Jujutsu Kaisen One-Shots
Gojo Satoru/Reader
Summary:
Ever since you got a boyfriend, Gojo-sensei has been cold and neglecting your training. Maki says you need to apologize to him for whatever you did for the safety of the class.
You don't know what you did to piss him off, but Gojo does. And he proceeds to show you the error of your ways.
Apple for Teacher
You never really meant to get on his bad side. Gojo Satoru is arrogant, prideful, and an all-around jackass. You know this from experience as well as gossip; you’ve seen the way he treats people he deems unworthy of his attention, the way he rebels against the elders. That’s fine; you agree with him on some level. He’s independent and unwilling to bow to anyone. Given that he’s the most powerful jujutsu sorcerer in the world—possibly in all of history—it makes sense that he would buck against the nonsensical control the elders force down on the little people. Back to the point, though: you’re pretty sure he hates you, though you don’t know what you did to deserve it. For a while, as you trained with Yuuta, Maki, Panda, and Inumaki under his supervision, things seemed alright. Sure, he left some things to be desired, but so far your class hasn’t suffered a casualty and everyone is more or less competent enough to not die even without his supervision. You remember keenly that Gojo-sensei had been starting to warm to you as you entered second year. Yeah, he was distracted by Itadori Yuuji and his classmates, but first years often needed more help to stay alive than second years. It’s just the way of things. But one night, Gojo had been drinking with some teachers and otherwise reliable adults. There had been some gossip regarding Iori-sensei and him having a secret relationship that flared upon the knowledge she would be at the bar, but that wasn’t your business and you didn’t particularly care either way. Whether it was true or not, it didn’t affect you. Until it did. Gojo had made a comment about particular openings you left when practicing hand-to-hand combat earlier that day, so you were out late training. You could never be too good when it came to exorcising curses and you made sure to take feedback seriously. You didn’t want to die. Under the starry night sky, you’d felt safe and comforted. There’s something reassuring in the myriad of stars so many millions of miles away, and out here, with the moonlight illuminating even the darkest of trees, you found peace. The repetitive motions of your katas left you in a zen-like place, your body moving automatically through each form. Out of nowhere, you’d heard Gojo’s voice. “Ne, ne. Your form is aww-ful.” He’d approached you drunkenly, surprisingly alone and earlier in the evening than you’d expect from a night out at a bar, especially considering the rumors about his relationship. Surprised, you’d frozen in the middle of your kata, unaware you had an audience. “Goji-sensei?” “Ya gotta—ya gotta do it like thisss.” To your utter bewilderment, he’d come up and pressed up against your back, practically molding your bodies together. Not knowing exactly how to deal with a drunk teacher, much less a drunk Gojo, you’d let him guide you through each form. He’d taken it slowly, walking you through every muscle movement. His body was hot against yours in the chilly night, his breath tickling your ear, and smelling of alcohol and something vaguely minty. It had astounded you that as drunk as he was, Gojo could still hold perfect form and even lead a student through it. Still, you were extremely uncomfortable with the overly familiar contact. Worse, you weren’t sure you had imagined the way his nose buried itself briefly in your hair, inhaling your natural scent. It wasn’t like you’d wear perfume to training anyways, but you were sweaty and dirty and couldn’t imagine why he’d want to be exposed to it at all, much less actively seek it out. Finally, you’d run through all the katas. What had started as confused surprise had bloomed into a weird sort of wariness and you were eager to get away from him. Instead, he’d started going through the katas again. “G-Gojo-sensei, I think that’s enough—” “Don’t be silly, my cute little student. You obviously need more instruction. I’d hate for anything to happen to you.” Something deep down had occurred to you then—you didn’t think Gojo was as drunk as he’d originally portrayed, or otherwise his cursed technique was helping him process the alcohol he’d consumed more quickly than a normal person. So, wordless and distinctly uncomfortable, you’d allowed him to take you through the katas three more times. By the end, you were shaking, not quite as much from exertion as you’d have liked; instead, it was a byproduct of how upset you were at the way he’d all but forced you to let him press himself against you so intimately. He had certainly taken his time, and even though you could appreciate the extra one-on-one tutelage, this felt like dangerously blurring the boundary between student and teacher. But then it was over. You breathed a sigh of relief and Gojo had guilelessly wandered off into the night with some inane parting comment about not wasting his hard work teaching you. The next day, it was like nothing had happened—except for the fact that Gojo’s tutelage really had led to you perfecting your forms and you could move on to more complex routines. You couldn’t begrudge him that, and since he was fine with pretending nothing had happened, you were, too. Honestly, looking back, you’re not sure he even remembered it. However, that wasn’t when Gojo had started giving you the cold shoulder. You aren’t sure what pissed him off, but you know that it happened around the same time you started dating your current boyfriend. It would be outrageous to even think that the two were related, so you don’t really count it as relevant, just an anecdote in trying to figure out what made your teacher start to neglect you to the point where you’re beginning to fall behind in class. “Gojo-sensei’s been kinda mean lately, don’t you think?” Maki says one day after he harshly criticized your kenjutsu. He hadn’t told you what you’d done wrong, just that your form was a mess, you should give up if you weren’t going to put in the effort—the works. “I agree,” Panda says, side-eying you. “Sake.” “What’d you to do piss him off, then?” Maki, ever the blunt one, doesn’t pull her punches. “He’s not giving us a hard time like he is you.” You shrug, blushing a little that they’d noticed Gojo’s unfairness towards you. To the best of your knowledge, you haven’t done anything wrong, but having it called out and questioned makes it more real and you don’t like acknowledging it. “No, seriously,” she insists. “It’s interfering with your training. You need to go apologize.” “What?” The word comes out more defensively than you mean it to, but you also feel you have every right to be defensive here. “I haven’t done anything wrong. I don’t know why he’s acting this way. He just one day—just started.” “Riiight,” Maki says. “Well, if you don’t know, why don’t you ask him?” “Nori.” “You traitor,” you snap at Inumaki, not too harshly but still with irritation. He’s your closest friend in the class despite his inability to have normal conversations, so you don’t appreciate him taking Maki’s side. “Well,” Panda starts, “Maki is right about one thing.” You turn to give him the stink-eye, but he ignores it. “You can’t be on bad terms with your teacher. It’s not safe.” “Exactly,” Maki says triumphantly. “You need to set aside your pride and go make nice with him.” The thing that sucks most it that they’re right. Gojo neglecting your education is actively putting you, your life, and your classmates’ lives at risk. Honestly, it’s just so irresponsible you can barely make sense of it, but your course of action is clear. “Fine,” you say with a heartfelt sigh. “I’ll find him after dinner.” Dinner comes and goes. You’re nervous with the knowledge that you’re finally confronting Gojo, a superior, even if it’s just to apologize for something you don’t know you did. There’s a wary pit in your stomach, not quite dread and not quite fear, but some approximation of both. It’s not hard to track him down. He’s walking towards his campus apartment when you finally find him, having asked a few people for directions along the way. “Gojo-sensei!” He keep walking, even though you know for a fact that he’s heard you. “Gojo-sensei!” you repeat. When he still doesn’t respond, you huff and run to catch up to him. “Gojo-sensei!” you yell, frustrated at his immaturity. When he responds, it’s like he hadn’t ignored you at all. “What can I do for you, my cute little student?” You huff again. The way he says it is almost derogatory; it’s certainly condescending. “Look, sensei, can I talk to you for a minute?” He shrugs. “Okay, talk.” Blood rushes to your face. He’s so frustrating. You wish someone would knock him down a peg, except every bit of arrogance and blithe trolling is completely earned. “In private, maybe?” He hadn’t looked you at you before, but at your suggestion, he turns to look at you, even though you can only see his blindfold. You don’t know what emotion is hiding in his eyes, his expression blank, and that only makes you more uncomfortable. “Sure. Come on.” You weren’t expecting him to lead you all the way to his apartment; you’d thought he’d pull you away into an empty classroom, but that’s not what happens. He invites you in, which you nervously accept. The memory of Maki’s voice encouraging you to speak with him for the sake of everyone’s safety is what you hold onto as you toe off your shoes and slip into some guest slippers, soon following him into the living room. “Tea?” Gojo asks. You’re surprised he’s offering, but you’re not ungrateful. “Sure,” you reply, and then your text tone goes off. It’s Ren, asking if you want to meet up after school lets out tomorrow. You start texting him and are mid-conversation about what movie you want to go to when Gojo returns with the tea. “Talking to Inumaki?” he asks. Your friendship with Toge is well-known, and since texting is the easiest way to communicate at all, you can often be found texting back and forth, similar to the conversation you’re having with your boyfriend. “No, my boyfriend actually.” You only see the tail end of his darkened expression and the hard line of his lips. You don’t know what to make of it, and since it’s gone too quickly to really process, you decide that it’s not relevant. “So, what did you want to talk about?” You take a sip of your tea, appreciating the bitter matcha, before gathering your courage to speak. “W-well…” You’re suddenly tongue-tied. What do you even say to him? ‘You’ve been really mean lately and I want to know why?’ It sounds asinine. Before the silence stretches too far, Gojo picks up the slack. “Well? I don’t have all day.” “R-right. Well, I’ve noticed… that is to say, me and the rest of the class… we’ve noticed that you’re, uh, maybe mad at me? And I wanted to know what I did and how to make it right.” Something in Gojo relaxes at that and he leans back into the sofa. “Oh, really? What do you think you did you upset me?” You hesitate and the silence stretches on again. Gojo smirks, completely unruffled. “You can’t say you don’t have any idea.” “I—I really don’t,” you reply, stumbling over the words at his blasé. You weren’t expecting it after how much of a grudge he’s been holding. “Please, tell me. I’ll fix it.” “Will you, now?” Gojo leans forward, into your bubble of space and making you uncomfortable. “And you really, really have no idea why?” For some reason, his words sound ominous. You don’t know what to make of it or what to do except scoot back a bit. “N-no… but…” Gojo settles back and takes a sip of his tea before motioning to yours. “It’s going to get cold.” Not wanting to shirk his hospitality, you grab the tea and take several long, measured sips. “It’s really good, sensei. Thank you.” “Don’t thank me yet.” You blink once, then twice. Then you gather yourself again, although your eyelids suddenly feel a little heavy. You ignore it. “Will you please tell me now?” “Well, since you’re asking so nicely…” Faster than you can blink—which actually isn’t saying much with how weirdly droopy you are—Gojo is right in front of you, right in your face. Your noses are practically touching. “I don’t like other people touching what’s mine.” You balk, flinching away. “What are you talking about?” Gojo smiles sharply. “Did you really not notice? Your preferential treatment, always getting the easiest missions, always getting the best instruction, the most attention? Or are you just that spoiled and entitled?” “What? No, I—” “Oh, so you are. But that’s okay. I think it’s cute.” “Gojo-sensei, please—” “And then you throw it all in my face and get yourself a boyfriend. Tell me, have you fucked him yet?” You gape at him. “No—what—I would never—” “Did you give him your first kiss?” Your face might as well combust with how flushed and angry you are. He won’t let you finish a sentence and it’s driving you crazy. So crazy that you slap your hand over his mouth, and for some reason, he lets you. “It’s none… nnone of your busi—siness! I don’t do that—I’m waiting tillll marriage, if you mmu-must know! And I’m nnnnnot entitled, I’m not—not—Why’re you bein’ like thhhis?!” You hate the fact that tears are stinging the corners of your eyes. You blink slowly and one escapes. Gojo says nothing, just waiting patiently for you to run yourself out. You feel heavy now, even though a weight has been simultaneously lifted. Your hand falls away from Gojo’s face limply, revealing a mean smile. It occurs to you a belated moment that you’d been slurring, so caught up in your righteous indignation to notice the difficulty of spitting out your angry words. You sway in place, the room moving in a way it’s not meant to. “Feeling a bit dizzy, huh? A little weak?” The world spins even as a brief glimpse of clarity breaks through. “Wh… what djou… do…?” “Nothing dangerous, of course. I would never hurt my favorite student. But you were so tense, I thought I’d give you a little something to relax.” “Youuu… dr-drugged… mmmm…” “That puts such a negative spin on it, doesn’t it? I like ‘consoled an inconsolable student’ so much better.” Your mouth can’t form words, lips moving soundlessly over nonsensical syllables. The only one you really recognize is ‘please.’ “And it seems you’re still upset. What can I do to help you? Maybe…” With effortless strength, he grabs you by the shoulders and settles you on his lap. You can barely put up a token struggle despite your best attempt at resistance. When he moves your heavy body like a doll, pressing your legs open to sit you directly on his lap and propping your arms up on his shoulders like some kind of twisted embrace, some kind of tension that he’s been carrying seems to melt away. “You don’t know how long I’ve waited for this.” Then he grabs the back of your neck and forces you into a kiss. You’re boneless, weak, and you can tell he delights in your helplessness as he licks his way into your unresisting mouth, tongues tangling despite your lack of cooperation. “You taste so sweet, angel,” he murmurs, more to himself than you. “All for me. All mine.” “Nnnn…” Your tongue feels fat and thick in your mouth and it won’t even form the word ‘no,’ reducing it to sounding like a moan. “You like that? I’ll give you more. Anything you want.” Gojo kisses his way down, sucking and biting and leaving bright purple-red evidence of his claim all down your neck and onto your chest. It’s summer; you don’t know how you’re going to get away with turtlenecks this time of year, but you’ll certainly need them. Gojo pulls down the scoop neck of your casual t-shirt, licking his way towards your chest. As he eagerly fondles your breasts through your bra, you find yourself listing back without the support of his hands holding you up. “Oh, don’t run away now,” he teases, knowing full well you can’t as he steadies you once more. “We’ve barely even started.” Your shirt and bra end up in a heap on the floor, and Gojo takes that moment to duck his head and pull one of your nipples into his mouth. At first he’s gentle, lightly sucking and swirling his tongue around it playfully; then he nips, hard enough to make a weakened shout escape you, before soothing it with his tongue again. He repeats it on the other while his hand travels down your waist, exploring your soft skin. The pain-pleasure of his teasing has your core igniting against your will. You writhe unsteadily, part of it fear, part of it your body’s natural response to the curl of desire in your belly. It’s hard to process much beyond the heat of his body against yours and your growing wetness that’s leaving a patch of dampness on his black slacks. You can’t see it but you can feel your slick gathering and pooling, making a mess of you under your long skirt. A moan escapes you, a broken thing of multiple nonsensical sounds, and you can feel Gojo’s smile against your neck. “Good girl,” he murmurs before nipping a sensitive patch of skin underneath your ear. You whimper. “Look at you,” he says, a little condescendingly. “Getting all hot for your sensei. I wonder what Yaga-shochou would think about that.” Regaining a shred of control, you shake your head despite the wave of lightheadedness that follows. “Pl-pl… please, Gojooo-sensei,” you force out from numb lips, “plea… please stop.” Brazenly, he lifts your skirt to reveal soaked cotton panties and the damp patch on his pants. “Really? You want me to stop? I think your body says otherwise.” “Pl… please…” “You’re still so tense, my cute little student, and I would be remiss not to help you. Besides, sensei is always right.” You blink back tears as he maneuvers you in such a way that he can easily divest you of your skirt and underwear. You don’t miss him tucking your used panties into his pants pocket. Out of everything that’s happened so far tonight, though, that’s the least of your worries. “I think it’s a little unfair to you that I’m still so covered,” Gojo says like this is somehow consensual and you have any interest in seeing him naked. For the record: you don’t. You want to be back in your dorm, texting Ren, and figuring out some way to get your education finished without ever seeing Gojo again. You blink heavily as you watch Gojo take off his shirt and pants, revealing a sculpted physique that would make Michelangelo weep. Maybe it would mean something to other women, but for you, it’s just one less layer between you and safety. Settling you on the couch in such a way that you’re leaning against the cushions with your legs spread wide open for his perusal makes you sick to your stomach. But then he’s kneeling down, licking teasingly at the slick at the apex of your thighs has you tensing automatically. “Ooh, like that, did you? And I haven’t even gotten started, you little minx.” You shake your head back and forth weakly but don’t have the words to contradict him, leaving your body to give him the (wrong) answer. “It’s okay, you don’t have to deny it. Your body can’t lie, you know, even if you’re trying to play hard to get.” He nips the sensitive skin of your thigh and laughs when you jerk convulsively. “I don’t mind you trying, though. It’s adorable.” Then, without further ado, he licks a long stripe up your labia, tongue flicking the hood of your clit for one blissful instant before pulling away. Even that small touch has you moaning, meaning nothing good for the rest of this damnable encounter. “Sweet, just like I expected,” he murmurs before plunging back in, spreading you open to further expose you. Once you’re fully bared to him—to the world, it feels like—he starts licking in earnest. He doesn’t seem interested in playing with you anymore; instead, he’s laser-focused, eating you out with fervor and technique that can only come from years of practice. That doesn’t bother you, though. What’s killing you inside is the way your moans escape so easily, the way your drugged body has the ability push your hips back against Gojo’s face like you’re consenting but can’t be bothered to get away from him. “Relax,” Gojo murmurs from between your legs, the vibration of his deep voice reverberating through your body. With that one word, he slips a finger inside of you to match the tempo of his assault on you and you spasm with the dual stimulation. When you come, it’s like a tidal wave. As pleasure convulses your body and you can actually feel your inner walls clenching around his single long finger. It has no right to feel this good; Gojo has no right to take your first orgasm for himself. Selfish, you think through the post-orgasmic haze. “There’s my angel, all wet and ready for sensei,” Gojo says, something dark and deadly possessive in his tone. You shiver but still can’t fight back. He crawls up your lax form then, pressing insistent kisses from your inner thighs all the way up to your neck and then lips, drawing you into more one-sided affection. But when you feel something soft and simultaneously hard pressing into you, it’s all you can do to raise your hands in a feeble attempt to push him away. He chuckles, grabbing them before threading his fingers between yours, a sick show of affection. No, you think. No. “I’ll go slow,” Gojo says as he prods your opening. You don’t think the single finger he previously penetrated you with has prepared you at all for him, unless you’re greatly overestimating the size of what you feel there. You don’t think you are. He releases one of your hands to guide himself inside you. At first, your slick opening and relaxed muscles seem like enough, but then he pushes past the initial barrier and you choke on your breath, unable to move. “There, there,” he says absentmindedly. “Angel, you feel so good. I just can’t resist.” Although he goes slow like he’d promised, you’re not sure if you would have preferred him just ripping off the so-called band aid. Even though you’d come, you feel like you’re being ripped open, one inch at a time. God, how big is he? A final shove, a shout and then a whimper, and Gojo’s bottomed out. He groans as he lets you adjust, your muscles cramping as they stretch around his length. “Good girl,” he says teasingly. “So tight, and all for me.” He starts moving slowly. For your part, you’re gasping in harsh breaths, lungs feeling tight and your distress reaching a breaking point. You toss and turn your head, thrashing as you try to make sense of what’s happening. Gojo—Gojo-sensei—is raping you. Painfully. Your teacher. A man who’s supposed to teach you, guide you, save you when necessary. Instead, he’s buried deep inside your drugged body and has taken something you never gave. It takes a minute before you realize you’re crying, and another few for Gojo to pay attention to you beyond how good for him you supposedly feel. “Oh, angel,” he coos. “You’re doing so well. Keep being good for sensei, okay?” You hiccup, hot tears streaking down your temples. He just presses a kiss to each of your damp cheeks and starts thrusting harder. His movements are insidious. After the initial stretch, you find it doesn’t hurt as much, and the longer it goes on—though you wish he’d finish as soon as possible—the easier it becomes to bear his girth. And those insidious movements are starting to slowly, gradually, but inexorably feel good. There’s a sensation you’ve never felt before building inside of you, and when he releases your other hand and slips it between your bodies to touch your clit, your moan isn’t from pain or despair. Gojo presses his cheek against yours and whispers into your hair, “You’re all