Nanami With Yet Another Banger Of A T-shirt

nanami with yet another banger of a t-shirt 🗿

Fictional men with an undercut have me in a chokehold

I think if I saw Geto and Haibara interact more I would simply pass away

bonus jjk episodes/OVAs that I think would be very insightful

Why Utahime left Tokyo and went to Kyoto

Toji’s back story with the Zenins

Megumi & Tsumiki’s childhood with Gojo

More about what happened during the 10 years between hidden inventory and JJK0

What Yuta and Miguel did while abroad (I know they were looking for the rope stuff but more specifics)

literally anything about Shoko

The day Maki left the Zenin clan

The mission that Haibara died on

More about Kamo Noritoshi and his mother

Why Momo is half American/her back story

Yuki’s time at Jujutsu high

Thank you for coming to my ted talk pls feel free to comment or reblog with what you’d like to see too

sukuna forcing uruame to record your sex tape

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Get Your Passport, 'Cause We Runnin' Off

CHAPTER SUMMARY : the day of the big trip has arrived, and you're stuck with your bully for the whole ride there. maybe he'll be nice for a change...

boyfriend!yuuji itadori x f!reader x bully!megumi fushiguro

WARNINGS : 18+, PG chapter tbh, daddy kink mention??, attempted/thwarted bullying.

WORDS : 3.9k

notes : every friday was a funny joke right guys? right?

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“Are you sure you don’t need a ride tomorrow?” Gojo queries as he helps fill your fridge and cupboards with food he picked up for you. It's his way of an apology without actually saying the pivotal words. He told Yuuji he’d look out for you, and he will keep his promise. A few groceries are bound to make him look good in both your eyes and the eyes of your boyfriend.

“Yeah I’m sure. Toji is picking me up from here and then there’s a coach to take us out of town for our field trip.” you inform him.

He offers a smirk and silences himself as he continues to empty the bags. It's a devious look, and you know he has something to say. You aren't sure if you even want to know, but there's just something so irritating about Satoru Gojo that makes you think you'll die if you don’t pry whatever it is out of him.

“Could the reason that you’re declining my offer be that I don’t have what Toji has?” he wonders. You quirk your eyebrow in confusion; hoping it will prompt him to continue. “I mean, Toji has a perfect doppelgänger, right? A mini me, closer to your age.”

“What are you implying, Gojo?” you speak, an accusatory tone bleaching your words.

“Do you… like Megumi?” he inquires.

You wish you never asked.

You can’t help but scoff at that. He couldn’t have found a more inappropriate tree to bark up. Like Megumi? You can barely even stomach looking at him. He’s evil incarnate and, quite frankly, you hate him. You’ve tried being nice to him. You’ve tried being cordial. There isn’t much you haven’t tried to make your life easier when it comes to Megumi, nothing works. So liking him is completely out of the question.

“You have no idea what you’re talking about.” you laugh, helping him with the last of the shopping so that you can shoo him out quicker. He watches you frantically pick everything up and put it away, he can tell what you’re doing.

Did he touch a nerve?

“I’m with Yuuji,” you halt, a revolted look in your eye informing him of your now soured mood. “I mean, are you… stupid? Megumi has been bullying me since he moved into my art class, actually. So, maybe you should—”

“Alright, alright. No need to get defensive.” he snickers, pulling a lollipop out of his jacket pocket to suckle on as he heads towards the exit.

“I’m not being defensive. You’re being annoying.”

“Yeah? Well why is it that you’d rather take a ride with Papaguro over me. Is it him you like?” he pushes. It’s like he’s trying to make you snap.

“I. Have. A. Boyfriend!” you remind him, yet again, “Toji is hot, yes, in a friend’s dad calling you kiddo type of way. I guess. But he’s just that, a dad. He treats me like his own kid, and I have no interest in him passed being friends.” you explain, hoping to satiate Gojo’s curiosity enough to make him drop the subject.

“Do you call Yuuji daddy when you fuck? Giving off major kink vibes right now, sweetheart.”

“Get out.” you demand.

“Huh? Wait I was just—”

“Out! Gojo, out! You’re done. Get out of my house.” you tell him with a completely straight face. He holds his hands up in surrender as he makes his way towards your front door to leave. You’ve never met anyone as insufferable as Gojo in your life. Not even Megumi is as bad as him. You watch him from your door as you see him walk towards his car. When he opens the door, you decide to offer him some parting words. “Toji doesn’t like you very much, it’s like he doesn’t trust you. And I’m not sure if I do either.”

“Do you know what Toji did to his own kid? Abandoning him after his mother died?” he questions.

“Yeah. I do.”

“And you trust that guy and not me? Tch.” he sits behind the wheel and starts up his car. “Thought you were smarter than that, babe. I’ll see you around.”

The wait for Toji to pick you up is nauseating. It’s your first ride with both him and Megumi in the car. The younger Fushiguro had opted to catch a ride into school with his sister when he heard the news of Toji becoming your new chauffer. But with Tsumiki at work and zero desire to risk taking the bus and missing the coach, his dad became the safest option.

He sits in the back, much to your surprise, giving him the freedom to manspread across the backseat. Toji couldn’t coax many words out of you, your nerves were shot. Of course you said good morning and told him that you were doing okay, but that was as much as he could get.

“Be nice to her today, shit head.” Toji orders. He laughs when he feels Megumi kick the back of his seat in protest.

You shake it off. Everything. His voice, Megumi’s defiance. It all crumbles away as you look out of the window and pretend you’re a cloud.

“Looks like rain…” you sigh. They both hear you, but neither of them comments. The sky couldn’t be bluer and the sun is blaring down. Even the sidewalks are hot to the touch if you were to walk on them with bare feet.

“I’m serious Megumi. No funny shit today, best behaviour.”

“Tell him I’ve been nice to you so he shuts his fucking mouth. I’ve not been giving you any shit, have I?” Megumi speaks, kicking the back of your seat, eagerly awaiting a response. You sigh, and smile. But why should you keep covering for him? Today is going to be hellish whether he leaves you alone or not.

May as well get him in trouble with his darling dad.

“Are you counting when you locked us in the bathroom together? Or the other day when you when you called me an entitled bitch? Besides that, no. You’ve been so lovely to me ‘Gumi.” you hum, continuing to look out of the window.

The argument that breaks out between them goes completely over your head. The only thing on your mind is the sky. You wonder what colour the sky is where Yuuji is right now. Will he look at it and think of you, too? What is the sky like for him? Are you even on his mind? You wish he’d call, you long to hear his voice.

“Little bastard. I know you’re stupid, but I’m wonderin’ now if you’re fuckin’ deaf too. Because I’m sure I’ve told you to quit picking on her.” Toji scolds.

“I’ve done worse. Snitch.” he mutters under his breath.

“Listen to me, Megumi. Leave her the fuck alone. I won’t tell you again. She hasn’t done shit to you so stop making her life difficult for no God damn reason. Thought Yuuji was your friend, so what the fuck is all this for?” Toji continues as he keeps looking in the mirror so that he can stare at his son. It goes ignored as Megumi slumps back into himself and plays his music through his headphones loud enough to deafen the world around him. “Why didn’t you tell me about all that shit he did, princess?” he asks. You shrug your shoulders, ignoring him similarly to how Megumi was.

What a pair of brats.

He lets you both out of the car and stops you both from going anywhere before he says what he needs to say.

“You. Best fuckin’ behaviour or I’ll kick the shit out of you when you get home.” he warns his son as he ruffles his hair. He leaves right after that, heading in the direction of the coach eager to get a good seat. “And you, princess, call me if anything happens. I’ve got a meeting later but other than that I’m free. I’ll drive down to wherever the fuck you’re going and pick you up myself if he acts up.”

“I’ll be fine, Toji. Enjoy your day.”

“Yeah, you too.” he smiles, “Have a safe trip, kiddo.”

You feel yourself smiling and blood rushing to your face at the new nickname he’s bestowed upon you. It wouldn’t have made you as giddy if not for your meaningless conversation with Gojo.

Kiddo, huh? How embarrassing.

Maybe he was right about you having a daddy kink, after all.

You’ll have to let Yuuji know when you speak to him.

The coach is full of students and teachers, and most of the best seats are taken. Though, you do manage to find two unoccupied seats together, you manage to snag them before anyone else does.

Megumi is a few rows ahead of you on the opposite side of the bus; you catch him looking over his shoulders a few times at you. A furious deathly glare in his eyes, clearly still bitter over you ratting him out to Toji this morning.

He’s sitting alone, too, like he often does.

It surprises you that the mean girls of your class aren’t fawning over him.

And almost as if you summoned them, you feel a tug on your hair from behind. The redhead. The blonde traps you in by the window as she takes a seat beside you. Your heart is racing.

You’re sick of this.

Sick of them.

Sick of everything.

And having these two harass you the entire way is going to make this an even longer journey than it already is.

“Maybe we could ditch the group and have some cocktails.” the redhead jokes from behind you. “We had a great time last time we all got drunk together, right?” she snickers, earning a laugh from her friend in the process.

They become stiff and polite in an instant, and you don't even notice. You're too focused on using the window as your escape once more, imagining yourself as a drifting cloud with the hope it'll help you drown out their cruel words for the rest of the journey.

You gasp when you feel fingers digging into the fat of your underarm, gripping harshly enough to make you yelp.

“Get off me!” you shout.

You assume it's one of the girls trying to hurt you.

But you're wrong. Very wrong.

It's Megumi.

Is he trying to rescue you?

He tilts his head in the direction of the seats he's sitting in, telling you that he wants you to come with him. Noting that Megumi often chose words over actions, you decide he was the lesser of two evils and go with him. You pick up his backpack that he used to save your seat and get yourself comfortable beside the window.

“Is there a reason that you two keep bugging her? I asked you for one favour that you couldn’t even fucking follow. Are you trying to make up for it?” Megumi wonders. He speaks in hushed tones, but it’s still loud enough for you to hear.

“We’re doing it for you, babe! We know you hate her, and—”

“I’m not gonna fuck either of you, y’know? I was using you. And I didn’t fucking ask you to do anything for me after the club. Leave me and leave her alone.”

They both look at you with disdain. You can’t help but laugh, quickly covering your mouth and looking out of the window to disguise it. Their expressions are too funny not to laugh at.

They're acting as if you casted some witchcraft over Megumi to make him turn on them. If they had any common sense, they’d realise he is just an asshole who uses people to get what he wants. His thigh rests against yours when he sits back down. It’s nice, for some reason, feeling caged in by someone as threatening as Megumi.

He’s done this before in a way that sent fear directly to your heart. He did it to intimidate you.

But this… is different. It’s protective.

His head rests back against the tall back of the coach seats as he listens to his music. His head lolls to the side, and for whatever reason he decides to open his eyes.

And, of course, he’s greeted to the sight of the girls. His eyes roll and he proceeds to flip them off, clearly done with entertaining them for a second longer.

“Why did you do that, Megumi?” you ask, genuinely curious as to why he decided to save you from them.

“Shut up. Listenin’ to my music.” he hisses back.

You shrug your shoulders, knowing it’s best not to push him. You reach down to pick up your sturdy tote bag and pull out a colour by numbers book and a pack of felt tip pens.

You hear him scoff when you pull down the tray on the back of the seat in front of you so that you can start to colour in. It goes over your head, though, instead of making a biting remark you simply flip him off with a smile.

You hear him clear his throat and turn his body away from you. His eyes flutter closed, and you can only assume he’s trying to nap. It’s fair enough, you think, the coach trip is three hours long. Maybe he didn’t get much sleep last night.

