#erixtales

“You call this protection?” you surprised yourself at the strength in your own voice, and especially at your strength to keep advocating for yourself. “You call this--” You gestured to the scars and fresh cuts littered all over your hands and legs, from the numerous times you attempted to escape from the handcuffs he used to secure you to his bed while he did his own business for the day. “--love? You hurt me. You treat me like something worse than a pet. You took me away from everything I worked so hard for in my life. My parents must think I’m dead! Does that matter to you at all? Or are you weird sorcerers too high and mighty for the simpleton lifestyle? They didn’t even get to see my graduation!”

“It’s true. Perhaps the way I love is selfish and not easily understood,” Geto affirmed, ignoring your words and little jabs at his own worldviews, as he approached you with one stride but you stepped back as he tried to extend his hand to reach your face. He frowned. Definitely keeping a mental tab on that to punish you for later, you were certain he was thinking that; you were not so foolish like he liked to believe. You were always smarter than he ever thought to give you credit for. “But sometimes we have to hurt the ones we love. It’s a necessary evil. Because if we can’t keep them in line, then they say ridiculous things like insisting the ones who love them the most don’t love and cherish them.”

“Because you don’t know the line between love and hate,” you grumbled through gritted teeth. “If this is how you love, I can’t even begin to fathom how you treat the nonsorcerers you loathe.”

“In my new world, I’m sparing you--the likes of someone like you, born beneath someone like me--seeing you as a being worthy of protection. No,” he corrected himself, “I’ve misspoken. You are a being who, too, is worthy. You are the only one. That should be enough, but you are so… ungrateful for the sacrifices I’ve made to keep you. If I had a cruel hand, I would have killed you like you were nothing to me. But you are everything to me. That isn’t enough for you?”

Tears began to well in the corners of your eyes. In a flash a large calloused hand cuffed your neck and his thumb pressed into your larynx, making you gasp in shock.

“Just because you love me doesn’t mean I feel loved by you,” you managed through a strained voice. “Just saying the words doesn’t make it so, Suguru.”

“But I’ve shown you, how much I cherish you,” he countered, desperation now becoming more and more apparent-- it was a color you never thought you would see someone like him wear, someone who thought he was so far above mortal humans.

You wished you could laugh through your tears, but sadly you weren’t that brand of maniacal, instead sobbing more into his hold which he slowly loosened out of guilt. You were already the type to cry when you were mad. Not just sad. You were way too soft for your own good, you knew that, and he knew that, and that was why he felt compelled to spirit you away into a completely unfamiliar world that felt more dangerous than the one you left behind.

“What, the sex? You think I like that you take everything from me, even my body!?”

“But I made it good,” he insisted, eyes widening like they were blown out, drawing you closer toward him until your lips barely brushed against each other, his voice lowering. “I could tell you didn’t completely hate it.”

Maybe a part of you longed to be loved but not by him or like this.

You imagined it was someone who could love you, who you could love back. It was what made it bearable.

It was never because of him.

“I wished it was someone else,” you confessed, “Anyone else. Someone who knows how to love me. Without having to hurt me.”

The silence in response frightened you more than any insult that left his mouth.

He almost looked like he toyed with releasing you from his grip, but it only adjusted, as he rebooted in real time. Like he couldn’t believe what he was hearing.

“You wish someone loved you,” he started, his tone disgusted. “I love you. I do. You cannot say something like that and then blow it back in my face.”

“This isn’t what I wanted,” you whispered, deciding you were already in this deep, you might as well dig deeper.

“You might as well get used to it, sweetheart. Life is full of disappointments,” he retorted with a huff. He pressed a chaste kiss to your lips. “But this--the idea of us--doesn’t have to be.”

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ GOJO SATORU [WC: ~600]

Those words you uttered seemed to knock whatever’s left of Satoru’s soul a little looser from his body. If you thought he was unhinged before, you obviously ain’t seen anything yet--indicative enough in the way his sparkling cerulean blue eyes dulled the longer he took to process what you confessed. Like you had truly committed the worst thing imaginable which was to shatter whatever delusions he had about you.

Well, who else was going to do that? Nothing seemed to get through to Satoru. Not unless you were straight up blunt with him but even then, that working was a hit or a miss.

“You think Daddy doesn’t love you?” Satoru whispered, like he’d been stung. “What do you think I do all of this for, then?”

“For yourself,” you went on, “You don’t think about anything else but yourself.”

“Princess,” he pouted, “You’re seriously making me upset.”

“Yeah, that’s kind of the point.”

“But I have to admit,” he rambled, flicking his tongue over his lips. “Watching you stand your ground like that is pretty sexy.”

…

…

…

That record screeched to a halt in your mind.

…Seriously, was this guy on drugs? Did he smoke crack like it was his part-time job when he wasn’t busy torturing you?

You didn’t miss how his eyes scanned every little bit of your delicate features--probably wondering which part of your face would look all pretty beaten and bruised for making him feel like this--but he didn’t seem like he was in psycho mode. At least, not as much as usual.

He seemed… contemplative. Receptive, even if that was barely perceptible to probably anyone else who had the displeasure of knowing a guy like this and not even knowing just how deep that baggage he carried ran.

“In fact,” he continued, striding up to you, catching a lock of your hair between his absurdly long fingers. You hated the way the hairs on your arms stood on end. The way your heart raced and not from attraction. “While it kills me that you think I don’t love you, I’m glad you feel bold enough to say something about it. Your pain… I can really feel it in your voice, you know? But I’d rather hear something else out of your voice. Because now you created a new problem.”

You caught it again--a slight violet aura surrounding Gojo’s frame and before you realized it you were levitating. You thought you were tripping before but now you realized Gojo wasn’t dicking around when he said he wasn’t your average human being.

“How are you doing that? Y-you’ve never done that,” you stammered. At least not on me.

“I’m sorry, Princess. You’re just going to have to understand why I have to keep you.” With a flick of his hand your body hurled into the nearest couch with a shockingly light thud. Gojo managed to spread eagle your legs with whatever imaginary force he used. You couldn’t tell how he was doing any of it. If what you were seeing was some kind of hallucination. It wasn’t. Hallucinations didn’t work like that.

“I don’t know what you want me to do to prove it.” With another flick of his wrist your skirt and panties were chucked elsewhere in the enclosed space. He approached the couch with light steps, kneeling before your exposed pussy. “But I have my own unique ways of showing my appreciation for my perfect, brilliant little Princess. Who I’m so proud of for graduating when she did. Who I know made her parents proud too. If only they knew where you’d been all of this time… how would they feel knowing that instead of pursuing your dreams, you’re cozying up with someone who can provide the kind of life that not even those dreams could fulfill?”

“Cozying up isn’t exactly the way I would describe what this is,” you retorted.

“Princess, don’t make me more upset,” he cautioned, “It’s only going to turn me on more.”

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ HIGURUMA HIROMI [WC: ~200]

“Do you want me to scream to the Gods how much I truly adore you, baby?”

The sound of Hiromi’s balls slapping into your ass with each harsh thrust had you dizzy, unable to form any coherent thought because the one you had admitted made him furious because how dare you doubt how much he loved you enough to protect you from a system that would have killed you? He saved you from a wrong accusation, someone too good like you who was about to be executed and this was the thanks he got? You were an innocent student who got caught up in the wrong crowd and you were lucky he was your lawyer. But he thought you were just too pretty, too perfect, he had to keep you safe. Even if it meant defying the laws in some ways to ensure your safety.

“I love you.” He growled into your cheek as he shifted angles to fuck you deeper and you moaned, drool dripping from your parted mouth which he seized with a heated kiss. He broke it to say, “I love you. I love you. You shouldn’t doubt me. Why are you doubting me?”

“I’m, s-s-sorry Hiromi,” you managed and he growled again, plunging his cock so deep that your eyes rolled back. “I-I w-was wrong…”

“I forgive you, baby,” he purred into your ear. “I just never want you to say those words to me again.”

.˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ NANAMI KENTO [WC: ~600]

“I don’t know what to say, but I’m disappointed that you said it.”

Of course. There Kento went again, acting like he was the true victim in all of this. Yes, when you first met him, he seemed like your average gentle giant of a man, who helped you through your darker times, like when you felt like you weren’t going to make it through graduation by going to the other side.

“I went through a lot for us,” he grunted, setting his mug of piping hot green tea to the coffee table. “You understand what I had to do in order to keep us together.”

“I didn’t ask for any of that.”

“You said you wished for someone to truly love you.” He turned fully to face you, uncrossing his legs. “Aren’t I that someone?”

You averted your gaze from his heated one. Something else must be swimming in his mind, and that wasn’t good news for you.

“…This isn’t what love is, Ken.”

“Then how would you explain the fact that I do whatever it takes so you don’t do something foolish like trying to jump over that fucking bridge?”

You jolted in your spot, hands clasped behind your back as you pondered over your words. You had to tread carefully. Kento was scary when he was mad but especially when he was disappointed in something you said. It looked like you truly hurt him with his words, but that was what he did all of the time. He always acted like he was the victim in this situation, as if he wasn’t the one who deliberately put you in this mess.

“At least that was my own, conscious choice, you just want to keep me around for your amusement, not because you love me!”

You froze as soon as your words registered. You realized you spoke out of line more than you already should, and Kento was already just in front of you, faces barely centimeters apart.

“Is that what you think this is about?” Kento retaliated, “Do you think someone like me gets the luxury of thinking about myself in any situation?”

“Ken…”

“I risked my reputation, and my own life, for you. I was not supposed to interact more than necessary since I still had ties to the society,” he started, stepping closer toward you, “I made sure nothing harmed you including yourself. But when you clearly weren’t safe on your own, I had to take drastic measures. I’m so sorry if that makes me the selfish one, but God forbid I wanted to keep someone I loved safe and she doesn’t even believe if I love her or not. Don’t you see how fucking tragic that is?”

“No one asked you to help me.”

“I wanted to save you because I love you.”

“You took my freedom away. That’s not saving me!”

“Clearly, drastic measures had to be taken because you were always seconds away from doing something stupid!”

“Ken!”

“I don’t do anything to hurt you,” he said, “Do I?”

“…No,” you whimpered.

“I don’t strike you.”

“No.”

“I don’t force you to do anything you don’t want to do.”

“No.”

“So then why do you not believe me?”

“Because this isn’t real!” you shot back, “You don’t let me see anyone else I-I love or let me go out on my own. You don’t let me do anything. You have to do everything. I don’t get any agency here!”

“Maybe if you gave me a reason to trust you, then I would give you that agency you desperately craved.”

“That’s exactly it! If you loved me, you would trust me!”

That seemed to have struck a chord with Kento as he fell silent. Well, that was a win for you, for once.

“…I’m sorry. But it’s not that simple.”

Of course it was. He just didn’t want it to be.

Now, what has he been reflecting on? Oh yes. You have been good. Far, far too good. So good, in fact, that your behavior sets off too many warning sirens in his mind. As much as he wishes to be tickled pink like the evening clouds above by the shift in your attitude, he knows how out of character it is for you. Someone so full of fight, so full of knowing how much you’re worth… that all seems to be… shrinking?

And that can’t do. Not at all. He’s come to find that it’s much better when both parties are willingly engaging with one another. It’s common sense, he also fears, but sometimes simple logic escapes him when he’s trying to stay focused on the big motion picture.

There is such a strong shift in you, indeed… But again, he’s not sure if it’s something to rejoice in, as much as he wants to rejoice in the idea that you could love him the way he wants.

But isn’t that very notion preposterous? Something he shouldn’t even bother to entertain this late into the game, when you have made it so clear to him from day one that you can never love a monster like him? That you can never hope to see him as anything beyond the curse that plagues you, day in and day out, and you have even confessed to him that you would rather he swallow you whole instead of forcing you to endure this torture any longer?

Perplexing. Truly, perplexing… it’s a new development in you that preoccupies his mind when he’s not off scamming monkeys out of their money in favor of extracting varying level curses off of them. They never know just how much he swindles out of them and he prefers to keep it that way.

He stops just before the bedroom. Adjusting himself, taking a moment to breathe. Even with this subtle shift in you, it doesn’t mean he knows what he’s going to come back to–the fighter in you or the obedient pet in you. He should prefer the latter.

But he doesn’t. It doesn’t feel quite right.

That’s why his bewildered violet irises follow your movements as you waltz up to him to greet him, when he finally strides into the bedroom with a few impressive strides, his robe trailing behind him like a hero’s cape (but he’s never been anyone’s hero, especially not yours), and you welcome him back with a kiss.

An uncertain one, tentative, like you still aren’t sure of the ropes around here or if he’s going to welcome such advances. As if that hasn’t been what he’s desired all along, for you to reciprocate.

Here you are, kissing him. And he’s frozen in place, not from disgust (so obviously not), but from the shock of the action, melting into your touch, encircling his large arms over your comparatively smaller frame, pulling you in close like he can’t bear it if you pull away from him even a centimeter apart.

He cherishes this feeling, this moment he’s longed for since he’s stolen you from a life that didn’t deserve your light. He basks in the warmth of your lips, languidly moving his own against them as his palm rests against your cheek, humming in contentment. His lips wobble while reluctantly breaking the contact as he asks about your day.

“Was fine,” you comment in response, absent of emotion, absent of any true presence as well… making his eyebrows furrow, you’re still talking like a damn robot, he observes, so nothing too far off from your usual act but he still can’t quite catch you red-handed. Maybe this time this is as good as it gets, for a future with you. “Just waiting for you.”

