#when this regime crumbles | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

hwaightme · 9 days

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Dawn

THIS IS 18+ ONLY, MINORS DNI, PRINCE'S ORDERS (nsfw tags under the cut)

(masterlist)

👑 pairing: exiled!prince!seonghwa x afab!reader 👑 genre: smut, fluff/angst, pwp but make it royaltycore 👑 summary: remember, remember this day, do remember, the treason and gunpowder plot. i see no reason why gunpowder treason should ever be forgot. as the preparations for a new era are complete, you find paradise and praise in the arms of the prince who had fallen, the prince who will be your king. 👑 wordcount: 6k 👑 warnings/tags: questionable editing, mention of 'sins', exile/royal family drama, revolution/uprising, muddled feelings, explicit mention of bombs, treason, park dynasty, royaltycore with modern elements, in love or in lust, lmk if anything else 👑 taglist: at the bottom of the fic 👑 a/n: it all started with a devious hwa smirk; @nebulousbrainsoup thank you for hyping over this with me <3 always, any reblogs appreciated. much love!

👑 nsfw tags: cunnilingus, overstim, teasing, pet names (love, darling...), begging, unprotected sex (wrap. it. up), creampie, nipple play (f receiving), implied aftercare

“It has been done,” you mumbled, fiddling with the edge of the heavy cloak that adorned your frame. Despite being in a secluded chamber, you did not have the heart, at least not yet, to reveal your surprise, instead keeping discussion and action to strictly business.

Seonghwa’s eyes widened, as though he was visualising the impact of your unspeakable actions. A pang of fear struck your heart as you cast a glance at the flickering orange flame of the torch – currently, the sole source of light in the chamber that he had made his quarters and headquarters, given the timidness of the moon as it hid behind thick clouds. The ornate window stood dormant, reflecting the light and the fiery man. Prior stoicism and cool resolve evaporated, and he turned towards you. In the blink of an eye he was setting the maps of the kingdom and of the locations that served as bases of operation of the new regime down on the desk, and he could not hold back on anxious praise.

“How did you- but that was a risk- you, my angel… my sweet, precious angel you are changing the world, light of my life-” stopping you from picking at your cloak, he took one of your hands in his, lips ghosting over the knuckles. He pressed your hand against his chest, as though in a miniature embrace.

It was easy to see the relief in his features. The hints of dark circles under his eyes, the misery being replaced with a shining hope and a boyish vivacity – this was why you had abandoned your own morals in favour of his, convincing yourself that what you had done was ‘the right’, and that there was an objective evil in the world that just so happened to align with your specific target. It could be the case; it could be that because Seonghwa was your personal ‘right’ and was the path you never wanted to stray from, you could not care less for any other misdeeds. When his grip on you weakened, you moved your arm back, and placed both hands on his shoulders, pretending to smooth out the fabric of his perfectly tailored black coat.

Not much had changed in his heart for as long as you knew him. Seonghwa was always there for you, and even in the midst of the crumbling of the Park dynasty, he was the one to tell you that it was going to be alright. Despite being publicly labelled a traitor and having a witch hunt launched to find and execute him, he was here, standing before you, with a gentle smile on his face. You wondered what was unfolding and being formulated in his beautiful mind. What tears was he suppressing, what curses was he refining for the day that he would look the revolutionaries in the face and deliver the final blow to reclaim the royal title and the kingdom. Perhaps his shoulders had gotten broader, perhaps his hair had gotten longer, gaze sharper and the sword that he would wield in his hand more lethal and merciless, but he was the same Seonghwa to you. The same boy who you had played in the royal gardens with, the same young man with whom you had danced in the quietude of empty halls. You did not know anyone except him, and that was how you wanted your life to stay. So, when Seonghwa offhandedly mentioned a ‘mission’ that he was due to complete – a critical step in the leadup to the uprising by him and his loyal army, you did not just volunteer, you swore to dedicate yourself wholly to his plan and did not experience a single droplet of regret.

Perhaps he was your sin. Like some suffered from Pride, or Lust, or Sloth, you were a devotee to His Royal Highness, until your very downfall. And this is why no other act, no matter how devious, meant anything to you – it was merely a step in the direction towards securing your one certain joy in what was otherwise a bleak, barren dystopia. His eyes contained a universe, and that was more than enough for you, even if your days were numbered. This was ringing particularly true after the act you had committed, and the cause for which you stood. You were frozen in time, regarding Seonghwa with the adoration of a person parting ways with the world. As though he was your last breath of air and last ray of sun before it set for eternity. It appeared that this dismissal of your internal turmoil did not go unnoticed, and the prince was quick to reach for your arms, pulling them down so that your fingers could intertwine.

“You mustn’t look back alone. It is a chasm,” he began, studying you. A bitter smile graced your lips as you bit back the long-chronic worries you possessed due to his unwavering kindness. Your precious little prince. You squeezed his hands, mumbling:

“What use is there in focusing on the past anyways, right?” when you sensed suspicion, you elaborated, “the future is bound to be brighter? Isn’t that right, sweet star of mine?”

An overwhelming pause. The question was meant to be rhetorical, potentially comedic, and yet it left a tinge of sourness. Nothing was for certain, even though you carried everything out to a tee and disappeared from the party-occupied castle unnoticed thanks to your knowledge of secret passages that ran between rooms and underground. Seonghwa’s voice accompanied you as you planted detonators, deafening devices and something one of the prince’s followers had kindly dubbed a ‘sleeping mist’ in predetermined locations. Turn, leave, you could do it, you were strong, there was reason behind your actions. Evidence of this was behind the elegantly dressed, albeit emotionally worn-down man. The maps – a myriad of scriptures, plans, strategies; some doomed to fail, others a brave but evaluated risk.

“Mm… that’s right,” you did not want to believe that it was a lie, so you settled on indulging in his deep timbre, tone so mellifluous that you wanted for it to be the only thing you could ever hear, “just you wait, the future is made for us. A world of ripest fruits for us to reap, for us alone…”

He moved once more, letting go of you. You could guess his musings almost word for word – a little planet. Starry night sky. Having the luxury of knowing what would happen when, so he would know when he could see you again, and you did not have to turn into a creature of darkness to creep inside the shadows to his hideout for a few hours, only to risk yourself all over again afterwards. Freedom and utopia were his forbidden fruit – an eternal temptation explicit in his gorgeous irises.

He was a dreamer with very consistent and persistent fantasies, as well as an eloquent way of feeding them into your soul with such finesse that with time you almost always considered any thought to be your own in its origins. Both the little prince and the serpent, Seonghwa was your definition of the world. He had given you a lens through which to see everything. Including him. To you, he was the definition of perfect. A fallen angel more than deserving to return to the heavens. He was outcast by evil, afterall.

Your body acted on its own accord, stepping back to give yourself at least some room to breathe, but you should have known better than to expect such a thing to happen in Seonghwa’s presence. He caught you - a long time ago. Unreadable expressions graced him as he hooked you back in with the slightest tug at the dark formless material hanging over your body.

“Did it take you long? Were you in danger?” he asked, spotting the absence of the pouch that had carried the discreet explosive animatronics for your distribution.

“N-no. Not at all. They did not suspect anything out of the ordinary. Besides, I did not try to improvise outside of your instruction.”

“Good. More than good,” it was as if he was talking to himself, undoubtedly reviewing the preparations, now accounting for the success of a major element of the operation. “I wonder if anyone would be able to spot the butterflies prematurely. Would the alarm be rung then? Would we-”

“Are you doubting my skills to hide the tech, Your Highness?” you jest, imitating frustration.

“Hm, no. I think I am merely excited for what is to come. We’ve been preparing night…” he sneaked a glance at your neck, trying to guess what you were hiding under black wool, “...and day. I want to see it all come to life, and have you with me.”

With him - that was all you could hear. You were not one for bloodshed, however given the possibility of redemption, it was appealing. You did your part for him, and he was proud. Now, you could close your eyes. Something in the way Seonghwa approached you was akin to the way a predator follows an unsuspecting beast in a grove. Eyes that were neither hostile nor forgiving, foresight so powerful that he was confident you would never leave. The two of you had too much history, too many memories from which detangling oneself would be virtually impossible. You tried, however your attempts had been in vain. When you had first caught the rumours of exile flying around the castle, and then the extensive discussions about familial rivalry and planned ‘changes of crown’ to fit a new ideology, you tried to get away deeming the path of ignorance safer. All it took was one whisper of your name to vow that if Seonghwa were to be sent to hell, you would loyally follow him there. Should he be executed, you would weep at his side and depart with him, heart already in a million pieces. You were irrevocably, foolishly in love with Park Seonghwa, the former prince of Aurora, willing to settle for being a favourite pawn, should he want you to be one. But even that title you would never be able to fish out of him. Forever enigmatic, you were never confident in assuming you were his only star despite the sweet nothings and the adoring gazes, but even if you were part of a big universe for this ambitious, high and mighty man, you did not mind. No one could fight against power. No one could fight against the greed for supremacy.

He was so close. An angel glowing in the torch light. The gold and red detail on his clothing turned to holy markings in his grace. You were stunned, a pliable doll in his arms, entranced by his slowed blinking as the ghost of a smirk appeared on his lips. There was always reason to reward you and your undying commitment to his cause. A token of appreciation, some could say. Seonghwa could also retain some form of humanity and call it for what it was - a long-standing obsession, but given who he wanted to become, he needed to contain himself and possess at least a sliver of civility before inevitably breaking apart for you, and only you.

“Thank you, Y/N,” music to your ears, the final straw before your internal chaos overwhelmed you and you had to hold on to Seonghwa’s voice for guidance. Your reaction was easy to detect, as the prince moved to have his fingers just barely touch your face.

”So… so beautiful, my love,” his hand traced your jawline, pausing when a shudder passed over your body. Seonghwa chuckled, admiring how responsive you were, how attuned you were to him despite remaining mostly unperturbed by the world that surrounded you.

There was something spectacular in how you carried yourself – feigned obliviousness, a façade of perfect innocence that had been the main reason for your survival under the new regime. Pretty precious little bird that knew how to keep quiet, and in turn were destined to sing the loudest when the time would come. Your eyes, widened as you devoured him, were enchanting pools that he would not hesitate to dive into and drown. Perhaps one could argue that no one liked a dead man, but Seonghwa was one of the lucky ones; your taboo rendezvous were evidence enough that you did not mind a character in your life who was as good as a ghost.