mine, angel.” Somehow, you think this might be one of the most honest things he’s ever said. The words are said with conviction, a deep belief in their truth. It sends a chill from the nape of your neck straight down to your tailbone. You feel it deep in your core. Gojo must understand your body more than you do, because he says whispering, “Shh, shh, shh. There we go, angel. Say you’re mine. All mine.” You whimper, weakly shaking your head in denial. You can feel something powerful cresting inside of you and you don’t want it. You never wanted any of this. But he thrusts faster, pressing deeper. Your legs twitch and tighten around his waist. A choked, broken moan tears itself from your throat. “Come on,” Gojo hisses. “Say it.” “Nnn… o. Plea…” “Say it, or I can do this all night.” And by this, he means slowing his movements seconds away from your release, keeping you on the edge and forcibly ensuring you can’t come. There is a part of you that agrees with him; you don’t want to come from this, from your rape. You don’t want to be even more betrayed by your body, given that he’s already stolen your first orgasm outside your own shyly questing fingers. But there’s a larger part of you that wants it. The dichotomy of not wanting to give Gojo what he wants, knowing that it won’t be over until you give in, versus the part of you that isn’t ashamed of your primal need for satisfaction and desperately seeks it, makes you dizzy. And in that dizziness, that lack of coherency, your traitorous core decides for you. “I… I’m yours,” you whisper, barely audible over the slap of flesh against flesh. Gojo smiles toothily, like he’s won something. Maybe he has. “Who do you belong to?” “…S-sens… sensei?” “That’s right,” he says. “My cute little student, all mine, for me forever.” You hadn’t responded like that on purpose, just a basic request for clarification, but you’re glad you’ve given Gojo what he wants because he finally starts pressing inside of you just right and you unravel around him. He meets your pleasure with his own, thick viscous fluid filling your body. You can’t fight him on that any more than you’ve been able to fight anything tonight, so you once you come down from your high, you just go limp into the couch. You don’t know what else to do with yourself. Gojo doesn’t pull out right away. He peppers light kisses all over your face, thrusting his softening length in and out until it won’t catch anymore. In the silence that follows, you realize that you stopped crying and promptly start all over again. Gojo hushes you tenderly, carding his fingers through your hair soothingly. “Don’t cry, angel,” he says, gently brushing your tears away. “I’m not going to leave you high and dry. The higher-ups understand the need for an heir to the Limitless and Six-Eyes. Who knows? Maybe he’ll have both like Daddy.” Through numb lips you murmur a very confused, “What’re… youuuu… talkin’ ‘bout?” Gojo’s smile is both satisfied and mean. “Oh, I was just teasing earlier. Yaga-shochou knows all about us. With your abilities, it was inevitable that they’d agree to our relationship.” Your eyes widened and a little clarity comes back. “Gojo-sensei… what… what?” He taps the tip of your nose playfully. “You didn’t think I’d be interested in just any pretty girl, did you? It’s been you since the beginning.” He smiles. “Always you. Just needed to you to be old enough to consent.” You furrow your brow. In your drugged state, your emotional reactions are stunted and you’re having a problem processing any of this. “But I… I din’t consennnt?” You don’t know why it comes out as a question. Gojo waves his hand as if to physically brush aside your words. “Just a technicality, really. Besides, you had a good time too, right?” You can at least tell this truth without slurring. “No.” He pinches your cheek smarmily, like you’re a schoolkid and he’s an auntie. “Don’t lie. It’s unbecoming.” “Fuck… fuck you.” Grinning, Gojo says, “Thought you’d never ask.” And you realize that he’s hard between your legs again. “Nnno…” “Don’t worry, angel. I can do this all night.” Fin.
a sense of belonging
Gojo Satoru/Reader
Summary:
He's seen you on the brink of death one too many times now, only ever able to sit there and pray you'll survive your terrible injuries.
All Satoru has ever wanted is for you to be safe and protected. To be loved and cherished. He can't lose you.
And when the higher-ups don't heed his warning, refuse to do what he says to keep you out of danger...
Well, they'll rue the day they were born.
(No one can take you away from him.)
You’ve been Gojo Satoru’s assistant for several years now, having stayed after graduating from Jujutsu Tech, but you’ve never seen him quite as unhinged as he is now. You suppose it’s natural, if not the intensity, when someone you’ve worked with since their teenagerhood and have formed a bond with is rushed into Shouko’s office with extreme life-threatening injuries. That being said, there’s a chance you’re misinterpreting things; you’ve lost a lot of blood and half of your stomach. And anyways, all jujutsu sorcerers have to be at least a little bit crazy. Gojo’s no exception. When you wake up, bleary-eyed and sore but miraculously alive, your attention is at once turned to your senpai—mainly because he’d jumped to his feet from the chair next to your hospital bed and is already pressing a cup of water against your lips even as he raises your bed to a sitting position. “S…Satoru?” you croak. He presses more water to your lips and you gulp it down eagerly. He pulls away long before you’re satisfied but you know the drill; if you drink too much right now, you’ll just get sick all over yourself. Given that you’ve just survived your torso half-gone, putting pressure on those organs might rupture something or undo any of Shouko’s hard work at all. You’re not keen on that. “There we are,” Gojo says with a half-smile. “You scared the shit out of me, you know.” “Trust me, that wasn’t the goal,” you reply hoarsely. You cough a little from the strain on your still-dry throat and he’s quick to give you a few more sips from the paper cup. “Yaga’s lucky I was more worried about you instead of punishing the higher-ups,” Gojo says casually. “I almost blew half of ‘em up.” You chuckle lightly. “Don’t be silly. You wouldn’t do that.” “They put you on a mission above your capabilities, sunshine. You could have died—you almost did. If I lost you…” You recall Gojo telling you once about his old friend, Getou Suguru, and how the relationship had ended, then about Getou’s death. Most everyone knew about it already, but it was a little before your time. Gojo, however, had shared every last detail when he was drunk on the anniversary of his lost friend’s death. It had been just you and him, curled up on the sofa in his apartment, when he had explained. You don’t think anyone else has been told what he told you, at least not in such stark emotional detail. And you think that for Getou, maybe Gojo would have done it. Would have burned the world to the ground for his only best friend. But you don’t think he’d do it for you, even if he cares about you as his old student and kohai. “…well, I think I’d kill them all,” he says cheerfully. “Mm,” you hum noncommittally. He’s being dramatic, but that’s also just Gojo. “Good thing that didn’t happen then.” Gojo lets out something that sounds suspiciously like a scoff. “I’m gonna be going on missions with you from now on,” he announces. Your eyebrows raise and you look at him as skeptically as your exhaustion will allow. “I’m fine, Satoru. It wasn’t above my pay grade, I just made some stupid mistakes.” Gojo grins, all teeth. “And that means I have to make sure you have back up when you do.” “There are much more important things for you to be doing,” you tell him. “Nothing’s more important than you.” His words go over like a lead balloon. Sometimes he says things like this, almost overbearing in the seriousness of his affection, and you hate it. You’ve come to think that because of the timing of your arrival and Getou’s death that Gojo emotionally imprinted on you, the young woman with the ability to manipulate curses, if in a different manner than his old friend. And now because of that accidental confusion between you and him, Gojo had imprinted his feelings for Getou onto you. “Right,” you say with a sigh, refusing to acknowledge his words. You never have; it’s inappropriate. Sure, technically you could date him. You’re no longer student and teacher. But Gojo’s almost seven years older than you and he was your teacher. He’d raised you for the latter half of your childhood. It would be beyond weird if the two of you were to get together. Not quite stomach churning, but disturbing nonetheless. “I’m not joking,” he insists. You give him a weak smile. “I know.” You settle back into your bed, exhaustion catching up with you. Even this little bit of conversation has made you tired all over again. “I’m gonna go back to sleep now.” “Of course,” he says graciously. “Here, I’ll lower you back down.” Once you’re lying down flat, you close your eyes and are immediately half-asleep. But your fluttering eyes catch an uncharacteristic fury in his eyes as he tucks a lock of hair behind your ear. He says something, sounding somewhat like, “They can’t take you.” But any memory of that is quickly forgotten as unconsciousness takes you. “Are you sure you’re feeling better, sunshine?” Gojo asks as you stand up from his sofa. You spend a lot of time there; he lives in a luxury apartment you couldn’t begin to afford, your own accommodations much more… humble, so when you’re not at the college, you’re here except when sleeping. “Yes,” you insist. “Stop being a mother hen.” He shrugs. “I dunno, you almost—” “—Died, yes. And you seem to be more worried about it than me, and I’m the one who went through it. Chill, Satoru.” He slumps down on the couch right next to you. Absolutely no sense of boundaries, but that’s just Gojo. If he’s invading your space, it means he cares about you. You wish it allowed a bit more breathing room. “If you’re feeling better, they’re going to send you out again,” he warns. There’s a thread of anger in his voice, like that’s a bad thing. “No kidding,” you say. “That’s the whole point of being a sorcerer. Saving lives and all that.” There’s a moment of silence. You’re fiddling on your phone, playing some dumb AFK game that has stolen and held hostage your attention for the last few months. “Don’t you think some lives are more important than others?” You turn to him, setting the phone on your lap. “I mean… I guess it’s subjective. I’d care more if you died than some stranger, right? And if you want me to stroke your ego, the whole of Japan is relying on you being alive to keep the balance between sorcerers and curses. So your life is objectively more important than literally any other sorcerer’s simply because of who you are.” “Not more important than your life,” he mutters. “Shush. You know I’m right.” “Ne,” he says, elbowing you. You grunt and grumble at him under your breath. “You wanna get dinner tonight?” “Where?” “There’s this little place down the road…” “I don’t want to go back there,” you tell him flatly. “The food was burnt. Like 100% black. No.” “It was just a bad day for Morino-san!” Gojo cries. You can’t tell if he’s actually offended or just being playful, but knowing him, you assume he’s just joking around. “No,” you repeat firmly. “How about some ramen?” “All that fat is bad for my figure,” he counters, running a hand down his admittedly Adonis-like build. “Uh-huh. Well, we can always fall back on that yakisoba place.” Gojo hums. “We go there all the time.” “Because it’s good.” “Right! Let’s go.” Even though you’ve made an almost complete recovery, Gojo still insists on walking close to you with a hand on your lower back. If it weren’t