KANE

Satoru scoffs, dropping onto the couch like he owns the room.

“I’m never late. Everyone else is just early.” Suguru turns slightly, just enough to glance at him.

“You kept me waiting.”

Satoru grins.

“Yeah?” he says lazily. “Did you miss me?” Suguru doesn’t smile.

But his gaze lingers.

“You’re irritating,” he replies.

“Mm,” Satoru hums, stretching his arms behind his head. “You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

Silence settles, but it’s not empty. It never is with them. Suguru finally moves, crossing the room with slow, deliberate steps. He stops in front of Satoru,Too close for anyone else.

Exactly right for them. “Your control is slipping,” Suguru says quietly.

Satoru’s grin sharpens.

“Is it?”

Suguru’s eyes flick briefly toward the faint distortion in the air, the subtle warping of space where Infinity hums just a little louder than necessary. “You’re restless.”

Satoru tilts his head.

“Maybe I’m bored.” Suguru’s gaze drops to Satoru’s wrist, the ink there is dark.

Permanent.

Unmistakable.

Geto Suguru. His own wrist burns faintly in response.

Not pain.

Recognition.

“You don’t get bored,” Suguru says.

Satoru’s expression flickers, just slightly.

Enough for Suguru to notice. “Everything else does,” Satoru corrects.

Suguru reaches out.

His fingers wrap around Satoru’s wrist without hesitation.

Without permission.

He never needs it. The moment skin meets skin that same sharp, electric pulse.

Familiar.

Grounding.

Satoru exhales slowly.

“…There it is.” Suguru’s grip tightens just a fraction.

“You’re drifting again.” Satoru looks up at him through lowered lashes, something unreadable settling behind his usual arrogance.

“And you’re pulling me back?” he asks. Suguru doesn’t let go.

“Someone has to,” he says. Satoru laughs softly, but there’s no real humor in it.

“Careful,” he murmurs. “Sounds like you need me.”

Suguru finally meets his gaze fully.

Steady.

Unwavering.

“I do.” The words land heavier than anything else in the room.

Satoru stills.

Just for a second. Then his grin returns, but slower this time. Sharper.

“Good,” he says. Suguru releases his wrist and  the absence lingers.

Like a missing weight. “They’ll start noticing,” Suguru says after a moment. Satoru leans forward slightly.

“Let them.”

“You’re not subtle.” 

“I’m not trying to be. Youn know troubles my middle name”

A pause. Suguru studies him.

Then—

“What did you do this time?”

Satoru’s smile widens.

Too pleased. “Nothing,” he says.

Suguru raises a brow.

“…Yet.”

Suguru exhales quietly, turning away again.

“You’re going to make a mess.” Satoru stands this time.

Steps closer. “I always do.”

“Doesn’t matter,” Satoru adds. “You’ll clean it up anyway.” Suguru glances back over his shoulder.

A small, knowing smile.

“Of course I will.”

Because that’s how it works.

Not balance.

Not equality.

A closed circuit.

One pulls.

One steadies.

Satoru and Suguru were a closed circuit. They had been since the day their skin first brushed in a crowded hallway during their first year the sharp, electric sting on their wrists followed by the black ink of each other's names blooming like a brand. Gojo Satoru on Suguru’s right wrist; Geto Suguru on Satoru’s left. It was a divine decree. They were the strongest, and they belonged to each other.

Until the Tuesday that tasted like copper and betrayal.

Suguru was mid-sentence, reaching for a porcelain teapot, when a sensation like a hot needle dragged across the underside of his left wrist. He hissed, the teapot shattering against the low table.

"Suguru?" Satoru was on his feet instantly, his blindfold pushed up, his Six Eyes scanning the room for a threat that wasn't there. "What happened? An attack?"

Suguru didn't answer. He was staring at his left wrist. Directly opposite the soulmate mark he shared with Satoru, a new line of script was rising through the skin. It wasn't the clean, bold ink of Satoru’s name. This was jagged, weeping a faint, translucent gold the sign of a Second Link. A rarity. A glitch in the universe.

Your name was etching itself into his marrow.

"I didn't touch anyone," Suguru whispered, his face going ghostly pale. "Satoru, I haven't left the room in four hours. I haven't... I don't even know who this is."

The cruelty of a Second Link was the "Passive Contact." Most soulmates required a touch to activate the mark, but for someone as powerful as the Twin Stars of Jujutsu, the universe sometimes skipped the formalities. Somewhere on campus, you had walked past a door he was behind or on a mission. You had breathed the same air. And the tether had snapped shut.

Satoru leaned over, his fingers gripping Suguru’s arm with a strength that would have crushed a normal man. He stared at your name. His jaw tightened, the air in the room beginning to vibrate with the sheer pressure of his Cursed Energy.

"A third," Satoru breathed, his voice devoid of its usual playfulness. It was hollow, dark, and predatory. "Someone thinks they can wedge themselves between us, Suguru."

"I don't even remember seeing them," Suguru said, his thumb brushing over your name. As he touched it, a wave of your emotions flooded him—loneliness, a quiet hunger for coffee, the slight chill of the hallway. It was nauseatingly intimate. "But I can feel them now. They’re... soft."

The atmosphere in the High-Rise suite didn’t just change; it curdled.

Satoru had been watching the gold script etch itself into Suguru’s left wrist with a detached, clinical fascination, a predator watching a new rival enter the territory. But then, the air in the room didn't just vibrate; it shattered. 

Satoru let out a strangled, jagged sound, his right hand flying to his own left wrist, clutching it so hard the skin turned deathly white.

"Satoru?" Suguru’s voice was sharp, his own pain forgotten as he reached out.

Satoru didn’t answer. He ripped his hand away, baring his skin. There, directly parallel to the heavy black ink of Geto Suguru, a new name was burning its way into his flesh. It wasn't gold. For Satoru, the "Limitless" sorcerer, the mark was a violent, electric violet. It thrummed with a frequency that bypassed his Infinity, sinking straight into his nervous system.

Your name. Identical to the one on Suguru but on his right wrist.

The silence that followed was louder than an explosion. They stood in the center of the room, two gods suddenly tethered to a ghost. The "Closed Circuit" had been breached. The perfect binary of their existence had been forced into a trinity, and the sheer need that flooded them was instantaneous and total.

"It’s the same," Satoru whispered, his voice cracking, his Six Eyes dilated until the blue was almost swallowed by black. "Suguru, it’s the same name. They’re ours."

He wasn't just talking about a soulmate. He was talking about a missing piece of a weapon. As the marks finalized, a psychic bridge snapped open. They felt your heartbeat. Something they never even knew was missing.

For Gojo and Geto, the strongest who lived in a world of their own making, the "hole" was the isolation of their own ascension. They had spent years viewing the world from a height where no one else could breathe, mistaking the cold of the summit for a natural state of being. They were two halves of a whole who believed their circle was closed, their stillness absolute.

Then, your name appeared—a third ink-stain on the skin of their wrists, a rhythmic, phantom pulse under their own.

For Gojo, it is the sudden, violent shattering of the "Infinity" he keeps between himself and the world. He has spent his life seeing everything with his Six Eyes but feeling very little. To suddenly feel a third heart beating against his own ribs, someone who isn't Geto, someone he hasn't even fully met, who he doesn’t remember is like the first time he ever felt the bite of a blade. It is a resonance that bypasses his technique entirely. He realizes that for all his godhood, he has been a ghost haunting his own life, waiting for a frequency he didn’t know he was tuned to.

For Geto, it is an even more terrifying revelation. He is a man who swallowed the rot of the world to protect it, thinking his burden was shared only by Satoru. To feel the steady, unknowing pulse of a soulmate is to realize that the room he thought was full of only duty and blood actually had a door he never tried to open. It is the "ancient desire" finally being named: the need not just to be understood by a peer, but to be anchored by a third point, turning their fragile line into a stable foundation.

They look at their wrists, then at each other, and the realization is starving: they have been the strongest duo in history, yet they were both dying of a thirst they only just recognized.

The pain wasn't a pinch. For you, it was an absolute, white-hot evisceration of your senses.

You were tucked away in the back of the library, the quietest corner of Jujutsu High, when your right wrist suddenly felt like it had been dipped in molten lead. A scream died in your throat, stifled by the sudden, overwhelming pressure of two distinct, warring energies slamming into your soul. You clutched your arm, gasping for air as the skin bubbled and wept, the ink forcing its way up from the bone.

When the smoke cleared from your vision, you stared down at your skin in pure, unadulterated horror.

Gojo Satoru. Geto Suguru.

The names were etched in a shimmering, violent violet and a deep, pulsing gold. They sat side-by-side, occupying your skin with a terrifying arrogance. You weren't just a soulmate; you were a bridge. A third point in a triangle that was never meant to have one.

The Instinct to Hide was immediate. 

You didn't feel chosen. You felt scared.

Everyone knew what they were. The Twin Stars. The pinnacle of the sorcery world. They were gods walking among mortals, and you? You were a Grade 4 anomaly, a "Shield" whose only talent was making yourself small and invisible. Your technique, Iron seclusion, allowed you to wrap a force field around your physical form so dense that even Cursed Energy struggled to permeate it. Coupled with your abnormal regenerative healing, you were the perfect survivor, but you were never meant to be a prize.