Your slightly parted lips, rosy, moistened by the darting of your delicate, delectable tongue were a sinful fruit that he desired to own. Running a thumb over your lower lip, the sparks of an uncontrollable lust burst in his chest, tainting his bloodstream like the most potent wine. He could see the edges of your dress under the black cloak that you used to move undetected in the night. To visit him, of all people. To risk your life for him and him alone. For him to be the only one who could even spot the royal crimson fabric underneath – a material tailors would fight over, material that he had gifted to you once upon a time despite barely having any network whilst in the chasm of being an outlaw, a traitor of the state. Enemy number one, who had made it a mission to dress you up. He did not regret a thing. Not when you gasped as he toyed with the clasp of the cloak. Not when he felt your hands land right above his heart, fingers toying with the leather harness and golden embroidery of his long military coat - another echo of the past that he would never be able to shed away. In addition, as the days approaching the uprising were being reduced to nil, he could not help but be drawn to the fine material as a form of mockery. He wanted those who have wronged him to see themselves in his form, to hear him have the final laugh.

Muscles tensing under your fluttering caresses, Seonghwa was giving into a domineering restlessness. Unhooking the clasp, he admired the way the black fabric pooled around you, as though the night sky was bowing before your grace. He tried to catch his breath, but it proved to be impossible as the dress occupied his vision. Nothing remained, only your impeccable handiwork, the perfection that was the fit of the garment on your body. You were supreme, the symbol of victory and glory. Clad in red, he saw the future in your form, both in spirit and in the battle cries that would accompany the painting of the lands in the colour of the wondrous silk.

You retracted your hands, and almost regretted it when you heard Seonghwa’s staggered inhale. He was looking you up and down, memorising every detail, undoubtedly thinking of anything and everything that he could do to you, or what you could do to him. Despite the urge to act, to step towards him and greedily steal away what he had left of precious oxygen, you did what you did best, and batted your eyelashes, pretending to be unaware. A wolf in sheep’s clothing, in trepidation to accept the guilt of inducing a small death. Serial murder, unforgivable, manic, addictive, reviving.

“I-“ he tried to form a sentence but it seemed as though every word he could think of wilted before escaping his throat.

Darkened irises darting back and forth, in awe of you – your favourite sight. You could not help but to reach out to him, moving to push an escaping tiny strand of inky hair from his stunning, timeless face. Fingers inadvertently ran further, carding through the slicked back locks and tempting Seonghwa to come closer. Biting his lower lip, he stepped closer to you, hands finding purchase on your hips and giving them a warning squeeze. You tugged lightly, making his previously lowered head rise to face you directly. You could see nothing in his eyes except what you yourself could reflect. The most beautiful and inextinguishable hellfire.

“You have good taste, Seonghwa,” you smiled softly, though the action was clouded over with a deeper intent.

“I am blessed to say I have a muse,” snaking over to your waist, you were suddenly being pulled into a yearning embrace. His racing heart reverberated and echoed in your body, the rising heat of his thighs and hips against yours grew ever more prominent. Seonghwa occupied your every sense, making you forget where you were, when, and what the consequences of your star-crossed union could be.

“Mm is that so?” you suppressed a giggle, brushing his wavy tresses back once more, while your other hand on the side of his face. You could feel him lean into the touch, eyes shutting for a moment before meeting yours once more.

It was in such moments that you found you knew Seonghwa best. Uninhibited and entirely himself, he bared his soul to you in every glance and longing grasp of cloth or exposed skin. Stars in his deep mahogany orbs, the exiled prince was silently asking you for permission. For what? You were about to find out; not once did you not trust him enough to let go of your inner voice and soar into pleasure – those who plotted uprisings together, were meant to be bound together, body and mind. It did not take long before Seonghwa’s lips were on yours, intoxicating, the pace of your elaborate dance so dizzyingly slow that a minute more and you would be the one clawing for more. Overwhelming, he pressed himself against you, and you could only hold on tight, thanking every deity who could unabashedly observe your physical confession for the existence of such moments in your life.

Fingers digging into his scalp, you evoked a muffled groan from your royal lover, who nipped at your lower lip and tentatively ran over it with his tongue, asking for access. Who were you to not oblige, especially when he asked so nicely? In no time, he dipped into a deeper kiss, exploring you, memorising you all over again as though you did not visit him both when he was awake and in his dreams. He was feverish, erratic, his plush reddened lips were leaving trails over your cheeks, the crook right before your shoulder and moved back to evoke a quiet moan out of you by paying special attention to the sensitive spots on your neck.

The red dress was a rose, a promise, divine dedication to him - the same material as that of his own clothes, the colour of the details on the coat which in a joint effort you and him were practically ripping away - the body harness already long gone, to reveal a flowing black shirt. Resting your arms on his strong shoulders you gave into every sensation, fingers instinctively finding their place carding through his locks, you followed his lead and stumbled backwards until an unexpected fabric hit the back of your head, making you gasp into another kiss. With a low growl and unprecedented annoyance, Seonghwa pushed the curtain that served as a divider between the office and meeting area of his chambers and the segment he used as his bedroom. Not quite the same as what his quarters used to be in the castle, but thanks to his military precision and tidiness, went above and beyond what one would expect from a rebel hellbent on chaos.

It was dizzying - his hands travelling across your body, his hot breath against your skin as he battled the same dress he had implored you to craft and wear, his simultaneously sultry and threatening glare that immediately subdued you as soon as you tried to remove yourself from him to help. No words, only a muted command, and in a matter of moments, you felt a coldness crawl up your spine as Seonghwa expertly undid the buttons on your dress. Goosebumps involuntarily appeared on your skin, erased by your lover’s quick hand.

“Is my darling cold?” he rubbed your back, the intensity and affection forming a combination excruciating for your heart. You shook your head, not wanting for him to worry, though the decision resulted in quite the opposite, “You know it is not good to lie, right?”

“I’m sorry-”

“I suppose it is a little… these damned stone walls. Sorry, love, this is far from welcoming.”

“No, please don’t worry…”

“Mm. Then stop me from worrying. Are you cold?”

You were burning up. The contrast between your flesh and the air was stark, and you bit your lower lip in an attempt to suppress another shudder. Seonghwa stepped forward, making your knees buckle as your lower legs hit the edge of the bed. He let you sit, though himself remained hovering above you, casting a shadow. You turned and studied anything and everything in your immediate surroundings, a wave of embarrassment washing over you despite having been with him so many times before. You stopped at the coat that was lying discarded on the floor. The brooches and badges, marking his titles - or at least past titles, in the Royal Military, glistened and induced a pang of anxiety. Were you living in an illusion by hoping for the past to return? A hand under your chin returned you to the present, and your misty eyes were forced to meet Seonghwa. What was a vexed, darkened expression melted away, revealing a tinge of concern uncharacteristic of his regal image.

“Talk to me,” crouching down to your level, you felt blush rising on your cheeks.

“...A bit…”

“There, see. Easy. Now, do you trust me?”

“Wholeheartedly.”

“So, burn with me, my love,” purposefully implying, he gave space. But if he was the flame, then you were the air, quickly disintegrating as the orange and red blaze consumed the vital essence. You had no chance, or choice, your only answer was his name, repeated over and over and over again until you knew nothing else.

Every single one of your senses was consumed by him and the near unbearable warmth shared between two bodies connected under heavy sheets. Brain turned to cotton, much like the blanket that was currently muffling your cries of pleasure, you were being kept from writhing only by Seonghwa’s iron grip. Thighs pinned to your upper body, he had you folded in half as he licked strips up your soaked folds, toying with your abused clit before sliding his tongue deeper, relishing in how your walls clenched around him, begging for more. Pathetic whines were music to his ears, prompting him to move until his nose was almost pressed against the overstimulated bundle of nerves and he could relentlessly fuck into you.

Addicted to the scent and taste of your arousal, he was not giving you any room to breathe, nor to recover from your first orgasm, and instead launched directly into building you up for another. You were a masterpiece, giving up to salacious ecstasy for him so easily, adoring words spilling out of you even though you were barely capable of constructing a proper sentence. The sheer notion of having such impressive power, and you giving up ownership of your personal euphoria to him made him want to stay in this position together.

“Mine-” he muttered, barely audible as he coated his tongue in your nectar and rolled it over your clit.

You yelped and threw your head back as a sensation resembling an electric shock hurried through you. Grasping at the bedsheets until your knuckles were turning white, the last image of your lover before he immersed you in artificial darkness was haunting you - his devilish smirk when you shyly nodded in agreement, his virtually lewd scrutiny as he studied your reactions to him ridding you of the dress, to him immediately disposing of your bra, and to him playing with your thin panties, occasionally dipping into your dripping heat to tease you. And then, when he deemed you ready enough, you were in a world where nothing and no one existed except Seonghwa.

The knot that was building in your core was ready to snap at any moment. You could not breathe. You were seeing stars and you were mewling for Seonghwa despite him being right there between your legs, taking you apart. Sensing your oncoming climax, your prince braved letting go of one of your quivering thighs in favour of pressing down on both with one arm, while the other landed directly on your bud, fingers masterfully flicking it while he curled into your hole, pulsating motion inciting wanton squelching from your heat, amplified by the confined space under the duvet.

“Hwa- I-” the nickname spilled out of your mouth by accident, though it seemed that the prince did not mind. Instead he hummed and sped up once more, only to send you over the edge.

Lapping up your release, he guided you through your high and greeted you on your way down, his hands acting as a stabilising force that kept your shaking limbs, and you safe. Seonghwa nipped at your inner thighs, exhaling sharply in amusement when upon teasingly dragging a finger across your pussy you gasped, thighs instinctively trying to bring themselves together. But your lover was quicker than that, lifting himself up until he was hovering over your fragile frame with a knee pressed against your heat. The sheets slid down his form, stopping just past the middle of his back - enough to reveal the glistening orgasm on his face, his half lidded eyes and parted, gorgeous lips. He flicked his tongue - a habit occasionally turned into intentional provocation. Pupils blown, expression animalistic, ravenous, he needed more. To bear the scalding hot oasis that you shared, he had torn off his clothing. Though now, he could no longer bear the aching of his erection that was rubbing against your stomach, rapidly coating it in pearly translucent beads of precum. Hips moving on their own accord, he started to rut against you to gain at least some form of friction.

