HIATUS UNTIL AUGUST|still active from time to time

after at least six shared orgasms and not a lot of brainstorming, you’ve reached somewhat of a conclusion. the musky, cloying sweetness of sex mingles with the crisp cologne he always wears, and it smells right. feels like home.

you trace the hard, slick ridges of his abdomen with a fingertip, counting every shallow rise and fall as his breath catches up to him. the man lying next to you is a wreck, yet somehow, he still manages to appear angelic. his snowy fringe is plastered to his damp forehead, forming a blinding halo against the white pillows. undoubtedly he’s staring up at the ceiling, the sex-crazed mania ebbing away, tranquillity in its wake.

he stretches, making the muscles beneath your touch ripple. when he finally turns his head, god. those eyes—all the blue skies in the history of the world coalesced into two irises—seem to hold space for nothing but you. satoru offers a boyish grin, then gently grabs your wrist, rubbing his cheek against your palm like an affectionate cat before pressing a kiss to your knuckles.

“an us problem, apparently,” he then wraps an arm around you, pulling you closer so your chests are flush. the cum-slick sensation of your thighs sliding together in the cooling air.

you, much to his delight, never let him get away with anything. you don't hesitate to wag a finger in his face when you're the one working long hours at a demanding job that pays the bulk of the bills and keeps food on the table. Toji, by contrast, lives life on his own terms: gym sessions to maintain the body he's earned, the occasional odd job he never fully explains, and a whole lot of lounging around. but domestic chores? unless it's a dripping faucet, a clogged drain, or loose hinges—because the idea of another man coming into his home with a toolbox is enough to aggravate him—he either leaves most of it to you or ignores it until you inevitably snap. 

god, you do it beautifully.

which is exactly why the apartment door slams shut hard enough to rattle the picture frames, the familiar sound carrying through the cluttered space like the opening bell of the boxing match currently playing on the television. Toji doesn't even bother looking up when he already knows what's coming, the corner of his scarred mouth curling into a satisfied smirk.

you're going to be fucking adorable.

the mess greets you immediately: takeout containers strewn across the coffee table, dirty dishes stacked precariously in the sink under the pretense of "soaking," his training gear dumped in a heap like he couldn’t be bothered to take two extra steps to the laundry basket. the faint sheen of sweat on his scarred chest and abs suggests he at least worked out earlier, but cleaning? not a single thought. it’s clear he didn't even try—no half-assed attempt, no proactive spark to surprise you after the brutal week you’ve had. just him lounging on his couch-shaped throne, one arm draped lazily over its back as he manspreads wide in those dangerously low gray sweatpants, looking utterly unconcerned with the pigsty around him. if he were sitting here with a beer in hand, it would've been almost offensively stereotypical, and even you would roll your eyes at how on-the-nose it is. thankfully for both of you, Toji has no interest in alcohol.

you drop your bag by the door with a heavy thud, wondering—not for the first time—just what the hell you’re doing with him. you could have someone motivated. someone who contributes enough to make an actual difference. someone who picks up after himself and surprises you by having dinner ready when you get home. 

unfortunately for you, that hypothetical man doesn't have Toji Fushiguro's face.

is the dick really that good? 

the traitorous thought flickers through your mind as you step out of your heels, letting them clatter where they may. the cool floor feels soothing against your sore feet after eight hours of complete bullshit at work, but not enough to quell the fresh wave of frustration. “really, Toji?” your voice is sharp but steady, and you peel your jacket off next, tossing it over the back of a nearby chair. “i specifically asked you to clean up while i was gone. one thing. was that too much for you?” you pace a few steps, fingers working the top button of your pristine blouse, then the second, desperate for a little air after a day spent trapped in stiff office clothes. "you couldn’t even throw the damn containers away? or do the dishes? you sat here all day doing jack shit like you’re counting on me to play maid on top of everything.”

Toji doesn’t move at first. he just takes in on the chin and watches you with those deep blue eyes, his smirk slowly stretching wider. the more you rant, the more amused—and aroused—he looks. this is it: that fire, that spine, his guilty pleasure made flesh. he doesn't actually expect you to mother him, of course; it's just that the dishes will still be there in an hour, the containers aren't hurting anybody, and dirty laundry is hardly a national emergency. you, unsurprisingly, disagree. constantly and vehemently, at that. which brings him to the conclusion that maybe he simply likes when you get on his case. it's such an ordinary kind of thrill, watching the woman who shares his bed march across the apartment with righteous fury, hands flying through the air as she explains exactly why he's acting like a… cómo se dice… bum.

how can someone be so dependable in one breath and so hopelessly absent-minded in the next? how does the same man who instinctively reaches for your hand in a crowded street somehow walk past an overflowing trash bag? if you didn't believe he could do better, you wouldn't still be asking him to.

you stop right in front of the couch, arms crossed under your chest and unintentionally pushing your tits closer as you stare down at the mountain of a man you somehow put up with. “do you understand, Toji? or do i need to spell it out even slower until it sinks through that thick head of yours?” 

Toji Fushiguro is fully aware he can end his conversation with a single look if he really wants to. “yes, ma’am,” he murmurs instead, the words dripping with smug amusement because you wholeheartedly believe you can keep a man like him in check—but the way his cock thickens and twitches in his boxers says he’s more than happy to let you try. 

in one smooth motion, those massive hands grab your hips and pull you forward. you land straddling his lap, skirt bunching up around your thighs, core pressed so sweetly against the growing bulge. his body heat radiates through you, that masculine musk clouding your mind easily. “keep going, sweetheart," he adds, already guiding your hips to start a slow grind against him. “don’t stop on my account. tell me what a lazy fuck i am while you rub that pretty pussy on me. i wanna hear it all.”

your breath catches abruptly, but you don’t pull away. the friction of his thick length against your neglected cunt sends sparks through you even as frustration lingers, and you roll your hips experimentally despite your stubborn frown. “you’re fucking impossible,” you hiss, bracing your hands on his broad chest. “i work my ass off all day, come home to this fucking mess, and you just… sit there.”

Toji groans lowly in his throat, the sound vibrating under your palms. his eyes are half-lidded with pleasure, but he keeps guiding your movements in those deliberate circles that press the ridge of his clothed cock right against your twitching clit. “that’s it… fuck, just like that. louder, baby. tell me how you could do better, how my dick's the only reason you put up with this shit.” his thumbs stroke your hips possessively, encouraging every grind, every complaint. 

you’re getting wetter by the second, soaking through your flimsy panties as you rock against him, tension from the day starting to melt into something needier. you keep talking, voice breathier, shakier, but you refuse to stop. “you could’ve at… at least thrown out the trash. made an effort for me—hmph—”

“mhm, yeah? show me how disappointed you are,” he rasps, one calloused hand sliding up to squeeze your breast through your blouse. “gets me so fucking hard when you boss me around. grind harder, c’mon. get yourself nice and wet for me.”

you do everything else around here anyway.

your hips start moving with real purpose now, chasing the building pleasure while venting the last of your frustrations. only when you’re panting and clearly dripping does Toji finally move. he tugs your soaked panties to the side, then shoves the waistband of his sweatpants down just enough to free his cock. it slaps heavy against his abs with an audible smack—obscenely thick, veined, already drooling salty precum down the flushed tip. 

“easy now,” he murmurs, not as mocking anymore as he notches the fat, blunt head against your sopping entrance. “you’re still tense as hell from that shitty day. relax f’me.”

or don’t. he likes feeling you struggle to take it. 

despite how many times he's stretched you open, the initial push is always intense. he’s stupidly big, that’s a well-known fact, and he's right about your body still being wound tight from stress and anger. your walls flutter and resist at first, clenching hard while you're still trying to adjust to the tip only. you hiss as he pushes in slowly, inch by careful inch, but you’d be lying if you said the burn isn’t deliciously overwhelming. 

“still so tight, huh?” he groans, head falling back against the couch for a brief moment, hands gripping your ass hard enough to bruise but letting you control the descent. “breathe, baby. let me in, nice and easy.”

