Tw : Oral (female Receiving)

SATOSUGU X READER FIC RECS // mdni!

getting caught - @/nanaslutt

two for one - @/madamechrissy

good girls go to heaven - @/cumironi

threes a crowd - @/gojonanami

porn stars - @/webism

yakuza fiancé - @/gojonanami

study sessions - @/storusangel

government hooker!? - @/screampied

raspberry leaves - @/sunmoonjune

eiffel tower - @/nanaslutt

eiffel tower pt2 - @/nanaslutt

pervs - @/madamechrissy

double stuffed - @/peachedtv

twice the trouble - @/satoruhour

cold ice popsicle! - @/cumironi

roach - @/obsesssedblerd

good grief, suguru! - @/ohimsummer

come rest your bones next to me - @/twentyfivemiceinatrenchcoat

spoiled little girlfriend - @/cumironi

one, two, three (it’s not only you and me) - @/justrustandstardust

home - @/delulustateofmind

rivalry - @/nanaslutt

I DONT OWN ANY OF THESE FICS!! // CREDS TO THE WRITERS!! <3

“WILL MY EXQUISITE MORTAL LET ME BE HER FIRST BITE?”

“I can’t give you an Edward Cullen but I can be the vampire of your fantasies. So will you accept me, my love?”

pairing: vampire! suguru geto x f!reader | kinkoctober m.list

summary: it is at tokyo university, during a foggy month of october, with a soft, chilling rain falling drearily, that autumn gloomily settles over all the students. you are a biology student — a true passion for you. but aside from the precious time you spend with your eye glued to a microscope, observing cells, your nightly dreams of a noble vampire whisking you away from this life to spiral with you in a bewitching dance — much like edward cullen would — seem to be coming true. especially when your new lab partner, suguru geto, appears to be anything but one of the common folk…

warnings: +18 MDNI, smut, nsfw, suguru and reader are students in biology, some scenes are inspired from the volume 1 of the twilight saga, dark academia vibes (kinda), fall mood, slight angst, gojo and choso makes an appearance, gojo is also a vampire, friends to lovers, suguru is a gentleman, human/vampire relationship, nightmare, mention of alcohol (it’s beer), blood sucking, handjob (m! receiving), fingering (f! receiving), cowgirl, overstimulation, sex (p in v), oral (f + m), blood kink (well, i think so...), voice kink.

wc: 10,759 (i’ve missed writing long fics haha)

A mortal life can be so dull, can’t it?

While vampires, they get to live eternally, without worrying about time or dying. Not only are they blessed with breathtaking beauty, but they’re also quick, with vision sharper than an eagle’s, and they remember forever what they read.

That would come in handy for many, wouldn’t it, dear reader?

Or maybe, having a vampire boyfriend, like in books and series? Is it always asking for too much…

“You’re reading Twilight?”

The question, almost whispered near your temple, makes you jump on the bench in the lecture hall where you’re sitting, and you nearly drop Volume 1 of your favorite vampire saga. His breath is icy, enough to send a chill of goosebumps over the entirety of your skin. At least, October’s biting wind has a rival…

You quickly look up at a student around your age, who sits in the seat next to you, a smirk stretching across his perfectly thin lips. The beauty of this stranger becomes blinding.

Is such supernatural beauty even allowed?

With long strands of black hair brushing his shoulders, alabaster skin, deep obsidian eyes, and a physique perfectly balanced between lean and muscular, your mouth falls open in indiscreet amazement. And he has probably noticed, as the corner of his mouth stretches even further.

He knows he’s beautiful. Is he using it to his advantage? You half hope he is.

“Yes,” you answer simply, your eyes still fixed on him as he pulls out his things. “You recognized it?”

He raises an amused eyebrow. “A classic of vampire literature, isn’t it? How could I not?”

His remark warms your heart in a strange way. “Oh, I don’t know. I rarely meet guys who’ve read the same books as me.” Your gaze drifts over the lower rows of the lecture hall. “I expected you to bring up the movies.”

“I did watch the movies, but I read the books first. You know what they say about that.” His velvety tone draws your attention, and surprisingly, his gaze remains fixed on you.

There’s this light that animates his irises — like a smile.

“Is that why you took biology classes?” he continues, breaking your silence. You furrow your brows. “I mean, it’s the place where Bella and Edward first meet, right?” He chuckles at your still-confused expression. “In a biology class,” he clarifies.

And he laughs when the lightbulb in your mind finally goes on.

His laugh is so soft, almost musical and enchanting. A lullaby that pleasantly tickles your ears, drawing you in.

“So, you like vampire stories? Perfect for October,” he adds.

You study the flawless features of his face and almost forget to answer him. “Uh, yes. It’s one of the first romances I read when I was young. I reread it every year, like a tradition.”

“Oh, then I’m dealing with a real fan! Maybe you’re waiting for your vampire?” His teasing tone stings, making your cheeks blush adorably.

“What? No, I never said that!” you protest.

Once again, he bursts out laughing, this time so openly that you can see all his perfectly aligned white teeth — one detail you can’t ignore.

His canines are slightly sharper than average. They have their charm, certainly, but that doesn’t stop the strange feeling that there’s nothing ordinary about him.

No, you’re not delusional enough to think he could actually be a vampire (that only happens in books, come on!), but still, why not imagine it? His beauty, however, remains anything but normal.

In the end, as you join in his contagious laughter, you can’t help but think that maybe this new October will be a little more special than the previous ones and a little less lonely.

~~~~

By the end of the day, you at least managed to get a name — Suguru Geto.

Does a man who monopolizes your attention also have to be blessed with such a lovely name?

“Nice day, isn’t it?”

The familiar tone tickles your ears the next day, but you don’t look up right away, preferring to wait for him to set down his things and prepare himself, just as you are, for the practical biology class (the one that usually takes place in the lab).

You lift your nose from yesterday’s book and glance at the window, where a thin stream of sunlight slips through the glass to warm the surface of the floor. “It’s rare for October,” you comment nonchalantly.

“Don’t sound too excited,” he replies sarcastically, quickly slipping on his white lab coat. His long strands of black hair brush against the pristine white fabric with elegance. “You don’t like the sun?” A mischievous smile tugs at the corner of his mouth as it twitches slightly.

“And you like it?” you retort, knotting your brows as your eyes rise to meet his.

“I hate it.”

You blink. “Didn’t you say it was a nice day?”

“I asked you if it was.” He chuckles softly. “If you’d breathe in something other than moldy paper…” He gestures at the yellowed pages of your book.

“Show some respect for my book.” You close it sharply and give Suguru’s shoulder a playful shove that barely registers, as if his muscles were made of stone.

“Good morning, class.” The voice of your professor cuts through just as you’re about to make a comment about it, and you quickly store your book in your bag.

For this biology class, a rather simple and classic experiment needs to be carried out in pairs using a microscope — a blood type test (ABO/Rh). Something fairly standard and easy to do. It reminds you of a scene from the first volume of the Twilight saga, and to say that you’re holding back from a mini-celebration would be an understatement, as everything seems perfect.

During the procedural steps of the experiment, you notice Suguru watching you, sitting on his wooden stool as you bring the needle close to the tip of your finger. “Aren’t you going to prick yourself?” you can’t help but ask.

Suguru shakes his head, swallowing. “I have a hard time with… blood.” He inhales and exhales lightly, as though something constricts him in his attempts.

“Oh, really?” You raise your eyebrows in surprise. “Are you hemophobic?”

“Let’s… go with that,” he replies, his tone almost so dry and flat that you wonder where his cheerfulness from earlier has gone.

“So, you’re not really phobic?” you press, which elicits a small sigh from him that you notice despite its subtlety.

“It’s complicated to explain,” he says, his gaze lowering to the lab table legs. “I’ll just do the experiment with you.”

“But it’s graded,” you murmur. “Wouldn’t you rather we—”

“I know. The professor is aware, don’t worry,” he assures you through clenched teeth, scooting his chair back slightly from you and clearing his throat to stifle the metallic sound of the chair legs scraping the floor.

Of course, this doesn’t escape your notice. You even have half a mind to ask if he’s okay, but he cuts you off right before you can, making you almost want to shake him. “I’ll help you analyze your blood type; just let me know when to add the anti-A drops and—”

But before he finishes, you’ve already pricked your finger, and a large drop of blood is forming. The reddish liquid rolls down your fingertip like a tear, and you quickly place drops on the microscope slides.

Suguru stands up abruptly, and for a second, you think he’s going to rush over to draw some drops for the test, but he grabs his things instead and bolts out of the lab without a word.

In the room, no one — neither students nor the professor — seems to pay any attention to him.

You’re the only one left frozen, with drops of blood still trickling down your hand.

Wait, what just happened?

~~~~

During the rest of the week that follows, Suguru doesn’t show up to any classes. Not even the biology ones.

Confusion continues to hang around you, almost preventing you from enjoying a good night's sleep. He who seemed so charming and welcoming at first now seems to have pulled away all of a sudden.

Did you upset him by biting him without warning? He probably didn’t like that, but wasn’t it him who was behaving so strangely? It’s almost like he has bipolar behavior.

Sitting at the base of a solitary tree in your university courtyard, you’ve settled in to enjoy the grayish weather and the beauty of the autumn leaves swirling down onto the green grass by the pathways.

What perfect weather to study.

Fine raindrops fall here and there, but nothing to damage your belongings, or perhaps just enough to help you forget your sad heart. Of course, you barely know Suguru. He’s a student as ordinary as a gemstone in a river of pebbles. As normal as the beauty of a model and that of the one who foolishly stole your heart in less than 2000 words (you’re about there, dear reader). You’re just a fool. He doesn’t represent much aside from being beautiful.

And potentially liking what you read.

And maybe you’re also disappointed at the thought of having believed in a friend (a rare one, because yes, you certainly don’t have any).

And the possibility of spending the best season in the company of someone who might appreciate the same autumnal atmosphere as you.

The cold wind blows, sweeping your hair from your face over your shoulder, doing the same with a few pages of the textbook lying on the grass. You hold your copy of the Twilight saga close, the only thing that still connects you to Suguru, who has been missing for almost a week.

