” You counter in defiance, sick of that smug look on his face. Besides, who’s he to decide who you belong to? You’ve only agreed to let him use you as you use him.

“Because now you owe me.” His hand squeezes your thigh with his lips on your neck and you’re suddenly reminded of the night before and how he didn’t finish what he started.

Toji excuses himself out of the room, saying something about how he doesn’t want to be a spectator and ignoring Sukuna’s offer to a three-way (without even asking you, that ass). Probably going to another room to find Mika.

Maybe it’s because of your frustration over what’s past, maybe it’s because this sleazy club has tempted you into behaving this way, but you decide to take matters into your own hands.

If he’s decided that you’re useful, it’s time for him to prove the same.

Your hands palm his cock through his pants, and you hear his breathy groan for the first time. You decide you like that, like the feeling of knowing you can elicit something like that from him as easily as he can from you.

The next second, you’re already straddling his hips, your clothed pussy grinding against his crotch (still, unfortunately, through his pants), with Sukuna looking up at you, biting his lower lip. You smirk down at him, licking your lips, “you like that, huh?”

Sukuna chuckles hearing his own words being thrown back at him. His right hand snakes up to your neck, the left gripping at your waist. Before he can even kiss you, the girl you presumes is his ‘regular’ bursts through the door, all raven-haired and all smiles and all irritating the fuck out of you.

“I thought it’s my turn tonight, Suku—”

You whip your head around, “get out.” Right as she’s about to protest, you turn your attention back to Sukuna, an approving smirk on his face. “He’s mine.”

God, Sukuna doesn’t realise how much better you look when you’re not all sad, when you take charge, when you’re not afraid to get what you want. He might have to keep pushing you to do that. “Fuck, you’re hot,” he praises, all breathy and raspy.

The both of you don’t even care now whether the poor girl is still standing at the door or whether she’s already escaped, all you know is that his hands traveling down your body is relief and all Sukuna knows is that he can’t possibly get through the night without knowing what it feels like to hear you moaning his name.

When you tug his hair back to make him look at you, the words all mine rolling off your tongue, Sukuna only knows that he’s possibly screwed, because hey, maybe he does fuck with this, with you, more than he realised he would.

You’re both just tools to each other, a pact born out of spite and revenge. And to Sukuna, it’s right up his alley. Maybe having someone like you around, someone more like him than you realise, wouldn’t be such a bad deal after all.

And when you end up naked and writhing under him and pleading for him to go faster and chanting his name like a mantra, when he watches his cock fucking in and out of you with your slick coating around him, he relents.

Not bad. Not bad at all.

SIX MONTHS LATER.

“Yes, yes, right there, Sato—”

Gojo clamps his hand over her mouth. How ironic, he thinks, that now all he’s thinking is that he’d rather hear your voice.

By the time he’s done fucking her, he feels even more frustrated than ever.

It isn’t supposed to work this way, god.

He’s supposed to forget about you. Not get reminded of you. And clearly the girl in his bed is unhappy because he accidentally fucking moaned your damn name when he came. Not that he cares for her. He doesn’t even remember her name.

She decides to put on her clothes and storm out of there, probably expecting Gojo to follow and apologise, but he’s not giving her that. He considered giving you that, that night, but he’s starting to think he inherited his father’s stubbornness.

It’s night time. Gojo stares at his phone. He doesn’t even know what fucking time it is because he doesn’t want to spare a single attention to the clock on the corner of his screen.

No, no. That is not worth his attention. What is worth his attention is that picture you just took and posted to your story. Three hours ago—and now he looks at the time—which would put it around 8.30pm; it’s a picture of you in a tube top and a long flowy skirt, sipping on champagne, having dinner on the beach.

Gojo scrutinises the picture. You’re sitting on the table, it’s angled to your side. Opposite you there’s an empty chair, but judging by the other glass sitting on the table, you aren’t alone.

If glares could kill, Gojo would need a new phone by now.

Your stories have been like this recently. At least, for the past month. You, on a dinner date like this, on a boat ride, on the beach looking hot in your bikini or your one-piece. You’d look so goddamn hot in anything, and fuck this shit because Gojo doesn’t know what he’s doing stalking you like this, going through your highlights marked with a white heart ‘🤍’.

What the fuck does that mean? You loved doing these activities or are you doing these with someone special? There’s never anyone else in your photos; no figures, no silhouettes. Are you alone? Or are you doing this to drive him crazy?

If you weren’t alone, who the fuck were you with that would be rich enough to bring you on so many fucking vacations? How could you fucking afford to go when it’s supposed to be internship semester? Sure, it’s ending soon and graduation’s right around the corner, but still.

You ditched your previous plans to work in his family’s company. Did you happen to drop out or something?

Gojo swallows the lump in his throat, ignoring the itch in his brain, the jealousy in his guts. He can’t even bring himself to open your chat thread because after the first month of finding out that you wouldn’t be the one to reach out to him first, he’s tried to make himself forget.

He rolls his eyes and gives your story a like. Your post, too. Out of spite or something. At least make you think you’re not driving him fucking insane after doing all this. He’s going to act real happy for you.

“Must’ve really screwed up, huh?”

Geto laughs when Gojo hurriedly scrolls away from your profile, glaring pointedly at the raven.

“You must be totally out of it if you didn’t even hear me coming in,” Geto remarks, ignoring the hateful glare and turning on the television.

“Maybe you should knock first,” Gojo mumbles, stealing the remote from him. Geto always chooses shitty channels to watch.

“Fuck you, it’s my house,” Geto reminds him. “And I don’t appreciate you fucking all these girls over here.” Even if it is the damn guest room.

True, it is annoying having your best friend over at your house fucking their dates as if they even live here. Unfortunately, you’ve managed to do the unthinkable and knocked all senses out of the usually unfazeable Gojo Satoru.

“What even happened between you two anyway?” Geto asks, grabbing a bag of popcorn from the drawer only to have it snatched by his friend. Tsk.

Gojo sighs. If there’s one person he would choose to be honest around, it’s Geto. And you. But you’re currently doing god-knows-what with god-knows-who so forget that.

“She confessed to me.”

Geto hums in acknowledgement, because he’s not surprised you’ve fallen for him, considering everything you do for him even if he didn’t deserve it. “And?”

Now he isn’t so proud of this part. “Told her we’re done and not to call me again,” he murmurs like a kid that’s been forced to apologise against their will, arms crossed hugging a pillow.

“Not cool,” Geto tells him. That’s all he says about that, because he knows more than anyone that Gojo probably already knows he’s the one who fucked up. He’s just stubborn. “Still holding out for Mei Mei?”

Gojo’s quiet for a moment, but he’s quick on his feet. “Nah, I’m over that.”

So he says, but he’s not so sure. Neither is Geto. But there’s one thing Geto’s sure of; it’s looking like you have more impact on his best friend than anyone originally thought. Maybe he should test it out.

“What if Y/N’s already with another guy?”

Geto’s question shuts Gojo up longer than he expects.

“Well good for her, then,” Gojo finally responds. “Now shut up and let me watch the movie.”

The question plays in a loop in Gojo’s head. What if you’re already with another guy? That’s none of his fucking problem. He shouldn’t care. Theoretically. If he had a choice, he wouldn’t care.

But he does. For some fucking abstract reason, he does. The imagery of someone else getting to hold you, touch you, hear you; it’s something Gojo never even thought of. And he doesn’t like it.

So logically, he should text you. He should check in on you. He should do a lot of things he didn’t do.

Stubbornness is a fickle thing.

Maybe by graduation you’ll wake up and realise whoever you might be with isn’t for you. Maybe then Gojo will properly do something about it.

Hell, maybe even just the next time he physically sees you. Yeah, maybe then he’ll wake you to your senses and stop all this foolishness.

Gojo doubts it’ll be too late by then… right?

His hands reach up to squish your cheeks together. It was so unexpected, you squeak. 

And Gojo Satoru is pouting. 

It's a wave. The ocean of anxiety, guilt, and fear crashes into the shore. You feel nothing but indignant rage at the brat who clearly hadn't matured one damn bit. 