Toji isn’t usually gentle when it comes to sex, but even he knows better than to slam balls-deep when you’re this close to biting his head off already… even if you do sound pretty fucking cute when you yelp in surprise. 

you sink down gradually, whimpering as he fills you completely. he stays still once he’s buried to the hilt, hands stroking your thighs soothingly once more, even as his greedy cock twitches inside your warm heat like it’s confused by the lack of action. “there we go… good fucking girl. feel that? this lazy cock stretching you open just how you like?”

the smug satisfaction in his tone lights a fire in you. you start riding him like you own him down to the very bones, equal parts determined and frustrated. your hands press harder into his chest for better leverage as you bounce on his cock, wet sounds filling the room each time you slap down against his heavy balls. Toji leans back, spreading his thick thighs even wider to give you more space, that smirk never leaving his face as he watches you fuck yourself on him. 

“shit—listen to her. she’s gripping me like she’s pissed off too. you gonna keep running that pretty mouth while you use my cock? take it all out on me?" he lets you set the brutal pace for a little while, but when your legs begin to tremble, hips stuttering as fatigue and overwhelming pleasure tangle together, he notices instantly. with a low chuckle, he takes over seamlessly, snapping his powerful hips up from below, driving into you with deep, precise strokes that make you cry out. “don’t stop now. you were doing so good owning me,” he groans, one hand moving down to rub fast, tight circles over your swollen clit. “tell me how you want it. deeper? harder? say the word and i’ll fuck you stupid.”

“h-harder!” you gasp, nails raking down his back as you cling to his neck for dear life. “just… shut up and—aah—fuck me harder, Toji!”

“yes, ma’am.” his grin turns downright wicked as he obeys instantly. his thrusts turn punishing, hips snapping up with raw strength and bullying the sweetest spot deep inside you over and over, exactly the way you demanded. it’s the combination of that relentless pace and perfect angle that finally push you right over the edge. your orgasm crashes into you hard, ripping a broken, shameless cry from your throat as your cunt clamps down around him like a vise, pulsing and fluttering wildly while you soak his lap with your release.

what's another mess in the grand scheme of things?

Toji lets out a deep, guttural groan at the feeling of your pussy milking him so desperately. he doesn't ask for permission before he simply snaps his hips up one final time, burying himself as deep as possible and holding you there as he comes; thick, hot ropes of cum flood you, painting your walls white until you're leaking around him, overstuffed.

you slump against his sweat-slicked chest, both of you panting hard, hearts hammering against each other. his arms wrap around you possessively, one large hand slowly stroking up and down your back as he presses lazy, open-mouthed kisses along your neck and shoulder. “clean up’s gonna have to wait a bit longer,” he mumbles against your skin, voice rough but utterly satisfied. “unless you got more orders for me, boss. i’m feelin’ real motivated now.”

the dick is, in fact, that good.

1 NEW MESSAGE Toji’s big debut on this blog :3 lowkey unsure what to do for the fic layout but oh well!

— divider by @/cafekitsune !!

You heard his growls and breathing from behind the door. The pain and pleasure filled his body as he soon started fiddling with his jeans.

"B-baby, fuck, could you–"

He didn't finish, when you slowly opened the door.

Naked, foamed, hair curling around your wet shoulders, eyes flicking up and down his miserable body with a cheeky grin.

"You don't look quite well, sweetheart," you murmured, grabbing his lip ring and pulling it harshly. "Are you perhaps in pain?"

His head shook, lavender irises turning hearts, as he let out a shuddering breath. Leaning down to match your eye level. Your hand slowly took off his leather jacket and shirt before fiddling with a belt. Fingers brushing the fat bulge straining his jeans, before you giggled again.

"That's good, sweetheart. If you were in pain, I would need to postpone your reward for another day," you popped one button, unzipping his fly. The jeans fell to the filthy floor, joining the rest of the drenched clothes.

Long, raven hair curled around his handsome cheeks as he watched your movements with a slight grin.

"What r-reward?" he pushed, trying to hide the pain that was almost twisting his face. "Fuck, baby, what reward do you have for me?"

You hummed, dropping down to your knees. Hitting the wet tiles, as the hot droplets still coated your skin. Suguru pressed his back against the closed door, groaning lowly at the sheer sight of your lovely cheeks.

"A little something for still coming back to me."

You looked oh so wickedly lovely. With the warmth caressing your swollen lips and eyes slightly fogged by the maddening desire. Hottish droplets dripped down your velvety skin, lips pouted as you placed a sweet kiss over his clothed cock.

"Acting as if you hate me, while getting yourself wet over my cock, huh?" He tried to chuckle, but you quickly dug your nail into his wound.

A painful cry filled the foggy room. His head lolled to the side, eyes shooting the most devoted promises right at your wickedly grinning face.

"I would think twice before saying anything, you psycho," you giggled, sliding down his brieds.

Fat, leaking cock smooched your cheek, leaving a thread of precum all over your skin. You let it stick to his abdomen before nuzzling your cheek against his open, pulsing wound.

"That looks quite bad, sweetheart," you muttered, giving it a sweet lick.

Suguru shuddered, his cock pulsing from the sheer sight of your lips wrapping around the nasty wound you gave him yourself.

"Mhm, it's not bad."

You raised an eyebrow. "Oh, truly? You wouldn't mind getting the same in the other thigh?"

Suguru bit the inside of his cheek, fighting the urge to press your soft lips against his cock. His fingers curled and straightened, eyes wickedly wet, as he noticed the way your back curved on the tiled floor.

"Would that make you happy?" he asked in a low groan as you pressed against his wound again. "Fuck, baby, be care–"

"Yes, sweetheart," you said, licking it again before pressing your nose into his tight, restrictive balls. You gently caught one with your teeth and kissed it softly. "That would make me very happy. But if you piss me off again, I will carve my name onto your chest."

His eyes squinted, head tilted, and you knew that he, in fact, wouldn't mind it.

"You're nasty," you giggled, before licking the underside of his cock.

The pulsing, long vein that wrapped around it up till the red head, sucking gently on his stony shaft. Your fingers played with his balls, lips wrapped around the pulsing tip, as the musty smell fully curled around your senses. The mix of sweat, his cum and your juices as you quickly took him deep inside your throat.

Till your nose nestled in his pubic hair, squinted eyes locked on him for a long time. His fingers brushed a few strands of your damp hair before gripping your head firmly at the back.

You moaned, feeling the pulsing need that almost ripped your pussy apart. Your fingers glided over your body, caressing the sensitive, perked nipples, then moved toward the swollen clit.

Your throat tightened around him in the most slutish, maddening way, and Suguru knew – oh, he knew – how many other men had the audacity to use you as he did.

"Have you moaned like a cheap whore for others too, baby?" He groaned, pinching your full cheek.

You pulled away, leaving a single thread between your lips and his cock, while rolling your hips against your fingers. With another hand pumping his slick shaft, you giggled.

"For each one of them. Moaning like a fucking slut and letting them cum deep down my throat," you kissed his swollen head, sucking it like the sweetest lollipop. "While another guy was fucking me from behind. Filling my filthy pussy wit–"

Suguru's lavender squinted in wrath.

He grabbed your hair more harshly, almost brutally, before pulling you back on his cock. Hitting the back of your throat with painful smooches, coating it in the sheer glean of precum.

You gasped raggedly as he used you with ruthless force, like a rag doll.

"It's okay, baby," he moaned, seeing how you started rolling your hips faster. Muffled cries tried to push past your throat, hitting his fat cock with trembling kisses. "It's okay, I forgive you. From now on, no one will fuck you whorish cunt, but me. Fuck–ah– try to pull another shit like that, and I will disembowel him right in front of your eyes."

His balls smooched your chin as he fully pushed your head away before quickly pulling it back in. Leaving you no space or chance to snap back.

And what irritated him the most was how you didn't gasp even once. Fuck. Your throat wrapped around him in a sinful manner, with your tongue pressed to the underside of his shaft, allowing it to slide smoothly.

Wicked, lovely eyes looked up at him from a curtain of wet lashes, fingers fiddling with your clit in desperate rolls.

When your other hand pinched his bleeding wound, he pushed you away with a hiss.