He grunts as he turns back to face you. Though he seems a little disoriented. Does he realise he fell asleep? He’d been lightly snoring for ten minutes.

He looks down at your colouring book, grunting in disapproval as you continue doing your best to remain within the black lines.

“God I fucking hate you.” he mutters.

“Excuse me? You’re the one who dragged me over here!” you snap back.

“Yeah, that was before I knew you were the type of person to colour things in wrong. Why is the fucking dolphin purple?” he laughs a little as he speaks, clearly amused with himself as he berates your colouring skills.

“I like purple. It’s cute!”

“Give me a page, I’ll show you how it’s done.”

“Huh?”

“Give me a page.”

“You want me to rip out a page of my brand new—”

“I’m bored! Give me one to colour in properly.” he demands.

You flip through the pages heading towards the back. There are a few pages you want to do yourself, so you refrain from tearing them. He studies your face and the changes in expression as you see pages you like and want to keep for yourself. Until finally, you find a page with a lion in the wild. It’s so cute, you almost don’t want to give him it. But before you can change your mind, he snatches the book out of your hand and tears it out carefully himself.

“Hey!” you object, but it’s too late.

“Shut up. You’d only ruin it anyway. You know lions aren’t green, right?”

“You shut up.” you moan at him, returning to the page you’d been colouring and dipping your fingers into your pack of felt tips to get another pen. You barely blink before they’re missing from your hands and have been stolen by Megumi as he fishes around looking for a colour he needs. “Those are mine!”

“Heard of sharing?” he responds.

“You’re meant to ask if you can share.” you inform him. “You are the worst art student I’ve ever met. Don’t you have anything of your own?”

“Just shut up and colour your stupid purple dolphin, princess. Be a good girl and share your pens.” he teases as he begins to fill in the lions fur in a golden yellow.

You cannot stand how easily he can get into your head. Because now you are second guessing yourself and your decision. Maybe a purple dolphin wasn’t the brightest idea. But you do like purple! It takes more than a moment to calm the storm in your mind as you battle against his words and your feelings.

There are tons of artists who used colour ‘incorrectly’. Henri Matisse’s Femme au Chapeau springs to mind in a vividly clear image. You decide that you won’t stop there. Every single colour you are about to choose will be ‘wrong’. Why not make the sea pink and the trees blue? Maybe the sand will be red and the sky yellow? It’s your God damn colouring book that you paid for with your own money.

Colouring alone passes an entire hour. Megumi can’t believe his eyes when you show him your finished page. You have a prideful look on your face. And he nods. Is that… approval?

“I actually don’t hate it.” he tells you.

“Thanks. I think?”

He presents his own, looking slightly disappointed in comparison to yours. It’s wrong, but so very right. It’s fun and exciting to look at. His, on the other hand, is boring. It’s how it should be, but it isn’t as entertaining as yours.

“Give me another one, I wanna make it like yours.” he demands.

“A please wouldn’t hurt once in a while.”

He takes your book from you, looking for a page he’d like to colour in. His fingers hover over an elephant you had your eye on. You’re begging that he doesn’t tear it to colour in himself. You scrunch your eyes as you prepare to hear the all too recognisable sound of paper ripping. But instead, a simple ‘tch’ leaves his lips as he flips the page.

“Please may I take this page?” he asks, pointing at a bear in the woods. You nod, grateful that you have the elephant all to yourself. You both get to work, and you are both filled with glee as he begins to colour the friendly brown bear in a sky blue colour. You decide to colour your elephant red, although you regret it almost instantly. You hope you’ll be able to fix it.

“So, you still haven’t told me why you saved me from those girls.” you remind him, prodding for information as to why he decided to be your knight in shining armour.

“So?”

“Why did you rescue me?” you bluntly ask.

“Why did you rat me out to my dad this morning?” he questions back. It steals your breath for a moment, you have no idea what to say.

Why did you do it? You’re just mad at the world, you suppose. He hadn’t actually done anything particularly awful. Nothing to scare you or force a lump in your throat, so you had no reason to tell Toji. But you did. You’re suffering without Yuuji. Why should you be the only miserable one?

“Why did you call me ‘Gumi?” he torments with a sinister smirk on his face.

“I’m sorry about this morning. And, thank you for saving me. It’s been tough since Yuuji left, and—”

“I don’t care.” he tells you, pulling his headphones back over his ears as he starts to colour again. You shrug, assuming you won’t hear from him again until he finishes his up-and-coming masterpiece. “You piss me off, y’know?”

“Feelings mutual, trust me.”

“Listen. I’ve never had a friendship with a girl before. I just sleep with ‘em, normally. But you’re not a dumb cunt on legs like the rest. I wanted to try with you, for Yuuji, but you’re so fucking nosy.” he informs you.

“You’re disgusting. You’d known me all of two minutes and decided I was a good for nothing whore. I didn’t do anything to deserve any of the things you did to me.” you tell him, doing your best to keep your volume lowered so nobody around would be able to hear you.

“Maybe, maybe not. I don’t like talking about my personal life with anyone and you just… you know. Anyway. My dad’s a selfish asshole but he’s trying, and that’s because of you. So I suppose I should be thanking you for that, at least. And he wants me to be nice to you, so that’s why I saved you. I’m sure if you grew a fucking backbone you’d be able to handle them yourself.”

“I used to have a backbone until you started bullying me and destroyed my confidence.” you whined at him, earning a chuckle.

“I said I’m done with you, with that. I don’t know why I’m so desperately craving Toji’s approval but here we are. I can’t help but hate you, but I’ll have your back when it comes to those two. And… if I’m mean, I’m just fucking with you.”

“Shut up.”

“If my dad likes you there must be something off about you. He’s shady. Dangerous.” Megumi tells you. You shake your head, dismissing him.

“Toji is a big teddy bear. He doesn’t scare me, but you do.” you hum. “You’re fucked up and you know it. I don’t trust you as far as I can throw you and I’m sure it won’t be long before you’re making my life hell again.”

“Teddy bear? Ugh. You’re not fucking him, are you? My dad?” he fake gags as he thinks about it a little longer than he intended.

“Why do people keep asking if I have a crush on your dad?” you whisper to yourself. But, you’re a fool, because of course Megumi heard you. He raises an eyebrow, clearly intrigued by your accidental statement. “Gojo.”

“Fuck sake, those two. Ignore him, they’ll both do anything to one up each other.” Megumi huffs, a disapproving shake of his head punctuating his statement.

“So you go way back with Gojo too, like Yuuji? How do you know him?”

“See, nosy.” he scoffs. “A story for another day, maybe. Or just ask your new best friend Toji when we next carpool.” he mocks you, finally blocking you out with his headphones again as he pours all of his focus into his bear colouring.

It’s such a small world.

How have you found yourself falling into this tight knit circle of family and friends who all seem to know each other? It’s crazy that they are all so close and yet so far.

Megumi and Toji are father and son but they are practically worlds apart in terms of closeness. Yuuji hates Megumi like he thought he never could. The Fushiguro’s are both related to your ex Naoya. And Toji, Yuuji and Megumi all have a connection to Gojo.

Megumi mentioned that Toji is shady and dangerous, but you don’t get that vibe from him at all.

Gojo on the other hand has an incredibly seedy aura about him. He’s sweet to you, sure, but why? Just because Yuuji told him to be? Is anyone really that nice? It’s like he’s going above and beyond to make both you and Yuuji happy. You can’t tell how Megumi feels about the white haired menace, but you know that Toji loathes him.

Why?

What the fuck is going on with the men in your life?

© 2022 fuwushiguro | © 2024 rinhaler

【 ꜱʏᴍᴘᴛᴏᴍꜱ ᴀɴᴅ ᴄᴀᴜꜱᴇꜱ 】 ch. 10

x pairing professor!gojo x med student f!reader (medical au)

x summary he's arrogant, self-centered, and he's your professor. renowned for his brilliance in neurosurgery and infamous for his allure. too bad you have to work with him on this research team. now you're stuck with dr. satoru gojo, delving into the complexities of both the brain and the heart—and of how far you'd go for a love that could destroy not only him but you as well.

x wc 13.8 k (again, i'm insane)

x warnings [18+] this story contains substance abuse/addiction, (rough) smut, mature themes, self-destructive behavior, (heavy) angst, mentions of death / illness / blood / abuse, graphic medical procedures. reader discretion is advised.

x author's note not gonna lie, this chapter's gonna be quite angsty. hope the wait was worth it. i'm DYING to hear your reactions! let's dive in!! & pls repost or comment if you enjoyed, highly appreciated ♡

series masterlist + playlist + ao3 + wattpad

<- prev chapter | next chapter ->

"Are you going insane?" 

Satoru's question cut through your spiraling thoughts.

You tore your gaze from the rain-streaked window, meeting his impossibly blue eyes. Only now you realized that the nervous gnawing of your fingernails had gone too far. You shoved your hands under your thighs.

"You look like you're about to face a firing squad," he continued.

"Aren't we?"

The words were dry, masking the acidic churn in your stomach.

He finally looked up from his desk, a mountain of half-graded essays teetering precariously. That infuriating smirk curled his lips. "We'll be fine. Trust me, we've got this."

"How can you stay so calm?"

"Drugs, sweetheart. It's the drugs," he said, his focus already back on the student essay covered in red-ink.

At least he was honest.

"Are you seriously grading papers at a time like this?"

"Had a sudden surge of responsibility. Might not last." He didn't even glance up. "Don't worry, it won't take long. Most of these will fail anyway." A thick red line slashed across the page, a brutal verdict. The next paper met a similar fate with a flick of his wrist. Poor students.

Your gaze dropped to his hands. They trembled, just slightly, but it was there. 

You should ask him how he was. About the withdrawal, his last week on opioids, if the fear gnawed at him as it did you, if the thought of regret crossed his mind.

But you couldn't. 

Yeah, you couldn't. 

How selfish.

He was struggling and you could see it. Painfully clear. And yet, all you could focus on was your own pathetic fear. Weak. That was the word, echoing in your head.

The room felt suffocating. 

It was the day of the ethics committee hearing. 

The day your whole future could unravel. 

You gnawed your nails to the quick, the taste of blood barely registering over the adrenaline pounding in your ears. The rain lashed the window, each drop a hammer blow against your composure. 

What would they ask? What would they accuse?

You were prepared. The research was meticulous, the data irrefutable. But this wasn't about cold facts. If the committee sensed even a whiff of impropriety, they'd tear it apart and use the shreds to bury you both. 

They'd target like a shark sensing blood.

And they wouldn't just attack the science—they'd attack him. You. Everyone.

The thought made you want to vomit. 

Out the window, you spotted Geto and Higurama, making their way across the rain-drenched parking lot. Oh, right, there was something else you wanted to drown in the back of your mind. But now, the memory was back, embarrassingly clear as you saw Geto's face.

"Why did you say that?" you asked, turning to Satoru.

He blinked, momentarily distracted from his grading massacre. "What?"

"You know exactly what I mean."

His lips curved into sly smile. "It was a joke. Relax."

"God, I hate you." You turned your gaze away from him, focusing on the way the rain lashed against the window.

Silence stretched.

Finally, you glanced at him once again. "Did you?"

"What?"

"Share...women?"

He raised an eyebrow. "Why, intrigued?"

"You're stupid." You spun away, but a wave of frustration washed over you.

But to your bad, his curiosity was piqued now. 

He rose from his chair, hands braced on the worn oak of the desk. "And you're intrigued. I can't believe you." He moved towards you, his presence filling the room. "My sweet little girl wants a threesome." He paused, tilting his head. "Never thought you'd be into that."

