birdie 🧺

DECEMBER 24TH, DAY OF THE NIGHT PARADE OF A HUNDRED DEMONS

It's a trap. Voices ring through Gojō Satoru's ears as things quickly piece together in his head. He doesn't know which thunders louder, his Six Eyes or an intense wave of emotion bubbling from his chest. But whatever it is, it all leads to one thing: they're being stalled.

Yūta.

Satoru could only curse himself because they practically handed the kid to Suguru on a silver platter. They might as well have tied his head with a red ribbon and exclaimed, "Merry Christmas!" while they're at it.

"You must've figured it out already, I presume?" Miguel says.

"The one person who declared war for my student isn't here," Satoru adjusts his bandage, "kinda hard not to miss that, sorry."

Miguel laughs mockingly. And for whatever reason, it settles within Satoru in the worst way possible. He wants to snap Miguel’s neck for daring to even laugh. Break his hands, one finger at a time, until that idiotic laugh of his turns into a blood-curdling scream.

"Ah, I was wrong. You haven't — not yet."

Satoru doesn't respond, which Miguel takes as an invitation to continue.

"Pity. Everyone said you were always two steps ahead."

"Sorry to disappoint then.” Satoru remarks. “I'm not in a pretty mood to play some games here. As I said before, I'm in a hurry."

"Thought you could use one because it looks to me that you're missing a piece here — and that must be killing you, isn't it?"

And Satoru finally snaps. Motherfucker.

They exchange techniques, blow for blow, against each other. Miguel throws a hard punch, which does nothing to Satoru, while he, in turn, returns a harder one.

Buildings that surround Satoru's Limitless turn into rubble and dust for every punch, kick, and throw he delivers. Within a couple of minutes, he notices Miguel’s energy waning; he is beginning to fare poorly. Good.

Satoru's patience has worn considerably thin, close to non-existent for every second he's away from his students. Do they think this is some game to him? Risking the lives of kids. He's not here to dilly-dally, knowing that Yūta and Maki are in danger, and he can only hope he directed Panda and Toge exactly where —

Satoru catches the oncoming fist and freezes.

No.

Yūta is not Suguru's priority. How could he have missed that? His chest twists painfully, and his guts churn uncomfortably. There is that same unnamed feeling, only this time it's seeping much deeper, nearly suffocating him from the impact. "He's after —"

Miguel grins knowingly. "He still wants Yūta, of course. But you should know better that he's always wanted her."

Suguru has his hands cupped around your cheeks delicately, almost afraid that if he applies more force, you’d break in his grasp. You can feel his thumbs brush the healed scar on your right and Maki's dried blood from your left. You refuse to stand down, shielding Maki's unconscious form from Suguru.

From the moment you've sensed the veil surrounding Jujutsu High, you try to gather who was left behind. It wasn't difficult finding Yūta and practically begging him to stay put before you literally barreled through doors after doors to get to Maki in time before Suguru does something unforgivable.

You don't know whether to thank a god that you made it in the nick of time, but hearing Maki’s labored breath sends you into a whirl of unwashed relief and panic. Relief because she's alive, and panic because — you try not to think further because had you been a foot late, she wouldn’t have made it.

"Let me look into your eyes," he whispers hauntingly, pulling you out of your thoughts. "I've missed looking at them."

"Suguru —"

"Please, don't talk." He almost sounds like he's in pain. "Just let me have this."

You don't move. You can't will yourself to. Right now, Suguru appears like he's lowered his guard, and subduing him like this gives you a better chance of getting Maki out of here.

If he can just give you one slip, that's all you need to escape.

"I want you to come with me." He says.

Stall.

"Why?"

Suguru's fingers twitch.

Idiot! You internally kick yourself.

The curses floating around Suguru shift, but when he catches the change in your expression and notices your hesitancy, he orders them to back off.

That's it. Keep his eyes on you. Don't let him get Maki.

"You left me." Every word cuts you because even if you did mourn his presence, you did miss a part of him; it hurts you more to tell a lie like this to him. "You left everyone."

"There were things they never would have agreed to. Things they never wish to understand." He presses his lips to your nose.

You hold your breath.

"Suguru," you try to turn your head away from his advances when his mouth leans over and hovers above yours, "what you are willing to do, they're not . . ."

"I did it for you." You feel the ghost of his lips touching yours and your name being whispered almost breathlessly.

"W-What?" You gently pull back, stammering at his revelation.

"I never forget the times you ran to me, crying because of how much those people treated you.” He angrily says. “Did you think that I could let that slide? At nights when I stayed with you, held your hand and watched you cry yourself to sleep, and pretended that everything's fine in the morning — it's unbearable. They've hurt one of the few people I've come to care about. Monkeys. All of them. They're all the same."

"That's different." You say in resignation. "And even if they did hurt me, nobody deserves this."

Suguru turns your head, forcing you to look at his tired eyes again. "You don't deserve any of that." He whispers your name once more, beckoning you to listen to him. To hear the dying plea leave his mouth. "I will give you the world if you ask me to."

"You can't. I-I don't want it like this."

"But I can . . . if you let me."

"You know that I —"

"I will even let that," he motions his chin towards Maki, "live. If that's what you want. You only have to say it. Say it."

Out. A way out.

"Suguru."

"I will not harm her." He promises. "None of my curses will harm her either."

"And she gets to live?" You notice the spark in his eyes returning, as if just a tiny more push and you'd be able to finally be by his side.

"Anything you want. Anything in which you desire — you can have it."

You notice two shadows move behind Suguru. Your heart beats frantically. Timing is crucial at this moment.

You shakily grab his hands and kiss his open palm. "Okay," you relent.

It's basically a blur from here on out.

You remember scrambling out of Suguru’s grasp and moving your limbs towards Maki's limp figure. You haul her on your back with a struggle and sprint out of Toge's range. Curses are springing everywhere, but Panda creates a cover for you. Yūta hurriedly bounds the steps and stops midway in horror at the entire scene playing out.

"She's fine." You manage to wheeze out when the kid continues to stare, shaking uncontrollably. "Just need,” you breathe in and out, “to get her stabilized, but she's not gravely injured."

"Will she —"

"She'll live, Yūta. She’ll be okay. Help me get her out of here."

You hear Suguru roar in frustration like a possessive beast mourning for something he’s truly lost. Your name is a cry he hasn’t made in years. There's a distinct ring exploding in your head, and before you know it, you gurgle blood out. Maki's weapon, which is now embedded against the wooden panel in front of you, vibrates from the force of Suguru's throw.

Yūta cries out your name, you barely see him reach his hands towards you before you fall on your knees and collapse.

"You're always late." Suguru breathes out.

Satoru could only stare.

Suguru watches the cold indifference. "How is she?"

"I got her," Satoru says, voice strained and almost distant. Not right now. He can't bring himself to lose composure. He has to force himself to remain steady — and that's the hardest part. "That's all you need to know."

Suguru manages to sputter a smile, "I knew she was lying."

Satoru walks forward.

Suguru continues, "From the moment she stood in front of me, without a weapon, without anything against me, I knew she would lie, and lie, and lie. She was never the best liar when it came to saving people. Especially when her emotions get the best of her."

He takes another step.

"And I let her. I always do. Maybe I'm partly to blame for making her believe she can lie."

Another step in.

"But still, I would've let her lie a thousand times and a thousand more. Just so I can see her again. To look her in the eyes and watch her look at me."

There it is again.

"To hold her. To touch her. To see that smile and hear her laughter."

That feeling he felt earlier. It's stronger.

"To hear her call my name, to feel myself taste her, knowing that I know the taste of perfection."

And this time, as if having an epiphany, Satoru knows what it is.