Too bad…

~~~~

The following week, to your surprise, as you take your usual seat in the biology lecture hall in the early morning, Suguru Geto quickly descends the steps and sits on the opposite side of the room.

The moment he walked through the doors, your eyes locked onto him and didn’t waver, but of course, he didn’t glance at you even once. So maybe you can give him the benefit of the doubt — maybe he didn’t see you.

But that doesn’t seem to be enough.

Not when, at the end of the lecture, he walks right past you to leave the room, making it all too obvious that he’s purposely ignoring you. He practically escapes from the lecture hall, walking so quickly that he leaves the crowd of students behind him.

He must be mad at you.

Well, so be it.

That’s what you tell yourself.

What you keep telling yourself.

And you keep repeating it, even as he sits with other students, one girl in particular giggling with him during class. A pang tugs at your heart. The same smile, the same eyes, but now directed at another girl. And even other guys. But it’s even more unbearable when it’s another girl.

Too bad...

So you wait through the following days, secretly hoping he’ll come over to you, but nothing. Then one Friday, just as all hope seems to have evaporated, your biology professor makes an announcement that makes you sincerely want to marry her.

“My dear students, it’s finally time for me to evaluate you on what counts most for me before midterms, and that’s your ability to work on a project, which you’ll hand in after some time,” she announces, her tone lightly enthusiastic, as if giving extra work could raise her salary. “I’ve already paired you up, with each group working on a different topic. The pairs and topics are already posted on the list I’ve sent to your emails via the course Canvas page.”

Within seconds, everyone in the lecture hall has their eyes glued to their phones, checking who their partner is. Cheers echo around you, with some students celebrating their familiar partners, while others are less pleased.

In your case, it’s your jaw that does the work, practically hitting the floor.

Your name right there, alongside his — Suguru Geto.

He’s the first person you look for, and you can’t deny a slight thrill of satisfaction.

Lower down in the hall, Suguru sits frozen, holding his phone, his shoulders tensed, likely processing the news about his partner. He shifts slightly after a few moments, and you can predict his movements with surprising clarity. The instant he begins to turn in what seems like your direction, you quickly avert your gaze, avoiding any — direct or indirect — confrontation with him.

The bell finally rings, and the students start packing up, barely listening to your biology professor’s reminders about the project’s due date.

You don’t linger either, hastily grabbing your bag, stuffing in your laptop and other things, eager to escape the room and avoid crossing paths with Suguru.

Just as you reach the middle of the courtyard, where rain pours down in relentless sheets, your name is called out despite the strong wind biting at your cheeks and bending nearby trees. The rain falls harder by the second, driving most students to seek refuge indoors, away from the dark gray sky and the downpour increasing in force and volume.

Despite the fierce wind and unending rain, your name is called out a second time as panic seizes you. A conflict arises within you. It’s Suguru’s voice ringing out miraculously above the “storm,” yet you still need to find shelter.

You keep walking, determined not to turn back. Your clothes are soaked, your skin chilled to the bone, and your hair plastered to your face. But no, you won’t turn back.

This time, your name is called so loudly and from so close that you startle, your previously squinting eyes now wide open. “Are you crazy? It’s pouring like a storm!” Suguru exclaims, wrapping his hand around your wrist to pull you toward the empty gazebo to shelter you both. You protest, pulling your wrist back in vain, but you have to admit it: Suguru’s grip is as solid as stone.

Both of you, soaked to the bone, stand under the gazebo as Suguru wrings out his jet-black hair, then immediately turns to face your shivering form. "Are you okay?" he murmurs softly, just as thunder rumbles in the distance. But it’s easy to read his lips.

You nod, averting your gaze. “What do you want?”

Suguru furrows his brows. “Originally, to talk about the project. But at this point, to keep you from throwing yourself at the storm!”

His words are so sarcastic that the two of you end up staring stupidly into each other’s wide, rain-dampened eyes, as droplets patter against the gazebo roof.

Then you both burst out laughing.

It doesn’t take long before you’re doubled over, tears welling up as laughter fills the air. The deep breaths and cold, ragged gasps that freeze your lungs mean nothing compared to this absurdly amusing moment.

When the laughter finally subsides and you’ve caught your breath, Suguru clears his throat. “Anyway, can I ask why you decided to challenge this storm when I was calling out to you?”

“Ask yourself,” you retort, the laughter vanishing from your face. “Weren’t you the one who left me mid-experiment and has been ignoring me ever since?” You pause, trying to keep your growing feelings hidden, as warmth rises to your cheeks. To cover it, you add, “And besides, I don’t owe you anything. You told me you’d arranged things with the professor.”

Suguru blinks twice in quick succession. “Did… that hurt you?”

You frown. “What? No, we barely know each other. That’s not what—”

He murmurs your name as a gentle warning, sending a shiver down your spine, then takes a step closer, closing the distance between you. “Answer me. Did it hurt you?”

You purse your lips, feeling embarrassed, but remain in stubborn silence.

Suguru sighs, then lowers his head toward you until his forehead rests gently on your shoulder. “Forgive me.”

“...What?”

“Forgive me,” he repeats. “I understand my mistake. I knew that leaving without an explanation would hurt you. But I didn’t think it would be even worse if I didn’t come to talk to you afterward. I thought… maybe you didn’t want to talk to me anymore.” He lifts his head, his eyes meeting yours, and you’re left speechless at his words. “You have every right to be upset with me. It’s not fair.”

Suddenly, a clap of thunder booms, and you flinch in fright. Suguru instinctively places his hands around your elbows.

“Are you okay?”

You swallow, heart pounding. “Yes, I’m fine.” Suguru looks puzzled, his brow furrowing in response. “I mean,” you turn your face away, your cheeks aflame, “let’s just forget it happened. I’m not mad at you. Maybe I should have warned you I was about to prick my finger and—”

“Oh, no, no, no,” Suguru cuts you off softly, a worried crease forming between his brows. “It’s my fault. I wasn’t in the right mindset, and I panicked when I saw the blood. You have nothing to apologize for, please.” He uses the quiet moment to tuck a stray lock of hair that had fallen near your eyes behind your ear. “So… do you forgive me?”

Your eyes meet his again, and the warmth in them nearly overwhelms you. “...Yes.”

“Perfect. Thank you,” he whispers, grateful. Another silence lingers as he slowly releases his hold on your elbows. “So… are you up for the project?”

“As long as it doesn’t involve any more real blood,” you reply with a shy, half-smile.

“Promise, no more blood,” Suguru assures you, chuckling softly.

~~~~

“It’s actually pretty convenient.”

“Yeah, well, maybe not for our hands,” Suguru grumbles, grabbing a paper towel to wipe his fingers now stained red from the strawberry juice that’s seeped out.

“I actually like it,” you mumble, chewing on a strawberry used for your DNA extraction analysis — the topic of your shared project.

All of it comes from a strawberry, considering Suguru wasn’t keen on using mouth swabs, which was understandable.

“You’ve got juice all around your mouth,” he chuckles, amused by your bewildered and almost endearing expression. “Need some help?” He reaches out and gently wipes a red stain from the corner of your lips with his thumb.

You murmur a quick thank you, feeling your cheeks heat up slightly as he wipes his thumb with a tissue, then casually tucks it away in his pocket. With a quick glance at the clock on your living room wall, he comments, “You haven’t eaten dinner.”

“You mean we haven’t,” you correct him.

“No, I mean you haven’t,” he insists with that familiar little smirk. “And I’m suggesting we go out to eat.” He gets up from his chair in a fluid motion, heading toward the exit without waiting for a reply.

As he had intended, you soon find yourself seated at a cozy, discreet restaurant with soft, dim lighting. Suguru sits across from you, arms crossed over his chest, his torso leaning forward slightly.

“So? Did you decide?” he murmurs softly, a stray lock of his raven-black hair brushing his cheek, its tip just grazing his lips.

“Yes, I’ll go with this,” you show him, just as the server arrives to take your order with a polite smile. “What about you?”

“You didn’t choose a drink.”

“Oh, um, a Coke,” you reply, a bit caught off guard.

“Make that two Cokes, please,” he tells the server, who nods and leaves quietly. Suguru turns back to you. “I already paid the bill,” he adds as you open your mouth to speak.

“But you didn’t even know the price of what I’d order,” you protest, frowning.

“I left a tip just in case.” He grins.

Moments later, despite your ongoing complaints about his overly chivalrous gesture, the server places a steaming hot dish in front of you.

“Suguru…” you sigh.

“Eat,” he responds with his ever-present smirk, nudging the plate closer.

Seeing no other choice, you stab a piece of vegetable with your fork, chewing it with an exasperated pout.

Suguru’s grin widens until it reveals perfectly straight, white teeth, with canines just a bit sharper than average. If you let your imagination go, who wouldn’t think of a vampire? But you keep that thought to yourself and blink at Suguru, whose grin soon turns to laughter.

“What?” you ask, mouth still full.

“You look like an angry little chipmunk,” he laughs, covering his face with his hands to muffle his uncontrollable laughter as you swallow. His laugh is so warm, harmonious, and comforting that you can’t help but giggle along, wiping the corner of your mouth with a napkin.

“Stop,” you try to grumble, but the attempt only sharpens Suguru’s laugh, and soon both of you are swept up in uncontrollable laughter.

An hour later, you’ve finished your meal and your Coke — and even Suguru’s, who insisted he wasn’t hungry. It seemed odd, but his sincere smile reassured you. So you didn’t question it and asked him to wait outside while you made a quick stop in the restroom.

As you step out of the ladies’ room, two unfamiliar men block your way, stopping you from making a quick exit. You sigh discreetly, hesitant to say you’re in a hurry.

“Well, hey there, cutie,” growls one, a short, stocky guy.

“We saw you heading to the restroom all alone, thought you looked pretty cute,” adds his taller, leaner friend. “So if you’re interested, wanna spend the evening with us?”

Is this really Wario and Waluigi standing in front of you?

You swallow nervously. “Oh, sorry, I’m waiting for someone, so that won’t be possible,” you say politely, forcing a smile.

“Oh yeah? Who’s that?”

“My…” You search for the right words, even though the answer is obvious. “Friend.”

“Your friend?” the shorter man presses. “Maybe we could help you find him, huh? We’ve even got a nice car to take you in.” His smile reveals teeth stained dark by tobacco, sending a shiver of dread down your spine.

“I can find my own way, but thanks for the offer,” you say, taking a few steps to slip between the two men. “Have a good even—”

“Hold on there, not so fast!” the lean man cuts you off, any hint of friendliness gone in an instant. “Who said you could leave?”

The shorter man clicks his tongue in agreement, narrowing his eyes dangerously as your heartbeat races faster with panic. “Yeah! We need some company tonight, so you’re either coming with us, or else—”

“Or else what?”

Suguru’s hands rest firmly on your shoulders, giving them a gentle squeeze. “Suguru, you—” Just turning halfway and looking up, you recognize his unforgettable form, and your heart nearly stops.

“You okay, princess?” Suguru murmurs, his neck bent so close to your shoulder that he could practically nibble your neck or playfully bite your ear. One small nod from you is all he needs before he carefully releases you and positions his body as a shield between you and the two men.

Even from behind him, you can feel his chilling smile.

“Gentlemen, shall we continue this conversation outside?”

“Phew!” Suguru exhales, brushing off his hands as you both leave the restaurant ten minutes later.

“W-What happened to those two guys?” you can’t help but ask, trying not to shiver in the biting cold that hits you the second you step outside.

“Nothing special,” he answers vaguely, smoothly slipping off his sleek black leather jacket and draping it over your shoulders. It’s cold to the touch. “Put it on—I don’t want you catching a chill.” His minty breath brushes against your cheek.

“No need, really. It’s already very kind of you to—”

“Don’t thank me, alright?” Suguru opens the passenger side door of your car, gesturing for you to get in. And before you can protest, he hushes you. “Nope, I’m driving tonight.”

“Aren’t you overdoing the chivalry thing?” you grumble, crossing your arms over your chest as you settle into the passenger seat while Suguru rests his hands on the wheel.

“Better too much than too little, right? You complaining, or am I imagining things?” he chuckles, and you sigh, rubbing your arms against the cold that his jacket doesn’t quite keep out. “You’re cold?”

You nod slightly, and he reaches for the heat controls at the same time you do, and for an instant, your hands brush against each other.

And a strange, unpleasant feeling washes over you.

Suguru pulls his hand back, looking tense and stiff, his gaze fixed intently on the road. You turn the heat up by yourself and sink into your seat.

“Your… hand’s freezing,” you murmur, daring only to glance at him with your eyes, not turning your head fully. “Are you sure you don’t want to take your jacket back?” He doesn’t answer.

The rest of the drive passes in silence, and you can’t shake the question of how a simple brush of hands turned the atmosphere so awkward. It feels as if the air has thickened, like molasses, making each breath slightly difficult.

Once you arrive in front of your house, you both step out of the car, and Suguru hands you your keys as you do.

“I’ll walk you to your door,” he murmurs, matching his pace to yours.

You don’t respond, pulling your house keys out, but you don’t pay attention to the porch steps and stumble. In the next second, you blink.

You didn’t fall.

Two strong arms, heavy and solid as iron, hold you firmly in place.

“You alright?” Suguru’s eyes are fixed on yours, his face far too close, so close that all it would take is for you to lean forward to kiss him.

“Y-Yeah, thanks,” you stammer, taken by surprise.

He steadies you back on your feet, his hand lingering around your waist to make sure you don’t stumble again.

Made of stone.

Suguru steps back, creating a respectable distance, while you fumble with your keys, your hands trembling slightly as you slip one into the lock.

“See you Monday?” you whisper, as though the night amplifies your voice.

“Monday, yes,” Suguru replies with a nod that seems almost… robotic.

~~~~

Two weeks later, neither of you had brought up any details about what happened — whether it was about the two men at the restaurant, Suguru’s icy hands, or his iron-like grip (and at this point, calling it iron was putting it mildly).

Now that you’re friends, it didn’t take long before you both started spending most of your free time together during the week — at the library, in the university courtyard, and sometimes even at cafés.

Your weekends often revolved around working on the DNA extraction project with strawberries, even though using cheek cells seemed more and more tempting. Why? Well, it fit perfectly into the human biology lessons in your course — even if the strawberries did the trick.

Naturally, you started learning more about each other — hobbies, music tastes — and, of course, books.

If there was anything that held you back from finding Suguru’s behavior odd at times, it was that day he sat beside you after a Sunday you’d spent chatting the whole afternoon away about your favorite books without making any progress on your biology project.

From Anne of Green Gables to Twilight, Dracula, Wuthering Heights, or Kafka’s works (Letters to Milena in particular), Suguru had brought every single copy he’d bought that Sunday evening and read them all overnight — something you’d thought impossible to read in such a short time, but Suguru assured you he reads very quickly.

So you believed him.

How could you not, when he found the best way to make your heart race by reading what you loved and showing up ready to discuss it all with you?

If that was his intent, then Suguru was indeed every bit the gentleman he thought himself to be.

“By the way, there’s a frat party happening soon. Are you going to come?” Suguru asks, his head bent over a DNA Ethics Guide textbook.

You’re both in the university library, as silent as a vampire’s heart. Ah, now you’re a poet?

You stop rummaging through your pencil case and glance up at him. “I don’t really know anyone, so—”

“Well, I do, so are you coming?”

You laugh nervously. “No, I don’t want to just crash the party; it’ll be awkward and—”

“I’ll be there, so it won’t be crashing,” Suguru insists, a slight smile playing on his lips as he looks up at you.

The sight takes your breath away.

“Will you let me finish my sentences, for goodness’ sake?” you retort, your cheeks flushing. You lower your eyes to your pencil case to avoid responding.

But his hand finds yours, intertwining his fingers with yours to stop your movements. Your heart, already racing, skips a beat. “Come on, please? It’s not like I’m asking for a lot of favors.”

This time, it’s your whole body temperature that spikes — so much so that your hand, tangled with Suguru’s, becomes a little sweaty, and you gently pull it back toward you.

“I… I’ll think about it, okay?” you mumble, quickly rummaging to find your white-out for no reason and then using it on… absolutely nothing, really.

Because now you’ve forgotten what you were even looking for in your pencil case.