"No," you whispered, the word trembling in the stagnant library air. "Not them. Anyone but them."

You knew their reputations. Satoru was a void that consumed everything he touched; Suguru was a shadow that swallowed the world whole. To be tied to them wasn't a romance, it was an invitation to be erased.

The memory of your mother’s voice usually feels like a silk ribbon smooth, cooling, and easy to hold. But now, with the names Satoru and Suguru searing into your pulse, her words feel like a cruel irony, a fairy tale told to a child who was never meant to see the monster under the bed.

"A soulmate isn't just a partner, sweetheart," she had said, her fingers tracing the blank, expectant skin of your wrist while you were small. "They are the anchor to your storm. The world is loud and frightening for people like us, but when that name appears, the noise stops. It’s like finally finding the North Star after being lost at sea."

You remember the way she looked at your father a quiet, Grade 3 sorcerer with a softness that made the harshness of their profession disappear.

"It’s unconditional," she whispered, her eyes bright with a certainty you now find terrifying. "They won't just see your strength; they will cherish your shadows. They are the only ones who will truly let you thrive because they are the only ones who will truly know you. It is the greatest blessing the heavens can grant a sorcerer: to never truly be alone again."

In the suffocating silence of the library, you look at the violet and gold script. Her "North Star" was a gentle light; yours are two supernovas that threaten to incinerate everything you are. To your mother, a soulmate was a sanctuary. To you, looking at the names of the two most powerful, volatile men in existence, it feels like a sentence.

The First Pulse

Suddenly, a jolt of pure, manic need surged through your wrist. It wasn't your own. It was a projection a jagged, starving hunger that felt like a cold hand reaching through your chest.

They knew.

The psychic bridge had snapped open the moment the ink dried. They were feeling your heartbeat, your fear, the very scent of the old paper surrounding you. You could feel them, too two massive, celestial bodies suddenly pivoting in your direction, their intent so heavy it felt like the gravity in the library had doubled.

You scrambled to your feet, your heart hammering against your ribs like a trapped bird. You had to go. You had to bury yourself so deep in your own technique that even the Six Eyes couldn't find the shimmer of your soul.

You wrap your fingers around your wrist, activating Iron Seclusion. The barrier snaps into place, a cold, dense weight that mimics the "stillness" you've lived in for years. You try to drown out the sudden, rhythmic double-thrum of their hearts against your own, desperate to believe that if you hide well enough, even the "blessing" of heaven won't be able to find you.

You pushed your Cursed Energy to its limit, pulling the invisible veil of your shield tight against your skin. Usually, your shield was a defensive bubble, but now you collapsed it inward, using it to mask your heat, your scent, and your energy signature. You became a black hole in the sensory world, a static-filled void.

You sprinted for the back exit, avoiding the main halls where the high-ranking students loitered. You didn't have classes with them, you were beneath their notice, a support-track student who spent her days healing minor bruises and reinforcing training barriers. You belonged in the background. You needed to stay in the background.

The library didn't just go quiet, it went dead.

For Satoru and Suguru, the sensation was like being plunged into an abyss. One second, the psychic bridge was a roaring torrent of your fear, your heat, and the frantic rhythm of your heart. It was the most intoxicating thing they had ever felt, a divine frequency that harmonized their own clashing powers.

And then, it was gone.

No heartbeat. No scent. No emotional residue. Even the violet and gold marks on their wrists, which had been glowing with a feverish light, suddenly turned a dull, matte grey. They didn't disappear, the ink was still there, but the life was gone.

"Satoru?" Suguru’s voice was a ragged whisper. He was clutching his left wrist, his breath coming in shallow, panicked hitches. "I can't... I can't feel them."

Satoru was standing in the middle of the hallway, his Six Eyes darting frantically, scanning every atom of the air. 

His Infinity was flickering, reacting to the sudden, violent spike in his blood pressure. "They didn't die," he spat, his voice trembling with a mix of fury and genuine terror. "People don't just die and leave no soul residue. They vanished. They’re still here, Suguru. Somewhere in this building... but they’re gone."

In the basement levels, you were curled into a ball behind a stack of rusted training equipment, your hands clamped over your mouth.

Your ability wasn't just a shield anymore; it was a sarcophagus. You had collapsed the force field so tightly against your skin that it was effectively acting as a second dermis, a layer of "non-existence" that blocked every signal your body produced. No heat signatures for Gojo’s Six Eyes. No cursed energy leaks for Geto’s spirits to track.

But the cost was agonizing.

To keep the Shell up 24/7 meant your Cursed Energy was constantly recycling, a closed loop that left you feeling cold, lightheaded, and perpetually exhausted. Your abnormal healing was the only thing keeping your organs from failing under the pressure of the constant reinforcement.

You just had to make it to graduation.

The campus of Tokyo Jujutsu High had become a graveyard of nerves. Without the stabilizing influence of their soulmate bond, Gojo and Geto hadn't just become restless—they had become volatile. 

The training grounds felt like a pressure cooker on the verge of exploding. The air was thick with Satoru’s unrefined Cursed Energy, snapping like static electricity against the stone. You pressed your back against the cold wood of the pagoda, your iron seclusion vibrating so hard it made your collarbone ache. You were a ghost, a glitch, a nothingness—but seeing them like this, seeing the "protectors" of the school unravel into something so fundamentally cruel, made the papers in your hand feel like a death warrant.

Satoru didn’t look like the untouchable god of Jujutsu High anymore. He looked like a man starving in a room full of plastic fruit. He grabbed the younger student by the collar, hoisting him up until the boy’s toes barely grazed the dirt.

"Think harder," Satoru hissed, his voice low and jagged. "The library. That Tuesday. Who ran? Who left in a hurry? I don't care if they were a Grade 1 or a window washer—who moved like they were terrified of being seen?"

"N-nobody, Gojo-senpai!" the boy stammered, tears tracking through the dust on his cheeks. "It was just the usual crowd... I didn't see anyone run. It was quiet. It was just quiet!"

Satoru’s grip tightened, his knuckles white. "Impossible. Someone walked past us. Someone took the air out of the room and then just... vanished." He dropped the boy, spinning around to face Geto, his movements twitchy and erratic. "Suguru, he’s useless. They're all useless. How can someone be so close I can feel their pulse under my skin one second, and then be absolutely invisible the next?"

Geto didn't offer a comforting word. He didn't even look at Satoru. He was staring at the palm of his left hand, tracing the grey, lifeless name of yours that sat like a scar on his wrist. The refined elegance he usually carried replaced by a cold, predatory stillness.

"Maybe they didn't run," Geto murmured, his voice sounding like a blade sliding over silk. He stepped toward the trembling student, his shadow stretching out like a many-limbed monster. "Maybe they're still here. Watching us. Hiding in plain sight while we rot."

He knelt beside the boy, his hand reaching out to brush a stray tear from the kid's face with a tenderness that was far more terrifying than Satoru’s rage. "Tell me, Kohai... have you noticed anyone lately who seems a bit too quiet? Someone who doesn't talk, doesn't eat, just... exists in the corners?"

"I... I don't know everyone's names, Geto-san," the boy whispered, trembling. "Please, I just want to go to my dorm."

Geto’s expression didn't change, but the air around him darkened. "Go then. But if you remember a face even a blur in the hallway you come to us first. Because if Satoru loses his patience before I find them... there won't be a dorm left for you to return to."

You didn't wait to see the boy scramble away. You turned and moved, a silent shadow within the shadows. Every step felt like walking through deep water; iron seclusion was draining you, pulling from your very life force to keep your presence at zero.

"They're looking for a ghost," you breathed, your lips barely moving behind the veil of your technique. You looked down at your wrist, where the names burned like brands under the heavy bandages. "They can't find what isn't there."

The encounter happens in the open air, where there is nowhere to hide and the sky feels too wide. You are crossing the training grounds, sticking to the shadows of the eaves, when the 

resonance hits so hard it physically staggers you. It’s like a tether snapping taut, pulling your chest toward the center of the courtyard.

They are standing there, the "Twin Stars," looking uncharacteristically frayed. Gojo has his blindfold shoved up, his Six Eyes scanning the air with a frantic, electrified energy. Geto has his hand clamped over his right wrist, his knuckles white, his usual composure replaced by a raw, searching hunger.

You keep your head down, clutching your books to your chest, and try to scuttle past like a ghost. You wrap Iron Seclusion around yourself so tightly it feels like wearing a lead suit, desperate to dampen the "scream" of your soul.

"Hey. You."

Gojo’s voice isn't breezy this time. It’s a command. He’s in front of you in a blink, the space between you warping as he forces the world to bring you closer.

You jump, dropping a notebook. "G-Gojo-senpai! Geto-senpai! I’m so sorry, was I in the way?" You scramble to pick up your things, keeping your marked wrist pressed firmly against your stomach.

"Did you see anyone else come through here?" Geto asks, his voice tight. He’s looking right at you, but he’s looking through you, searching for a "strong" sorcerer, someone who could possibly match the violent power he feels thrumming in his own veins. "Someone... significant?"