When he found your body, bleeding profusely with Yūta begging you to keep fighting, he nearly lost it. He didn't know whether to kill Suguru or tuck you in a place where no one would dare hurt you again.

Blood drenched you from head to toe. The weapon sliced through you cleanly, Yūta reported, and you went down hard and fast. Satoru had never seen you that beaten up, because for all the times you've gone on missions, he realizes he always shows up in time for you.

He always volunteered, even if there was nothing to volunteer for, for those missions that were appointed to you, lying through his teeth whenever you asked him if he was following you. He always is. And he wished that you knew that. He would bluff and say that he's been assigned to a special mission and happened to stumble upon you by accident.

You always believed his silly little lies. Or maybe like Suguru, you let him.

Satoru wanted to reassure himself that you're fine, you're perfectly safe, so long as he’s there. He won’t coddle you; he will let you exorcize those curses. He simply just wanted to be near you. Just like how Suguru is proclaiming about his own confession right now.

All those stolen glances at each other, the lame excuses he made just to hold you in his arms, and those tantalizing whispers you would do when you had something shitty to say about the elders or his clan. If only you had seen his pure adoration when you had the balls to even speak to them. If only you had the same balls to look at him.

That burning, unbearable feeling he once felt whenever he saw you across the training grounds, holding Suguru's hand, laughing about something he wished to desperately know. That undeniable rage-like emotion when Suguru would tuck your hair behind your ear, and you would smile, that smile that could've sent Satoru to war. It was always a constant question of why you couldn't give him that, too. That he would've done so much better if you had just given yourself to him.

Most of all? Satoru loves it when you fluster and turn red. When you call his name in greeting, in relief, in those empty corridors that often render him breathless and hopeless. The first person you would call when you need someone. When you would tiptoe your way to his cheek and give him a swift kiss every time you would thank him for something he's done, for being there for her, for simply being Satoru, before you'd run away scolding yourself for doing something that brazen.

If you had lingered a little longer, you would have felt his arms grab you, turn you around, and pull you in front of him, and kiss you until the only thing you would have thought from there until forever is his name.

He dreams about you, about how nice it would be if you were his. He would make sure that that smile will be there all the time. He'd be less reckless. He would have settled down with you if you wished it.

Satoru has fallen.

He is in love with you. Probably since he can remember. And it hurts so much more because he almost lost you.

To his best friend, of all people.

"I have never thought that I —" Suguru coughs.

Satoru finally stops a few distances from Suguru, hands clenched.

"I wished that she had loved me —"

"Suguru —"

"— The way she loves you."

You cannot sleep. You don't know how long you've tossed and turned. Sleep appears to elude you tonight.

Somehow, in the middle of your desperate attempt, your blanket was thrown haphazardly on the cold floor. You've seen one of its corners dangling on the edge of the bed, but you're too frustrated to haul it back up with your toes.

"Must be nice being a blanket right now." You mutter indignantly.

With a grunted scoff, you turn on your side and reach out for Satoru, only to find he isn't where he said he'd be. The mattress lies cold and empty. He's been gone for a while, it seems.

Sitting up, you blink away your tiredness and look around. In the meager light from the window, you can't make out the outline of that blasted man anywhere in your bedroom. However, just before you can even say that he's one son of a bitch for making you feel like this is a one-night stand, you notice a faint orange glow that emanates under the connecting door towards the study room.

You sluggishly move your way towards it, cracking open the entry and peering through.

Gojō Satoru is seated in one of those luxurious armchairs he impulsively got a month ago (much to your utter disdain, because who's stupid enough to get an overpriced leather chair, especially in this current economy?), hair undone, and sleepwear rumpled. His composure is relaxed, one of his legs crossed atop the other, as he reads through a chapter from — you squint — The Hobbit.

"I didn't think you're capable of reading," you motion your finger playfully, "especially that. Isn't The Hobbit too advanced for you?"

Satoru snorts. "You'd be surprised."

"Hmm."

He takes in your weary state and raises an eyebrow inquisitively. "What's wrong?"

Walking towards him, you say, "I can't sleep. And shouldn't you be sleeping as well? Don't you have, what's that called," you snap your fingers, "those exams? Chūnin Exams or something tomorrow?"

Satoru huffs a laugh, uncrossing his leg. "You mean the Goodwill Event?"

"Right. Right. That." You say with a smile. "Won't you be tired?"

"Nah," he says with a lazy drawl. "I'll be all right."

His gaze never settles in one place; if he can't settle with your eyes, he moves to your lips instead, then towards the shape of your ears, to your breasts, the roundness of your hips, and down, down, down.

"I'm not participating, and besides," he stretches, "it won't be too bad. Just a bunch of kids playing peek-a-boo with each other. Why? Are you worried about me, sweetling?"

You roll your eyes. "Shut up."

He grins dotingly and stretches out his palm to you. "I've once googled that drinking warm milk helps. Did you try that?"

You laugh and shake your head, "I did, and you found it from my history when you were trying to convince me to watch porn with you. Didn't work, obviously. The milk, I mean."

He chuckles under his breath.

"Ugh, I don't know why I can't sleep." You flail your arms around. "And I've got so many things to do tomorrow. Can't be slacking off."

"Aw," he coos, "my poor baby girl. Would you like some help with that, hm?"

Heat pools below you, but you push that feeling down. You can't. Not tonight. Or at least, that's what you're hoping to believe because Satoru notices the shift in your gaze changing. And with his outstretched palm, he curls a finger to beckon you closer.

That dirty, thick finger of his. Curling so innocently.

"Come here, little thing." He calls out. The pitch of his voice lowers.

You take his hand, and the second that you do, he pulls you roughly onto his lap. His hands find no trouble easing their way around your hips, angling you so you're literally sitting right on top of his cock.

"That's it," he praises. "Exactly where you belong."

You let out a gentle moan.

"Shhh," he murmurs through your hair. "Relax with me, baby."

He reaches towards his book and continues reading, unbothered by the slight interruption. You're surprised he enjoys this type of literature. You didn't really peg him as someone who does this. You assumed that these books are simply decorations. Then again, there were things Satoru surprised you with, and so this shouldn't have been any different.

He seems so invested in what he's doing that you fail to notice his other hand is actually scheming. It plays with the front tie lace of your nightgown, twirling it around one finger, then to the next. Sometimes he lightly taps your chest with it, accurately guessing where your nipples are.

But never did he tear his eyes away from the book.

"Where are you in the story?"

"They made it to Rivendell."

"Ah, I see."

"Mhmm," he hums. He puts the lace between his teeth, and with a tug, your front opens.

And that's when his eyes finally move and look at you. You are left open for him, sitting there with your swelled breasts mere inches from his mouth, and the underwear that's meant to cover you down there does nothing of that sort. He groans, the lace still clenched between his teeth.

"You're going to kill me." He whispers. "You actually wore it."

You roll your eyes. "You begged, remember?"

"Asked, darling. Asked."

No. He definitely begged. He begged you to wear this underwear because he spent hours (seconds) cutting a poorly done hole (which is meant to be a heart, by the way) right down the middle. And he wouldn't stop whining until you caved in.

"Oh, baby," he begins to drool. Light fingers run to your hidden pearl. "All for me."

You're beginning to get enticed. Unfortunately, all he does is settle a little further into the chair and release a contented sigh. Despite the feel of his hardened length rubbing against you, Satoru does nothing.

"Go to sleep." He mocks with a turn of his head on one side and a smirk that says otherwise.

You mewl in protest, grinding yourself to his covered shaft. His eyes watch you rub. Both of you can feel how wet you are, staining his pants as you plead with him to unbuckle.