"Fuck, baby," he groaned, hearing a sweet laughter slipping past your lips.

You didn't cough or cry. Instead, you simply stood up and turned around. With your palms against the wall and back slutty arched, you glanced over your shoulder.

"Well?" Your hips brushed his leaking cock. One arm slipped behind to pull your cheek open. "She's waiting for you. Come on, stuff me full, sweetheart, till I'll be sick from your–ahhh!"

A giggly moan escaped your wet lips as he pulled your hips with a brutal force. His tip was ready to burst, and it seemed like you were on the edge too. With clit already pulsing and your head falling back, you started sliding yourself down on his cock. Hips hitting his, back of thighs pressed to his, before you felt his blood soak your skin.

"Fuck, as tight as before. Baby, you have a fucking virgin pussy," he groaned, feeling your walls give him a few short squeezes.

You wrapped your arm around his neck, pulling him closer. Your back arched painfully as his shaft pressed deep inside your still-stuffed belly.

"I can be your virgin if you want me to," you moaned to his lips, biting down on lip ring. The metal tasted sweet, almost bloody, after all the times you pulled it for the past few hours. "Do you like how tight my pussy is, hm? All drenched and dripping from your cum?"

One of his hands slips up your breasts, the other falls towards the swollen clit. He kneaed your body, rubbed all your folds, and used the sticky blood to play nastily with your pulsing bud, rolling the sweetest moans from your throat.

"All mine," he licked your lower lip. "All fucking mine. I love you so much, baby. Fuck, slash my throat, and I'll still come back to haunt you."

Your hips met his in painful, pleasuring hits. Heavy cock sliding deep inside your belly, till your pouch bulged with his fatness. He brushed all your sweetest spots, hit your womb still splashing with a nasty cum, ready to stuff you even fuller.

"I would–nghh–resurrect you and kill again, if you didn't," a crying moan slipped from your lips when he sucked on your jaw. Licking it sweet, leaving purple kisses all down the drenched skin, as he kneaded your tit with one hand, the other pinching your clit.

A splashing desire already filled your lower belly as he hit your swollen womb with brutal thrusts.

"Suguru, I–oh god–I love your cock so fucking much. Fuck, I'm going to cum," you cried, head falling back on his shoulder. "Gosh, fill me up. P-please, nghhh."

He chuckled, rolling your clit faster. Pumping his cock deeper, letting himself be wrapped by your soft, viper walls, till your pussy finally locked him in.

He shuddered, biting into your arm before flooding you with his cum. Ropes and ropes of thick cream, stuffing you full again until he noticed your little bulging pouch. Squealing with each thrust as he pushed the cum deeper.

"Fuck, baby, how about I'll make you a mommy, huh?" He muttered, feeling your soft cheek pressing against his shoulder. "You don't have to finish school, just–ah!"

Your nail dug into his bloody, nasty wound as you slid off his cock with a low tsk. With fingers clamped to his face, you turned his teary, pain-washed eyes to meet your gaze.

"Don't put stupid ideas into this filthy head of yours only because we fucked twice," your poison-lined tone wrapped sweetly around his blooming cheeks.

Suguru leaned against the door, a heartbreaking smile twisting his lips. "You don't plan to fuck with anyone else, hm?"

You took a towel hanging off the door, wrapping it around your body. He didn't comment on the fact that you didn't clean your leaking pussy, fully stuffed with his cum.

"I don't know," you said softly, noticing a flash of anger in lavender eyes. "We'll see how useful you'll be. And don't tell anyone about us, or I might have to tie you up and fuck another guy right in front of your eyes."

And with the last, cheeky smile, you left him in the bathroom stall. Alone, trembling, yet with a heart swelling with the truly enraging love.

©liahcharms all rights reserved. Do not copy, plagiarise, feed AI, translate or modify my works.

Just a little something, but honestly, I love their dynamics so much that now I'm thinking about the reader fucking with another guy in front of tied Suguru...

art by @thatsallitchief dividers by @uzmacchiato

A scream tore from your throat at the impact, head falling back against the wall as you felt his thick cock drag against your sensitive walls. Each brutal thrust punched your cervix, not that you minded.

Soft grunts leave his mouth as you dig your nails deeper into his flesh, “Go on, sweetheart. I can handle it.”

You shift, scraping your nails down his back, leaving angry red lines in their wake. Suguru throws his head back as a strangled moan leaves his lips, “Oh fuck…” he drawls, “Going to fill you up, maybe then you’ll take me back.”

“In your fucking dreams,” you spit back.

Suguru cocks his brow, slowing his thrusts and whispers, “Is that so?”

Before you know it, you’re hauled off his dick and pushed onto your knees on the floor. “Let me fill that bratty mouth, then. If I can’t have your womb, I’ll settle for your throat.” You scowl up at him, yet your hands move on instinct to twist at his cock, spreading your slick and his pre along the length.

He watches with hazy eyes as you spit on his tip before taking it into your mouth. “Hmm, good girl. Don’t worry, pretty, I’ll make sure to treat you real nice afterwards.” You hum around him, sending vibrations up his spine, causing him to choke back a whimper.

You begin to bob your head, swallowing down as much of him as you can and allowing your hand to work whatever your mouth can’t reach. Suguru feels like he’s on cloud nine; it’s been what? Five — six? Months since he’s felt your touch, let alone seen the outside world.

Whenever Suguru manages to escape from jail, his first destination is you, his gorgeous — and frankly terrifying — ex-wife.

“Ah shit! What is your problem?” Suguru bites his lip in irritation as he watches you blink up at him with innocent, doe eyes, as if you didn’t just graze his cock with your teeth.

“What?” You smile up at him sweetly, “Can’t help it, Sugu. You just look so good in red.” You dig your nail into the base of his dick, watching as his face contorts into a mix of pleasure and pain.

Soon, a trickle of crimson pools around your nail, leaning in, you lick it up. “Fucking insane,” he murmurs, brushing your hair out of your face as you suckle the small cut.

You nod, moving to push his dick back into your mouth to finish him off.

As you swipe your tongue along his slit, Suguru’s hips buck involuntarily, “Hurry up, pretty,” he warns. You hum, taking him into your mouth once more and hollowing out your cheeks; the taste of iron and salt fills your mouth, and your eyes flutter shut. Suguru throws his head back, one scarred hand moving to push your head further down on his cock.

“Atta girl, I’m going to fill this pretty mouth.” He praises, watching the way your lips stretch to accommodate his girth. His tattoos seem to shine in the moonlight; his favourite one, in your eyes, seems to shine exceptionally bright.

Just as Suguru feels his orgasm approaching, so close he can taste it, he hears the unmistakable sound of sirens followed by the bright blue and red flashing lights. To his surprise, you don’t seem to mind; in fact, you double down on your efforts to make him cum.

“Guess we’re giving the cops a show, aren’t we, sweetheart?”

You whine a little in protest even though the reference makes your lips tick. "But you guys made me so comfortable already..."

And they truly have.

The bath had been waiting for you before you'd even thought to ask for one. Actually, the idea was planted in Satoru and Suguru's heads the moment you texted that you were dead-tired and grimy to the group chat from the back of Ijichi's car. You had been the only one to head out on a mission today, Satoru spending the day teaching and training the first years and Suguru mirroring him with the third years— Satoru had weaseled his way into a full hands-on day with his students, claiming he needed somewhat of a break, and Suguru spent most of his time teaching rather than hunting curses anymore, anyways.

(You and Satoru have been on the offensive with the higher-ups for years to nail down this arrangement for Suguru. Sure, Suguru still took on the occasional mission when everyone else was stretched thin by their own duties, but for his mental health’s sake, it was best that he stuck to guiding and nurturing the current generation.

You never want to see him as hollowly depressed as he was after everything that went down when he was a student.)

When you'd finally wandered into your shared house with knotted shoulders and your thumbs aggravatedly digging out the soreness from your temples, both your boyfriends snatched you up at the genkan and herded you like wildly insistent border collies to the master bedroom's ensuite, which had been transformed into a luxury spa during your twenty minute commute.