"I'm not late!" You hiss back. "If anything, you're the one who's late. I was—"

You're cut off by his laugh, light and happy. 

He isn't offended by your outburst; he's overjoyed about it. His cheeks are dabbed with pink, and his lips are so wide that he's showing his teeth. Your anger wanes when he pulls you into his chest, arms circling around you. You can smell his cologne when he buries his face into your hair. 

"There you are. Finally." He melts into you like butter. "I missed you, Greeny." 

His voice is soft, quiet, and sincere. You can't do anything but hug him back, allowing him to sink.

"I missed you, too." You whisper.

He hums. Apart from the wind, it's quiet. He's clinging onto you as though he's afraid once he lets go, you'll disappear forever. His behavior is justified. You were constantly meddling with his life before whisking away. Just this once, you allow him to keep you within his reach, letting the cat catch the canary. 

"This is sweet 'n all. But we're actually getting late." He mutters. "Also, we gotta do something about your clothes." 

"Hm?" 

One moment, you're atop the Tokyo Skybridge; the next, you're standing in an upscale boutique. 

Satoru skips away from you. Meanwhile, you're frozen, brain scrambling to catch up with what happened. Teleport. He can teleport now.

"Mr. Gojo, sir." A voice calls. An older woman smiles at him. 

He gives her a casual wave before gesturing over to you. "Mind giving this one a dress? It's a black-tie event. We don't have a budget." 

The woman turns to you with a smile. "Of course, sir." 

What?

Dazed, you pliantly follow the woman into the back of the boutique. Her hold on you is gentle as she ushers you through the hall with one hand on either side of your shoulders. When you look back, Satoru is waving with a wide grin. The door shuts behind you. 

"Do you have any preferences?" 

You turn back to the woman. She's still smiling. You can't tell if it's genuine or customer service. Perhaps both. 

Did Satoru not like what you're wearing? When you look down, it makes sense. Your time on the tower wasn't kind to your hair, not to mention your clothes. This morning, you'd just thrown on the first thing you saw. 

This morning. That felt like centuries ago. 

She's still waiting. You give a trepid smile. 

"Anything," you say, "anything as long as it's cheap. I'm not exactly swimming in cash." 

She gives a confused look. "Oh, but Mr. Gojo is paying, isn't he?" 

Was he? You had no idea what was happening, much less what he had just said. She returns to her usual smile. 

"If you have nothing in mind, let's see here..." 

Some time later, your usual clothing was removed and replaced by something satin and long. It was a pretty dress that fell right to your feet. A set of women also flitted in and worked on your hair and face, putting everything back in your face so that you looked more human and less cryptid. 

"What do you think?" She asks, looking at you through that mirror. 

Pretty, you looked pretty. But when you looked closer, no amount of make-up could remove that look in your eyes. 

When you step back out, Satoru is waiting with a tapping foot. 

"Finally!" He exclaims, standing up. He doesn't acknowledge the dress, probably because he's seen himself in better. "Thanks, Hana. Okay, let's go." 

"Go?" You prod. "Go where? You—you still haven't told me what you're even doing—" 

It's no use. He grabs your hand, instantly warping you away from the boutique. 

You're outside. There's people everywhere. In the distance, you can see a crystal glass dome. The sun was still in the sky, which was strange because you remembered watching a sunset not too long ago, unless you weren't in Japan anymore. To prove it to yourself, you check your phone location. Yakima, Washington. What the fuck.

Was this some type of torture, him flitting you from continent to continent, all in a ploy to punish you for something? You give him a pleading look. 

"Just tell me what's going on—" 

"Nuh-uh." He grins. "It's a surprise! Besides, you'll figure it out soon enough. Now, I gotta' go. Stay here, be good, and find the panda!" 

And then he's gone.

You always knew he was insane, but this is ridiculous, even for him. To leave you in the middle of nowhere, that asshole.  

There is no one you recognize in the crowd, but they are all walking towards the dome, so you meekly follow. What did he say? Find the panda? It had to be a metaphor of some kind, or perhaps there was a panda statue you needed to wait under. 

And then you see a panda on two legs walking and talking with a group of teenagers.

Seriously, what else did you expect? 

Feeling like you've just aged five years, you approach the group. Including the animal, there's five. They all look like 14-16 years old. You feel like you're in high school all over again when they glance over at you. The girl looks particularly unimpressed. 

"Hi." You look at the panda. Maybe it's a really good costume because no one else looks shocked. "Satoru said I should find you...?" 

One of them seems to get the code. The one with black hair and puppy eyes perks up. 

"Ah! Are you 'Greeny'?" Did he tell everyone about that nickname? Didn't you tell him it was supposed to be a secret? Though, it doesn't really matter anymore. 

"It's not my actual name." You say before introducing yourself. 

He gives a nod. "Okkutso Yuta." He bows. What a polite kid. "This is my friend, Inumaki Toge." 

The kid with half his face under his scarf gives a wave. You smile. 

"Just Maki." The girl steps in before she gives you a once-over. "I like your dress." 

"Oh, thank you!" You say happily, "I love yours as well!" 

She looks away, but you have a feeling she has a hard time taking compliments. 

"I'm Panda." The panda fucking says, and no, it isn't a costume, but you're too tired to ask at this point. "Nice to finally meet you." 

When the final kid says nothing, Panda reaches over and wraps a furry hand around his shoulder. 

"And this is Fushiguro Megumi! He's shy." Panda says cheerily. The boy flusters under his weight. 

"Get off." Fushiguro gripes. 

"Don't mind him." Maki rolls her eyes. "He's just throwing a tantrum because his sister couldn't make it, and he's gonna have to socialize with people instead of hiding behind her." 

Fushiguro glares, but he doesn't respond to that. He just gives you a nod, and you decide these are good kids. At the very least, they're all way better than that brat Satoru. 

"So, why are we waiting out here?" You ask, peering around. 

"The doors haven't opened, yet," Okkutso kindly relays, "we're just waiting out here until everything is set up." 

"If they're taking this long, then they should at least ask for help." Maki crosses her arms. "We've been waiting out here for at least thirty minutes." 

"At least there's food." Panda tries to assuage. 

"Salmon," says Inumaki. 

"They're serving salmon out here?" You give him an incredulous look and he waves his arms around. 

"Bonito flakes." Inumaki says. Okkutso tries to come to his rescue. 

"Inumaki can't speak anything but food items because of his curse-" Maki quickly yanks him down by his collar frantically. Fushiguro is whispering something in his ear. You watch them go back and forth before it clicks. 

"Does it have something to do with his technique?" You ask, curiously. 

They stop squabbling. 

"Oh, our bad. Sorry 'bout that." Panda gives a sheepish grin. "We didn't think you'd know about jujutsu sorcery 'cause...well. Your cursed energy is really low." 

"Super low." Maki agrees. 

"Salmon." 

"Even lower than Maki's." That earns Panda a punch from her. 

"Thank you," you dryly say, before you turn back to the building. 

"What's going on in that place anyway?" 

They all give you an odd look before they look at each other. Did you say something wrong?

"Did Gojo-sensei not tell you anything?" Okkotsu asks. 

You allow yourself to leak some bitterness. "Satoru just dropped me on the sidewalk before teleporting away. He never tells me anything.

"That sounds like him." Panda nods. 

"Idiot," Maki says.

"Such an idiot," Fushiguro says, and now you feel bad for Satoru.

"Our sensei's getting married today." Okkutso supplies. He points at the dome. 

You don't get why you didn't realize it sooner. You knew these kids, at least Okkutso, Maki, Panda, and Inumaki. They all showed up on the very last day Geto Suguru died. Okkutso, in particular, had fought and defeated Suguru. 

These were Gojo Satoru's students. 

You think back to the last time you saw Satoru. He didn't look like a groom, but he's an eccentric guy. You wondered what kind of person would put up with him for the rest of their lives. You pitied them. 

"Oh." You frown. "His wedding? I—I would have at least brought a gift." 

"I don't think he'd mind," Panda said, "besides, you didn't even know!" 