He does so, torturously slow, as if the next few sentences from the book intrigued him more. When, at last, he is bare down, he tips your hips back and slides himself inside of you.

"Fuck." You say with a relieved breath.

"Hmm," he replies, flipping the next page of his book.

He can read for all you care now. You start rolling your hips, chasing after that sensation. You can feel him throb and grow inside of you, tempting you further to keep going as it ignites a pleasurable reaction from him.

"No." He flicks your breasts instead, a darkened glint in his eyes appears when they perk to his order. With great restraint, he grits out, "That's not going to happen tonight."

You try to do it anyway, but Satoru is stronger. He could've seized you with just a finger instead of the hand that grasps your back and pushes you against his chest in an iron grip. Somehow, he manages to strip your nightgown completely off.

"But I —"

"I know." His hand traces absently to your spine. What a devil. "I have some reading to do. Gotta do this daily, or else my streak will end. I'm already on day 8. So all we're doing for tonight is sit here —"

"Tsk, you can do that lat —"

There's a hint of a feral grin coming out as he creeps his lips closer to the shell of your ear, "— And your tight little cunt is going to be keeping my cock warm as I do so. That is what's happening tonight only. Clear, baby?"

You shut up. Hard at his words. Then he slaps your backside.

"Clear?"

"Yes."

"Good. Now, go to sleep. I've got some streaks to do."

With that, he pulls you closer, molding you in his shape. You hear the next flip of the page. Feel his breathing hiccup at times, you think he was laughing softly. You hear rustling; maybe he was dog-earring the corners to get back to them later. Then another turn of the paper. Then another. And another. Sometimes you hear him mutter, but it's so faint, you couldn't grasp a word in.

You forget how much time you two have been sitting on that chair, he in particular, but you suddenly feel more tired. Sleep is getting to you now. You slump your head forward to his shoulder and let yourself be lulled to the quietude of the study room.

The last thing you hear is the soft sound of paper.

You don't know how long Satoru lets you sleep.

Slowly, you become aware of his kisses trailing down to the side of your face and stopping at the crook of your neck. He's throbbing erratically inside of you, but you're too groggy to piece things together.

There's a shift underneath you, and you blearily deduce that he must be moving you again. You feel yourself being repositioned, going up and down, and your legs are placed on something slightly more elevated than his hips.

"Satoru," you whine sleepily, "please. Please, stop. Let me sleep."

You can feel his grin growing more feral against your skin, "I love it when I don't do what you say. But sure, baby. Sleep. Just gotta move you a tiny bit, okay?"

"You're moving too much. Stop, Satoru. Please."

Satoru uses the chair as leverage and begins ramming himself into you like some joust game he means to win. "Let me fuck you like this. I've been waiting for you to fall asleep. Yeah, just like that, baby. You don't need to be awake for this."

You moan languidly. The squelch below gets louder. How can you possibly return to your slumber now?

"Oh, but you like this, don't you? Of course you do. Me fucking you while you're half asleep. I really turned you into one sick pervert, huh? You're as bad as I am now." He squeezes your cheeks until your mouth opens, then he spits. He spits again. "Letting me use your cunt anytime that I want. Fuck, you're still tight even after all the fucks we've done."

"S-Sa —"

He spreads your legs wider, nearly making you do a split for him as he continues to thrust more. "Do you know your pretty little thing down there is all I ever think about? Every goddamn day. Especially in those fucking meetings with all those fucktards who think they know better."

"Y-Yeah?" You are more awake now; your words are still slurred, but you're catching up to him. "Did I help you get through those boring meetings?"

"Oh yes, yes, you did." He guides both of your hands in different tasks. One is instructed to pinch and torture your clit just the way he likes it, and the other is left resting on his shoulder.

He tips you slightly away from him to have a better view of his work.

"Maybe we should do it then." You suggest in half-jest, but the more you two talk about it, the more it seems hot to do. "I actually want to do it."

"Fuck." He growls. "That's all I can think about, baby. Maybe I can fuck you there, spread yourself for me on that fucking table of theirs. Your cum on that wood, and then we let that dry —"

You laugh, "Let that dry? Are you insane!"

"I don't care. I want to do it. I will fuck you in every inch of that goddamn space. Where they sit, write, talk, and all the while I'll fucking laugh at their faces because they won't know — fuuuuuck! — that I did that."

"Ah!" You cry out, and an undulated burst of your orgasm crushes both of you. "S-Satoru!"

"That's it, little thing. For me. Come on. Good girl. My good girl. Always my good girl."

"Ah — ah," you pant, but he isn't finished yet.

Dear, he is never through with just one.

Satoru pivots his thrusts harder. He grabs hold of your head, harshly ordering you to look at him. His eyes are crazed, his grin maddening, and you can feel him. Plunging so much deeper than you have ever felt him before.

"Never stop looking at me." He demands. "Everyone knows you're mine. Just by the way you limp at times, they see you, they know I've been there. And when they ask who did this to you, what do you say, hm?"

You smile and kiss his fingers. "Satoru did."

"Yeah. And when they ask how good I am to you, what do you say?"

"So, sooo, good."

"I must've done something so nice to have you." He kisses you sloppily. "And your precious little cunt."

"Satoru, I — I—" you're nearing again, both of you can tell. With the shape of your mouth forming soundlessly and your head carelessly thrown back.

Satoru dips you further. From this new position, you can feel everything.

"Fuck, baby!" You scream, rubbing your clit much faster. "Can I cum, please? Please. Please. Please!"

"Cum for me, then." He growls. "There we go."

Shortly after you come undone, he spills inside you with a choked gasp. A blooming liquid of warmth encases you. Satoru pulls you closer to him and kisses you gently.

You fuss over his movements. "Stop moving, Satoru."

"I'm tired now, baby. Do you want to walk, or shall I carry you to bed? Did I mention that I'm tired?"

"What kind of question is that?"

He chuckles lightly and smooths your hair.

"Satoru." You warn.

"You're so needy!" His complaints are delivered emptily. He stands with a groan and carries you off to the bed. It is only then that you realize that he hasn't taken his cock out of you.

You try to remove him, but he holds you tighter.

"Uh-uh." He warns in return. "I'm going to stay in there for the entire night, thank you very much."

You snort. "And you wanted me to walk?"

"Nah. I was just kidding. Can't you take a joke? That's kinda concerning considering we've known each other since —"

"Just shut up." You breathe out. "God. Why do you still have energy to talk? I can't believe you."

He picks the blanket you've discarded from the floor and drapes it over you two. With one deep kiss on your forehead, and one last hurrah of innuendo followed by your threat of taking his cock out, he finally whispers, "Goodnight."

Maki has been berating you for the past hour, her voice rising as the phone against your ear grows warmer.

You couldn't exactly put her on speaker an hour ago, since you were out running errands — hence the issue at hand.

"When we said you take it easy, we mean total bed rest, and not running along to God knows where," Maki states firmly in disapproval. "That's still pushing past your limits."

You swirl the cherry-flavored lollipop with your tongue before responding, "I just needed some fresh air, and going across the bakery wasn't too bad.”

“Going by yourself is the bad part here, you understand?”

“Besides," you place your shoes back into their rack, and pad your way into your bedroom, where you inconveniently plop right down the middle with a heavy sigh, "I was cleared by Gojō Sensei a few days ago. I should be fine to move around for a bit."

"Tsk! That blindfolded dumbass wouldn't know any better! You barely came back alive from that stupid mission he assigned you, so what makes you think he knows what’s best for you?"

You appreciate your friend's sentiment, but when days start to stretch and the walls begin to close in, going out every once in a while helps you avoid breaking down.

Although you understand Maki's worry about the matter. You didn't exactly . . . show up whole and alive to them when Panda and Toge rescued you.