Your hand gingerly reaches up to fiddle with a lock of his hair, admiring the way it shines beneath the dull ceiling lights.

You do seem more off than usual. More… not defeated, no. Something else. An emotion he still can’t quite put a name to but he’s seen it in himself more times than he would ever care to admit to anyone.

“Stupid pretty,” you murmur, more to yourself, as your hands soon find their way to rest over his pecs, and Geto knows you can feel how rapidly his heart beats, and his heart only races for you. If only you can see what kind of privilege that really is given his plight.

Geto’s eyes drop to your hands, losing his composure for a split second and chuckling. “That doesn’t come from the sky, you know. People can claim ‘genetics’ all they wish, and while I do possess superior genetics, a lot of this came with maintaining them, too.”

Now you’re complimenting him. You’re actually complimenting him. He doesn’t know what to think about that. He wants to leap with joy but everything about this is wrong. This is yet another thing that’s out of character for you, and he definitely shouldn’t hate it but nothing about this shift in you feels natural.

It feels… almost jarring. Like you’re doing this to comply, rather than because you actually mean such things.

And then the realization dawns on him, much like the day he realized that his efforts as a jujutsu sorcerer were meaningless.

This isn’t what he wanted from you.

“Could’ve fooled me,” you remark, “Your hair was the first thing I noticed about you. That and your smile.”

“My smile?” he quips with interest laced in his tone.

“I remember thinking it was charming, kind of like how a young boy would smile at people,” you recall, when you first met him, just an unsuspecting client with a curse latched onto your shoulders that you had no idea he planted himself to get close to you. “It always felt warm, yet you obviously held many secrets and a heavy burden. Then the longer I studied your smile, it seemed like all it carried was an omen… whether that omen was for you or for me is still difficult to discern, though.”

Geto hums at that, entwining his fingers with yours and squeezing your hands with that deceiving gentleness to it. It can almost temporarily make someone forget what these hands are capable of doing.

“Did you pity me?” he ponders over a beat of terse silence. Uncomfortable for you both, it seems, and that might have been a first for Geto at the very least.

He typically enjoys filling the silence with his endless yapping, and strangely, there’s a small part of you who has grown accustomed to it. It’s just noise. Aimless, meaningless noise. White noise, or whatever it is called? Except sometimes, that white noise does the opposite of calming someone down, because Geto’s not stupid; that source of white noise comes from the source of all of your woes, trials, and tribulations–all of which you have yet to escape from which is something he is never going to allow. And at this point, he knows you’re smart enough to doubt that day would ever come, but that doesn’t mean you don’t possibility still cling onto whatever bits of hope you have left, because no matter what, you mustn’t lose it… or you lose everything you ever tried to fight for from the start.

Geto’s always found that stubborn side of you… familiar actually. Far too familiar. In a weirdly comforting way, at that. It’s a little difficult for him to explain why, but it’s one of the myriad of reasons he’s fallen so helplessly in love with you. Somewhere along the way his obsession can’t even be truly obsession anymore; it’s pure love, affection. All he can ever think about is how he would love to dote on you and spoil you with everything in the world you could ever think of, but you don’t want him that way. You only see the monster and not the boy hiding behind the monster who still longs to be loved.

“Hardly,” you scoff, with a shake of your head. “Not then and especially not now. You clearly made a decent living out of carrying that ‘heavy burden’ of swallowing curses just to exorcise them…”

He openly laughs at that again, somehow it doesn’t carry a strain like it normally seems to, his shoulders shaking, but obviously he knows that comment of yours lacked true humor to it–all just an acute observation. You have proven time and time again you are not the naive client he initially thought you were, someone naive enough for him to take for himself, to protect from such a dark and dreary world someone as sweet as you shouldn’t have to endure.

You have, not only proven him wrong in who you are and how you carry yourself in this world, you may have proven him wrong in many other aspects of his beliefs and ideologies, too.

It’s simply that he’s not ready to face the music and accept this reality just yet, and it’s too late to turn back now.

Nobody has stopped him yet. Not any past assassination attempts sent by the higher ups, and certainly not by anyone else who is aware of him back in Jujutsu Tech… and who knows if they even want to do that? If Satoru wanted to kill him that day, then he would have, it would have been a mercy on him if Satoru had, but he’s still here.

“Well, regardless, I appreciate you not finding me completely atrocious,” he jests with a playful little pout.

You give him a pointed look, but you don’t shy away from him, instead inching a bit closer to him until his senses are overwhelmed by the aroma of your perfume with that hint of jasmine notes, calming on his nerves. Better than any disinfectant he ever carries as your perfect scent is enough to ease his worries. And he definitely doesn’t find himself hating that-- only hating that you don’t seem to return his sentiments, not really. Not truly. And certainly not as deeply.

“Nowhere in there did I insinuate that I didn’t still find you completely atrocious.” (Thank God, some of yourself has bounced back, now he can put some of that concern to rest.)

Yes, he’s still here, choosing to live and to breathe, because he gets the wonderful opportunity of loving and cherishing you. He’s still here, because maybe your light he hopes to protect is his beacon of hope in his otherwise grim, bleak world.

No matter how much this all doesn’t compute fully in his head. None of it makes sense. His feelings.

His obsession mounting into true love for someone like you.

Maybe things like this aren’t ever supposed to in the first place.

Maybe you’re beginning to think the same thing, at least he hopes you are, but the blankness in your eyes evinces something else entirely. He still can’t decipher what the feeling is-- it’s not defeat.

That seems too easy, especially for someone like you.

What else can it possibly be, then?

If it’s not defeat, or even true compliance, then what else is it? Is it another one of your ploys to get him into a false sense of security (who else would you have learned that one from other than the likes of him)?

No, you aren’t that cunning. You are smart, yes. But not that cunning.

“Sweetheart,” he finally drawls, tucking his fingers under your chin and still having his eyes bore into your beautiful doe eyes as you wait for his instructions. “What’s the matter?”

Your eyes widen for a brief second. “Nothing’s wrong, Suguru.”

His eyes narrow.

And you finally sigh.

Exhaustion. Yes, of course there is some of that in you-- in fact, it’s a given-- but that doesn’t explain everything.

“I still don’t understand why I’m here,” you admit in a murmur, lips wobbling.

“Why?” he parrots, in a tone of utter disbelief (but at the same time he expected something like this), before pulling you into an embrace, while petting your hair. “Because you’re mine. Something as perfect as you doesn’t need to live in a world like that out there. With me, you’re safe from the things that make you miserable.”

“But you did make me miserable.”

“Did?” So… not anymore, is that what you mean? He dares to cling onto his own foolish hope.

But he’s a man with hopes and dreams too, and his hopes and dreams include a future where you could possibly return his love.

“Now I don’t know,” you reply, digging your face into his chest, and this time he’s the one sighing, more in happiness, like this is going to be something he’ll get to gloat about because you rarely return any of his kinder gestures. “But it’s not completely atrocious. I guess.”

Geto can’t fight the snort in response. “Not completely atrocious. Fine. I’ll take what you’ll give me. Even if they’re the tiniest breadcrumbs. As long as I get to call you mine.”

An adorable yelp leaves your lips as he carries you to the bed, resting you on your back. Kissing you on the crown of your head while he climbs into the bed with you. Trailing more kisses across your face, down your neck…

“Suguru, that… wasn’t an invitation to--!”

“--I know,” he murmurs into your ear, “We don’t have to go further than this, but I want you. All of you.”

“You can’t,” you resist, but it’s futile. Utterly. And it’s not for a reason either of you completely hate.

“But I can, and I already have. That’s the look in your eyes, sweetheart,” he growls, “Acceptance. You know there is no other world where you aren’t mine, don’t you?”

You freeze, face paling in horror as the words echo through the chamber in your head, and he can’t fight back the smirk twitching on his lips.

He’s finally caught you. He’s caught you, tossing the bait and you fell for it. You’re his. Completely his. Forever.

“Mine,” he growls into your ear again, and before you realize what’s happening yourself, your is discarded along with his, flung somewhere carelessly across the room as he trails heated kisses down your chest and stomach. “Tell me, sweetheart.”

“N-no,” you protest in a weak tone and your response is a harsh smack to your cunt. “Ah!”

“Tell me you’re mine,” his breath fans against your cunt, already slick with your delicious arousal that Geto can’t wait to feast on, and he can see you’re still fighting it, the idea that some part of you truly enjoys what he does to you. He watches as you clench down hard on your teeth, fighting off the little whimpers and whines from his little feathery touches that are enough to send you over a dangerous edge.

Geto knows every little thing about you that gets you going whether you knew about that yourself or not.

“I’m not yours!” you shout, but all it sounds like to his ears is just you lying louder. Not at all convincing.

SMACK!

He hates the sting of being lied to, especially when he’s caught you deep in one big lie already. What’s the use of denying the truth?

But he keeps asking you the same question, because he already knows and just wants to rub salt in that damn wound, and you keep firing back with complete and utter denial. And each declaration of denial earns you another harsh smack to your pussy and more and more of your intimate fluid gushes out from your cute little hole, already clenching around nothing, desperate to be filled up and fucked and used.

“Suguru please!” you beg, tears welling in the corners of your eyes. “It hurts!”

“Hurts?” he fires back, tone mocking and with a deep scowl, tip of his nose just barely catching in your folds, making your thighs twitch from the contact. “What hurts is you keep fucking teasing me. You keep lying to me when it’s written all over your face. You know you’re mine.”

The air grows thick and heady. Geto tries to find his sense of tranquility but at the moment he’s plagued by his own doubts about how you feel about him. He knows he’s right, but you aren’t submitting like he’d always hoped you would.

“But maybe I got a little ahead of myself,” he goes on, spitting into your pussy and making your body shake. “Maybe I should have known it was too good to be true, that you would love me back. I have feelings too, sweetheart but you keep toying with my goddamn heart.”

Finally his mouth descends on your pussy, sucking in your folds with loud and audible slurping noises. Noises that makes you want to bury your head into the pillow in shame because you can’t fight off the onslaught of unbecoming moans and cries. Geto does know how to make you feel good, how to make your body bend to his will but if only he could your heart and mind, then he’d hit the whole trifecta.

Then he finally fucking wins but you just won’t allow him that luxury.

Respectable? Yes. But undeniably annoying?

Absolutely.

“Suguru… please, I’m gonna…” you cry, bucking your hips into his mouth, continuing to chase that high that keeps mounting, and mounting, and mounting… and you’re almost there.

But then it stops.

Vision blurry from the mess of tears, confused eyes search for his, and he’s pulled his mouth off of you.

“No,” he decides, while licking your intimate juices still shining on his face and lips. “I was wrong. You haven’t been good enough to come.”

“But Suguru,” you croak, “Please, I…”

“No. Until you can tell me what I long to hear, you don’t get to come.”

It’s not over.

His fingers find your clit, beginning to rub hard circles around it until you find yourself going higher and higher again.

And as soon as you’re about to hit that peak, he asks you, again: “You’re mine, aren’t you, sweetheart?”

Unable to deny it, you shout, “Y-yes, y-y-yours, Suguru! I’m yours! Ah!”

You clench tight around his fingers, coming hard. Gushing more and more of your fluids which delights Geto to no end. He brings his soaked hand up to his lips, sucking off more of you, as a way to commemorate his perfect victory.

Well, he may have been academically bright, but that ultimately was his only saving grace. He was not known to be the one with the brightest ideas whatsoever. Even he could acknowledge that about himself, and his best friend Geto often commended him for such self-awareness because most people lacked such a thing.

Right. Anyway, it started with him sneaking an upskirt photo of you while waltzing down the same hallway to the exact same class. Yeah, that was his first absolutely brilliant idea and he made sure he was absolutely caught in the act.

Class wasn’t for another, like, ten or so minutes, so at the sound of the phone camera whirring you whipped around, glaring down at the shaggy white haired man with a boyish smirk on his face as he waved his phone with his freshly caught photo of you.

“Pardon me but I just couldn’t pass up this golden opportunity,” he answered like he wasn’t about to get his ass beat or his face smacked—and oh god he hoped you would do both—but instead of you cussing him out or anything else, you merely flared your nostrils and glared down at him like he was the scum of the Earth (he was he could admit that and this was the whole fucking point of him doing this).

“If that’s the only way you can get yourself off, then I feel really sorry for losers like you,” you spat, and you actually spat in his face, something he didn’t even bother wiping off because holy motherfucking SHIT you were talking to him. You were actually talking to him and he was absolutely giddy from the inside out!!! “Keep the photo, it’s not like you aren’t the first guy who attempted that with me.”

With that, you turned on your heel and stormed off into the lecture room, leaving behind Gojo with his jaw hung open. He couldn’t believe what he just heard. Actually, wait, of course he could believe it, most men were classless asshats and he was no exception to that fact, but now he wanted to hunt down and murder any other man who thought that was a bright idea so you wouldn’t have to worry about something like that ever again.

It didn’t take him that long. With looks like his and him practically being made of money, he got the names. He hunted them down. Blackmailed each and every one of them and they not only deleted those files of you, they paid you, just about the same amount of money it took him to even get those names. You weren’t sure how this happened, and you didn’t know what to make of the fact that that was more men than you (or even Gojo) expected to pull off shit like that, but at least that was one less concern for you. You could go back to focusing on your goals.

But he wanted to find another way to attract your attention. It was still assholey but it was better than being straight up ignored.