Towels were folded up in their warmer, candles swaying happily, the massive tub brimming with fragrant bathing oils and mineral salts— literally the whole nines. All the tiny things you'd long forgotten mentioning you preferred for a long soak were present, that information lovingly archived inside two impossibly attentive minds.

Before you could burst into happy tears at the lengths they went to for you, Suguru helped peel away your clothes before passing you off to Satoru, who offered both hands the moment you stepped toward the siren call of the water on sore legs, smoothly bowing as though escorting you into a ballroom instead of a bathtub.

Between them, lowering yourself into the steaming water (which was the fucking perfect temperature, holy hell) was less like climbing into a bath— another chore to hustle through before bed when you were already so worn-thin— and more like mindlessly handing yourself over for what they both dubbed your 'princess treatment.'

Suguru's smile is a ray of gentle light coloring his words, "Are we supposed to apologize for being good boyfriends?"

"Yeah. And you have to live with the consequences," you sigh, slumping further back into Satoru. The water rocks with you.

"You hear that?" Satoru says to Suguru over your head. You feel his chin nestle into your crown, arms loosely coiling at your waist. "She's blaming and threatening us."

"This is what happens when we go out of our way and draw us all a nice bath, huh," Suguru kisses his teeth, theatrically disappointed in you and what his and Satoru's efforts have come to. "Shame. I guess we won't be doing this ever again."

That finally gets your eyes to crack, blinking past the steam shrouding your slivered vision. Suguru watches the both of you with a sleepy beam curling the corners of his mouth, midnight lashes dampened and beading at their tips from the humidity. In spite of his long hair being wound up in a picture-perfect bun straight from Pinterest— his thorough wash-day took place yesterday and he's in no hurry to rewash his hair all over again— the baby hairs coiling at his nape and hairline are helplessly frizzy, fallen victim to the moisture in the air.

Suguru's gorgeous, a fallen angel meant to tempt you into the salacious temptations of the forbidden— much like the equally stunning blue-eyed beauty cuddled up to your behind, fluffed up white hair as refreshing as winter's first snowfall and his innate charming smile ten times more devastating than the cursed techniques sown into his very DNA.

"Hey," you protest, somewhat impressed by how he's twisted this situation to his benefit. "I didn't say all of that…"

A big warm palm finds a home on your shoulder, the callouses at the base of Satoru's fingers dragging a satisfyingly scratchy path over your skin. "I didn't agree to that either. Who's gonna appreciate all our hard work and dedication to pampering her if not, well, our princess?" Satoru wonders aloud, each richly pronounced syllable traveling in a velvety rolling rumble through his chest to your back.

Suguru cocks a brow, though he soaks up the reminder with a smoothly executed drag of the wooden bath tray closer to the corner of the tub's edge. Fancy crystalized bottles rattle, winking rainbow prisms across the walls; the oceanic waves of Satoru's irises, the deep earthiness of Suguru's.

You see them in everything, the two men coloring the world you traverse in a gallery forever curated in their likeness, to the point that you couldn't name a single thing on this planet without your lovers tinting your glasses.

Sometimes, you wonder whether the sky was always that boundless, cotton-candy blue, whether the nature crawling dense coils up Tokyo Jujutsu High's mountain campus had always carried such comforting shades of chocolate-brown, or if loving them has simply trained your eyes to always pay homage to Satoru and Suguru. Whatever the case, you're ridiculously smitten.

"Appreciation isn't the point, Satoru," lightly sniffs Suguru.

You wish you could see the stupid grin smeared across Satoru's countenance as he counters, jokingly, "It absolutely is."

"It really isn't," Suguru deadpans, looking to you as if to say get a load of this guy. You giggle.

"I don't know about you, babe, but I wanna be praised for my generous deeds," Satoru announces. "It hits like a line of coke after a long day."

Suguru slowly nods his assent. "That is true… though in your case, I'd say that cake is more your style than coke of all things."

"Snoooore," you loudly mime, deadpanning.

Satoru's laughter sears through your skin, beating a hearty rhythm between your shoulder blades. Suguru fans his fingers over his mouth as he joins in on Satoru's chuckling, amusement blossoming in the air. "Alright, alright. The deluxe princess treatment package is on its way now, promise," Suguru sing-songs with a little flap of his hand, finally easing up now that he's found a way back on track. "Satoru, you'll wash her hair and I'll do her body?"

"For sure," he chirps.

Ah, how nice it feels to lounge around like prized, celebrated royalty without a care in the world while your boys work a plan to pamper you.

All it takes is a simple curl of Suguru's black-painted finger for Satoru to obediently thrust his hand past your head, palm paralleling the ceiling as Suguru pops the glass stopper of a bottle and drizzles a generous heaping of shampoo into his hand's cup.

Satoru loops his arms around your front and works the shampoo between deft palms before your eyes, vanilla and camellia blossoms wafting up to your face, which you dip towards the comforting smell with a hum. It's Suguru's favorite shampoo— you're always surprised when he shares some of it and his conditioner with you, given how he treats it like the holy grail that he alone was blessed and entrusted with.

(Even funnier how he flat out refuses to let Satoru get his hands on it. Not that the white-haired sorcerer cares all that much anyhow; he uses a 3-in-1 shampoo and calls splashing tap water on his face a 'proper face wash.' You'd think a man so prideful about his vanity would splurge on products to properly care for himself and his Adonis body— the same way he buys from luxury clothing brands on the daily— instead of winging it like a head-in-the-clouds college fratboy, but alas…

You've gotta give it to him though: his genetics are killer. Curse Satoru and the goddamned perfectly pretty Gojo bloodline. It's not fair for the rest of you 'simpletons' who actually have to put in the work to groom and maintain yourself in order to look even half as unfairly attractive as he does on a random Thursday morning. The universe shamelessly plays favorites, and Satoru is its dazzling golden child.)

"Tilt your head back for me," he murmurs, long fingers immediately finding your hair— already sufficiently wet— the second you obey.

Humming an absent tune that lulls you into closing your eyes once more, Satoru gathers up all your hair, his usual boundless energy replaced by surprising patience. You can envision the way he's likely got his tongue peeking slightly between his teeth as he smooths the shampoo down your head, working up a rich, pearly lather from your crown to your ends with painstaking care exactly as Suguru once taught him.

Nobody from Jujutsu Tech— not Shoko, not Ijichi, not even any of the students— would expect such gentleness from the strongest sorcerer alive. The same man that tears into curses with calculated, almost joyous violence and blows them apart with a well-placed Red and a dry “oopsies,” is unbelievably tender in his task of shampooing the outer layer of your hair before diving to your roots, firm yet gentle. Reverent, really.

His nails glide along your scalp in purposefully light scrapes that send shivers down your spine. A contented sigh escapes you before you can stop it. "Satoruuuu…" You subconsciously roll the r in the same purring cadence that Suguru speaks his name in.

"Yooo, chill," Satoru splutters behind you, sounding alarmed by who knows what.

Suguru fills in the blank with a suggestive smile and thinning of his eyes: "Moan my name next, baby. I'm feeling left out."

Ah. Curious, you shuffle your hips back further into the cradle of Satoru's pelvis, glad to feel a distinct lack of engorged arousal insistently pestering your back; he's as flaccid as the day he was born. Your foot goes splashing water Suguru's way next. He catches your ankle beneath the surface and chuckles sunnily beneath the playful heat of your half-hearted glare.

"You're such a hater," he chastises.

"Excuse me for trying to enjoy my bath and the princess treatment you both promised me while you two horndogs try to make something out of nothing," you say dryly, though the pretense of sarcasm is rendered null by the next (accidentally) suggestive noise that floats its way past your lips when Satoru tugs a strand of shampooed hair just shy of too roughly.

"I didn't mean to do that, sorry!" Satoru jumps to apologize, presuming you'll give him shit for it and kick him out. But the joint snickers that both men promptly share over your head informs you that they're not exactly remorseful; and they're not even trying to play it sly.

"There's gonna be floggers and pillories in my online shopping cart by the end of the night if you two keep it up," you warn even though you're chuckling yourself. "That, or a sounding rod for you to share."

"Yes, ma'am. Sorry, ma'am," Satoru and Suguru innocently chorus.