You still felt a bit guilty. 

"We didn't bring anything either," Fushiguro states, and it helps just a tiny bit. 

"When the ceremony begins, you can sit with us," Okkutso tells you, "we're supposed to keep an eye on you, anyway." 

"You're not talking to a dog." Maki grunts. 

"Oh no I—I didn't mean to be offensive!" Okkutso backtracks. "It's just—well, Gojo-sensei's been talking about you for a while, and we want to make sure everything goes smoothly and we were all really excited to meet you so—" 

He keeps rambling like that until Inumaki pats his shoulder. You laugh, amused. 

"I wasn't offended or anything." You tell him before his words sink in. "Wait, Satoru talks about me?" 

"All the time." Maki responds, an edge to her voice. "'Greeny this', 'Greeny that'." 

"We usually tune him out when he gets like that," Panda says, "honestly, we didn't even think you were real until just now." 

"I always thought 'Greeny' was an inside joke Gojo-sensei and Haibara-sensei had," Okkotsu admits. 

Something warm bubbles in your stomach. 

"So," Fushiguro speaks, "how do you know Gojo, anyway?" 

You didn't know the story Gojo told them so you simply keep it vague. 

"I knew him as a kid." 

It's Panda who gets the most excited about this. 

"Really? What was he like as a teenager?" 

"A brat." You instantly respond, and then you think a little more. "But I don't think that ever changed." 

They ask you a couple more questions about Gojo's high school days. You oblige, thinking this as payback for how Satoru dropped you here without saying anything. You don't know how long you spend out there, airing out Gojo's younger days while his students get increasingly giggly. 

Okkotsu is the one who notices the crowd is moving. 

"I think they opened the doors." He smiles. "Let's go, everyone." 

You follow behind Maki, admiring the architecture. It's a grand building. Sparkling crystal glass lets the sunlight bleed in. The decoration was something else entirely. Small white flowers adorn the chandelier, and they cascade down the edges. Ice sculptures of angels greeted the guests. Live music was already playing. Satoru knows how to plan a wedding. 

Maki finds you all seats. You sit next to her. Fushiguro follows you. Okkutso, Inumaki, and Panda take the seats behind you. While you wait for the guests to settle down, you pass your time, waiting for the students to bicker with one another. From your assumption, it looked as though Maki, Panda, and occasionally Inumaki butted heads with each other. Okkutso often served as the timid referee, trying to get everyone to calm down, which almost always made things worse. Fushiguro just elected to ignore everything. 

"Are they always like this?" You lean over to whisper to him. Fushiguro gives a tired nod. 

"Every. Single. Day." He's saying this from experience, but at least you get a show. 

Everyone settles down eventually. The kids grow quiet when the music starts to swell. The indoor lights dim. It's starting. 

You've never been to a wedding this grand before. There was a live orchestra. Women and men were dressed in baby blue, gently strumming away their cellos, violins, and violas. 

It's how you miss Satoru's entrance. He's already standing on the altar by the time you look back. He's changed into something more formal. The suit and green tie fit him. A perfectly put-together beauty. As though he can sense your stare, he catches your eye and winks. 

But why was he already up there? Shouldn't he be—

"Sensei's coming!" Okkotsu whisper-yells. Inumaki hushes him.

Everyone turns to face the door. You do, too. 

Your heart stops when you see him. 

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. 

You don't think you're breathing when you watch him walk down the aisle. The music is low, barely loud enough to hide the click of his heels. He takes his rightful place beside Satoru, his best man. Satoru gives him a nudge, and Suguru shakes his head fondly. 

Everyone turns to see Shoko's entrance. You should too, but you keep staring at him. How much he's changed since high school. How much he's changed since he waltzed onstage wearing a priest's outfit, filled with nothing but empty hatred for those he viewed as weak. 

But he's not wearing that twisted monk costume. His eyes aren't dull and dead and bitter. There's no sickly faux smile on his lips.

Today, Suguru looks like the happiest man on Earth. 

His eyes are wide and eager and sparkling purple beauties. He's 27, but he looks younger. The lines of exhaustion and heartbreak aren't so prominent. And you—and you—

You just sit there, watching as Shoko walks up to the altar, watching as they stand as bride and groom. His daughters, adorned in pretty blue dresses, stand right behind him, smiling so hard you're sure it hurts. The priest speaks. They say their vows. You can't hear a single word. It's like you're behind a glass wall, and you can see him, but you can't feel him. 

 When they kiss, everything comes back. The crowd celebrates. Satoru ruffles Himeno's hair. Nanako smiles wider. Behind you, Inumaki and Panda sniffles. Okkotsu hands them a tissue. 

"It’s pretty." Maki comments. Fushiguro gives a hum of agreement. 

ⴵ

Satoru finds you and the kids when you're waiting for the reception to start. 

He appears behind you with a cheery, "And how are my lovely students holding up?" You almost spill your drink in shock.

"Sensei!" Okkotsu chirps. "Where's Geto-sensei and Ieiri-sensei?" 

"Shoko's around; Suguru's taking a break," Gojo answers with a grin. "If you don't mind me, I'll be stealing this one for a sec." 

He doesn't wait for an answer, steering you away by your shoulders. You look behind you. Panda waves. Fushiguro just looks even more upset. You wave back at them regardless. 

"I can't believe you put your students out on babysitting duty." You tell him. "And what's with this wedding? There's no alcohol anywhere." To make your point, you take another sip of your apple juice. 

"We have kids here. Kinda' have to make it alcohol-free," Satoru says. 

"The bartender could ID them." You suggest. 

"You think teens who fight curses daily wouldn't figure out how to get around that?" He grins. You frown at his frustratingly good response. 

“What’d you think of them?”

“Hm?”

“The kids.” He urges. “What’d you think?”

Your brows scrunch. You have no idea what he means by that. Eventually, you take a breath.

“I like how...close they are.” You eventually say. “The bond they share. They care. I think each one of them will be good sorcerers.”

He’s silent, and you think you might have misunderstood his question.

“I learned that from you,” Satoru says, “keeping them together, making sure they can grow, get stronger, together. You were always so insistent on that, back then. I’m glad you were. It was one of the best things about you.”

You stare at him. Really stare. You’ve never heard him sound so genuine, so sincere before. You look into his crystal-blue eyes, wide and earnest. Part of you wants to take a picture, so you could keep it forever.

Eventually, Gojo successfully drags you to a less crowded area of the party. He looks around. 

"Hm, he should be around here somewhere...?" Satoru hums to himself. 

"Who?" You ask. That question answers itself. 

Haibara Yu is waiting a little ways ahead. By now, the sun was starting to set. His brown hair turned gold. Gojo eagerly hurries you forward as he calls out to him. You stumble, still lost at what you're seeing. 

"Guess who I brought?" Gojo sweetly sings, Yu-Haibara, he hasn't let you call him Yu yet-tilts his head.

He smiles, confused. "Oh? Hello!" He says cheerily. "Who's this?" He asks to Gojo. 

"Guess," Gojo says. 

Haibara stares at you, and you decide to give him a hint. 

"Brocolli head?" 

He gapes. It's almost the same reaction he had last time. Last time, when you had to convince him to kill you so you could go back in time to save Satoru.  

"No way." He gasps. "Greeny?"

 He doesn't remember. He wouldn't, why would he? Still, it's nice to see the innocence on his face, rather than the pain you saw last time. Right before he snapped your neck. 

You think he was crying the last time you two saw each other. 

In this timeline, Haibara is hugging you so tightly you think your head's about to explode. 

"It's really you?" Haibara says, but his bear hug muffles his words. "“—I—I can’t believe it? It’s actually you! I thought I’d never see you again even though Satoru said we'd see you again one day, and—and then suddenly you pop up outta’ nowhere—not that I’m complaining— but—”

"Haibara." You plead. "You're suffocating me." 

"Oh! Oh, I'm so sorry." He lets you go, and your lungs inflate again. "I—I'm just so happy! And—and you're a girl!" He says it like it's the most surprising thing about this whole revelation. Maybe it is. 