You crossed your arms. "Stop it already."

"No wait, now I think about it," Slowly, his gaze raked over you, a wicked glint in his eyes making your skin crawl. "I totally should have seen that coming."

"What's that supposed to mean?" You managed the words, but your defiance was crumbling as he leaned in closer. 

The heat radiating from him was almost tangible. His scent, with a hint of warm coffee and something distinctly, maddeningly him, clouded your senses, making rational thought impossible.

He reached out, his touch feather-light as he brushed a stray strand of hair from your shoulder. His fingertips grazed the soft skin of your neck. Before you could protest, his hand slid lower, tracing the line of your arm.

"Tell me," he whispered, his breath a warm caress against your ear. "Where would you want him to touch you?"

"Stop it." You pushed his hand away, but your resistance only seemed to fuel his teasing.

"Oh, don't be shy now. Suguru doesn't like that," he said, voice low and laced with a hint of mockery. "Tell me, where would you let him touch you? Would you shiver like this for him?" He leaned closer, his tongue tracing a hot path along your jaw that made you indeed shiver.

Then, the door crashed open, revealing a rain-lashed Geto and Higurama. 

You quickly wrenched yourself away from Satoru, pushing against his chest.

Higurama stumbled straight to the nearest chair. With a groan, he collapsed into its worn embrace, fumbling with the clasps of his waterlogged leather case. Papers and files spilled onto the table.

Geto stripped the rain from his hair, then twisted the dark strands into a fresh bun. His eyes flickered between you and Satoru, a single raised eyebrow his only question. You wouldn't meet his gaze, the floor suddenly fascinating. 

Not now. Not after this conversation.

"Just so we're clear," Satoru's voice suddenly cut through the quiet, "I don't share. Not you."

An angry glare was all you could manage in reply.

"What the hell are you talking about?" Geto asked.

"Where she'd want you to—" Satoru began.

"Anyway," you interrupted, your voice rising an octave in a desperate attempt to drown him out. The sharp sound cut through the room, snapping the heads of all three men towards you. "How about we talk about our strategy for the hearing?"

You approached Higurama, the case files spread before him like grim prophecies. He straightened, a determined look replacing his previous fatigue. "So, should we start?"

Satoru and Geto closed in, their footsteps heavy in the silence. Satoru picked up a paper and perched on the edge of the desk.

"Male patient, 37 years old," he began. "Paraplegic due to a motorcycle accident five years ago. We implanted the prototype neuroprosthetic interface to facilitate control of a biomimetic limb."

He turned to the next page. "All pre-operative assessments indicated the patient was a perfect candidate. No underlying conditions, strong mental fortitude—ideal for testing the new neural link."

"Exactly," Geto said, his gaze locked onto a x-ray scan on the table. "The initial calibration was a success. The patient gained full control of the biomimetic limb, experiencing no rejection or discomfort."

"However," he continued. "Two weeks after surgery, the patient suffered a sudden and massive cerebral hemorrhage. He died shortly after."

The room seemed to shrink, the air thick with tension. 

Your breath caught in your throat, guilt a cold stone in your stomach. The image of the patient flashed through your mind—his smile as he took his first, tentative steps with his new limb, the hopeful gleam in his eyes. 

Now, he was nothing but a name on a file, a haunting statistic.

You stole a glance at Satoru—all traces of amusement had vanished from his face, replaced by an unsettling seriousness.

"There was no physical damage to the implant itself, correct?" Satoru asked.

You took a deep breath. "No. All post-operative scans showed no abnormalities with the device. It's likely a malfunction within the neural interface itself that somehow triggered the bleeding." 

Satoru met your gaze. "I double-checked that," you added.

He mustered a faint smile.

Higurama squinted at a scan, feigning understanding. "So, the issue wasn't with the patient. He was healthy and the surgery went well. It's something within the implant."

Satoru pushed off the desk and started pacing the room. "If that's the case, the engineers are in deep trouble. We're in the clear."

Geto scoffed. "Don't be naive, Satoru. The ethics committee will chew us up and spit us out. They'll scrutinize every detail, every decision."

He didn't have to spell it out—the subtext was clear.

Silence settled.

"He's right," Higurama said after a while said, his gaze flicking between you and Satoru. "They'll dig into your relationship. Got a story ready for them?"

Your response was immediate. "We tell them the truth," you said. "We have a committed relationship. Everyone on the team knows, and it hasn't impacted our work in any way."

"But we only bring it up if they ask," Satoru added.

Suddenly, anger burned through you. You whipped around to face him. "Since when did we decide that?"

Satoru met your gaze head-on. "I decided."

"But you don't get to decide for both of us."

"I'm trying to protect you," he said, his jaw clenching. "The committee will twist this. They'll make it look worse than it is. I won't let them tarnish your reputation. So, if they don't ask, we won't tell."

"And you think, them finding out later will be better? You know they will find out, Satoru. Sooner or later, it'll come out. Then what?"

"Can you stop being so damn stubborn?" he fired back, a flicker of frustration finally breaking through his infuriating calm. "This isn't about us. It's about them and what they might do to you, what they would think of you if they found out."

Your chin lifted a fraction higher, a silent challenge. You wouldn't let him play the protector card, not this time.

Geto cleared his throat. "You want some privacy?"

In perfect, maddening unison, you and Satoru spoke.

"No," you declared.

"Yes," he insisted.

Silence stretched between you like a fraying rope, broken only by the relentless drumming of the rain against the windows. You both held each other's gaze, caught in a silent battle of wills that neither wanted to lose.

Geto and Higurama exchanged a troubled look. 

With a resigned sigh, Higurama gathered up the scattered papers. Then the door shut, leaving you and Satoru alone under the harsh fluorescent glare of the office.

Satoru closed the distance between you. Before you could protest, he reached out and cupped your face with a touch that was both gentle and insistent. His thumb gently brushed the line of your jaw as he forced you to meet his gaze.

"Please," he whispered. "Just trust me on this one."

His eyes, those piercing blue depths, held a desperation you'd never seen before. You longed to surrender, to simply accept the comfort he offered, but you couldn't.

"We discussed this, Satoru. Hiding this—it'll make things worse. They'll question our judgment, our ethics. We have to be clear from the start."

"They don't care about our research, they don't care about our intentions." His grip tightened, not cruelly, but with the urgency of a drowning man. "They care about protecting the institution. Our honesty will be a weapon they use against us."

"But secrets always find a way out, and when they do—" You trailed off, the unspoken threat hanging in the air.

Silence followed. 

His features tightened, the internal war etched across his face with brutal clarity. His jaw worked, a muscle twitching beneath the skin. You held your breath, waiting, hoping.

"Fine." He released your face, the touch lingering for a split second before he stepped back. "Your way." He resumed his restless pacing, a shaky breath escaping him as he ran a hand through his hair.

"Satoru, how are you—"

"Fine," he cut you off. "Manageable."

He was a terrible liar.

Dark circles etched a brutal truth beneath his eyes. His shoulders, rigid as stone, screamed a silent protest against the weight he carried alone. Frustration gnawed at you. "If you keep shutting me out—"

He held up a hand, abruptly cutting you off. "Look, I—it's under control." Forced lightness dripped from his words like acid. "Right now, we have bigger things to worry about than my personal issues."

His fingers twitched, then clenched into fists so tight the knuckles turned white. Fine sweat glistened on his forehead, betraying the effort it took to keep still and not claw at his scars.

A familiar ache rose in your chest. You longed to reach out, to bridge the chasm he insisted on maintaining. But his posture, rigid as stone, and his clenched jaw, sent a silent warning. This was his battle, one he'd fight in isolation—as always. 

To argue now would be a futile cruelty.

Still, it took every ounce of control not to slap sense into him.

"Look," he began, his voice soft now, "I know I'm not—easy to deal with right now. And, damn it, I'm asking too much." His hand found yours, the touch fleeting, hesitant. "I'm sorry for dragging you into my mess."

Why was he saying that?

Anger boiled over at his ridiculous apology. Had he no idea what it meant to love someone? To choose them, flaws and all. The urge to yell at him, to shake some sense into him, grew stronger.

How could he be so brilliant, yet so completely foolish when it came to the heart?

"Don't say that," you choked out, hating how close your voice was to breaking.

"We should probably get going," Satoru said abruptly, sidestepping the moment, and moved towards the door. He paused briefly beside you. Before you could react, he leaned in and brushed his lips against your temple.

"I love you," he said, the words barely audible. "And I'll make it up to you. I promise."

He pulled back, and for a heartbeat a flicker of vulnerability appeared in his eyes before the familiar mask slammed back into place. He turned and left the room.

You stood alone, the echo of his footsteps haunting the silence.

Dread twisted in your gut, a cold knot tightening with each breath. Something was wrong. It clawed at your insides, demanding to be heard.

He was falling apart.

But all you could do was watch.

─── ·✧· ───

Cold air whipped down the corridor as Satoru pushed the door open. 

The room within was just as cold. 

A vast, circular chamber bathed in harsh light, the air thick with the scent of dust and old wood. The committee members sat at a raised, semi-circular table—three figures cloaked in stiff suits and stern expressions. Their backs to you.

The chamber wasn't empty. 

Rows of chairs lined the room, filled with observers. Students, researchers, the curious, and perhaps those hungry for the spectacle of your downfall. Their murmurs were a low hum against the echoing silence as you went into the room.

It was less like a conference room, and more like a courtroom.

Eyes burned into you from every direction. 

As you approached, the committee members finally turned to face you. Your breath hitched, catching painfully in your chest. Time warped, the world narrowing to a pinprick as their faces resolved into sickening clarity.

For there, in the center of the committee, sat Sukuna.

His presence was a jagged shard of ice in your heart, piercing through the thin veneer of composure you clung to. His lips curled into a cruel smile, and a flicker of malevolent glee danced in his eyes.

This was a disaster. 

No, it was worse than a disaster. It was a meticulously orchestrated trap. This wasn't about research, about ethics. It was personal. Sukuna would use this hearing to destroy you, to rip away everything you'd worked for.

Bile rose in your throat, burning and acrid.

Before you could process the horror of the situation, Satoru leaned in. His voice, barely a whisper, held an urgency that cut through the panic. "Change of plan. You say nothing, got me?"

Then, he walked away.

Higurama placed a hand on your shoulder. "Come on," he said, squeezing gently. 

He led you away, along the perimeter of the room towards the other observers. Satoru and Geto continued their march towards the raised platform, isolated beneath a spotlight of scrutiny.

The man to Sukuna's left, a stern-faced figure with wire-rimmed glasses, cleared his throat. "Dr. Gojo, Dr. Geto," he began, his voice dry. "Let us begin."

The hearing started. 

Words were hurled like daggers, each a piercing blow masked in the veneer of clinical inquiry. Yet, you barely registered. You were drowning in a sea of fear and confusion, your senses numbed. 

Technical details, research methodology, surgical procedures—every detail of your work was being scrutinized, dissected under the harsh glare of judgment.

With each probing question, another wave of panic threatened to pull you under. You watched Satoru and Geto, their voices distant and distorted. Each answer seemed to disarm the committee's attacks, yet their success did little to ease the relentless churning within you.

Then, Sukuna spoke.

The mere sound of his voice made you flinch. 

"Dr. Gojo," Sukuna addressed Satoru directly, "your research proposal mentions the involvement of a particularly skilled...assistant. It seems her contribution was essential to this project's success?"

There it was. The first arrow, dipped in poison. 

Satoru shifted slightly in his seat, his jaw tensing.

"That's correct. Our research assistant played a crucial role in both research and surgery. Her work throughout was exceptional."