“Still hmph- cold?” he asked, unfiltered mockery clear in his voice.

“Please, Seonghwa- need you in-”

“So fucked out you can’t even - ah, answer my question?” he cut you off, keeping the teasing demeanour all the while his dick was throbbing painfully against you, “I s-said, a-are you cold? Finally catching on, you agreed with him.

“Yes, I… need more. Please,”

“How do you need more, my greedy darling? Hm?” stopping his rocking, he took to rolling one of your hard nipples between his fingers, taking in your every breath, sigh, and the rolling of the eyes as you felt a tug shoot straight to your core.

“-want you to fuck me,”

“Mhm-”

“-want your cock inside me-”

“Yes-”

“-want you to fill me up ple-”

“Say that again,” in less than a second, his nose was against yours and you were peering straight into his soul, finding an inexhaustible danger. His breathing had gotten considerably shallower, and you swore you felt his cock twitch.

“Fill me up, Hwa, I- please-”

“Since you asked so nicely,” he pushed your legs further apart before tapping you on your hip to adjust your positioning. Eagerly, you followed his request hissing at the sensation of his tip teasing your burning heat before Seonghwa bottomed out, the mixture of slick and precum offering a delicious glide.

He leaned forwards, his bare chest against yours as he shared your state of enchantment awestruck as the torchlight gave up its final battle, only to be replaced by the beginnings of a full moon. You were a goddess in blue and silver that gleamed around the thick curtain, your glassy eyes so innocently sharing feelings he had never dared to express openly that he could not help but plant one peck after another over your cheeks, nose, eyelids, and finally, the lips. The scalding friction of skin against skin started to resemble a prolonged embrace, and when Seonghwa slowly dragged his length against your clenching walls, he mused if in another life, you could be connected like this for all of eternity.

You offered him the true meaning of ‘unconditional’. You trusted him without a second thought, and were ready to throw away the stability you had within the castle walls in favour of a probability. Your optimism intrigued Seonghwa, and he knew he was in danger of falling in love. In fact, he had been this way since long before finding out his enemies were all beside him at the dinner table every evening, and that only in the most critical moments could he discover his real allies. If he were any more free of the burdens permanently clinging onto his shoulders, the prince would have confessed to you. For now, however, he had the freedom how you fell apart beneath him, so deliciously gullible, drunk in lust.

With each languid thrust into your weeping cunt, he was silently singing your praises, thanking you for every day that you had shared with him, for every night that you had proved that you did not abandon him. As he picked up the rhythm, your melodic pants and whines accentuated the lewd squelching and at the same time sent his mind into overdrive. He loved the time he had with you, the time when nothing existed except instinct and what he could only call a union written in the stars. Seonghwa bit down on his lower lip as his pumping grew erratic and you tightened around him as you reached your high. He let out a whimper, vision impossibly blurry and growing darker as he could barely fight the weight of his eyelids. As he moaned your name, Seonghwa, accepted his violent addiction to your pleasure and your pain as you clambered for the remnants of your sanity in the midst of an overdriven climax. Thick ropes of cum coated your spongy walls and Seonghwa stilled his hips, unable to maintain even a frantic, stuttering pace any longer. Your arms collapsed to your sides, leaving behind marks where you had driven your nails into his perfectly tan skin. The fullness made you impossibly weak, and you fell back onto the pillows, taking Seonghwa with you. Having collapsed under the weight of ecstasy, your lover rested his head in the crook of your neck, inhaling the delectable scent of sex and desire.

The moon hung low in the night sky, casting a soft glow over the secluded chamber where Prince Seonghwa had found temporary solace and transformed it into the cradle of a new world to come. You, his loyal companion and confidante, or at least that was how you decisively wished to name yourself in the midst of uncertainty, nestled against him, your fingers intertwined. The weight of Seonghwa's destiny bore down on his shoulders, and the weight of you in his arms offered a fleeting respite.

Seonghwa's eyes traced the delicate features of your face, bathed in the gentle moonlight. "Y/N," he whispered, his voice carrying a mixture of longing and determination. "I can no longer bear the burden of this false exile,” he was returning to the present, the only remnants of the beautifully turbulent night being his slightly swollen lips, gravelly voice and dishevelled sweaty hair which had just begun to curl. “The time has come to reclaim what is rightfully mine. I just… I just hope it all comes together."

Your sleepy gaze met Seonghwa's, understanding and unwavering support evident even in the semi-darkness. "I'll stand by your side, Seonghwa, no matter the peril that awaits us. Together, we'll face the storm and emerge stronger.” It was easy to hope and easy to pass the tasks to the next person in the relay, so you wondered if your words held any meaning to your lover. When it was just the two of you, it was easy to worship the art of hedonism and forget impending doom. If only you could erase his own thoughts from his mind. Be selfish. With a soft shake of the head you dismiss the impending sourness, choosing instead to focus on the heavenly fatigue, like cotton, enveloping your and Seonghwa’s bodies.

As if drawn by an invisible force, Seonghwa pressed a tender kiss to your forehead. The warmth of your connection was a stark contrast to the cold reality awaiting you outside the chamber walls. For a moment, you existed in your own sanctuary, shielded. The room echoed with the soft rustle of fabric as Seonghwa shifted to hold you even closer. His fingers traced lazy patterns on your back, a silent reassurance that he cherished this stolen moment of peace. In the midst of the impending uprising, Seonghwa found a panacea in your arms, a haven that anchored him and convinced him that what he was doing was a necessary evil. You nestled into Seonghwa's chest, feeling the steady cadence of his heartbeat.

"Promise me we'll make it through this," You whispered, fingers tracing absentminded patterns on Seonghwa's chest. You knew that no matter how he would answer, it would be hollow, for only fate could be aware and decide the outcome.

Seonghwa pressed his lips to the crown of your head. "I promise, my love. We'll face the challenges together, and when the dust settles, we'll build a kingdom. How does that sound?”

“Good.”

“My queen.”

“Don’t say that…”

“Today, these are words. Tomorrow, the world can be ours,” you succumbed to his cruel hypnosis, not daring to ask for his methods, nor for his confessions. The less questions you asked Seonghwa, the happier you could pretend to be, and the grander was the castle in your sky.

The weight of your shared destiny hung heavily in the air, yet in the quiet cocoon of your embrace, the two of you had found your own religion. As the first light of dawn approached, you remained entwined, drawing strength from each other to face the tumultuous path that awaited you - a path that would lead you to a ferocious battle, deciding centuries to come in the timespan of the flutter of a butterfly’s wings.

“Will I ever be forgiven?”

“Who is there to forgive you?” After some deliberation, you dared to query. In one reckless sweep, you ignited every shadow of hesitation, leaving you only with unconditional, pure love that would carry you through any hardship. The one thing you had left, unfortunately unbreakable.

In the faint light of the rising sun, crawling into the room and coating it in magnificent gold, the man who you so adored and was devoted to was in every form a soul condemned to eternal hellfire; you were fully aware of that. A tarnished being marked as dead before he could even begin to spread his wings. Feathers strewn across what used to be a kingdom meant for him to rule being the only remnant of the brutal betrayal. The devilishly handsome traitor or trailblazer sharing his bed with you was not supposed to exist. And yet, it was his voice, his touch, his scent that occupied your every pore and thought, the owner’s name being carved into you over and over again until you forgot the bigger picture, focusing only on what Seonghwa could envision and how you could achieve that priceless peaceful kingdom.

“Now that is a question I would be interested in figuring out the answer to…”

“Both of us are unforgivable. Cannot repent, cannot start again,” you turned to face him, captivated by the way the sun highlighted his features, “but we can go forward. Until the hands of time stop us.”

As the two of you drifted into a dreamless slumber - a luxury serving as a calm before the storm, you comforted yourself with the fact that in some sense, nothing was going to change just like the darkness that came with your dozing. One fallen leaf, or soldier, would replace another, one snowflake would twirl in pursuit of its partner, one Park would return his crown from the other. In the grand scheme of things, it was still the neverending winter, a late dawn, and the same dynasty, the embodiment of which you prayed was in your adoring and calculating embrace.

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lostfracturess · 4 months

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【 ᴄᴏɴᴄᴇʀɴ ᴀɴᴅ ᴄᴏɴᴛʀᴏʟ 】 ch. 03

"i hate this—i hate that i still need you, satoru." his arms tensed around you. "i know," he whispered. "but i'll always be here, even if you end up hating me for it."

x pairing gojo x f!reader (main), fushiguro x f!reader (jjk universe)

x summary you never wanted to become part of the world of jujutsu sorcerers, yet fate had other plans when the one and only satoru gojo took you under his wing at jujutsu high. but as the lines between student and teacher begin to blur, hidden powers surge to life, and a deadly target is set on your head.

x wc 13.9 k

x warnings [18+] this story contains abusive/possessive behavior, (rough) smut, mature themes, self-destructive behavior, (heavy) angst, graphic depictions of violence/injury/combat, character death, suicidal thoughts. reader discretion is advised.

x author's note alright, here's the latest chapter! i'm always curious to hear your reactions—let me know what you think! (likes and reblogs are always appreciated!) ♡

series masterlist + ao3 + wattpad

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Being friends with Satoru was fucking hard.

His mere presence had the power to crumble the walls that protected your composure. Every encounter became a silent war—an inner struggle to choose distance over the alluring closeness his aura naturally demanded.

But keeping distance?

Oh, it was a fierce, bitter, and relentless battle.

"Just a few more!" Satoru's voice, melodiously carefree, pierced through the chilly air. You forced your muscles into another agonizing push-up as your body teetered on the brink of collapse.

"Oh, how I adore him," Nobara whispered, her voice lingering beside you.

Autumn has subtly introduced itself. It bathed the world in warm amber and russet hues, gently wrapping the fading memories of summer's vibrancy under its soft blanket. The days began to cool. You could feel a gentle breeze on your skin.

"How much more?" You asked, your voice barely hiding the treacherous trembling of your arms.