Satoru is always needy for attention and whines as always. 

"Wait, you two came up with a code word?" He complains. "That's not fair. We never did that." 

"I mean, it was Haibara's idea." You point out. "You should be smarter next time." 

That makes him frown even more. You laugh. 

"Yu." Haibara suddenly says. 

You turn to him. 

"My friends call me Yu." 

It's nice to know that no matter what timeline you're in, Yu will always remain stagnant. 

"Okay, lover boy," Gojo says with a not-so playful bite, "keep your eye on this one for me, okay? Gotta' go do more best man shit." 

Satoru's gone once again. You look at Yu. 

"He's been running around since I got here." You tell him. "Does that man ever rest?" 

"Nope." Haibara grins, before taking your arm. "Follow me; you should meet a couple of people." 

He leads you through the crowd. You spot the teens moping about out of the corner of your eye. Panda and Inumaki seem to be in a push-up competition. Maki is egging them on. You wisely decide not to disturb them.

Yu drops your hand to wave to someone. There's no need for any kind of introduction for these people. 

Riko and Misato Kuroi smile at you first. Miss Kuroi's aged beautifully since you last saw her. Wispy silver hair knitted seamlessly into brown strands. She never got that chance to grow gray hairs last time. You're staring so much it might be rude. 

"Yu?" Riko asks and you think you're about to break because they know each other. "Who's this?" 

"Uh, this-" Haibara chokes before looking at your awkwardly. Right, he doesn't know your actual name. 

Come to think of it, Satoru doesn't know either. He never bothered to ask too. Probably on purpose. Ass. 

You smile and politely introduce yourself. It takes everything within you not to scream and hug them both because in this timeline, they don't know you. They never did. 

But you can change that now. 

"Hello!" Riko beams. "I'm Kuroi Riko, but just Riko is fine! And this is my mom: Kuroi Misato." 

She says that so plainly, like that had always been her name, like Miss Kuroi had always been her mother. You wonder how long it took for those two realities to become her norm. Or maybe it hardly took time at all. 

"It's wonderful to meet you." Miss Kuroi states before she tilts her head. "May I ask how you know the couple?" 

Haibara jumps in for you. "Um—actually, this is Satoru's date!" He fumbles. 

You do a double-take. No, you technically weren't Satoru's date. But you technically entered the wedding with him. And he was the one who 'invited' you. Fuck, you were the brat's date. Damn it. 

"Ah." Nanami cuts in for the first time. "So, you're the one Gojo won't shut up about." 

His accusation sounds like Maki's, but less harsh. You wonder if he has a favorite student. 

Nanami looks the most different from his high school counterpart. A new haircut, less slouchy, more tall and refined. He blinks at you, slow and calculating. 

Sheepishly, you laugh. "Yeah...that's me....sorry." 

"Don't be rude, Kento." 

Ieiri arrives with a soft smile and painted features. She's changed out of her glowing gown, sticking to something small yet perfectly elegant: a short white dress that curls ever so slightly at the ends. Riko's the first to hug her, ecstatic. Ieiri hugs her back, too, because they've become friends in this timeline. The circles under her eyes are less prominent. Her smile looks more real. This isn't the timeline where she's had to bury her friend; it's the timeline she's allowed to marry him. 

"Congratulations," you say politely once everyone is done cooing over her. She smiles at you, the way a stranger would. 

Then, her head tilts. 

"Sorry," she hesitates, "do we know each other? You...feel familiar somehow." 

Ieiri was the first person you met when you activated your technique and returned to the past for the first time. She was the one who calmed you down, kept you grounded. In a way, you owed a lot to her. 

Looking at her, you can see why Suguru kept her cigarettes in his pocket. 

You shrug. "I must have one of those faces." 

The attention turns back to her, her beautiful dress, pure and white and beautiful. You feel Haibara stare at you. You shake your head at him. It wasn't the time. Maybe it never will be. 

"This really is a beautiful wedding," Mistato says when the conversation reaches a pleasant lull, "I can't imagine how much it cost." 

She shrugged. 

"Probably a fortune, but I let Satoru deal with the numbers." 

Misato looks confused, and Ieiri laughs. 

"He paid for everything." She gestures to the venue. "Suguru and I didn't have to fork over a single cent. It's the least he could do for being a pain in the ass for 12 years." 

Damn, you knew he was rich, but you didn't know he was rich rich. Maybe you should consider being nicer to him. If you ask politely, perhaps you could get him to pay off your car loans. 

"I'll get him to pay for my wedding too." Riko proudly says. 

"He'd probably do it, too." Ieiri nodded along. "He offered, just like that. The only thing he was hellbent on was the date." 

"The date?" You echo. Ieiri shrugs, messing with her laced sleeves. 

"Said it absolutely needed to be on December 24th. Something about spirituality. I never listened to that guy's rants." 

It comes to you immediately, but you're pushing it away. No way. Satoru wouldn't. There isn't a chance in Hell he would have convinced his friends to have the biggest day of their lives on the same day you were supposed to meet him. 

No, of course, he would do that. Ass. 

"So, how do you know Satoru?" Riko asks you. When she realized how rude it sounded, she backtracked. "I—I didn't mean anything by it! It's just...the guy only knows five people. When he spoke about bringing someone along, I thought he was joking." 

"Same here," Nanami says. Haibara stifles a laugh, and you realize all of Satoru's friends think he's a loser. 

Friends. Back then, he only had one of those. 

"Um." You toss Haibara look. He shrugs. "We met a few years ago! But we just recently reconnected." That's close enough to the truth. Good enough. 

You remember your blunder. You sympathetically look at Shoko. 

"I'm so sorry I wasn't able to bring a gift," you say, "I was blindsided. Satoru barely gave me enough time to get ready." 

You laugh, and you're hoping they laugh it off too. They don't, instead Shoko, Nanami, Riko, and Misato look at you. Then, they look at each other. 

Nanami speaks first. He clears his throat.

"Did Satoru....abduct you?" 

"What?" 

"That sounds like him." Misato sighs, more exasperated than anything else.

Riko nods along with her. "We tried to teach him. Where did we go wrong?" she laments. 

Haibara and Shoko laugh as you desperately try to defend your not-date date because he didn't actually kidnap you, but he did bring you here against your will and started dragging you along like some toy, but it's the context about that that matters. You wished they could've had a bit more faith in him. Poor Satoru. 

It ends eventually. Ieiri excuses herself. Riko and Misato go too. You stay with Yu and Nanami, watching as they get into increasingly petty arguments. It’s hilarious how quickly Yu is able to bring the usually staunch and serious Nanami down to his level.

Sometime later, you find yourself roaming the balcony. The party roars on indoors, laughing, talking, cheering. It was chilly outside, you should go back in within a few minutes. You just needed a break from the action.

The sun had already gone down, by then. You were somewhere out in the country. The buildings sparsely dotted the horizon. There were no artificial lights. It meant the stars could shine as brightly as they wanted to, with no one to stop them.

You hadn’t seen Satoru in a while. You had no idea where he’d run off to. It didn’t matter; you knew he’d eventually pop out of a box to harass you again.

But now that you had space for yourself, you needed to think.

You rest your hands over the rail, looking up at the stars. There were so many out tonight.

You fixed the future. You changed everything. Does that mean you still needed to tell Satoru about the past timeline?

You promised him answers the next time you two met. You promised him an explanation. He waited ten years for that. You pinch at the fabric of the dress.

This future that you carefully built, crafted with your own hands. It’s delicate, a glass castle.

It’s justice, but did that make it right?

“Want one?”

The voice makes you jump.

He stares at you, leaning against the rail. Purple eyes, mirroring the starry sky.

You knew these eyes, for a while, they used to be yours.

You stare at him. Then, you stare at the cigarette in his inviting fingers.

Your fingers twitch.

“No—no, I’m fine.” You smile. “Actually, I’m trying to quit.”

“Ah.” Suguru says, lighting it up before bringing it to his lips. “Shouldn’t tempt you, then. Pardon, what’s your name?”