"Indeed," Sukuna purred, drawing out the word. "This assistant...how did you choose this particular student? Was it solely academic potential that sparked your...enthusiasm?"

Satoru's gaze hardened, meeting Sukuna's with cold fury.

"My research assistants are chosen based on merit. If you find that questionable, perhaps that says more about you than it does about me."

"Of course, merit," Sukuna mocked. "Yet, such enthusiasm for guiding this particular student. Surely there were others equally qualified? Or was there something special about her that made her... stand out?"

Satoru's grip on the table tightened. You saw the vein in his temple throb. "I don't indulge in your insinuations," he said, his voice low. "My student was chosen for her brilliance, her dedication. Nothing more."

"Brilliance and dedication... admirable indeed," Sukuna mused. "But perhaps such qualities inspire a greater degree of devotion in their mentors, wouldn't you agree?"

"If your intent is to waste the committee's time with these baseless accusations—" he began, but Sukuna cut him off.

"Accusations?" Sukuna raised an eyebrow, feigning innocence. "I am merely exploring the unusual level of support you provided this particular student. Such exceptional one-on-one mentorship. And haven't there been rumors?"

He paused, letting the poison of those words spread through the silence. 

The woman on Sukuna's right scribbled furiously on her notepad, while the man to his left wore an expression of barely concealed disdain.

Your stomach twisted.

This wasn't just Sukuna playing games anymore—this was a calculated act of revenge meant to leave you broken and bleeding.

"Rumors have no place in a discussion of scientific integrity," Satoru said.

Sukuna chuckled. "So protective, Dr. Gojo. Perhaps there's truth to those whispers after all... A hint of guilt, perhaps?"

The insinuation hung heavy in the air, a noose tightening around Satoru's composure. You saw the fury ignite in his eyes, his jaw flexing as he fought to contain it. 

"Those rumors are beneath contempt. Our work stands on its own merit."

"Yet, this particular student," Sukuna countered, "she seems to have benefited so exceptionally from your attention. Late nights in the lab, one-on-one consultations. Such dedication to a student's development is truly admirable."

Satoru's knuckles turned white against the polished wood of the table. His voice, when it came, was a barely controlled snarl. "My methods are beyond reproach. The success of the research speaks for itself."

"Perhaps. But even the most brilliant minds can be blinded by, shall we say, distractions?" He leaned in closer, his voice a near whisper. "Tell me, Dr. Gojo, how far would you go to protect this student? To preserve her precious reputation?"

That was it.

Satoru surged to his feet, the sharp sound of his chair scraping back echoing in the deathly silence. He slammed his hands on the table, leaning towards Sukuna, his eyes blazing.

"Enough!" His voice boomed through the room, silencing the whispers. "This farce has gone on far too long. Your accusations are unfounded, and your motivations are sickeningly clear. You will not tarnish my reputation or that of my student!"

Sukuna held his gaze, unyielding.

"Dr. Gojo, please!" The woman on Sukuna's right spoke. "Control yourself. This outburst does little to support your claims of objectivity."

Satoru's jaw tightened, anger flickering in his eyes. But with a visible effort, he reined in his fury. The slam of his hand against the wood was replaced with a heavy silence as he slowly lowered himself back into his seat.

The damage, though, was irreversible. 

The image was planted—the brilliant but reckless professor blinded by his illicit affection, the ambitious student caught in his web. 

Sukuna had won, and he hadn't even needed proof.

The man with the wire-rimmed glasses cleared his throat. "Dr. Gojo, if such allegations held any merit, the consequences would be dire. University policy forbids faculty-student relationships." He paused, the gravity clear in his tone. 

"An investigation would be inevitable. The student would face immediate suspension, possible expulsion. The faculty member—" he shook his head, "termination would be the least of their concerns. And, I hardly need add, the project itself would be called into question."

Each word hammered another nail into your coffin.

"We understand this is sensitive, Dr. Gojo—," the woman beside Sukuna spoke again.

Suddenly, Satoru surged to his feet and began walking towards the door, his footsteps echoing in the suffocating silence. Sukuna watched, his smirk a cruel twist on his lips.

"Dr. Gojo is—indisposed," Geto's voice cracked, a desperate attempt to cover for Satoru's abruptness. "My deepest apologies. Perhaps we could reschedule?"

You watched Satoru go, every fiber of your being urging you to follow. He passed by your chair, so close, yet agonizingly out of reach. The impulse to defy them all, to stand by him, was a wildfire raging within you.

But as you moved, Higurama's hand closed firmly around your wrist.

"Not now," he whispered. "You already look guilty."

His words pierced through the haze of adrenaline. 

He was right.

Damn it, he was right. 

Any protest, any step towards the door, would only be twisted as further proof of the poisonous narrative Sukuna had spun. Despair crashed over you, a suffocating weight that stole your breath.

This wasn't about the research project anymore. 

It was a witch hunt, fueled by Sukuna's poison.

The door slammed shut behind Satoru, the sound a death knell. All eyes in the room were on you now, filled with a mix of pity, condemnation, and a perverse curiosity. 

Your world was crumbling. 

And all you could do was watch helplessly as the debris buried you alive.

─── ·✧· ───

You waited.

You waited for what seemed like an eternity until most people had left the room. Just when you thought you couldn't stand it any longer, you stood up, fast enough that Higurama couldn't stop you. You heard him shout something after you, but you didn't care.

Rounding the corner, his scent of his cologne hit you first. It led you to the men's bathroom. You didn't bother to knock.

The air inside was thick with humidity, the scent of bleach stinging your nostrils. A figure hunched over the sink, the harsh fluorescent light glinting off his damp hair. 

Satoru.

Even with his back turned, his tension was a palpable force.

A man standing next to him, washing his hands, shot you a wide-eyed look. "The hell?"

You cut him off, the words sharp as shattered glass. "Get out."

"This ain't the ladies' room—"

"Didn't you hear me? I said get out."

The man hesitated, then muttered something like 'crazy chicks' under his breath. He cast a final glance your way before shoving past you, the door slamming behind him.

Silence descended, punctuated only by the running water. 

Satoru remained hunched over the sink. He splashed water on his face again, then scrubbed at his hands, the water running faintly pink.

His reflection in the mirror was a stranger. A shuddering breath escaped him as he rested his hands on the edge of the sink, the knuckles whitening with the force of his grip. Finally, he met your gaze in the mirror.

"We're screwed," he stated bluntly.

"We're not."

"You're naive," He turned the water off, the abrupt silence jarring. "Do you even realize what happened in there?"

"I'm not stupid, Satoru."

"We can't do this." He finally turned fully towards you, leaning against the sink. "Sukuna wants to see me burn, and I won't allow you get caught in the crossfire."

"You won't allow me?" You took a few steps closer. "Since when do you get to make that decision for me?"

"Since I'm the one who screwed this up."

"But we're in this together. Remember?"

"Being 'together' is exactly the problem."

You took the remaining steps until you stood before him. "We've been through worse. We can manage this."

"This is different," he insisted, the words strained. "This isn't some paper getting rejected, this is—this will destroy us. You."

"Maybe, but what's the alternative? Give in? Letting Sukuna win?" You tilted your head. "Over my dead body."

"You're so damn stubborn," he said, escaping your gaze and shifting slightly. "You heard what they said in there, if this gets out, you could be suspended from this university. You would lose everything you've worked so hard for."

"And so. I don't care! I won't stand by and see Sukuna ruin you for something we're both responsible for!"

Suddenly, the door creaked open and a man peered in, startled by the scene. You turned your head. "Get the fuck out and find another bathroom."

The man left in an instant.

Satoru met your gaze once more. "I can take the fall. I can handle it. But you—you have a future ahead of you."

The audacity almost made you scream. "Handle it? How? By giving Sukuna exactly what he wants?"

"You don't get it, do you?" he snapped. "You have no say in this matter, not anymore. End of discussion."

His words felt like a physical blow. 

Silence choked the air within the tiny bathroom. You fought for breath, for words, for any thread of understanding to cling to. Your hands trembled, nails digging into your palms until the pain was heavier than the crushing weight in your chest.

"Why do you even stay?" His sudden question a knife to an already gaping wound.

What? 

Why would he say that? 

Wasn't that obvious?

Your heart sank and for a horrifying moment, your mind was a blank canvas, all anger swept away.

"Because you would do the same," you finally managed, the words scraped raw from your throat. "You would stay. You wouldn't leave me."

For one agonizing moment, he simply stared, as if searching for the lie in your words. "You don't know that."

"I do."

Of this you were more certain than anything. Even if he did not see it himself.

"No, you don't." He stepped closer, his presence a looming shadow. "You know what your problem is?" His voice dropped to a harsh whisper, forcing you to meet his eyes. The vibrant blue was gone, replaced by a bleak and turbulent storm.

"You're blind. Naive." His words were like shards of ice, each syllable piercing your already bleeding heart. "You've fallen in love with someone who will break you, and you stubbornly refuse to see it. Refuse to save yourself."

The sheer nerve of it sent a surge of fury coursing through you.

"Yeah, you're right, you're a real pain in the ass." Your voice held a bitter edge. "Most days, I wonder myself why I even stay. But Satoru, hear me when I say—we're not perfect, we never will be. Still, I chose you."

He paused.

His granite facade finally cracked, a flicker of vulnerability in that frozen gaze.

"I don't know if I can do this," he whispered, a broken confession. "I don't know if I can be what you need—what you deserve."

You stepped closer, patience stretched thin, a simmering rage threatening to boil over. 

"And how does that make you feel?" Your voice held a relentless edge. "Knowing, too bad you don't get to decide? That I'm sticking around regardless—even when you try your hardest to push me away?"

His shoulders slumped, and with a shuddering breath, he buried his face in the crook of your neck. "You're killing me," he choked out, the words barely audible against your skin.

"I could say the same about you." 

Your fingers threaded through his hair, felt the tension coiled in his neck muscles. For a few precious minutes, the world outside this bathroom faded away. There was only the warmth of his body against yours, the grounding rhythm of his unsteady breath.

"I can't explain why you don't leave."

"Because you're unworthy of my love?"

"Maybe," he said, burying his face even deeper into your neck. "I don't know."

"Look at me," you insisted. "Satoru, look at me."

"I can't," he choked out. "I'm scared," the confession tore from him, "scared of hurting you, terrified of losing you. You—you make me feel things I've spent a lifetime avoiding, things I don't know how to handle. It scares the hell out of me."

Your heart ached for him, for the vulnerability he so rarely dared to show. "I'm scared too," you admitted. "I'm scared of losing you. So don't push me away, when all I want is to be near you."

Then, slowly, he wrapped his arms around you, pulling you closer. His body trembled against yours. "I don't know what I did to deserve you."

"You don't need to deserve me, Satoru. Love isn't about deserving. It's about choosing each other, again and again, no matter what. And I choose you."

He lifted his head, his gaze searching yours.

"And I choose you," he echoed. 

He leaned down. His lips met yours, hesitant at first, then pressing with growing urgency. Your hands tightened on the short strands of hair at the nape of his neck, feeling the tension seep away under your touch.

His hands tighten around your waist, pulling you impossibly closer. 

You leaned into him. 

You sought him like a gasping breath. 

The kiss deepened, still not fiery, but infused with a desperate kind of hunger. It wasn't about pleasure, it was about presence—proof of each other, a lifeline in a sea of doubt.

When he finally drew back, it was the barest of distances, his ragged breath warm against your skin. His gaze searched yours as if for the answer to an unanswerable question.

Suddenly, the bathroom door creaked open.