"Significant?" You blink, widening your eyes in a mask of dull, Grade 4 confusion. "I—I didn't see anyone. Just the usual cursed spirits near the gate. Is everything okay? You both look... a bit pale."

Gojo leans down, his face inches from yours. He’s trying to read your flow of Cursed Energy, but Iron Seclusion makes you look like a flat, grey stone in a river of light. "My head is ringing," he mutters, more to Geto than to you. "The frequency is right here, Suguru. It’s deafening."

"Maybe it's the heat?" you suggest, your voice small and trembling with perfectly faked intimidation. "The sun is really bright today. I get migraines sometimes too. Should I go get Shoko-san for you?"

Geto sighs, a sound of pure frustration, and rubs his temples. To him, you are just a flickering candle, and he is looking for a second sun. "No. Just go back to class."

"Yes, senpai! Sorry to bother you!"

You bow low and practically bolt, your heart hammering a frantic SOS that you know they can feel, even if they haven't realized yet that the "insignificant" girl is the one holding the other end of the chain.

The Department Head’s office is stifling, smelling of old paper and incense, but to you, it feels like an interrogation room. You keep your right hand buried in the pocket of your blazer, your thumb obsessively rubbing the spot where Satoru and Suguru are etched into your skin.

The Department Head a gray-haired, bureaucratic sorcerer who cared more for quotas than souls—had looked at your transfer papers with a bored flick of his wrist. 

"A transfer?" The official doesn't even look up from the papers. He sounds bored, which is exactly what you want. "To the Kyoto branch? "

“yes," you say, your voice a practiced, dull monotone. "My technique, Iron Seclusion... it’s not suited for the front lines. I’m just a Grade 4. I think I’d be more useful with the logistics team there."

The man sighs, finally marking a thick red line through a document. "The higher-ups don't like moving pieces mid-semester. If you want out of the active rotation, you have to fulfill the minimum requirement for the quarter. Three more missions. Complete them, and I’ll sign the papers."

A surge of pure, unadulterated relief washes over you. You almost want to thank him. 

Three missions. That was it. That was the price of your life.

As you walk out into the hallway, your heart is light for the first time since the names appeared. You’ve done the math. The school is a machine of logic and hierarchy. They would never pair a Grade 4 anomaly with the Special Grade duo. It would be a waste of their time and a death sentence for yours. To the school, you are a pebble; to them, they are the mountain. There is no reason for your orbits to ever cross again.

You check your phone. The notification for your first mission has already arrived.

Location: An abandoned textile factory in the outskirts of Saitama.

Grade: 4 (Low-level fly-heads and lingering shadows).

Assigned Sorcerer: [Name].

You are alone.

A small, giddy laugh bubbles up in your chest. No Gojo. No Geto. Just you, your "useless" shield, and a few weak curses. You can do this. You’ll be invisible, just like you’ve always been. You’ll finish these three jobs, get your transfer, and disappear into a cubicle in Kyoto where the violet and gold on your wrist can stay buried under long sleeves forever.

As you walked back to your dorm to pack your tactical gear for the first solo mission, you looked at the grey, silent marks on your wrist. For the first time, they didn't look like shackles; they looked like a bad dream you were finally waking up from.

"Just three," you whispered, your thumb tracing the edge of the bandage. "They won't even notice I'm gone until the bus crosses the prefectural line."

The mission was a joke. Three minor curses, a few sweeps of your Iron Seclusion to crush them against the concrete, and you were done in thirty minutes flat. You practically floated back to the dorms. One down. Two more, and you’d be a ghost in Kyoto, safe from the two suns that threatened to burn your world down.

The "best feeling ever" was a dangerous drug. You were so buzzed on your own relief that you didn't notice the resonance in your chest smoothing out into a low, contented huma purr that wasn't yours, but theirs.

You stepped into the common room, intent on grabbing a soda and vanishing, when you saw him.

Suguru Geto was draped over a sofa, a book open in his lap, but he wasn't reading. He was people-watching, his dark eyes tracking every student that walked by with a clinical, almost desperate intensity. He looked like a man trying to solve a puzzle with half the pieces missing.

You stiffened, your "Shield" snapping into place instinctively. You kept your head down, your gait deliberate and heavy, trying to look as "Grade 4" as possible. You steered a wide, awkward arc around the couch, heading for the vending machine.

Don’t look. Don’t breathe. Just stay invisible.

"You're back early."

The voice was like silk sliding over a blade. You froze, your hand halfway to the coin slot. You didn't turn around. Maybe he was talking to someone else.

"The girl with the barrier technique," Geto continued, his voice tilting upward with a hint of genuine curiosity. "I don't think I caught your name the other day."

You slowly turned, your face a mask of wide-eyed, stuttering surprise. "O-Oh! Me? I’m... nobody, really. Just finishing a low-level sweep. I didn't think a Special Grade like you would notice someone like me, Geto-senpai."

Geto closed his book, leaning forward. His right hand—the one with your name—was resting on his knee, his fingers twitching in time with your frantic pulse. He looked at you, really looked at you, and for a second, the "ancient desire" flared in his eyes.

"You're very... contained," he mused, his gaze drifting to your covered wrist. "Most sorcerers leak cursed energy like a sieve. But you? You're like a vault. It’s quiet around you. Almost too quiet."

He stood up, the height difference immediately making the room feel smaller. He took a step toward you, his expression softening into something dangerously observant. "Tell me—did you feel anything strange out there? A change in rhythm? A... pulling sensation?"

You forced a self-deprecating, nervous laugh, the kind that made you look small and slightly pathetic. "Oh, Geto-senpai, I’m actually really embarrassed about it. My Iron Seclusion is... well, it’s a bit of a defect. It’s so thick it basically smothers my own senses. I couldn't feel a 'pull' if it hit me with a truck. I’m basically sensory-deprived whenever I use it."

Geto’s expression flickered—a flash of pity, perhaps, or just the disappointment of another dead end. He sighed, the tension in his shoulders dropping. "I see. A defensive trade-off. That must be frustrating."

"It’s why I’m better suited for paperwork," you chirped, bowing quickly and scurrying away before he could ask anything else. You didn't stop running until you were behind your locked dorm door, clutching your wrist as if the names might leap off your skin.

The next week was blissfully quiet. You stayed under the radar, wore oversized hoodies, and successfully avoided the 'Twin Stars' by memorizing their training schedules. You were a ghost. A phantom. You were winning.

Then, the ping of a new mission notification hit your phone.

Location: Subterranean transit tunnels, Shinjuku.

Grade: 2 (Multiple sightings of high-output territorial curses).

Assigned Sorcerers: [You] & Kento Nanami.

Your heart did a strange little flip. Nanami. He was a Grade 1, stoic, professional, and most importantly not a soulmate. He wasn't one of the 'strongest' who moved like a whirlwind; he was a man who clocked in, did his job with surgical precision, and went home.

"Two out of three," you whispered to the empty room, a giddy smile breaking across your face.

Being paired with Nanami was the ultimate safety net. He was too disciplined to care about your personal life or your 'flow' of energy. He would expect you to put up your shield, stay out of the way, and let him handle the heavy lifting. To him, you would just be a tool, a 'Shield' to protect the perimeter while he worked the (7:3) ratio.

As you packed your gear, you felt a surge of triumphant joy. You were so close to the exit. You were almost to Kyoto. You were almost free.

You didn't realize that your sudden burst of happiness sent a sharp, intoxicating thrum through the bond. Somewhere in the school, Satoru Gojo tilted his head, a blindfolded grin spreading across his face as he felt a wave of "victory" that wasn't his own.

(Let me just say this while your ability blocks most things, a soulmate's bond is strong so without meaning some strong emotions can still filter through to your partners.)

The subterranean transit tunnels were a labyrinth of damp concrete and oppressive shadows. Nanami moved with his usual mechanical efficiency, his blunt blade finding the 7:3 ratio with every strike. You stayed back, your Iron Seclusion acting as a silent, invisible perimeter that kept the smaller, crawling curses from flanking him.

But the report was wrong. This wasn't a Grade 2 nest; it was a breeding ground for a Special Grade fetus that had begun to distort the very space of the tunnels.

A massive, multi-limbed curse surged from the ceiling, its sheer weight slamming into your barrier with the force of a falling skyscraper. The impact vibrated through your bones, the pressure so intense that for one flickering, agonizing second, your concentration snapped.

Iron Seclusion dropped.

It was only for a minute—maybe even less—as you scrambled back, gasping, and forced the barrier to knit itself back together. You felt exposed, naked, like a nerve ending stripped of its skin. You quickly reinforced the shield, the dense, cold energy snapping back into place, burying your presence once more.

It’s fine, you told yourself, your heart hammering against your ribs. I was only "visible" for a second. We’re deep underground. They’re miles away at the school.

You didn't realize that to a Six Eyes user, a second of your unfiltered soul is like a flare gun going off in a pitch-black room.

Up on the surface, in the middle of a bustling Shinjuku street, Satoru stopped mid-sentence. His blindfold didn't hide the way his head snapped toward the subway entrance, his breath hitching as if he’d just been punched. The "ghost" frequency he’d been chasing had finally, violently, become a signal.