~~~~

“What about seven minutes in heaven?” Satoru Gojo proposes, a student with albino hair and cerulean blue eyes half-hidden behind useless round sunglasses, sporting a mischievous smirk.

“You suggest this every time!” Choso Kamo protests, the emo boy dressed in punk-style clothing, with messy black pigtails. He scrunches his nose in disapproval.

“But it’s the best,” Satoru counters.

The music blasts in every corner of the house where the frat party is taking place. Pink, blue, and fuchsia neon lights color the atmosphere, transforming every hue.

In one corner of the house, a circle has formed with Suguru’s friends. You all sit cross-legged, a few drinks nearby for refreshment, and you can’t help but think it’s one of the best ideas proposed since the beginning.

You’ve stuck close to Suguru since your arrival, which he couldn’t help but tease you about, provoking a blush that no one could see thanks to the neon lights. Plus, he kindly introduced you to his friends, all lovely and inclusive, never leaving you out. But if there was one goat — an animal very representative of him, by the way — among this flock of sheep, it was Satoru.

Outgoing by nature and quick to embrace any event that sparks even the slightest interest, he was the first to take you under his wing — all while Suguru watched cautiously — and show you everything you’d never dared to do at a party.

“What do you think of it, sweetheart?” Satoru whispers as the others debate the topic on their side (some for, others against).

You jump slightly, still not used to him addressing you with such open flirtation. “Um…” You clear your throat, squirming a little in your position. “I’ve heard of it, but what is it exactly?”

“You don’t know? Awww.” He leans in closer so that his lips reach your ear. “The goal of this game is to be locked in a room for seven minutes — a bedroom, a closet, whatever — and you can do whatever you want with the person who’s in there with you.” His breath is as cool as Suguru’s, and when Satoru pulls back, his face remains close to yours. His pale complexion reflects like an entity never seen before. “Clearer now, sweetheart?”

You swallow hard, nodding slowly. “And when you say they can do whatever they want… what does that include? Generally speaking, I mean,” you inquire, sensing a weighty gaze upon you but not knowing where it’s coming from.

Satoru closes the distance between you and wraps an arm around your shoulders. “Well, let’s just say most people kiss, sometimes make out,” Satoru confesses with a sly smile. His scent is as intoxicating as Suguru’s — just like his stone-like embrace. Satoru’s skin — especially his exposed forearms — feels like it’s at the same temperature as the ocean, yet it’s as if a warmth radiates from him regardless. “But…” he brings his lips close to your temple, making you shiver as your eyes scan around, briefly locking with Suguru’s intense gaze on you, “some people find time to go further, if you catch my drift.”

You choke on your own saliva at that moment, and Satoru bursts out laughing.

A few minutes later, a duo emerges from a broom closet, giggling like tipsy people, returning to the circle amid cheers from the others.

Satoru replaces the empty glass beer bottle to spin it in the center, pointing at his next victim — if you could say it like that, since you don’t seem very excited about the game.

And despite that, the wicked bottle stops, pointing its neck at you.

Goddamn it.

A knowing smile spreads across Satoru’s face — he glances mischievously in your direction before spinning the bottle again and quickly sitting back down.

With every turn, the speed used to spin it feels like this simple bottle holds a sentence. Your fate for the next seven minutes.

When it finally slows down and stops, to your greatest…

Relief?

… it points at Suguru.

Satoru pouts a little in disappointment and stands up along with both of you to escort you to the closet, amid cheers of encouragement from the group.

Suguru catches up with a few quick strides, just to whisper to you, “We don’t have to do anything if you’re not comfortable, okay? Just let me know because—”

Satoru cuts him off by shoving you tightly into the narrow broom closet and locking you inside. “And… the countdown begins!” he announces from the other side, his indistinct footsteps fading away.

The air is almost suffocating, the darkness plunging you into an atmosphere anything but reassuring, and especially the impossible closeness between you and Suguru becomes just unbearable.

Your breaths mingle, and when you try to shift positions, your chest brushes against Suguru’s, causing him to clench his jaw. “Sorry.”

“No, it’s… Let’s just say I’m not quite sure what to do here,” you admit, lifting your eyes to him, and God, he could devour you at that moment, the faint light at your feet bringing a tiny spark to your lost doe-like eyes.

“The others will get annoying if we don’t do anything,” Suguru huffs, rolling his eyes before shaking his head. “I guess Satoru explained it to you? We don’t have to do anything if you don’t want to, okay?” he insists, his tone soft and patient. He closes his eyes for a moment and inhales slightly.

“It’s not that I don’t want to, but I’m a little embarrassed,” you murmur. Then, those previous words start to tease you. “Would it bother you to do something?” you ask nonetheless.

“No, not really,” Suguru chuckles, his perfect teeth glimmering slightly in the darkness. “But we can pretend if you prefer.”

“Pretend?”

“Yeah, just…” Suddenly, he gently takes your wrists and presses them against the wooden wall of the closet, leaning toward your neck, “...pretend.”

You bite your lip to suppress any sound, but you desperately want to make one right now.

“Do you want me to stop?” he whispers just below your ear, near your pulse.

Your breathing has quickened, matching the beats of your heart, your chest rising and falling rapidly. “No.”

His lips descend to your neck, brushing against your skin, his breath caressing you to the point that you’re on the verge of breaking.

“S-Suguru…”

“Hmm?” He hums, slightly opening his mouth to let his teeth graze just above your trapezius. “Do you want me to stop?”

You shake your head, unable to speak, as if two hands were preventing you by squeezing you in the sweetest way.

That’s when he starts placing butterfly kisses on your neck and shoulders, as light as they are burning despite the icy temperature of his lips against your volcanic skin. “You have such soft, tender skin, princess,” Suguru murmurs in a breathy whisper, continuing his feather-light kisses that unintentionally make you emit a small hum revealing your inner turmoil. He chuckles softly, the sound so pleasant that it sends a pulse through your core. “If I were a vampire, I would have devoured you by now,” he teases ironically.

You freeze. “Suguru?” you whisper, your brows slightly furrowed.

“Princess?” he replies in the same tone, his lips moving down to your collarbone, dotting it with sweet, intoxicating kisses.

Unable to resist the temptation, Suguru discreetly slips out his tongue and licks a strip of your bare skin, which begins to unravel you — your mouth unable to hold back an adorable moan that drives Suguru wild.

His canines painfully extend from their gums, their tips so close to your soft, warm flesh, filled with blood he has never craved so much, but he knows he cannot. Yet it’s almost impossible for him to resist, not when your little rapid breaths tickle his shoulder, when you seem so small and vulnerable in his arms, and when your pulse races to the point that his ultra-developed hearing cannot ignore it as it usually does. So what is he to do? He inches closer and closer, his canines just millimeters away from sinking into your neck—

“Seven minutes are up!” Satoru announces as he inserts the key into the lock — just enough time for you both to pull away from each other and for Suguru’s painful canines to retreat back into his gums.

Your face has never been so warm in your life.

~~~~

That evening, after returning home without any issues, you collapsed onto your bed, alone, faced with the only thoughts occupying your mind — Suguru Geto.

Oh Lord.

If he hadn’t been real, this man would have been your fantasy day and night.

But after what happened in that infamous broom closet, you can no longer see Suguru the same way.

Not after he somehow showed you how he could desire you.

How he could protect you.

Your thoughts become tangled, and you can no longer distinguish what your brain imagines and what it remembers.

Between the two strange men in the restaurant who suddenly assaulted you and the feeling that everything spins like a black spiral, blinding you, or the man who faces you in the dark corridor of what seems to be a gothic mansion.

He extends his hand, and you step forward to take it. It’s pale, cold, and as hard as stone. It pulls you toward him, drawing you against him, his smooth white mask waiting to be removed.

So that’s what you do, your hands gently pulling at the mask to reveal what lies behind, but the face that emerges makes you want to scream.

Suguru’s head faces you, his canines protruding and stained with blood, along with the contours of his mouth.

You try to scream, to flee, to do anything, but your body seems no longer willing to respond to your brain, as if paralyzed — and Suguru only leans closer to sink his fangs into the soft, warm flesh of your neck before—

You wake up with a start, sitting halfway up in your bed, your body slick with cold sweat and your panicked eyes searching for Suguru as if it were a vital need.

It may sound crazy, but you need him.

You have to check.

~~~~

“Do you prefer scrambled, fried, or omelet eggs?”

In Suguru’s kitchen — decorated in a rather modern style with black and white furniture, but with a touch of vintage or gothic (anyway, you weren’t good at decorating, so whatever) — the smell of heating oil fills the air, eliciting a growl from your stomach.

“Scrambled, but well-cooked,” you reply as he hums and grabs three eggs to crack over the heated pan.

While his back is turned, you rise as casually as possible, trying not to look too suspicious as you pretend to peek at what he’s cooking. Suguru glances sideways at you but smiles slightly, tucking a rebellious strand of your hair behind your ear.

Since then, you haven’t talked about the frat party at all, as if nothing had happened, in fact. At least from Suguru’s side.

From your side, you can’t forget how he planted kisses on your neck, how he licked your collarbone until you moaned, and you realize that if he had continued without interruption, you would have surely agreed to go further, just as Satoru had mentioned.

You stop drifting into your thoughts and wrap your hand around the fridge handle, and Suguru turns his head towards you, knitting his brows.

“I want to drink water,” you say, opening the fridge to take a look, expecting to find jars or bottles of blood but…

…nothing.

Now that’s a bit disappointing.

There’s just nothing in Suguru’s fridge, aside from the door leading into its depths.

You turn to him, confused. “Why is your fridge empty?” you ask.

Suguru pauses for a moment before responding, his hands busy finishing your scrambled eggs. “I prefer to order food when I can.” His tone is neutral, neither cold nor dry, just lacking any openness to guess anything, which begins to irritate you.

“Not even water?”

“You ask so many questions,” Suguru sighs, a slight smile on his lips but with no malice.

“I’m just worried that my friend isn’t eating well or that he has an eating disorder,” you lie, your heart racing even more because how is it possible that, aside from the small box of eggs on the counter, he doesn’t even have water? “Do you drink tap water? It’s not very good for your health, you know—”

Suguru adds a pinch of salt to the well-cooked eggs in the pan using a small salt shaker and throws you another sideways glance, but without a smile this time. “Why are you panicking?” he suddenly asks, his voice rough and low.

“What? No, I’m not panicking, I—”

“Then why are your cheeks red? I can even hear your heartbeat racing,” he retorts, and you freeze slightly — because he’s speaking the truth, a truth that only you should be able to utter.

“It’s because of the heat in the kitchen and also because you’re avoiding my questions, Suguru,” you persist. “And what do you mean by ‘hearing’ my heartbeat, huh?”

Now it’s Suguru who looks taken aback. “Stop saying nonsense, you just sound silly. It’s an expression,” he justifies, the expression on his face twisted in a frustration you seem to understand.

He places your eggs on a plate and turns his head away from you. So you muster your courage, and to hell with it if you wet yourself.

“Suguru, I don’t know how to react now,” you admit, your voice low and uncertain. “You act so strangely sometimes that I have questions, but it seems so stupid that I feel like I’m going crazy…” A knot tightens in your throat.

Suguru turns to you, and his slightly harder gaze from a few seconds ago softens. “What are you thinking?” he murmurs, so softly and kindly that you feel he won’t judge you.

“I just… I sometimes feel like…” You look away, stepping back a little. “You don’t act like everyone else and…”

“And…?” Suguru presses, pulling a glass of water from the cupboard.

You feel your face turning as red as it did at the frat party and admit, raising your voice slightly due to uncontrollable embarrassment, “You look like a vampire, seriously!”

A silence follows.

Then Suguru turns to you. “Are you afraid of vampires?” He chuckles, teasing you.

“No, but you’re acting strangely and—”

“And so you think I’m a vampire?” he cuts you off, losing all trace of joy.

And now, he catches you off guard, making you stutter like never before. “No— well, yes, but— not really…”

“Well,” he mumbles, returning to your plate and glass to set them on the kitchen table, “who knows?”

Your complexion turns pale.

“Tell me, princess, if I were really a vampire — not a bad one, but a vampire nonetheless — would you accept me?” Suguru now approaches you quickly, cornering you against the wall behind you as you stupidly step back.