You can hear your heartbeat. It’s loud, right in your ear. You wonder if he can hear it too. Are his curses around? Can they smell it? Your blood? Are they still as ravenous as the last time, eager to tear and fester and eat—

“It’s Greeny,” you say, “you can call me Greeny. ”

He hums in approval.

“Geto Suguru,” he says, “though I’m pretty sure you already know that.” You both share a huff of laughter.

“My fiancé quit a few years ago.” Suguru starts, mentioning the cherry-red cigarette. “Thought I’d follow in her footsteps, but here I am.” He shrugs before he winces.

“Wife, sorry.” He corrects. “I still can’t believe it.”

The monsters come out to play their song. You close your eyes, forgive Suguru, and you die once more.

You smile at his tone. He sounded like that 12 years ago, when he was still just a kid. Full of soft wonder.

“I’m guessing you’ve been planning this for a long time?” You ask.

He shrugs. “Shoko did most of the work. This is all thanks to her, really. Unfortunately, I was too busy managing the school.”

“I heard you were a principal?” You prod.

Suguru nods, “Our current one recently retired. I’m trying to follow in his footsteps.”

You think of Principal Yaga, the one with sunglasses and a stern expression. He looks a lot like Nanami in some areas. But he acts more like Suguru than anyone you ever knew.

And you knew Suguru; you knew him as well as yourself.

The screams start up again, and you forgive Suguru. 

“I can tell you’re already making him proud,” you say, “I met your students. They’re good kids.”

He smiles, soft, gentle. Those used to be your smiles.

“They are, aren’t they?” He repeats back, “some of them had a rough beginning, but it all worked out somehow.” He hums. “I’m glad.”

His daughters, the ones standing beside him as he kissed his wife, wide eyes and even wider grins. They didn’t have the darkness in their faces. The bitterness. Like they did in the last timeline.

You were glad, too.

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.

“It sounds like you’ve had personal experience with that sort of thing.” When he looks at you, you quickly say. “Your eyes. I—I can see it. I’ve always been good at that sort of thing.” You knew Suguru. His eyes matched yours.

He doesn’t look offended. Suguru takes a minute, reaching up to his black locks. He removes the elastic, pretty black hair falls down his shoulders He’s grown it out since high school. It reaches his waist.

He eases himself back onto the rail, looking up at the stars. You follow.

“Yeah, I do,” he’s saying, “I think I know what it’s like being them at that age. Alone, isolated, slipping down a rock. Drowning, but no one can see it.” Ingested. Exorcised. Ingested. Exorcised.

“When I was younger...it was really hard. Some days, I was so full of hate and anger. The pain was a lot. Sometimes, I had this despicable idea that it was someone else’s fault I was like this. Someone innocent.” He laughs, bitter.

“And, on those days, I would often feel something.”

You look at him. Suguru doesn’t stare back, eyes lost in the stars.

“Sometimes, it’d be a voice. Other times a small nudge on my shoulders, pushing me in the right direction. Once, it was a hug, keeping me from doing something that would’ve changed my life forever. And it would be just a bit more bearable, like I wasn’t so alone.”

You can feel your heart in your throat. Your fingers grip the railing.

“What did you think it was?” You expect hate, disgust. You want to give yourself a reason.

You forgive Suguru.

He takes a moment, coming back from heaven. His eyes find yours.

“I’m not sure.” He admits. “I’m not religious, but I always liked to think of it as—”

An angel. A hand of God. A higher power. It doesn’t matter what Suguru said, you knew what he meant.

A part of you always wondered why Suguru would return to Jujutsu society, when he wanted nothing more than to run from it. You expected him to retire. Instead, he took the reins of the beast, wrangling it down. Now, you get why.

“That’s why you’re a teacher now,” you say, “so you could be the same thing for your students.”

He nods, and you think of Maki. You think of Okkutso. You think of Panda. You think of Fushiguro. You think of Inumaki. Suguru must have been there for Maki, even when her own family wasn’t. Suguru must have helped Okkutso control his technique, being the only one who could. Suguru, must have made these kids better than they ever possibly could’ve been. Fighting for them instead of against them.

“Sorry.” He blinks. “I—I didn’t mean to get so sentimental. It’s been years since I thought about my own highschool years.” He laughs, voice full.

“You’re just...really nice to talk to.” He hums. “I don’t think I can explain it but it’s...familiar somehow.”

You look at him. He’s older, but in some ways, he hasn’t really changed. Even now, when you look at him, you see a reflection of yourself.

“I can see why he likes you.”

“Who?” You ask when he brings you back from your thoughts.

“The idiot.” But he says it so affectionately, so lovingly, you can’t help but smile. “I saw him dragging you around earlier. Sorry about that. I would’ve stepped in but...” He trails off, thinking.

“It’s been a while since I saw him like that.”

You hadn’t noticed anything about Satoru. He smiled just as brightly as he did in highschool. Now, you wonder if this was the first time in a while Suguru had seen that side of him: carefree, no longer The Strongest.

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

You forgive Suguru. 

“Are you and him…” he trails off.

“No.” You laugh. “No, I’m his….childhood friend. We just haven’t seen each other in a while.”

“Oh?” He tilts his head. “How long has it been?”

You decide to be honest. “Ten or so years, give or take?”

He whistles.

“No wonder he’s bouncing around like a yipping puppy,” He says, and you can’t help but agree with the analogy.

“In any case.” He leans over the railing. His cigarette is down to its last embers. “I hope you stick around. A friend…I think he needs more of those more than anything.”

You stare at him. Those purple eyes. You can see what Shoko sees. You can see what Satoru saw all those timelines ago. They only ever saw the light, the gentleness, of Geto Suguru.

You are the only person in the world who knows him.

He’s killed people. He’s killed you. No matter how much logic or justification or pain was involved, the blood of the innocent is still sticky. It still drips across the pavement, scarring the sidewalk in red. It still hurts.

When Suguru would kill you, you’d force yourself to forgive him. You needed to die without regrets, because the pain of hatred builds up, you’ve seen it happen firsthand.

But now that you’re free, what Suguru did to you wasn't fair. Just because his innocence was taken away doesn’t give him the right to take the lives of others. It never gives anyone the right to murder. You keep telling yourself that this Suguru and that Suguru were different…but they weren’t. Not really. The look in their eyes matched perfectly.

He’d do it again, in the right conditions.

And yet.

You forgive Suguru.

You can’t judge him. If there is a God, maybe Suguru will have to pay for the crimes he committed all those timelines ago. You can’t save Suguru from that. But to you, the debt is paid.

Besides, you’re too tired to hate him. And you won’t allow yourself to fall into the same cycle he struggled to break free from.

You look into his eyes. Then, at his ring. You smile. 

And that's enough.

“I will,” you say, “I will.”

Then, as two parts of a whole, the two of you stare at the stars for a little while longer.

ⴵ

The reception was nice. A fancy dinner, you can’t remember the last time you ate something. The speeches were beautiful, especially Shoko’s. You swore you saw Nanami shed a tear, but you never said anything about it.

You saw a glimpse of white hair in the crowd before the first dance began. Stunning music. The couple must have practiced for months. Bride and Groom, husband and wife, held hands and looked at each other like they were the only ones in the room.

Megumi stood beside you, watching Ieiri and Geto sway to the music. As though the kid could sense him, Megumi’s serene face sours. You’re about to ask him what’s wrong when there’s a tap on your shoulder.

“Cute, huh?” Satoru starts, mentioning at the dance. “It didn’t look this put-together in the beginning. Shoko gave him a ton of bruises,” he says with a shit-eating grin.

You frown. “Shouldn’t you be doing something else than gossiping about your friends?”

“I am! I’m checking up on my son!” And then he turns to Fushiguru. “Megumi!”

“No.” Fushiguro instantly rebukes.

“Don’t mind him.” Satoru chides. “He’s going through an angst phase.” Fushiguro rolls his eyes, but he shifts just a tiny bit.

“Y’know, he was actually supposed to be the flower boy, but he refused. Such a shame, the pictures would’ve been something else.” Gojo sighed and now you’re convinced they aren’t father and son.