for the fact that you’re pretty sure Gojo and Geto had been far more than just best friends, you’d think it was coming from a place of romantic affection. However, you’re almost certain that the two had already loved and lost the love of their lives—each other—and you don’t think Gojo will ever pursue anyone else. You’ve never seen him with another man like that, nor a woman, or anyone else really, not even for the occasional hookup… Then again, he probably wouldn’t bring you around or even tell you if he had. You don’t have that kind of relationship, even close as you are. “Alright, my princess, down we go.” Even as you stand alone in the elevator, Gojo keeps his hand on your back. “I’m not going to fall just standing here,” you tell him, but can’t hold back your smile. “You never know! There might be some bumps along the way.” Gojo’s large hand is warm on your back even as you know that this building is for the kind of people who’ve never known anything but riches, and if there was even the slightest sign of something going wrong, it’d be fixed within a few hours. Ergo, the ride will be smooth the entire time. You don’t try to shrug off his hand, though. Reaching the first floor, you both walk toward the parking lot containing Gojo’s car. When he double-checks that you’re wearing your seatbelt properly, you sigh. “Satoru, honestly. I’m not going anywhere.” He flaps his hand in your face even as he starts the car, putting on a teasing grin, but his words are serious. “You never know.” You’re standing just inside the veil as it’s being created. Your new mission: route all the curses taking up the condemned building. It’s recently been in talks for sale to a developer, but nothing can be done until the curses are gone. The seller was childhood friends with a late sorcerer and at least had an idea of why every buyer backed out as soon as they had a tour of even just the first floor. Hence, he was paying Jujutsu Tech a hefty sum for the expedited removal of the curses in the building. At four stories high and an initial evaluation of no curses higher than second-grade, it’s the perfect mission to reacclimate you. Your recovery had taken two months even though jujutsu sorcerers are always in high demand, so the higher-ups were eager to get you back in the field despite it being a simple ‘route the enemy’ mission. Just as the veil has almost closed you in, suddenly there’s a blur of white and purple and— “Satoru?!” “The one and only!” he crows, taking a pose that would have made you laugh if it hadn’t been for the fact that he’s hijacking your mission—likely at the cost of something much more important. “What are you doing here?” you snap. “I can handle it!” “It’s your first mission since you got injured and you thought I wouldn’t come to make sure you were okay?” he asks innocently, but you know that it’s an act. You’ve known him too long and can usually tell these things. “Satoru, what did you abandon to be here?” you ask angrily. “Nothing!” “Liar.” “Don’t be such a downer, sunshine!” He pinches your cheeks like he used to when you were still his student. It never failed to piss you off then, and it doesn’t now. You jerk your head away from his hands. “Seriously! I don’t need help!” Apparently Gojo wasn’t expecting you to actually get mad. It doesn’t bother him, no, but it puts him slightly on the defensive. “I want to protect you, sunshine. I can’t—” “—lose me, I know.” You step closer and soften your voice. “Satoru, I’m a sorcerer, too. If I can’t pull my own weight on a mission like this, I might as well not be one at all. Please, trust me. This is nothing I can’t handle. Go back to what you’re supposed to be doing, and when we’re both done I’ll give Morino a second chance. Okay?” He stares at you for a long moment and you meet his gaze, or at least where it looks like his eyes are underneath his blindfold. “Do you promise?” he asks seriously. “I promise.” You smile at him and peck him on the cheek, and when you pull away there’s a light flush on his face. “See you soon.” Either somebody lied or it’s just bad luck, but you’re once again rushed into Shouko’s clinic with life-threatening injuries. You hadn’t done anything wrong; there was a special-grade there. You don’t know it, but the next day, all that remained of the building was a pile of dust, all the materials that made it nothing more than little crumbs of brick, plastic, and metal. “Sunshine,” you hear quietly in your ear, half-conscious. The pain is extreme; you can barely tolerate it. All you want is to fall back asleep. “Sunshine, if you can hear me…” You don’t catch the rest, returning to blissful, painless unconsciousness. “I won’t let them take you from me,” a voice whispers into the crook of your neck. The skin against yours is hot and wet. “I don’t care about the rest. I can’t lose you.” You blink a couple of times, vaguely making out white and purple, then fall back asleep, the words just as quickly forgotten. “I love you,” comes a voice. You feel warm lips kissing all over your face. “They fucked up, sunshine. They want you back when you’re healed.” The feeling of a forehead against yours, words pressed into your mouth. “If they don’t let me keep you safe, I’ll kill them all. No one can take you from me.” Finally, you open your eyes to a ceiling… that’s not Shouko’s clinic. You feel completely fine, no pain anywhere. You’re awake and ready to go fight some curses, or run a mile, or otherwise expel the restless energy cooped up inside you. But first, you need to figure out where you are. You’re lying on a bed—an enormous bed—tucked under silk sheets and a thick down blanket. You feel like you’re encompassed in a warm cocoon and despite the energy buzzing under your skin, you have never wanted to move less than you do now. Still, you have to sit up. You’re not with Shouko, but you have pretty clear memories of that special-grade blindsiding you and then excruciating agony. After that, not so much. Gingerly, you sit up and get off the bed. The room isn’t familiar to you, but that’s not necessarily cause for concern. Walking stiffly, you toddle towards the door and open it. It opens to a corridor and then you see a familiar sofa. So you’re at Gojo’s, but why are you here instead of the clinic? “Oi, oi, oi! You’re not supposed to be up yet!” Speak of the devil. “Satoru,” you croak. “What’s going on? Why am I not at the clinic?” Gojo shrugs blithely. “Just seemed like you’d be better off here. Isn’t it nice waking up to silk sheets instead of that scratchy stuff they used—use at the clinic?” You look at him suspiciously. “Yeah… but a little bit of comfort isn’t worth sacrificing the life-saving care of a doctor, Satoru.” He laughs and shrugs. “Hey, are you hungry?” “Yeah,” you reply, grudgingly accepting the change in subject. You are hungry. “What do you have?” “Nothing! But I’ll order out. What do you want?” The food is delivered in a timely manner. You’ve decided to eat your favorite, a private little celebration for, well, still being alive. “I must be pretty lucky to not have died a second time in a row,” you joke, trying to lighten the meal. As you’ve eaten together, Gojo’s descended into moody silence. “You promised,” he says out of nowhere. His voice is low and surprisingly angry after the warm welcome he’d given you upon waking up. You pause, setting your chopsticks down. “Promised what?” He huffs, almost a growl. “You promised you’d be okay. That you didn’t need me to protect you.” You stare at him, offput and confused by his words. “You lied,” he finishes furiously. “Satoru… it was out of my control. These things hap—” “No! They don’t!” he explodes on you. “You’ve almost died twice now! That’s not even including that time at the mansion when you were—” “Satoru! Life is unpredictable! How could anyone have known there’d be a special-grade! Just be grateful I’m still alive! I am!” “If I had been with you—” “Someone else would have died, probably a lot more people!” “I don’t care about other people!” He bellows his last words, shutting you up immediately. You stare at him, for the very first time in your life actually afraid of him. Gojo yanks off his blindfold, maybe to show you how intensely he feels about this. Instead, all you see is a man unhinged, pushed to the brink and barely holding on. “They’re not going to take you from me,” he says quietly, threateningly, eyes wide and pupils dilated. “Not again. They didn’t learn their lesson the last time, but they’ve learned it now.” You scoot back a bit. Gojo, Satoru, one of your best friends for all that you were once teacher and student, has never been like this before. The things he’s saying… you don’t like them. At all. You’re terrified of your friend—one of the people you trust most in the world. “Satoru…” you ask weakly, tears pricking your eyes. “Satoru… what did you do?” “The higher-ups wanted you to stay a sorcerer. Even though I told them I wouldn’t let them.” He giggles and you balk. That’s not the sound of a sane person. “You were so hurt… Shouko almost lost you four times. Four times. And all I could do was just… stand there. “But not anymore!” He laughs, high-pitched and crazy. “I killed them! I killed them all! No one will ever take you away from me again!” While he cackles in a way that speaks of madness, you try to absorb his words and understand what he’d said. He’s done something, something bad, but you never— You know what he means. You just don’t want to believe it. “S-Satoru,” you say quietly and he almost immediately stops laughing and turns to you, his attention on you intense. “Did you… did you kill all the higher ups?” “No,” he responds, and you almost breathe a sigh of relief when, “I killed them all. Wiped Jujutsu Tech from the map—not like they could stop me. No one can come between us now.” He giggles softly, eyes trained on you. “No one.” You find yourself speechless. You can’t even begin to believe that your workplace, all your friends, all the people you’d spent the last ten years with are gone—except Gojo. But you suppose this was always a risk. Gojo was always a risk, with the power imbalance between him and… well, everybody. What you can focus on is this moment is the idea he seems to have about you being together. Sure, Gojo’s always been a bit more affectionate than you are, but that’s just Gojo—or is it? You’d assumed he was gay and his heart lost to Getou, but maybe you’d misperceived it. You’ve always had a habit of reading too far into things, except when it’s important, of course, because that’s just how life is. “Satoru,” you begin hesitantly. “I-I’m not sure what you mean… when you say, no one can come between us now… I just… We’re friends, right?” As you ask the question, you hope that Gojo confirms it. You’re just really close friends, like you’ve always thought. You’ve never so much as glanced at him romantically. Hell, you’d thought he was gay! And barely even considered bisexuality because, well, Geto and Gojo’s story sounded like one of the classics you’d read in class before you were transferred to Tokyo Tech. “Yeah, we’re friends,” he confirms, finally sounding at least partially sane. “But we’re more, too. I’ve always felt it, and I know you have, too.” “Um.” You don’t know how to say that you’ve never thought of him like that. At the moment, it seems like a really bad idea to go against anything he says. You don’t know the man you’re speaking to; this is a side of Gojo you’d never known existed. But you can’t bring yourself to lie, either, because that holds just as much danger. Gojo’s not deterred by your lack of confirmation. Instead, faster than you can perceive—than anyone can perceive—you’re in Gojo’s lap and he’s holding you close, face buried in your hair. “Can’t lose, can’t lose can’t lose can’t lose,” he mumbles quietly, over and over with returning insanity, until