(He didn’t delete that photo of yours because he wasn’t going to be an asshole and upload it to the web, or something like that. He just wanted it for himself. He still snapped a lot less scandalous photos of you in secret, just you living your life, because you were a work of art. Absolutely beautiful. And he wanted the walls of his apartment to be full of you, a true beauty.)

Maybe he should have thought of a more amicable approach, but Gojo was also never known to be that kind of guy, either. He liked to press on people’s nerves. He liked to see how long it took for them to shatter but as it would appear you were one of the toughest nuts he ever had to crack.

So that meant he may have had to bring out The Big Guns. His extra pair of pincers for when he couldn’t do things the manual way if you will. He always got his way and he never knew how to handle the painful sting of being ignored even when you had every right to ignore his ‘efforts.’

If sneaking scandalous pictures of you wasn’t enough, he resorted to other classics: a classic smack! on your ass every time you passed by him, hard enough that he left a large imprint on your jeans (something he took a little too much pride in, he had to be honest with himself). When you whipped around to glare at him you were met with a dopey grin from him. This only infuriated you for a split nanosecond and then you went right back to your normal day to day activities and that had him absolutely livid and he didn’t know why the absolute fuck nothing he was doing was working yet. Did you really have that much experience in this department? Of course you had, nearly every girl in the world had and he was only an addition to the statistic that ‘maybe it’s not all men but it’s always a man.’

Now he had to up the ante. Maybe this worst idea was fisting himself until he could fill a jumbo ziploc bag of his cum to keep as a surprise for you when you went to your locker after doing your typical gym routine. He might have had a little too much fun with the way you shrieked at the sight of it, begging the nearby custodian to do a thorough disinfection of all of your belongings (especially seeing as there was a little rip on the bag and it seeped into your post-workout clothes, which made the scenario even better) and he was there just listening outside the women’s locker room of the campus gym. He enjoyed every second of it. He hated that he enjoyed every second of how absolutely appalled you were by this turn of events. That had to mean you finally noticed him in some fashion! Or at least you knew it was him because he cackled on his way out of there once everything was taken care of and you were given fresh clothes as a complimentary gift for such an… unfortunate discovery.

But that wasn’t enough, apparently. You still ignored him even after knowing for sure that he was the fucking culprit. You would have your nose always stuck into your notebooks, revising your notes or something and he would try to make a pass at you or make some kind of snide remark and you wouldn’t so much as look him in the eyes.

How absolutely maddening but it just made it hotter somehow too. That you could put him in his place indirectly or directly. And he kind of liked whatever was wrong with that.

The next time you two spoke again in an actual human conversation and not just in passing was during a lunch hour and he cut in front of you in line for coffee.

“What the fuck!?” you grumbled, “I was here before you!”

“I can see that,” he retorted as he gave you a once-over. You were in your casual “What did you want to order?”

He soaked up every moment you rebooted in real time.

“…Wha?” you were still trying to process what was happening right then but this was also the only time he ever spoke to you like you were a person and not just the object of everything he ever desired (why couldn’t two things be true at once)?

“I’m treating you to coffee,” he explained, then hastily added: “Don’t say no. Please.”

Ah, finally! He got you right where he wanted you for once. He could tell by the way you were still fuming, pouting while pondering your options. You had very few.

You gritted your teeth. “A white mocha with three pumps of sugar free syrup and almond milk.”

“Got it,” Gojo tried to avoid grimacing at such a boring drink. “Seriously, if you’re going to have coffee which is only the best drink ever and at a place like this, let loose a little bit!”

“Excuse you but some of us have goals and aren’t genetically blessed like you happen to be,” you retorted while crossing your arms. All the while Gojo tried to contain the excitement that in some weird way you did compliment him on his physique. “And I just want to be mindful of how I eat! That 6kg weight gain is no joke you know.”

“Alright, alright, fair,” he ordered your coffees and brought yours back for you. “So you know me, right? We’re in—!”

“—Quantum Physics together, yeah, yeah, I know who you are,” you huffed as you idly sipped on your cup. “Everyone knows who you are around here. Pretty sure you’re used to that.”

Well, he couldn’t exactly argue with that logic, he thought in his head while sipping on his overly sugary sweet salted caramel latte.

“Damn, you can drink it straight out piping hot like that?” he inquired in awe, he actually had to take his time to blow the steam wafting out of the sipping hole.

“Well yeah, this is the only time the flavor’s the strongest,” you responded while perking an eyebrow. Yeah, for an asshole he could be kind of weak in some ways… god forbid he was human. “What, you like your coffee lukewarm or something? Eugh! Sorry, but coffee’s either good iced or piping hot. No in between.”

“Nah, ‘course not, I like hot coffee too, but not so hot it’ll burn my tongue off or something… you must be made of steel,” he laughed while taking another experimental sip, deciding this was an okay enough temperature. “Anyways, I kind of got curious and peeped your latest exam grade when we got them handed back today… yikes. Y’need any help, or…?”

“…I think I’ll get by just fine,” you replied, ushering him to move out of the way as other students poured into the cafe. “You probably charge way too much for your services anyway.”

“It’s free.”

“…Huh?”

“Like, my tutoring services are free!” he babbled on, “I don’t really need to be making extra money. And we’re all here for the same reason, right?”

Please say yes PLEASE say yes PLEASE say yes—

“—you think I haven’t forgotten you taking that picture of me? That was my first impression of you. The last thing I need is to be in debt to someone who violated my privacy.”

Oh. Oh. Right. He never apologized for that, didn’t he? Then again, he had hoped you would have forgotten about that since that happened to you enough times already beforehand (which he was still angry about learning even after giving you the justice you so rightfully deserved).

“I’m afraid I don’t recall such an incident,” he decided to go with lying straight through his teeth and by the adorable way your eyes twitched at his denial, he took that ball and ran with it: “So maybe we can help each other out in the sense that, uh, maybe you could… remind me what happened that day? That way we both get something out of it. Besides, I have plenty more for you where that came from.”

Why the fuck was he digging his own grave? He might have really wanted to get his ass kicked, but if that meant it was by you and you actually gave him the time of day, that was everything to him.

For whatever reason, your resolve caved and you sucked up your pride in favor of focusing on what was better for you, and that was improving those nasty exam scores. Okay maybe they weren’t all that bad but by his standards and by the amount of limitless potential you clearly displayed? Atrocious. You deserved phenomenal things.

The first tutoring session, he invited you over. You swung your backpack into the chair next to you at his dining table and he joined you.

“Damn, don’t I even get a hello, and/or a thank you, Gojo, for taking the time out of your day to help me study and I don’t even have to pay a damn cent!”

“You said this service was for free,” you reminded him, pulling out your meticulously organized folders for your shared classes. “And we still have to address the elephant in the room. What did you mean by you had more where that came from? How long have you actually been stalking me, you fucking weirdo?”

Oh fuck, he hoped you kept talking to him like that. No one ever talked to him like that.

“I might have done you a few favors since our last few encounters,” he confessed, “But nothing that you have to worry your pretty little head about! Let’s just say I made sure no one else gave you any trouble ever again.”

“The fuck is that supposed to mean? You don’t need to be all vague and cryptic! Just say whatever the fuck you wanted to say and then let’s get started. I’m not here to get buddy buddy with someone who clearly lacks social skills. What kind of asshole takes upskirt pictures of random girls for no other reason than to be a creep? Why the fuck did you smack my ass so many times? We never even interacted,” you rambled, while Gojo fell silent, allowing your disgust to really sink in but all it did was make him become an even bigger sip for you. “What else have you done? Oh yeah, the bag of semen in my locker. That was fucking nasty. I had to get one of the custodians to do away with that and I still felt bad that they even had to bear witness to it.”

“Yeah,” he licked his lips, “Keep going. What other grievances about me did you want to air out?”

He didn’t now why you kept going unless there was some twisted part of you that liked the attention he was giving (he knew he was going off wishful thinking and pure delusion), but you decided to give him what he wanted, laying everything out on the table for him and he did everything he could in that moment to keep himself composed.

Except Satoru Gojo knew what he was good at just as well as what he actually was spectacularly awful at, and one of those things he was spectacularly awful at was keeping his fucking composure.

“I felt the amount of times you tried to push yourself into my ass when leaving class,” you added, “And that wasn’t cute. My friend Shoko knows you and she kept asking me whether we actually knew each other and we didn’t before you cut me in line that day.”

“Ohhh, so that’s why Shoko kept giving me death glares during our hangouts lately,” Gojo commented while stroking his chin. “She was more concerned with Suguru anyways and was hardly talking to me.”

You didn’t know who Suguru was, it looked like from the blank expression on your face (or you were just tuning him out, that was just as likely, because he came equipped with this unfortunate side effect of being insanely attractive until he opened his blabbermouth) and instead of reacting, you pointed to some of the topics from the lectures that week.

“So let’s review the material that cost me the last exam,” you went on, and as you babbled, Gojo’s mind ran far away somewhere else. He already enjoyed getting to be so close to you! He wondered how many other ways he could leverage this. While he did say his services were for free, that didn’t mean he stilll didn’t want payment in other forms… there was no rule saying no, right?

At that point Gojo knew his grin spread so wide it connected to his ears and he would be embarrassed about if not for the fact that there was actually nothing he found embarrassing about his clear attraction to you.

It was probably more than attraction though at this point. How long had it been now? They were already nearly finished with junior year and he had been pining for the last like seven months now.

“Excuse me, uh, Earth has been trying to contact Gojo for the last five minutes. Do you copy?” your voice drew him out of whatever daze he was in because he was too busy watching your lips move rather than listening to what you were actually telling him or asking him about, which he totally would not apologize for either because at least it was your lips and not your gorgeous tits.

But now that he mentioned them, his eyes ventured lower—

“—Eyes up here, Gojo,” you grumbled, fighting off the urge to roll your eyes. “You seriously don’t think without your dick involved, huh?”

“Nope,” he admitted, not an ounce of shame from that tone.

“Maybe we need to do something about it,” you said out of nowhere. Either his ears were deceiving him, or you propositioned him… did you proposition him or was he still stuck in his maladaptive daydreaming?

“Well?”

“Uhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh,” he trailed off, trying to find wherever the hell his brain went in this scenario but who was to say you even needed your brain when you just offered him an outlet?

“I’ll let you blow off some steam,” you went on in a sweet, honeyed tone as you waltzed over to his side of the table, resting a palm to his chest, where his beating heart gave more away than he wanted. “But under my rules.”

You shoved him away from the table, leaving a gap large enough for you to get in between and to dig your knee into his crotch while your other leg snaked up over his shoulder. He groaned, his hands flying to grab generous fistfuls of your ass, and you reprimanded him (or rewarded him?) by digging your knee deeper against his cock which already became rock hard. You probably found that pathetic and he couldn’t get enough of the fact.

“Fuck, please, pleasepleaseplease let me fuck you,” Gojo pleaded, “Please.”

You shushed him with a feathery light peck to his lips and he whined through it. Tame him like the brat he was, he would do more than just be a fucking brat if it meant you paid attention to him.

“How far would you go just to touch my pussy?” you murmured against his lips before nipping his lower lip. He whimpered, actually fucking whimpered and Satoru Gojo did not fucking whimper, but you seemed to be the exception rather than the rule for him.

“Anything,” he replied, voice dripping in lust. “Anything at all.”

He didn’t mind that at all. Welcomed the idea with open arms. He liked the idea of someone whipping him into proper shape. He never received that kind of conditioning anywhere else.

Your lips locked again and the two of you nearly tipped over the chair he was still seated in until Gojo thought quick enough to hoist you up and travel to the couch, where he lay his back on while he continued to fill your mouth full of his tongue. He sought every crevice, every nook and cranny, desperate to be drenched in you (and he definitely would soon in more ways than one). He refused to break the kiss, and he got a little too into your little whiny protests and—

“—holy fuck did you just step on my dick?” he gasped and his eyes fell to the heel of your foot doing just that, adding more pressure to his already oversensitive cock and the dull ache that was beginning to surge through his body but oddly enough he found himself enjoying that a little too much. He seemed to be learning something new every second more he was spending time with you.

“This contact is already more than what you deserve for everything you’ve done,” you retorted, “You said you would do anything to even touch my pussy, right?”

Wow, you were really hitting him where he was really weak.

“Yes,” he breathed, eyes darkening as he began to embrace that pain slowly mounting into pleasure. “Anything.”

“Then this is how you’ll come, Gojo,” you replied, freeing his cock from his pants and cupping his shaft between your heels. “I’m already giving you more than you deserve.” You went on as you walked a pair of your fingers along his pecs, making him groan again and nearly throw his head back. “So take what you want. I’m letting you.”

Through verbalizing far too many whimpers and cries Gojo did as he was told like an obedient little boy, bucking his hips and fucking his cock between the soft moisturized heels of your feet. His vision became as white as his shock white hair after pumping long enough that he drenched his arousal all over your feet, and you didn’t even make a face, only grinning into his neck as he took what he longed for and didn’t even stop after one orgasm like the greedy little fuck he was. You didn’t protest, and unfortunately for you, he had plenty to give you. He would give you everything if you let him.

And then some.

He wrung another. And another. But rather than keep going, he paused, cupping your face and saying, “I’ll clean you right up. Sit and relax, will ya?”

“Oh,” you replied while hiding your mischievous smile behind your hand. “But did I tell you that you could?”

“Can I clean you up, baby?” he asked again, in a more softer, reverent tone. “I’ll make sure I’ll take care of every last drop.”