“That was never going to happen.” Fushiguro says, and as if he thinks you’re naive enough to believe Satoru, he glances at you. “Never.”

“Of course not.” You crack a smile.

You watch as Ieiri descends into a graceful spin, Geto taking the lead. When he tips her over, your eyes soften.

Gojo leans over; you can feel his breath in your ear.

“Next year.” He whispers. “For us, it’ll definetly be next year.”

You jerk away but he’s already skipping off, having the audacity to call out a cheerful ‘toodles’.

“What did he say?” Fushiguro questions.

That’s what you wanted to know, too, but you were so tired, and the night was so long, and you couldn’t bother to get out your Gojo translator and figure it out.

“The same stuff he always says. Nonsense.” You decide on. Fushiguro takes the answer.

“I don’t understand how he has all that energy.” You mutter, watching Satoru disappear through the crowd.

“I thought he’d get better with age, turns out I was wrong,” Fushiguro says.

“I wanted to ask,” you start, your eyes still on Ieiri and Geto, “how do you know Gojo? Aren’t you still in middle school?”

“Everyone knows Gojo. He’s pretty famous in the jujutsu world.” Fushiguro shrugs. “But personally...he’s my benefactor. Took me and my sister in when my parents left.”

You look at him. And you feel like an idiot.

He’s the spitting image of his father. Sharp cobalt eyes. Black hair. Fushiguro Toji is all over the young man.

Gojo Satoru, the one who killed the sorcerer killer, took care of his enemy’s children.

“What?” Fushiguro asks when you’re smiling

You shake your head. “No, no it’s nothing.”

Satoru told you that you’re the one who taught him about the importance of bonds. But you think he should take some of the credit too.

ⴵ

Eventually, everyone gets on the dancefloor.

It’s a mess. Absolute chaos. Panda and Inumaki are trying and failing to do the waltz. Maki and Okkuttso are lightly swaying to the music. They’ve managed to get Fushiguro up there too. Though, he doesn’t look extremely happy.

The adults are even worse. Apparently, the retired principal Yaga is a pretty good dancer. You think one of them found alcohol, because Haibara looks absolutely wasted. He’s swinging his arms around, almost hitting the other guests. Nanami is trying to get his attention, but the guy wants none of it. When Haibara catches your eye, he wildly waves in clear invitation.

You smile back, but you shake your head. You think he’s about to come up to you, but something else catches his eye, and he’s grinning at a very irrated-looking Iori.

You were sitting on a chair, just people-watching. It was a nice break from everything. To listen to the music, lightly tap your feet, play with the frill of your dress. You weren’t really in the mood to dance.

Besides, you weren’t technically invited here anyway. It’d be rude to just burst on the scene.

“There you are! Been looking all over for you!”

You don’t have to look over to see who it is. Satoru slumps down in a chair next to you.

“Greeny, you gotta’ do something about your cursed energy. It’s so weak. Like finding a needle in a haystack.”

“Thanks,” you say dryly.

“Always happy to help.” Satoru beams, and then he glances over at the floor.

“We’re dancing after this song, by the way.”

“Absolutely not.”

“It’s so cute you think you have a choice, Greeny.”

You frown. “There’s no point in calling me Greeny anymore. Unless you still don’t know my name.”

“I do, but it doesn’t matter,” Satoru says arrogantly. “You’ll always be my Greeny to me.”

You roll your eyes. Even now, he’s a brat. You thought all these years would mellow him down just a tiny bit.

“So,” you start, “are you done with your ‘best man shit’?”

“Yup.” He announces. “Now, I can sit back and enjoy the show.”

You smile, but you can still feel the butterflies in your stomach. He’s been running around so far and it’s given you time. Now, that he’s free, it means you two have to talk.

And you aren’t sure if you truly want to.

You flex your fingers.

“Um, how have you—”

“Stop.” Satoru interrupts. “Let’s not make this awful, Greeny.”

You nod immediately, relaxing. His voice gets softer, after that.

“I’m glad you chose that color,” he says, “I was sorta’ hoping you would.”

You look down at the dress. A deep green. You hadn’t even thought about the color, the boutique lady had basically thrown it at you.

The shade of Satoru’s green tie matches your dress. You can feel your smile again. Typical.

“I’m glad I did too,” you honestly say. And then, you continue to fiddle with your fingers. Ultimately, you decide to just bite the bullet.

“I thought you’d be mad.” You finally say, words jittery and unfocused. “Angry at me for...for what I did.”

He’s silent, and you feared that it was all true. The laughs and the jabs were all a facade.

"I don’t think I was ever mad." He responds, staring into the crowd. "Hurt, yeah. Then, it faded into something that stung everytime I thought about it, and then...something else. And now, I know it's a waste to get mad because you're finally here now. With me." 

His tone pitches upwards as he reaches over to painfully pinch your cheek. 

"'Sides, I know you can't escape me anymore, Greeny," Satoru cheerfully says, "Now, I know your face, your name, and with little effort, I could probably find your address, your social security-" 

"Okay! Okay!" You pull away, rubbing your cheek. Damn, he's scary. "Threat acknowledged." 

"Good!" He straightens himself back up, and you find yourself slumping again.

“I am sorry, though,” you say, “for leaving like that. I...I always wished I could do that a bit differently. You deserved better.”

“Don’t do that.” He shakes his head. “Don’t blame yourself for only doing what you could. It eats at you, Greeny. It really does.” He sighs, leaning forward in his chair.

“You deserved better too,” he says back, voice barely above the music, “I always had some regrets about those years. I thought I could’ve done more to help you, back then.”

There it was again: selfishness, the urge to do good to others while retaining that greed. You supposed you taught him that.

You put your face in your hands.

“Even though, you dragged me here against my will, I feel so guilty being here.” You complain, hoping it’ll lighten the mood. “You should apologize to everyone because I crashed the party.”

Satoru scoffs. “What are you talking about? Everyone loves you!” He exclaims. “Look, Yu’s ecstatic. Riko won’t stop gushing about you; you even have Nanami’s approval! I don’t even have that!” You roll your eyes, sinking back in your seat.

“Besides, you needed to come. You needed to see it.”

“See what?” You ask.

“This.” He points to the venue, the ballroom full of glittery whites and sparkles.

“Look around, Greeny. Look at all the people you saved.”

Haibara and Riko are dancing together. Two dead children finally had the chance to grow up. Misato speaks to Nanami. Beautiful gray hair, eyes that aren’t so tired. Shoko sparkling in her dress, and Geto—

The same day he was supposed to die, Suguru was getting married.

“Thank you.” When you look at him, Satoru is staring right at you. His sea eyes give everything and more.

“Thank you for saving all of us.”

Your heart skips, then just stops completely. You can’t cry, you won’t not here, not on such a happy day. But your eyes are stinging. And Satoru is turning blurry.

And then, like Satoru always does, he ruins the moment.

"Did you just fall for me a little?"

His head tilts. That same mischievous, irritating smile lights up on his face.

You relax, laughing out of disbelief. When you speak, your voice is barely scratchy. "You're so full of yourself; it's actually a little cute." 

"You think I'm cute?" 

"Did you hear anything else that I just said?" 

"I heard you think I'm cute,” Satoru responds proudly, and you doubt he’d ever let you hear the end of it.

“And besides! Today is supposed to be a celebration for you too!” He exclaims.

“Oh really?”

“Yes,” Satoru says proudly, “you did it! You became a fully-fledged sorcerer. Considering your low CE, you might pass as grade four, but when I talk to our new principal, I’m sure he’ll make things right. Get ready to join be and him in the big leagues.”

You could read between the lines. Satoru wanted to tell everyone. You think a while ago, you might have agreed, but...

“Can...Can I quit being a sorcerer?” You ask. “I’m tired.”

He takes a second. Some of you wonders if he’ll try to talk you out of this. It’s more beneficial for him if you stay as an asset to the jujutsu world. How many people’s lives will be saved by a technique like yours? To be able to go back in time again and again and again. To die again and again and again.