In fact, the mission is all but scattered fragments, merely pieced together from what Panda last witnessed, to Gojō' Sensei's unreliable summary as his pathetic way of an apology, to Maki's scalding remarks, and lastly down to Toge's horrified monologue of ingredients.

What you can, however, deduce from their antics is that there was a curse that wasn't in the data — and that was what got you cornered.

You stretch your arms towards the ceiling and flex your hands. Shokō successfully regenerated what you lost. The bone structure looks the same, though you still feel that it's entirely different now.

" — there?"

"Hm?" You snap back into the conversation, "Sorry, what did you say?"

You can already hear what Maki would say: this is exactly why you should've stayed in bed, that you're spacing out isn't a good sign, and that you're not fully recovered yet to even think about moving. And even if it's been nearly a month since the incident, pushing yourself beyond what’s necessary is like asking for another round with death.

Instead, perhaps sensing your uneasiness, Maki tells you with a resigned sigh, "Get some rest. We're coming over tomorrow to make sure you won't lift a finger."

You chuckle. "Yeah. That sounds good."

You place the phone above your head after Maki ends the call, then you move your lollipop over to the left, and finally let yourself close your eyes, utterly lax for the day.

Sleep comes quickly for you these days. Perhaps it's the mixture of the day being boring and mundane (and you love it) or the antibiotics kicking in, but either way, you're thoroughly impressed you've fallen asleep for hours. 

By the time you blink your eyes to stay awake, the sky has already darkened considerably. There are faint slivers of glow from the moon that filter through the blinds of your windows, accompanied by the bustling lights from the bakery that usually stays open past its closing.

Despite the lack of proper lighting, you aren't quite submerged in the darkness of the night. You can see the outlines of your furniture when you squint.

The lollipop is still in your mouth as you leisurely let yourself regain focus. Your left cheek is numb from sheltering it for hours while you've dozed off, and so, you move it to the other side with a loud clack against your front teeth.

Then that's when you realize something is undeniably off.

The echo falls a note short. Usually, with how spacious your room is, everything that you do bounces around the walls. And with one less echo, you surmise someone's in this room.

Yet you refuse to let panic seize you, despite your options being vastly limited here. Firstly, your weapons were destroyed during the incident. Maki is supposed to hand over the new replacements tomorrow; therefore, this isn't an option you can choose.

Then there's your cursed energy. While a plausible solution, it still needs to assimilate back into your system. Having lost several pressure points and sensory nerves, it's like trying to learn how to walk again with your techniques. Hence, this might not be your first choice. 

Furthermore, with this option, you'd count yourself lucky if you can somehow get through the door and run for it. Ifwhoever is in your room is also stupid enough to let you escape. And the chances of that are vastly slim and unlikely, because if they managed to bypass the curses your sensei placed around your apartment and combine that with your insane amount of bad luck, then this trespasser is considerably strong.

So that leaves you with one solid approach and your best bet yet: your phone, which is somewhere above your head. By calling, you need to make sure it's someone who can get to you — impossibly fast.

And the only one you know within the vicinity of Tokyo is Gojō Sensei.

You pretend to stretch your arms, feigning that you just woke up. You spread and move them left and right, widening their reaches for your device, but both come empty.

You swear internally. You know, and you remember vividly, that you placed that above your head. Unless whoever is in this room, who's probably watching you, knew what you're planning to do and moved it beforehand.

You force yourself to yawn. Then you allow a brief pause to settle before you stretch your arms the second time. When you feel nothing of the shape of your phone again, you become a bit more desperate. 

You fold one of your legs, dangling from the edge of the bed, and prop it up. With one more careless yawn thrown into the wind, you use the momentum and slide yourself further towards the upper-center of your bed. 

And just when you think you feel it, you hear:

"Don't move."

Toge's voice compels you to do his bidding. From the corner of your eyes, to the very left of you, there is a silhouette of him standing rigidly. He's rather hard to discern, really, but you can't mistake Toge's voice anywhere.

You visibly relax, though for some reason, a part of you can't shake off the unsettling feeling between you and your friend.

"You got me, Toge." You laugh nervously. "All right. If this is about me walking out to do some little errands, you don't need to fuss about it, too. Maki already gave me the gist."

But Toge doesn't reply with his usual onigiri ingredients. In place of that, what he offers you in return for your remark is unbearable silence.

You grunt and force yourself to move against the technique, even just an inch, to look at him. 

"Toge?" You call out, cursing when you won't budge. "Okay, I think I understand. Lesson learned. Aha, please, let go of the command now. Seriously."

Toge still says nothing, but you hear the lightest of his footsteps coming towards you.

And that's when sheer cold panic courses through your veins instantaneously. For whoever this person is, he is not Toge. Because Toge's energy doesn't move like an erratic whirlpool, nor does it try to tether to more than just one powerful core. This one adapts, as if it's meant to be something far beyond the absolute power of divinity.

You don't know how he managed to mimic Toge or how he's obtained his cursed speech, since the only one you personally know who can do that ability is not in Tokyo.

You don't think you'd be able to make it out alive at this rate. 

You will yourself to stop thinking about the ifs and decide to keep pretending. If you can remain ignorant until the curse weakens, then you could get out. "Toge, I know you're worried about me, but I was fine walking today. I even got you some ham and cheese. Would you like to eat some with me?"

You would have flinched if you could when you feel a finger, then two — three — and then their palm — skim the shape of your propped knee. It runs pliably and deliberately with its strokes. You feel their hand drag down to your raised leg, towards the shape of your ankle, and rest on the soles of your foot.

There, their hold changes, grabbing and placing it on their right shoulder. It takes a second more for your brain to register that your leg has shifted.

A gruff tone comes out from you as you try your hardest to resist the command once more; alas, you are unable to.

You swallow your gasp when they lean forward, going closer until you feel the fan of their breath brush the tip of your nose intimately. You can smell the clean musk radiating off his neck. Any words you wish to have said to de-escalate the situation have run bone dry.

"I thought you died."

Your garbled response makes you choke.

"I was told that you were sent on a mission." He caresses your ankle reverently while he nuzzles his lips to your throat. "And that you almost didn't make it. I had to make sure. I need to."

You can't believe it. Holy crap.

"Yū — Yūta?!"

In all honesty, you and the others were informed a long time ago by Gojō Sensei that Yūta was going to travel overseas for personal reasons. It didn't come as a surprise to any of you that Yūta, being a special-grade sorcerer, was being sent away, despite your selfish pleas of having him with you just a little longer.

And that was a couple of months ago. From what you know, his trip is almost indefinite, and you would rather quell the hope of seeing him sooner rather than later.

Yet, here he is before you, watching you intensely, basking in you like a depraved man. Almost as if, should he fail to do so, you might slip through his fingers permanently.

"Are you healed properly?" Yūta questions near the shell of your ear.

You blink and clear your throat. "I-I am."

"Are you sure? Nothing feels painful for you?"

"I'm not allowed to go on missions yet, but I can move around better than these past few days." You pause. "Actually, how much do you know about my mission?"

Yūta doesn't answer for a while. His eyes roam over your body, too busy trying to make sure that you're all right.

"Yūta?"

"Gojō Sensei sent me a letter a couple of days ago."

"Of course, he did," you grumble incoherently.

"It's said that you're in bad shape and I should brace myself in case you don't make it."

"Son of a bitch! He wrote what?"

You're going to kill that man. In fact, Maki will do you the honors once you tell her what he just basically committed. Of all the people not to trigger, Yūta is unquestionably the one person you shouldn't choose.