You pretended to ponder over your decision, your eyes rolling upward before he shifted positions, having you sitting and relaxing like he gently requested of you earlier. He took his time with each toe on either of your feet, locking eyes with you the entire time as you tried to keep up that ‘stern dominitrix’ persona. Which clearly at this point, you were failing to maintain that character. To be fair, he knew you didn’t have that kind of personality in you, not really, but he was willing to let you have the controls here.

But now you were the one trying to keep from begging him for something. That was what he was waiting for as he finished his job and might he just admit to himself that he did an immaculate job while inspecting his handiwork because by the end of it you were already keening, spreading your legs, trying to crawl away from him but he kept you locked in place. He did say he was going to take care of every single last drop of his mess and h meant every word of that.

“Did I finally earn the right to touch your pussy, baby?” he purred with his eyes cloudy from lust and affection, leaning in toward your crotch. He could already smell your wetness, that natural musk of yours so dizzying and he wanted a taste. Just a taste would be enough for now, if that was all you would allow him for today. He could always work his way up to more. He could always come crawling back because he decided this was what he wanted waiting for him every single damn day for the rest of his fucking life already.

“Please,” you whispered, the spoken permission barely audible but he already had you being the one to beg! And unable to contain his eagerness, he dove between your legs and yanked off your shorts, revealing that little patch of dampness on the cotton of your sheer pink panties and drool began to dribble down the corner of his mouth.

“Fuck, you have no idea how long I’ve been waiting for this,” he grunted as he leaned in to inhale more of your natural musky scent.

“Really? You think all those times you weren’t trying too hard to get my attention weren’t obvious tells you wanted me soooo bad?” you taunted back, “I think subtlety isn’t your strong suit…”

“Heh, you’re right baby, it isn’t…” he found himself agreeing, smothering your thighs with slobbery smooching before returning to the real matter at hand: taking care of you. In his own unique way. He was getting a reward he clearly didn’t deserve; he may as well take his time milking every little bit of this. The pads of his fingers rubbed the dampness in little circular motions, his sky blue eyes examining your reactions. Already wriggling in your spot, he decided not to tease you for too long, ripping off the fabric which earned a harsh scolding out of you about how you didn’t have any spares.

“Don’t worry,” he laughed, “I’ll let you borrow one of mine and we’re even, alright?”

“Not sure how I’ll feel wearing boys’ boxers…”

“They’re honestly really comfortable.”

“So I’ve heard.”

Laughing again, he resumed his task, enjoying the view of your pretty pussy already sopping wet for him and he barely started. His fingers lightly tapped against your engorged clit, making you inhale sharply from the raw contact and he purred at you to relax.

“I got you,” he promised, his fingers continuing in slow circular motions. “Just leave it all to me, gorgeous.”

He noted the way your cheeks dusted pink from that. You might deny how much you liked being praised, but he wasn’t going to ignore the fact. Before long, you were more than squirming beneath his heated gaze and dexterous fingers working that little swollen bundle of nerves and he relished in your little cries and pleas after you tried so hard to take back some control over the situation. As if to rub more salt into the wound (in, uh, a pleasurable way?) his tongue entered the picture, lapping between your folds in tandem with his fingers which had you thrashing about and he coaxed you with a gentle squeeze on your hip with his unoccupied hand.

“Fuck,” he groaned, lapping at your pussy like he thirsted for you and the only way to quench that thirst was with your raw natural taste. “So good. So fucking good.”

“Gojo…”

“Nu uh uh,” he tutted, “My name, baby. Say it.”

“Satoru please,” you gasped, “Close.”

“Yeah?” he taunted, “Come in my mouth, baby. Give it to me.”

He closed his mouth over your twitching hole and the dam broke. Your arousal trickled into his mouth with a sort of lewd elegance and he took every last drop like this was the only way to sate his desires and this was far from over. The craziest part of all of this was he hadn’t even unleashed his full beast yet and he wasn’t sure if you were ready to experience it. That might be something he would have to ease you into by how putty into his hands (or into his mouth) you already were…

“Fuck,” he said again, still tasting the remnants of you on his tongue and refusing to let it die. He needed more. He needed you. He sucked off whatever more he could from his fingers like you were a delicacy and there was no contest that you were the cream of the crop. Much like him, actually. That was why he thought you were the perfect match for him. Quite frankly you were the only one who was a match for him.

“Do I get to do more than just touch your pussy, baby?” he asked after a period of catching his breath and allowing you to come down from riding that high. “Though, I kind of already did, huh?”

“Y-you can,” you managed, breathless, clearly, but of course you were, it was him who was doing this to you and he outperformed the majority of men in this department. You were lucky enough to be on the receiving end for as long as this went, and if he could help it, this was going to last for the rest of your lives. Call it jumping the gun too soon or whatever you want, but he knew who or what he wanted.

And he always got what he wanted.

Case in point.

He was already lining up his veiny, desperate cock, already twitching with need and you could feel it ghosting the rim of your hole.

“Don’t tease me,” you pouted, “You already do that too much!”

Without further preamble, he pushed himself in with another grunt, eyes rolling back as he was hit by overwhelm at how easily your pussy sucked him in, like you were the perfect sleeve and he was hellbent on wearing you on him for the rest of his life.

He really meant that.

He held his tongue, figuratively speaking of course. He was lucky that he was already inside you, he was lucky that he even got to be inside you, and he locked his gaze onto yours as your nose scrunched from the intrusion. Your body reacted far too readily at even the slightest touch.

His thrusts were easy, almost painfully gentle, as he was ah hem rather large and comparatively so to the rest of his peers and he definitely didn’t let that get to his head, no not at all! Definitely not by the way he rested his forehead against yours and barely seemed like he was doing most of the heavy lifting here when he clearly was. Your eyebrows furrowed as you studied him and he took in the little details. The little mole you had. The way you fluttered your eyes shut as another moan stroked your pretty lips that he wanted to kiss again, so he did, brushing his against yours while murmuring how gorgeous you were like this.

“You do look so much better when you aren’t on the defensive,” he teased with a little grin as he jerked his hips suddenly which had you clinging to him for support. Fuck he loved every minute of that.

“Maybe I wouldn’t have to be on the defensive so much if you weren’t such a fucking shitshow at getting a girl’s attention,” you shot back but you were smiling so he knew you were just spewing shit out of your ass. He cackled, that gradual pace soon melding into a faster and sharper one, his hips snapping with each rhythmic thrust and your body pulsated in real time. Your whole body convulsed as you clung to him for dear life, wrapping yourself around him, whimpering, suddenly the dam broke again and you were spilling yourself all over his cock which was still fucking into you at a more ruthless pace.

“That’s it. Let go for me, Princess. I swear you’re still using your head too much even when I’m trying to fuck the brains out of you,” he chuckled with a soft peck to your forehead. “Got to turn that brain off sometimes or you’re going to lose your mind. I’ve witnessed that firsthand with some people I really care about you know? Don’t want that to happen to you too, so let’s see what we can do about putting your worries aside so I can take care of you, yeah?”

“I… why are you being so weirdly sweet to me right now?”

“I don’t know. Probably ‘cause I got the entirety of my cock inside of you and it’s rewiring my brain chemistry Neuroplasticity and all,” he quipped.

You whacked his shoulder and groaned. “So fucking corny. I don’t know why or how someone as cool as Shoko hangs out with a guy like you.”

“Come on, I literally am giving you orgasms and you’re already talking about my clearly way cooler friends?”

“Well duh, it’s just something I can’t wrap my head around! That Geto guy, I can understand because he’s just you but somehow more civilized and actually has a filter, but Shoko I just can’t figure out.”

“Like I said, baby, you are using your head way too much when there should be no reality involved while I am literally. inside of you.”

“Yeah, still can’t believe you are, can’t you? Which is why you keep bringing it up,” you retaliated as that dusty pink flush on your cheeks deepened to an almost unnatural degree. So. Fucking. Cute.

“Nope,” he replied with another one of his dopey grins before poking your nose. “Now shut your gorgeous little mouth and let me get a few more out of you, and then maybe we can discuss the logistics or the lack thereof on how I’m friends with the people you think are way cooler than me.”

“It will forever remain a mystery,” you clapped back as you leaned in and kissed him again, all the while he was still working himself inside of you and holding himself together because maybe he was preventing himself from coming for a bit so you could have your fill. He was a generous man after all. So, so generous.

“Because you have yet to apologize for all of that weirdness from before,” you muttered into his lips. “And yet I’m letting you fuck me.”

Gojo scoffed, whispering into your ear before kissing it: “Have you ever considered that you just might be a little into it?”

“Thought you wanted to fuck the brains out of me because I’m still thinking too hard.”

“Oh! That’s right,” he replied with an especially sharp jerk of his hips and getting your spot just right, wringing another orgasm out of you. Your lips found each other again and he definitely didn’t have a watch around, uncaring that by the time he was through with you, all feeling was lost in your hips and legs and he still wanted more out of this.

“Sorry we couldn’t get anything… uh, done today,” he confessed while rubbing the back of his head, helping you into a fresh set of clothes. His. His expensive ass white button up that seemed to suit you way better than it did him somehow and a pair of oversized shorts. You were kind of drowning in his clothes which he found insanely cute and totally photographable but he already had way too big of a shrine of you in his room which he had yet to take down. Maybe you would be into that though. He already kind of really worshiped you… never mind his unique way of expressing such worship.

“I’d say this session turned out better than expected,” you snarked, hiding your hands into his sleeves. Your face was still deeply flushed and your hair clung to your forehead, damp from sweat. Gojo found himself licking his lips again.

God, you were beautiful.

“I’m glad you think so,” he finally said after clearing his throat. “Same time tomorrow? And uhhh, maybe a proper date? Let you know the deets later?”

“Still throwing a little tantrum?” Darkness is laden in that tone. Sharp, like the thornes on a vine.

This isn’t going to end well for you. It never does, no matter what you do, and yet you persist.

So you still give him no response.

“Come on, Princess!” Gojo sighs in exasperation, leaning back on his chair. “How much longer are we going to be on this? We can put this all behind us after we clean up and head to bed. I’ll even tone it down a notch. Haven’t I been doing okay with that? How does that sound?”

You still don’t speak, eyes glued to your untouched plate, balled fists digging into your lap.

The chair makes a creaking noise as he pushes it back, sauntering over to your end of the dining table. Those stunning pair of blue eyes bear into you with an ominous, hazy glow as his expression remains stern and hard. Satoru doesn’t have a lot of patience; that’s the first thing you figure out about him when he first took you in like you’re some stray cat in an alley way, digging for food in the trash bins. He thinks a girl like you isn’t fit to be on her own. You can barely hold your own and he’s watched you for longer than you probably assume. You’re too frail, far too naive, and you trust too easily which is what got you in his clutches so soon.

He thinks you’re pathetic. A weak little thing that doesn’t need to be hurting herself out there.

He thinks you’re perfect. He likes you just that way, and you don’t have to change it. Because now he’s here, the strongest man alive or so he claims he is. You don’t know if you believe that. You don’t even know what he does for a living, not really. He claims he teaches high school but that doesn’t seem all that likely.

“You know I ordered that special for you,” he jabs his finger to the plate of untouched food. Your favorite. It’s from one of the most famous restaurants in the world at that, and he can get it all without caring how much he’s spent either because he’s made of money. “And it’s going to waste if you don’t eat it while it’s still perfectly fresh. Here.”

He picks up a helping of the meal with a fork and brings it to your lips. “Say ‘aaah!”

You surrender, for now. Opening your jaw. Accepting the bite. Chewing on it slowly but surely, anything to prolong this small bit of reprieve before he makes you endure whatever else he has planned for you tonight. Ignoring how your tastebuds practically sing praises of how the meal bursts with flavor in just that one bite. Ignoring how, in his own, unique way, this is how he tries to be courteous. He doesn’t know how to do much of anything when it comes to matters of the heart or mind. It’s like he’s stuck in his own bubble most of the time and doesn’t even understand how even a fraction of what he does to you affects you.

You don’t think it’s truly malice. No.

It’s just pure ignorance.

“Ya see?” Gojo grins, now gesturing you to help yourself. “Finish up! Can’t have you starving yourself here. The whole point of this is to make sure you don’t hurt yourself, pretty girl.”

“Okay, Satoru,” you finally say as you do as you’re told. His whole face brightens upon hearing you speak again-- you have been able to keep this up for a whole two weeks, a whole new record for you-- and presses a kiss to your temple.

“A way to a person’s heart is through their stomach,” Gojo chuckles into your skin, eyes dipping to the deep purple bruises speckled on your exposed chest and shoulders. “I didn’t think the punishment you had last time was that bad, but eh… I guess I overestimated how much you can handle. That’s a misjudgment of mine we can put behind us, right?”

You wince. The way this guy wants to avoid any kind of accountability is part of the reason for this small rebellion in the first place. Not that there is much you can do either way. He doesn’t even seem to register your refusals or anything else, like anything he doesn’t want to acknowledge goes through some magical filter and he just wants to perceive what he believes is the truth.

All this is for Satoru is a minor nuisance while for you it’s the point of no return. The pain in your body still ebbs and flows from something sharp and searing radiating throughout to fading to a dull ache.

He almost dislocates your jaw that time, too, which he hasn’t apologized for, either. You find yourself doing periodic checks to make sure everything is still in alignment.

He’s thinking shit like this-- like buying you your favorite dinner or your favorite clothes or other material things-- is going to help smooth things over. He doesn’t want to confront his problems, and that includes with you.