Devils, the two of them.

But you're not any better, for you praise them in the sweetest purr possible, "Thank you. Good boys," and you all too joyfully reap the color budding across their already bath-flushed cheeks, tipping your head back against Satoru's shoulder to see his properly.

Suguru and Satoru: 1.

You: also 1.

You'll break that tie soon.

Fingers still wrapped in a delicate snag around your ankle, thumb sweeping over the protruding bone, Suguru one-handedly pumps a decent dollop of body wash into his palm, making a fist and dragging his fingers through it to warm it up a tad. "Lift your leg a little higher for me, sweetheart," he instructs, voice no louder than twinkling rain shimmering in silvery ribbons from the sky.

Conscious yet uncaring of the fact that you're already flashing him your most private parts (both your boyfriends have literally seen it all in every sexual and non-sexual scenario possible), you do just that, trusting that Satoru's solidity will keep you from sliding forward on your ass and submerging your face. Your hip flexor and quadricep tighten in a show of undemandingly easy dexterity— the movement of the latter has Suguru's eyes flicking down to watch as though you're his favorite film made human.

He scrunches his legs up in order to fit into the 'v' your own make. Shifting his grip to the back of your calf, he paints your skin in fragrant body wash from your foot, kneecap, to the crease connecting hip to thigh, coating you thoroughly and treating you to an impromptu massage along the way, thumbs kneading tenderly into muscle.

You're practically purring once he's done with your left leg. Suguru eases it back into the steaming bathwater and rinses you off with sweeping strokes of his broad hand until the jasmine-scented suds melt into the surface. Then, without breaking the tranquil rhythm you'd both settled into, he gathers your right leg in his grasp and starts anew from your foot upward, every motion as meticulous as the last.

You don't startle an inch when Satoru picks his task up again whilst Suguru works his soothing magic up your shin. Circles that bloom sweetness through your body are drawn into your scalp with the pads of Satoru's fingertips, thumbs gliding behind your ears before sweeping upward along your crown, coaxing the rich lather deeper through your roots.

His fingertips dance across your hair in broad, enthusiastic circles, working the shampoo in with enough vigor to make your head tip slightly. It's embarrassingly effective in making you lose track of where one minute ends and another begins. The little remaining tension loosens from your body like water through a sieve.

"Oh my godddd," you moan, blissful, completely swept up in their pampering that comes without a price. You melt between Satoru and Suguru without thinking, trusting the secure cradle of their bodies as completely as breathing itself. "This is exactly what I needed. This is heaven."

"You deserve only good things, especially tonight," Suguru murmurs affectionately, gently dunking your right leg and rinsing that one off, too.

"All the time, really," Satoru agrees. He leaves your hair once he's sure each strand is thoroughly lathered up. "Seeing you turn into a cute little puddle is the best bonus I could ask for. Just let us take care of you, yeah?"

He returns to you with a wooden rinse pitcher that Suguru hands to him. He cups warm bathwater into it, stray droplets sprinkling across the bath's surface when he pulls the pitcher free with an audible gulp of water. Anticipating what follows, you tip your head back and stay still as Satoru pours the first cascade of water over your head to cleanse you of the fragrant foam, his free hand shielding your forehead to keep it from spilling over your face.

"You wanna know a neat trick I thought of?" Satoru asks, voice overflowing with prideful excitement. You and Suguru rumble low noises from your throats at the same time, encouraging. "If Blue allows me to pull buildings apart at minimum output by drawing everything towards the impossibility, then it makes sense that if I put the tiiiiniest possible output into Blue—" you feel a tempered spike of cursed energy that makes the dampened hair at your nape prick to attention, "—the field of attraction is weak enough that I can siphon water from hair."

Before the dirtied water can rejoin the pooling bathwater lapping over you all, it peels from your hair like a clean, satisfying strip of tape as though the laws of nature, too, submit to the wonder that is Gojo Satoru.

You feel each saturated lock of hair lighten by degrees more than you see it. Suspended at your sides where you can spy it from the corner of yout eye, the extracted water gathers into a lazily revolving sphere no larger than a melon, pale with diluted shampoo that swirls in pearlescent ribbons beneath the bathroom's amber light. You can tell that Satoru's flicked his fingers behind you when it all goes gliding into a bucket by the tub— he probably thought to put it there in advance, you realize— with a muffled sploosh. Suguru whistles, impressed.

"There!" Satoru chirps, grin crystal-clear in his voice as though he'd unveiled the world's greatest scientific breakthrough instead of an absurdly overengineered bath hack using one of the greatest cursed techniques in history. "No gross rinse water in the tub."

"That was cool, Toru," you gush.

Suguru's laugh slips free in a quiet puff. "Good idea, baby."

The dual praise has Satoru radiating like an overjoyed sun behind you. "Right? Right?" He boasts with no modesty whatsover, chest jutting proudly against your back.

"You'll have to do that for my hair sometime, too," Suguru sighs longingly, tilting his head with a charmed look on his face. He's so cute. "I could use one of my curses, but Blue'll save me so much time. My hair's getting even longer than it already is, if you can imagine."

"Please never cut it," you and Satoru pipe up in genuine agony.

Suguru titters, enchanting brown eyes creasing in a blinding smile, brighter somehow for it. "Relax, you two. I won't. Aside from trimming split ends— knock on wood." He raps the wooden bath tray with his knuckles.

The exchange coaxes an involuntary smile of your own, the stretch of your lips so overly fond that your cheeks ache. It is so wonderfully, unmistakably the three of you— Suguru's easy indulgement forever balanced alongside Satoru's irrepressible enthusiasm and your habit of matching them both exactly where they stand.

Suguru re-lathers his hands to work on your abdomen, muscles fluttering in delicate butterly wings behind the bountiful garden of your skin at the ticklish feeling of his slickened touch; Satoru ladles another pitcherful over your head and repeats the process of gathering and discarding every soapy drop with Blue. Suguru glides soap up the valley between your perked breasts and beneath them as well, even massaging your tits without a lick of sexual intent; Satoru gives you one last rinse before passing curious fingers through your hair until the strands slide cleanly through his hands, gently teasing apart the few stubborn knots left over. The bathwater gently rocks against your ribs whenever they both shift, focused on their individual tasks but nonetheless in tune with one another.

By the time Suguru finishes off your front by washing your collarbones and shoulders and Satoru's just teased apart the few stubborn knots left over in your hair, your hair hangs sleek and impossibly clean, you're feeling squeaky clean from head to toe, and the bathwater around your bodies remains as clear as when you'd first slipped into it, aside from the body wash that's sluiced off of you.

You feel as though they’d somehow washed away not only the day's sweat and oils, but every bothersome thought that had settled there alongside them. You could seriously fall asleep any second without realizing you'd slipped into unconsciousness.

"Look at us working together in sync," Satoru lilts, signaling for the conditioner over your shoulder. Suguru hands it off from the bath tray without missing a beat. "The G.G. Salon is taking off."

"G.G.?" You ask, faint laughter already bubbling through your nose before he even elaborates. You're anticipating something so stupid that it's somehow funny.

"Get gucked," Satoru supplies, only to shriek a soprano's pitch and jackknife his leg through the water when Suguru aggressively pinches Satoru's big toe. "Yeesh, can't a guy joke around here? I meant the Gojo-Geto salon."

Suguru smiles serenely.

They make quick— but not rushed— work of the rest of your treatment. Suguru reaches between yours and Satoru's bodies to bathe your back while Satoru conditions the ends of your hair with the creamy fixture.

Clearing your hair of conditioner after it soaks in is easy as it was for Satoru with the shampoo. He splashes water along your back to finish off Suguru's work, and Suguru leans in to nuzzle a brief kiss against your forehead, lips lingering for only a second before he settles back against the tub's rim again, the picture of handsome relaxation. A moment later, Satoru cranes his head to smooch the side of your neck as if unwilling to be left out, then ducks past you to peck Suguru's mouth.