Across town, in the quiet of a temple, Suguru dropped his tea. The phantom pulse on his wrist hadn't just thrummed; it had screamed. For that one minute, the hollow space in his chest had been filled with a terrifying, beautiful warmth—and then, just as quickly, it vanished back into the "stillness."

They both moved instantly, driven by a starving instinct they still didn't understand.

Down in the tunnels, Nanami finished off the curse and adjusted his tie, his expression unreadable behind his goggles. "That was a significant lapse," he said, his voice a calm, dry reprimand. "Are you injured?"

"No," you lied, your voice trembling as you clutched your wrist. "Just... lost my footing. I'm fine, Nanami-san. Let's just finish this. Please."

The subway air was thick with the smell of blood and damp concrete as you emerged, ducking your head and letting Nanami lead the way. You kept your jacket sleeves pulled low, your fingers white-knuckled around your wrists. You felt like a radio tower that had briefly broadcasted a signal to the entire world, and now you were desperately trying to cut the power.

Across the city, in a secluded corner of the Tokyo Jujutsu High courtyard, the two strongest sorcerers met. The air around them was electrified, distorted by the sheer output of their frustration.

Satoru was pacing, his blindfold discarded, his Six Eyes glowing with a manic, crystalline light. He looked like a live wire, sparking at the slightest touch. "It was right there, Suguru. For sixty seconds, it wasn't just a hum. It was a scream. It was loud."

Geto was leaning against a stone pillar, his hands shoved deep into his pockets, his knuckles bruised from where he’d punched a training dummy into splinters. He wasn't smiling. The "gentle" philosopher was gone, replaced by a man who looked starved.

"I felt it too," Geto said, his voice a low, dangerous vibration. "It wasn't a curse, and it wasn't a mistake. It was a soul. Our soul." He looked down at the gold-etched name on his wrist, his thumb tracing the letters with a possessive, aching intensity. "And then it just… went dark. Like someone slammed a door in our faces."

Satoru stopped pacing, turning to face his best friend. The realization hit them both at the same time, a cold, sharp clarity.

"They’re hiding," Satoru breathed, a dark, incredulous laugh bubbling in his throat. "Someone out there belongs to us—the two strongest people on the planet and their first instinct is to bury their presence so deep even I can't track it."

"They don't want to be found," Geto added, his eyes narrowing. The thought didn't just hurt; it offended him. He had spent his life protecting the weak, swallowing rot for a world that didn't love him back, and now the one person meant to be his "anchor" was treating him like a threat. "They’re using a barrier. A dense one. That flicker in the tunnels… they slipped. They lost control for a minute, and now they’ve bolted the door again."

Satoru’s grin turned into something predatory, something ancient. "Let them hide. They can't keep a seal like that up forever. Every time their heart jumps, I feel it. Every time they're scared, I know. We’re going to find our 'Shield,' Suguru. And when we do, I’m going to make sure they never feel the need to close that door again."

You only sneered. As if even on your knees, you were above him. With your technique latched away and your strength a drop in the ocean that was his might.

"The Strongest parades around with you."

It didn't escape you how Sukuna's brow twitched. Not that you cared. If his talons tore through your throat or ripped out your heart, he'd frankly be doing you a favour.

"Where is he?"

You didn't care about that either, you affirmed to yourself. But the catacomb in your heart strummed a different tune. A cacophony of concern. Was Satoru's manic smile on the battlefield only for show? In the confines of this malevolent shrine, was he in fact a prisoner?

"So you really did have a surprise for me."

Seemed not.

The voice calling behind you sounded more like a curse than even a smidge of familiar. It chilled the air and frosted your heart. Haunting, and frustratingly hearty.

You told yourself not to look. You did. But you still caught the flutter of white in your peripheral and your gaze followed with irritable curiosity.

A pale haori hung around from his shoulders. Audacity pressed into every creaseless sway. Hands tucked into the long sleeves as his arms folded. His blindfold nowhere to be seen. He'd traded black and blues for whites and— were those red studs on his ears?

Gojo Satoru. The Honoured One. The Strongest—

Traitor.

Stood at the foot of the hall with his head held high in all his malicious charm and cruel confidence. And the worst thing about it all?

He never looked more at peace.

Your jaw ticked and your gaze fell to the ground with your drooping head. He didn't deserve your stare, even if it was a daggered glare. You'd only be reminded of how he twisted one into your back.

His footsteps synced with your pounding heart. His scent wrapped around you. It was still the same— but now mixed with his. Your eye twitched.

"Sweet girl, you're as beautiful as the day I left you."

And twitched again.

Beautiful wasn't how you'd describe yourself on the day that the sky went red. You were broken. He stomped your fragments under his boot and cared not for how he shattered you into the ground. Soul and heart alike.

You swallowed venom and forced your stare to the floor. He didn't deserve that either. Nor your hate. He deserved nothing from you.

But for some twisted reason, he thought otherwise. Satoru bent over and crooked his head towards you. An almost mocking attempt to look at your face.

You denied him. Snapping your head away to focus on the far end of this cursed hall. To the shoji that taunted you. To the throne that tortured you.

Anywhere but him.

He clicked his tongue and stood straight again. Good. Maybe your silence was all the blade you needed when your hands were bound. Let your stubbornness make him bleed the same way your heart did.

Your lungs blazed.

The chains clanked and your spine curved. The air knocked from your chest which burned with your eyes as a weight clamped tight around your throat.

You were hurled back into that sickening white. A bicep viced around your throat as your head bumped into a strong shoulder. Your gasps surged with curses as you instinctively jerked and squirmed.

"You—!"

Satoru only chuckled. A husked sound in your ear roaring with blood.

"Oh come on baby."

His drawl made you sick.

"Didn't you miss me?"

Amidst the storm of your rage, you caught wind of Sukuna's displeased stare. As if his glare itself could tear into your chest and dice up your heart. A twisted satisfaction coiled in your gut.

Still, you couldn't bring yourself to care. Despite fury festering in your mind and your soul screaming to wretch your hands from the chains and dig your thumbs into Satoru's eyes— you knew.

Knew deep down in that same, soft strum of your heart, that you'd always have a place in his. Even when he acted like this.

Your teeth tore into his arm and you stiffened at the fact that you could. So you were right. He didn't have infinity on.

Did he ever have it on anymore? You wondered.

He didn't yelp. Didn't jerk away. Even as you dug marks into his flesh. You half-expected the bastard to moan, but to your surprise, he frowned. Deeply.

Snagging his arm back, Satoru observed the pink crescents you left behind before he took a step back and dropped you. He circled around you and beelined for Sukuna.

"This isn't the welcome I was expecting, y'know." Was that disappointment?

Your jaw clenched. He had the audacity to pout? As if he had any right to your sentiment?

But it was when he stood at Sukuna's side and a hulking arm reflexively wrapped around him that your teeth ground and wished they had his blood under them.

Hate? You hated many things. Hated the sickening sweetness of the mochi he used to shove into your mouth. Hated that stupid grin of his whenever he'd ask you to show-off a new dress he got you. Hated how his touch still haunted you in the dead of night when you'd awake in your empty bed clinging to the pillow that used to be his.

Now, with a new arm around him. With his head on another shoulder. With his comfort in another's damned, blood-sullen hands. . .

You don't think you've ever hated something more.

No, loathed.

A laugh crept up your throat. Sharp and splintering your tongue that dripped with venom, eager to stain these floors darker. "What? Were you expecting me to welcome you with open arms after you betrayed me?"

He didn't flinch at your spat, but Sukuna narrowed his brows.

"I didn't betray you." Satoru said. Too easily for your poor heart.

"I betrayed the world that hurt us."

"But it was still our world."

Your words cut with finality and bled with anguish. A shrilled whisper in the thickness of miasma.

He faltered. A crease in his brows and a sag in his shoulders. His glare reignited him.

"And it didn't appreciate me."

Fire surged up your spine in blisters and burst into your head. Your fingers twitched and palms cramped under the chains. Venom didn't just drip from your tongue— it whipped.

"So what?"

The chains wretched as your knees lurched up with your body. Weighed, but light against your heavy heart and effort to keep it from shattering all over again. Pupils shrunk. Lips curled. Your voice tore in a ragged scoff.

"You just decided to turn your back on it and frolic along to this bastard!?" Your head lurched to Sukuna. To the damned man who took it all away from you.

"You don't get the easy way out just because the world broke you. Or did you forget our promise?"

His eyes told you that they'd forgotten how they drowned in tears. How his hands clung around your shoulders. The first time that the sky went red— no, voided black. That fateful day that you were both left in the dust.

That day his hands held yours. The day his lips sealed the vow.

We'll never forget each other, won't we? We won't abandon one another.

Not like him.

"Or do you just wanna hurt someone the same way Suguru hurt you?"

Lightning struck.

Down your arm. Torn through your veins. The blood roaring in your ears spilled from a gash sliced down your flesh.

You clambered to hold the wound as your knees struck the ground. A voice shook the shrine and stung your new wound.

"You will not speak to him like that. Do you understand me?"

The ground trembled as Sukuna marched forward. Eyes gaped and pupils thin as a snarl ripped from the depths of his throat. Only then did you realise that it was his technique that was responsible for your injury.