Geto's form filled the doorway.

"There you are," he sighed. "Well, at least this time, everyone manages to keep their hands where I can see them. 

─── ·✧· ───

Half-unpacked boxes littered your apartment.

Even after six months, you still hadn't found the time to really settle into your new place. You wondered what was taking up all your time?

Yeah, right.

But unpacking today became a pleasant distraction. Tomorrow was the second hearing, and to say you were nervous was an understatement. 

You busied yourself with mindless tasks—sorting through old journals, debating whether to throw away sentimental stuff you knew you'd never look at again. 

Anything to avoid the relentless churn of worry, the scenarios your mind conjured despite your best efforts to banish them.

Suddenly, your phone buzzed. 

Satoru's name flashed on the screen.

"Look out your window," he said.

You crossed to the window, pushing aside the faded curtains. 

There he was, leaning against his sleek black car, the streetlights casting him in an almost cinematic glow. He tipped his head back, his gaze finding yours across the distance.

"So," his voice crackled through the phone, "wanna do something fun?"

"Fun, huh? Don't tell me you plan on robbing a bank and need an accomplice?"

"I don't need to rob a bank, I'm already fairly wealthy, don't worry. Thought of something more destructive."

"Sounds tempting," you said, "but I'm a very busy woman, you know? I've got people to avoid, laundry to fold—"

"If you don't come down in the next few minutes, you're the one getting folded, first-year."

"You're insufferable, you know that?"

"Irresistible, you mean," he corrected. 

"Give me a minute."

You quickly grabbed a sweater and headed downstairs. You stepped outside and saw him still leaning against his car, arms crossed. He straightened up as you approached, that familiar smirk playing on his lips. "Hey there, beautiful."

"Are you single?" he quipped as you approached. His warmth radiated against you, his breath a whisper against your skin. "Cause I think I wanna make you mine." He opened the passenger door for you.

"Sadly, I'm taken," you replied, leaning in seductively. His breath caught for a fraction of a second, before you slid into the plush seat. The familiar scent of leather and his cologne washed over you.

"That man must be damn lucky." He closed the door with a soft click, walked around the car and got in the driver's seat.

"So where are we going?" you asked.

"Ah, that would be telling." 

With a roar of the engine, he pulled away from the curb.

The drive stretched on, the cityscape melting into the soft twilight. The setting sun painted the sky in a fiery canvas of orange and crimson, casting long shadows across the rolling fields. 

You looked over at Satoru. Bathed in the warm glow, he looked so soft—the tousled white hair, the sharp line of his jaw, the mischievous glint in those impossibly blue eyes hidden behind his dark sunglasses.

You watched the effortless grace with which he steered, one hand relaxed on the wheel, the other resting on your thigh. The warmth seeping through the fabric, the subtle pressure of his thumb tracing lazy circles on your skin.

The buzz of the city gave way to sprawling countryside, and then unexpectedly, he veered onto a narrow dirt road. The car raised clouds of dust. Finally, he brought it to a stop, the engine cutting off abruptly.

A sprawling junkyard loomed before you, a graveyard of rusted cars and forgotten machinery. 

"You want to murder me?"

He grinned, already unbuckling. "What do you think of me?" 

Without another word, he slid out, rounding the car to open the passenger door for you. "Come on, this will be fun."

He walked towards the trunk. Popping it open, he reached inside and pulled out two worn construction hammers.

"You really want to murder me, don't you?" 

Satoru slung the hammers over his shoulder. "Trust me, you'll love it," he said, tossing you a pair of safety glasses. "Don't you want to enjoy our last day before we get suspended?"

"This isn't funny, Satoru."

"Just a bit," he countered.

You approached the towering chainlink gate of the junkyard. Reaching it, Satoru planted a hammer against the bars with a loud clang.

"Choso!" His voice boomed through the desolate expanse. "Open up. I've brought company."

Moments later, a figure emerged from the shadows of a half-collapsed shed. He moved with a surprising fluidity for a man who seemed built of rock and iron. A greasy work overall hung low on his hips, exposing a chest etched with dust and tattoos. Dark hair framed his face.

"Satoru," he drawled, leaning against the gate, "need to let off some steam? And who's the pretty company?" His gaze swept over you.

"Quit drooling," Satoru said. "She's with me."

"Too bad." He gave you another slow, deliberate once-over. "Name's Choso," he said towards you and then unlocked the gate, swinging it open with a rusty creak. "Come in."

The interior of the junkyard was a labyrinth of faded paint, twisted metal, and the lingering scent of oil and gasoline. Sataru strode through with the ease of someone who knew this place intimately, navigating the treacherous terrain with an almost playful familiarity.

"So," you ventured, "how exactly do you two know each other?"

"Old acquaintance," Satoru said. "Went to school together."

Choso laughed. "Worst years of my life. Surgeon here was like a walking force of chaos, dragging trouble in his wake and showing up at the worst possible times."

"Speaking of worst times," Choso continued, throwing Satoru a pointed look, "where the hell have you been, man? Haven't seen you around in a while."

"Been busy," Satoru said.

Choso narrowed his eyes, his gaze lingering on you. "Ah, well, well—now things make a bit more sense."

Choso led you further into the heart of the junkyard, where several battered cars stood. With a theatrical gesture, he swept his arm towards them. "These babies are destined for the scrap heap tomorrow, so have at it."

He then dug into the pocket of his overalls and pulled out a set of keys. He tossed them to Satoru. "Lock up after yourself as usual," he said, already moving away, "and try not to set the whole place on fire, okay?"

Satoru turned towards you, eyes dancing with mischief.

"Safety first," he said, grabbing the safety glasses from your grip and gently placing them over your head. "Gotta protect those pretty eyes."

"Are we seriously doing this now?"

He grinned. "Trust me," he said, before putting on his own glasses and rolling up the sleeves of his shirt. Muscles rippled as he hefted the hammer. "It's fun."

BOOM! 

The first blow from Satoru's hammer echoed through the junkyard. Glass shattered, raining down in glittering shards. Metal shrieked in protest, folding under his relentless assault. Dents bloomed beneath his blows, grotesque and strangely satisfying.

You watched him release all the frustration that must have built up over the past months, it seemed.

Or perhaps he was completely insane now.

After what seemed like an eternity he finally slowed down. His chest heaved, breath coming in ragged gasps. A sheen of sweat slicked his forehead, making his white hair stick to his skin. 

Slowly, he lowered the hammer, knuckles white against the worn wood.

He turned towards you. "Wanna try?"

Wordlessly, you approached. He watched, a hint of amusement playing on his lips, as you took the hammer from his grasp.

With a surge of adrenaline, you raised the hammer and brought it down, the impact resonating through the junkyard. Metal shrieked in protest, a deep crater forming under the blow. The vibration thrummed through your arms, jolting Satoru into a surprised laugh.

"Didn't think you had it in you, first-year," he said. "You still surprise me."

You met his gaze. "Here to talk, or blow off steam?" 

He grinned.

And then, destruction followed.

The hammer felt surprisingly good in your hand. 

With each blow, a wave of satisfaction surged through you. It wasn't just about hitting metal. It was about smashing the frustration out, that had been building up inside you for weeks. It was addictive, the way the world narrowed to just you, the car, and the hammer—

—and it felt damn good.

Minutes later, you paused, taking a breath.

"So," you started, your voice breathless, "why does Sukuna hate you so much anyway?"

Satoru set down his hammer with a thud. "I did some stuff I'm not really proud of in my teenage years. Thought he'd be over it by now, but—guess not."

What's that supposed to mean?

What could he have possibly done to make Sukuna hate him so much?

But then again, did you really want to know every dark detail of his past?

Not really.

You glanced over at him, and somehow something in his eyes told you that you indeed did not want to know. You lifted your hammer, the metal cool against your skin, and smashed the car's side mirror. The glass shattered with a satisfying crack.

Satoru paused, watching you. "You don't want to ask?"

"What?"

"What it was that I did?"

As if anything about this man could scare you at this point. 

But then again, you didn't want to push it.

"Is it worse than your addiction?" Another swing, another satisfying crack as the car yielded further to your blows.

He didn't reply.

You set down the hammer, the metal suddenly too heavy to hold. "It doesn't matter. Your past is your past, Satoru. We all do stupid things when we're young."

His impossibly blue eyes bore into you, sending a strange shiver down your spine. "Besides, if he hates you for being a jerk back then, Sukuna needs a serious hobby."

A smirk pulled at your lips as you slammed the hammer against the car once more, the clang echoing through the tense space. 

Before you could strike again, Satoru's hand closed over yours. With disarming ease, he plucked the hammer from your numb grasp, tossing it aside with a clatter.

The scent of sweat, oil, and his familiar cologne washed over you—heady, intoxicating. He cupped your face, his touch tender even as his hands trembled slightly.

He leaned in, the world narrowing to his electric blue eyes and the quickening of his breath against your skin. "I love you, first-year. Damn it, I love you. I don't care how complicated this gets, I want you."

His lips claimed yours before you could process his words in a kiss that was both desperate and achingly tender. You melted into him, hands tangling in his sweat-dampened hair, the taste of salt and a hint of iron sharp and real on his lips.

Time seemed to bend and stretch. The world outside the junkyard, with all the shit going on, faded into insignificance. All that mattered was his touch, his kiss conveying emotions words couldn't express.

Your hands fisted in his shirt. You pulled him closer, needing the reassurance of his warmth, the proof of this connection amidst the chaos. 

He tilted his head to deepen the kiss, his tongue seeking entry with hesitant urgency. His hands roamed, mapping your familiar curves beneath the fabric of your clothes. 

He broke the kiss, a low moan escaping his throat. Hot, open-mouthed kisses trailed along your jaw before he swept you off your feet, breaking the kiss only long enough to lay you back against the cool metal of the car's hood.

His body followed, pressing against yours. His lips found yours once more, sending a new wave of shivers through you. His hands were rough, long fingers tracing the curve of your hip, thumb brushing against the sensitive skin of your waist, where your sweater hitched upwards.

He kissed you like a man at the edge of a precipice, savoring every sensation, clinging to the fragile lifeline this moment offered. Your fingers tangled in his tousled white hair, holding him close, urging him even closer. 

A moan vibrated against your lips, a testament to the fire you so effortlessly ignited within him.

Then, reality cut through the haze with the sharp buzz of his phone. He pulled back with a gasp, a flicker of frustration crossing his face.

"What's wrong?" you breathed.

"Stupid reminder." A muscle worked in his jaw as he fumbled for his phone. He glanced at the screen. "My pills—"

The words hung heavy in the air. 

Of course. How could you have forgotten? 

Today—today would be the last day he needed those reminders.

As he sat back, you straightened slightly. "You okay?"

He didn't answer immediately. Instead, his gaze swept across the junkyard. With a sigh, he reached behind him, pulling out a plastic blister pack. One final pill starkly visible in its faded foil casing.

"Last one." He held it up for you to see. "Forever."

"Are you—" You couldn't quite bring yourself to ask if he was afraid, but the question lingered in your eyes, unspoken.

He finally met your eyes, and the vulnerability there took your breath away. "Terrified," he admitted. "But also—"

He hesitated. "Alive," he finished. "For the first time in a damn long time, I actually feel like I'm living."

Satoru's eyes flickered to your lips. Without a word, he leaned in, his movements laced with a new slowness that somehow made him seem even more dangerous. 

His lips hovered mere inches from yours as he guided you back until you lay upon the cool metal of the car hood once more.

Above you, the fading twilight painted the sky in hues of violet and indigo, the first stars shimmering to life. Time seemed to dissolve, leaving only the warmth of his body against yours, the grounding rhythm of his breath. 