Yūta's shoulders quiver. His hand that isn't holding your ankle cups your cheek tightly. "I couldn't think straight. Miguel found out about it eventually, because I just — I just wanted to see you. I wanted to come back for you. I wanted to come home. He helped me book a flight at the earliest of convenience. Rika did the work next and tracked you down."

"Gojō Sensei," you groan outrageously. Trust that he makes things worse. Of course, he always does.

"Is he — is he wrong about it?" Yūta's touches stop.

"No, no. It's not that! It wasn't supposed to end that way," you admit, "I was only meant to investigate a rundown place that houses several weak curses. If they aren't much, I would exorcize them. What no one expected was that there was a special grade that was cleverly masking its energy through the mass amount of the weaker ones."

Yūta presses his forehead on your mattress, just a hairsbreadth away from you. His ragged breathing thunders past your ears. It sounds so hollow, broken, and dismantled, much like how he used to be the first time you met him. "And?"

"Blasted my legs and arm off before Ijichi could have said anything else. I don't remember what happened next about the mission or even the curses, but Panda said they've been wiped clean just recently."

"I almost lost you," comes his muffled voice, yet neither of you can miss the haunting dread of his tone, "and I wasn't even there."

"No one could have known." You say in comfort. "I also should've been more attentive to my surroundings. I got too arrogant, and it cost me almost dearly. If it hadn't been for Toge carrying me out while Panda basically giving us cover . . . "

He shakes his head, muttering to himself that it's all the reason he should've gone back sooner. That he should've begged Gojō Sensei to take him back.

"Yūta," you call him, but you are unable to take him out of his own self-torture. 

He continues to mutter, curse, and mumble about the things that he should've done if he were here, about how he wouldn't have made you go through things alone, and admits he was terrified just thinking about you being healed without his presence while he was in Africa, blissfully enjoying meals after meals. How stupid, stupid, STUPID everything is.

"Yūta," you coax him once more, pushing your lollipop back to the left side. Thankfully, your mouth and your eyes can still move on their own. "Can you release me?"

Yūta's rambling ceases, almost suddenly. The hold around your ankle steels, shackling and submitting you to his strength. When he pushes himself a little higher to cage you beneath him, to have you look into his eyes that's rid of the hesitancy he once bore like an armor, you can only allow yourself to swallow visibly.

Whatever training he has received in Africa, or wherever else he's been situated by Sensei, Yūta has changed profoundly. You can see and feel it with his muscles growing taut, with his chin raising itself in confidence instead of submission, and his eyes — oh, the eyes you've missed — holding you steady. 

He takes your lollipop from your mouth and puts it in his. Even a measly sweet sucker is commanded to obey his tongue.

It seems wrong to think about how sensual it looks when Yūta nestles the lollipop against the back of his teeth, never letting his eyes leave yours as he compels you to watch him. Then he breaks a tiny piece from it with a press of his jaw down.

It was carnal, the best way you can put it. The precision with which he merely takes what's needed and leaves the rest incomplete.

"I need to see for myself." He states. "I need to make sure you're actually fine."

He inspects the leg that's resting on his shoulder first. He carefully rotates your ankle, thoroughly examining for any unusual bones protruding through your skin. For one thing, he certainly doesn't like how delayed your reactions are.

You say it's because it's still trying to heal internally. His disapproval humming tells you otherwise, and he isn't pleased with the results.

He places his own knee at the center of you, narrowly brushing your most intimate part, when he lifts your other leg and places it on top, too.

Yūta's attention moves from one limb to the next, making sure that everything's perfect. You let him at this point, not that you've got your choice yet, but you are beginning to think that this feels rather nice, with how gentle and attentive he is with you. And in the recesses of your muddled brain, how aroused he makes you feel.

His movement falters briefly when his hands reach the hem of your shorts. You peek an eye open and look at him.

There is a certain gaze he has, fixated on what's covering you. "I need to look in here as well."

Before you can utter, he already pulls them down, and you resist a moan from the cold breeze that seems to nip your skin bitterly. Yūta gets off the bed and crouches below you, his face leveling to your nether region. He tests a finger, pushing towards your center fold. Immediately, you soak him completely.

"Let me," he says, and pries your labia open.

"Ah, Yūta!" you breathlessly call out. The air bites you harsher the more he opens you wider.

"Perfect." He praises.

He uses three fingers: one flicks your clit around while the other two slowly entice you back and forth with their rhythmic pace.

"Absolutely perfect."

It goes on for several more minutes, with only the euphoric whines you can provide. The sounds of your breathing calling wretchedly out for him and the squelches of your starving cunt are the symphonies both of you can only hear throughout this room.

Suddenly, Yūta twists and curls his fingers roughly inside, and you feel yourself awash with an overwhelming sense of liberation.

You moan uproariously, the sounds bouncing from one corner to the next.

Yūta watches with a penetrating epiphany of just how sinfully wet your core is, how greedy it becomes for him that you would actually give in and submit to his whims. What a deplorable woman, staining his fingers with the most precious thing no one will ever come to know.

You feel him lap your cunt when you start leaking, scooping his tongue to get more from you. You moan for him to stop and give you a second. He only does when you cry his name louder.

"You taste perfect as always."

Yūta shifts, and swiftly, he takes his cursed-imbued katana from its scabbard and seamlessly rips the remaining of your clothes with a clean slice.

You are still reeling from your release when he resumes his inspection.

He pulls up and touches your breasts and feels the suppleness of them on his hands. Next, he checks your waist, which doesn't seem like it's been dislocated and then relocated back in.

"Good." He nods, the sound of your lollipop in his mouth clacks twice.

He shuffles to your collarbone — and all's fine in that area, too. To your back and its dimples, the sides of your neck where he litters his mark, down your throat. He opens your mouth, stares into your eyes, and double-checks your head for any stitches he wasn't informed of. Nothing of the ordinary. Everything's all good.

And yet, there is an indisputable rage you feel radiating from his presence, choking you from how lethally potent it's exuding. Whether that's directed to anyone in particular or the general gist of the whole situation or even to you, you can hardly tell because Yūta is beyond furious.

"Hey, look at me," you try in hopes that you can calm him down. "I am fine. I can't go on missions for the time being, since I basically need to let my nerves reset over here," you point your eyes to your arm and legs, "and get them accustomed to me again. But other than that, I feel fine."

Yūta nods stiffly. His entire body is clenched so hard, you feel his nails digging sharply against your hips. You worry that at this rate, he might set himself on fire, and Rika would burst in here and actually demolish your place. 

"I'm here, Yūta." 

Clack. The candy goes. Clack. Clack. Clack.

"I promise that I'm all right. Gojō Sensei was exaggerating a bit in the letter. I didn't die. And you didn't have to come home, you know."

"Toge wrote to me as well." He says through gritted teeth. Clack. Clack. "Toge never writes unless something actually happened. And for him to do so, it was bad."

You relent with a sigh. "Okay, yes, it was, but only for a moment. I was fixed up in time, and so, don't worry too much about it. Please?"

Clack. "No."

"Yūta," you beg, "Please? Trust me. I'm okay. I don't know what else I can say to make you feel better right now, but please know that I'm okay. I'm better, especially since you came home for me."

Clack-clackclack-clack.

"Please, come here."

Yūta settles his gaze back to you and does as he's told. You coax him to give in to your lips, and after a few more tries, he finally obeys, once he removes the lollipop, as he cages you with his hands on either side of your face.

He kisses you out of desperation and longing and the implied gut-wrenching terror of what could've been, the very same in which you feel burning inside of you when you thought you wouldn't be able to see him again.

"I've missed you." He says between his teeth.

"I've missed you, too." You utter back through labored breaths. "I've really missed you, Yūta."