"Sukuna— don't."

And just like that. The storm stilled.

A second patter came, quicker, calmer. You looked up through blurry vision just in time to see Satoru's hand brace on Sukuna's shoulder. The monster quelled. Your heart roared.

You couldn't manage to rip away from him as he crouched in front of you. His cold hand pressed to your wound and you hissed a curse. Hoping it could stab him with even a fraction of the intensity of which you shattered.

He applied pressure to the wound and braced you onto his body. Despite yourself, you dared to look up. Into those deep blues that were once yours.

Conflict swam within them.

You hated him.

Silence weighed heavier than miasma in the air. Your body shook against his, and he held you. Just like he always did.

You hated him.

"You don't have to forgive her," he spoke slowly, curling his head to glance over his shoulder at Sukuna.

You fucking. Hated him.

"But I won't let you hurt her."

ᘛᰍ𝅄 ׁ

The burn in your arm subsided, but not in your soul.

Relief washed over your flesh that slowly mended itself as an azure glow circled it. A pale hand hovered, while another cradled your elbow. The thumb on your joint stroking idly did little to to ease your nerves, as you're sure he intended.

Reverse cursed energy. You remembered how Shoko went on about its flow while Suguru and Satoru scratched their heads. Your heart smiled at the thought— you missed her. Missed Suguru.

Satoru. . .

Seems he understood it now. Specifically how to distribute it to others. A difficult feat that very few could muster, even with his title as the 'The Strongest' slapped behind his name.

Now? He healed you with ease. Not a pinch in his brows nor strain in his fingers. Like some twisted enlightenment.

You lowered your gaze back to the deep maroon sheets. Your stomach twisted. Was everything in this damned compound some fucking shade of red? Its tyrant really wanted to make sure everything from the flooring, to the sheets to even his lover's lobes were marked, huh?

Whatever. Infuriatingly soft silk sheets were better than an icy dungeon floor. Even if the frost crept up your neck instead— Satoru's constant glances weren't subtle. Though you're not sure if he was even trying to make them so.

You refused to meet his eyes, looking anywhere but at those blues that ached something deep within you. Consequently, that meant that every inch of the large, warm chamber mocked you. No matter where you fixated.

The bed was huge. Probably for two. Considering neither Sukuna nor Satoru were necessarily small. The bed itself was tucked in the corner of the room with a circular opening. It rested on a teak platform and extended into an overhang. Something grand that you'd expect from ancient wedding night— which only left you more bitter.

There was a small table with a teapot and a plate of mochi. Five to be exact, with one half-eaten. Probably courtesy of Satoru. Their sweetness stained your tongue sour.

The closet in the corner was left open. Rows of neat robes and the finest of fabrics peeked out. Fit for a King. And his beloved consort.

Royalty. Satoru was treated like royalty. And this damned room was a testament to their. . . no. You still hadn't gotten over that four letter word. Let alone accepted the fact that he said it to someone else.

To a curse, no less.

"This isn't how I wanted our reunion to be."

At last he piped up. How you wished he didn't.

You looked up and saw that his eyes remained focused on your arm. Was there enough strength in it yet to smack him yet? You wondered.

You'd settle for your sharp tongue. "Again, what did you expect? A hug? A kiss? Forgive me for being pissed over how much happier you look here."

Those beautiful blues finally meet you from beneath white lashes. An ache rooted in your chest. When last had he looked at you like that? You hated him for depriving you of it. Hated yourself for missing it.

"I am happier here."

But hated him even more for that.

"I'm treated better. I can finally live."

His touch swept away from your skin, and like a drunken sailor chasing the roaring waves, you almost reach out for him. Almost.

You chose to drown.

In him. In the memories of him. In that sacred time when he was yours. With that big, stupid grin and eager fingers pushing sweet treats to your lips.

All you tasted now was the deep, bitter reality that those memories were just that— memories. Moments lost in time. With one frozen within them and the other far moved on.

You withdrew your arm and observed your bruised wrists as you shifted your legs over the bed's edge. The chains were no more, but you still felt a weight. On your hands that could do nothing, in your stomach that twisted nausea, and in your heart that still beat for him.

You could use your technique and get the hell out of here. With his infinity off? You could probably get pretty far if you made a break for the window.

But this room and its evidence would always hold your mind captive in the sick fact that it was theirs.

"Your infinity isn't on."

"I don't need it anymore."

"I could hurt you, right now."

Your hand flexed and you fixed your gaze on the floor. To the details in the hardwood. Anything but at that piercing stare through your temples. Never a threat, but always a promise. Even a broken one.

The bed sunk beside you as Satoru repositioned himself. His presence crept ice up your spine and warmed your chest all the same.

You hated it. You loved it.

"But you won't." He said.

You scoffed, but smiled. Rolling your shoulders back to stare at the mochi across the room hatefully. Did he remember how he always nagged you to make those? Or did their sweetness bring a new name to his mind?

"Yeah. Because unfortunately, I still love you."

You swore your hearts froze together with your words, then synced with a languished beat.

"So yeah." Your smile wasn't bitter, nor sour. It ached. With the phantom of his sweet kiss. "It fucking hurts that you don't feel the same anymore."

The bed creaked as Satoru's spine shot straight. You caught the gape of his eyes and his fingers curling on his knees.

"Of course I still love you."

"You're a liar."

You wished it would soothe the wounds. His balmed words only stung.

Chills pressed into your chin as his fingers grasped. He tilted your head to him. Not allowing your gaze to run from him any longer. He dragged you closer until his scent wrapped around you. Comforted you. Reminded you.

His eyes begged you. The whisper on his tongue pleaded.

"I do."

It was instinctual to stare at his lips when he was this close. For but a fleeting, yearning moment.

You locked stares again. Yours begged back.

"Prove it."

He did. Softly, tenderly, a secret of his lips on yours. Stars burst in that delicate way that they always did when his mouth found yours. When the kiss that felt so unfamiliar, still carried the taste of the past and all its honey.

You wished to simmer in the moment. To unravel into his gentleness that you craved since the first and last day he left bruises on you. That fateful day. When the sky went red.

But that red ran hot. Sizzled into a sharp scarlet searing through your veins. So when you kissed him back— it's not soft, or tender, and it sure as hell isn't gentle.

Furious, frustrated and fervent. You soured the honey into poison and tore your fingers through his white hair. Yanking him in, reminding him— declaring. That he was still yours.

He moaned at the fruition.

Oh, you'd give him enlightenment.

It was tongue and teeth and a treacherous mix of thorns as you pushed forward. He caught your hips. He always did. Pulled you into his lap like old times and matched your roughness.

Until your lips bruised. Until his were bitten. At last he parted in threads of hot saliva, snapping like your sanity. His eyes were hazed as they awed up at you.

"I missed you." He rasped.

"I don't believe you." You ragged.

But still, your trembling hands brushed his hair back and cupped his face. Your thumbs re-familiarised his cheekbones.

His chest stuttered. You're sure his heart did too. He trailed his eyes over you, then stared up through his lashes with a whisper so forbidden. So yours.

"Then let my tongue prove it."

And then his lips were on you again. Your neck. Mouthed down to your shoulder, over your shirt. You swore that you felt them twitch as they brushed the fabric. Littered over your breasts with an incoherent murmur.

But if you remembered Satoru well enough— he was probably complaining. Cursing out the offensive material.

His nails were far more eager. Nipping on your shirt's hem and peeling it back over your breasts. He groaned at your bra choice. Maybe it really was fate that brought you here. Why else would you be in his old favourite?

Cold lips worshipped atop your breasts, sending sparks down your spine as he pulled one of your tits out and flicked his tongue on your pert nipple.

You shuddered. Grappling for some kind of shame or reason to not fuck your ex on his new lover's bed— while said ex had toppled over the jujutsu world and was now the force of evil you swore against.

Evil or not, damn, you missed that filthy tongue.

Hands shot to his shoulders. A protest crept up your throat as you looked down at his fluttering lashes and smooching lips. "Toru—"

The bed bounced and you yelped as your back hit it fully. He tipped you over and dragged your legs out with large hands locked on your hips. Good luck getting him to stop now. His tongue already drooled with greed as it swiped down your tummy.

Kisses felt like a dance of fire and ice. Embedded into your skin and pulling memories into moans as his blunt nails dragged on your pants and exposed your centre. You're not sure if you're more embarrassed that you didn't stop him— or that you already formed a damp spot.

Habitually, he pressed a kiss to your panties. The only shame you mustered was how naturally you twitched for him.

All ifs, and buts melted into a pool of heat as he drew your panties down next and groaned so deep that it rumbled your core.

"Fuck, hey there sweetheart." He drawled with eyes fixed onto your pussy. His thumb stroked over your folds to punctuate his greeting. Your face flushed as he smooched your clit in a wet, missed me?

His lips trailed down your slit. Dragging your bubbling wetness and pouring moans from your trembled lips. Your spine lifted. Memories be damned. Who needed them when he was back where he belonged? Between your legs.

"Missed you sooo much baby," he rumbled into your slit with pinched brows as he mouthed all hot and bothered along it. You always were his favourite sweet treat.