"I'm going to throw up," Yuji declared. His face twisted in a strange mixture of effort and rebellion against his stomach's agenda.

Nobara quietly muttered a series of creative curses.

"Hmmm," Satoru peered over his sunglasses. "—just another easy 50."

"Ha. Ha. Haaa?" Yuji's voice scaled up with each syllable.

"You're joking, right?" Nobara asked, her voice a sweet poison.

You glanced over to Megumi for a split second. He seemed to suffer in silence.

The insidious muscle burn has found its way to your core. Ah, the betrayal of one's own body. You hate push-ups. And Satoru. But mostly push-ups, you thought.

And maybe, just maybe, you hated the way your heart still skipped a beat whenever he was near.

"Come on, only a few more. Push through it," Satoru cheered.

Meanwhile, Yuji, now completely horizontal on the ground, announced with dramatic flair, "Go on without me. Save yourselves. Remember me as I was—," his voice fading into an exaggerated death rattle.

Your visible exhale, clouds of warmth dissolving into the crisp air, as you exchanges a quick glance with Satoru. Your heart, that traitorous organ, fluttered at the unexpected sight.

Damn it all.

—49—49—50—Your arms gave way, surrendering to the undeniable pull of the earth below. Your face hit the slightly damp grass, allowing yourself a moment to enjoy the earthy scent and the cool sensation on your overheated skin.

Perhaps this was where you would remain for the rest of eternity—a monument to the fallen, struck down in the prime of life by Satoru's cruel push-up regime.

A shadow fell upon you. You knew who it was without looking. "If you've come to gloat," you began, your voice muffled by the grass beneath, "know that I've already drawn up my revenge plan."

Instead of a witty retort, Satoru's voice was softer, flirtatious, closer, as he said, "You did well."

Friends, Satoru. Remember?

"I highly doubt that," you rolled your eyes, catching sight of Megumi, already rebounding to his feet, seemingly unfazed. "Are you even human?" you asked him, half-joking, half-awe.

A nonchalant shrug and a lean stretch were his only responses, further fueling your suspicions about his humanity.

"What was today's hellish training even for?" Yuji lamented.

"Do I need a reason to torment my students?" Satoru teased.

Nobara's expression crafted a visual soliloquy of disdain.

"Actually," Satoru corrected, "—you have a new mission tomorrow." His tone grew more serious. "There have been disturbing incidents reported from an abandoned hospital near Shizuoka."

Megumi interjected, "Don't they have their own sorcerers?"

"Not strong enough, it seems." Satoru's gaze hardened for a moment. "But I assure you, it will be an exciting adventure!"

You lifted your face from the grass, strands of green clinging to your cheeks. You cast a skeptical glance at Satoru. "Exciting adventure, he says," you murmured. "—last time it was a 'minor inconvenience' and we fought a special curse that almost made a snack out of Yuji."

Yuji, still stretched out beside you, nodded solemnly. "I still have nightmares about those teeth."

"Your definition of fun, Gojo, seriously needs a revision," Nobara added.

Satoru lowered himself to your level. His eyes met yours as a grin played around the corners of his lips. "You'll love this one, I promise."

Yuji mustered the strength to sit up. "What's so 'exciting' about this mission anyway?"

Satoru tilted his head slightly, silver strands of hair capturing the last rays of the day, shimmering in the receding sunlight. "That abandoned hospital in Shizuoka—it's notorious. Local sorcerers have been trying to deal with the anomalies there for months, but last week two of them went in and never came out."

Nobara perked up. "So you're sending us to a place where sorcerers have gone missing?"

Satoru nodded. "Exactly. The hospital was a place of pain, suffering and numerous unexplained deaths even before it was abandoned. Now, it seems to have become a breeding ground for curses. The incidents are escalating and they can't contain it anymore. We must find out what's going on there, save the sorcerers, and cleanse the place."

Your heart raced. You pulled yourself up into a sitting position, grass and soil clinging to your sweat-soaked shirt. "Sounds more dangerous than exciting."

"Sure, there's a risk, but we've got this. As long as we stick together," Megumi said.

"The power of friendship saves the day, huh?" you reply, your voice dripping with sarcasm.

Satoru stood up and held out a hand to help you to your feet. As you accepted the gesture, a familiar electric charge ran through you. He pulled you up with ease, his voice a soft whisper meant only for you, "Be careful. I'd hate to lose my favorite student."

FRIENDS, SATORU. REMEMBER?

****

"Wasn't this supposed to be fun?" Nobara hollered.

Her voice sliced through the eerie silence of the abandoned hospital's hauntingly empty hallways, as all four of you sprinted, hearts thundering in your chests.

The distant, hollow groans of curses echoed through the deserted corridors. Each groan sent shivers down your spine and fueled your legs to push you forward with even greater urgency.

Megumi summoned his divine dog. It charged forward, fighting the cascade of curses that flowed like a nightmarish tide through the crumbling, cavernous passageways to buy you more time to escape.

"That's Gojo's version of fun, remember?" Yuji retorted, his words punctuated by ragged breaths.

Shadows seemed to reach for you, elongating as the dimming twilight outside filtered through the cracked windows, creating unsettling, contorting forms upon the walls.

Skidding around a corner, Nobara sent a cascade of cursed nails spiraling into an oncoming threat. The curses dissipated upon impact. But the brief respite was soon shattered by the oppressive feeling of more malevolent presences converging upon your location.

The hospital itself seemed to warp and twist with cursed energy. Halls elongated, and rooms reshaped into grotesque shapes. The walls themselves seemed to breathe, inhaling and exhaling a suffocating, eerie energy that enveloped everything within.

"How the fuck did we end up in this creepy horror show all of a sudden?" You yelled as you sprinted ahead.

"We must find the core of this energy—destroy it or we'll be overrun," Megumi shouted.

The scene was a total mess, no way around it.

The chaotic atmosphere, swirling with malevolent energy and the agonized screams of curses, pressed in from all sides. Shadows reached out and twisted around the group, the outlines of lurking creatures barely discernible in the pitch-black darkness, as an immense curse appeared, radiating an aura of fear so deep it seemed to suck the life from its surroundings.

Shadows reached out and twisted around the group, stopping you in your tracks. Then curses appeared, their outlines barely visible in the pitch-black darkness. Agonized screams echoed from all sides.

Suddenly, a massive curse appeared, radiating an aura of fear so deep it seemed to suck the life from its surroundings.

Satoru's voice crackled over your communicators, his voice tense. "I sense a tremendous amount of cursed energy. Get out of there now!"

But his warning came too late. With a bone-rattling roar, the curse lunged forward.

Everything fell into chaos.

Megumi's shikigami dimmed and flickered as the curse descended upon you all. Nobara and Yuji tried their best to fight back, but the monstrous creature effortlessly tossed them aside as if they were nothing. Their battered forms crashed to the debris-strewn ground with a sickening thud.

Satoru's voice again. "Everyone, retreat, now!"

Shit. Shit. Shit.

You were paralyzed.

Move, you yelled at your own muscles.

Move, goddamn it. But they refused your command.

The curse twisted its grotesque form towards you. Its eyes completely devoid of light or life. Your heart raced as it advanced.

You had to do something.

In an instant, the curse closed in on you, its dark, oily fingers stretching towards you. Time appeared to crawl as its hand loomed closer. Your heart froze. Then an inexplicable sensation surged from deep within you, like a taut thread snapping.

The air shifted around you. The curse stopped.

Its grotesque form convulsed as the cursed energy surrounding it twisted and contorted. Its scream echoed through the cavernous decay of the hospital as its own malevolent aura recoiled upon it.

The curse transformed, changed into something else entirely.

Something you wanted it to be.

You could feel the curse, feel its fear, feel its evil. All of it.

With a trembling hand, you reached out, deflecting the cursed energy of the curse onto itself. The curse convulsed and writhed. Its form disintegrated under the crushing weight of its own malevolent energy. Then it simply dissolved into nothingness.

But it didn't stop. The fear didn't stop. You still felt its fear. Its evil. Everything.

It coursed through you, too overwhelming to bear. It threatened to consume you entirely as your own cursed energy spiralled out of control, creating a maelstrom of chaos around you.

Suddenly, Satoru's voice cut through the chaos. "Suppress it! You must suppress your cursed energy!"

But your consciousness was adrift in the maelstrom. The uncontrolled energy threatened to consume your very being. Then, for a fleeting moment, you saw Satoru's face as he ran towards you. Time stood still for a moment as your gaze locked with his.

Satoru.

In that moment, you found yourself ensnared in the depths of his terror-stricken eyes. All noise ceased, and sensations dulled. The chaos that had enveloped the surroundings was quelled, its frenetic energy pulled back, forcibly contained within.

Silence replaced the chaotic energy that had suffocated the room, and the swirling vortex of curses collapsed into a singularity within you.

An explosion of blinding light illuminated the decimated hospital before it was once again plunged into an unsettling silence, now without the oppressive presence of the curses.

You crumpled to your knees. A sudden sensation of decay washed over you. You leaned forward and coughed up a painful spurt of blood. Satoru ran towards your crumpling form. His arms carefully enveloped you, before you hit the ground.

"You're such a stubborn woman," he whispered. His voice barely audible, eyes locked with yours, shining with a depth that spoke volumes.

Friends, Satoru... Remember?

****

"Do you have any idea how damn reckless that was?" Satoru's voice now a sharpened blade slicing through the thick air.

"I did what I had to, Satoru. We're all still standing here, ain't we?"

He took a step closer, his voice low and lethal. "You gambled with something you don't understand, something you can't control. Next time, you might not be so lucky."

A bitter laugh escaped you. "Concern, is it? You're a fine one to talk about understanding and control!"

His jaw clenched, a battle raged in his eyes.

Nobara chimed in. "Both of you, maybe we should talk about this when—"

"No," Satoru interrupted, his eyes never leaving yours. "You can't just run around and do shit that might kill you."

"And you think I want to die?" Your voice cracked, "Satoru, I felt that power. I felt it trying to consume me! But would you rather I did nothing and let us all die instead?"

A pained silence followed your words, interrupted only by the strained breathing shared between you and Satoru.

"She's right. She saved us back then." Megumi pushed himself off the wall he was leaning against. "—wouldn't the better question be, what the hell this cursed technique was?"