"Satoru, what—?"

His eyes locked with yours, the intensity in his gaze both thrilling and unsettling. He pulled the last pill from its faded packaging, holding it between his fingers. "Open your mouth."

And without hesitation, you did.

His breath ghosted over your skin as he leaned close, placing the pill on your tongue. Your heart hammered against your ribs, the bitterness of the pill barely registering.

Satoru simply watched you for a moment, his thumb brushing over your bottom lip. "Shame I have to get clean, you look so pretty like that."

Before the pill could dissolve, his lips found yours. With a gasp, you felt him sweep the pill with his tongue into his own mouth.

The kiss that followed was deep, searing, all-consuming.

It was both a goodbye and a beginning, whispered against your lips with the lingering tang of bitter medicine.

You clawed at his back, nails leaving their mark as he tightened his grip, pulling you impossibly closer. Heat pooled low in your stomach, your whimper swallowed by another hungry kiss of him.

Suddenly, teeth grazed your bottom lip, a sharp sting that blurred the line between pleasure and pain. Each flicker of his tongue sent shudders through your limbs, each nip of his teeth left you craving more.

His hand slid beneath your shirt with a roughness that stole your breath. You moan against his lips, your body arching instinctively towards his touch.

He pushed one of your legs up, his fingers trailing along the back of your thigh with a firm, insistent touch. Blazing kisses seared along your jawline, the warmth a stark contrast to the cool night air.

Your hands fisted in his shirt, feeling the desperate echo of his need mirrored in your own ragged pulse. The relentless rhythm of his breath, the feverish touch of his skin—it was an intoxicating chaos that threatened to consume you.

And then, abruptly, he pulled back.

"You give in too easily." A teasing smile played on his lips. "You don't really want me to fuck you on this hood, right?"

"God, I hate you," you muttered, sitting up and brushing your hair back. It was a half-hearted insult, lacking its usual bite.

"Yeah, as if," he countered, the smirk widening. He offered you a hand. "Come on, first-year. We're not done here. Gotta let out some more of that pent-up frustration, right?"

─── ·✧· ───

Back in Satoru's apartment, reality intruded with a gritty persistence.

The remnants of the junkyard clung to you like an unwelcome second skin. Your hair was a tangled mess, your face streaked with grime—a stark contrast to the pristine white tiles of Satoru's tidy bathroom.

"Got you something to change into later." Satoru's voice sliced through the steam, drawing your attention. You turned, water running down your body, and met his gaze. 

"Thank you."

He stripped off his shirt, exposing his defined chest. Then, he reached for his belt, his movements slow. "Takeout later?"

"Sounds good." Your gaze fixated on him as he continued to undress, shedding layers of clothing until he stood bare before you.

He stepped into the shower, joining you beneath the steaming spray. The water, hot as it had been before, suddenly felt scalding against your sensitized skin. His gaze roamed over you with such boldness that it sent a shiver down your spine.

"What are you planning, Professor?"

His hands found your waist, drawing you impossibly closer, eliminating the last sliver of space between your bodies. The water cascaded over you, washing away the grime of the day. He leaned closer. "Maybe we should finish what we started earlier, don't you think?"

His hands, rough yet tender, traced a path along your damp arms, leaving a trail of goosebumps in their wake.

"Oh, what? You're leaving me hanging earlier and now you want it?" 

"Oh love, I would've fucked you dumb on that hood if I didn't know Choso has cameras all over the place." He trailed kisses down your neck, wrapping his arms around your waist and pulling you closer still, crushing your water-slicked bodies together. His boner already pressing against your back. 

"Don't want him to see you all messed up, crying and screaming out my name."

"You're too confident for you own good," you protested weakly, though the words melted into a sigh as his lips continued their assault, trailing along your shoulders and up your neck. 

He brushed your hair aside to give himself free access, before sinking his teeth into the tender flesh of your throat. Hard enough to leave a mark but not break the skin. You gasp. 

"Still think I can't make you scream?" He teased, as he continued to tease your neck with his teeth and tongue. His grip tightens around your waist, grinding himself against you in slow, deliberate strokes.

"Not quite convinced yet," you said, yet your knees betrayed you, threatening to buckle under the intensity of the heat. But his strong arms held you steady, keeping you grounded as he devoured you with his kisses.

"Oh, looks like you are already on your knees."

"Keep dreaming." Another bite, this one sharper than the last, elicits another moan from deep within your throat. Then, he turned you around to face him. 

Without missing a beat, his lips crushed against yours. Tongues intertwined, grappling fiercely for dominance amidst the clash of teeth. He wrapped his hand tightly around the back of your neck, drawing you ever closer to his greedy lips.

You struggled to catch your breath. Still, you needed more, needed all of him. All you wanted was to surrender completely, to let yourself be consumed by him entirely.

Your hands roam over his slick, muscular form, tracing every curve and contour of his abs. His skin hot against yours. You could feel his length swelling even further against your skin, throbbing with need and begging to be buried deep within your core.

Chills ran along your spine, coiling tighter and tighter with every kiss, until you could barely contain yourself any longer. You wanted to feel him inside you, filling you completely. 

But he seemed determined to take things slow, to draw out every moment as long as possible. 

So you had to push him a little harder. 

"Still not impressed, Satoru."

"Oh, really?" His teeth bit into your lower lip, coaxing a moan from your lips. "Then let me show you just how good I can make you feel."

He grabbed and spun you around, pressing you firmly against the cool tile wall. His hot breath ghosted across the sensitive skin of your neck, making you shiver in anticipation. Your body arched, offering itself up to him completely.

His teeth grazed your skin, leaving a trail of marks and bruises along your shoulders. He grinded himself against your backside, the friction setting your entire being on fire. You moaned softly, the sound muffled by the steady stream of water.

Without warning, his hand slipped between your legs. Two fingers slid effortlessly into your depths, curving upwards to hit that sweet spot that made your head spin and your legs tremble.

He paused for a second, savoring the way your muscles clenched around his fingers as he delved deeper. "God, love—you're shaking already?" 

Then, he began to pump his fingers in and out, each thrust drawing forth a soft moan from your parted lips. 

"It's because of your insufferability. I don't enjoy this at all," you protested weakly, barely able to keep your footing as he fucked you with his fingers. But there was no mistaking the way your hips bucked eagerly beneath his hands.

A cry escaped your throat as he pushed his fingers deeper into you in response. "You're quite loud for someone not enjoying it."

"Shut it and make me cum, Satoru." 

"Always so bold, first-year, make sure you don't regret it later."

With each thrust, you felt more and more lost in the sensation of his touch. Your body trembled and convulsed beneath his skilled hands. Each gasp and whimper from your lips was met with a low moan from him, encouraging you further towards release.

His fingers curl and twist inside you, hitting all the right spots until you think you can't take it anymore. But just as you feel yourself starting to tumble over the brink, he withdraws his fingers, leaving you trembling and gasping for air. "Wha—what?"

"Not so fast, love." Before you can protest, he spins you around once more and lifts you up, pinning you against the wall. Your legs wrap around his waist, your hands digging into his broad shoulders for support.

"I want to feel you cum around my cock." 

Then, he pushed inside slowly, savoring every inch as he filled you completely. He still stretched you every damn time, even though you had fucked before. Still, it was every fucking time overwhelming again—in the best possible way. 

He slowly withdrew and pushed forward again. "Still not good?"

"Could be better," you gasp, clawing at his back, pleading silently for more.

"You know, I love a good challenge."

You cried out, your voice echoing off the tiles as he began to thrust into you. The angle is perfect, deep, maybe too deep, hitting all the right spots as he pounds mercilessly into you. Each thrust sent shock waves through your body, threatening to overwhelm you.

"Fuck, you feel so good. So damn good." He let out a low moan, tilting his head back to let the water run down his face and neck.

You responded with a whimper, your whole body tensing as he delved deeper into your core. Each time he hit bottom, you bit down on your lower lip, fighting to keep quiet to not give him the satisfaction.

But it was in vain as his thrusts became more urgent, more desperate, driving you both closer and closer to the edge. With each thrust, your moans grew louder, echoing throughout the bathroom, mirroring his own desperate moans that escaped his parted lips.

"God, yes—right there—" You feel yourself losing control, your legs shaking as you struggle to maintain your balance against the force of his movements, the sound of running water blending with the slick slapping of skin against skin filling the room.

Suddenly, the grip of his hands on your ass tightens, pulling you even closer against him as he continues to drive into you hard and fast. Your breath quickens as you realize that you're close—so incredibly close. He feels it too, as always. He knows you inside and out.

"Cum for me, love. Don't hold back."

That was it. 

You throw your head back, crying out his name as you feel your entire being consumed by the intensity of your orgasm. He feels it too, every muscle tensing as he drives deeper into you.

"Fuck, you drive me insane." His voice was hoarse, his breathing uneven, and you knew without a doubt that he wouldn't last much longer either.

His movements grew harder and faster, desperate for release as he thrust into your still convulsing core. You arched your back, meeting his every thrust as you felt him near the edge, his cock throbbing inside you.

"Shit," he cursed. He buried himself once more with a hard thrust before he emptied himself inside you, filling you completely. His cum dripped down your legs, blending with the hot water running down the drain.

His head fell forward, a curtain of snow-white hair veiling his heavy-lidded eyes. "God, you feel so fucking good," he moaned, his words a breathless confession amidst ragged gasps.

You wanted, to get out of his grasp, to regain your footing but he held firm. 

"Not so fast," he breathed. Then, he starts to thrust into you again, slow this time, making sure his cum stays where it belongs—deep inside you.

You found yourself growing increasingly sensitive, every new thrust overwhelming your senses as you writhed in his grasp. "Satoru, stop," you gasped, clutching his shoulders tightly. "It's too much."

"I know you can take it, take it for me like a good girl for me." 

His words echoed in your ears as he thrust deep and slow into you, sending shivers through your entire being. You dug your fingernails into his arms, desperate for purchase as he plunged deeper.

"You're such a bitch," you whined. Despite your protests, you were dangerously close to another orgasm.

"Always so fierce." Satoru felt you being close and continued to push you until you screamed his name again. "Good girl. That's it. Come all over me."

Eventually, exhausted and completely spent, he pulled out slowly, wincing slightly at the raw sensitivity of his member. He set you back on the floor, holding you tightly as your legs threatened to give way beneath you. 

"You did so well for me, love." His lips found yours in a tender kiss, lingering there for several long moments before finally breaking apart.

"I hate you," you whispered weakly against his lips.

"Hate me already?" His lips curled into a smirk, amusement dancing in his eyes. "Then you'll hate me even more now because we're not finished yet."

Before a word of protest could escape your lips, his arm snaked around your waist, pulling you close. With surprising strength, he hoisted you off the ground, flinging you over his shoulder.  

Water droplets scattered everywhere as he strode out of the bathroom, carrying you away like some prized possession.

"Wh—What are you doing?"

Before you knew it, he threw you onto the bed. The sheets beneath you were soaked in an instant.

"Now, where were we?" He crawled onto the bed, his body settling between your parted legs.

You swallowed hard, the rapid beating of your heart echoing in your ears, drowning out the distant sound of the still running water from the bathroom. "Satoru, I can't—I'm spent," you managed, your voice a breathless plea.

"Oh, I'm sure you can." His eyes locked on yours with an unwavering intensity that sent a shiver down your spine. With a smirk that twisted his lips into a wicked grin, he lowered himself between your trembling thighs.

Without hesitation, he delved into you with his tongue. You took a sharp inhale, as you felt his tongue move within you. "Dammit Satoru, why are you like this?"