But oh, he couldn't leave any part of you lonely for long. Not again. His thumb swiped up and rubbed on your clit, prompting a trickles out of your throbbing cunt. You sucked a shaky breath.

He parted to watch the leak, pupils blown wide as he slowed his stroke. "Yeah I know, I know." He cooed, still talking to your cunt.

Shivers rushed up your spine as his tongue flushed to the bottom of your slit and pressed flat as he dragged it up. Slow, and greedy and oh so filthy. You finally whined for him and buried your fingers into his hair.

"Satoru. . . hngh."

His name tasted good on your lips. It's where it belonged. Always.

The sentiment seemed to spur him on as his palms splayed over your thighs to spread you out and snatch you deeper. Shoved into his heated kisses, dirty sucks and lewd licks. He groaned and spat. He always was a messy eater. Always too distracted by your pussy to remember his decency as he feasted on you as if he'd been starving these last two years.

You want to look down. To see him devouring your pussy— but his tongue cut you off. Plunged into your gummy walls as his face flushed forward. His nose nudged your clit and stars burst before your eyes.

"Mhhm— fuck toru. Jus' like that— ah." Your fingers curled on his scalp and leveraged his head so that you could grind your hips into his face. Slopping him up and drawing out his moans as he clung onto your thighs like they were his last shred of sanity.

His tongue pistoned. Stained in your taste and rapidly fucking into you as his lewd, wet noises vibrated through you. Stroking on the heat in your tummy and coiling the knot tighter.

You arched. Whined. "Ohgod— mngh, gonna cum."

How you missed saying that. Missed the sparks dancing over your spine and coursing through your pussy. Missed his glutinous tongue.

"Gonna cum, toru, pleasepleaseplease."

He withdrew and replaced his tongue with his fingers quicker than you could complain. They slipped in with a tempered squelch and curled into that spot he still remembered. Massaging and fucking and tenderising as his lips locked around your clit.

"Yeah baby. Tha's it. C'mon. Show me how much y'missed toru's tongue." He slurred, suckling on the throbbing nub as he plunged his fingers hastily.

His glossy eyes fluttered up to yours. All drunk and hazed. Pleading. How could you ever deny him?

Your muscles locked up. Voice singing a name you swore off years ago. Fingers holding his hair for dear life as you humped into his face with stuttered whines. He took you higher— and higher— and. . .

It snapped into nothingness.

Both of your whines mixed. Loud and pitched as a clawed hand yanked Satoru back by the hair. Snatching him from your grasp once again with webs of saliva and slick strung to your cunt.

You registered the demon that took him from you in the first place and in the haze of your need, you whimpered. As if for some bizarre reason, you could appease him.

"Oh shut up." Sukuna snarled and muffled it into Satoru's lips, who whined and pressed back instinctively.

You blinked back blurs to behold their tongues tangling. Your gut twisted at how eagerly Satoru limped into him, like some lovesick fucking doll.

A frown fixed to your lips as your elbows dug into the bed to push you up. At last they parted. Finally. Those few seconds permanently scarred your soul.

But it blistered into that same, fiery burst as Sukuna cut his glare over. Your eyes sharpened to clash. He sneered.

"What? You think you deserve this?"

"You sound jealous."

"Don't forget that's my bed you're slobbering all over."

Instinctively, your legs jerked together and you straightened your spine like a cobra ready to spit venom in his eyes. He looked all the more willing to gulp it down and claw it around your throat instead.

Satoru interrupted the thundering clouds with a lightning swat! onto Sukuna's chest, who turned to meet his frown.

No words exchanged, but their stares locked. Not a blink. Not a bat. Green nestled in your gut. Were they communicating with their eyes alone?

A loud sigh sagged from Sukuna together with his shoulders. He blinked first and looked away. Triumph shone from Satoru's stupid grin.

Only to shout a complaint as a clawed hand yanked him to the edge of the bed, shoving his pants down in the process, while another nabbed your hair and jerked you to the floor so you joined the protests.

Smack! Your knees clambered as you were positioned between Satoru's.

"You deserve to be worshipped. Not the other way around."

Sukuna leered, not even looking in your direction. As if taking his eyes off of his lover for one second would melt him— or maybe sparing you a glance would turn him to stone.

He steered your head to Satoru's dick, who tensed and waved his hand frantically. "Hey hey hey that's not nece— mn."

Of course your lips naturally wrapped around his pretty tip. Why wouldn't they? It was reflex. Even with the bastard locking you in place.

Your eyes fluttered up to Satoru. Memorising his twitching brows and quivered lips as you languidly sucked down. He rarely let you do this back then. You often had to fight him just to get a lick.

Your reminiscing morphed into splutters as your head was suddenly shoved. Inches plunged into your throat and Satoru strangled with you.

"What're you waiting for?" Sukuna glowered. "I said worship him."

Your throat constricted as you choked around his twitching dick. A thick vein throbbed heavily on the back of your tongue. You vibrated it with whimpers as you tried to catch your breath through your nostrils.

Satoru on the other hand, looked as if he couldn't even breathe. His face burning and hands scrambling as he shot out to grip Sukuna's wrist. His fingers trembled with his voice.

"Go— mn, easy on her."

"She can take it. Or has she only ever taken pleasure from you?"

Who the fuck did this guy think he was?

He strutted into Satoru's life and twisted his morals two years ago— two years. Two. You'd familiarised Satoru's body with your hands long before Sukuna was even reincarnated. Yet somehow he thought he owned every right to it?

Spite sizzled in your gut. It mixed with the jealousy to concoct a flaring urge to prove yourself. To Sukuna?

No, to hell with him.

To Satoru. To remind him why you were his first.

Nimble fingers curled around his base. You thumb spontaneously stroking on a vein while you hollowed your cheeks. Sucking down at the pressure you knew damn well sent his eyes rolling. His stuttered hip bucks were your reward.

"Damn— baby."

Sukuna's hand spurred with competition. Dragging and shoving your head so you maintained a mouthful of cock. Not that you needed it. Despite the weight you bobbed in haste, impatient to take him down your throat and make him lose his mind. For you.

Spit splattered and his precum smeared your tongue. Fuck. You missed the taste. Missed every hefty throb and the way his tip twitched as it glided on the roof of your mouth.

But what you missed the most? The sight of him. His noises. How his head fell back to expose his stuttering throat. How his brows creased at centre and his lips parted to the ceiling. How pretty and pathetic his deep voice pitching sounded as he helplessly humped.

"Fuck baby, yeah, just like that."

He was beautiful.

"See? That's how you pleasure him."

And he was a bitch.

Your glossy eyes swept a glare to Sukuna, who retorted with a fierce tug of your hair. Shoving you deeper. Deeper. Until Satoru's hot tip smooched the back of your throat and you spluttered drool.

A second of reprieve. Your spite rekindled. Constricting your throat, you squeezed on his balls and forced your head to move more ferociously that Sukuna's hand. Utterly crumbling Satoru who clambered for your shoulder and threw his spine in an arch.

"Shit, f-fuck, ohgod— oh fuck, baby, baby please, please please hngh." His slurring babbles struck pride in your core. You rewarded him with vibrating hums.

But of course, the King of Curses— or rather, King of Covet— had to splinter your confidence.

"Did you ever get him like this? Ever made him feel this good?" He bent over to loom in your ear.

You glared. Gurgled. But your gut twisted.

No. You didn't.

Satoru never concerned you with his pleasure.

"When he cums in your mouth," you could hear the bastard's sharp grin, "Know that he's cumming for me."

Your eyes gaped. That fucker—

Unfortunately, you had no more time for spite. Spurts surged the back of your throat while Sukuna shoved you down. So that your nose brushed Satoru's pelvis and his dick spasmed in your throat. Rope after rope of hot cum streamed into your chokes and struggled gulps.

He came with a cry. A pitiful whine that blended Sukuna's name and yours— but all you heard was the former's. God, how you wished your stare really could turn him to stone.

"Swallow everything."

You hated him.

"Don't waste a drop of my lover's cum."

You hated him.

Drool mixed with thick, hot cum as you gulped down whatever you possibly could. Eyes rolled back and lips strained as you committed your mind to imagining just the two of you. No curses. no kings.

Just you and him. Just you finally making him feel good.

Burning lungs washed with relief, but the same couldn't be said for your throbbing heart, as you're jerked away from his sopping dick. Still hard and twitching. You fight a smile— yeah, that's your Satoru.

Instead, a frown tugged with a calloused thumb swiping over your lip. Sukuna's stare smouldered with audacity as he dragged his tongue over your leftovers. "Sweet as ever, my love."

Your jaw ticked. Despite its ache you're already charging several insults— but you only managed a yelp as Satoru's large hands stole your hips and toppled you over shaky thighs. Kisses smoked out your fire as they smothered all over your face.

"Mm, my baby, my sweet girl. Always doing so good."

Satoru's praises were a balm your heart. You fluttered and limped into his touch. His arms secured on you. A cold, comforting palm flat on your spine. His chin crooked on your shoulder to stare back at Sukuna.

"C'mon, let's show her what she's missin' out on." You heard his pout and bit on your smile. "I want my two favourite people to get along."