You took a deep breath. "I don't know what that was—it just came all of the sudden."

Satoru's expression shifted and he let out a frustrated exhale. The silence that followed even more painful than the arguing.

After a beat, Megumi chimed in. "That cursed technique you unleashed back there? It's like nothing I've ever seen before." His gaze darted between you and Satoru, assessing the situation. "It kinda reminded me of Mahito's Idle Transfiguration, but it's not quite the same. Yours is more like—"

"—manipulating the very essence of the cursed energy, changing its nature, its intent," Satoru claimed in. "It's massively powerful."

"—and dangerous," Nobara added.

Satoru turned to you again. "You need to learn to control it. You hear me?"

"Oh, you think I don't know that?"

He stepped closer, his voice a whisper yet charged with intensity. "You know nothing."

Your gaze locked with his. Behind the layer of frustration and anger, there was a palpable fear in his eyes—a fear of losing something precious. But the stubborn part of you pushed forward, your voice tense. "What's your problem, Gojo?"

He raised an eyebrow as you called him Gojo. He was silenced.

"It's more than just control over her cursed technique. It's also about the consequences of that power," Megumi interjected cautiously midst of the strained silence. His eyes carried a grave seriousness that flickered between you and Satoru.

"I know," Satoru murmured, his stance still rigid, his gaze never leaving yours.

"Explaining for the ones, that don't get it?" Yuji said.

"Think about it. If this power can manipulate cursed energy to such a degree, it's going to draw attention. Not just from curses, but potentially from other jujutsu sorcerers as well," Megumi continued. "If it's that powerful, it's likely that others want to exploit it—or eliminate it."

You flinched at his words.

Eliminate?

Yuji's eyes widened. "So what do we do now? We can't just wait for someone—or something—to come after her, right?"

"No. We protect her, we train her, and we figure this out. Together. But for now it might be safest to keep a low profile," Megumi said.

Satoru inched dangerously close as he towered over you. "I won't leave your side," he declared, "—not until you can control it."

"What?"

"I will not let anything happen to you."

"You can't shadow me every single second of the day!"

His lips curved into a wry smile. "You'd be surprised by what I can do."

Did he even hear himself?

The room seemed to pulse with a charged silence as you stood your ground, anger glinting in your eyes. Then, a small smirk played on your lips. "Megumi can do this as well," you threw in, surprising not only Satoru but also Megumi, whose eyes widened slightly.

Caught off guard but still managing to maintain a calm exterior, Megumi shifted, opening his mouth to possibly rebuff or agree. But he was cut off by Yuji's enthusiastic, "Count me in, I'll protect her too!"

"Alright, Megumi it is," Nobara said with a playful wave of her hand.

"You're not even giving me a chance!"

The atmosphere shifted just enough to give space for easier breaths and softened expressions. But Satoru didn't let his guard down. He leaned in close, his voice low and hoarse. The words were for your ears only. "You're really pushing my limits, love."

Your pulse quickened. There was a hint of flirtation in his tone, but the fury in his eyes as they met yours stole your breath. You might regret this later, you thought.

****

Your fingers moved with gentle precision.

You maneuvered the sterilized cloth, dipping it in antiseptic before turning to Megumi. Positioned on the edge of the hospital bed, he offered a silent profile. His eyes deliberately avoided yours.

The scent of antiseptic lingered in the air. In the distance you could hear the echoes of footsteps and muffled conversations from the corridor beyond.

"I'm sorry," you whispered, subtly luring his eyes to meet yours, "—,for earlier. I shouldn't have put you in that position—with Satoru."

His eyes met yours briefly. "It's alright."

"It's just—," you leaned in closer, the distance between the two of you closing as your fingers gently dabbed at his wound. He flinched slightly. "—Satoru's arrogance is wearing me thin."

He was silent for a breath, his gaze lingering on the way your fingers delicately tended to his injury. "He wants to keep you safe."

"We all do," he added.

You looked up to him, and somehow you thought he wanted to say more. But the words were trapped.

"I know I am safe with you," you whispered.

For a split second, Megumi's face turned red. He quickly averted his gaze.

"Where did you learn to treat such wounds?" He asked after a while.

A heavy exhale escaped your lips. "Before Satoru found me, I was on my own—fighting curses and all." You paused. "I had to learn self-preservation, in every sense."

You guided the needle through Megumi's skin to close his wound, an unwavering focus narrowing your gaze. The sterile light of the hospital room cast a soft glow over the surgical instruments nearby, your fingers skillfully dancing between them with learned grace.

He watched, the slightest flinch barely revealing the sting of each pass of the needle. "You're quite good at this."

"Survival breeds skill, sometimes," you replied, carefully threading the needle despite the close proximity, "I suppose most sorcerers have a troubled past."

A faint smile played on your lips. "It's probably that struggle that pushes us into this dangerous career path, don't you think?"

"I wish circumstances were different for you—that your path wasn't so hard."

Your breath caught. You had to stop stitching him up for a second as you processed his words.

"Perhaps," you replied, gently placing the needle down and giving him your full attention. "But it's that path that led me here—so I'm glad it was."

Yes. Your past has been one of scars and bruises.

But it also led you to this very point. Even in the wreckage left by Satoru's heartbreak, there was a light, a silver lining. You'd found something unique, something precious—a home among friends who felt like family.

As your eyes lingered on Megumi's, an unspoken understanding bridged the space between you. In that quiet moment, between the antiseptic scent and the distant hum of other people, you found a trace of calm, a whisper of what might be amidst the remnants of what once was.

But reality, as it often does, shattered the serenity with a sharp crack.

****

Your whole body ached.

Every muscle screamed in rebellion. Frozen tendrils of breath dissolved into the frigid air as you fought to catch your breath. You were on the ground. Drenched in sweat. Shrouded in fatigue. You had reached your limits. Every sense was screaming at you to stop.

But as you looked up to meet Satoru's gaze, you knew he wouldn't let you stop. His face was a fortress of stern determination. It made the cold autumn air seem almost warm in comparison.

"Again," he demanded sharply, the word cutting through the silence that enveloped the training grounds.

You exhaled shakily, fists clenched. Weary limbs pushed you to your feet. You had to stifle a cry of pain as you did so. You couldn't fail. You had to do this. So you forced yourself into another attempt to control the unbridled surge of your cursed energy.

It lashed out rebelliously, ignoring your feeble attempts at containment. The result was a frustrated growl that escaped between your clenched teeth.

"They're not concentrating. Again. Channel your energy. Don't let it control you."

He acted like you weren't even trying. Like you hadn't been giving it your all to get a grip on this fucking cursed energy of yours. Like you weren't on the verge of tears because of your own failure.

"I am trying, Satoru!"

"Trying isn't enough!" His distance decreased as he approached you, his voice rising, "—trying will get you killed!"

Somehow, all fatigue was suddenly replaced by fury.

"You think I don't know that that?"

"If you truly understood, your efforts would show it!"

You parted your lips, ready to fight back, but he wasn't done yet.

"You can't always rely on physical strength alone," he continued. "You have to control your cursed technique, or die in vain."

The audacity.

Your fists clenched at your sides. "Not everyone can be a miracle child like you, you arrogant—"

All of a sudden, he appeared, standing so close before you that it sent a jolt of electricity through you. Your heart raced, beating violently against your chest, you were sure he must have heard it.

"You're leaving yourself exposed here," Satoru's voice, barely above a whisper, sank into the cold air as his finger traced a gentle, almost teasing path along your side, pointing to a flaw in your guard. Your skin burned under the subtle touch, a heat that consumed your resolve, already shaky with fatigue and frustration.

He stepped around you, his movements predatory, eyes meticulously scanned you, evaluating—appraising. Fingers brushed upward, caressing the line of your arm with a touch so light it was almost torturous. "And here, your energy leaks, untamed and wasteful."

His proximity was a palpable pressure, both comforting and intensely unsettling, wrapping around you like an impenetrable fog. His eyes locked onto yours with an intensity that bordered on intrusive. Yet you found yourself unwilling—unable—to break away.

He circled you. His footsteps silent against the training ground's cold earth. "Every point of weakness, an invitation."

When he circled to your front, those blazing blue eyes, locked onto yours. And then, ever so subtly, his gaze drifted downward, lingering on your lips, parted ever so slightly.

The air between you crackled, charged with a different kind of energy, intensifying the trembling of your cursed energy as it flailed uncontrollably in the ether around you.

"Every weakness is a door begging to be opened." He cupped your chin, forcing your gaze to lift and meet his. "But you, you've always been a fortress, haven't you? Yet even the sturdiest walls find themselves crumbling under the right—pressure."

"You're testing your limits, Satoru."

Friends. Satoru.

He leaned infinitely closer. His eyes glowed with seductive danger. "Am I?"

"I won't crumble, Satoru. Not under your touch."

"I guess we'll see."

THE AUDACITY.

The confrontation, the exhaustion, it all came together in a violent burst of cursed energy. It rippled through the air and made the surrounding vegetation tremble.

Satoru didn't flinch an inch. His eyes locked on yours.

You gritted your teeth. "We're done for today," you said and turned on your heel.

But he was faster In one fluid motion, he seized your arm, forcing you to face him once more. "Running from your problems now? That doesn't sound like you."

RUNNING?

Your blood began to boil. Jerking your arm away, you met his gaze with fiery defiance, "I'm not running. But maybe you should rethink your teaching strategy, Satoru."

His expression flickered for a moment before an amused grin touched his lips, "And what, pray tell, would your enlightened approach be, oh wise student?"

"For starters, a bit of faith would be nice," you shot back, "—and maybe some actual constructive guidance instead of theatrical yelling?"

"Faith, you say?"

"And maybe throw in a 'good job' once in a while. Positive reinforcement, ever heard of it?"

A reluctant smirk twitched at the corners of his mouth. "I'll take it under advisement."

"Somehow, I find that hard to believe."

He shrugged nonchalantly. "Enough theory, then. How about we find a curse and test your control in a practical scenario?"

You blinked, aghast. "What?"

****

The crisp autumn air rustled through the vibrant foliage above as you as Satoru ventured deeper into the dense forest. Leaves of fiery reds and vibrant oranges fell gently, creating a colorful carpet beneath your feet. A slight chill whispered through the trees, accompanied by the sound of leaves crunching underfoot.