"I'm here," he says. He licks your bottom lip for entrance, and you allow him. He moans against your mouth as he deepens the kiss hungrily. "I'm here."

One of his arms slides down with a resounding swoosh against your sheets, and before you can wonder what he's going to do, you feel a foreign thing protruding inside your cunt.

"Y-Yūta, what is t-that?" You try to break the kiss away, but with your movements rendered useless, it's difficult to try and even speak when he stops at nothing in claiming your lips repeatedly.

He doesn't deign to give you an answer either, too drunk on what he's doing.

"Yūta," you call again, gasping a moan, as you feel it bottoming in and out of you in swift motions. "Did you just put —"

Yūta tilts your head forcefully towards his, squeezes your cheeks to open your mouth wider, and captures your lips to drown out any words you wish to speak out, as you feel the lollipop (you are certain of this now) twirling and pushing inside you at such an unforgivable force.

"Oh — shit!" You barely let out as you are near the edge again. "Yūta — Yūta! Wait, wait, wait! Shit! I'm gonna — gon —"

Being immobilized for this long prevents you from writhing, and it is in this predicament that you gradually realize that coming undone like this is inexplicably more intense.

Your eyes roll back, your mouth slackens as it opens and brings your tongue out to the side, and drool slithers down to your neck, where Yūta licks it clean.

He gives you exactly three heavy breaths before he unbuckles his pants and slides inside you with ease. Both of you moan almost in harmony for missing this contact for months.

"I've always — shit," he cuts himself off, grunting through the roughness of his thrusts.

Your limbs are beginning to loosen from their stiffness. Yūta's command is weakening. When you finally catch yourself with the return of your control, he seizes your arms and legs and wraps them around his neck and waist.

Both of your kisses have turned sloppy. Occasionally, you would accidentally slide to his cheek, or he would bite your chin by mistake. Neither of you has cared enough.

He rolls his hips to the tandem of your movements, and as he breaks away to taste the cherry-flavored sucker coated with you and cracks it into pieces in his mouth, you almost climax at the sight of him.

The sight of him being powerfully raw.

He captures your lips again, pushing some of the pieces of the candy inside your mouth. You taste yourself, you taste him, you taste what little is left of the cherry intact.

The mixture of everything is heavenly.

"I wanted to kill them," he tells you.

"Who?" You wrap your legs tighter, sucking him further inside.

"The moment I've read the letter from Sensei. I wanted to kill them all. Every single one who touched you." He confesses. "Who dared to try to take you from me. Did they think they would get away so easily?"

His thrusts have become sporadic. His anger fueled him to hit harder. He doesn't stop his progression. You beg him not to.

"Then Toge explained everything. Who do I have to kill for you? For three days before I came here, I hunted them down. Especially the one that nearly killed you."

So, it was he who dealt with them, the one Panda informed you when all those curses were suddenly wiped out of their existence. All this time, you've assumed it was Gojō Sensei or some first-grade sorcerer. Never did you expect, as Yūta never announced his abrupt visit, that it'd be him.

"They won't hurt you anymore, baby." He kisses your forehead gently as he holds your hands over your head. He bites your elbow, the upper part of your armpits, marking your collarbone and littering his claim across your chest like an undiscovered constellation. "Never again. They wouldn't dare. They wouldn't."

The tightness coiling at the pit of your stomach resurfaces. You hardly catch yourself calling out to him when you come again with the loudest, most pleasurable scream you've ever done tonight.

Yūta isn't too far behind. With just a couple more thrusts and a promise of devotion for you, he spills inside.

And even after both of you are wholly spent, when you've untangled your legs around him and collapse further into your bed, he refuses to pull out.

Yūta is still hard, and he rocks himself back and forth, edging himself to another release.

There is a claim that he is making here, one that promises retribution to whoever may defy him, and he is making sure that for any curse and sorcerers alike who dare to even try and take you from him, they would know and feel that a part of him is inside of you. That they would think twice before considering the consequences of their actions. Unless they wish a painful death. 

"You're coming with me." He announces through his slow fucking.

"Don't you want to stay here instead? You've been gone for a while." You playfully bargain in between rasps and moans.

"There's something Gojō Sensei needs me to look into," He huffs a breath, "but I can't risk leaving you alone anymore. I've already discussed this with him, and we'd be heading in a week."

"All right." You bring him closer to you. "M'can't wait . . ."

Yūta kisses your cheek. "For you, I'll do anything."

The very second Satoru's daughter can walk is the day that goes down in history for him. There is nothing that the little munchkin can't do once her legs start kicking: waddling like a cute-dumb penguin over the verandas, up the stairs, to the training grounds, and even in the classroom where he holds weekly meetings for his second- and first-year students. 

Yuji often says that she's the one who softens up a week's worth of scolding. Panda and Maki say she's the ticket to a hard-earned rest. Nobara pushes further that with her in the group, they can get an expensive meal out of their sensei. And yes — all those are absolutely true. 

And that's just her figuring out how to use her chubby, little legs. 

Now, imagine his utter dismay, the day on which he has lamented and scorned the world, when she starts babbling a litany of coherent words. Yet, in that absurd dictionary of hers, the word "Dada" is still missing. 

Granted, she can barely say three words, consisting of "Mommy, food," and "poop," Satoru is still very much determined to be number four in her first words. 

"Give it time," you said to your husband once, when he pouted against your shoulders as you cleared up the dishes. "She's trying."

"I wanted her to say my name first," Satoru mumbled. 

You snort, because of course, he always wanted to be first for everything. "Sucks, doesn't it?" 

Needless to say, on one summer morning, when he is supervising all his students' training (at the rare chance that they're all together), you come bounding down the stairs with packed lunches for everyone, and clinging to your waist tightly with a flower grasped in their hands is your daughter.

Satoru quickly unbinds his bandages because if there's one thing he wishes to do every time he sees his daughter, it's to see her as she is. Nothing to obscure his vision of what perfection is. 

"Come here, my sweet potato!" He crouches down and opens his arms for her. His other students stop and greet the new guests, but Satoru's attention is all but pointing to the little bundle of joy running at breakneck speed towards — 

"What!"

His own daughter, his pride and joy, the one he so begged you to have with him, the one he would sing all those crappy songs that make no sense, the little devil who would beg him to eat her vegetables because Mommy didn't make it right, and the one who would cling to his leg as he runs around the room like a lunatic before you stop it — runs straight to the arms of Yūta. 

Yūta, who crouches down and picks her up with so much ease, where her little giggles turn into skittish ones that send more arrows straight to Satoru's heart. 

"You've grown up so well!" Yūta praises, brushing her hair aside. "Look at you!"

Satoru pulls his hair and grits his teeth together because only Satoru gets to spin his daughter around like that, not Yūta. That's only a thing between him and his baby girl, and only the father, as he so emphasizes it, gets to do that. 

His daughter pulls him out of his imagination of flicking Yūta's forehead repeatedly when she squeals and tries to grab the hilt of Yūta's sword. 

With a quick, "Whoa, there!" Yūta methodically spins her around at the same time he tosses his weapon to Maki. 

There is no greater threat to him than his daughter having a crush on one of his students. As he stands, stupefied, watching his daughter give her flower to Yūta, who tucks it behind her ear and calls her beautiful, Satoru feels the world collapse on itself and swallow him whole.

She's not supposed to like anyone but him. And she's not supposed to like anyone until she's old and he's dead. 

And so, is this what death is? Cold and harsh and unforgiving? 

"How cute!" You say beside him, bumping his knee to get him up. 

Satoru would love to get up if Yūta would love to let his daughter go, and if Yūta would love to return to Africa indefinitely. 

"You better not do what I think you're thinking right now." You mutter threateningly. 

"And what is it I'm gonna do, sweetie?" 