You crooked your head and observed their eye fucking— ahem, contact, again. You were really beginning to add onto that list of things you hate. Number one? Whatever secret language in the form of stares they had going on.

Sukuna huffed and the bed creaked beneath his weight. You're sure he tried to appear regal but he practically flopped into the sheets and jostled with his robes' belt. Pulling it back to reveal the wide maw on his abdomen that mimicked his frown.

You almost laughed. Almost. It caught as Satoru hoisted you closer to the other. Now there were three frowns.

"What're you doing?"

"Come onnnn, I want you two to bond."

You rolled your eyes as his pouting lips mouthed on your neck. Yes, your blood still ran green and spite continued its fester in your gut but perhaps. . . You could do it for him.

Deep down, some innate, irritating smidge within you still wanted to please him.

"Fine." You huffed and bit your inner cheek as Sukuna locked stares. "Let's see what you see in him so bad."

Satoru's grin sliced through the tension in the air. Who could ever say no to that? With excitement warming his hands, he steered you into a straddle over Sukun's stomach. Massaging your thighs with assuring thumbs.

"Well," he crooned on your ear and laved it with a kiss. "He's reaalll good with his mouth."

Your eyes began to roll.

Just because the fucker had multiple mouths doesn't mean—

Then, they rolled back.

Hot, wet, the massive tongue dragged a sopping lick over your spasming cunt. Filthy and thick. You swallowed a whine, but not your shudder.

You ignored Sukuna's smug smirk and clawed your hands to Satoru's wrists as his hands guided your hips into a sensual roll. Synching you with that swirling tongue already feasting below. You pulsed into its heat and squirmed as pleasure sparked your spine.

"Mngh, oh."

"Theeree we go. Feels good, doesn't it sweet girl?"

Satoru's drawl dripped into your ear like the saliva oozing on your slit. You chewed your lip and shot Sukuna a side eye, who had reverted back to a blank stare. As if pleasuring you was a fucking chore.

Still, for some frustrating reason, your pussy pulsed.

You mustered a huff and humped your hips. Dragging on his mouth fully as if trying to suffocate him. It backfired, of course. You were left twitching and whining— but still mustered a glare.

A pitiful, trembling one. But a glare no less.

"I'll never enjoy a curse."

A pause.

Then a keen.

The mouth started ferally sucking down on your cunt. Creating a suction on both your slit and clit that sent your eyes back.

Simultaneously, Satoru's hands guided you into a faster grind. Smearing your wetness all over Sukuna's tanned skin and spilling you desperate whimpers.

"Yeah, but you're about to cum for one, aren't you?"

Sukuna gruffed. A low grunt that rumbled into your heat-surging core. You stammered in your bucks as two massive, hot hands clawed up and cupped your breasts. Squeezing their jiggles until you flicked your head back from the dual stimulation.

"Y-You— shut u— ah!"

His tongue cut your complaints short again. This time shoved into your slit and wriggling until he found exactly which darling, devastating spot to curl into. Prodding and licking and grinning into it as you spasmed with a sob.

Helpless. You were helpless. White clouding your vision. Sweat prickling your forehead. You squirmed and ground down into his merciless maw as it made of show of messing up your poor pussy.

Seemed Satoru wanted in on the fun. He mouthed on your shoulder and slithered a hand between your wobbling thighs. Stroking your throbbing clit until it shot spasms through through clenching body.

"F-Fuck, fuck I ca— I can't," you croaked.

"Course you can. Cum for a curse." Sukuna crooned.

And fuck. Suddenly you hated yourself more than both of them combined. Your squelching walls clenched on the relentless, thrusting tongue and your head tossed back. Your orgasm rearing into an intense wave of ruin and ragged bliss as you finally— finally came.

Splattering all over a tongue at last. Perhaps not Satoru's— but you didn't care. Not as your vision blurred and you pitifully rocked into the pleasure bursts.

Tears trickled down your face as cum leaked from your throbbing, gooey centre. Your sniffled sob smothered into kisses as you were drawn back into those cold, comforting arms.

"Sssh. Did so good. You did so so good baby." Satoru cooed, hands laving affection all over your heated skin.

He held you as he always did. How your heart yearned for him to all of those lonely nights. Your mind wrecked with heat fractured into reality of how much you missed him.

Your body melted into his. Muscles finally easing into the assurance and promise of his hold. Once broken or not. His hands smoothed over your thighs, squeezed on your waist and cupped your breasts in a tender massage.

Your eyes fluttered. Heart slowed.

"Isn't she sweet?"

Satoru murmured, probably to the huffing Sukuna. You didn't need to see his eye roll to feel it,

"Guess so."

"Mhhm?"

Or Satoru's grin in the air.

You refocused purely to see the look on Sukuna's face. But to your surprise no deadpan awaited. Only a deep, dark desire brooding in his maroon stare.

"Wanna see how she could ever satisfy you."

He drawled. His mockery tethered something else at the end. Could that be mildness? You'd only ever considered him malicious, but his dilated pupils showed otherwise. You followed his trailing gaze down your curves to Satoru's worshipping hands.

And somehow? His stare mimicked those hands.

Satoru paused on your shoulder. Then nodded, his white strands tickling your jaw as he encased you within his caressing chills. Engulfed in his larger body.

Kisses curved up your neck, carrying whispering praises that soaked into your veins and ran your blood hot. Hot like a familiar prodding slotted between your thighs.

Your breath hitched. His thinned.

"Remember this, sweetheart?"

He chuckled when your hips rolled into his dick, like it was their god-given purpose. Your body always danced to his rhythm. Even when he'd long soured the melody.

His tip circled your drooling slit, dragging your slick all over. And for a moment, a devastating moment— you almost stopped him. Almost chickened out and went back to biting his hand.

But then your body caved.

Muscles eased, cunt clenching, crying, as he easily pressed in. Kissing your gummy walls in an overdue welcome home and pushing into you inch by agonising inch.

Your bodies synched a shudder. Satoru's head limped into your shoulder blades, fervently whispering your name like it would save him from your squeezing, suffocatingly sweet pussy.

"Fuck," he clung to your waist. "So she did miss me."

You fluttered around his base. Messing up his balls and clenching around his cervix-kissing tip as he stretched you open. Memories in every vein pulse and inch throb. Reminding. Reclaiming.

He faltered with his breath. Dug his teeth on your shoulder. Stabilised. Then finally mustered a filthy grind deep within your warmth. Sending you scrambling.

"Toru— ah." A hand fell to his wrist while the other shot into his hair. He mewled and forced himself to focus on his languid pumps as he searched for a rhythm.

"God," you heaved. "It's soo— so. . ."

"So what? So big? Awww, you can take it can't you?"

He crooned, a sharp grin smooching your ear while a large, guiding hand dropped to yours. Soon you were palming over the swollen bulge he left at the base of your tummy. Fingers locked with yours as he applied a sickeningly pleasurable pressure that spun your head with heat.

Your already slutty moan surged into a pitched whine as his pumps sped into timed thrusts. Once. Twice. Thrice. Grind— repeat.

Stars burst in your vision. Head tipping back. You missed Sukuna's awed expression. Escaped the rustle of robes. The wet, tempered slaps and sloshes served as the perfect distraction.

Despite your limp form, your hips still tried. Pitifully, struggling, but an attempt nevertheless. They humped back into Satoru's thrusts. Whose grin turned evil as he snatched your waist and shmacked! up into your cervix. Bucking, grinding into the tight ring of muscle until it spasmed with your sobbing cunt.

"Yeah that's it baby. That's it. Fuck me back." He grunted through his shallow rocks.

Well on his course of cruelty and feral care, a hand slithered down. His thumb slotted between your folds and fondled your clit into a twitching mess. Spurring on your need so that you mindlessly rocked into him. Creaking the bed in your search for more. In your surge of greed.

Your cunt squeezed with your throat.

His other hand shot up. Clamped on your neck and choking out the prettiest of noises. Both from your mouth and squelching pussy as his hips rushed ruthlessly. Fucking up in a blur of ragged roughness that threw your spine into an arch and spluttered your drool.

"Hngh! Fuck toru— toru there, right there."

"Thought I forgot how you liked it, pretty?" He laughed on your lobe. Grunted and twisted you to face him. "How you like getting fucked hard? Getting your pretty pussy roughed-up?"

Knuckles trapped your clit and pinched. You keened. Losing all muscle movement and limping into your old position as his pretty little doll. Stretched out and spilling all over his cock that rammed persistently. Like he could fuck out every ounce of grief and loathing thought from your pretty little head.

He sure as hell might've. In your glazed eyes and messy mind there was only one thing— him. Him. Pounding into you again and again and ringing the repeat through your blistering mind— Gojo Satoru, Gojo Satoru, Gojo Satoru.

"Gonna— S'toru— 'm gonna cum! Fuck, fuck 'm gonna cum." You sobbed.

"For me?"

"For you baby, always for you."

He joined your whines. Face falling into your shoulder as you tugged on his hair and held onto his hand for dear life. Completely losing yourselves to the reality that you were being watched by Sukuna's reverent stare. Utterly missing the way he stroked his bulge and shuddered with every mixture of moans.