Only your frightened eyes meet his, and his obsidian gaze scrutinizes you. “It all depends on whether you want to kill me or harm me,” you breathe.

“And what if that weren’t my intention as a vampire, that I cherished you like Edward Cullen did with his Bella, hmm?” He takes your wrist to bring it to his lips and smells — but what scent? “That I love you and protect you?”

“You would drink blood… right?”

“Would you let me taste yours?” Suguru’s teeth hold your trembling wrist firmly as they hover just above your tendon, his gaze locked onto yours. “Just a sip, perhaps? It’s harmless.”

“I don’t know, Suguru… Are you a bad vampire?”

“No, darling, I would be the good vampire you would want me to be.” Suguru grins, releasing your wrist to cage you in his arms, his mouth too close to your neck, and his cool breath sending shivers all over your body. “May I?”

Your disoriented arms wrap around him, and you resign yourself to closing your eyes before nodding gently without knowing why.

“Are you sure, princess?” Suguru purrs in your ear. “It won’t hurt, I promise.”

“Go ahead,” you murmur, the blood pounding in your ears and your heart racing.

Suguru deliberately takes his time, planting a multitude of butterfly kisses on your skin, licking the area he undoubtedly wants to bite just to hear you pant softly in his ears.

He finally parts his lips, brushing his painful, protruding canines, ready to drink your blood.

Slowly, gently, and with the utmost delicacy, his fangs sink into the flesh of your neck.

You expected to feel pain, to scream, shout, and even struggle, but the only sensation is pleasure.

With every passing second, you feel a flow of blood circulating where Suguru bites you. It almost tickles, if you weren’t softly gasping and stifling whimpers.

It’s as if with each pull, a pulse of pleasure shoots directly to your core.

Until it becomes unbearable, your body writhing gently in any attempt at friction. Suguru feels it, of course, because after pulling his teeth from your flesh, he slightly straightens to admire you, your lips parted but in a pleading pout.

As for him, his lips hold the gulp of blood he just took from you, but he keeps his mouth tightly closed — because he knows the sight might disgust you. Then, a few long moments later, Suguru smiles at you, his long canines pristine once again.

You glance at your neck reflexively, and it’s as if he bit you without slicing your flesh. Your skin is smooth, with only two purplish holes visible. It looks like the wounds are in the process of healing.

Wonder fills you, and you wrap your arms around Suguru, who quickly does the same before you surprise him by kissing him directly.

His lips — despite their hard coldness — are soft against yours, moving slowly against your eager mouth, as desirous as you are.

Between kisses, you whisper, “How long have you desired my blood?”

“Since the first experience,” Suguru replies softly, his mouth devouring yours as you try to insert your tongue. “Not too far, my love, they’re sharp.” And you guess he’s talking about his teeth.

You pout. “I want you.”

Suguru presses his lips together, breaking the kiss. “Sure? I thought you were scared but I think I can control myself, and… don’t you want to ask me questions? It would be strange if you didn’t have any, after all.”

“We can do that later; I just want you right now,” you mumble, burying your face in his neck. “I’m I’m not afraid anymore.”

Suguru’s large hands slowly slide down your back and stop at your waist, gently gripping you. “So, you’re accepting me?”

You slightly turn your head toward him, your lips brushing against his jaw. “I’ve always dreamed of vampires — but they were still just dreams.”

Suguru exhales. “I can’t give you an Edward Cullen, but I can be the vampire of your fantasies. So will you accept me, my love?”

“Yes,” you whisper.

~~~~

“Ah— you’re teasing, Sugu—”

Muffled words reach your ears, but they are incomprehensible, as the vampire making you wet literally has his head buried between your legs, devouring your pussy like a starved man.

He lifts his head to look at you, and a smile lights up his features, his chin dripping with your wetness. “You can’t handle a little teasing, baby?” he coos, the tip of his tongue circling around your puffy clit in a torturous motion that makes you whine.

You pout, gasping when he pinches the little bud between his lips. “But I want you, now,” you insist.

“But I need to get you ready for me,” he responds, his hands placing themselves on your inner thighs to pin you against the mattress, laying you bare before him. He continues to wickedly tease you with the tip of his tongue against your clit and between your soaked folds.

“S’not fair,” you protest, your legs trembling softly on either side of his head like a little animal.

“Your beauty isn’t fair, that’s the point, yeah.” Suguru climbs over your body, one hand sneaking around your neck and the other sliding between your thighs to tease your dripping intimacy. He presses his mouth against your ear. “Do you know how badly I’ve struggled to not devour you?”

His whisper so close makes you gasp, as the sensation is far too pleasant and uncomfortable in the best way — breath as cold as it is warm, as he inserts a finger inside you.

“Hmm, baby?” You try to respond, but only a pathetic whimper escapes. He pushes his finger gently but surely deeper until he reaches your g-spot, and your back arches.

“Sugu,” you whine.

“You didn’t answer, princess,” he purrs, licking the shell of your ear. And he starts to pump his finger inside you, your walls clenching around his digit, warming his cold finger as he finger-fucks you in earnest. “Haven’t you seen how badly I was burning for you?”

“I— Not at the s-start,” you pant, bucking your hips toward his finger, and the more he whispers his dirty talk in your ear, the closer you feel yourself reaching your climax.

“Not at the start? And when we were in that broom closet? Weren’t you at my mercy like the little mortal that you are, almost whining because you have this dirty voice kink?” He adds another finger into your abused cunt, sinking his thick fingers to the hilt.

You squirm under him and try to respond. “M’sorry, Suguru, I just need you to—”

“To what, darling?” He pumps his fingers as teasingly as his voice, knuckle-deep and fast. “Tell me how badly you want to cum, can you do that for me?” Your sweet pussy squeezes his fingers, almost spasming because you need more, but he doesn’t allow you until you’re stretched enough to take him after that.

“I w-want to cum on— Hngh, please—” You throw your head back on the mattress, mouth agape from the unstoppable moans leaving your sweet lips. “C-Cum on your fingers, please.”

“That’s good, baby, you’re doing good,” he praises, kissing your ear, temple, cheek, and then lips. He drives his fingers deep into your depths and curls them just as you tighten around them, releasing the knot in your belly to let your juices flow.

His cold thumb joins your clit to rub gently until you ride your orgasm.

“Good job, baby, you did perfect.” Suguru straightens up, pulling his fingers from you to taste your fresh juices around his fingers while you watch with drooping eyelids and half-closed eyes. Suguru then leans in to kiss you, gently at first, knowing you’re still a little weak, then he inserts a bit of his tongue without ever crossing your teeth, fearing to hurt you.

You softly break the kiss and kiss his jaw, which makes him sigh softly. “Sugu? I have a question.”

He chuckles softly. “What did I tell you about questions?” He strokes your hair soothingly, laying down beside you. “But ask away.”

“Your entire body is cold, so it means that blood doesn’t flow through your veins, right?” you start.

“Right.”

“So, how can you be hard?” You slip a hand down his pants to palm his erection through the fabric. Your cute face almost makes his dead heart throb. “It’s funny, though,” you giggle.

“It’s hard to explain but, do you know how Edward made love to Bella?” Suguru asks, kissing your cheek as you unzip his pants.

“It wasn’t really described, but,” you pause, “was he hard?”

“Sure he was, like I am right now for you,” he mutters. Your palm wraps around his now free, throbbing erection, and your warmth electrifies a rush of pleasure through his cold flesh. You climb between his legs and lower your head so you can lap at his tip — dripping with his pre.

“Princess, be careful with—” He interrupts himself, letting out a groan to stifle a moan, which makes you laugh softly. “Tease,” he groans.

“Uh-huh.” You envelop his pale tip and suck gently, reducing Suguru to a panting and needy thing. Your fingers play with his balls, and he clenches his hands into fists, hissing between his teeth.

“Baby, be careful, you don’t know how badly I can hurt you if I don’t control at least how my body reacts to your touch, so don’t take me in your— Dear Lord,” he groans again. You see and feel the way he forces his hips to stay still against the matress to not pierce your palate with his length, much harder than usual. So you suck him slowly, carefully, not to surprise his body and give him the head you want him to feel — he even deserves it.

You withdraw his twitching dick from your mouth and grin, warming it up with your hands as he feels free to buck his hips and fuck your fist earnestly this time. “You’re so beautiful like this, aren’t you?” you praise, playing with his balls as he whines.

His long black hair sprawls across the immaculate sheets, his eyelids squinted and pleading, and his perfect lips slightly parted to let out the most divine sounds. Suguru is truly the vampire you’ve always fantasized about since your first reading on vampires.

“I’m close, sweetheart,” Suguru tells you, reaching out his arm to cup your chin and make you lift your eyes to his. “I want to cum inside you, if you would let me.” And God, how can you say no to that perfect immortal angel?

And so it is that you end up lying on the mattress, your belly exposed, your naked and heated body pressed against Suguru’s icy one, which you can’t wait to warm up.

He settles between your thighs, wrapping them around his waist before leaning down to pull you into his arms, shielding you with his stone muscles as your breasts gently crush against his cold chest, hardening your nipples, and he feels it — dragging one of his hands to it and pinching softly, just enough to make you whimper his name.

He presses his mouth against your ear again and whispers dirty words, “Ready to take my cock, princess? I won’t break you, promise. At least not yet.” And he brings his tip against your wet slit, pressing flesh against flesh to tease you until the end.

“You bast—” and he cuts you off with a kiss, pushing his tip to the very entrance of your delicious walls, ready to take him with every inch. You kiss him back, licking his lips eagerly.

“You’ll take it inch by inch, okay? It’s cold, so I need you to be comfortable with a suitable temperature,” Suguru warns you between heated kisses. “Ready?” He pulls his lips from yours to place them against your sensitive ear — on the way, he leaves a gentle hickey, enough to leave a reddish mark.

Tenderly, he sinks into you, the first inch greeted by your parted folds, greedy to take more of him.

“One inch,” Suguru says, waiting for you to adjust. “Is it alright down here?”

“Y-Yeah, I just need more, I want you whole.” You place your hands on his shoulders to steady yourself, trying to ignore how you tighten around his dick when he whispers in your ear.

“Two inches,” he exhales then curses under his breath. “Fuck, you’re so wet, and how can you be this tight?” As he gently inserts the third and fourth inches, Suguru feels like he could crack at any moment, overwhelmed by the desire to bury himself deep inside your sweet, gorgeous pussy.

The fifth, sixth, and seventh inches are taken easily by your tightness, filling the room with your two uncontrollable gasps and the heat radiating from your body, which warms so much that when Suguru starts to fuck you gently at first, you think you might melt at any moment and see stars.

He rails into you so deep and fast that he curses under his breath. “Fuck, you’ve taken the eighth inch.” He groans at the same time as you, as you take him so well that he reaches the bottom, his tip kissing your g-spot even better than his fingers did earlier.

“Oh, fuck! S’too much, Sugu, and too deep,” you moan, and it only makes his dick throb harder than it was when you stroked him.

Because with every thrust or stroke, the two of you feel overwhelmed and overstimulated at the same time. He withdraws almost entirely to slam back into you, not too hard but enough for your toes to curl and you to cry out.

“I’m already close, Suguru, please, I wanna cum.” And Suguru chuckles softly, thrusting into you harder and faster than he was already doing. Now, his tip hits your sweet spot with every stroke, coaxing sounds from you that he dreams of hearing.

“Cum on this cock, baby, you can do it,” he coos in your ear, making you clench around him, intertwining your fingers with his. He takes one of your legs to lift it over his shoulder and buries himself deeper inside you, and you press a hand over your mouth to keep from screaming.

“I’m close, I’m gonna—” But you cry out again against your palm, cumming hard and loud on his dick, your velvety walls twitching and spasming as Suguru fucks you through your orgasm — your eyes shutting as you see stars.

As you come down from your high, Suguru slows his pace and stays inside you, lying down next to you. “You alright?”

And you nod feebly, throwing a leg over his waist to sit on him and take him deeper. You gently lower your head, admiring your juices flowing from your cunt. “Your turn now.”

And you ride him carefully, taking his hands in yours to place them on your hips, letting him lead the pace with you. “You’re beautiful,” Suguru murmurs, his obsidian eyes shining with devotion. He flutters them closed, humming, groaning, and sometimes whining when you bounce on him too well, and he’s about to cum.

You gently lay down on him as he lifts his hips in sync, gripping your waist to take over and help him cum — which he succeeds in doing, and the sensation is so surprising and pleasant that you moan softly along with him, your adorable faces scrunching up in pleasure.

His load is warm, neither cold nor hot. It’s as if you’ve warmed his dick so that it’s no longer cold.

Your cheek rests against the coolness of his muscular chest, and you sigh in relief. “You’re going to be very useful to me in the summer,” you giggle, placing gentle kisses along his neck.

“Whenever you want, my love.”