You grasped tightly onto his hair, trying to push him back, but his grip on your thighs only tightened.

"Oh, love, you're so cute when you fight it," he mused against your core. His movements were slow and deliberate, teasing you mercilessly with every flick and thrust of his tongue. Then, he licked and sucked at your clit, swirling his tongue around it in lazy circles. 

Despite your resistance, you found yourself writhing beneath him, surrendering completely to his will as you felt your core to tense and convulse under his touch. 

Maybe, just maybe, Satoru was right—maybe you weren't quite done yet.

But just as you were about to reach the peak, he stopped. 

His mouth left your trembling core, and you couldn't help but let out a whimper of frustration. He licked slowly over your sensitive flesh, his gaze fixed on your eyes, his intent clear. "Beg for it."

God, this fucker always knew how to rile you up.

"I'll fucking spit in your face later, Satoru," you retorted, your frustration bubbling to the surface.

"Oh, don't bother yourself, I might enjoy it," Satoru replied, a wicked smirk playing on his lips as he continued to torment you with his tongue. "So should I stop?"

"I won't give in to you."

"Is that so?" he challenged, sliding one finger inside you with deliberate slowness. "I think we both know how much you need this."

"You're insufferably arrogant," you muttered, gripping the wet sheets beneath you. You bit your lip, trying to hold back the moan threatening to escape. 

"Maybe" He slid another finger inside you, curling his fingers inside you to find that spot that made your breath catch. "But let's see if you can resist me for much longer."

He thrust his fingers deep into you, hitting bottom with his long fingers, sending your head spinning. "Please," you gasped. "Don't stop."

"That's it." Satoru's smirk widened as he watched you unravel before him. "Let go for me, love."

His mouth descended on your clit again, his fingers thrusting into you with a relentless rhythm that drove you over the edge. With a loud moan, you felt yourself shattering under his touch, your entire body tensing with another orgasm.

"How much I love that feeling of you coming undone around me," he said, his voice husky, as he continued to slowly thrust his fingers into you, savoring the sensation of your walls clenching around him. "So perfect."

With deliberate slowness, he withdrew his fingers. A satisfied smirk graced his lips as he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and licked his fingers clean.

Moving up your body, his dark eyes bore into yours, their intensity cutting through the haze that clouded your vision. His hand snaked around your throat, his touch gentle as he stroked his thumb over your rapidly beating pulse. 

"You know, you can bring a few things here, if you want."

"Huh?" was all you could manage before you felt him slowly, agonizingly slowly, beginning to enter you once more. 

Inch by inch, he filled you up, stretching you wide until you were certain you couldn't take any more. But still, he kept pushing, burying himself deeper and deeper inside you until he was fully seated.

"Did you just fucking ask me to move in?" you breathed, your voice barely audible over the pounding of your heart. It was a maddeningly slow pace as he began to thrust into you, each thrust driving you wild with longing.

He closed his eyes, savoring the sensation, resting his forehead against yours, his warm breath mingling with yours. "I mean, if you want to."

You wrapped your legs around his waist. "You can't just ask me to move in while we fuck, Satoru." 

"Why not?"

"Because—" The words caught in your throat as he suddenly picked up the pace, thrusting hard and deep into your already overly sensitive core. Leaving you gasping for air with each forceful thrust.

A moan escaped your lips as he found that perfect spot inside. "Oh god, right there!"

"Oh, love, I know that you like that," he growled, his voice dripping with satisfaction. "I always know exactly what you need." His head dropped to your neck, teeth grazing the tender skin there.

God, you hated him—hated him for being so damn right and knowing you inside out.

"I hate you and your fucking god complex." Your nails dug into his shoulders, leaving marks as you held on tight.

"What did you just say?" He suddenly tightened the pressure on your throat, cutting off your air enough to make your head spin.

You struggled to catch your breath. "That you have a fucking god complex."

He smirked, continuing to move inside you with a fierce intensity that left you reeling. "And yet, here you are, begging for more." Each word was punctuated by a deep, powerful thrust that made your whole being tremble. 

You cried out, unable to form any meaningful response save for a series of desperate moans and whimpers. He picked up speed, driving deeper and harder into your core with each passing second. 

"Like that, huh?" 

You wrapped your legs tighter around his waist, holding onto him like a lifeline as he carried you higher and higher toward release. "Yes, don't stop."

He leaned close to your ear, his breath hot against your skin. "Oh, I won't, sweetheart," he whispered. "Not until you come all over me."

You tightened your grip on his shoulders, digging your nails in deeper. You could feel the muscles in his back flexing under your fingertips. Your eyes fluttered shut, overwhelmed by the growing sensation within you. But they snapped open as he gripped your jaw. 

"Open your eyes," he commanded. "I want you to look at me while you cum."

His hand found your throat again. His fingers fit so perfectly around your neck, so terrifyingly perfect. "I want you to see exactly who's making you feel this way."

Without warning, he lifted one of your legs over his broad shoulder, changing the angle—making it even better. Your skin grew hotter as he increased his pace, thrusting into you with such force that you would have slid up the bed if not for his firm grip on your throat.

You watched him through glassy eyes, taking in every detail of his flushed face, the damp hair that clung to his forehead.  His lips parted as low moans escaped his lips before he bit down on his lower lip.His moans were high-pitched and needful, punctuated by sharp intakes of breath as he struggled to maintain control.  The sight alone enough to make you cum, right here and now. "Fuck, I'm gonna come."

"Cum for me, love" he encouraged, his thrusts becoming erratic as he neared his own release. 

Your mind was so hazy from all the sensations that you didn't even register what you were screaming as you rode out your fourth orgasm of the night. Your body convulsed as he continued to thrust into you, barely noticing what he hissed as you felt him fill you up again.

You felt him shudder against you. Then, he collapsed, his weight pressing against your body as he supported himself with his hands on either side of your head.

His breath mingled with yours, warm and heavy against your skin. He gazed down at you with a look of sheer adoration in his eyes.

With a gentle touch, he brushed a stray strand of hair from your heated face, his fingers lingering against your skin. Slowly, he lowered his lips to yours, kissing you with a tenderness that was so different to the way he just fucked you.

"So, what about moving in now?" he murmured against your lips.

"I'm not answering that now."

─── ·✧· ───

Later that night, you were jolted awake.

Not from a sound, but the suffocating weight on your chest. 

Satoru's grip around you was a vise, the pressure sharp against your ribs. His breaths rasped in your ear, harsh and uneven, like each inhalation was tearing something loose inside him. His body twitched against yours.

"Satoru?" You tried to shift, to ease the weight pressing you into the mattress, but his hold was unyielding.

"Satoru," urgency clawed at your tone. "Hey, wake up."

His response was a strangled groan, followed by a string of words that were almost impossible to decipher. You clawed at his arms, panic rising as the air squeezed from your lungs. Still, he held on. Your blood turned to ice.

"Satoru, please wake up."

Somehow you managed to wrench yourself free. The cool air on your skin was a shock after the heat of his body. 

You cupped his face, the stubble rough against your palm, forcing him to meet your eyes. "Satoru, wake up," you pleaded. "It's just a dream."

His eyes snapped open. Even in the dim moonlight filtering through the curtains, you saw the fear in them. His pupils were dilated, swallowing up the vibrant blue with an alarming blackness. A sheen of sweat made his skin gleam like he'd been doused in icy water.

His hand shot out, fumbling for yours with a frantic desperation that made you gasp. His fingers clamped around you like cold iron, his grip bruising. 

"No—they can't—" His voice was a strangled rasp, the words barely coherent. "Can't let them—" Each word seemed etched with pain, a fresh wound torn open with every syllable. His grip tightened, his fingernails digging into your skin.

"Can't what?" You flinched slightly under his grip. "Satoru, please, look at me. You're safe. You're here with me."

A flicker of awareness broke through the terror in his eyes, his gaze finally landing on you. But the intensity was staggering. It was as if he were seeing you for the first time, fear still clinging to him like a shroud.

"It's okay," you soothed, gently running your hand through his sweat-soaked locks. "Just a nightmare, Satoru. Nothing but a bad dream."

He sat up, the sheets sliding away from his bare chest. You caught a glimpse of his ribs, the rise and fall of his breaths ragged. He ran a trembling hand across his face. 

"Sorry—" His gaze flickered over you, the panic fading just enough for him to register the mirroring fear twisting your features. "God, I'm so sorry."

"It's okay. It was just a bad dream."

His eyes swept over your arm, tracing the red marks left by his bruising grip. "Did I hurt you?" His hand reached out, hesitating just short of touching you, then traced the path of the bruises on your skin. "Fuck, love—did I do that?"

"It's okay," you said again. "I'm fine."

It was a lie, but you couldn't bring yourself to admit how the lingering ache made your skin crawl. Not now.

He fisted his hand in his hair, fingers digging into his scalp, threatening to rip the sweat-dampened strands out. "Sorry," he said again, then he leaned in, his lips brushing your temple with a surprising gentleness.

But it didn't soothe. 

It felt like a desperate plea for forgiveness he feared he didn't deserve.

He swung his legs out of bed. His bare feet hit the threadbare carpet with a muffled thud. He didn't turn towards you, his back a rigid line against the faint light filtering through the window.

Unease prickled your skin. "Satoru, what's—?" You sat up, the warm blankets pooling around your waist. 

You watched as he moved to the dresser, grabbing a pair of shorts and a shirt.

"Satoru, what are you doing?" 

He hesitated as he pulled the shirt over his head. For a heartbeat, he was still, as if caught between the urge to flee and a desperate wish to explain. But when he turned, the mask was firmly in place.

"Just need some air." He didn't turn towards you, didn't offer a glance. You couldn't even tell if he was truly seeing you. "I'll be back." 

His hands were a blur of motion as he laced his running shoes. You watched, a knot of fear twisting in your gut. "Satoru, please—talk to me."

"I can't." His response was sharp, tinged with a defensiveness bordering on panic.

Your heart ached. Your mind clouded.

You didn't know what was right anymore, letting him go or holding him back. Somehow it seemed you were always wrong.

His fingers twitched. You saw the moment his control frayed. Nails raked against skin, then his hand closed into a fist, fingers digging into his palm until the knuckles turned white.

He moved toward the door, halting in the frame. "I'm sorry." He slipped out, leaving the door ajar. You didn't follow him.

The silence he left was cruel.

The darkness of the room suddenly so heavy.

Your heart was a shattered mess in your chest, each shard scraping against your ribs with every ragged breath. 

The urge to sink back into bed, to burrow into the sheets, was overwhelming. But you couldn't. Bare feet met the cold floor. Reaching the window, you peered out into the moonlit night.

Below, his figure stood bathed in the pool of light cast by a flickering streetlamp, his form stark against the cracked pavement. As you watched, he fiddled with his smartwatch, likely starting some sort of running program.

His head lifted and his gaze found yours. His surprise was a knife in your already battered heart. Even from this distance, you saw the tightness of his jaw, the hollows beneath his eyes carved even deeper by the pitiless streetlight.

For a breath, an agonizing heartbeat, you saw a plea flicker across his face. But then, he turned and began to run. Each stride was a brutal reminder of how far away he was slipping, how powerless you were to stop it.

"You're so stupid, Satoru."

How could you ever sleep now?

How could you ever sleep again without him by your side?

Strange, how you can love someone so deeply, so all-consuming, that sometimes it scares you how involuntarily raw and vulnerable you are at his mercy.

But the truth was, loving him also meant accepting the ragged edges, the parts of him that were sharp enough to draw blood.