he pauses to press a kiss on the top of your head. He pulls away a little. “I love you, sunshine.” “I love you, too, Satoru.” Just not the way you want. But it seems like a worse idea to not say anything at all, not to even consider how bad it would be if you denied him. It’s the wrong thing to say, though. As soon as the words come out of your mouth, he’s pressing his mouth to yours in a passionate, one-sided kiss that shocks you. But Gojo is a handsome man and even though you don’t want it, the way his lips caress yours and his tongue plunges into your mouth evokes a small warmth in your lower belly. But who wouldn’t feel that way, even just a little? It’s Gojo—it’s Satoru. Satoru pulls you closer to him as though he wants to meld your bodies together. Your quietly blooming arousal has you tentatively kissing back, almost entirely against your will. But it feels good, and after all the pain you’ve been subjected to since your first near-death experience somewhere around three months ago, you’re having a hard time fighting that. You reciprocation, however, has consequences you should have—but didn’t—expect. Satoru stands, cradling your body to his, and walks back to the bedroom you’d woken up in. That’s when you realize that room was his, and when he gently presses you on the bed beneath his large body, it becomes clear that his intentions are a lot less innocent than yours. Warm hands stroke down your sides, smoothing out the robe that you hadn’t noticed you were wearing. Then he unties the belt and those questing hands slip between the flaps, gently caressing your stomach before moving up to your breasts. He’s still kissing you but this is where you protest. You try to push him off you, and while he moves, it’s only just enough to break the kiss. “What’s wrong?” he murmurs worriedly. “Am I hurting you?” You hesitate. It didn’t occur to you before but this might just be the excuse you need to put off his amorous attentions until you can figure out what to do. “A little,” you answer quietly. “I’ll be more gentle,” he reassures you—which isn’t what you wanted. You want him to stop, but after the way he’d laughed, the way he’d looked at you… Asking for that doesn’t seem like a good idea. “You know,” he goes on with a chuckle, “I’m not really a fan of slow sex… But for you, I’ll do anything.” Except stop, you think sadly, realizing this is happening whether you like it or not. Nothing you say is going to stop him from raping you, whether he’s delusional enough to think it’s consensual or if he just doesn’t care. You don’t believe in men ‘needing’ women to the point of violation, but once it goes into the territory of sanity versus insanity, it’s harder to judge. Not that any of that philosophizing means he won’t be a rapist by the end of this. Or that your friendship with him won’t be over. You’re brought back to the present when Satoru starts pressing hot, wet kisses against your neck as he parts the robe around you, one hand curling into your hair and the other gently kneading one of your breasts. “I love you,” he whispers into your neck. You pretend you don’t hear and hope he doesn’t repeat himself louder to provoke a response. He’s sucking a dark bruise into the side of your neck when he starts pinching and tweaking your hardened nipples, paying equal attention even as he bites down on your neck gently. Your breath catches when he starts to caress the sensitive skin of your areolas, denying you the exact stimulation you’re finding you want. Your arousal is almost overwhelming in its intensity just from this little bit of foreplay. You haven’t been with anyone since… Well, since your twentieth birthday and you had gone out to a bar with him and some of the other faculty. The morning after, Gojo had chewed you out and told you not to go home with strange men, jujutsu sorcerer or not. “There are dangerous people out there,” he’d warned. You’d been a little saddened when you’d seen that your one-night stand had overdosed on heroin a few weeks later. But Gojo had apparently been right; there are dangerous men out there. You just hadn’t expected him to be one of them. “I love you,” he murmurs again, this time in between open-mouthed kisses as he moves from your neck down to your breasts. After the teasing from before, the feeling of his hot tongue caressing your nipple has you moaning more loudly than you’d expected, bucking your hips into his without thought. “Shit,” he groans, reaching down and palming his erection through his pants, simultaneously sucking harder. It has you moaning and bucking again. Gojo must use his infinity not to waste time because a second later, he’s completely naked. “That’s more like it,” he purrs, then delves down to play with your breast. His searching hands caress your waist and rear before slipping under the back of your thighs and hoisting your lower body up against his, your legs open for him to settle in between them. You don’t have underwear on, so as soon as his hot, throbbing cock—bigger than you’d anticipated but then again, Satoru has often been called perfection so maybe it’s just more accurate than you’d thought—presses against your opening, he immediately feels how soaked you are. At the sensation of your arousal, Satoru releases your nipples and goes straight for your pussy, looking at it with eyes of infinity. You wonder what he sees, but when he draws a long line through your dripping lower lips, he hisses, “Fuck!” and his mouth is on your clit. Your cry at the touch of his tongue on that little bundle of nerves isn’t so much of a moan than a scream. You press your pussy into his face and he reaches up to pin your hips, eating you out like a man starved. His tongue strokes all the right places, twirling around your clit and diving inside you, licking a long stripe back up before sucking gently on your clit. The smallest graze of his tooth against the sensitive bud almost has you coming on the spot—but apparently he’s determined not to let you. Not yet, anyway, even though it’s what you want most in the world right now. “Please,” you whisper, barely audible. You can’t believe you’re saying this. “Please, Satoru…” He pulls his face away and those ocean-infinite blue eyes meet yours. “Yes, sunshine?” “Lemme… let me come,” you beg. “Please.” “So eager,” he says happily. “But not yet. I’m only gonna let you come on my cock.” You’ve never wanted a man’s dick more than you do in that moment. As if in protest, you involuntarily buck up into his face, the very thought of him inside you making your toes curl. He laughs in delight. “Who knew my sunshine would be so spoiled?” Then he starts eating you out again. But it doesn’t last long. He pulls away and you get a glimpse of his cock; the head is almost purple and it’s red everywhere else. If you’re feeling desperate, you don’t want to know how he feels with his dick that neglected. “I’ve never been so fucking turned on in my life,” he says as he moves up your body until he’s face to face with you, cock aligned at your opening. “You can’t come until I tell you to, okay? Or else I’m gonna edge you for the rest of the night.” He grins sadistically. “Trust me, you don’t want that.” No, you absolutely do not. It’s already bad enough participating—enjoying—your assault. To have it drawn out to this point, over and over again, for hours? You’d lose your mind. Much like he already has. “Are you ready?” he asks through clenched teeth. “I’m not going to be able to hold out much longer.” Hating yourself, you whisper just loud enough for him to hear, “Please…” Satoru aligns himself with your opening and then slowly pushes in. You gasp. He’s thick and so hard, and every inch is more satisfying than the last. After a few tense moments, he bottoms out, hissing his satisfaction. “You were made for me, sunshine,” he grunts into your hair, then starts moving. You hate that your hips start moving along with his almost instantly, gentle rolls at first as you adjust to his size. Then he starts to really move, to thrust into that bundle of nerves that has you gasping and moaning, and you don’t have the capacity to hate anything, or really even feel anything besides blinding pleasure. Satoru is still relatively gentle, and it surprises you that your single declaration of pain that you didn’t actually have has affected his behavior so much. From what you’ve heard from your girlfriends, most guys will start gentle if you ask but ultimately end up seeking their own pleasure regardless of the woman’s feelings. But Satoru is careful with you; loving to the very last. You’re the one who tries to move faster, but he just tuts and says, “You just recovered, sunshine. I don’t wanna hurt you.” Part of you can’t help but think this is loving Satoru’s version of sadism. You want to come so bad you can barely stand it. “Please… Satoru, Satoru please let me come!” He chuckles under his breath and kisses up your neck to your jaw and then presses his lips to yours again. This time, you’re so lost in his spell that you kiss back, matching his passion. He seems to take this as a sign—or maybe he’d been waiting for it because he moves faster, almost punishingly, and whispers in your ear, “Come for me, sunshine.” All the pleasure that had built up so excruciatingly snaps and you cry out as the tension releases, coming so hard that tears fill your eyes. At the same time, your walls milking Satoru dry pulls him under as well and you feel hot, viscous liquid fill you. He doesn’t stop moving until he softens and you get close to overstimulation. Satoru presses his face into the crook of your shoulder and breathes deeply. “You don’t know how long I’ve waited for this,” he says into your skin. “God, I love you.” Panting, you slowly come back to yourself and then you flush in shame. How could you have done that? How could you have— When Satoru killed— And Tokyo Tech—? That laughter— “What’s wrong, sunshine?” he asks, suddenly looking deep into your eyes. “I just…” You don’t know what to say. You don’t know if there’s anything you want to say. You need time, to process, to figure out a plan. You have to get away from him, you have to see Tokyo Tech with your own eyes, you have to— “I’m just really tired,” you settle on. Satoru frowns and kisses the tip of your nose. “I probably moved too fast. I just wanted you so—Well, let’s just rest for a little while. How does a foot massage sound? I want my lady all nice and relaxed. We need to slow down.” You’re not sure that you need to slow down, but you’ll let him make the excuses for himself. “Th-that sounds… fine,” you reply, swallowing hard. “Can I have some water?” That’s not a distraction technique. You really are very thirsty. But apparently not so thirsty that you’re not dozing by the time he returns, so you just lay there with your eyes closed, gently conscious enough to appreciate the way he kneads your arches. Part of you just wants to melt into the pleasure of released tension while the other doesn’t want to be touched, desperate to be alone and have time to gather yourself. Neither side wins. Soon enough the massage ends, but instead of being left alone, Satoru climbs into the covers beside you and pulls you in to cuddle you, his body dwarfing yours. You’re essentially trapped in his arms. But you’re also trapped in other ways. “I love you,” he breathes, almost asleep. In fact, you might just be trapped with Satoru in every way that counts. A Satoru who’s unhinged, a mass murderer, and wholly obsessed with you. You’re not going anywhere, and even if you escape, there’s no one more equipped to track you down to the ends of the earth. And you don’t even want him. You close your eyes, exhausted and hopeless, and decide that these are thoughts for another day. Right now, the best thing you can do? Is sleep. Fin.
just one kiss
One kiss could have changed everything.