Satoru's hand was clenched around a mysterious, shivering object. His sharp eyes glanced your way, reflecting the cascade of autumn colors around, yet somehow colder.

Without warning, he unfolded his hand, revealing a squirming curse bound skillfully within his grasp. "Well then, let's see if my 'crappy' training has paid off at all, shall we?"

Huh?

"Think fast," he stated, almost too casually, unleashing the curse before you could voice a protest.

A nauseating squelch perforated the silence of the secluded woodlands. Emerging from the ooze, a curse materialized, its form an unsettling amalgamation of rot and despair. Its flesh, a sickly purulent yellow, hung grotesquely from its misshapen skeleton, numerous bulbous eyes blinking asynchronously from various points on its body.

Appendages, far too numerous and articulated in ways that defied logical anatomy, clawed at the air while a cacophony of guttural moans and shrieks emanated from a mouth that stretched far too far across its form.

You're kidding right?

As it lunged towards you, the sickening stench of decay overwhelmed your senses. Your cursed energy pulsated, thrashing wildly as you sought to harness it, direct it. Yet, the memory of previous failures and the haunting echo of Satoru's reprimands hindered your resolve.

The curse's limbs crashed against the barrier you'd mustered, shuddering vibrations rippling through you as it strained, contorted, and assailed your defenses. Its grotesque features contorted further, if possible, in malevolent delight. With a piercing shriek, it shattered through, the collision sending you sprawling amidst the dead leaves.

Trembling amidst the fallen leaves, you forcefully pulled yourself to your feet, icy resolve coating your veins as you stared down the grotesque curse once more.

You closed your eyes momentarily, attempting to steady the maelstrom of cursed energy swirling chaotically within you, sought to envision the energy as a tangible entity, something you could mold, control, and wield as your own.

Yet, as you opened your eyes, meeting the myriad of malevolent gazes affixed upon you, the cursed energy spiked wildly, lashing out without form or direction. It seared through your veins like molten metal, scorching from the inside, its potency overwhelming yet infuriatingly insubordinate.

"Focus!" Satoru's voice, distant yet piercing.

Your palms slick with a cold sweat, a sharp breath in, and your focus narrowed, eyes locked onto the pulsating monstrosity of the curse. Its form, a mangled amalgamation of despair and hatred, seethed under your gaze, eyes like voids staring back, challenging, defying.

Drawing from deep within, you reached out with your own cursed energy, a delicate thread connecting to the roiling mass before you. In that instant, a cacophony of emotions—fear, anger, sorrow—cascaded through the link, the curse's chaotic energy surging against your influence.

Within your mind's eye, you visualized the flow of its cursed energy, a violent torrent that you sought to redirect. Subtle adjustments, gentle nudges—that was all it should take. Your intention was to invert the energy back upon the curse itself, turning its own power into its undoing.

However, the energy resisted, reflecting and amplifying back through the conduit you'd created. The feedback was instantaneous and brutal, your own cursed energy rebelling against you, a visceral explosion that sent shockwaves through your being.

Pain seared through your veins, a scream tearing from your throat as your knees buckled, the earth rushing up to meet you. Yet even as darkness flirted with the edges of your consciousness, you could sense it—the curse, despite the misdirection, had been affected, its energy convulsing wildly, a grotesque dance of agony mirroring your own.

"Enough!" Satoru's voice cut through the maelstrom, his technique dissolving, sending the curse, now a writhing, shrieking mass, hurtling into the abyss from whence it came.

"Again!"

In the waning light of the chilly autumn day, the scene played out again and again—a cyclic nightmare. The curse, a vile creature of misshapen limbs and hollow, gouged-out eyes, was repeatedly brought forth by Satoru, its guttural roars clawing at the peaceful serenity of the woods.

Attempt after attempt, your technique faltered. Energy recoiled, backfiring with a vengeance that physically pained you.

"Again," your voice, once firm, now trembled with the strain.

Satoru nodded silently, releasing the curse yet again. His eyes, however, betrayed a flicker of something akin to anguish, watching you struggle, witnessing the physical toll each failed attempt exacted upon you.

Energy surged, collided, and once more rejected your influence, the backlash sending tremors of pain through your being. Collapsing to your knees, a pained cry escaped your lips, yet stubbornly, you rose again, your gaze meeting Satoru's, a silent plea for another chance.

"That's enough for today."

Your legs gave way beneath you. Your form, crumpled upon the forest floor, was eerily still, save for the shallow breaths that whispered through clenched teeth. "No—again!" A rancid taste clawed its way up your throat, your body convulsing forward as you retched, the aftereffects of the curses' chaotic energy polluting your being.

Hunched over the damp forest floor, each spasm was a brutal reminder of your failure, haunting every recess of your mind—Weak—ghostly whispers of failure that entwined the very air around you.

"I'm too weak," your voice barely pierced through, a low, despairing murmur, interspersed with harsh, ragged breaths. "I can't—I can't control it, Satoru. What use am I if I can't even master my own cursed technique?"

Satoru crouched down beside you, his fingers gently tipping your chin up, silently begging your eyes to find solace in his. "Don't."

"I'm still too weak, Satoru," your voice, raw, broken, shattered the haunting silence.

Weak. So pitifully weak. Never, ever enough. It twisted through your thoughts, an insidious vine, ensnaring every hope, every fragment of self-assurance that dared to surface.

Weak. Weak. Weak.

"You're not." Satoru's voice pierced the enveloping darkness.

"I can't save anyone like this," you choked out, near a scream, desperation snaking through every word.

"That's not true, and you know it. You've saved others many times!"

Weak. Weak. Weak. Weak. Weak. Weak. Weak. Weak. Weak. Weak.

"I'm not enough, Satoru!" It was a scream this time, a raw, visceral sound that erupted from the core of your being and tore through the silence of the surrounding forest.

His arms wrapped around you, pulling you close to his chest. "Enough," he said firmly.

Within the secure embrace of Satoru's arms, a war waged within you. The sound of your ragged breaths and the rhythmic thumping of his heart formed a painful symphony, an agonizing reminder of what had been lost. It was in that moment, amidst the chaos of your emotions and the haunting echoes of your insecurities, that you truly crumbled.

Salty trails ran down your cheeks, mingling with the dirt and sweat from the torment you'd endured, as sobs shook your entire being.

You didn't want to be just friends. Damn it. You needed him desperately. You cursed yourself for it. All you wanted was for him to take the weightoff your shoulders, if only for a moment—you didn't want to be yourself. Just his.

"I hate this," you managed to say between trembling breaths, "—I hate that I still need you, Satoru."

His arms tensed around you. "I know," he whispered, voice scarcely audible amidst the rustling leaves. "But I'll always be here, even if you end up hating me for it."

His breath, warm and steady, grazed the crown of your head, igniting a bittersweet ache deep within. But in that moment, you allowed yourself to be enveloped in the memory of his warmth, the safety that once lay in the curve of his arm. Cruel. It was a cruel reminder of a time where love and pain were not such closely intertwined companions.

His arms became both sanctuary and prison.

****

The sound of shallow, fraught breaths filled the empty training room, your form collapsed on the mat, eyes shimmering with unshed tears and resolve broken under the weight of your own failure. This pattern was all too familiar, a rhythm that played out predictably, yet agonizingly. Megumi, a silent witness to your struggle, observing the relentless cycle unfold time and time again.

Fall. Rise. Inhale. Exhale. Rise. Fall. Silence. Scream.

It was a torturous play, a ceaseless descent into a seemingly impenetrable abyss. Your body, a silhouette strained to the brink, collapses, only to be compelled upward again by a tenacity that is both heartbreaking and awe-inspiring.

Fall. Rise. Scream. Silence. Rise. Fall. Silence. Cry.

Megumi watched as your eyes, once filled with unwavering determination, flickered between determination and a desolation that threatens to consume their fire. Your form, a vessel visibly marred by the incessant tempests of your trials, convulses with exertion and a despair that seems to claw insidiously from within.

Rise. Fall. Scream. Silence. Scream. Silence. Cry.

With each descent, Megumi felt a physical ache. Each scream from your lips, each shudder that wracked your body, kindled an impotent anger within him, simmering beneath the surface of silent solidarity. Your torment became his own.

"Gojo, we need to talk. Now," Megumi's voice broke the silence, marking the shattering of his observation. In his words linger the ghosts of your silent cries, your whispered pleas to the unyielding darkness, beckoning a reckoning long festering.

Satoru, perpetually enigmatic behind his blindfold, managed to maintain his typical composed exterior, but an almost imperceptible tightening of his jaw was visible. Without uttering a word, he simply tilted his head slightly, silently inviting the brewing tempest. The moment the door slid shut behind them, Megumi whirled around, his eyes ablaze with fury.

"What the hell do you think you're doing to her in there, Gojo?!"

"Training her." Satoru's blindfolded eyes giving away nothing of his thoughts.

"That's not training!" Megumi snapped, his voice echoing through the empty hall, "You're not training her, Satoru—you're breaking her!"

"She's strong. She can handle it."

"She doesn't! You're pushing her beyond her limits and for what, Satoru?! For your own damn peace of mind?" Megumi's words were sharp, the blade of protective rage slicing through the tense air.

"You of all people should understand, Fushiguro. Our world doesn't pull punches. Neither can we."

"How can you, of all people, not see that you're breaking her?"

"Think I don't know that? I'm damn aware. I know she might hate me for it. But I can't—" His voice trailed off, a momentary lapse that unmasked a shadow of vulnerability.

Satoru's silence was telling.

Megumi's eyes, fixed upon Satoru, discerning the unsaid. "It's because she reminds you of him, is it?"

Satoru's voice, when it surfaced, was barely more than a whisper yet laden with the echoes of past specters. "I can't let her—."

"—she's not Geto."

A visible tension cinched Satoru's features as the name hovered between them, evoking entombed memories and spectral pain.

"Your fear, Satoru—it's blinding you. You're gonna hate yourself if you don't stop now."

Taking a breath, Megumi continued, adamant, "I'm taking over her training, Gojo. I won't stand by while you tear her down."

A prolonged silence stretched, before Satoru, his voice nearly lost amidst the echoes, conceded, "You're right—Maybe I'm not what she needs right now."