But you suppose things can get so much worse, and he’s probably thinking he’s going as easy on you as he claims he is, but who knows? That doesn’t mean it’s actually the truth. It means his threshold for what’s going easy is obviously much different than yours.

And that might only verify his initial thought about you: you’re not fit for the world out there and you can’t even handle when he gets a little rough with you. Or whatever other fucked up revelations he might have because he can only think of the world through his bubble and not anyone else’s. He can’t put himself in anyone else’s shoes. He doesn’t know how. It’s almost like you’re engaging with someone whose maturity hasn’t evolved past their demon toddler stages.

Which… might explain a lot of things, about Satoru. From what you can gather, he’s the kind of guy who’s had everything handed to him from the start. He doesn’t know about a world where he doesn’t get what he wants, and so when he’s presented a reality where that is possible, he tries to take back some kind of control. To give himself something familiar again.

All he desires is what any other person desires. A semblance of control.

Something you both have in common, you dare say.

After you clean up for the night, a thought crosses your mind. It’s better than any other plan you have attempted to carry out. Trying to escape several times doesn’t work. That should be obvious in retrospect. There’s nowhere you can go or hide, with someone as intelligent as Satoru on your tail. There’s nothing you can do, when he has all the money in the world to bail himself out of jail should he ever cross paths with the legal system. He says there’s no one in the world that can stop him from doing whatever he wants, and you seem to believe it. He’s convincing. The things he has done to you, and has continued to do to you, is evident enough. The fact that he’s so secretive about what he really does is also, evident enough, that he has to be the big shot he claims he is to you.

But he has to have a blindspot somewhere. Everyone does.

But you have to remember that he has been able to back up each and every single one of his claims so far.

Satoru leans back onto the headboard of the bed, patting the vacant spot next to him with that stupid grin still plastered on his face.

“I’m glad that stupid tantrum you were throwing is over,” Gojo teases as you slip into the bed, under the covers with him. He springs his cock free from his boxers, thick and veiny and already hard and swollen, and he takes his free hand to guide one of yours to it.

Well, if this is his idea of going easy on you…

He sighs happily as your hand begins to work him from the shaft, your manicured fingertips lightly brushing the sensitive skin. His dick is already twitching from your treatment; clearly he’s been needing any kind of friction since he’s gotten home today and at the very least while he’s still trying to get his pleasure he’s come to a place where he can see that you’re still too damn fragile.

“I know I’m tough on you, pretty girl, but it’s only out of love,” he babbles on while you try to focus on your only truly important task and that’s bringing him the relief he’s been craving. “I just want you to have thicker skin too but you’re just so fuckin’… weak. Like you’re just too sweet and pretty… so easy to take advantage of by any common guy. It’s sad. You don’t need to be weak, you know? Now that you have me to whip ya into shape.”

You flinch again, that sharp pain radiating through your body again as if on cue from that trigger word.

One of his hands slides down your back to cup the entirety of your ass, squeezing hard and making you whine because those bruises are still quite painful too like the ones on the rest of your body.

“There are going to be people who treat you way worse than I ever could,” he goes on through a moan as you squeeze the tip of his cock, lapping at the stream of pre-cum dripping from the slit. “I just want you to be prepared for stuff like that and… you should be happy that I took such an interest in you like that because… I don’t really have an obligation or anything like that toward you. It’s all out of pure… fuck yeah, baby, that’s it, good girl,” he babbles more praises as you lightly suckle the tip, you don’t try to deepthroat him because that’s not in the cards for you right now and he’s even acknowledging that.

He spills his load into your mouth, onto your waiting tongue, and some splatters on the corners of your lips. You whimper a little as you force yourself to swallow it all like he usually expects, and then his free hand wipes the excess off of your face.

“What I do for you is because I love you,” Gojo goes on, “It’s not because I want you to be afraid of me. I mean, fuck, if it’s not me there to teach you a lesson, think about what some other sick fuck could do and without any true regard to how you’ll handle it! Does that not scare you even more? It’s good, to have a guy like me on your side. I can override any system. Hell, I can prepare you to handle anything life throws at ya because life is unfair and it will test you in every single way possible.”

No kidding, you think to yourself, and instead of responding with words you simply nod along until he stops talking.

The guy really can talk way too much though. You have to admit that. It gets difficult trying to find the attention span to cling onto every word he says and then determine whether to take those words of his at face value or not (the answer is always not to). You do find yourself tuning him out which can only result in more trouble for you. There’s not many places you have a lot of freedom in this department. You’re still trying to claw your way out the same way he claws his way into you, into claiming everything about you for himself.

“I can see why that makes sense to you, Satoru,” you answer, avoiding his eyes. They always feel like they’re staring right through you rather than right at you. “But that doesn’t change the impact on what you did to me. It hurts. Everywhere fucking hurts. You didn’t even try to offer some healing ointment, or any kind of reassurance.”

He frowns. “Oh. Is that all you wanted? Why not just say so? I can give you that and then some, Princess.”

“Maybe I wanted that at the time when it happened,” you continue, “Or the time before that, or the time even before that, but you never show concern at the most crucial times. It doesn’t matter if you do now.”

“I didn’t know that was how you felt,” he replies, scratching his head, “Honestly at first I thought this whole silent treatment thing was you accepting that what you did wronged me and you didn’t want to cross me again or something, so I let it go for a bit. But then it went on for longer than it should have. So I guess I’m the bad guy.”

Yes. Yes, he is. Because these are the kind of conversations you have with a lover you’re having problems with, and that’s the vibe he’s getting from you and you’re going to continue to lean into that vibe if that means he actually fucking listens to you. Even if there’s a small chance of it. Because even if the silent treatment this time has been effective enough, it took Satoru a week to realize what’s really happening and why this might’ve been his fault and not the other way around.

“…And there’s nothing you want to say about that?” Since that’s about as far as it’s going to get for Satoru in terms of self-awareness. It’s still… a step, however tiny.

Gojo grumbles something to himself, a flash of irritation in his eyes.

“I’m sorry for what I did,” he apologizes finally though his tone is something akin to a child caught drawing on the walls. “I just wanted to make you strong. I guess it didn’t work.”

Intentions aren’t relevant in this case. But whatever.

And if you are going to find a way to leverage this, you still have to make him feel like he still has benefits as well.

Though you aren’t sure this is appropriate. Or if this is going to do anything for whatever dignity you have left.

But you’re limited on options.

“I’ll…” you swallow. I don’t want to say it. “I’ll let you fuck me in the bath, if you really mean it, Satoru.”

His face perks up at that. “Really?”

“Really,” you answer.

“Fuck,” he breathes, peppering sloppy kisses around your face. “You’re… the best, Princess. You know that, right?”

No. You want to say as you feel his grip tightening on you.

Ever since that night, they have been working tirelessly to get some spark of your old self out of you again–even just the tiniest glimmer of defiance is enough to get them to hope you would be yourself. But you’re over it. You’re beyond over it, trying to please them or trying not to give them anything they want, but unfortunately, they’re not terribly keen on giving up on you or ever letting you go because they insistthey can never find anyone better than you. You, who has brought some kind of joy in their otherwise risky and honestly draining lives. Even after Geto has apparently defected from wherever he used to work with Gojo, they still meet up from time to time just to care for you. They mean it when they say they’re truly in love with you, enough to even allow one of their classmates in on your location should anything happen to either of them. You remember her name being Shoko or something like that. She’s a doctor, so she can take better care of you if you get hurt and they’re not there, or if you try to hurt yourself, which you won’t try to anyway because something has stopped you before–something you can’t see with your ungifted human eyes.

So, with Geto actually being one of the girls, he orchestrates a ‘girls night’ with the two of you. Gojo’s had to be out on some mission with his students, and that’s something you learn about him recently–that he’s a teacher. So someone as cruel and thoughtless as him actually cares for kids. Looks after them. And none of them might ever know about this side to him, with his boyfriend who plucked you off from the streets after you got yourself into trouble with the wrong group of people. He lures you into another trap, though. And that’s when you learn there’s no one in this world to trust, even if they once saved your life.

He lays out so many products before you, so many different movies to watch from Gojo’s endless list of streaming services that he probably has no idea cost him way too much, but he has so much money to throw away being who he is, enviously so. Geto has even bought you all of your favorite snacks, all of your favorite food.

Everything, anything to just get something out of you, but nothing changes, because nothing. Fucking. Matters.

He does still give you a small makeover. Pore strips, face steamer, a deep pore cleansing mask… you’re surprised he’s putting that much thought and detail into you but then again he’s always been like this. All about the small minute details just as much as he is about the big ones or the big picture. He says you’re perfect, and he wants to make sure you know you’re perfect (but he has a weird way of doing so and that’s certain).

His hands are gentle as he rubs green tea moisturizer into your skin, his eyes staring into yours with a shocking softness to them.

“It would have been great if Satoru could join us, but it’s nice to get time to ourselves like this, hm?” he tries to make conversation while he continues his craft, now moving onto your nails. Manicured perfectly, shaped into perfect almond shapes, a generic French manicure but one that’s going to last you far longer than one you would get at the salon.

After your nails cure, he massages your cuticles with oil before bringing your hands up to his lips, kissing along all your knuckles. It might’ve been a sweet gesture if not for the kind of man he was, if not for everything he’s done. Even if he thinks he might be making the little girl in you happy with these extravagant things, all you wish for is the sweet embrace of freedom. If that means death, then that’s perfectly fine for you.

“I wish you would tell me what’s wrong. Beyond the obvious, of course,” he goes on as he moves onto your hair, sticking a few bobby pins in the corner of his mouth as he brushes through your gorgeous locks that he’s worked very hard to make sure you keep in tiptop shape. “I know this isn’t what you wanted, that we aren’t what you wanted, but that doesn’t mean we can’t try to make you happy.”

You say nothing, turning away. It doesn’t matter, anyway.

“Maybe tomorrow, the three of us could go to a nice restaurant, and you can be around people. You used to like trying out new places, right? I remember you talking about how you would look forward to trying new flavors that were released at any nearby bakeries. We can do that, you know. We can take you wherever you like, just say the word.”

Not a single reaction, and Geto drags out a sigh, finishing off your large braid before circling around the couch and settling beside you.

“What else can we do for you, baby?”

Die.

You almost open your mouth to retort, something smart, something quick, but your mouth shuts as soon as your lips part. You don’t want to give him the satisfaction, but you are growing bored, you have to admit. You are getting more and more tired and drab and no amount of proper skincare and pampering is going to help that you feel like they suck the life force out of you.

Oh, what the Hell?

“You don’t do much of anything,” you say, tone flat. It’s not your usual, melodic, ringing voice that soothes his ears like little symphonies. It’s another red flag. That’s no good. He almost prefers you nonverbal if you can’t speak like you normally do. “All you do is make me sick.”

“We’re trying to help you,” Geto starts, but you raise your hand to stop him. He lets you continue. It’s unusual that he doesn’t try to interrupt again, but he must really be frightened for your wellbeing if he’s willing to hear you out.

“I never wanted either of you in my life. I don’t understand why you took me away from the one I had. Even if it wasn’t much of one, it was still mine.”

“Is that all you want,” he starts, his eyebrows furrowing, “Your life back? Because we can give it to you. We just want to be part of it.”

You shake your head. “I don’t want that. I don’t want you or Gojo in my life. I never did.”

“Even when we can offer you everything? The world, if you asked?” he prods, and you want to scoff at him. He sounds like a little boy a lot of the time, when he’s not threatening you or punishing you for something you didn’t realize was a wrong thing to do.

“I don’t want anything from either of you to begin with,” you tell him, void eyes meeting his and you catch onto something which is a new look for him–that slight bit of desperation but it disappears and melds back into that hard stare of his when he’s trying so damn hard to be the strong one.

“Don’t say that,” he retaliates, his eyes going wide. “You don’t mean that.”

“I mean every word of it. What, do you think I’m actually happy here? Even when I go out, I’m on a short leash because Gojo can know where I am at all times somehow.”

“It’s not all that much of a mystery,” he quips with a sigh. “But I wish you would just tell us what we did wrong this time. We l–!”

“--don’t say it. Don’t,” you interject, “Neither of you know what that is.”

“Of course we do.”

“No, you don’t,” you reply, tone more stern this time and you’re impressed you can keep some strength in your voice. You almost thought you lost it too. He doesn’t miss the chip on your shoulder as his hands reach toward you, cupping your face. Trying to get a read on you as purple eyes scan you from the crown of your head to your chin.

“What can we do to make this better? Because we’re in this deep already, love. The life as you knew it before may not be what you remember. Satoru should be coming home later tonight, but you’ll be asleep by then. We can make some arrangements in the morning, when you’ve cleared your head.”

“My head is plenty clear, and I told you: nothing is going to fix this.”

At this point, you have already worn yourself out trying to reason with someone who is unreasonable. You find yourself reverting into a nonverbal state again as the night passes. With a defeated sigh and a slight roll of his shoulders, Geto picks himself back up and resumes the rest of your pampering. For once, he knows there’s no use in punishing you for speaking your mind, when he’s asked that of you. You don’t thank him for basic decency, of course. He may no longer have his parents to coddle him, but he has to learn that his actions do have consequences and he is going to have to face the repercussions of those.

You don’t let all of that food go to waste, though. Even if for the last few days you have barely scarfed down anything, you do manage to try those bakery sweets Geto bought for your sake. That’s maybe the only thing you share in common with Gojo, and that’s probably why he’s drawn to you in a way. Sweets have always used to give you that dopamine rush (accompanied by that sugar crash hours later), but that’s how you used to reward yourself after a hard day, especially when it comes to facing your own personal demons. Looking back, those ‘personal demons’ of yours seem so silly, seeing what your life has become now. Catering to two men who want to be coddled and pampered and breast fed and praised for being powerful.