Maybe he wouldn't have realized the reality of monkeys and the necessity to eradicate them. Maybe he wouldn't have become a mass murderer. Maybe he wouldn't have killed his parents and betrayed his loved ones. Maybe he wouldn't have had to leave you behind.
But there was no kiss and he never shared his feelings, losing the chance to make you his. Now, four years after everything, he still obsessively longs to feel your body against his, to claim your love for himself. Unfortunately, you don't feel the same way—
But Suguru won't take no for an answer.
Suguru can remember the exact moment he fell in love with you. Explicitly. He considers it one of his most cherished experiences, one that has shaped him into the man he is today. It’s similar to how his friendship with Gojo Satoru had changed him, though in a very different way. You were a year below him, Satoru, and Shouko, but nevertheless spent more time with them than your classmates. You far outclassed them, though, so your presence was welcome in their elite group. You never went on missions with them, of course; you outclassed your year-mates but were nowhere near the level necessary to keep up with him and Satoru. As he recalls the night of his 18th birthday, it’s almost like he’s back in that snowy field, Satoru passing hot sake into his gloved hand, you to his left, waiting your turn, while the warm smoke Shouko exhales clouds the air around you. The moon had been full in the clear night sky; the world quiet except for Satoru’s raucous laughter as he teases you and your playful protests; everything had been perfect. Or so he had thought. You were closer to Satoru than you were with him, and while that had always sparked a bit of jealousy, overall he’d never really minded. As self-aware as he was, it had surprised him that he couldn’t seem to figure out where that occasional bloom of envy came from. It hadn’t seemed important in the larger scheme of things so he usually ignored the irritability it caused. But it was important, as he would find out that night. The memory pulls him in and it’s like he’s right there, politely not scrunching his nose at the smell of cigarette smoke, the chilly wind gently caressing the four of you, the heat of the sake warming his throat and chest, the scent of your light spritz of perfume… You’d finished your two gulps and passed the warm bottle back to him, then Satoru, before it landed in Shouko’s lap. The three of you were completely smashed with her as your babysitter, and when she swished the bottle, there had been very little left. “I’m cutting you off,” she’d said. “Noooo-ooo-ooo,” you’d whined. “Shouko, pretty please?” “Nope. You’re done. Especially you, pipsqueak.” “That’s not very nice,” you’d grumbled despite swaying on the spot in your sitting position. Your shoulder had bumped into Suguru’s before you rested your full weight against him, and he’d been surprised at how nice your body felt on his. Reflexively, he wrapped his arm around your waist to keep you from face-planting. “You’re such a lightweight,” Satoru had teased. “‘m not,” you’d slurred. After that, you’d all fallen into meditative silence, appreciating the scenery around you. The hours passed that way until the sun started to rise in the eastern sky, your body resting against his the entire time. Satoru and Shouko had passed out some time ago, but you and Suguru had remained awake wordlessly. He recalls that it was one of the last peaceful times before everything had gone so wrong. Then, when he was warm from your shared body heat and contentedly holding you up and into his chest, you’d looked up at him with bright, shining eyes, wholly sober, and said, “Happy birthday, Getou-senpai.” Something had passed between the two of you in that moment, a spark, a connection. The sight of those adoring eyes on him had made his heart pound, had his pulse racing, and he was filled with a warmth that had nothing to do with body heat or thick jackets. “Just Suguru,” he’d murmured to you without thinking. Your eyes had widened. “Really?” Then: “Suguru…” as if you were tasting the word on your lips. “Well then—happy birthday, Suguru.” In that moment, he’d never wanted to kiss anyone more. But Suguru is the cautious, scheming type; less charitably, some might say manipulative and cunning. That doesn’t bother him anymore. Why would it when they’re right? So he hadn’t kissed you in the warm light of that sunrise, wanting to play it safe in case the feelings weren’t returned. In hindsight, he should have anyway. You would have had time to return his feelings if you didn’t already. However, who could have predicted what would happen next? Amane’s death, the despicable cult, the discovery of the truth of those stinking, undeserving monkeys. No one could have known. He still wishes he had kissed you. Suguru takes a deep breath as he stands over your sleeping form, basking in your scent. You live alone and are unaware of his near-nightly visits, but that’s just for now. He has plans in place; it’s been four years since you last spoke to each other, but he knows you haven’t forgotten about him. At his departure and subsequent founding of his group, you and Satoru had come together in a way he hadn’t expected but should have. He’d cared for Shouko and she him, but it didn’t hold a candle to the bonds between you, Satoru, and himself. He should have kissed you. He regrets it every day. The only thing that soothes him these days is visiting you, sometimes just watching and absorbing your calming presence, other times pressing his luck and sitting at the very edge of your bed to stroke your hair… and occasionally your face, tracing the cupid’s bow of your lips, your soft cheeks, down your cute little nose. He hasn’t kissed you yet, even after all these years of loving you. But he will; things have just about fallen into place. Not yet, but soon, he consoles himself. Soon. Yet another day of mindless remote work. You prefer it to going into the office. When you’d decided to follow Kento’s footsteps and leave the jujutsu world behind, you hadn’t expected the sheer boredom you’d face. The jujutsu world is many things, but you’d never call it boring. Deep down, you miss the thrill of the hunt, of blood splattering on your face as the curse died under your fist, of the heady feeling of completing a mission successfully. That’s the thing, though. All those missions, all the thrill and blood and success—they come at the price of a short life. And you want the exact opposite. You want to live to an old age, surrounded by your children and grandchildren and husband and brothers and sisters. You want to leave a legacy of peace and happiness, not danger and death. That doesn’t mean that you haven’t given up things equally as important to you, like saving lives, but you have priorities and ultimately you’ve decided to put yourself above others. Monkeys, Satoru said Suguru had called non-sorcerers. Your remaining best friend had explained your Suguru’s new philosophy and goals. At first, you’d been disgusted—how arrogant, how selfish. But after leaving everything behind to work at an office job, dealing with the small, insignificant needs of the public, your opinion has changed. Just a little bit. You can’t help that sometimes all you see at your office are just rats running around frantically, their only concern where their next meal is coming from. No real purpose other than money and power, flimsy, ethereal concepts that don’t matter after death. Thinking of them like that, although you try not to, has Suguru’s philosophy ringing with unwanted truth. As soon as you log off nine hours later, you slump back into your office chair and rub your eyes. You don’t know how much longer you’ll be able to do this, honestly. It’s been two years. You and Kento remain in contact in a way the two of you haven’t with your old friends from Tokyo Tech, but as the time has passed, you find even that tenuous connection fading. Another thing about leaving: you’ve never felt so awfully lonely. Once again, as it does every day after you finish with work for the day, you consider going back to it. Just showing up one day, telling them you’d made a mistake and you want to make things right. Satoru won’t hold it against you—that’s not the kind of person he is, not with people he cares about. The higher-ups might be a little miffed, but with jujutsu sorcerers perpetually in high demand—because everyone’s dying, you’d told Satoru before leaving—they’ll bring you back into the fold nonetheless. Even though you’d be giving up that peaceful, happy life you still dream of for eventually being a corpse before thirty, sometimes it seems like the jujutsu world just won’t let you go. Doesn’t let any of you go, no matter how far or long you run. “I don’t know what to do,” you murmur to yourself. Dinner seems like a good starting point, though. You snag one of the remaining onigiri you’d made on Saturday and bite into it. You’re not really hungry, to be honest, but the body needs fuel to function. With a previous job that was extremely physically intensive, you’ve learned to never leave yourself at a disadvantage regardless of your actual hunger or thirst. Going back to your couch, you switch on the TV and watch the news with dull eyes. Stocks this, weather that. Boring. So boring that you feel yourself getting abnormally tired. Out of nowhere, there’s a knock on your front door. You’re not expecting anyone, which already makes you unwilling to get up, but you also kind of feel like you’re going to pass out. Have I been drugged? comes first to your mind. You never have been before, but this feels exactly how it’s been described to you in the past. As you lean back helplessly into the couch, you hear not a click but a snap and then the sound of the door opening. You swallow hard but can’t muster up the adrenaline to fight the drug flowing through your veins. Whatever it is, it’s potent. You’d never considered that someone would break in solely to poison your food but if it’s going to happen at all, it might as well be you. You seem to have been having a streak of bad luck and unhappiness lately. “There you are, darling,” comes a familiar voice you never thought you’d hear again. “I wasn’t sure if you’d be unconscious before I could get away from my responsibilities.” “Suguru…?” you mumble through numb lips. And there he is: Getou Suguru, your old friend, the traitor, the mass murderer. Your brain is fuzzy enough that it seems to cross wires—you can’t help the part of you that rejoices in seeing him once more, even if he is in a ridiculous Buddhist priest costume. “The one and only,” he says smugly, then approaches your limp form. “Hm, I hadn’t expected it to affect you quite so much.” Your tongue is fat in your mouth and you can’t seem to form words anymore. Suguru crouches down in front of you, too close for comfort. Maybe if it was four years ago, before he betrayed you and Satoru, you wouldn’t have minded his proximity. As it is now, you feel suffocated. He tucks a lock of hair behind your ear, then gently brushes down your cheek with the back of his finger until his thumb caresses your bottom lip. “I’ve missed you,” he murmurs. “But I’m going to fix that, darling. We’ll never be apart again.” Your eyelids almost unbearably heavy, you try to stay awake if not fight back, but your last memory before losing yourself to unconsciousness is Suguru picking you up and cradling you to his body. After