Of that, you were painfully certain.

─── ·✧· ───

Sleep had been a fitful, fleeting thing. 

Each shallow breath was a struggle against the dull pain in your skull. When morning finally bled through the curtains, it felt less like waking and more like surrender. 

Then, the jolt—his weight pressing down, his familiar scent sharp against the stale air.

Satoru. 

He'd slipped back into bed beside you. He smelled like sweat and something acrid—cigarettes. 

He tightened his grip around you, pulling you close underneath the sheets. Yet, even with his warm body flush against yours, there was a coldness in the space between you.

"You smell like smoke."

He stirred, burying his face in the crook of your neck. You felt his hair, slightly damp with sweat, against your skin. "Was with Suguru," he mumbled, his words muffled.

Should you be angry with him that he went to Geto instead of staying with you?

Probably.

But right now, you had really other concerns.

Or perhaps you were too tired to even try at this point.

You turned in his arms, squinting against the dim light filtering through the curtains. The exhaustion carved into his face was stark, the shadows beneath his eyes pools of bruise-purple. 

He looked younger, fragile. 

It was a sight that ached in your chest like a newly-bruised rib.

"Satoru, what's going on? Why did you run?"

He sighed, a long, weary exhale that seemed to drag something out of him. He shifted, burrowing deeper into the curve of your neck, as if seeking both comfort and a shield against your questions.

"Don't know," he finally admitted. "Was just—too much."

You knew better than to push. 

Instead, you shifted in his embrace. 

You let your hand rest against his chest, his heartbeat a frantic, uneven rhythm against your palm. It was too fast, too erratic, and despite the warmth of his body, a shiver traced its way up your spine.

"You know, today is the second hearing," you muffled against his chest.

"Yeah, I know." His grip on you tightened. For a long, agonizing moment, you simply lay together. The scent of smoke hung heavy in the stillness.

"We'll get through it," you whispered. "As long as we stay together."

His only response was a soft exhale. 

His body shifted, molding against yours. His breaths deepened, the frantic edge fading. You felt his body loosen, the rigid tension seeping out of him. His heartbeat began to slow beneath your palm.

You shifted slightly, settling comfortably into his embrace. You stared out the window, the first tendrils of dawn painting the sky a muted grey, and listened to the uneven rhythm of his sleep.

Perhaps you should hate him just a little. 

Perhaps that might make all of this a bit easier.

─── ·✧· ───

Morning arrived with a harsh finality that mirrored your own restless night. Sunlight pierced through the gap in the curtains, a cruel, accusatory beam that cut through the lingering shadows.

Yet, there was no time for dwelling.

No room for the exhaustion that throbbed behind your eyes.

"Satoru," you whispered, shaking his shoulder. "We have to go. Now."

He stirred with a groan, momentarily disoriented. Then, a flicker of urgency replaced the sleepy confusion in his eyes. 

Right. 

The damn hearing. 

It all came rushing back, cold dread coiling in his gut.

"Fuck," he muttered, scrubbing a hand over his face. "I overslept."

You sat already fully dressed on the edge of the bed. Your gaze met his, your brows furrowed in a silent echo of the questions burning on your tongue.

But for now, you shoved them aside. There would be time for that later, time to tear down the walls he'd built between you.

"Come on, you need to get ready."

The drive to the hospital was a blur of rushed movements and strained silence. The looming hearing hung in the air like a storm cloud, every mile bringing you closer to the inevitable clash. 

Your stomach churned, waves of nausea threatening to overwhelm you. It was a battle to keep the rising fear from twisting your face, a battle you weren't sure you were winning.

Why all of a sudden? 

Why did it suddenly feel like your whole world was falling apart?

You'd been so sure you would make it, that you'd get through it together. With Satoru by your side, nothing could happen.

But that certainty was crumbling into dust. 

One glance at his pale face, the blood drained from his skin, and fear clung to your throat. You didn't dare ask what was going on inside his head, but his silence was an answer in itself.

Upon arrival, the sterile meeting room felt more like a prison cell. 

Geto and Higurama waited, their expressions grave. You met Geto's gaze, a silent exchange passing between you. He knew. He knew, that you knew that Satoru spent the night at his place. But you shoved this thought aside as well. There would be time later.

"Glad you could finally join us," Higurama's voice held a sarcastic edge.

"Sorry, overslept," Satoru said.

"We don't have much time," Higurama cut in. "I spoke with the committee."

"And?" You prompted.

"They're not happy." He met your gaze. "They're questioning everything—your story, your... relationship."

"They suspect you acted recklessly with the surgeries," Geto added addressing Satoru. "That your judgment was clouded, that you let her operate because of an inappropriate interest."

"Of course, that's what Sukuna wants them to believe," Satoru said.

"Listen," Higurama interjected. "I've talked to the woman in the committee. Even if Sukuna wants chaos, the others are more focused on damage control. They want to bury this, protect the research, and avoid scandal. So, it's best if you just come clear now."

"So, what are we waiting for?" you asked.

Higurama met your gaze, a flicker of something like pity in his eyes. "Even if they're willing to sweep this under the rug, there'll be consequences. Suspension, likely. For both of you. You understand, right?"

"And so," you said, the words like shards of ice. "If it means this is finally over."

The words hung heavy in the air. 

You glanced at Satoru, expecting his usual pushback, his sense of protecting you, some flicker of anger—but there was nothing. A deep frown creased his brow, his gaze locked on the floor. He scrubbed his arm with unnecessary force, leaving a raw, red mark on his skin.

Then, Satoru and Geto exchanged a fleeting glance, a silent communication that sent a chill down your spine. There was something off, you knew it. The silence stretched, and the pity in their eyes as they turned to you began to curdle into a sickening dread.

Finally, Satoru spoke. "Let's do it then."

His surrender was a cold slap, sharper than any open defiance could have been.

"We don't have much choice, do we?" he added.

Higurama rose, a thin folder tucked under his arm. "Then, let's go." 

Higurama and Geto moved to leave the room. Geto briefly rested a hand on your shoulder. "We'll wait outside."

The door clicked shut leaving Satoru and you alone.

Satoru stared at the polished mahogany desk, his jaw working, as if he were trying to swallow a pill made of sandpaper and broken glass.

Something within you wanted to scream. To rip that flimsy facade of calm from Satoru, to shake him until the truth rattled out of him. Yet, the words died in your throat, strangled by the knowledge that it wouldn't change a thing.

Satoru's gaze flicked toward you before he pushed himself away from the desk. He walked over to you.

"You know I love you, right?"

The words should have been a balm. Instead, they were a razor blade against raw skin. "Don't you dare do anything stupid in there," you warned.

A bitter smile twisted his lips. "Come on. They'll be waiting."

Your legs felt like lead as you followed him out of the room.

─── ·✧· ───

The hearing room held an oppressive chill.  

The chill wasn't just the temperature, it seeped from the sterile walls, the unyielding chairs, the weight of judgment hanging in the stale air. It was not a place designed for truth, but rather a tribunal designed for condemnation.

One by one, the committee members entered. 

The familiar ache of dread curled in your stomach when Sukuna's gaze found you.

"Only Dr. Gojo is required today," one of the judges intoned.

You met Satoru's gaze. He smiled faintly, somehow it looked so cruel, so sad. You wanted to scream, to tear your way to his side. But Geto's hand held you back.

He guided you to the seats reserved for observers. To be forced into silence, into watching him getting torn to shreds under Sukuna's assault—it felt like a betrayal worse than any accusation they could hurl.

Your hands clenched into fists, nails biting into your palms. The pain a bitter focus.

Sukuna watched the proceedings, that smug half-smile plastered across his face. 

He didn't care about the rules—about your lives. 

This was all a cruel joke to him, a twisted play where he was the puppeteer, and you were the tangled marionette forced to dance to his tune. 

This wasn't about the research—it was about breaking you, breaking Satoru, proving that all your defiance was nothing against his terrible will.

Then, Satoru sat before the judges.

"Mr. Gojo," the woman on Sukuna's left began, "we have reason to believe that your relationship with your students might be inappropriate. That it goes beyond the bounds of a teacher-student dynamic."

Wow, they didn't even bother to ask anything else today.

For a long moment, Satoru didn't move. He seemed frozen. His gaze found yours, and it was as if the whole world narrowed down to that single connection. The intensity in his gaze so sharp it was like a shard of ice against your skin.

Here it was, the crossroads. He could tell them.

Tell them the truth—that you were in a committed relationship. That his decision to include you in the project was made from a place of trust and respect for your capabilities, not an affair.

It was better than the alternative – Sukuna twisting everything into a salacious tale of a reckless professor and his eager student, jeopardizing the entire research project.

A flimsy shield, yes, but a start. A chance for the truth to fight back.

He inhaled sharply, and for that split second, the world hung suspended. Then, with a jaw so tight it might shatter, he turned back to the judges.

"If my actions have been perceived in such a way," he began, "then it is entirely my fault. I have perhaps overstepped certain boundaries. I will take full responsibility for my actions."

No.

No.

Satoru, why?

For fuck's sake why?

A wave of nausea washed over you, bile burning the back of your throat. Your hands clenched into fists, the short nails digging into your palms with enough force to draw blood. The pain didn't register.

"All actions were initiated on my end. There is no wrongdoing on her behalf, and any suspension would be unfounded," he added.

The lips of the woman beside Sukuna pursed, the words beginning to flow in a blur of accusations and coldly calculated legalese.

You didn't hear her. 

Didn't hear anything anymore.

Didn't hear anything over the roaring in your ears, the frantic, uneven thud of your heart trying to claw its way out of your ribcage. The room spun, the judges' faces blurring, the sterile walls tilting inward. Your vision tunneled. Your breath ragged.

The full weight of it crashed down—not just Sukuna, but this new catastrophe Satoru had brought crashing down around himself. His life, meticulously balanced on the razor's edge was about to collapse.

Reputation, career, everything—and all because of a sacrifice as pointless as it was heartbreaking.

Satoru's response cut through your panic like a gunshot. "I am aware of the consequences. And I take full responsibility."

The words were a death knell. 

The enormity of it all crashed down on you. 

Your breath caught, a strangled gasp clawing at the back of your throat. Fingers clawed at the back of the chair in front of you, wood creaking in protest. You lurched forward, a futile escape from the crushing weight. 

Your heart hammered against your ribs like a caged bird battering itself against a prison of flesh and bone. Voices blurred. Your breathing shortened. Your fingers, still gripping the chair, were turning numb.

"Suguru—" Your voice was a ragged plea. "Out—get me the fuck—out of—" The rest of the sentence choked in your throat.

He didn't wait a second.

With a surprising gentleness, he pried your fingers from the chair, the wood creaking beneath your white-knuckled grip. Your legs were leaden weights. He helped you stand, every step was a battle against the dizzying blackness encroaching on your vision.

The room seemed to tilt as Geto steadied you.

The judges, Sukuna, they all blurred into grotesque shapes in the periphery of your failing sight. Everything was too loud, too bright, too much.

Satoru watched you leave in silence.

<- prev chapter | next chapter ->

author's note: oh boy, oh boy! so much happening, so little fluff. i'm so sorry—but remember the story will have a happy ending, just have to come up how that will happen ehehe. next chapter will dive back into satoru's unhinged brain, because i love writing from his pov.

thank you SO MUCH for your unwavering support! this story's going to be a bit of a ride, and i'm so thankful you're here for it. your comments absolutely make my day! next chapter might take a little longer due to a university assignment, but i'll be back to writing like a maniac as soon as i can. thanks for understanding! ♡

wishing you a great day or night and an awesome week ahead! ♡

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