“Someone once told me that it’s okay to be selfish every once in a while.” Satoru looks at you, eyes like lilies once again. “I won’t fault you for it. I don’t think anyone will.”

When you try to smile, it feels wobbly.

“That person sounds smart.”

“Nah.” He grins. “An idiot, actually. Way too oblivious.”

You laugh, despite the insult.

“Quit,” Satoru says when it’s quiet again, “do whatever you want. But...you can’t run away, okay? I won’t let you.”

It’s barely a touch. His hand reaches for your fingers. You’re the one who grabs it.

“I won’t.” You promise. “I won’t.”

He’s satisfied with that. You can tell when he squeezes your hand back.

You look at him, and you decide you won't tell Satoru what happened in the last timeline.

There's no point. It wouldn't do anything but shatter everything he worked so hard to make. Why would you break the glass when you could just add concrete, make it stronger? You saved everyone. A few white lies here and there just keep this future safe.

And you know this Satoru. If you told him, he'd carry that burden with you like the soldier he was. You don't want him to do that. You don't want him to have the same look you see in your own face. One last sacrifice.

When you come back, Satoru is shifting in his seat, uncrossing his legs.

“So...about that dance?”

“Ugh, fine.” You stand up. “One dance. And if you do anything embarrassing, I’m leaving.”

“Clearly, you don’t know me as well as you think you do.” He grins, standing up himself.

He doesn’t release your hand for the rest of the night.

You don’t mind.

(When you disappear again, Maki’s the one who finds you.

By then, it’d been long into the night. Shoko and Suguru were already gone, off to their honeymoon in the Maldives. Riko, Misato, and most of the students were sleeping off the night. Maki, his most diligent student, was helping the remaining adults pack up the venue.

She’s dragging chairs away when she grunts in Satoru’ direction.

“By the way, your date’s sleeping outside.”

Ah, you were on the balcony. No wonder he couldn’t find you. Satoru needed to do something about your cursed energy. What’s the point of having six eyes when he can’t even find the one person who’s evaded him for a decade?

You’ve completely passed out. Slumped over on a chair, head bent at an angle that could not be comfortable. Satoru knows he should feel bad. He dragged you around the entire night like a ragdoll. This was partially his fault.

He can’t really blame himself, not when you were finally here.

It still feels like a dream. Being able to hear your voice, not Suguru’s, not Yu’s. Your touch. Your eyes. Your face. Your laugh. For years, he’s wondered what it sounded like.

Reality beat even his perfect daydreams.

Seeing you up there on the Tokyo Skytree. The wind pushing your hair back and forth. It was breathtaking.

Even the lights of Tokyo, couldn’t compare to you.

He leans down, lips at your ear, voice low because he’s too prideful to let anyone else hear, not even you.

“I know it’s too late, but you looked really pretty tonight.”

You say nothing, but you shift, murmur something in your sleep. It’s all he needs.

He ditches the clean up party, taking you within his arms. He thinks he says something to Yu, but Satoru doesn’t really care if he heard. Right now, he only has one priority.

Tonight, he’ll sleep on the hotel’s pull-out sofa while you snooze in the luxurious queen-sized bed. You’ll probably be mad in the morning, something about how you should’ve taken the couch, but he doesn’t mind your mindless acts of selflessness.

He’s waited a decade. He deserves to keep you.

Your hips are begging for his hands when you smile all pretty at him, walking straight for him, the scent of cherry blossoms filling his senses, mixing with the steam rising in.

"Satoru I've never seen you in a suit," you're giggling all cute when you walk up to him in that towel. "Did you get new glasses?"

"I... what?" You're walking right to him, arms wrapping his neck, that towel just fucking falling so your tits press against his dress shirt, pressing a kiss on his cheek.

"You look so handsome like this," your lips trail his jaw, his hands stay at their sides, so he doesn't grab your ass, but you take them and put them right on your waist. "I won't take your virginity, Satoru, calm down. I just wanna kiss."

Oh you think he's...

Toru goes to correct you, but you're kissing him now, and your nipples are pebbling hard against his chest, he groans, hands slipping down your hips, tugging you close against his body. You're sighing into his mouth, gasping out when his tongue slips in, moaning softly.

"You're so hard, should let me take care of it," you whisper, brushing your hand over his cock, he loses whatever composure he has, tongue slipping in your mouth, lifting you like it's nothing. "Mnh!"

"Fuck," you taste so good, cunt heated as it presses against his cock over his slacks, shoving you right against the wall and groaning, the curve of your ass giving underneath his grip. "Sweetheart..."

"I never see you like this," you giggle then, kissing him back, hips arching up for more of him, cunt slick and dripping.

"You really think I'm him?" He asks then, you blink curiously, pulling back just a bit, smirking as your eyes widen. "Don't I feel a little different? I'm pretty sure I'm the biggest, yeah?"

You gasp now, looking at the man holding you - he's just a bit thicker in the shoulders you're gripping, his cock does feel even bigger if that was possible, bags under his pretty blue eyes that neither brother have. It can't be...

"There's three of you!?" You ask, he chuckles a bit now, dragging your naked body against his.

"Haven't they mentioned me? Maybe they were worried I'd take you, keep you all to myself," he smirks at you, devastatingly attractive as all the Gojos are - but fuck he was just ruining you with his slightly rougher hands, the way he flicks his tongue on your neck, humming just a bit. "I don't blame them, I'd lock you up, fuck I'd chain you to my bed."

"Chain me!? You're..."

"Mhm, the crazy brother," he nips your neck, dying to be buried inside your cunt, the one begging for him. "I wouldn't share."

"Toru, what are you doing here?" Satoru gasps when he sees his annoying 'older' brother holding his girl against the wall. You look at him with wide eyes. "Get off my girlfriend!"

"She kissed me," Toru chuckles and eases you down, letting you feel his body as he slowly drags you down, your thighs press together at the sensation, struggling to pull away from him when your body sure doesn't want to.

How greedy are you!? Do you need three versions of Gojo?

"What's goin' on?" Frat Gojo comes out, rubbing his eyes and glaring then, his hair is all messy, shirt shoved up from sleep, showing hints of those abs as he rubs his stomach next. "Toru? Baby, why are you naked with him!?"

"I thought he was... I thought he was you, Satoru," you mumble, clearing your throat as CEO Toru just fucking looks at you, he's even more psychotic than Nerd Satoru, and that's saying a lot.

"How could you mistake me pookie!?" Satoru pouts now, and you grimace, covering your face.

"You're identical."

"We are not!"

That's all three of them.

"Literally I could not tell, I can tell you two apart, okay? But him I... he seemed like Satoru!"

"Hah, she didn't think it was me," Frat Gojo grins, running a hand through his messy white locks. "I'm the favorite."

"I'm the favorite, she's always begging to suck me," Frat Gojo rolls his baby blue eyes, but CEO Toru is tilting your chin up as they start arguing.

A room full of six foot four, white haired, blue eyed Gojos.

Your ovaries ache, especially looking up at his dilated eyes, his lips glossy from licking them. "Sweetheart, what are your plans for the summer?"

"Plans?" You blink a bit now. "Um... I have to do intern hours, and taking a few summer classes."

"Perfect, major?"

"Communications."

"Even better," he brushes back your damp strands of hair. "You can work at the Gojo corp for the summer, with me."

"What?"

"She can't work," nerd Satoru says, stomping up and taking off his polo, slipping it over your head. "She should relax this summer, she has to be bred."

"I'm not getting bred," you mumble. "I'm twenty two I'm not having babies."

"I was gonna give you dick tonight, now you hurt me!" He's cupping your face, you laugh softly. "Don't laugh, its mean!"

"Well you all never told me! It's been like 3 months!"

"Well, I-"

"You fell asleep with her panties on your face," Toru chimes in, taking in just how pretty you look in that big polo swallowing that cute body, sighing.

"Well of course I did - it's a compliment to her!" Frat Gojo yawns and stretches, walking over to you and kissing your lips, you sigh softly into his mouth, eyes fluttering shut.