No words are needed in the wakeful peace that draws a curtain over you; you, Satoru, and Suguru seemingly come to a silent agreement to soak in the jasmine-fermented bath a while longer, all of yours eyes closed in bone-deep gratification. Heat loosens muscles and peels the firm grip of old aches and pains stemming from battles old and new, determined to ease your bodies that've been carved out from years and years of sorcerery. You only clamber out when the bathwater is cool enough to be drained, yours and Satoru's and Suguru's fingers and toes pruny from the extended soak.

The tired little shiver that quakes you when the air hits your damp skin is noticed immediately by Suguru, who quietly directs Satoru to empty the bucket of dirtied water down the tub before turning to you with towels straight from the tower warmer. He wraps one loosely around your hair and gently squeezes away the excess water.

His sweetened cooing of how cute you are when you're all sleepy and doted-on makes you duck your head into his touch if only to hide your face from the loving searchlights of his eyes. You allow Suguru to similarly wrap your body up in a second towel and you gleefully burrow into the fluffy comfort of it.

Satoru zips to your side in literal seconds with two more towels bunched under his arm, blue eyes alight and completely comfortable in his nudity. "My turn," he announces.

"Didn't you have plenty of turns in the bath?" Suguru amusedly points out in a lowered tone. "She's already dried off, anyways."

Satoru pokes his pretty pink lips out in a pout, sulky as a cat denied its dinner. "I want another."

"You always want another," you hum, eyes half-closed and about ready to conk out on the tile of all places. A plane could crash outside and you wouldn't even be fazed, your mind too up in the clouds and doped up on the princess treatment your boyfriends gave you to care.

“Well, I like taking care of you both,” Satoru admits with some sheepishness, scratching his shorn-short nape that you're sure is soon to be warmed pink as you and Suguru look at him with hearts for eyes. "Can't blame a guy for being in love, yeah?"

You really can't; not when you're just as stupidly infatuated with them both. Especially when, adorably, he surprises you both by turning to Suguru and toweling him off with great attention, making your dark-haired partner flush an even ruddier red than the hot water gave his body. For all of Satoru's impossible strength and impossible speed, his hands fuss with deliberate care as they work the plush fabric around Suguru's waist, folding one edge neatly over the other before tucking it securely against his hip. Then Satoru guides a stray bang that fell loose from his bun behind his ear, fingers lingering sweetly.

Suguru blinks once, twice, as though momentarily caught off guard by the simple gesture. "... Thank you, Satoruuu,” he purrs warmly.

The words are accompanied by a smile so soft it melts years off of Suguru's face, leaving behind only the boy who'd once looked at you and Satoru with that same impossible tenderness after late-night konbini store runs and shared umbrellas beneath summer rain as you all ran back to campus after shared misions— long, long before that accursed village sent him into a year-long spiral. Affection settles visibly into every elegant line of him, warming his browned eyes until they resemble polished amber.

Color rushes into Satoru's ears as he's blasted with the full superlunary rays of Suguru's love, almost shying away from his exuberant beam. "Don't mention it," he mutters, already smiling despite himself as he finally slings his own towel around his hips.

A laugh escapes you before you can stop it, sleepy and airy, and both pairs of eyes snap toward you with such immediate fondness. Your heart gives such a smitten start that it damn near ping-pongs off your ribs.

And then you open your unfiltered mouth, "You're both so cute. You two act like you guys haven't explored each other's holes for literal years."

Their expressions slacken into ones of pained amusement immediately. "Sweets, I love you so so sooo bad, but do you ever think before you reduce years of heartfelt intimacy to digging out each other's asses?" Satoru snorts.

"Please don't say it like that," Suguru bemoans, propping one hand on his towel-wrapped hip while the other drives a thumb into his creased forehead. Even so, he's openly snickering, even moreso when he slaps Satoru's chest. "Are you under the impression that you're any better?"

Satoru touches his heart with theatrical offense. "I've never said anything outrageous as her."

"You literally just did?" Suguru points out, exasperatedly tickled.

You attempt to muster a joke to chip in with, but a yawn stretches your jaw instead, eyes watering as exhaustion overtakes any dignity you might have had left.

"Awww," Satoru breathes out an impossibly stricken coo. "She's gonna fall asleep standing up like a horse."

"I was thinking the same thing," Suguru murmurs, tilting his head at you.

"I am awake and alert and alive," you mumble automatically.

Clearly, neither of them believes you for even half a second. Suguru chuckles beneath his breath before stepping forward, large hand finding the small of your back through the towel. "Looks like the delirium's getting to you, huh, angel? You've had a long day."

Satoru immediately appears at your other side. "For sure. Let's go get dressed and go to bed." Without ceremony, he bends his knees and scoops you into his arms bridal-style as though you weigh nothing at all. You let out the weakest little noise of surprise imaginable before instinctively curling against his warm chest, your cheek finding the familiar place beneath his collarbone.

"I c-can…" Your own yawn slashes the sentence in half, making Satoru throw his head back laughing as he turns towards the bathroom's entrance, "… walk."

"Oh, sweetheart," Suguru rumbles out a laugh.

"I can,” you grumble.

"You just lost consciousness mid-sentence."

"Mmmf," you say intelligently.

Suguru reaches over to straighten the towel atop your head one final time, brushing his knuckles fondly across your temple. "So spoiled," he whispers.

You hum contentedly, already halfway to sleep. "Your fault."

"Our fault," Satoru corrects, carrying you toward the door with Suguru walking beside him, shoulder brushing his every few steps. Then, as an aside to Suguru, "To be fair, we kinda made her expect this."

"I think I deserve princess treatment everyday," you exhaustedly pipe up, words dragging as you gradually drift off.

Satoru and Suguru exchange looks over your lolling head. So cute.

"found it…" you mumbled to yourself, hiding the box to your back as you turned to face suguru.

"you got me something? you shouldn't have," suguru huffed, though his shy gaze and sheepish smile betrayed him.

"haaappy birthdayyy!" you exclaimed in a sing-song voice, handing him the leather-cased present.

suguru opened it with careful hands, his eyes melting into hearts once seeing the locket and the photograph inside it.

it was a picture of the two of you; suguru was kissing your cheek and hugging your side. you had the biggest smile on your face while butterflies wreak havoc in your chest. everything felt so pure.

it was taken on the day you found out you got admitted into jujutsu tech. the happiness could've been felt even though the lens—you were so excited for what was to come, so keen to be doing it together.

"it's a picture of us," suguru reaffirmed quietly, maybe just to himself. he studied the locket, the metal detailing on its case and the way it hugged the small photograph. he smiled, soft and genuine; mentally stuck in the memory. "it's beautiful… thank you."

you're beautiful.

"so you never forget me," you teased, sitting next to him. "i got one for both of us, so you're safe, too."

as if you needed that to remember him.

"i could never forget you in the first place, pretty girl."

september 19th, 2007.

what a lie.

you remember it as if it were yesterday, the moment you found out suguru left. the moment professor yaga uttered those words that made your heart drop.

"suguru killed everyone in the village."

"—killed his parents."

a subject to execution.

tears welled up in your eyes, afraid to fall, afraid of making all of it feel real. it couldn't be, right? yet the look on yaga's face told a different story, and even satoru was nowhere to be seen.

no, it doesn't feel real.

the truth of suguru no longer being next to you was not one your heart can handle.

have you been blind all this time?

blind to who suguru really is? no, you've known him better than anyone.

did you, really?

you loved him.

