₊ ⊹🪻 Hana ˚. ᵎᵎ 🫐

𐔌 Hi everyone ! I've finally gathered the courage to post my very first JJK writing project. I've always been fascinated (and devastated) by the dynamic between Gojo and Kenjaku, the horror of seeing your "one and only" being used as a vessel is just... something else. 〃・꒱

・・・・・

Title: Borrowed Skin

Fandom: Jujutsu Kaisen

Pairing: Gojo Satoru / Kenjaku (in Geto Suguru's body)

Rating: Explicit (for later chapters)

❛❛ The Infinity between them was a physical joke ; emotionally, Kenjaku was already inside, rummaging through open wounds, twisting the knife in the memories of Shinjuku. ❞

Read it on AO3 here ! .𖥔 ݁ ˖

"Look at how he remembers you," Kenjaku whispered against the glass, his gaze dropping to the wet mark, then back to Satoru's face. "The moment I stepped into this room, his pulse-points flared. The soul might be gone, Satoru, but the meat... the meat is still starving for you. Do you remember how he used to come apart under you ? The way he arched his back, completely unraveled by your touch ? Look at his throat now. It still reacts to the phantom memory of how you used to take him."

A sharp, violent shudder tore through Satoru's frame. The Infinity began to waver, its frequency turning into a jagged, fractured rhythm. It wasn't failing due to an attack, it was trembling because its master was losing his mind, his body instinctively wanting to lean into the illusion of that desperate, illicit heat.

"He died thinking of you, you know," Kenjaku cooed, his free hand now sliding lower, tracking the line of his own hip through the fabric, mimicking the frantic, possessive way Satoru used to grip him on the tatami mats. "And now, I get to taste those memories every time I swallow. I know exactly how he used to fall apart. How his thighs would lock around your waist when you fucked him too deep. How he'd choke out your name like a prayer while you ruined him..."

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ ⟡ ݁ . ⊹ ₊ ݁.

Status : Writing in progress... Coming soon to AO3 .✦ ݁˖

Satoru's six eyes have always been his greatest strength, but in this room, facing him... They are nothing but a front-row seat to a nightmare.

"I had to be so careful with this one," Kenjaku whispered, his fingers gliding over the skin, tracing the line of the collarbone with a sickeningly intimate touch. "You were quite thorough, weren't you ? The wound you left... it was so deep. It took me months to stitch the nerves back together, to make sure the fingers would move just the way you liked them to."

The six eyes forced Satoru to witness the truth : the way Kenjaku's cursed energy, a thick, oily substance like black bile, clung to Suguru's muscle fibers, puppeteering the dead tissue with predatory grace.

"Stop," Satoru managed to choke out.

The word felt like a confession. It lacked the weight of a command ; it was the plea of a man who was watching his own soul being dissected in front of him.

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ ⟡ ݁ . ⊹ ₊ ݁.

Status : Writing in progress... Coming soon to AO3 .✦ ݁˖