"If I find out Yūta goes missing tomorrow, I will hunt you down like I did when you buried my Barney stuffed toy." 

"Pffft," Satoru says, "I did no such thing."

"Satoru, there was a footage camera, and you were in that stupid video, and Nanami saw you. Don't bullshit with me right now. I will literally break your ass again with Nanami's butcher knife."

Satoru deflates. "It's not faiiir! I want time with my daughter, too!"

"She hardly sees them anyway, and you know that Yūta's her favorite." 

"Kid's barely in town, and she chose him of all people?" 

"Yūta's adorable. I'm sure she finds him adorable, too."

Satoru gasps, heartstricken. "Take that back right now!"

"You're being dramatic. Yūta wouldn't even hurt her or let anyone hurt her. You should be glad."

"She's got me, her daddy. Daddy will protect her." Satoru whines. "She didn't even greet me . . . went straight to Yūta instead . . ."

You laugh sympathetically. "That just goes to show you that he's great with kids. You know that kids are naturally drawn to those who are kind-hearted." 

Satoru concedes, "I suppose." 

"Let her be. Yūta's often out on missions, and whenever he's free, it's past her bedtime. Give her this moment, Satoru." 

The two of you watch as your daughter hovers over Yūta while the rest coo and greet her affectionately. In hindsight, if Satoru isn't jealous about it, he would think that it's nice to know his daughter is very well protected by his students. Plus points that she's quite drawn to Yūta — since now, there is absolutely no way any curses would be around your vicinity so long as he's there. 

But, as the sun begins to set and he's about to conclude today's training, Satoru's daughter does one more thing to drive a nail into his father's poor, crumpled heart. 

"Love! Yūta! Love! Love!" 

"Oh, shit." 

Satoru hears you mumble through the ringing in his ears and the cracks of red bleeding through his Six Eyes. 

Yūta is definitely going overseas tonight. 

This is ridiculous. Sakura can't even begin to process the fact that you're asking him to train you when you have a perfectly adept boyfriend who's already suited for the job. 

Yet, here you are with your arms crossed, having the audacity to pout at him for refusing to train you.

"No," he hears himself say for the sixth time when you beg. 

"Come on!" You urge. "Ren wouldn't teach me, and none of the other guys would."

He probably threatened them. 

All the more reason for Sakura not to do this. "I said, no." 

"I can't always rely on you guys helping me out," you try to reason with, "you and I both know that. Since Ren is also a grade captain, I don't want to add more responsibilities for him if I can, at least, take care of myself, too." 

Sakura sighs. He knows that much is true. People can't keep expecting to rely on others when they're more than capable of carrying their own weight. Self-guilt tends to overrule rationality at times, too, and so he understands, to an extent, where you're coming from. 

That doesn't mean, however, that he's going to give in. He's probably on Kaji's shit list since day one, and if he isn't, this will definitely put him on the spot. While he respects Kaji, there were times when heated spats were exchanged, and only Hiragi's barely there lecture is getting the two grade captains to maintain civility for the most part. 

"No one wants to teach me. And I know that it's that idiot's doing." You slump your shoulders. "But, I've heard about you from Ren." 

"Ha — what?"

You blink and smile. "Said that you're good and more than capable of standing your ground. That if I ever am in trouble and he isn't there, I'd run to you next."

Maybe it's the sun slapping the hell out of his face, but for some reason, Sakura feels like he's on fire. Or you're pulling his strings here too well. 

"You don't have to teach me everything you know," you kick a pebble aside, "I just want to learn enough to defend myself. That if running isn't an option, I'm not out of ideas what to do to save myself." 

Sakura rubs the back of his neck, face still burning hotter. "A-All right."

Your eyes sparkle with so much joy, he'd think that he basically offered you the world. 

Kaji's definitely going to kill me. 

"Great! When do we start?" 

It's not an if, per se, but a when. And it's only a matter of time before Kaji bursts through the first-year class with the most killing potent Sakura has ever felt radiating off of him.

Nirei shivers in fear, hiding himself behind Suo's back. The other students are tense, wondering why Kaji is here. 

But Sakura knows, and each step that your boyfriend takes towards him is a plan to make your training brutally difficult. If he's going to suffer your boyfriend's temper, you're going down with him. 

"You." Kaji points his finger towards Sakura. 

Sakura raises his brow. "If this is about her training, don't bother. I've tried. I don't know how you do it." 

Kaji's fists clenched. "Not one hair misplaced." 

Sakura looks at him in confusion. "The hell do you mean?"

Kaji bites onto the stick of his candy hard enough for the rest to hear his teeth grate against each other. "Not. One. Hair. Misplaced." 

And that's all he has ever said, because as quickly as he enters, Kaji leaves like a whirlwind that passes merely to wreak havoc. 

"Tsk, I told him not one hair out of you," Kaji grumbles as he massages your legs. 

"Higher," you mumble against the pillow, groaning when he gets the knot. 

"Brat," Kaji continues to complain, "now look at you: you can barely walk." 

You turn your head to his sulking figure and smile, "Ren, I wanted to do this. He's the only one who wasn't scared enough to teach me."

His lollipop swirls rapidly. "I told you that you don't need to. I've got you."

"And I appreciate that." You completely turn around to face him now. "But Ren, be realistic for a second here. You can't always be there with me."

"Watch me."

"Ren." You roll your eyes and sigh. "I'm not gonna go out of my way to find trouble, but after what happened with you guys and Keel, who knows? I don't want you to divide your attention when someone needs you more if I can learn how to defend, too." 

"Bold of you to assume you're not my priority."

"Okay, be serious, right now, and think about this hypothetical scenario." 

"I am. Why do you think we're having this discussion in the first place?"

You smack the side of his head with the pillow. "The point is —" you stress each syllable, "— let Sakura teach me. As I told him, if running isn't an option, I don't want to cry and let myself get beaten up."

Kaji closes his eyes tightly shut. 

"Please, let me do this. If you want, you can stay and supervise each time Sakura helps me?"

Kaji pushes himself to rest his head against your shoulder. His arms encircle your waist, pulling you closer to his lap while he runs his hands up and down your sides. You can hear the tune of his music blasting off from his headphones, and you scramble your hands to reach towards his phone to lower it. 

"Three times a week, only." Kaji concedes, at last. "After school, come by my class first, and we're going to walk to the field together." 

You kiss his forehead. "Yeah, sure! I'd like that."

Kaji exhales and returns your kiss. 

"This is ridiculous!" 

"Woman! You're being ridiculous!" 

"Keep talking to me like that, and you just won't have it then!" You scream indignantly, looking past your bare stomach, from underneath your bush, and just enough to see his glare piercing straight at you. 

"Let me eat you out. Look at yourself! You're already so wet for me. So, just sit for —" Sukuna sighs sharply, unknowingly sending a warm bubble of air directly against your clit. 

The sudden wave of heat quickly encompasses you, and you instinctively clamp your knees against his ears, buckling down hard to his mouth, effectively cutting a poetry of curses from Sukuna. 

"Oh, shit!" You squawk, immediately raising yourself. "Why the fuck would you even do that!" 

"Is it my fault you're the sensitive one? Do it again. I like it. Come here." He positions you back in place, your cunt directly above his mouth, and your clit torturously erect when he flicks it. 

"No, wait!"

"You can't kill me, that'll be stupid even for a curse like me." He pushes your hands away when you try to grab a fistful of his hair and yank him down to the pillows. 

"J-Just, hold on!"

You've been in this position for the past fifteen minutes, debating with yourself if he should just eat you out because seeing his heated gaze straight to your clit and your breathless cunt being pried wide open with his fingers, looking intently for any signs of your release flowing out, is enough for you to come at this sensation alone. 