that—nothing. When you awaken, you’re lying on something soft. At first you think it might be your bed, but after a couple of tentative movements you find that this bed is noticeably firmer than yours. You’re quick to recall being drugged, as well as Suguru’s shocking and unwanted appearance. He’d drugged you, for whatever reason, and kidnapped you. You’re not sure what the goal is here; you haven’t been considered a sorcerer for a while now, your skills are likely shoddy after such a long time of being unused; really, you have no value to him. Your cursed technique is good, yes, but you can’t think of any particular use it would have for Suguru or his cult. Then again, you’ve been out of touch with his activities even longer than you’d gone back to the normal world. Even Satoru hadn’t been able to figure out what exactly Suguru’s plans are. Your best conjecture is some kind of world domination, or at least domination of curses given his curse manipulation, but nothing more solid than that. “Good evening, darling.” That’s Suguru’s voice. Doing your best to shake off the remaining drug inside you, you force yourself to a sitting position. “Suguru,” you say accusingly. You’re not the kind to tolerate bullshit. “Why did you kidnap me?” He chuckles. “You always were so straightforward,” he replies. Eyes narrowing, “Or, one could say, rude.” Just from those few words you realize that this isn’t the same Suguru you’d known in school. There’s an arrogance to him now, a stringent intolerance and demand for respect. All you can think is that being the leader of a cult has gone to his head and he’s so used to being in charge that you treating him as the equal you’ve always seen him as is no longer acceptable to him. Tough luck, though—you’re not one of his minions. “Okay, then. Would you please tell me why you drugged and kidnapped me, sir?” Your voice is mocking. Suguru’s brow furrows in displeasure for a moment before his expression smooths and he looks just as egotistically full of himself once again. “You’re not ready for those answers, darling.” You frown. “What answers am I ready for, then?” Suguru stares at you for a moment, then says, “Not many.” “At least tell me why I’m here,” you plead. You don’t mean to sound so pathetic but the longer you spend in the presence of your not-friend, this stranger you don’t think you like, the more frightened you’re becoming. He pauses. You meet his gaze in the only act of defiance you can manage. “Because I want you here. Now, rest. I’ll be back with dinner in an hour.” Thoughtfully, you flex your wrists and ankles. There aren’t any restraints, but knowing the old Suguru, at least, you can safely assume there’s something much worse awaiting you if you try to escape. Suguru seems to read your mind. “I would stay on the bed if I were you.” “What if I have to go to the bathroom?” “I believe you can hold it for an hour.” “Suguru!” you shout in frustration, your patience abruptly running out. “God dammit, just let me go!” He turns away, opening the door and stepping out. Just before the door closes behind him, he looks back at you and says, “No.” That night, after he feeds you, Suguru proves that the situation is worse than you thought because you find out that the bed you’re on? It’s his. And he expects you to sleep in it. “I don’t know what you’re trying to pull, Suguru, but this isn’t funny. I’m not even a sorcerer anymore. You shouldn’t want anything to do with me. I’m as good as a monkey, right?” While he’d been gone, you’d searched the night tables and discovered a printed version of his manifesto. You’re almost positive he’d left it there on purpose, but you consider it a good thing. Knowledge is power and all that. And you really need to know what you’re working with. It’s… bold. And written with charisma you didn’t realize Suguru had. It’s so compelling it’s frightening, and that’s made worse by its actual contents. Suguru, your gentle, sassy, tolerant best friend, wants to eradicate ‘monkeys’, or non-sorcerers—which you object to on a personal level, since your own parents are so-called ‘monkeys’—because he believes that if there are no non-sorcerers, curses will become a thing of the past and Japan can find peace. You might view the ‘rats’ in your office uncharitably, but you’d never go so far as to even consider killing them all. That’s… it’s beyond the pale. “Not quite,” he says quietly. He’s already under the covers, wearing a loose shirt and sweatpants, while you remain steadfastly above them and unwilling to take your eyes off him for a moment. “How so?” you demand. He sighs. “Can’t you show an iota of respect?” “I’m not one of your cultists and I don’t agree with your goals, and that’s not taking into account the past. No, Suguru, I have no respect for you. Not anymore.” His eyes snap open and you can see the irritation on his face. “If you can’t respect me, then I’ll be forced to return the favor,” he warns. “Forced? You’re in charge here. I don’t know if you noticed, but I’m being held captive. Against my will. Why would I want to—” Suddenly, Suguru grabs you, his speed beyond even your honed eyesight. You find yourself on your side, face-to-face with him and dragged far too close. In this position, you can see the simmering anger in his charcoal eyes and the intensity of it, barely veiled by the neutrality in his expression, and you try to cower away. In that moment, you’re terrified. Betrayed, on a different level than you’d ever expected. His grip on you doesn’t loosen, though, and you don’t manage to put any more space between you. “I told you,” he says lowly, “to show some respect. You will, darling, or you won’t like what happens next.” He takes a deep breath and closes his eyes for a moment before returning his attention to you. “Listen, Suguru. You won’t tell me what you want from me. I’m trapped on this bed, unable to even roam the room because you’ve set a curse on the floor or something, but first and foremost… you drugged me. All these years, and you couldn’t just have a normal conversation? You took away my agency. I had no choice. At the very least you could have fought me, you know you’d have won. Instead you just copped out and drugged my food. How am I supposed to feel about you now?” Your voice isn’t aggressive as you speak this time. Clearly defiance, or rudeness, or disrespect—whatever Suguru wants to call it—won’t get you anywhere. Suguru has always been flexible, and though you’re starting to think he isn’t anymore, you have to believe you can negotiate with him. “Darling,” he says quietly, still pulling you even more uncomfortably close to him, “It’s for your own good. I’m protecting you.” Suguru has never had a problem passing off a lie as the truth; he’s better than Satoru, who can be beyond enigmatic when he doesn’t want to share. As far as you’d known him, Suguru never used his ability to lie so well to harm anyone. You doubt that’s the case anymore but regardless: you know he’s lying to you right now. “Go to sleep now,” he tells—orders—you. “We’ll talk tomorrow.” You nod and try to pull away from him. You’ve tried sleeping with another person in the bed and it doesn’t work for you. Cuddling through the night? Not a chance. Instead, Suguru drags you fully into his body, his chin resting on your head and your bodies crushed together. You take a deep breath—sandalwood and bergamot—and think about protesting. You’re not going to get any sleep like this, and you already feel a little overheated despite not being under the covers— Which Suguru promptly corrects. Pressed bodily to him, tightly and with the threat of pain if you move, you decide not to say anything after all. You just won’t sleep tonight. No big deal. You’ll use that time to figure out a plan to get out of here. The next morning, Suguru wakes you with a kiss to your forehead. The feeling of his lips—anybody’s lips—on you startles you awake. When you find out who it is that kissed you, though, you find it particularly unpalatable. You push yourself away from his touch but don’t get far. “Mm,” he hums sleepily. “Don’t move.” You try to wriggle away from him anyways—why on earth wouldn’t you try to get out of his crushing grip?—twisting and writhing until— A strangled groan you’ve never heard from him, something unable to be suppressed; then his free hand grabs your hips and pulls them into his where he bucks them into yours. Oh. Oh. “Stop,” you say frantically, unable to do anything but struggle even though common sense dictates you to stay still. You’re too afraid for common sense. “Stop!” The length of the cock pressed against your lower stomach is beyond what you think would be considered comfortable for any woman, but adding the thickness? Even if it wasn’t Suguru, who you’ve never thought of as anything other than a friend, you wouldn’t want to try to take that inside you. Suguru breathes in deeply through his nose and finally releases his grip on your hips. Tears pricking your eyes, you jerk yourself away from him and he lets you. You suddenly have a much better understanding of why he’s kidnapped you. You hope you’re wrong, but that reaction… It was too intense for just any random woman. He… You think Suguru wants you. In that way. In a way you can barely believe. “Suguru,” you say, trying to hide the tremor in your voice. “Why did…” He opens bleary eyes and they meet yours. At least one thing has stayed the same—he’s still not a morning person. “Did you…” “What?” he says, voice scratchy before he clears his throat. You swallow hard and finally ask your horrific question. “Am I here as some kind of… sex slave?” That jolts him awake. “What? No. Not at all. I would never do that to you.” That’s a relief, but you still have questions. “Please, please tell me why I’m here,” you beg. “I’m going crazy not knowing.” He props himself up on his elbow. “Darling… you’re here because I want you to be.” “It’s been four years, though. Why now?” He indolently relaxes back into his thick, cushy pillow, no longer looking at you, but you don’t think it comes from a place of shame so much as nonchalance. Like he doesn’t care about you or your feelings or your questions. “The stars had to align,” he says to the ceiling, a satisfied smirk on his lips. “They finally have, so I was able to bring you home.” You blink incredulously. Home? Who is this man wearing your best friend’s skin? Feeling sick to your stomach, you lay back on your pillow as well. You don’t want to look at him, don’t want to think about him. You just want to pretend he’s not there. After a long moment of tense silence, you feel the bed shift and Suguru leans over to start playing with your hair. You flinch at his touch before deciding not to deign him a reaction. But he keeps moving closer. Once he’s near enough to touch his chest to your stiff shoulder, you can’t help but scoot away from him several times. Unfortunately, that only results in him pulling you back. “I missed you,” he murmurs into your ear. “You have no idea how hard it was being away from you for so long.” He nips your earlobe. You flinch again. Instead of acknowledging your clear reluctance, Suguru leans closer to gently nibble that sensitive spot right behind your ear. It startles a gasp from you, an attempt to move away—though you’re running out of room on the bed, and you don’t want to trigger whatever trap he left for you on the floor—but he yanks you to him. With the desperation of a dying man, Suguru smashes his lips