~~~~

“I often come here to hunt,” Suguru explains, parting branches in the forest to make it easier for you to pass.

You skillfully slip through and take his hand in yours to warm it up, smiling as you take in the view he’s sharing: a vast plain overlooked by tall, sturdy trees, sinuous riverbanks, and a large waterfall a bit further on, peeking out where your eyes meet the river paths.

“It’s beautiful, Suguru,” you whisper, fluttering your eyes closed as he squeezes your hand.

“Doesn’t it?” He wraps his arm around your waist and pulls you affectionately against him. “There’s never anyone here, just beasts. That way, I won’t have any humans to kill,” he murmurs, pressing a soft kiss on your temple.

“Is it like in Twilight?” you ask, giggling. “But you don’t have brown eyes.”

“No, it’s not the same,” he corrects you. “As long as I have blood, I have no problem. Human or not, it’s really just a matter of taste. It’s sweeter, you know.”

“Do you have a little sweet tooth?” you tease, getting on your tiptoes to kiss his cheek as he steps away from you to bend down so you can climb onto his back.

“Not really, that’s more Satoru,” he laughs, gripping your thighs as you hop onto his back.

“Aha! I knew he was like you; you’re both just as weird as each other,” you snicker, proud to have solved another mystery.

Suguru bursts into laughter, as if your laughter is that of a little child who is also proud of themselves. “Yeah, and he studies physics, you know. He’s not very sharp in school, but physics is really his thing.” He takes a breath — an unnecessary one, since he doesn’t need to breathe; he just does it out of habit to avoid alarming humans — and glances at you discreetly. “Ready?”

You nod, and without further ado, Suguru begins his run.

He runs fast, of course; he’s a vampire.

But so fast, in fact, that you barely feel him taking steps. It’s as if he’s flying across the ground, the wind whipping against your faces. Every now and then, you lower your head, fearing that branches might slice your head off, but Suguru usually warns you when you can admire the scenery whizzing by faster than a car would allow.

When he finally stops, it’s to drop you off on a hill that takes your breath away.

The same one from your favorite book.

The hill is lush with small green grasses, dotted with tiny purple flowers like in a paradisiacal autumn meadow.

“It’s… It’s…” you stammer, amazed by the surprise he just gave you as he carefully sets you down on the ground, making sure you don’t stumble from the peculiar journey.

“For you,” Suguru adds, settling down on the grass as he waits for you to join him.

“Suguru, how did you…?” you trail off, sitting on the grass with an otherworldly appearance.

“I practically live here, to be honest,” he replies, planting little kisses on your neck and collarbone. “I hunt and feed here. And when I’m not feeling well…” He caresses your skin with the tip of his nose, tracing a path to your chest to bury his face there and sigh, his eyelids shut. “...I used to come here. But I don’t need to anymore.”

A smile curls your lips up. Your fingers gently stroke his jet-black hair. “You should turn me one day, you know? That way, I could come hunt with you and—”

“Not a chance,” he mumbles, pressing his ear against your heart. “I don’t want to lose this little heart. It’s mine.”

You huff. “You sound like Edward, seriously…”

“I would never abandon you, that’s for sure, but as for your transformation, it’s far from today.” Suguru places yet another kiss on your chest and then moves down to your belly, trying to find a sensitive spot to tickle you with his perfect touch.

“So I’ll go see Satoru,” you threaten, a smirk tugging at the corner of your lips.

“Him? He’ll devour you whole without a second thought. I was the one holding him back during the frat party,” Suguru informs you with a little laugh.

“E-Excuse me?”

And it’s under Suguru’s amused laughter that you promise never to approach the albino — as much from afar as up close.

a/n: okay, i litteraly have missed the kinkoctober because of this fic :/ i hope at least you guys will enjoy it <3 (i’m so tiiiiired, tho). but tbh, it was fun to write since it was really during this month that the fic is so it’s like i’m living it :))

next → curse hunter! toji !!

tags: @zara-zara11 @bearwithmoo @elliesndg @lymsfm @mutsu422 @whathappenedtobeenhappy-blog @drippymcdrippison @koshhin @cybersomn1a @sanemistar

@ssetsuka @monokaix

geto 🐈‍⬛

ac: arekushisu_11 on insta

OH MY LORD NERDJO AS SPIDER-MAN SOMEONE BANG ME IM THE HEAD NOW

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CRAWL HOME TO HER | 2,724 words (~21 minutes reading time). gn!reader, major character death, descriptions of universe-accurate deaths, accidental necromancy.

author’s notes: did not think i’d run into a kinktober piece given how i’m still getting my groove back, but there was one tumblr post i saw that just punted me into next week. so…here we are! enjoy. i haven’t written for this guy in a little while…i missed him <3 i'm taking a bit of a different vibe here with doing parts of a topic instead of one-shots! therefore, this will have a second part i'll release at some point this month. enjoy! -> taglist: @qichun @fuyuswifey @suyacho @stunies -> join the taglist!

it’s quiet. too quiet.

the fog that drifts over the city is thick, light rain speckling against the gravestones as you meander through the rows. some of the stones are barely readable, long forgotten from families who have since moved on. some are fresher, emblazoned with golden lettering, untouched by the weather. despite the rain, incense smoke hangs in the air, pungent scents of patchouli and dragon’s blood sharp in the lazy breeze.

your destination looms in front of you, the stench of freshly moved soil clinging to your nose as you settle down, your backpack landing lightly on the floor next to you. you pull out a packaged bento box, leaving it in your lap before lighting your own incense sticks. one is placed in front of an older gravestone, the next on the much newer stone beside it. the ground beneath the second stone is churned; there’s an incredibly faint stench of death from it, but you chalk it up to the bleary weather.

there are no words to share between you and the dead, but you begin to talk anyway.

“there was no funeral, you know.”

you stare at the name that’s emblazoned on the newer stone. the name HANMA SHUJI glares back at you. you continue.

“i knew you were involved in some shady shit, shuji, but…my god,” you say, sounding like a chiding mother as you shake your head, “i didn’t realize you were that stupid. getting yourself wrapped up with a crime syndicate? really?”

the words that leave your mouth are forcing a reaction from your chest. it’s tightening up, and angry tears prick at your eyes as you’re shot back into the past, only for a moment. you can feel the spring breeze drifting through your hair, a whisper of the sunshine tickling your face. you turn towards the main path, chopsticks frozen in your hand, as you watch two ghosts sprint through the yard.

one is tall, far too tall and gangly to be anyone else but shuji. he holds onto a much younger version of you’s hand, sly smile plastered across his face as he stumbles after you. your hand is tight around his own, fingers interlocking as you match his smile. your voice echoes across time; if you hadn’t been paying attention, you’d have missed it.

come on! we’re already late, and you know i hate taking this shortcut. it’s creepy!

shuji’s laugh sounds like a wind chime.

c’mon, doll, it ain’t that bad. you got me here, anyway. i’ll protect ya from the scary ghosts.

the spirits dissipate into the fog, gone as quickly as they came. like a dream.

you turn back to the stones. KISAKI TETTA stares back at you from the older stone, and you sigh, swallowing heavily. “and you,” you say, your voice shaking as you point your chopsticks at the offending name, “you knew better. you should have known better than all of us. you were smarter than all of us, and you went and got yourself flattened by a fucking supply truck. ridiculous.”

there’s wetness on your cheeks now, rage making the bento box in your lap unappetizing. you place it on the ground, crossing your arms over your chest. your jaw sets as you return your gaze to Shuji. your voice is so small for the anger that’s tearing through your muscles.

“you promised me you’d protect me. you promised.”

that’s the straw that breaks you. that stupid little comment he’d made so long ago, so long before you’d all gotten wrapped up in the horrors of what Kisaki’s plans had brought you all. you’d gotten out of it somehow, escaping his slimy clutches, but Shuji was not so lucky. he was too entranced, too addicted to the chase. it would’ve ended badly no matter what, for him.

the tears falling from your face drip into the soil as you bend over, your stomach twisting inside of your body. they mix in with the drizzle, soaking down into the dirt. you think nothing of it; why would you?

it’s just rain. it’s just tears. tears that have built up over years of frustration, of a reaction to a phone call you’d never have imagined you’d receive.

you can’t stay here. if you do you’re going to end up ripping both of their stones out and throwing them into the street. the bento box, uneaten, disappears into your bag, along with everything else. all that’s left behind of an indication that you visited is the incense burning in front of both stones.

as you go to open the gate, you could’ve sworn you heard something move. it sounded like digging, a scrabbling noise similar to a sound a rat makes as it crawls up a pipe. you turn around; but nothing is out of the ordinary behind you. all the stones are still where they should be, the dirt untouched.

“fucking ghosts.”

still…you can’t get rid of the feeling that someone is watching you as you walk home. your neck hairs feel like they’re standing up completely straight, no matter how many times you scratch that stretch of skin.

the relief you feel after getting inside your house is immeasurable.

the feeling stops.

the rain only gets worse as the day progresses.

you stay inside; you have off work today, so you make yourself a nice tea and settle into the couch with a good book you’ve been pushing off on finishing. you deserve a nice day to yourself; and a rainy day is a fantastic excuse to do so.

the night comes before you realize it, the street lamps turning on amongst the torrential downpour. it’s a mess out there, car engines muffled by the rain hammering on your roof. you trudge into the kitchen, an instant ramen packet making its way into a bowl and into the microwave. tonight was not the night to be making dinner; low effort food was better than no food, and you did still have the bento box.

the movie you put on drifts you to sleep, warm ramen and bento in your belly as your eyes slide shut. despite your mini-breakdown in the graveyard, you feel good that you went. you know shuji would have appreciated it, in his own little way. you can practically see his crooked smile behind your eyelids. a visit? for me? you shouldn’t have, doll. feelin’ pretty taken care of.

“fuck you,” you whisper as sleep finally claims you.

it doesn’t last for long.

a loud bang on the door forces you awake. your watch that you hold up to your face reads 03:00 AM in bright numbers, and you groggily wipe at your eyes. “the fuck?” you say to yourself, wondering how badly this person needs you to answer the door. you pause before getting up, waiting for another knock. maybe if you don’t make yourself known to be home, they’ll go away — none of your indoor lights are on to indicate you’re even home, barring the normal porch light. you can see a shadow against the wall, but nothing more.

the banging starts again, even louder this time, and you jump to your feet. adrenaline spikes through your veins, fear clutching at you as you pad towards the door. “my god, okay, okay!” you holler towards the door as your hand lands on the doorknob.

you don’t turn it, though. you’re frozen all of a sudden.

the doorknob’s golden cover is ice cold. like someone is chilling it from the outside.

something primal arises in you. it’s a flight response, you’ve felt it before so many times when you’d hang around kisaki and shuji. you know it so well, even after all these years. why now? your brain panics, neurons firing, colliding information around in your head as if your very self is going scorched earth. every alarm in your mind is going off, telling you to not open this fucking door.

what the fuck what the fuck what the f—

you yank it open anyway. it takes effort, more effort than you’re used to, but you do it anyway.

a beat passes as your eyes take in what’s been lurking and banging behind the wooden door, and then you’re screaming. a bloodcurdling scream, one that sounded as if its coming from a prey animal having been caught by a predator, calling for help. it sounds far away — you can feel your vocal chords moving, but the sound doesn’t sound like it’s coming from you.

a humanoid hand slams over your mouth, pushing you back inside. the door closes behind the intruder, and you just stand there, shaking, letting its hand pressure your mouth as if wanting it to shut you up. heaven knows you wouldn’t have been able to stop at the horror you see before you.

it’s shuji. and he is covered in dirt.

it sticks to his pale skin, bits falling onto your carpet. he stinks of death, brown soil and grass dirtying the remaining fabric of his three-piece striped suit. dried blood is caked all over him, only adding to the horrible smell that’s coming off of him.

your eyes move upwards.

his lips seem normal; not the undead purple that you’re used to seeing in your shitty zombie Halloween movies. in fact, he seems relatively intact despite being dead as the dirt that clings to his body from hours ago.

he’s even wearing circular glasses as you look up to meet his eyes, against every screeching nerve of your judgement.

his eyes are…normal.

well, they’re glowing, which is different.

but they’re the same gold and purple that you remember. one of his lenses is broken, cracks spiderwebbed across its surface. beyond that, the structure of the frames seems as though its kept up. the crack looks newer. one of his hands comes up to his face to push the glasses further up his nose — you don’t miss the dirt caked under his broken fingernails. they’re cracked in odd places, as if…

as if he clawed his way out of the grave you were just at.

your entire body is frozen. you can’t scream anymore even if you wanted to, and he seems to recognize that as he removes his large hand. his hands are clammy, but he says nothing. he looks almost as surprised as you are, but in a different way. there’s no fear in his eyes, not a single hint of it. you would know; you’ve seen him afraid a handful of times, but for some reason there’s nothing like that there.

there’s only a strong, intense look. the word that appears in your brain is devotion.

something finally clicks in your brain, and you can move again.

you take a step back.

he takes a step forward.

you take another step back.

he takes another step forward.

your hand, shaking so hard you can barely point at him, raises. your finger quivers.