Heh… your mom has been right all along. Men really are all the same at their core, aren’t they? If given the choice, they’re going to choose the wrong one, each time, as long as they can benefit from them.

After Geto completes your pampering session, you end the night together with a movie. He doesn’t try to get sensual or sexual with his touches, but is instead more coaxing, or attempting to be, and Gojo arrives home sooner than anticipated, looking like he hasn’t just finished fighting off grade 2 curses with his students because “those are like squashing bugs to him,” he’s explained to you on several of his rants. He never fails to remind you or Geto that he is the best of the best of their kind and he takes a lot of pride in that title.

But he doesn’t have to be the strongest here, because even strong guys like him need a break from it all.

Geto excuses him and Gojo for a moment while you finish the ending scene to the movie.

You don’t care to listen into their conversation. You know it concerns you. When do things ever not concern you?

Still, their voices still carry into the living room, as you sink into the couch, your eyes beginning to flutter shut. The digital clock on top of the television blinking 11:23PM…

“She spoke up, today,” Geto says, “But you’re not going to like what she told me.”

“So then why didn’t she greet me when I got here?” Gojo demands with a huff.

“Because she wore herself out again, I suppose,” Geto grunts, “Baby steps, Satoru. She’s not like us, so we’ll need to be more patient with her.”

“So… what now?”

“I don’t know, but it’s not good. She’s not good. I mean, she's perfect, but she’s… unhappy.”

“Of course she is,” Gojo groans, as he glances down at his large, calloused hands. “I haven’t squeezed her gorgeous tits in hours! Hours!” He clenches them until his knuckles whitened. “I haven’t been able to focus on anything even remotely important and I got an earful from Yaga because of it! I need her. I need her so bad.”

Geto responds with a mirthless laugh, because as much as he empathizes (more like he doesn’t at all and he thinks Gojo is being irrational as usual), they have to tackle the matter at hand with patience and dare he say, kindness and consideration for your needs, too.

“This isn’t about you, Satoru,” he replies, chiding him like an overbearing mother, and it’s more than that–Gojo needs to be tamed like a feral animal around you sometimes because he tends to have an issue with hogging you and keeping you from Geto. Geto has had to pull quite a bit of strings just to get some alone time with you, and look at him, already making some progress in getting through to you again.

“Then what are we supposed to do, huh!? I just want my baby back and so do you. She doesn’t even scream for me anymore, and I miss hearing her. Miss hearing her pussy squeak for me too you know.”

“Baby steps, Satoru,” Geto repeats, like he’s instructing kids about studying for an exam–something Satoru should be doing too but he probably hasn’t actually taught any of his students ‘real’ educational things like math or science, using you as an excuse, and suddenly Getos worried about the future for those very students of his. “Aren’t you going to work on an actual curriculum for those students that don’t involve curses? They’re going to need to know basic things, you know…”

Gojo shrugs, before his eyes flit to you. “Didn’t she used to teach? We could get some ideas from her, maybe?”

Geto sighs. “She’s not even speaking to us. How are you going to get her to work with you on building a basic curriculum?”

“...I mean, if she worked there, then she could get the freedom to stretch her legs a little and maybe she can help me out with Megumi a little. Didn’t she say something about loving to work with kids and things like that? Maybe that could get her spark going. If she had some kind of purpose to her life than just…”

“...than just being a couple of holes for us to fuck, you mean?” Geto winces at his own usage of words. God, he supposes there’s parts of him he can’t completely leave behind. He’s always been the more empathetic between the two of them, he supposes, but for a nonsorcerer like you? He can’t even loop you into the same category of monkeys. He can only see you as an ethereal goddess. Nothing like them. The others. The fools. The notoriously ignorant to how the world keeps running like there aren’t so many things wrong with these various systems… and there’s only so much someone like him can do but he at least is trying to put his best foot forward toward some kind of change. That’s better than doing nothing at all.

His eyes also rest on you, as you pick away at one of the meals he’s bought you. You don’t appear present in the room, even though you clearly are, and you aren’t out of earshot of them so you can hear every word spewing out of their big mouths. 

And even then, you aren’t all that reactive, not even to the idea of going out with them, posing as something other than their girlfriend.

Yes, girlfriend. Not some pet, not some nymphomaniac cockslut you probably think you’ve been reduced to since they took you in from that scary world out there, nothing degrading–Geto genuinely sees you and he wishes you understood that. Gojo may be a bit more on the reckless brute side, but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t love you, either.

“Damn, I knew you were cold, but she’s not just that to us, you know! We love her too!”

“Do we?” Geto sighs, “Because I’m sure she’s never felt that way about either of us.”

Gojo groans. “Are you still on about that? I mean, does it matter? She’s ours, and she can accept it or not, but it doesn’t change that…”

“...That she’s unhappy and she’s going to remain that way with us if we don’t give her some time to actually breathe. So maybe that teaching job could work. I just don’t know how I feel about bringing her out in plain sight, and your students may not be academically bright, but they are when it comes to matters such as these.”

Gojo theatrically gasps and clutches his heart at that accusation. 

“Hey! How do you know they’re not academically bright? Are you profiling my students just because I’m the teacher?”

“...I’ve seen their scores last year compared to Utahime’s students. What the hell are you trying to teach them?”

“...Um…” Gojo trails off, for someone who can be so infuriatingly good at everything het rides to do that all seems to go out the window when it involves speaking to Geto and defending himself any which way. “I don’t know, pi?”

A long, dragged out sigh, and: “They’re in high school, Satoru.”

“And?”

Geto shoots him a pointed look like he should have not made it past his elementary year as himself: “We learn that even before elementary school in our 6-3-3 system.”

Gojo visibly deflates, something he can only do in the presence of Geto as well, apparently, because he doesn't know how to shut off that haughty side to him otherwise. 

“...Oh…”

Geto sighs, but his eyes remain fixed on you. Maybe they really are a couple of brutes, no better than any monkey when it comes to girls.

His gaze softens. God, what the Hell’s wrong with him these days? He shouldn’t feel guilt tugging at his heart strings and pounding in his ears, and yet he is. His gaze flits back to Satoru who’s still pouting down at his hands and fighting the urge to roll his eyes, he strides back over to you. You glance up at him through your lashes as you feel him hovering over you with his impressive height.

“Baby?” he calls to you, in that soft, coaxing tone of his, that you know better than to fall for yet you find yourself compelled to listen to him anyway. Not like you have much of a say on the matter, either way… “How would you feel about, oh, I don’t know… getting out of the house with Satoru more often?”

Your gaze scans the area, fighting back the urge to scoff at what he’d call this place. House? This is some dungeon beneath who knows where. You think somewhere close to Geto’s temple, where you usually stay between these visits. You don’t know where you are, and you have learned a long time ago that it’s better not to ask too many questions on how they put this together. Probably some stuff related to whatever Satoru does, a teacher? A guy like that? A teacher? You guess anyone can be hired for that kind of thing now… and that’s disappointing because you remember how much you had to sacrifice just to get a few damn degrees under your arsenal and then they just go and hire men like Gojo without another thought about their credentials.

(If only you knew how wrong you were about those credentials of his… but then again, you aren’t required to know all that much about whatever it is they do in the first place.)

You set your fork down, your half eaten mug cake later swiped up by Gojo’s greedy hands (since he can’t squeeze your tits, he has to settle on the next best thing, he tells you, which is sweets).

Geto still shoots him another look before he waits for your actual reaction to their proposal.

“...What’s actually in it for me?”

Gojo’s face lights up like a Christmas tree: “Baby! You’re talking! God, I was getting so fucking scared that I’d never hear that beautiful voice again!”

At that, Geto punches his shoulder. Nearly knocking that mug cake out of his hands. Through a mouthful of mug cake he shouts in protest, but still miraculously keeps a grip on his plate, probably because he’s imagining he’s gripping your tits instead.

What a weird coping mechanism, but it’s better than touching you, right now, you guess. You fucking guess.

“It would mean you get to get out of here, for as long as the work day lasts. Satoru?” Geto glances at him through his lashes. Gojo nods, still attempting to reply through a mouthful of cake. Eugh. You don’t want that anymore now that his hands dirtied it. He scarfs down the last bit of cake and rests the plate back onto the coffee table.

Geto airs out your grievances over his table manners for you, though.

“Christ, Satoru, you still eat like how Americans eat. Like their healthcare is free.”

You actually find yourself snorting at that.

Geto beams at you, like he just won a stamp of approval, and now you want to take that back because that just killed the mood again real quick.

“Excuse me for wanting to work on getting an ass as juicy and fat as yours, Suguru.”

“Keep eating like that and you’ll definitely get fat,” Geto points out, “Just not in the places you want.”

“I can’t believe my boyfriend is fatshaming me.”

“No,” Geto quips in a noncommittal tone. “I’m just fat cautioningyou.”

“Fat cautioning? Do you see me? I’m flatter than a door.”

Geto averts his gaze as a sly smirk plays on his lips. He knows just how to get under Gojo’s skin like that’s his second skin.

“...For now.”

“The fuck do you mean for now?!” Gojo demands, clearly outraged.

Okay, okay, you’ll bite. You’re giggling again, but quieter. They both grin at you now. Like they think they’re making progress with you, which can’t be further from the truth. Sometimes they’re just entertaining as the complete buffoons they are, generously almost sharing one brain cell, but they’re not lovable in the slightest.

“God, what a beautiful sound,” Gojo gushes as he rests his hand over his heart. “Almost made me forget that I haven’t been inside her all day…”

Your face blanches at that, and you swear you feel every part of your body lock in as you twist away, shivering, and Geto glares at him.

“Are you fucking serious?” he grumbles, “Now she really won’t talk to us.”

“Shit,” Gojo sighs, and in a blink of an eye there he is, on his knees and groveling at your feet all over again. “I’m sorry, baby. It’s… it’s like a compulsion, I guess. I just miss you. Miss feeling you. I do want to make this better for you–for us. I want us to work.”

“She sees through the sucking up tactics,” Geto chides him, in a tone that’s scarier than normal and that can’t be good news. “You could at least act like you care.”

“But I’m not acting!” Gojo insists, “I do care!”

“Then fucking behave. Go sit in time out somewhere else while I do the talking. She was making more progress with me because she can actually get a word in, thanks.”

“…Can I take another sweet?”

“If occupying your big back ass will keep your big ass mouth shut long enough, go for it.”

Gojo’s the one glowering at him before snatching another slice of cake. Strawberry cheesecake this time.

“I’m sorry about him,” Geto starts as soon as Gojo’s excused himself from the scene entirely, settling back into the couch next to you. He rests his hand on your back, rubbing gentle circles along your shoulder blades. “He’s just got no class, I’m afraid. That’s not your fault, and not something you have to think about too hard, alright?”

You don’t react, not with words, but your body jumps in your spot and you’re certain your soul is going to jump out of your body and not in a good way, and Geto can tell. 

Geto frowns, upset because this is already just when he’s been making progress with you, however little. That’s something he has to spank Gojo to hell and back for later on. They have excused you from anything sexual until you feel like yourself again, this is the most merciful they’ve ever been with you since the beginning, and even then…

Even then you don’t want anything to do with them. With either of them. While he can’t blame you in the slightest, it doesn’t change the fact that there’s no going back from whence you came. You live for them now, as much as they live for you. Even if you don’t like it, you can learn to adjust, and that will just have to do. It has to, because that’s as far as things can ever get with you… they know you will never actually love them.

They wish you would, though. They really do.

But… they can meet in the middle somewhere with you, if you’ll take it.

“Baby,” he addresses you again, tone soft, his hand rubbing your back still tender, gentle. Almost tempting you to twist your head over your shoulder, because even you can agree on one thing–Geto is often far more receptive in some ways. As far as it goes, you suppose, because his ideas on nonsorcerers are less than kind. “He’s not here to bother you right now.”

“Still in the room!” Gojo calls from the kitchen-like area. Geto grumbles something under his breath but ignores that statement.

“Hear me out on the offer, baby,” he murmurs into your ear as he presses a gentle kiss to your lobe. “I understand that it might be a dramatic shift for you, but it’ll give you the freedom to stretch your legs and see a world outside of this, even if you’re still under Satoru’s supervision. I can’t be around for obvious reasons. As it stands, Satoru is already risking a lot by coming down here to see us. Ah hem, to see me, specifically. I’m… kind of a wanted man in our little world of sorcerers, you see.”

He chuckles at his own joke, but he sees no glimmer in your eyes from his focal point, and something catches in his throat again. Another glimmer of guilt… and why? Why feel this mercy for you when from the start, all he thought of you was some toy, much like Satoru did? What’s going on with the both of them?

He has grown fond of you, yes. Too fond. Almost to a hypocritical degree considering the reasons behind his defection, and he’s decided he’s going to continue digging his own grave.

You sniffle, and his ears perk up like a fox sensing its prey is near, in a clever hiding spot. Your hands wipe at the tears building in the corners of your eyes as you try to muster the strength to say something. He’s happy, delighted, that you’re even responsive. This episode of yours has lasted for far too long and he yearns for even the slightest hint of your old self.

He doesn’t want a shell of you.

He wants you, as much as you can be you, freely you. 