"She can't work, we don't want her to, she should just get fucked and look pretty."

"Gojo," you start, shaking your head. "I want to work!"

"She can be my pretty assistant," Toru wraps an arm around you, and suddenly all three of them are near you, touching some part of you.

Your mind is slutty, all you can think of is sinking to your knees and sucking CEO, stroking Fratboy Gojo and Nerdy Satoru. Have them all come on your tits. Your face. You try to shove those thoughts back, you're their girlfriend, you don't even know Toru!

"It'll be good on her resume," you sigh, biting your lip and looking back at him. "I'll be a perfect gentleman."

****

Perfect gentleman CEO Toru has you bent over his desk, beating the plump of your ass with a goddamn backscratcher.

You're whining out, biting down on your lower lip, he's not touched you, not crossed 'that line' but your wrists are bound in his black silk tie, the wood of the stick smacking your ass over and over, stockings ripped. You're struggling not to make noise as this psycho moans, palming the bulge in his slacks.

"Fuck, look at you," he smacks you again, leaving a whelp, you're gushing slick out of your hole and down your plump lips, whining out desperately. "They don't do this, hmm? Give you what you need?"

"Y-you're insane," you whisper out, pressing your ass out for more, moaning softly. "They're gonna be so mad you did this."

"Good," he smacks it again, sighing and kneeling, hands on your hips. "I've made sure they have it easy, they can share their pretty girlfriend with me."

Smack.

CEO Toru thwacks your ass again, you feel that gush of arousal slipping out, barely biting back a whine when he tugs your panties to the side. "Slutty cunt, do they really take care of it?"

"Mhm, they do - ngh!" Your phone goes off right before Toru can lick you, he glares and stands, swiping up to answer it.

"She's busy."

"Toru, I swear to god if you're- are you moaning!?" You bite your lip, feeling Toru whack your ass again, devious grin on his face when he hovers over you.

"She was just learning a lesson," he rubs where your whelps are, chuckling. "Such an excellent student."

"You better not be doing your freaky shit with her," you almost snort at Satoru's words.

"Satoru you tied me up and hung me from the ceiling last week," he sighs.

"Lovingly!"

"She wants to get filled right now, will you two deny her? Don't you want her taken care of?" Smack!

"Put her on video," that's Frat Gojo’s voice. Toru does just that slipping the phone to rest on the little holder, so your boyfriends see your already drunk expression. "Are you tied up?"

"Your brother is a freak, ah!" He's chuckling, dragging that piece of wood across you messy slit, making you drip.

"She's making a mess of my hardwood floors," he touches his cock underneath his slacks, watching you arch more, he sucks in a breath at the sight of your needy pussy. "You two never shared with me you know."

The Gojo twins stare at each other, then you when you bite your lip and your eyes roll back. "Let us see her."

Toru angles the phone down as he kneels again, showcasing your ass and thighs littered with marks. Satoru and Gojo are hard and leaking pre at the sight. "You're soaked baby."

"Mhm," you hear Satoru's voice - somehow you can distinct between the three.

"You're so greedy. You need all three of us inside you?" Gojo asks, you sigh, shaking as you bend over. Feeling Toru's fingers part your folds.

"I just l-love you all s'much, ngh!"

"Shh. Don't want my office to hear," Toru laughs softly, swirling his long fingers in your slutty hole and sinking them in. You jolt at the action, hearing their breathy sighs over the phone. "I think as the oldest-"

"By five minutes!?"

Toru glares at the phone. "As the oldest I should show her how it feels to really get fucked, hah I'll show you all when I come back home."

"Show us what?"

"I can teach you all so much about how to please her needy, slutty cunt," he laps his tongue up your slit from your clit to your ass, chuckling as he tugs your cheeks apart. "This hole too."

"My other - ah!" Toru is a while fucking freak, his tongue darting to trace your other hole, moaning as he slides your juices along it, mixing with his saliva.

"I'll have her home soon, she can show you what she learns," Toru hangs up the phone and tosses it, you glare back at him, making him throb. "You should be constantly full of cum, sweetheart, they shouldn't even let you walk."

"You're fucking crazy," you arch more, he chuckles at that, lifting a thigh over his polished wood desk, belt clicking and making your tummy clench, when his pink tip swipes through your sloppy slit you're barely holding back a moan, wrists still bound.

"Want me to send you home? Let my brothers take care of you?" He presses in and leans forward, a hand around your throat. "I'll let you go sweetheart, before my cock ruins you. Before you only know my shape."

Fuck.

Its like the final boss of the Gojo men!?

You look back and shake your head. He grins. "Good girl."

You've never been fucked like CEO fucks you. Frat Gojo could absolutely hit it from the back perfect, Nerd Satoru ate pussy so good you were always dehydrated from squirting. But CEO Toru is mean with it. Bottoming out in one stroke and not letting you adjust, slamming that veiny cock in your cunt so deep it hurts.

It takes three strokes against your soft spot in those slick walls for you to convulse around that girth, three more slams echoing with loud, squelching smacks to make you cum. Your eyes rolling back, drooling when Toru wrecks your hole with his angled thrusts, fucking you against that desk and making you hiccup and cry.

One orgasm into another, huge hand tightening on your throat and taking your air. "Mnh! Toru..."

"Fuck yes, say my name," he whimpers - all three of them do that - pressing in your messy hole and thickening. "Oh sweetheart. You'll only know my shape - m'brothers are gonna be s-so fuckin' mad."

"Hmm? Nghh!" Toru slams into your cunt harder, fingers choking you as his lips brush the shell of your ear, pink drooly tip spurting milky drops against your puffy cervix.

"Ya heard me, I'll fill you up so full, they'll have to fuck my cum back inside- hah," Toru is pussy drunk off you, kissing you filthy, his tongue swathing your and dripping saliva, grinning with batshit crazy blue eyes. "You want it, hmm? Three loads of cum - each brother? Ah, for now, soon you'll only want me."

Toru was the yandere of his two brothers - quite clearly as he fucks you harder, pumping you full of all the cum he's been waiting to put in you. You're milking him for all he's worth, earning his muffled praise, pushing that cum deeper with every thrust of his cock - still hard and coated in you.

"Take all of it, like a good girl."

Toru films his obscene mess after pumping another load into your hole, you're too fucked out to care that your other boyfriends are seeing it.

When they rush up to the Gojo office, after you don't come home that night, they catch CEO Toru snorting coke off your thigh. He smiles at his brothers, moaning and kissing g where he'd just laid out powder.

"Hey little brothers," you are a fucked out mess, your blouse wide open, pencil skirt ripped, the moonlight filtering in from the floor to ceiling windows of Torus office, making you look even more debauched.

"Gojo, Satoru," you're so fucked out you can hardly talk, throat sore from Toru choking it, wrapping his belt around it as he railed you bent over his desk. He'd fucked you on that damn window, then his chair, until the office was empty - only then did he grab his coke baggie and use you as a pretty tray. "I'm uh... sorry I haven't been home..."

"Fuck you're hot like this," Nerd Satoru pushes up his glasses, walking over and kissing your swollen lips. You moan softly, hands slipping up his chest.

"I m-missed you both," he sighs now, hands slipping down your thighs, still sticky from how much Toru made you squirt.

"I should have given you my cock, I was teasing too much," you giggle breathless, shaking your head.

"I'll show you how she likes it," Toru leans back in his chair, grinning when his brother's scowl over at him. Frat Gojo walks over and kisses you next, both men blicking their brother's view of your beat up pussy.

"We know what she likes," Gojo frowns now, thumb rubbing your lower lip. "You had us worried, baby. You can't just dissappear."

"I'm sorry," you sigh, hands on both of their chests.

"Wanna snort lines off her?" They look back very judgemental. "What? She loves it."

"Don't encourage bad behavior," you scowl over at the most devious Gojo brother. "I'll make it up to you all."

"How? Oh..." You sink right to your knees, Toru smirks and palms his cock - rubbed raw from fucking you, when you unzip each brother's pants.

He'll let you enjoy it for now - but Toru always wins, and he sure the fuck won't share you for long.