“y-y-y-y-you’re s-supposed to be—”

for the first time since rising again, shuji speaks.

“dead?”

his voice is gravelly. harsh. like he hasn’t used it in a while — which you instantly scoff at, because yeah, of course he wouldn’t have used it in a while. he’s been dead for weeks!

“yes!” it comes out as a squeak, your pointer finger still jabbing at him. “what the fuck! what is this? is this a sick joke? who are you? why are you dressed up as my friend? why—”

he lurches forward, hand gripping onto your shoulder. his grip is more intense than it used to be, as if he’s trying to dig underneath your skin. dig, dig, dig. as if to root himself inside of you.

you should run, you know that. you should run to your room and lock the door and pray to every god that he goes away. you should run the few steps through the kitchen to grab one of your knives, even if killing him again won’t kill him forever since he clearly can’t just stay dead. there’s a glimmer of hope that he disappears with the night, like a bad dream. this is just a bad dream, a nightmare. just a nightmare, of course, why didn’t you—

“not a dream, doll. it’s me.”

did i say that out loud?

the pet name flips a switch, and where there was cold fear, warm rage floods through your veins. you push off his hand with more force than you think you have, and your palms plant on his chest, ready to shove him away.

your hands freeze against him, like you can’t move him. like he locks your hands in place simply by touching him. the tile beneath your bare feet actively battles against you.

“fuck you,” you spit at him, pressing against him, trying to move your hands as his eyes widen behind his glasses, “fuck you, fuck you, fuck you. i cannot believe you— what the fuck is this? what the fuck are you doing here? how dare you—”

a litany of curses falls from your mouth in a rainstorm, almost as terrifying as the storm echoing outside. thunder rumbles and cracks as your voice raises in tone, lightning flashing through the window. it lights up shuji’s face, and his expression has your hands curling into fists, beating his chest, slamming against the clammy skin.

“why?” you finally shriek. “why now? why would you torment me like this? do you know how long it took me to gather the courage to even bother visiting you and Tetta? do you understand how this fucked me up? how my first fucking boyfriend died in some dumb ass stand-off in a gang that you didn’t belong in when you should have just—fucking stayed with me? DO YOU?”

a final thunderclap shakes your apartment’s walls, as if the very gods are rioting against what’s happening in your kitchen. as if they disagree with the unspoken ritual that’s happened to bring shuji back. as if they are as angry as you are for seeing the man you loved since you were a child standing in your kitchen, dripping blood, dirt and viscera all over your white tile.

your voice dies in your throat, the last words you’d spoken echoing around the apartment. tears flood your cheeks, dripping onto the floor. shuji says nothing, eyes wide in surprise. he studies you, more than he used to; he was always so flippant, but now…it looks like he’s actually listening. like he can actually hear you for once.

he looks hurt.

“no.”

his answer is short. you feel like an egg cracked open now, arms falling uselessly by your sides as you stand there and cry in front of him, sobs tearing at your throat. “how could you?” you manage to get out, watching him through bleary eyes, more sobs falling from your lips. you let him move to you—

and his arms wrap around you.

his lips press against the shell of your ear as your sobs quiet into sniffles and hiccups.

“i’m so sorry. i’m so, so, so sorry, doll. so sorry.”

“you think an apology is gonna fix this?” you whisper wetly.

“no.”

“then why would you—”

“because even if you take or not, you still deserve one.”

you’ve been through so many emotions in the past minutes. it’s felt like a whirlwind. “i know, moron,” you hiccup, “but you haven’t answered me. why are you here?”

shuji moves away from you then. there’s color coming back into his cheeks, as if he’s warming up again just by standing in the heat of your home. the dirt has liquefied, rivulets dripping off of him and onto your floor, but you don’t care. you’re suddenly so tired, your legs shaking, but you need an answer. you need him to answer you—

“because of you. because you need me. because i love you.”

you blink. “y-you what?” you gasp out.

he repeats himself, like he’s reading out the ingredients on the back of a soup can. it feels so far away as your legs finally give out, the floor quickly speeding towards your vision. you don’t miss the feeling of him catching you, large (warmed) hands wrapped around your figure as you pass out. his declaration lingers, though, like a whisper as you let yourself slip into unconsciousness.

“i love you.”

divider credit: @/cafekitsune networks: @pixelcafe-network @themovingcastlez

disclaimer: DO NOT copy or repost my works for any reason. translations are acceptable, but please ask for permission first!

© togamest 2023-2024

remembering

gojo satoru x fem!reader

summary: satoru has a bad day

warnings: canon angst, sad satoru, worried reader, etc.

last part | next part

*

year five.

satoru has been sitting on the couch for over an hour, probably. he's been staring at the wall and he hasn't even been thinking, really, but remembering. 

today is a bad day. that was clear enough when he woke up with a headache, the other half of his bed empty--because you'd been gone that past few days on a mission somewhere satoru can't remember the name of.

and today was a bad day when he took megumi out on his own mission, surveying the area for anything weak and small, and the boy couldn't manage to summon his shikigami for some unknown reason. 

and it was a bad day when megumi asked why can't you do everything for us? when he complained the whole way home and said i don't want to do this. i don't want to be-- 

today's just a bad day. 

and it was a bad day exactly six years ago, when suguru left. and it's still bad now because satoru is still alone. 

even though you came home a couple of hours ago and have been messing around with the kids since. 

you didn't say anything about his mood at dinner, but satoru knows that you can feel it. he can feel it--the looming, the storm. he can feel his own muscles shaking beneath his skin like they're ready to burst. 

he can feel it every time his heart contracts, and every time his heart remembers that it has no purpose. that he's just a man; if only that. 

and honestly--he's a lucky person. he knows that. 

but he doesn't feel lucky today. 

and he's been sitting on the couch, staring at the wall, for far too long. his eyes almost burn. it can't be tears though, because satoru isn't upset. it can't be tears because he doesn't cry. maybe he hasn't been blinking. 

maybe he's already dead, floating in a hell designed just for him. 

god, he hates being alone. 

it's when he thinks this that you walk into the room, slightly bouncing, a fresh reprieve from everything else. 

satoru manages a small smile at you.

“hey,” you say to him, voice soft and sweet as you walk over. but there's a question in the word because satoru knows you’ve been waiting for him. just like you always do. “you weren’t in your room. what are you doing?” 

but you don’t give him enough time to respond—not that he was going to—before your leg brushes against his. you've reached the other side of the room in almost an instant, or maybe satoru's just making things up. 

your hands go to his face, soft and warm, brushing against skin that satoru wants to scrub dry. “you tired?” you ask him, rubbing at the spot under his eye. 

you're standing between his legs, just a bit taller than him like this, staring at him so intently that it feels cruel. satoru's face fades into something neutral--something lost. he doesn't want to talk to you like this. 

it's simple when you begin to climb on top of him, hands using his shoulders to keep yourself steady. you wrap your legs around his torso, almost like you're kneeling against him, and then your hands move, playing with his hair.

“no,” he mumbles, not looking at you.

he doesn't think that he can stand your eyes right now. or your heart, or your voice. there's never been a moment where he's wanted you to move away from him, but the prickling feeling under his skin is almost instinctual. 

satoru has spent his life keeping people away, blocking them from ever reaching him, and it's almost infuriating that he can't do that to you right now. 

that he doesn't really want to. 

you're not even that close, and still. the feeling of you relaxing against him increases his hesitation tenfold. 

should he pull you closer or push you away? 

are you safer falling against the floor, or into him? 

satoru doesn't know. he doesn't know anything, really. suguru would tell him that if he was here now. 

but he's not, satoru thinks, and his mood darkens once again. 

still, you're smiling at him like you know he’s lying. “how’d your thing with megumi go? he told me that you said you thought he was improving,” you nudge him, “were you trying to make him feel better?” 

satoru gives in and brushes a hand across your face, moving hair away from your eyes. “he’s good.” 

“wow. ‘good,’” you shake your head. “such glowing remarks for your only son. you’re a great teacher, you know? maybe next you'll explain the ranking system to him." 

“i thought you already did that.” 

“i'm kidding, satoru,” you smile at him, tilting your head. and then you frown, and the world spins. “you okay?” 

his heart falters. satoru hates lying to you. “yeah, i’m fine.” 

“you’ve got wrinkles,” you say and smooth the furrow in his brow. “what’s up?” 

“nothing.” 

“you know that you’re a terrible liar?” 

satoru sighs, he attempts a smile, but it's futile because he doesn't have one, right now. and he should be happy that you're here--he should feel like clinging to you, sleeping right next to you like he's wanted to for days--but he doesn't. 

and maybe that's worse than anything else. 

how ridiculous would suguru call him now? when he's got you right where he's always wanted you, right there in front of him and he can't even do anything?

how hard would he laugh at satoru?

“hey,” you say, a bit serious. you give him a look. “you can talk to me.” 

“i know.” 

“did something happen?” 

“no.”

“was it megumi? he didn’t say anything—“ 

“nothing happened.” 

“well, then what’s up?” 

“nothing. i’m fine. i’m good.” 

you've always been able to see through him, always known how he felt before he could. and he likes that, usually. he likes that you understand him, that you care. 

he should be basking in it. in you, in your sweet smile and simple composure. you're a pillar against him, strong and sure, and satoru feels like he's suffocating. 

how can you act so normal right now? today?

“you’re good?” you repeat, not a question. “you look…” 

satoru shakes his head, he looks towards the floor but nothing has changed. suguru still hasn't come back and his carpet is still white. “are you bullying me right now?” 

“no,” you say defensively. usually, it would be a joke, but it's like you can tell that his ego is already bruised. “i was going to say handsome.” 

“sure.” 

“satoru…” you’ve got a frown on. “what’s wrong?” 

“like i said, nothing.” 

“will you tell me? please?” 

“there’s nothing to tell.” 

“if somethings wrong i want—“ 

“can you just drop it?” his voice is hard, rough. it feels like he just swallowed dirt. satoru can tell that he's on the verge of breaking--falling to pieces under your whims and your charms--and he doesn’t want to tell anyone anything. 

especially not you and especially not when you look like that. when you're one of the only good things he has. when he could so easily destroy you. 

satoru swallows. 

he knows he’s just ruined your mood. he knows that he shouldn’t be short with you, shouldn’t avoid or eyes or pretend like he doesn’t love it when you sit in his lap. 

but currently, he would rather feel nothing, empty, than anything else. he would rather feel like bursting under the weight of his power than upset, than sick with himself. 

if you keep asking him… he’ll give you an answer. 

and it won’t be one you want. 

“i—“ you pause, observing his face. you’ve lost the teasing in your eyes, the clarity on your face. unfortunately, satoru can feel it as you tense. “okay. you don’t have to tell me.” 

he nods but doesn’t answer. he should say thank you, but he’s not grateful. 

just a little more, he almost pleads, keep going. 

but you won’t because he asked you not to. because you’re better than him, and you flinch away from conflict like it’ll bruise you. 

“i, um, i’m sorry. i didn’t mean to push.” 

he sighs again. “it’s fine.” 

you bite your lip, and satoru knows that you want to say something—ask something—but can’t. he can almost feel the words on the tip of your tongue, begging to come out. 

there is a point. and a cause, and significance too. 

no, there's not. 

still, you try again, straightening on his lap. you mess with the hair by his ear. “did tsumiki tell you about her science fair? it’s in a couple of weeks.” 

“no.” 

“she wants to do a lemon circuit.” 

“why?” 

you shrug. “lemons are cool.” 

“are they?” he asks, and it’s almost a joke, but it lacks the warmth of his voice. it lacks his amusement, any care. 

“uh, yeah.” 

satoru wants to smile at you, but it still feels impossible. his voice feels small, and if he says anything else it won't be loud enough for you to hear. 

he wants so desperately to just give in to you. to shake himself out of this. 

but when he tries, he meets a wall of his own creation, the same moment over and over. 

he wishes he could give into this, your prodding, your smiles, but he can’t. 

and then, so softly, you ask, “do you want me to stop talking?” 

satoru exhales. “no.” 

he doesn't know what he wants. 

“okay. do you want me to get off?” 

you're so arrogant. 

“no.” 

you tuck your chin in. “are you lying to me, satoru?” 

satoru looks away, towards the wall. towards a past he can't manage to erase no matter how hard he tries. “no.” 

“i can leave you alone,” you whisper, “if you want me to.” 

“i don’t want you to.” 

“if you need space, that’s fine.” 

“i don’t.” 