He understands how absurd the idea is now that he’s thought it, but if it makes you less unhappy, at the very least…

“I-I don’t know,” you manage, your voice barely audible but he’s delighted to hear you having the courage to speak up again. He can tell it’s still taking a lot out of you right now. “I… don’t know. How he’s going to be without you around to keep him in line.”

“That won’t be a problem. Satoru has to set a good example for the few students he has right now, and behaving that way isn’t going to score him brownie points. Especially since I believe one of his new students is quite a strong willed girl,” Geto assures you, as he cranes his neck to see what Satoru’s still doing, rummaging in that kitchen. “Isn’t that right, Satoru? You’ll be on your very best behavior while she becomes another instructor at Jujutsu Tech, right?”

“But of course! We’d love to have you, baby! We need someone to actually, you know, teach those guys something other than jujutsu like real world stuff and Megs would love a nanny.”

“...And how are you going to explain to them that you’re allowing a nonsorcerer into your… facility or whatever?” you ask Geto, and at that, he grins.

“You don’t really need to have any cursed energy to be a jujutsu sorcerer, apparently,” Geto scoffs like it’s a ridiculous notion as it is and like he’s in on some joke you still don’t fully understand, either. “Because that strong-willed girl has none, and yet she’s a student there herself.”

“Just because the Zenin girl doesn’t have any cursed energy doesn’t mean she’s any less capable than a sorcerer with cursed energy. You forget what Heavenly Restriction means,” Gojo quips in a flat tone. “Someone’s just a little bitter, Princess. Don’t mind him.”

You don’t respond to Gojo, and only look to Geto for any answers you want.

Geto picks up on that, and naturally, his heart is swelling with much pride that you seem to favor him just a bit more than Gojo right now.

That doesn’t mean anything, and he knows it, but he takes anything he can get from you. Breadcrumb him if you must. He’ll take those scrapes like a desperate beggar.

“I can’t believe how many Zenins you’re babysitting. It’s bad enough you took in that Zenin brat. Now you have anotheruseless one under your belt,” Geto scoffs, “At the very least, the Zenin brat you’re looking after has the legendary Ten Shadows technique. So sure, he has more talent than the girl.”

“Why are you still talking like that around her? You really want to dampen her spirits?”

“I’m sorry, baby,” Geto’s tone sure as hell doesn’t sound apologetic but you know never to take anything he says that seriously. “I just am not a particular fan of that clan. Personal stuff.”

Gojo makes a noise–one that means ‘don’t be so full of shit.’ 

Which, if that’s coming out of him, that’s really saying something!

“Personal stuff as in he’s just bitter that he lost to someone who didn’t have cursed energy.”

“You really want to air out my business to everyone, don’t you?” Geto inquires with a dark tone like that scary one he had on earlier. Are they fighting about this more than usual? Why does that even matter to you? 

“Hey, she’s in the circle. She may as well be in the know. You’re just a bitter loser.”

He’s right about that, you think, but don’t ever dare to say out loud. You don’t know how long these acts of kindness are going to last around these two. You never know how anything lasts around these two. One minute, they’re bickering like two stupid boys. The next, they’re all over you.

The third… it’s usually something unfathomable. But you have endured it, because you’ve had no choice, since they chose you to torture. 

Sorry, ‘to love, to cherish, to have and to hold endlessly.’

“We’ll give you time to think about it. It’s fine if you want to. It’s fine if you don’t want to. You can still live with me in the temple while we’re not here, of course,” Geto shifts his attention back to you with a warm smile that hides so many insidious intentions. “We just thought it would make you feel…”

“Nothing you do will make me happy. I don’t think I can ever be happy again. And I don’t know why, it had to be me!” you shout, and instantly want to put your foot in your mouth because you know you’re speaking out of line in their minds. 

But it doesn’t matter anymore. Nothing’s going to change for you anymore.

“I don’t know why it had to be me.”

“We can’t change what we’ve done,” Geto sighs as you feel him cage you into his arms, rocking you slowly, gently, hushing you and cooing at you. Like he cares. You can tell by his tone and the way he’s constricting you that he’s beginning to lose his patience and he’s been patient for the longest he’s ever been with you already. He has a short fuse as it is and you know it, and you’re about to be in for something horrible if you don’t get your shit together now. “But we can’t let you go now that we’ve come so far with you. We hope you can understand where we’re coming from. We can give you a better world, if you would just let us cherish you.”

You know what that really means. 

We can give you a better world, if you let us do what we want.

“Y-yes, thank you, for being considerate,” you mutter, but your voice carries that edge, that edge of fear, betraying what you’re trying to show them, and while that may not be Geto’s ideal scenario, what more can he expect? If he’s so tired of doing this with you, he could just take what he wants, like he always does. “I-I’ll think about the offer. It sounds like a great opportunity. I-I just don’t know. It’s a b-big step.”

“You’re right, it is a big step in this relationship,” Geto agrees, pressing a soft kiss to the crown of your head. Even that feels so damning, because he’s trying so hard to think about your needs but somehow also not. “I’m glad you’re considering it, my dear. Now, let’s try this again.”

You dare to look up at him through your teary eyes, and there it is. That foxlike, nihilistic smile of his, with his eyes squeezed shut, but he can still see through you like you’re not really there.

Hiding behind it is a hurricane of dangerous emotions that he’s doing his best to keep in check himself, you know. He hasn’t been able to use you as an outlet for over… 48 hours or so now… ? You don’t even know because there’s no clock here, and time doesn’t matter when there’s nothing else for you to do except look after the two of them.

Your body and mind feel frozen in time.

“Would we want to conclude tonight with a movie? Or would you rather go to bed? Like I said, Satoru already risks so much coming down here to see us. He’d love to get back into bed with you,” he goes on, “No touching, of course. I know you’re still reeling from before, so we still won’t be pushing you. Isn’t that right, Satoru? You’re going to behave around her as well, aren’t you? Prove to her that you can control yourself even when I’m not here to tell you as such.”

Gojo nods with a wide grin plastered on his face, knowing better than anyone else not to try Geto’s patience and all the more eager to appease him any way he can. Even if he does love him the most, Geto’s not shy about punishing Gojo, either. Even in front of you to prove a point, who really is the boss around here, who gets to call the shots, who really owns the two of you.

And for one reason or another, Gojo really is keen on appealing to Geto no matter what. You can’t for the life of you fathom why, and you don’t care to try to dig into it when it won’t make a difference in the end.

“You’re absolutely right, Suguru,” Gojo drawls as he creeps toward the two of you, resting on the opposite side, caging you between them. Always the one in the middle. Always the one being tossed around like a toy. “I won’t do anything that’ll make her unhappier than she already is. Don’t you trust me, Princess?”

You know better than to speak your real truth in these moments… So you nod, lips pressed firmly together as you force out. “Yes, S-Satoru. I trust you.”

Gojo stops smiling, something flashes in his expression that isn’t a dark one and somehow softer yet dread forms in the pit of your gut all the same.

“Are you lying to me, baby? Are you still scared?”

“Of course she is, Satoru,” Geto scoffs from behind you. “Don’t be stupid. And don’t be rash. We just went over this. You won’t do anything unless it’s with her spoken permission. Not mine. Am I clear?”

Your eyes widen as your head darts to his direction. You’re almost certain you misheard, but did he just… give you the controls?

“Why so serious, my love? I’m only making a compromise, like I swore to you I would,” Geto says like there’s no strings attached to this whatsoever, and you know better than not to expect that. “And I meant what I said, earlier. If you don’t feel like you can trust him even after this test, then we can hold off on that offer of you going to teach with him at our school.”

“My school,” Gojo corrects, “You defected, remember? Legally, you’re a high school drop out taking care of two girls. Wow. What an example for her.”

Geto rolls his eyes. “And yet, I am the one accumulating billions, and all without a degree.”

Gojo shrugs. “Only ‘cause you’re ripping off corrupt billionaires. Which is actually kind of bad ass.”

“But of course.”

“But you still kill innocents, which isn’t so bad ass.”

Geto glowers at him. “...Most humans aren’t innocent.” But then he glances at you, who radiates such purity. “Never mind the few exceptions to that case. Humans as a whole are inherently evil. And such evil is better off cleansed from society.”

“Children are, though,” Gojo interjects, “Children are still learning right from wrong, and yet you have still killed children yourself because they don’t have the potential to be sorcerers.”

“...In some ways, yes, but no. Even they are not fully innocent creatures.”

…Geez, these guys sure are fun at parties, you think to yourself. Always popping off about these politics about sorcery and their ideologies clearly clash… Gojo is about harnessing youth’s potential while Geto is happier erasing anything he deems impure… so what makes me so special then? 

“Sorry, baby, we didn’t mean to leave you out of the conversation again,” Geto apologizes, almost sounding earnest for once. “Unfortunately there are many concerns where our values don’t align, and I can’t force someone to change their minds.”

No kidding, you think, yet he thinks he is fully capable of trying to change my mind about them, because I’m, still in his eyes, a ‘lesser being’ regardless of what BS he tries to sell to me about cherishing me.

You so wish you could say what’s really on your mind, but that never gets you anywhere.

“One can only lead a man to water. Can’t make ‘em drink,” Geto mutters, almost inaudible, but unfortunately for him, Gojo’s not only got real good eyes but real good ears, too.

“Damn, if that’s how you want to play tonight, I don’t have to be here,” Gojo grumbles as he pulls away from the couch. Then maybe that’s one less idiot to deal with tonight? 

“Don’t be like that, Satoru,” Geto admonishes. It seems even Gojo isn’t exempt from his passive aggressive nature. “I didn’t mean it like that!”

Gojo makes an unpleasant, dismissive noise to that.

“You meant it exactly like that!” he counters with a shout. “You keep talking about how you don’t want me to follow you yet you still condemn me for not understanding your perspective when I obviously do. I was fucking there too you know and we could have just killed them all that day, but it was YOU who stopped me. Not me, YOU! We could have avenged her that day! I just don’t agree with your solution now and I fail to see how that’s failing you!”

You internally groan. Here we go again… 

You still don’t know who ‘she’ is. Whoever they’re talking about. Whatever happened, it must’ve been life-shattering for the both of them… it doesn’t mean you feel sorry for either of them because you remember what your friends used to say: the day you start pitying a man is the beginning of your misfortune.

You have to remember that. They don’t care about you, so you shouldn’t care about them. No matter what they try to delude themselves into believing… it’s not fucking real. None of this is fucking real. You have to hold onto that, no matter how desperate you are to be wanted, this was never how you wanted it to go. Maybe if these two aren’t fucking psychotic, you might have been interested in them both willingly.

Unfortunately, that is not the reality, and only you can see that. These two are just too stupid to see what they do to someone like you, because you suppose they view ‘normie’ humans like insects, as powerful beings often do. It’s like something straight out of a Grimm fairytale.

That really is your life now, isn’t it? How absolutely drab.

“You know what? You two can sleep alone tonight. I… probably need to get back before I’m needed for anything over there again.” Gojo begins treading toward the exit, just beginning to go up the stairs, and Geto calls to him, leaving your post and rushing to him.

“Satoru, please. I didn’t mean to say it like that.”

“Stop making yourself feel better with all that bullshit, alright? We’ll talk later when I’ve had time to cool off. Focus on her, for now. At least I’m one less thing to worry about for her, since she’s apparently terrified of me.”

He sounds like he’s wounded by that, that you’re too frightened of him (truthfully you’re far more frightened of Geto than him because you never know what he’s really thinking), and you might’ve fallen for it, if it wasn’t for the kind of people these two are.

Which is to say, you don’t see them as people.

You see them as evil personified.

And isn’t that only fair? They only view you as their pretty plaything who’s just throwing a little tantrum.

All you can do is bide more time, until they get sick of this, and go back to taking what they want from you like they always do.

Geto tries to reach for Gojo but he gasps like there’s a barrier or something between them, because he can’t feel him. Gojo climbs up the stairs and leaves you two in the terse quietness of the base. Geto’s locked shoulders drop, like there’s this heavy cloud over them. And there you are, keeping your gaze locked on your toes, as you twiddle your thumbs, waiting for your predetermined fate. Geto might take you back to the temple instead of sleeping down here, since Gojo left. There isn’t a point to staying around here because they put this together merely so they can meet up in secret.

You don’t know just how deep things are for the two of them, and you don’t really care to know. All you want back in your life is some kind of normalcy, but you’re never going to get it again. Not if these two can help it.

Geto drags out a deep sigh, and you hear him tread toward you, his footfalls light and airy, like a skilled warrior trained not to be sensed by their enemies. He twirls a strand of your hair around his long, bony finger after he settles back down next to you.

“I’m sorry about him,” he starts, “And I’m sorry, about me. I say things without thinking, and I upset him. I guess that’s something I have to apologize for tomorrow.”

You nod, but don’t look his way. You’re surprised, actually. That he cares enough to apologize for anything, even to Gojo. But their bond is… different than others you have seen, that’s for sure.

“Well, you have to admit he’s right about one thing. He’s one less thing for you to worry about tonight.” Geto tries to lighten the mood with a light chuckle tacked on, but you don’t laugh with him. He should know better than to expect something like that out of you.

“I’d like to go to bed, if that’s okay.”

“More than okay, my love,” he croons, and you flinch as the hand twirling your hair moves to cup your cheek. “Let’s go home, then. I’m sure the girls must be missing you dearly.”

Ah, yes. The twins. Maybe the only thing keeping you sane in this setting because they seem not to care much for Geto’s work. Only seeing him as their true father, which in another world, maybe you might have found that endearing.