****

The subtle rustle of pages being turned was the only sound that dared to pierce the stillness of the library in the midnight silence. Illuminated only by the gentle glow of a solitary lamp, you sat there, shoulders hunched, eyes scanning line after line of ancient texts and forgotten lore, desperately seeking something, anything, that might offer a glimmer of understanding regarding your elusive cursed technique.

Your eyes burned, flickering over words that began to blur and merge. The subtle creaking of the library door echoed through the vast chamber, heralding the arrival of another. Your weary gaze lifted, landing upon Megumi, his silhouette framed by the soft light filtering through the doorway. He approached, steps soundless, yet your tired eyes tracked him until he stood before you.

"You're overdoing it."

A bitter laugh escaped your parched lips, your gaze returning to the open book before you. "Overdoing it is all I've got left, Megumi."

He gently closed the book, forcing your eyes upward to meet his concern. "When was the last time you slept?"

"I know what you're trying to do." Your hand deflected his, reopening the tome with a determined flick.

"You look like shit."

"Oh, charming."

Choosing a chair, Megumi straddled it backward, facing you with an unyielding gaze.

A sigh, wearied and long, drifted from your lips. "What did you say to Satoru earlier?" You flipped a page, eyes scanning yet not truly absorbing the words.

"Do you really want to know?"

You looked up to him for a fleeting moment. "Probably not." You flipped a page, eyes scanning yet not truly absorbing the words "But I know you don't agree with his methods."

"That's putting it mildly," Megumi's exhale carried a weight of restrained emotion. "—Satoru might be okay with throwing you into the abyss in hopes you'll learn to climb out, but I'm not."

"That's not what he's doing."

"It's exactly that. You're just turning a blind eye to it."

Megumi's words hung suspended in the library's age-old air, intertwining with the scent of dusty pages and bound leather. Silence stretched between you two.

"Remember what you said to me? That I would be the one to protect you until you figured it all out?" For a moment, a sheer vulnerability flickered in Megumi's eyes, barely perceptible, yet achingly palpable, before it was sheathed again behind a veil of stoic resolve. "Let me be that person."

A lump formed in your throat, stubborn and obstructive. Despite the desperate tug of fatigue on your senses, Megumi's words seemed to pierce through the haze, demanding to be heard, felt, and acknowledged.

You stared at him, the intensity in his dark eyes sending shivers down your spine. The silent library, now seeming more like an observer, awaited your response, its shelves heavy with knowledge and stories of epochs gone by, of struggles and victories, losses and finds.

"Megumi—" Your voice was barely audible.

He leaned in, the space between you shrinking until it was a blur.

"Let me help you."

The simplicity of his request, his words echoed in your mind, honest and unembellished. Your heart raced as you felt his unwavering gaze upon you, his pure presence so close, and in that moment a heat wave cascaded through your body. Maybe it was time to release the grip on your pride, to accept that vulnerability did not equate to weakness.

For so long, you had carried the weight of your burdens alone, believing that independence was your only salvation. But now, as you gazed into his eyes, you saw something different—a genuine offer of support and understanding.

"Ok, but don't complain later," you said, a smile gracing your features.

Megumi nodded solemnly, though his eyes twinkled with gentle amusement. "I won't. I promise."

"But you know, there's one condition."

Your eyebrows arched upwards. "Condition?"

He straightened, adopting a stern expression that seemed almost comically out of place given his generally reserved demeanor. "You have to promise to stop sneaking out to the library in the middle of the night and depriving yourself of sleep. That's non-negotiable."

"What if I find a different place to sneak off to? Like the kitchen?"

Megumi's stern façade cracked, revealing a soft chuckle that warmed the room with its genuine timbre. "Well, at least in the kitchen, you might be compelled to eat something, so it's a step in the right direction."

"Ok, deal!"

Leaning back in your chair, you stretched your arms, attempting to ease the stiffness that clung to your weary muscles. A slight smile lingered on your lips, basking in the gentle relationship that had subtly unfolded between you.

You hadn't realised how much you'd needed it—this connection, his support, always unwavering no matter what, ease amidst the chaos. It was a gentle reminder that you weren't alone on this journey, and perhaps, accepting help wasn't a concession of defeat, but rather a brave step.

Wait

"—but you have to tell Satoru."

Megumi's expression changed to an unusually mischievous grin. "I think we will be fine."

****

In the hushed azure glow of early dawn, a veil of calmess blanketed the training grounds. Megumi and you stood amidst this tranquility, the silence punctuated only by the soft rustling of leaves under a gentle breeze, and your synchronized breaths, clouding in the brisk morning air. At this early hour, you were far from prying eyes and the scrutinising gaze of Satoru.

"Ready?"

You nodded slightly, your hand tightly gripping the hilt of a katana, its blade gleaming faintly in the dim light. Megumi, standing at a cautious distance, observed intently, his demeanour radiating a reassuring calm.

You took a deep, stabilising breath, centering yourself amidst the tumultuous tide of cursed energy within you. The katana served not as a weapon in this moment, but as a conduit, an extension of your being through which you sought to channel and regulate the wild stream of your power.

Your eyes fluttered shut, focusing inward on the tempestuous sea of cursed energy, feeling it churn and rage against your control. Subtly, you began to coax it, guiding it gently towards your arm and into the blade of the katana. The metal seemed to hum softly, vibrating faintly under the influx of energy. Beads of sweat formed on your forehead as you tried to control the flow of your cursed energy.

Megumi, his eyes reflecting the quiet strength that always seemed to surround him, spoke in a soft, steady tone, "Breathe. Let it flow through you, not against you."

Your breath hitched, then steadied, aligning with the subtle ebb and flow of the energy as it streamed through you, into the katana. The blade quivered slightly, resonating with the pulsations of your power.

The connection held—a gleaming conduit of cursed energy seamlessly bridging you and the weapon, steadfast and enduring. With an exhale, eyelids fluttered open, and your gaze met Megumi's, his eyes shimmering with unvoiced encouragement and proudness.

Triumph, at long last!

The preceding days had been a tapestry of rigorous trials, but control just out of reach, until now. Your attempts to master your cursed technique had always resulted in being consumed by its overwhelming surge, until Megumi proposed a theory that a cursed object might facilitate in channeling your erratic power. And indeed, it had.

Today marked the culmination of countless early morning training sessions with Megumi, where sweat and perseverance were your constant companions. Adrenaline coursed through you as your eyes flickered.

With a fluid, decisive motion, you elevated the katana, allowing it to slice through the air before it cascaded down, severing the scarecrow before you with an effortless ease. A shockwave rippled through the training ground, emanating from the blade with a tangible ferocity. It disrupted the stillness of the early morning, causing the foliage to shudder and the very earth beneath to quiver in its wake.

Megumi's eyes widened, astonishment flashing through them. Not only had the scarecrow been cut in half—but the wall behind it and the earthbeneath it bore the undeniable marks of your strike. An indomitable rush of cursed energy coursed through you, yet, it did not seek to devour you as it once did. Instead, it yielded to your will, becoming an instrument of your focused intent.

"You did it!" Megumi hastened toward you, his hand tenderly encompassing yours on the katana, signalling a gentle reassurance to relax your taut grip, which had whitened your knuckles.

You nodded, a cascade of fatigue intertwining with the residual adrenaline. "Thanks to you."

He gently shook his head, a soft smile blooming upon his features. "This was all you. Your strength. Your determination."

Megumi, his fingers still gently encircling yours, guided your trembling hands—and the katana they clutched—downwards with tender care, allowing you to disengage from the weapon, both metaphorically and physically.

As the blade met the ground with a melodic chime, its reverberation through the still air was nearly drowned by the frantic beating of your heart. The tangible warmth from his touch enveloped your hand, contradicting the chill of the metal beneath your fingers and soothing the quivers that shuddered through you.

"I couldn't have done it without you."

Indeed. Megumi, with his unwavering gaze and constant support, had become an unwavering pillar during your tumultuous journey. He embodied a home in the midst of chaos. Your soul ached with the longing for him to see you in a similar light, to recognise in you the same home and friendship he so generously gave you.

He countered softly, "I merely observed. You did the effort."

"Will you just accept a compliment for once, Megumi?"

A genuine chuckle bubbled from your lips, a lightness that you hadn't felt in so long time. And then, Yuji and Nobara entered, dressed in their school uniforms, and broke the serenity with their cheerful urgency. "Time's ticking, let's roll!"

Their gazes flickered to the subtle intertwinement of your hands with Megumi's, before being irresistibly drawn to the pronounced remnants of destruction adorning the training area. Nobara's mouth agape, she mustered, "I'm guessing you got the hang of it?"

"It seems so!" you beamed.

Yuji's eyes, alight with unbridled admiration and shimmering like distant stars, gazed upon you as if you had adorned a cape and mask, emerging as a beloved superhero from a realm of dreams and tales. "I need to hear all about this!"

"Class first," Megumi interjected.

But your only contribution to the day's class was the harmonious symphony of your steady breathing, intertwined with Megumi's, as slumber swiftly claimed you both. Sitting side by side, shoulders nearly touching, you allowed the gentle cadence of his breaths, subtly syncing with yours, to lull you into a well-deserved rest amidst the crowded classroom.

Megumi, despite the stoic facade he often wore, succumbed to the fatigue as well, his proximity providing a sense of tranquility that allowed the both of you a moment of peaceful respite. The rest of the class might be whispering, speculating, but in this shared tranquility, the world outside ceased to matter.

****

Sunlight dappled through the leaves overhead, casting a mottled shadow upon the café table where you all sat. The air was animated with the pleasant hum of conversation and the occasional clink of cutlery against plates.

A gentle breeze wafted through, carrying with it the sweet scent of autumn, an easy familiarity enveloping the group as you all enjoyed a brief respite from the rigours of your responsibilities as Jujutsu sorcerers—a rare moment of peace away from curses and training.

Yuji's hands fluttered about as he spoke, acting out the scene for added dramatic effect. "Picture this: I spot an old lady, seemingly distressed, and I'm thinking—convinced—that she's being plagued by a curse. I was all geared up, ready for a tussle," he paused, eyes gleaming with a mischievous, yet slightly embarrassed twinkle, "—only to discover it was just a super ugly dog!"