into yours. It’s not the kind of gentle kiss you’d have expected from him if you’d given it any thought. Instead he explores and probes with tongue and teeth, ravaging your mouth. You try to twist away but somehow you end up grazing his engorged cock, making him bite down harder. Crying out, you immediately go still. You don’t want to escalate this. It seems you have anyway; one of his large pianist’s hands drags down your side to grip your leg before yanking it over his, opening you up to his waist. To your surprise, Suguru allows you to pull away from the kiss. You quickly find that it’s just so he can move on to pressing open-mouthed kissed up and down your neck, sometimes coming dangerously close to your breasts. You wish you hadn’t been kidnapped wearing only sleep shorts and a thin camisole. You finally find your voice, everything having happened so fast that you were left dizzy and weak. “Please, Suguru, please stop,” you whimper into his messy head of hair. “Shh, darling. Be a good girl.” Damn it, you think. You have a praise kink, have always known it though you shared it with very few. You don’t know if Suguru knows about it or you’re just unlucky this time, but you hope he won’t suddenly become very… complimentary. His free hand slips down, easily separating your sleep shorts from your underwear before diving under. “Are you already so wet for me?” Suguru says, a hint of smugness in his tone. He draws a finger through your dripping cunt before casually dragging it in circles between your labia—never so much as grazing against your aching clit. “You’re being so good for me, darling.” You hadn’t been paying attention before but this time you can feel the flush of fluid at his praise and the way your body tenses in anticipation. “My perfect girl.” Suguru rucks up your camisole before tearing it over your head, leaving your upper body bare. His mouth finds your nipple and immediately starts suckling on it; in an involuntary response, you thrust your chest into his face. He hums, pleased, before reaching his hand under your back to prevent you from falling back into the mattress. A quick jerk has you positioned beneath him, his large body hovering over yours. “Look at you, little girl. It’s like you were made for me.” You can’t help but moan this time. Suguru finally stops circling your clit and begins to rub it expertly. All you can do is gasp and hold onto your sanity for dear life. This is wrong, wrong, wrong, a nagging voice in the back of your mind repeats, but you can’t hear it over your pleasure. Dipping one long finger inside you while the heel of his palm continues to stimulate your clit, Suguru groans. “You’re going to feel so good on my cock,” he mumbles into the crook of your neck. “So good, my darling.” He fits in a second finger, and before long both of them are curling against a weak spot you’ve barely managed to touch, even by yourself, that has you thrusting your hips into his hand with desperation. As much as you hate to admit it, no man has ever evoked so much pleasure from you. Ever. It burns the wound of being raped—you can’t see this going any other way—like shoving dirt and bacteria directly into it. Your involuntary pleasure has been built high and you feel like your entire body is taut with it. You won’t beg for release, but it’s tempting nonetheless. Abruptly, you’re stroked just right and start cresting over that hill, but Suguru pulls away immediately and you cry out in dismay. “Does my good girl want to come?” he whispers against your cheek, pressing a light kiss there. “Do you think you deserve it?” His question startles you out of your pleasure-blinded mind. As you start to come back to yourself, all you feel is shame and humiliation. “Deserve it?” you ask, voice not quite as hostile as you suddenly feel. “Mmhmm. After all your disrespect, do you deserve to come?” You glare at him. “Yes.” Suguru chuckles indulgently. “We’ll work on apologies later,” he says. You can hear the eagerness in his tone. “I need to fuck your tight little pussy first.” His crude language shocks you—you’ve never heard him speak like that—but it’s quickly pushed to the back of your mind. He starts slamming his fingers into that spot, his palm all but crushing pleasure into your clit, and with a choked cry, you come all over his fingers. “Shit,” Suguru hisses. He keeps moving his hand until you whimper from overstimulation, then brings his drenched fingers up to his mouth and sucks. You wish you could say that it turns you off, but it doesn’t, his hum of delight as his licks them clean reviving the pleasure in your belly that was just released. Spreading your legs wide, Suguru hikes them up around his hips and leans into you. His ruddy cock is covered in precum, the thick mushroom head almost purple in anticipation. As his dick presses into your soaked opening, he says, “I’m not going to be able to go slow for you, darling. You’ll just have to take it.” The words resonate with you and you’re suddenly back in your body, about to be raped after molestation, and automatically you begin to thrash. It happens without thought; you just return to your body, pleasure denied, and realize that you’re about to just let Suguru rape you. No, no, no! “Wait, stop—” you cry, trying to jerk your hips from his. “Oh, darling, it’s far too late for that.” “Suguru—!" He plunges inside you. He’s prepared you adequately, but his size still has you choking on air as he bottoms out. Gasping, you’re barely conscious of how he moans wantonly and starts thrusting, slowly, powerfully, as he adapts. As soon as he’s acclimated, he starts railing into you, punching the breath out of your lungs with every thrust. Usually, your cervix doesn’t take pressure very well, certainly not the haphazard strokes into it, but unlike any time before, there’s a bright spark of pleasure that comes with the pain. As he slams your hips together, forcing yours to move with his, you’re left helpless and at his mercy. (Were you ever not?) Those bright, painful, amazing sparks of pleasure start to gather arousal of an intensity you’ve never felt before. It’s not the usual kind; no, there’s something different about this pleasure. You don’t know how to describe it, it just is, kind of uncomfortable and also incredible at the same time. Suguru leans down into your ear, his thrusts increasing in pressure the closer your bodies are to each other, and he says, “Does my cock feel good for you, darling?” You can only whimper, not sure how to answer. “It does, doesn’t it? My sweet angel. Why don’t you come for me? I know you want to.” His words seem to jumpstart the tension inside you and you can only moan helplessly, wishing you had more agency over your body. You feel like you’re just this close to snapping. “Come for me, good girl,” he murmurs, and with a decisive thrust— It feels like you go supernova. The unfamiliar pleasure is explosive and your vision goes white, lost in pulsing pleasure until you think you might have blacked out from it. Afterwards, you’re panting, overstimulated, back to yourself because you’re pretty sure you can’t come more than twice. On a good day you get one. Two? Never happened before. Well, until now. But Suguru keeps going, heedless of your pain. He’s still moving at that reckless pace, no longer with any other goal than to reach his end. You can’t help but try to get out from under him, the touch of any part of your lower body hurting. He ignores your wriggling and whining except tightening is bruising grip under your thighs and forcing an almost violent kiss on you. The wait for him to come seems interminable as you lie there, numb from the rape, and now in shock from the pain of being used like a sex doll. All you can do now is take it. You suppose he had warned you. At long last, he comes. He pulls out, covering your upper body with creamy semen. “Look at you,” he pants. “All covered in me.” Tears hadn’t made their way to you yet, but they reach you now. Blinking them back as you stare up into the ceiling, trying to keep your chin from wobbling, your only goal right now is to not cry in front of your rapist. After a few moments of catching his breath, suddenly it seems like Suguru has returned to himself from the sex-crazed fiend that had hurt you so badly. You ache and you’re sore and you can feel every injury you’d sustained. “Let me clean you up now, darling,” he says gently. There’s no remorse in his voice but he sounds more like—well, not your Suguru—the stranger in your friend’s body. Your Suguru would be disgusted by the thought of rape and furthermore, he would have never done it to you. This man… As he stands up and walks to the ensuite to be a washcloth, you can’t help it—your tears spring free. Trying to sob as quietly as you can, you clutch your violated body and cry. You remember your dull life of just forty-eight hours ago. Barely surviving, lost in a muddle of a future. The thought of going back to Tokyo Tech, where at least you’d have your old friends. The thought of having a large family with someone you loved, raising the next generation. You were torn between peace and happiness and thrill and saving lives. You’d had a choice then, no matter how hard it was. Now you’ve been taken by some strange, disgusting stranger in your friend’s body and he’d raped you. The man with the face of an angel now concealing rotting, putrid insides. And you don’t think you can get away—nor is anyone going to save you. All you know is that you long for your dull office job, the pointlessness of your previous existence now. You’d give anything just to go back to that. Mental wounds too great, body marred and violated, you start to retreat into yourself. There’s nothing else you can do, right? You’re alone with no end of this misery in sight. You don’t think you can come back from this. Suguru is content with the way you’ve adapted to your new life. …Well, it could be better. You mostly move around in silence. He sees the surrender in your eyes and is pleased by it. You now show the proper respect. You quietly stand with his subordinates, though he’d prefer you to build relationships with them instead of only answering their questions and only with truncated responses. And you don’t fight him over your nightly activities. Overall, everything has worked out. Their goal to wipe out all the monkeys in small prefecture, just a test run, is coming up and everyone is excited about it. Except you. But you don’t show much emotion for anything these days. The most vocal you are is when he makes love to you. As well as things are going, Suguru wishes you would smile sometimes. Your flat façade never breaks. It’s like you’ve retreated into yourself, leaving only a simulacrum left. He has no idea how to bring you back, but after achieving his group’s current goal, he’s determined that he’ll bring back the girl he fell in love with. The one who looked up at him adoringly, shining eyes bright and clear under the rising sun. The one he should have kissed so long ago. Maybe if he had, you wouldn’t be this ghost of yourself. Despite the dissatisfaction with your current state, though, he loves you just the same. He’ll find a way to put that smile back on your face one way or another. In the meantime, the best he can do is kiss you like he should have all those years ago. You’ll come to appreciate them when you’re back to yourself. Whenever that day comes. …If it comes. But he doesn’t like to think about that. Fin.