He carries you home, which isn't far. After cleaning you up and dressing you for bed, clad in a sheer pink robe, he rests you on the mattress with a gentle kiss to the crown of your head.

“I hope we can look past our differences, and be a happy family,” he murmurs into your hair, as he holds you close. Far too smothering as always. Dare you say clingier and needier than Gojo could be, but then again they’re too sides to the same coin. “We just want you to let us cherish you.”

“I know, Suguru. I just… need some time.”

He pecks your temples. “I know. You have all the time in the world. Though, I can’t guarantee Satoru has the greatest self-control. I can understand your apprehension about joining him.”

“It would mean not being here as much, too, you know,” you remark, knowing exactly what kind of waters you’re treading into, but at the same time, not really. You’re just trying your luck here. “Do you want that? Less time together? You already are risking a lot to meet up with Gojo, and me being on campus grounds likely means I may have to repost there.”

“I can’t say I’m willing to make such a sacrifice. You are mine primarily,” he replies, “But if it means you being less… unhappy with us, then we can make it work.”

“...Is it important to you?”

“What is?”

“My happiness.”

“Of course,” he almost wants to scoff at that, how can you think otherwise? There are obviously many reasons why you think otherwise, but you have to remember: deluded. “We love you.”

“Do you?” you mutter, turning on your side, allowing him to spoon you. You ignore the hardness growing against your ass, because you know he’s not going to do anything. You actually don’t know, but it doesn’t make that much of a difference, now does it? “Could’ve fooled me…”

“What else must we do to show you we mean it?”

What difference does it make if you hold your tongue or not anymore? It ends the same way.

So you just go right out with it, this time.

“...Let me go.”

“I can’t,” he clears his throat, “We can’t. That risks too much.”

“I have people who might be looking for me.”

“I know.”

“So why don’t you let me see them?”

“Because that means letting you go.”

“...You can’t change my feelings, no matter what you do. You understand that, don’t you?”

“We’ve done the impossible numerous times. Satoru’s even cheated death,” he says, “This is no different to those challenges.”

“What is it about me, Suguru? Why don’t you explain it to me?”

Geto’s arms wrap around your torso a bit tighter this time. Now there’s no mistakening how much he desires you–but he’s still holding back. God knows why. You know he can just take what he wants from you like he always does. And he may sooner than you think.

“Because I cherish what is mine. And you are mine.”

Because that’s all it takes, isn’t it?

Without a way to respond to that, you purse your lips together, gaze flitting to the barred window. Because not even his curses are enough to keep him secure about the fact that you won’t run. It’s not like you ever get very far, every time you’ve tried. And you’ve tried. Again and again and again because you’re either too courageous or too stupid to realize that you’re stuck here now. Maybe for the rest of your sorry life.

“Life with us doesn’t have to be suffering. My job is ultimately to eradicate it.”

“Right. And thus far you’ve done a phenomenal job with that!”

You can’t see from your focal point, but Geto winces at that. Another blow to his pride. First he steps all over Gojo’s toes, and he’s already wishing to put his foot in his mouth, and now he’s still fighting the guilt he has over how far he’s already pushed you… you’re not sure if you believe he really is guilty though. There’s no way he has a heart beneath all of that male bravado.

“I’m sorry,” he murmurs, and with that tone in his voice you may actually let him have this one but you aren’t all that merciful yourself.

“No, you’re not. You never are. Neither of you ever are.” And you have already been wasting your breath, so you feel yourself retreating back to that nonverbal state. It’s not for any petty reason this time. You have just worn yourself out yet again, and maybe if you haven’t been overwhelmed by the need to sleep you would have been able to witness Geto genuinely wishing he could do something for you. Something real and something genuine.

But how can he do that?

That’s something even he doesn’t have some half-assed, half-baked answer to.

The sun’s rays bathe upon your skin, and your eyes blink open, only to find you’re alone, which is unusual. Geto insists on being the first one you wake up to each day, and yet he is nowhere to be found. Your eyes flit to the clock perched on his side table–it’s already around 7AM–and he’s likely off doing God knows what.

But all your questions stop when the door creaks open, revealing Geto with a tray in hand.

…Breakfast in bed? Is there an occasion, or something?

“Uh, I heard somewhere that foods rich in omega 3s and things like that aid in things like these. Take that all with a grain of salt, though. I’m no doctor,” he blabs as he sets the silver serving tray onto your lap. “I also had the chefs prepare you some of your favorites… if it’ll spark something in you.”

“...I thought you were off to work for the day,” you mumble, as you remove the lid from one of the plates, revealing a bountiful breakfast. “Miso soup for breakfast?”

“...Um… we enriched it with proteins and added tuna and stuff like that…”

You glower at him. Why is… he acting shy?

“You sure you didn’t lace it with anything else?”

“I may be many horrible things, but you’ve been exempt from anything… like that until further notice. Until you’re better. You keep having these episodes on and off, and I just… want to be there for you, I guess.”

He guesses. Yeah, you bet he does fucking guess, but it doesn’t seem like there’s anything home in that head of his a lot of the time…

In that way, he’s no different than Gojo.

“Did you reach out to Gojo?” you ask as you bring the piping hot bowl of miso to your chest and begin to dig into it. The flavors are rich on your tongue, and you do appreciate the bits of tuna, tofu, chicken, and other hearty things…

“...Not yet, no. He’s off with his students, doing God knows what except actually teaching them practical things outside of sorcery.” He shakes his head at that. “I’m stunned by those horrible test scores. I want to say he can teach them much better than that, but he didn’t care to put much effort toward academics unless it involved jujutsu, while we were still in school.”

“And yet, he was the one who graduated, not you,” you counter, sipping idly on your soup. You’re feeling like spitballing this morning, apparently, but that’s actually because you don’t have to deal with Gojo either right now after the little spat they had. For reasons you don’t understand or care to try to understand. They leave you out of those types of affairs between them at the very least, if only they would let you go completely.

Ah… there you go again, with that silly wishful thinking. Geto has made it painstakingly clear–he’s never going to release you, not when he’s worked this hard to keep you in your place. You’re still not even sure what that means, anymore.

It doesn’t seem like he knows, either… and more and more, you wonder what all of this is even for, why you have to go through with this, all because they saw you one day and decided you’re the one they wanted to have and to hold when their worlds got too overbearing. That’s not fair.

“...I am still plenty successful without a degree. Clearly.” He gestures to this lavish as fuck temple he took over at the ripe young age of 17. You have to admit. Yeah. That’s kind of bad ass. But also. Did you just call your own captor a bad ass? Oh my God.

“No need to get so prickly and uptight; we’re looking at it all objectively.”

“Oh, suddenly you’re siding with Satoru?”

“Not siding,” you correct as you finish off the last of your soup before reaching for the mug of tea which has cooled down a bit. You're getting a whiff of ginger. “Again, objective facts. He just so happens to be the objective one in this regard.”

Geto gives you a hard, blank stare. “Ah.”

“So why have you two been fighting about this much, anyway?”

“...Nothing that has to do with you, obviously,” he sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose as he looks like he’s mentally counting backwards from 3. Is he going through something? Of course, he always is, it’s always always always about Geto and never about you. “It’s… a bit complicated. If I wanted you to understand the full picture, I would have to start from the beginning.”

“Alright. I’m not that interested.”

“I figured as such.”

“So…” you say as you hold onto the mug of ginger tea against your chest, meeting his eyes. “...What’s the point of this?”

“The point of what?”

You gesture to your meal. To him.

“Why do you think this is going to change anything?”

“...It’s worth a try. Besides, you’re being a bit more talkative today. Until you get into another one of your nonverbal moods. Have you struggled with this often?”

“Excuse me?”

“These… episodes. Where you just… stop talking. Or just can’t talk.”

“Er, yes,” you reply, more wary than normal. And that’s saying something. “Obviously more so now.”

Geto winces at that, and something goes off in your head–what’s he hoping to accomplish? Some kind of compromise? Perhaps he actually wants you to feel more… you don’t know. Yeah. You really don’t know what he hopes to accomplish.

“Yeah. Figured.”

“So what’s the point in helping me at all? If you’re just going to make that happen again.”

“...I don’t want it to.”

You drag out a sigh. This never gets anywhere. Why do you ever bother?

“What do you want from me?”

“You.”

Yeah, because that’s so fucking helpful.

“And what does that even mean?”

“Exactly as I mean it. You. The real you. Not…” He gestures to your current state–disheveled, blank, bleak, even. “...this.”

“Maybe there are some parts of me that are going to be messy and difficult to understand. To you, I may be some simple, lowly human, but we still have our complexities.”

“Of course you do,” he mutters, “Just as many complexities as you do abnormalities and imperfections. But you aren't like that to me.”

“...Charming,” you deadpan, setting aside your tray of food, now empty. “You must say that to all the women you torture on a day to day basis.”

Geto rubs his temples to prevent the oncoming of a headache. “...I seem to be saying all the wrong things lately.”

“Just lately?” you almost find yourself scoffing. Geto doesn’t seem all that bothered by that remark, because he knows he’s being delusional. Like fucking always.

“I’m sorry.”

You feel a record stop in your head. Say what now?

“I know things haven’t been the easiest for you since we took you in. But you do know Satoru loves you, don’t you? And I do too. I just… need to make it right with Satoru, but he’s out of Tokyo at the moment.”

“While that’s plenty reassuring, that doesn’t erase everything.”

“I’m trying to–!”

“--I really don’t care. I honestly don’t.” You offhandedly shrug. “It doesn’t make a difference to you or to me that we get along or that we don’t. You’re just going to take what you want like you always do and the same cycle’s just going to repeat over and over again.”

“At least you’re speaking more right now.”

“Hm. I’m just getting my point across. Nothing’s going to change, no matter what you do or don’t do. Thank you for breakfast. I’m just going to get ready and you can go about the rest of your business doing God knows what. I just don’t really care.”

Geto’s stunned into silence as you revert back to your operations, slipping out of bed and dragging your feet toward the in-suite restroom. Switching on the faucet and going about your routine as he’s left behind, just having his eyes trained on you the entire time. You don’t even bother shutting the door as you step into your preheated shower, because you know sometimes he joins you.

He doesn’t, this time around. But he does creep inside, leaning against the doorframe and watching you lather your hair with that expensive brand you talked about wanting to try one day.

He waves some of the steam away as he approaches the shower, opening the curtain a bit to get a better view of you.

“You don’t want any assistance?”

You shake your head as you go in with your conditioner. You gesture for him to come in, and he hesitates.

But then he does, entering the shower. Muttering something about already having so earlier that morning, so just rinsing off extra grime.

While you allow the conditioner to marinate, Geto pulls you in toward his front as he presses tender kisses into your shoulder.

“You smell divine.”

“Suguru, don’t.”

He stops.

That’s a shock to your system because he never acknowledges your boundaries, otherwise. 

“I’m sorry,” he mutters, moving to attend to himself. “When Satoru gets back from his latest mission, he still mentioned he was happy to take you out on a tour and to meet Megumi.”

“Who is Megumi?”

He grunts something you can’t hear before answering. “Some brat he adopted after killing his dad.”

“…What?”

“The details aren’t that important. The point is, he’s responsible for him now because he kept a promise to his dad after having to kill him,” he goes on but that only leads to more confusion for you that you don’t think you care enough to ask about either way. “And he needs help since he has to take care of Megumi’s older stepsister as well. Fund their schooling and everything, since Tsumiki isn’t a sorcerer as far as I understand, but Megumi is.”

“O…okay,” you reply as you move to wash out the conditioner in your hair after you left it to do its job for long enough. You don’t care enough to ask more questions, and as you finish off you leave Geto to do his own thing while you dry yourself off and moisturize. 

“Have you actually made up your mind about wanting to go back to teaching? There, I mean. At Jujutsu Tech,” he calls from the shower before exiting, wrapping a towel around his midsection. 

“I think I’ll give it a try if you apologize to Gojo first for how you spoke to him last night.”

“Of course I still plan to do that, but I’m glad you’re deciding upon it. It might get you out of your head, at least. Trust me, it’s not something you want to spend too much of your time doing.”

Why does he sound like he’s really trying to comfort you? Or… be there for you or something? It’s starting to get weird, more than it already is.

“Please stop acting like any of this matters to you.”

“Why are you still so certain of that?” 

“Because you don’t know what you’re doing. You just plucked me out from the streets like a feather and decided oh, look at this girl! She looks happy and satisfied, let’s kidnap her and ruin her life and reduce her to this hopeless ragdoll! Why are you suddenly so guilty about it now?” 

For the first time you have ever seen him, his jaw drops. He’s stunned into silence. Geto for once doesn’t have an answer. And you don't really want to hear whatever half-assed excuse he might have either way.

“I can never come back from this,” you sigh, still half naked and only clad in a towel because you left your fresh robe out on the bed. “Everything that keeps happening to me is because of you. I don’t, can’t, and won’t ever fall in love with you or with Gojo. I won’t ever forgive you for any of this. You can do whatever you want- punish me, drug me, discipline me, whatever gets your dick harder than diamonds, I don’t fucking care anymore. I’m not some helpless little girl because I’m still fucking standing. I still won’t love you back. That must fucking sting. Being rejected by the thing you claim to hate the most.”

“I don’t hate you,” he replies, voice soft. Tender, even. Reverent. “I adore you.”

“Eat. Shit,” you sneer before you excuse yourself to your own world, while Geto decides to get the rest of his day going himself.