“okay.” 

satoru nods. “okay.” 

a moment passes when satoru's chest is tight, his breath short and his body completely at will. he can't do anything right now, not breathe, not move, not love you the way you deserve. 

absolutely nothing. 

and he wants to scream at this version of himself. he wants to pick himself up off of the floor just so he can kick himself back down. but there's no point to that, no point to any of it. 

his eyes still burn. maybe he has something stuck in them.

“i just…” you start a moment later. it's almost like you know that he's falling apart like your body can feel it, even if you can't. the pause in your voice allows satoru's anger to surface. 

he knows that you can't help it, really. but it doesn't matter. 

“why can’t you leave this alone?” he asks, voice that same rough thing it was a minute ago. that cruel tone that he hopes will make you flinch away from him. 

but it doesn't. 

you frown. “because i’m worried about you. you’re not talking to me, and you won’t look me in the eye, and you seem upset.” 

he looks you in the eye. he knows his face is hard, just a plane of rays and lines. “look, i'm fine.” 

this time you look away first, away from the wrong version of him, shaking your head. 

“you don’t need to worry about me," satoru tells you, lump in his throat. his hands are plastered to his side, but his fingers move in a familiar motion. he could burn himself down right now, he thinks, it would only take a moment. 

“well, i’m going to. you think you’d have gotten used to it by now.” 

satoru rolls his eyes. 

you tilt your head so you can look at him more directly, get his eyes on your face. “i don’t know what to do, okay? you’re not like megumi or tsumiki, you don't tell me these things. and i can’t read your mind.” 

“good.” 

“why don’t you want to talk to me?” your face is soft, concerned.

satoru looks away. “i already told you, there’s nothing to talk about. i don’t even know why you’re worried.” 

“because of that,” you say, pointing at him. "you keep doing that."

“doing what?” 

“that. you’re being short with me.” 

“i'm just talking,” satoru closes his eyes. "i thought that was what you wanted."

he can't see you, but he can feel it as you lean back, away from him, and your body relaxes--but in defeat. he wants to open his eyes and study you, observe you like some science experiment. 

and he wants never to look at you again. 

you breathe in, intentionally. “you don’t want me to talk to you, and you don’t want me to go away. what do you want, satoru? what can i do to help?” 

“nothing…” he answers, whispering. “nothing,” he repeats. 

because it's true. if you could go back and fix everything for him. if you could've been there this morning when he was still a person and not a corpse, still a father and yours instead of a boy you once knew--if you could've done that, he'd be fine. 

or he wouldn't be. satoru doesn't even know anymore. 

“i won’t ridicule you for whatever’s wrong,” you tell him, as a reassurance, just in case he wasn’t sure. “i wouldn’t do that.” 

“wouldn’t you?” 

“satoru.” 

“look,” he sits up, holding onto you by your waist. your legs tighten around him. “there’s nothing wrong. you don’t need—i don’t want you to worry about me.” 

“i can’t help it.” 

“well, try.” 

you look away, towards the door. satoru can see you contemplating the words--he can feel the argument, the call of hypocrisy. he would tell you to talk to him, he would say that you needed to get it off your chest. 

somehow, satoru doesn't care. he'd rather be a hypocrite--cruel--and protect you from this than let you inside. let you mold in the core of him, rotten and unused.

you sigh, eventually, like you know what he's thinking. “do you want to go to bed?” 

it takes a moment, but satoru nods. he’s not tired—he’s almost wide awake—but at least being asleep would be better than this. 

at least if he can fall asleep and wake up then it won't be today anymore. then he won't have to think about all of this and try not to let the thoughts overflow out of him. 

“okay,” you finally smile again, though it’s slight. almost unnatural on your face. “c’mon.”

you climb off of him, grabbing his hand to pull him up.

satoru lets you lead the way to his bedroom, focusing on the feeling of your smaller hand in his. you’re warm, and satoru could reach up and feel your pulse. 

maybe he should. he’s not even sure if he’s alive right now. 

but when you reach for his door handle he stops, shaking your hand from his. 

it’s almost unconscious. his body knows what he wants.

he immediately feels the cold, but there’s no going back now. he can't grab your hand and pretend it was an accident, satoru can't go back to being the person who falls asleep in your arms, wrapped entirely around you. 

he just can't. 

you turn to look at him, tilting your head in question. 

"can i--" he stops, swallowing. this time, the burning in his eyes is different. 

"what?" you ask, softly. 

"could--i think i just need some space. tonight." 

"okay, i can--" you pause, eyes widening. "oh, you..." you look towards his door, back to him. satoru watches the realization hit your face, the pain. 

he wants to look away but he can't. 

"is that okay?" he wonders, voice smaller, softer. it feels almost natural. 

"yeah, that's fine," you nod your head immediately, too fast, too sharp. "that's totally fine. whatever you need." 

satoru leans back. "are you sure?" 

"yeah, satoru, of course. i'll just, um--" you shake your head, now, backing away. and then you sidestep him, trying to get away as fast as possible. "i'll see you in the morning, okay? just... you know, get me, if there's anything. if you need anything, i mean. if..." you stop there. 

satoru's heart feels rotten at the bewildered look on your face, the sudden fear in your eyes. 

but he only nods. he's not allowed to change his mind. 

and when you begin to back away, down the hall to your room, satoru doesn't open the door. he doesn't move. 

he watches you as you run far away from him, your body tense and your back turned towards him. 

if you want to kill me, then kill me, satoru hears. there would be a point to that. 

he stares at the space where you were even after you're gone, shut away behind your door, not even bothering to look back at him. he waits like you might come back. like he wants you to. 

and then, as if he's completely okay, satoru opens his door. 

when he closes it, the sound echoes in his core. 

*

satoru lays in bed for hours. 

he'd forgotten how difficult it was to fall asleep without someone there beside him. 

*

next part | series masterlist

Blessed (1/2)- Fushiguro Megumi x fem!Reader

SPOILERs for up to ch. 235 - canon complient until then Pairing: Fushiguro Megumi x fem!Reader Genre: angst (Part 1), fluff (Part 2), hurt/comfort Word Count: 4 336 (Part 1) Warnings: death, injury, stitches, blood, pain Summary: The battle against Sukuna was won by Gojō, but now it’s up to you to save Megumi. Part Two

“Megumi!“

You stumbled through the rubble of what had once been Shinjuku. Pieces of debris were strewn around everywhere, blocking your path. Some you surrounded, some you climbed over, your heart beating painfully hard in your chest. What an irony, you thought bitterly that Megumi, whose name meant nothing other than “blessed”, had been subjected to all this torture.

The fight was over. Gojō-sensei had won over Sukuna. But Sukuna still possessed Megumi’s body. Your best friend Megumi, the one you had grown closer to than what you would call friendship at this point. It was days’ worth of sparing, study sessions in which you had sat close enough for his knee to press against yours, nights, when nightmares had driven him out of his bed, and he had come to seek comfort in yours. This was not simple friendship anymore, not the way you were friends with Yūji anyway. But you had never addressed it, and neither had he. Now it was too late.

Following the develepments of the battle on the observation screens, you had seen the damage Gojō-sensei had done to Sukuna. Now your only goal was to reach them before Megumi bled out.

There was a way to get rid of Sukuna, without killing Megumi. If you, or anyone else, had trusted your skills any earlier, you would have exorcised Sukuna from Yūji’s body like that. But now there was no time for doubts, not when Gojō-sensei’s energy was as good as drained, and Sukuna too weak to recover.

You had only a few very short minutes to manipulate Sukuna’s soul into healing Megumi’s injuries and then crumbling it to dust, killing Sukuna and hopefully keeping Megumi alive in the process. A few very short minutes before Sukuna would have gathered his strength again, and could wipe you out with less than the blink of an eye. A few very short minutes, before Gojō-sensei had the strength to do, what would be his only option: Kill Megumi to get rid of Sukuna forever.

You made it over a huge block of debris, slithering down its side, not caring about the way your trousers ripped, and the skin in your palms got torn open with your poor attempt to control your way down. But then Megumi’s motionless body came into view, and Gojō-sensei, standing only a few feet away from him.

“Megumi,” you called again, breathless, your voice an octave higher than usual, panicked.

Not paying the faintest thought to your teacher, you rushed towards Megumi, when suddenly Gojō-sensei’s pale hand shot forwards, grabbing your wrist. You halted, less from the resistance of his hand around yours, than the lack thereof. In the way Gojō’s fingers were holding onto you, you could tell just how weak he had become during the fight. He was shaking, barely enough strength left to keep his weak hold on your wrist, the cursed energy you usually had felt thrumming through him from several meters away was almost completely drained.

“Don’t-” he warned. Don’t get to close to him, we don’t know how strong he is. Don’t get too close to him, I don’t want you to get hurt.

The unspoken plea hung in the air between you, his blue eyes fixed on the back of your head as you stared at Megumi’s body, or what was left of it. His clothes were torn and bloody. Scratches and cuts and Sukuna’s violent, black marks littered his torso and arms and his beautiful face. His one hand was missing.

It felt, like all will to fight had suddenly left your body, seeing him like this. There was no way you could safe him. There was nothing you could do. You would have to let Gojō-sensei do what you had always feared would be the destiny that was bestowed upon Yūji: you had to let him execute Megumi so the world could get rid of Sukuna.

“Please-” Gojō’s voice tore through the haze that had begun dulling your senses. It was heavy with pain, weak with exhaustion. And enough to startle you back into the moment.

With a quick motion you drew your hand out of your teacher’s grasp, using more force than needed, putting a small amount of cursed energy into it too, just to spite Gojō, before you closed the last steps and dropped down beside the bruised and beaten body of the boy you held so close to your heart.

But it was not Megumi, who looked back at you. It was a dark and ancient evil, now temporarily too weak to protest, when you collected all your courage and reached out, pressing your palm against a bloody and sweaty forehead.

You felt Sukuna’s soul immediately. It recoiled at your touch, and while the skin under your fingers was almost freezingly cold, Sukuna’s soul burnt as hot as the centre of a star. It didn’t just burn though. It was burnt. You felt the wounds Gojō had inflicted, littered over the metaphysical body of Sukuna’s soul, felt the pain, the agony and terror he was in. The terror was not directed towards Gojō, whose soul you felt standing directly behind you. It was directed towards you, towards what you would be able to do to him.

At the realization of Sukuna’s fear of you, sudden confidence surged through your veins, and quickly you grabbed the remains of what once had been the most powerful sorcerer on earth.

Heal him. It was a command, spoken without words. A direct link from your soul to Sukuna’s, and when you opened your eyes, you saw how the first cuts on Megumi’s familiar face began closing. You forced Sukuna’s last energy into healing that which he had destroyed, and to keep him from dying before Megumi was fully healed, you fed into the healing process with your own cursed energy, acting like a battery for the tool Sukuna had become in your goal to restore Megumi’s body. You felt the sorcerer’ soul wring and whimper under the control you held over it, the sensation not unfamiliar from all the times you had done it with curses before, but even now you felt the power which Sukuna had once held. The part of you that was not glowing white with rage, the part of you, which you had inherited from ancestors so long ago that they had shared food with dinosaurs, this part cowered in fear. But you didn’t. You squeezed tighter, tasting blood on your tongue and the pain and fear Sukuna was radiating. It took you a moment to understand that the blood you tasted was your own, a nosebleed from the sudden exhaustion of draining your cursed energy into healing Megumi.

The unexpected touch of a hand on your shoulder startled you, but not enough to lose focus on the task at hand. You knew it was Gojō, you had felt the same touch hundreds of times, whenever he placed his hand on your shoulder to reprimand you or to calm you down. But you would not be reprimanded this time, would not calm down. Not until Sukuna had healed Megumi, not until Sukuna was dead, not until your friend was safe.

But the scolding you expected never came. Instead, you felt Gojō-sensei pouring his cursed energy into you, fuelling the process you had started. You did not dare look, but from the strain it put on your body, you knew, Megumi’s hand had probably about halfway grown back already. With Gojō-sensei acting as a second power source the process sped up dramatically, while you made sure to keep complete control over Sukuna, who began begging, pleas you only felt, as your soul had tapped into his, holding him down and making sure he was always just one last drop of cursed energy away from crumbling entirely. It felt strange, feeling the now drained power of Sukuna on the one end, and Gojō’s seemingly endless but weakened energy on the other. You felt like a threat in a lightbulb docked into a socket with too much voltage, just a second away from burning out.

“Yūji, leave.”

Gojō’s voice sounded far away, dimmed, like you had cotton in your ears, and the voice that answered, not at all louder, but unmistakably Yūji’s was as stubborn as you felt.

“Are you going to kill Sukuna?”

There was a pause you wanted to fill, wished you had the resources left to tell Yūji: What do you think we’re doing here? Cuddling?

But you were too weak. All your focus was on Sukuna healing Megumi, and slowly but surely the realization that this might very well kill you settled in. You had always expected to be scared in the face of death, but you had evaded it so many times now, and dying to kill the worst evil in history, dying to save your friend, that sounded like a fair way to go out.