…but did he?

was any of it real?

what happened?

the air felt somber, hitting you all too hard in the chest. your mind was weighed by the harsh possibility you didn't want to believe. impulse guided your body as you backed away from the instance, stepping through the gray halls that once felt so familiar.

the dorm room you considered a sanctuary not long ago became the worst reminder of everything that was. polaroids hung on the walls like any of it meant something. that one sweatshirt you stole from him, tossed next to your pillow after hugging it to sleep because you missed him during his last mission. even the faint trace of suguru's earthy cologne still lingered in the air, except now it was making it hard to breathe.

your pillow was soaked with tears and no answers that night. sobbing until your body ached and slumber took over in pity, waking up to your head pounding, needles of everything that happened the day before blazing mercilessly through your skull.

your eyes flutter open, puffy and heavy with dry tears. slivers of light find their way through your curtain, making you wince, illuminating the room that mirrors the mangled mess in your heart. photographs laid on the ground and dresser, ripped from the walls and thrown into the air; part of you wishing they'd catch fire.

your hand drifted instinctively around your neck, a mindless action, though a fragment of your heart still hoped to find the locket necklace matching suguru's, hoped to see his face again, even if it were through a picture. but no, it was shoved in the back of a drawer, away from the light it once brought you.

did suguru keep his? you can't help but ask yourself, or did he throw it away? bury it in the past, just like his life with you?

you knew the answer… why even bother?

pulling yourself up from the bed, you look at the small alarm clock on your nightstand, it read 11:26 am — good thing it was a weekend, not that you cared, anyway. your gaze drifts next to it, blinking twice after seeing a foreign, neatly folded piece of paper lying next to the clock.

you almost don't dare picking it up.

but you do. not knowing what you'd hoped to find.

i want to preface this with saying i'm sorry. i know you deserve a better explanation than just words on a piece of paper.

i'm sure you've heard by now. and what i did may have no excuse, so i'm not careless enough to ask you for forgiveness, but i believe you know me well enough to come to a point of understanding, whenever that may be.

you have every right to be angry at me, to be hurt. i've always encouraged you not to bottle up your emotions, and i still do; i know you tend to do that. my time hasn't come to an end yet, but you can mourn me still. don't lock yourself out. live.

my actions should not reflect on you, so you shouldn't feel any trace of guilt or doubt regarding that. the world we live in needs improvement, and you don't deserve to pay the price of it.

as of now, jujutsu tech is the safest place for you, so don't look for me. putting a target on your back because of me is not a risk i'm willing to take. your security is non-negotiable.

thank you for being the best part of me and of my life. i'll always love you.

yours, suguru.

the words got blurry after the first few sentences, blended together as the ink bled into the paper, tears falling down your cheeks and staining the letter more with each paragraph.

your hands trembled, burdened by too many emotions flooding in all at once. reality set in. sharp, and final. like a stab to the heart.

suguru was gone.

the boy you once knew was gone.

your first and only love.

you don't remember much of what followed that day, or the ones after. they were a blur, a spiral you couldn't escape no matter how much you would have tried—even though you didn't.

with each passing day resentment dug its roots deeper and deeper in the shattered crevices of your soul. hours spent staring into an abyss, replaying each word of suguru's letter in your head. you wondered what went wrong—when? were you being ignorant?

could you have done anything?

suguru never showed anything. even days before his last mission, he's had the same warm and collected expression—

(for the past year, he's tried so hard to shield you from what was happening inside his mind. too afraid to be a burden to you. you didn't deserve it.)

— the same gentle, loving voice.

(how could he not? it was you.)

it felt so intimate.

so why?

why did he have to be so selfish?

why did he leave you all alone?

why does your life still feel senseless without him?

the man who killed a whole village.

the man who killed his parents.

the man who killed your heart.

you were afraid of what suguru had become. but most of all you were afraid of what would become of you.

you re-read that letter over and over again until the words become etched in your mind. until all you've thought about was what happened, what suguru said… what would you have said?

you tried turning it all in your head until something made sense.

all you were left with back then was the realisation that hate was easier than love.

february 3rd, 2012.

most of you has managed to make peace with the fact that suguru left.

most of you.

the memory of him never left you. it's not like you ever truly let yourself forget him, but no matter. suguru lingered everywhere you went. in every woody–warm scent that entered your nostrils—you smelled him. in every love song you've listened to—he was always the answer. in every dream you've had—you saw him.

the years that have passed since then changed you. experience brought maturity. maturity brought wisdom. wisdom brought the ability to see from a different perspective.

a part of you still wanted to hate suguru for leaving you. for making you believe that love was a myth you were too young and naive to believe in. but it doesn't change the part of you that admits he'll always be a part of you. that in the back of your mind you still loved him, and believed he was the purest and realest thing you've ever felt.

before the evil of the world seeped into your bones.

and you couldn't help but wonder, is suguru's ideology really that wrong?

you traced each event carefully. from riko's death, to haibara's. to the burden of having to absorb all the negativity and evil of humanity.

suguru was only fifteen when the two of you joined jujutsu tech. seventeen when he left.

a young boy's moral compass was broken under the pressure of everyday witnesses. he didn't grow into his ideology; it was forced upon him. a last resort. a one way trip.

it's difficult for you to blame him now.

it's difficult to admit that missing him wasn't chipping away at your soul.

that's how you find yourself in your old dorm room. plopped down next to your bed on the carpeted floor, holding the locket that once matched suguru's. it had been left untouched for the past five years, in the cold shadow of your drawer, right next to the letter you've read more times than you care to count. the photograph showed the way it slightly aged through time, how the silver pendant darkened around its engravings, how the colours of the trapped memory seemed to fade.

seeing suguru's much younger face brought back a terrifying sense of nostalgia, and it made you feel as whole as it did empty.

it was his birthday today.

he used to spend every birthday with you. and now you've officially missed more anniversaries than you've even attended.

you couldn't stop the tears that gently slid down your cheeks.

you mourned him. you mourned your lover, and the boy you used to run hand in hand with when you'd be late to classes.

a life without suguru was not one you've ever imagined. but now that's all you knew. barren days and rehearsed interactions. numbness you'd wield like armour.

you'd known suguru, long before the bitter taste of curses had managed to taint your love. and you missed him. you missed his laugh, the way he looked at you, and how you understood each other without any words; but god, most of all, you missed his heart. his loving, and honest heart. the one that was given to you without any hope for anything in return, without any demand.

even now, getting out of bed felt like a demand to you sometimes. emotions felt forced, trying to face them felt like getting your heart torn out. suguru was the only one who could get past your walls, and now he was not here anymore—and your walls came crumbling down, leaving you for dead under the suffocating rubble of your own self.

you wondered what he was up to these days. was he happy? fuffiled? did the people around him love him as deeply as you did? as deeply as he deserved?

you hoped the answer was yes.

did he keep the same routine he had when you knew him? start his day with a steaming hot cup of red tea and two cubes of sugar?

did he still prefer books over movies?

did he ever think about you?

you let your tears fall along with the hope of ever getting answers.

suguru couldn't bring himself to wonder about you.

he knew the answer.

he knew you've been struggling to this day.

he knew he didn't deserve to have you on his mind.

suguru would lie awake in the soft but unfamiliar warmth of his bed. his long digits tracing the X scar slashed into his chest, as if to remind himself again why he's doing this.

the answer would usually be because the jujutsu world was ineffective. that it was corrupt. that it was using sorcerers like lab rats—which was true.

but was it really worth it to pay the price of losing you?

waking up in a cold sweat in the middle of the night because he'd have a nightmare about you being killed, and him not being there to protect you.

back then, he'd convinced himself that he was doing the right thing. that he would make this world one where you'd be safe. that he'd be protecting you from the darkest parts of himself.

you didn't deserve to see that. not you.

never you.

how the filth of humanity and their weakness had rubbed off on him. what it brought out of him. violence and disgust.

but the truth is, suguru didn't recognise himself anymore. he's absorbed thousands of curses in his life, each one plaguing his mind and slowly undoing his sanity.

but you, you undid his soul.

he's watched you over the years. scarce visits from afar, never leaving a trail behind. as little as he would allow himself without taking the risk of being seen.

you became a teacher at jujutsu tech meanwhile—after forcing yourself to do something with your life—and he'd often catch you with the students. teaching them. comforting them when they'd mess up. always so loving. so great with the kids. mimiko and nanako would love you, suguru thought to himself.

the gift he'd allow himself on his 22nd birthday was to envision you in his arms, holding you tight against his chest like he should've done a hundred times more while he was around. imagining your soft skin and the peaceful pace of how your heart beat next to his.

he felt sixteen and in love again.

suguru slept well for the first time in a long time that night.

he knew it then, and he knows it now, that if he came to personally give you an explanation about the day he left, the world he'd invisioned would not stand a chance against a future with you.

and making a better world for you was his priority.

you are his priority.

no matter how much it hurt him, suguru had to let you go.

november 24th, 2017.