But the thing is that you're simply nervous because it hasn't been long since he first ate you out, and while it was new and so fucking good, you're still embarrassed about the whole prospect of it. 

"I just need . . ." you prep yourself up, "I get ticklish when I think too much about it."

"There's hardly anything you think about these days, and you have to think right now?" 

"Shut the fuck up, or I'm walking out of here."

"Baby," he calls a little gentler, though it doesn't sound any different than how he would curse another, "just sit. Please."

"Oh?" You manage to entice a chuckling tease, "You never say please that way."

"For fuck's sake, you're being too unrea — mmphh!"

"This is ridiculous!" 

"Woman! You're being ridiculous!" 

"Keep talking to me like that, and you just won't have it then!" You scream indignantly, looking past your bare stomach, from underneath your bush, and just enough to see his glare piercing straight at you. 

"Let me eat you out. Look at yourself! You're already so wet for me. So, just sit for —" Sukuna sighs sharply, unknowingly sending a warm bubble of air directly against your clit. 

The sudden wave of heat quickly encompasses you, and you instinctively clamp your knees against his ears, buckling down hard to his mouth, effectively cutting a poetry of curses from Sukuna. 

"Oh, shit!" You squawk, immediately raising yourself. "Why the fuck would you even do that!" 

"Is it my fault you're the sensitive one? Do it again. I like it. Come here." He positions you back in place, your cunt directly above his mouth, and your clit torturously erect when he flicks it. 

"No, wait!"

"You can't kill me, that'll be stupid even for a curse like me." He pushes your hands away when you try to grab a fistful of his hair and yank him down to the pillows. 

"J-Just, hold on!"

You've been in this position for the past fifteen minutes, debating with yourself if he should just eat you out because seeing his heated gaze straight to your clit and your breathless cunt being pried wide open with his fingers, looking intently for any signs of your release flowing out, is enough for you to come at this sensation alone. 

But the thing is that you're simply nervous because it hasn't been long since he first ate you out, and while it was new and so fucking good, you're still embarrassed about the whole prospect of it. 

"I just need . . ." you prep yourself up, "I get ticklish when I think too much about it."

"There's hardly anything you think about these days, and you have to think right now?" 

"Shut the fuck up, or I'm walking out of here."

"Baby," he calls a little gentler, though it doesn't sound any different than how he would curse another, "just sit. Please."

"Oh?" You manage to entice a chuckling tease, "You never say please that way."

"For fuck's sake, you're being too unrea — mmphh!"

The very second Satoru's daughter can walk is the day that goes down in history for him. There is nothing that the little munchkin can't do once her legs start kicking, waddling like a cute-dumb penguin over the verandas, up the stairs, to the training grounds, and even in the classroom where he holds weekly meetings for his second and first year students. 

Yuji often says that she's the one who softens up a week's worth of scolding. Panda and Maki say she's the ticket to a hard-earned rest. Nobara pushes further that with her in the group, they can get an expensive meal out of their sensei. And yes — all those are absolutely true. 

And that's just her figuring out how to use her chubby, little legs. 

Now, imagine his utter dismay, the day on which he has lamented and scorned the world, when she starts babbling a litany of coherent words. Yet, in that absurd dictionary of hers, the word "Dada" is still missing. 

Granted, she can barely say three words, consisting of "Mommy, food," and "poop," Satoru is still very much determined to be number four in her first words. 

"Give it time," you said to your husband once, when he pouted against your shoulders as you cleared up the dishes. "She's trying."

"I wanted her to say my name first," Satoru mumbled. 

You snort, because of course, he always wanted to be first for everything. "Sucks, doesn't it?" 

Needless to say, on one summer morning, when he is supervising all his students' training (at the rare chance that they're all together), you come bounding down the stairs with packed lunches for everyone, and clinging to your waist tightly with a flower grasped in their hands is your daughter.

Satoru quickly unbinds his bandages because if there's one thing he wishes to do every time he gets to see his daughter, it's to let himself see her as she is. Nothing to obscure his vision of what perfection is. 

"Come here, my sweet potato!" He crouches and opens his arms for her. His other students stop and greet the new guests, but Satoru's attention is all but pointing to the little bundle of joy running at breakneck speed towards — 

"What!"

His own daughter, his pride and joy, the one he so begged you to have with him, the one he would sing all those crappy songs that make no sense, the little devil who would beg him to eat her vegetables because Mommy didn't make it right, and the one who would cling to his leg as he runs around the room like a lunatic before you stop it — runs straight to the arms of Yūta. 

Yūta, who crouches down and picks her up with so much ease, where her little giggles turn into skittish ones that send more arrows straight to Satoru's heart. 

"You've grown up so well!" Yūta praises, brushing her hair aside. "Look at you!"

Satoru pulls his hair and grits his teeth together because that thing Yūta is doing is only meant for Satoru. That's what he does to his baby girl, and only the father gets to do that. 

His daughter pulls him out of his imagination of flicking Yūta's forehead repeatedly when she squeals and tries to grab the hilt of Yūta's sword. 

With a quick, "Whoa, there!" Yūta methodically spins her around at the same time he tosses his weapon to Maki. 

There is no greater threat to him than his daughter having a crush on one of his students, because as he stands stupefied in his position and watching his daughter give her flower to Yūta, in which Yūta tucks it behind her ear and calls her beautiful, Satoru is about to die. 

She's not supposed to like anyone but him. And she's not supposed to like anyone until she's old and he's dead. 

And so, is this what death is? Cold and harsh and unforgiving? 

"How cute!" You say beside him, bumping his knee to get him up. 

Satoru would love to get up if Yūta would love to let his daughter go, and if Yūta would love to return to Africa indefinitely. 

"You better not do what I think you're thinking right now." You mutter threateningly. 

"And what is it I'm gonna do, sweetie?" 

"If I find out Yūta goes missing tomorrow, I will hunt you down like I did when you buried my Barney stuffed toy." 

"Pffft," Satoru says, "I did no such thing."

"Satoru, there was a footage camera, and you were in that stupid video, and Nanami saw you. Don't bullshit with me right now. I will literally break your ass again with Nanami's butcher knife."

Satoru deflates. "It's not faiiir! I want time with my daughter, too!"

"She hardly sees them anyway, and you know that Yūta's her favorite." 

"Kid's barely in town, and she chose him of all people?" 

"Yūta's adorable. I'm sure she finds him adorable, too."

Satoru gasps, heartstricken. "Take that back right now!"

"You're being dramatic. Yūta wouldn't even hurt her or let anyone hurt her. You should be glad."

"She's got me, her daddy. Daddy will protect her." Satoru whines. "She didn't even greet me . . . went straight to Yūta instead . . ."

You laugh sympathetically. "That just goes to show you that he's great with kids. You know that kids are naturally drawn to those who are kind-hearted." 

Satoru concedes, "I suppose," 

"Let her be. Yūta's often out on missions, and whenever he's free, it's past her bedtime. Give her this moment, Satoru." 

The two of you watch as your daughter hovers over Yūta while the rest coo and greet her affectionately. In hindsight, if Satoru isn't jealous about it, he would think that it's nice to know his daughter is very well protected by his students. Plus points that she's quite drawn to Yūta — since now, there is absolutely no way any curses would be around your vicinity so long as he's there. 

But, as the sun begins to set and he's about to conclude today's training, Satoru's daughter does one more thing to drive a nail into his father's poor, crumpled heart. 

"Love! Yūta! Love! Love!" 

"Oh, shit." 

Satoru hears you mumble through the ringing in his ears and the cracks of red bleeding through his Six Eyes. 

Yūta is definitely going overseas tonight.