It was Gojō who eventually answered.

“He’s never gonna kill anybody ever again.”

“How do I help?”

The moment a second hand, smaller and warmer than the first, landed on your other shoulder, you felt like the threat in the lightbulb you were, started glowing, dangerously close to burning out all at once. A few seconds later you could feel the strange smoothness that told you Megumi’s body had been completely healed, and instead focused you last conscious thoughts on one thing and one thing alone: Crushing Sukuna’s soul.

But this was not your job to do. It hadn’t been you, whose life had been turned upside down by Sukuna.

“Yūji-“

It was but a gasp that left your lips but Yūji understood nonetheless. While healing Megumi, Sukuna had been the tool that had been handled by you, with Gojō and Yūji acting as batteries for cursed energy. Now it was you, who would be handled by Yūji as the tool to destroy Sukuna, Gojō continuing to fuel you, even though you could feel that he was reaching his limit. You had stepped over yours a long time ago, and you knew that you would have to pay a high price for it.

Sukuna’s soul began shivering underneath the burned flesh of the wounds Gojō had inflicted. Its pleas turned into threats and then into screams. You felt Yūji’s grip on Sukuna tightening, felt the force with which he closed his wrist around the curse and squeezed, squeezed, squeezed.

Your body was burning up with the pain Sukuna radiated. You felt it all, felt his consciousness wither and crumble as Yūji used your abilities to wring the life from him, felt the fear, the anger, the rage in Sukuna. The part of you that always believed in the good in people tried searching for anything that might bring Sukuna comfort in his last seconds. But you came up empty, there was nothing in his soul but the endless darkness.

You knew your nose was dripping blood down your face, tasted the iron on your tongue, knew your screams were piercing the eerie silence of the destroyed Shinjuku as your body reacted to what your soul was subjected to-

And then it was over. With one deafening crush that nobody could hear but you, Sukuna was dead.

You had felt souls dying countless times before. Sometimes they sizzled out, like the last embers of a bonfire that got extinguished with a glass of water, other times they popped like a balloon pricked with a needle. But Sukuna's soul was different. It started contracting, pulling in, further and further, like a neutron star that began collapsing in on itself. The moment you began feeling the pull of it, you knew what was to follow. Exactly like with the astronomical object, Sukuna's soul would collapse and collapse until it suddenly would invert and instead blow up, not on a physical but a metaphysical scale, the level on which your soul was connected to Sukuna’s. And when his soul blew up like a supernova, it would take all souls connected to it along with it. That meant Megumi's soul, which was still buried in his body somewhere, that meant your soul. That also meant Gojō-sensei's and Yūji’s souls; since you had tapped into theirs to be able to process their cursed energy.

You knew the explosion was inevitable, and you knew that there was no time to draw back from what just a split second ago had been Sukuna. If you did nothing, everyone would die. You had lost too much already; you couldn't lose your only friends and your teacher too. So you did the only thing you could think off in that split second that was left between the moment of Sukuna's death and the inevitable supernova: You wrapped around the collapsing soul, hoping that when it blew up, you would absorb enough of the set free energy to protect the others.

For a moment an unwelcome voice asked what Megumi would say when he woke up and realized that you had sacrificed your life for his, Yūji’s and your teacher’s. He'd be devastated, especially after what had happened to his sister. You wondered if what Yūji had told you all these hours ago held any truth at all. Just before Gojō-sensei had gone to face off against Sukuna, Yūji had told you that Megumi had confessed to having fallen in love with you. Was that true, did Megumi really cared for you? What would have been different, if you had not been too much of a coward to hide your feelings from him and instead had been honest? Would he have reciprocated your feelings? Would that have changed the outcome of this fight?

The remains of Sukuna's soul grew heavier and heavier, shrinking and increasing in density, and you tightened your hold around it. You could feel that it was almost over, and as scared and in pain as you were, you tried reaching out to Megumi's soul. You felt it lingering, somewhere deep, buried away, still passive, and asleep, oblivious to the battle that raged on, that was almost over now.

You sent a thought to Megumi, not sure if he could perceive it, that you had always admired him, and that you wished you could have saved not just him, but his sister too. And yourself. For his sake. You waited for an echo, a reply of any sort, but his soul stayed quiet, a deep blue, darker even than his mesmerizing eyes, cold, untouchable, and unaware. If your soul could have sighed, it would have.

You had tried. Maybe Yūji would tell Megumi eventually about what you had confessed to him when you had been watching the ongoing fight. He had noticed your hands clenching so hard into your seat, that your nails had almost splintered, had picked up on the way your eyes followed Sukuna as if you could kill him and save Megumi by merely looking at him through the screen. And when he had asked, quietly under his breath if what you felt for Megumi was love not on a platonic but a romantic level, you had not denied. Maybe he would share his knowledge when everything was over, when your soul had absorbed all of  the energy set free by Sukuna's death and got torn to pieces. When the others got saved, when Megumi woke up. If Megumi woke up. Right now, his soul was but a deep blue hole of pain and unconsciousness.

And then there was a stir, a shimmer of bright blue in the deep, as if your thoughts had reached him, like waking from a deep dream, Megumi's soul began to shift and shimmer and-

It was over quicker than your quickened perception could follow. One moment Sukuna had been there, the next he was dead, the remains of his soul collapsing and your soul wrapping around it to protect the others, all in the fraction of a split second, and then there was nothing left but the searing pain of your soul getting blown away by what once had been Sukuna.

-

People were hurrying past left and right, dizzying Megumi, and if he hadn’t known his way around Shinjuku station, he would have been hopelessly lost. Annoyed he furrowed his brows, stepping out of the way of an old man, who almost had run into him. How did Gojō imagine Megumi could find this new student with no further specification of the meeting place than “Shinjuku Station”? The station was bigger than a small village, tunnels leading to the subway and connecting subway stations into all directions, several million people passing through each day.

Megumi stepped closer to a column, getting on his tiptoes, and trying to look over the crowd. How was he supposed to find someone who he didn’t even know what they liked like in a place like this? Where would he go if he had been new to Tokyo and thrust into this situation? A pit began growing in Megumi’s stomach as he realised, he would be completely and entirely lost. What kind of evil prank was Gojō trying to pull on that new student, sending them into one of the biggest stations in the world with the promise to get picked up, only for them to realise earlier or later that without a more precise meeting point they’d be lost in the maze that was Shinjuku station. And beyond the exits of it waited Tokyo, vast with its skyscrapers, the busy streets and the crowds of people who all seemed to know exactly where they were going. Gojō really didn’t seem very set on making a good first impression.

Megumi pushed away from the pillar he had leant against and let himself drift away in the crowd. He was not sure where he was going, just following wherever his feet seemed determined to carry him. His eyes skipped over the people before him, those pushing past, those following their daily routine in the morning buzz of the city. Sudden doubt overcame him, but instead of stopping and turning into another direction, he kept walking, following an instinct his brain could not decipher.

A pair of eyes met his, and confused Megumi stopped in his track, just as the other person, a young woman, about his age, had done. Other people streamed past him and her as they stared at each other from a distance, the eye contact again and again interrupted by the other commuters walking between them. It felt like half an eternity that Megumi was frozen in place in the middle of Shinjuku station, taking in the features of the girl who was staring back at him. Even from afar he could make out the sparkle in her eyes, that now doubtfully observed him. Strands of hair were sticking out from underneath the hat she wore to keep warm on the cold December morning. The scarf around her neck matched the hat and underlined her features gently. She was beautiful, Megumi noted, but not in the traditional, socially celebrated sense, but rather in a timeless sense, as if she could be thrown in any era and always be considered beautiful, a quiet, unintrusive beauty.

Eventually it was her, who took the first step, breaking the strange moment of contemplation they had shared. Megumi met her in the middle, only stopping when they stood almost chest to chest to not drift apart in the crowd.

“Are you Gojō Satoru,” she asked, having to speak loudly over the murmur of the station. “I was told, I’d get picked up by him…”

Her voice was soothing, Megumi thought, the vowels softly rolling of her tongue, and for a moment he was so focused on the sound of her voice, that he almost didn’t answer her question.

Quickly finding back into the moment, he shook his head.

“Gojō-sensei is my teacher. I’m Fushiguro Megumi,” he introduced himself. “I’m in my third year of middle school, but I’ll start at the Tokyo Metropolitan Jujutsu Senmon Gakkō in April.”

The girl in front of him nodded, her features softening into what he realised was relief. Apparently she had been just as stressed about finding him here in Shinjuku as he had imagined her to be.

“I’m (y/n),” she answered. “I think we’re going to start Jujutsu High together. It’s nice to meet you. And thank you so much for coming to pick me up.”

She bowed, and Megumi could not help but notice how precise the gesture was, like straight from a schoolbook. Whoever had educated her, must have been very proud of what a diligent student she seemed to be.

“It’s nice to meet you,” Megumi replied, answering her gesture of a bow with one of his own. Except he was aware that his execution of the same was not nearly as neat as hers. “I’m sorry Gojō-sensei didn’t specify the meeting place any further.”

“I must admit, I did feel a little lost,” she laughed, the sound making Megumi steal a glance at her. She was even more beautiful when she smiled. “But you found me in the end, so it’s all good.”

Megumi nodded, quickly averting his eyes from her face as not to make her uncomfortable with the way he had been watching her laugh. “Right,” he agreed, only half convinced, and determined to have a word with his guardian later about how to plan meeting spots. “Let me help you with your luggage.”

He quickly reached for the handle of the suitcase she had pulled to her side, a travel bag wrapped around the handle, while she carried a smaller backpack over her shoulder.

“Oh, that’s fine, please don’t bother,” she denied, but Megumi shook his head.

“You must’ve had a long journey, please-“

She glanced up at him, before hesitantly letting go of the handle of the suitcase, letting Megumi take a hold of it instead. The plastic was still warm where her fingers had wrapped around it.

“We need to go this way,” he gestured, but as he took the first step into the direction of the train line that would carry him and the girl out of the heart of the city and closer towards Jujutsu High, a sudden pain ignited around his left wrist, and with a hiss he let go of the handle of your suitcase. Irritated he looked down on his hand, try to spot the cause of the pain, then the handle of the suitcase. But the suitcase was gone, and so was the crowd of commuters.

Furrowing his brows in alarm, he looked up. The people were gone, only leaving him and you, you who he knew so much better than he had that first day he had come to pick you up from the train station. At his side you were dressed in the school uniform of Jujutsu High, your hands tightened into tense fists, but unlike his gaze, yours was not flitting around the suddenly empty station, the white ceiling, the colourful markings for the different train and subway lines. Your gaze was instead fixed entirely on him.

“Megumi-” your voice was urgent, laced with panic and desperation. Quickly Megumi turned to you, instinctively closing the distance between you and placing both hand at your shoulders. Another wave of pain raced through his left hand, but this time he ignored it, distracted by the look on your face, one of pain and sadness.

“What’s wrong,” he asked, bending down closer to your face, as if he could read the answer to his question in your eyes.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered, “I’m sorry for all you had to go through, for not having gotten rid of Sukuna any earlier, for not having been able to save Tsumiki, for-”

“What are you talking about,” he asked, gently shaking you, hoping to tear you out of whatever trance you had fallen into all of a sudden.

“I’m so sorry, Megumi,” you repeated, tears rising into your eyes.

Panic was slowly but surely taking over Megumi. Why were you crying? None of the things you said made any sense! What was he supposed to do now? Should he hug you? Continue to ask what was wrong?

But before he could decide, another lightning of pain shot through his hand, so strong this time, that he stumbled back and clutched it to his chest. When he looked back up at you, your appearance had changed again. Your hair was dishevelled now, its shimmer dimmed with dust. Scratches littered your face, all of them angry and red, and fresh blood was running out of your nose, dripping from your lips. Your eyes were bloodshot, your clothes torn in places and dusty, your jacket stained with drops of blood..

“(Y/n),” Megumi gasped, stepping forwards again, wanting to take hold of you, but this time you were faster, grabbing his lower arms instead.

“You need to wake up.”

Irritated Megumi shook his head. “What are you talking about?”

“Megumi,” the urgency in your voice was so thick, Megumi felt like he could cut it with a knife. “You need to wake up.”

Your voice echoed back from the walls, seeming to grow louder, joined by another voice, a familiar voice, one Megumi had been not sure he would ever hear again. Hopefully he lifted his eyes away from your face, looking up and down the empty corridor in search for Gojō, whose voice had joined the echoes of yours in their strange plea. But the hallway was empty except for you and Megumi, so he turned back to you.

Up close he could see the dark circles under your eyes, how fallen in your cheeks were, how your skin seemed to have lost all its glow. He leant in, intending to wrap his arms around you. He wanted to help, he wanted to wipe that look of despair off your face, but you held him at an arm’s length instead.

“You need to wake up,” you repeated. “Wake up.”

Part Two

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