alarms blared throughout the propriety of jujutsu high, countless sorcerers running around in a frenzy and grouping together in the front yard.

what happened?

you follow their trail, rushing down a flight of stairs and making your way through the sea of people. familiar faces sprang up—the students were there, along with professor yaga and even nanami.

you step forward, trying to catch a better understanding of what was going on. there was nothing, with the exception of way too many people bunched up in one space.

after hearing a man in the distance ask something along the lines of "what's that in the sky?!" your gaze lifted, eyes turning wide upon seeing the oversized bird flying in your direction.

that can't be a bird.

it takes less than a minute until it has landed. it was a curse.

a curse from which suguru geto just got off.

your heart stopped for a few seconds, and even the possibility of having hallucinations settled in your mind.

suguru geto.

your eyes were fixed upon the man standing less than 20 feet from you, seeing right through the people in front of you that seemed like they didn't even exist in that moment.

he looked nothing like the boy you once knew. now standing tall with a confidence that radiated from him. his hair was longer, cascading over his broad shoulders and down his chest like spilled ink, dressed in monk's robes that somehow fitted perfectly.

he hasn't even seen you. maybe a part of you was glad.

standing behind him were other people, each you could tell was a strong curse user.

were those the people he considered his family now?

before long, satoru has made his appearance, gracefully slipping through the masses as he approached suguru.

you'd kept your spot, somewhere hidden through the many people present. seeing suguru for the first time in ten years awakened something within you that you thought was buried. too many emotions you couldn't pinpoint crashing into you like a train at full speed.

everything was happening so fast in your mind. suguru's voice rang in your ears, unfamiliar and commanding; yet you were still unsure when you heard him declare war.

december 24th. a month from now.

everything you thought you knew got scrambled in your memory, and your body moved without you, stepping back as if to escape the current reality.

if only you could.

yet your eyes still searched for suguru's, even as he revealed the bloody plans of the near future.

another curse sprang from the ground, bigger, definitely more dangerous, and the perfect distraction for him to swiftly take his leave.

you couldn't register what was happening, your brain firing more thoughts than it can handle. your eyes burned, tears of sorrow flowing down your face. you watched him still, watched him look at you before turning his back with permanence—

suguru looked at you.

unmistakably, the fraction of a second that lingered, your eyes locking together in something that neither of you could deny. his gaze faltered, somewhat soft and almost apologetic, but heavy with the weight and guilt of the words he knew you've heard just moments ago.

the look in his eyes did not match the plan of his actions.

you felt sick. the course of the past ten minutes blended together, stirred in your stomach until your mind and body were overwhelmed.

the walk back to your room felt endless. fingers trembling as you anxiously played with the hem of your sleeve, burning tears streaming down your cheeks without hope.

you felt seventeen and powerless all over again.

were you really meant to fight against him in this so called war?

would suguru hurt you if he had the chance?

would you hurt him?

through already knew the answer to that.

every gut-wrenching thought spiraled back to the way he looked at you, as if you'd been brought back to the days when you'd understand each other with a simple glance.

you couldn't seem to grasp the true purpose of this war, but what you did understand was that somewhere deep down, a part of your suguru still remained.

december 24th, 2017.

time moved by you, careless of what awaited, each day rushing on to the next before you'd even manage to let yourself breathe. and it was suffocating, turning around each scenario in your mind of what could go wrong—if anything could go right.

but judgement day has come at last, the past month snapping by in the blink of an eye. you couldn't consider yourself prepared, but then again—when would you ever be?

the cold rays of the december sun have enveloped the hurried city of shinjuku in a hundred ethereal shades of yellow and orange, momentarily taking away the fact that before long, it will become a warzone, and that you'd be on the front lines.

you bite back the bile that rose in your throat, being afraid will not do you any good. you were a capable grade one sorcerer, rarely unable to handle yourself during missions.

but to you, this wasn't about the usual curses, no.

it was about the crudest one of them all.

love.

how it hurt worse than any physical attack.

how it brought you up to this point, only for you to hope that it doesn't mark the end.

sundown came fast, and the shallow streets were now crawling with curses. you looked around, not seeing any familiar faces, nobody that mattered.

you took a deep breath, working out your balance in order to steady yourself. drawing out your sword from its sheath, it let out a screeching sound, sharp and high pitched. cursed energy was flaring around you and your weapon, almost mirroring a small beacon of power.

you took each curse one by one, sliding your sword through them as they burst up into dimming flames of cursed energy. some gave you more troubles than others, some putting on a fight.

your moves were swift and deliberate, mind clear of anything that might set your attention astray. your focus was undivided from the curse in front of you; it was strong, grade 2 at least. but nothing haven't handled before.

the alleyway in which you were was narrow, the setting sun leaving but darkness in it's ominous wake. you had trapped the curse in the dead end side of the small street—you had it cornered, this was your time to strike the final blow.

your instincts fire, centering yourself in order to get the best accuracy. you only get to set your right leg forward before your entire body freezes on the spot.

this was not the time.

your stance does not move, as if all the strength had vanished from your limbs. you were helpless.

helpless against the wave of panic that surged through you. you feel the change in the air, even filthier somehow and only getting stronger. you sense another one behind you, creeping in closer, sending shivers through your frozen body. you can't even scream.

the realisation settled in fast and without doubt— you were surrounded, and there was nothing you could do about it.

unsettling growls were heard from every direction, it's uncanny energy caressing your body and setting fear deep in your bones.

you've heard the phrase "no sorcerer dies without regret" one too many times for you to ever forget it.

you just hoped it wouldn't be true for you.

it was over.

the weight of too many truths pressed against your ribs, aching to come out.

too bad you'll never get the chance again.

you couldn't scream. you couldn't move. not even when their razor sharp teeth nestle into your flesh.

again, and again.

the bites didn't feel like anything else you've ever been cut with. as if the foul and viciousness sank into your body until it tore it to shreds.

only then do you fall to your knees, no longer able to keep up. defeated.

when consciousness begins to slip away, it feels like the closest you could've gotten to serenity. crimson soaked the dark fabric of your uniform, though the pain seemed to fade. and so do you. eyes closing with finality, with so many things that were left to do.

maybe in the next life.

your mangled body was far too much, too gone even for shoko to handle. satoru teleported you as soon as he found you, though it was late.

far too late.

satoru was about to lose two of the people he cared most about. only a few minutes have passed since he met with his best friend again.

suguru laid against the frigid concrete wall, his body slowly giving up on him as blood continued to pour from his right shoulder.

yet, a weak smile finds its way on suguru's lips.

"is my family okay?" he panted.

"they are. every one of them managed to escape." suguru was glad to hear that. but something else hid in satoru's voice, something hurting, laced with a darkness he could not pinpoint.

"is… is she safe?" just asking about you felt inappropriate, wrong. like he had no right to worry about you anymore.

he didn't, not really.

"she's dead, suguru."

satoru's words hurt harder than all the blood he's shed.

he didn't want to believe it, but the words echoed in his mind, telling him otherwise.

"she was killed by one of your curses," satoru confirmed, the pain in his voice making it sound ragged.

suguru's throat closed up, nothing but a choked cry escaping him.

his final moments bleed into a vast void of stinging loneliness and guilt. this was not supposed to happen.

with the last remaining strength in his body, suguru's hand reached up to his neck, finding the silver locket hiding beneath his dishevelled robes and ripping it off. his gaze lingered on the pendant—blood now staining it red. not a day had gone by without looking at your picture, silently naming all of the regrets that drove him away from you.

suguru brings the pendant to his lips, pressing a featherlight kiss to the dirtied metal. the closest he'll ever get to you.

he doesn't have the strength left to open it, but god, he wishes he could, yearning to see your face one last time.

but it's okay, he doesn't deserve to anyway. he knows that.

the life force drains from his injured body, his surroundings growing blurred and hazy due to the loss of blood. the lack of strength in his arm lets it fall into his lap, yet his grasp on the necklace never ceases.

satoru never gets to unleash his technique before suguru lets his body wither in the memory of you. in the memory of how much he's hurt you.

he dies thinking you hate him.

you die wishing you did.

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