Satoru slurred and you swore tears dripped onto your shoulder.

"Fuck, I love you so much."

"I love you."

You smushed your sob into his mouth as you jerked him in by the hair. Lips slamming, hands clambering as his thrusts turned sloppy, feral, and your body melted into putty.

The spasms came hot. Terrible and tender. Cum splashing your thighs while his thick seed frothed you full. Shattering you both into a puddle of wanton splutters and reckless abandon.

Your mouths twisted into a mess of tongue and teeth. A wrest of hate and love. Old and rekindled. Your quiet cries induced his tears. Satoru clambered onto you. As if letting go for even a second would be a greater sin than the first time.

When he finally parted, the saliva strung. Tears merged and your lips quivered. But he brushed them away— whispering a gentle apology you're not even sure voiced.

Your heart ached. Healed. And he cradled you close. So devastatingly close until you simmered into the fragile reality that you were finally, finally in one another's arms again.

The dust settled when Satoru pressed a kiss to your temple, tracing it down and chuckling into your cheek. Only then did you remember you had an audience.

Four beady eyes and— were you seeing wrong or were those two bulges?

"Enjoyed the show?" Satoru mused. Sukuna huffed again. You wondered if that's the only way he knew how to communicate. He looked away as Satoru slowly slipped out.

His hands cupped your hips and massaged on your aches, then guided you over before you could blink. "You know. . . she could be good for you too."

"Satoru—"

"Toru—"

Words die on your tongues. Sukuna and you merged in a moan. His deeper, yours pitched, as Satoru dragged your soaking cunt over the— yes, two bulges.

A new set of hands joined your thighs. Dwarfing Satoru's as they squeezed on your plush and firmed you down. To your surprise, you squirmed. Not away, but onto him. Another shared moan.

Murky maroons locked with yours. All spite and jealousy between the both of you faded into a thick, sultry heat. For a moment you blinked, hesitated, until he broke stare and looked back to Satoru.

"Only if I can have you too."

"Ooo, greedy."

Satoru snickered but crawled closer. All you remembered was the contrast of their touch. Icy fire and hot frost seeping into your spasming nerves. Blurs of stripped robes and stinging stretches.

One moment you were staring down Sukuna's double dicks and thinking poor Satoru— the next, you were stuffed full of one of them. With 'poor Satoru' squirming behind you and whining with you as he struggled around the second dick.

How the hell does he take this thing?

You're huffing. Gasping. Your cunt could barely handle Satoru— and if he was big? Sukuna was fucking monstrous. Snug in every nook and cranny, pressed into every nerve and thrumming so many veins into your gummy wetness that you felt like you'd lost your damn mind.

Forget poor Satoru. Poor you and your pussy that clenched for dear life as you gulped down air like you were searching for a miracle.

"Fuck, relax, fucking strangling me." Sukuna hissed.

You whined, then whimpered. Satoru's hands slipped around you with the aim to ease. Rubbing circles on your clit and squeezing your tit.

"Ssshh baby," as if he was doing any better. "It's okay. 's okay. Know he's so. . . fuckin' big," he croaked and limped his head onto your back. You both crumbled as Sukuna rolled his hips in a hefty grind.

You felt him so deep in cunt, in your stomach, everywhere.

Hot hands replaced the cold palm on your breast. Sukuna's upper arms reached to cup your tits and squeezed them into his finger gaps while the lower set circled Satoru's hips. Guiding you both into his slow, sinister rhythm.

You caught his grin and hated how your tummy fluttered at it. "Does she even know how to ride?" He taunted, eyeing your struggling pussy that spluttered and soaked his thighs.

Fucker. Just when you're getting used to him.

With a scoff and surged spite, your hands shot to his wrists and dug your nails into his markings. He grunted. Grinned wider. As you glared and leveraged your hips into a bounce. Clumsy one second, then cruel the next.

"This— hah— good 'nough for you?" It was your turn to grin as he groaned.

His hips bucked up hard. Frantically chasing your confidence with curses and moans spilling from his damned lips. Consequently, this meant Satoru was hurled into the rhythm too. Yelps and whines shattered through him as he clambered on your waist and collapsed onto your back.

His hips meshed into your ass as he desperately attempted to grind down and steady himself. "Wait, wait waaitt— 'm still getting used to it, fuck!"

Your eyes glinted with Sukuna's at the splutters. Your gazes met amidst the heated pleasure and wet shmacks! of skin.

"Pathetic, isn't he?" Sukuna crooned.

You crumbled, but cooed. "But so pretty."

Fingers delved back into Satoru's hair and tugged him in. His chin knocked onto your shoulder and whines spilled as his nails dug.

"When I— hah— said I wanted you to get along I didn't mean bully me."

His retribution came in a clit pinch. You jerked and spluttered with him as the last threads of Sukuna's patience tore. Hips smacking up wildly so that he fucked you both onto pulsing, messy cocks. Eager to send your eyes rolling back as he spurred from the suffocating tightness.

A cacophony of moans, whines and cries brimmed the chamber. A slutty staccato as you both crumbled into the streams of blazing bliss. Collapsed into one another and clinging. Satoru squeezed your waist. You clung to his hair. Pulling him into drooling kisses as your minds puddled into the mess soaking Sukuna through.

"Fuck," Satoru rasped, his cock humping on your ass as a result of the relentless slams. "Gonna— cum, 'm gonna cum again. Please."

"Already? Slut."

Sukuna's sneer paired with his hand dropping from Satoru's hip to his pulsing dick. Smacking it onto your jiggling ass before pumping it into a twitching, spasming mess.

Poor Satoru. He gasped for dear life. Hands shaking on your thighs as he returned the favour to you. Dropping to your clit and rubbing in-time with Sukuna's jerking palm.

Your keens merged in a pathetic plea.

"Torruuu, not— n-not fair, I can't." Your croaks matched your stuttered bounces. Slick and drool webbing all over. Mixing with sweat and smearing over your skins. The relentless hump on your cervix sent your teary eyes rolling back— and you're certain Satoru's mimicking. If those slutty, sloppy moans were anything to go off of.

Still, he managed to laugh in your ear. Breathless. Delirious. "No way in. . . fuck. Hell am I cummin' before you."

Oh you tried to hold on. Tried to cling to whatever bits of your sanity remained. But your vision had went white. Your tummy twisted and your mind reeled as pleasure battered through your squeezing pussy. Sick, sweet, saving pleasure that spilled your spit and sticky cum.

Your orgasm tore through you in a squelching squirt. A muck of brokenly bucking hips and croaking cries. Dizzy. You were dizzy. Hazed, hot and heavy-limbed as the soaking slaps reached a piercing ring through the room. Followed by Sukuna's haughty laughter.

"Yeah, slut up my cock. Said you wouldn't enjoy a curse huh? Now you're cumming on his cock."

"Sh-Shuutt uppp."

You sobbed. And in a last effort of pride collapsed into the King of Curses. Consuming him for a change. With your mouths clashing, teeth clattering and tongues clambering. You swore that he rumbled a moan into your wet lips.

A pitched whine ripped through the air.

Seemed that's all Satoru needed to burst all over your ass. Torrid and trembling as he bucked a few more times for pathetic measure— before he too collapsed.

You whimpers vibrated into each other. Synching and sobbing as Sukuna's dicks abruptly rammed up. Once. Twice. Then twitched and spilled into you both with frothing, bubbling cum. Fuck. It burned so beautifully.

Pants heaved through the air thick with sweat and sex. The musk of cum and mixing perfumes wrapped around the three of you like a blanket. Sukuna's four sets split between the two of you. The first pair hooked on your shoulders while the second cradled Satoru.

The heat faded into a tender, trembled whisper. A stained memory in the confines of this room. Slicked into the bed and smeared into your hearts.

Silence.

"I want a kiss tooo. . . "

Smiles.

Satoru's complaints pressed kisses into your shoulders. Only then did you realise how your lips hadn't quite left Sukuna's lips. You parted. Shared his blinks. Then turned to smooch the pouting Satoru.

He hummed his happiness. Parting only to get Sukuna in on the action as they shared a kiss over your shoulder.

For the first time this entire accursed night, you didn't see green.

Satoru returned to snuggling on your shoulder blades and released a heavy sigh. His weight melted into your back. Another beat of silence.

"Does this mean you'll stay forever?"

His voice was impossibly small. Frighteningly soft. Strumming an aching chord in your soul that whispered, pleaded with you to be selfish. To be happy.

Just this once.

You shifted your stare and noticed Sukuna's looking up at you. No glares nor scowls. But and uncharacteristic patience and— terrifying gentleness. In that devastating moment it clicked for you.

You and Sukuna weren't so different after all.

All you wanted was the best for Satoru.

In the ease of silence, you contemplated. Then chose. Softening a smile as your head rested on a warm shoulder. Those arms and hands that knew only bloodshed held you both in a beautiful surrender. Squeezing.

You whispered.

"I'll think about it."

© 𝒔𝒘𝒆𝒆𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒂𝒓𝒕𝒊𝒄𝒊𝒔𝒎. no plagiarism or ai training authorised. divider: @/dollywons. art cred: @/sakimichanmale (twt)