Nobara's laughter exploded in the tranquil outdoor space, a hand hastily dabbing at the laughter-induced tear meandering down her cheek. "Yuji, seriously? Only you could get into such a mess!"

Chuckling, you playfully chided him, "Of all the crazy things you've done, Yuji, mistaking a dog for a curse might top the list."

"In my defense—," he began, puffing his chest out with a brazen grin painted across his face, "—it was gigantic and emanated this bizarre, sorta eerie aura, okay?"

Megumi fought back a burgeoning grin. "None of that explains why you're 20 minutes late though, does it?"

"It does!" Yuji insisted, nodding vehemently. "I was primed to attack, right? But the grandma thought I was a mugger or something, and started assaulting me with her purse!"

Nobara nearly spit out her drink, gasping between her laughter. "She did what? Yuji, you're an absolute catastrophe!"

Yuji shrugged, unabashed. "You have no idea—I was legitimately fighting for my life out there!"

You leaned back in your chair, your laughter mingling with that of your friends, relishing the lightness of the moment. It was these times—times when you could forget the darkness, the curses, and the constant looming threat that shadowed your existence as Jujutsu sorcerers—that felt like a balm to your weary soul.

In the midst of the lively chatter and laughter, your phone vibrated subtly against the tabletop. Unnoticed by the others, its screen lit up, an unread message blinking in the upper corner. Satoru.

Your eyes flicked down, momentarily drawn away from Yuji's animated recounting, but you resisted the urge to pick up the device. The moment was too precious, too infused with a rare lightness that you were reluctant to shatter with the encroachment of him.

So, you allowed yourself to be swept back into the narratives of bizarre encounters and near-miss adventures your friends so lively shared.

Several minutes ticked by, but eventually, curiosity coerced your attention back to the device. Your fingers hesitated, then gently swiped the message open.

"Pack your bags. We leave in an hour".

HA?

Indignation flickered through you, a spark of rebellion against his presumptive demand. Why, exactly, should you jump at his command? Satoru was hardly one to require assistance, a point he'd demonstrated time and again. Thus, you opted to dismiss his message, submerging yourself back into the cheerful flow of your friends' banter.

However, your screen flickered once more.

"Playing hard to get, are we?"

HAAA?

Your jaw tightened. His audacity, it seemed, knew no bounds. Your fingers danced across the display with a fierce intensity. "Handle it yourself, you jerk."

The digital space enveloped in silence, your bold words lingered unanswered, suspended in a virtual abyss for an agonizingly elongated thirty minutes. Then, starkly and without warning, a shadow—imposing and uninvited—unfolded across the table.

"Time to go." Satoru's voice cut through the chatter, his eyes lingering on yours.

You must be kidding me.

Your eyes narrowed, a rebellion burning in your gaze. "I told you, Satoru, I'm not—"

But before the sentence could fully form on your lips, a swift, well-practiced movement from him had you lifted over his shoulder, the world tilting as you were hoisted over his broad shoulder with a grace that belied his strength.

"SATORU!" Your voice came out as an outraged scream, flustered and completely confused by the audacious maneuver. Your hands beat against his back in a futile protest, legs kicking air as he strolled—all too casually—toward his car.

"Feisty as ever, my love," he retorted, a playful smirk curling along his lips, entirely undisturbed by your vehement protestations.

"Put me down, you asshole!"

Satoru's voice, low and for your ears only, murmured against your skin, "You have a unique talent for testing my patience with your stubbornness, you know".

****

Your fingers glided across your phone's screen, crafting a brief message to Megumi: "I'm okay. Probably." Exhaling deeply, you could feel your shoulders gently relent their tension, sinking a little more into the car seat.

Your eyes wandered towards Satoru, stopping at his unexpected, but undeniably attractive, casual attire. The fabric of his white shirt, unexpectedly sheer against his skin, clung to the sculpted curves of his muscular arms, the sleeves mischievously forced upwards, stopping just below his elbows.

Dark, meticulously tailored dress trousers adorned his legs, providing a stark contrast and a subtle edge to the otherwise relaxed ensemble. It was such a departure from his typical attire that it was enough to make your stomach clench.

Your thoughts fluttered, curiously picking at the threads of his unexpected choice of clothing. Sensing your silent scrutiny, a flicker of mischief flashed in Satoru's eyes.

"Not gonna ask?"

"Is there a way out if I do?"

With an amused curve of his mouth, he simply said, "Nope."

You sank even deeper into your seat. "Alright, guess I'll just roll with it."

Your gaze lingered on him a moment longer, silently tracing the contours of his frame. Watching him drive was an unfamiliar sight. His control over the vehicle, his hand steady on the wheel. You didn't even know he had a licence.

Your fingers unconsciously moved to your mouth, nibbling lightly on your nails. "Logically, there's no reason I should accompany you on a mission."

His response was almost too nonchalant, "Maybe I get lonely without you."

"We both know that's far from the truth."

"Is it?" His eyes lingered on you, perhaps a tad too long for your comfort. Silence sprawled out between you, a tangible tension weaving through it.

"I told you I wouldn't leave your side," he spoke, his jaw visibly tightening, "—so, if I must leave for a mission, you're coming with me."

"That's ridiculous, Satoru. I've been doing just fine these past few weeks without your protection."

His tone carried a weight that feathered across your skin. "You really have no idea, do you?"

Your brow quirked. "Huh?"

His voice dropped, low and sore. "You think I wasn't watching your every step these last weeks? Observing every early morning training with Megumi, every single time his hands dared to graze your skin, every dinner you had in town, and every second you slept soundly through the night?"

And then, it hit you—Satoru looked tired. Not the usual 'I've had a long day' kind of tired, but something deeper, something that maybe only you could spot in that moment. His eyes flickered with a subtle fatigue that crinkled softly at their edges. A kind of weariness you hadn't seen before, tiredness that made your heart ache.

His defenses momentarily quelled, Satoru, for once, was laid bare before you—not as the unassailable figure he perennially projected, but simply as a man who wanted to protect the one he loved.

"I didn't ask you to."

His muscles tensed, eyes hard yet a flicker of something softer lingered within them. "You don't have to. I'm protecting what's mine."

The atmosphere thickened, tension hanging palpable between you, your senses acutely aware of every detail: the slightly too tight grip of his fingers on the steering wheel, the subtle frown marking his brows, the rhythm of his breath, even the pulsing of his steady heartbeat. Your own, meanwhile, stuttered erratically.

Your response was a mere breath, barely trespassing upon the charged air. "We're friends, Satoru."

He glanced at you, a slow, deliberate move, his eyes, in that brief, fleeting moment, bared a vulnerability that you'd never seen—or perhaps never noticed—before.

"Yes, Friends," he murmured, turning his focus back to the road, a subtle shiver threading through his words.

The remainder of the drive was bathed in an uncomfortable silence. Each passing mile seemed to stretch on indefinitely, the only accompaniment being the low hum of the car's engine and the gentle rhythm of tires rolling over the asphalt.

The landscape outside shifted, transitioning from urban sprawl to open countryside, yet its beauty went largely unnoticed. For your part, you gazed out of the window, eyes unfocused, taking in the world without truly seeing it.

Every so often, you'd steel yourself to steal a glance in Satoru's direction. But each time, you were met with that same guarded expression, that same set jawline that spoke of a man grappling with thoughts. The defeated look in his eyes behind the glasses unbearable.

It hurt. Even after all this time.

****

The car eased into a secluded area, obscured by looming trees and doused in the tranquil blanket of the nighttime. The destination, it seemed, was far removed from the bustling life and inherent dangers that typically accompanied Satoru's missions.

As the engine hummed to a stop, a tranquil silence enveloped the surroundings, providing a stark contrast to the tempest of emotions swirling within the car's confines.

You exhaled, a slow release of breath you hadn't realized you'd been holding, as you unbuckled the seatbelt and gently pushed the car door open, the night's cool air softly caressing your skin.

Satoru exited the car, opened the trunk, revealing an array of bags and equipment. Drawn closer, your eyes were captured by a bag distinctly familiar—indubitably yours. "You packed for me?" You blinked in veiled surprise, a playful undertone weaving through your words, "And you ventured into my room?"

His eyes met yours, a boyish grin playing effortlessly on his lips. "Nothing I haven't seen before".

Privacy—a potential discussion, yet now shelved for a later debrief. Your intent to claim the bag was thwarted by his swift procurement of both yours and his own, fluidly securing them as he shut the trunk. His form began its progression towards the lodge, barely visible in the shadows of this remote area.

"Satoru?" Your voice gently perforated the night as you followed him. "What the hell is this mission all about?"

He exhaled, the faintest hint of hesitation coloring his admission. "They needed someone strong for this curse," his words, though hushed and contemplative, held an edge, "—it's a bit more complex than the usual."

Alarm flickered through you, eyes instinctively darting towards him. "So, is it really smart for me to be here, especially with a strong curse floating around?"

He paused, swiveling toward you, the stupid smile still lingering on his lips. "With me around, you'll probably be fine."

"Your God Complex is showing, Satoru."

You approached the lodge, a cozy albeit slightly worn-down building nestled in the heart of the remote area. As they stepped inside the lodge, the decor screamed of a charmingly rustic aesthetic, making you chuckle.

There was a quaint charm in its dated wallpaper and the creaky wooden floors beneath your feet. You glanced around, noting the relatively vacant environment, save for an elderly gentleman behind the counter.

Satoru approached the front desk. "Reservation for Gojo," he declared, a confident smirk etched onto his features.

The elderly man peered at you both over his spectacles, a curious twinkle in his eyes, before glancing down at the reservation book. "Ah, yes. The honeymoon suite. Quite a popular choice for young couples."

You choked on the air, "Honeymoon what?"

Satoru simply flashed a dazzling smile your way, ignoring the disbelief painted across your face. "That's right."

"But we're not—" you began, only to be cut off by Satoru's arm snaking around your waist, pulling you slightly closer.

He leaned in, his voice taking on a saccharine-sweet tone, "Love, you know it's silly to book separate rooms now that we're married."

"Married?!" You barely managed to keep your voice steady, throwing him a mock glare. "In what universe, Satoru?"

"In this one, apparently," he whispered, mischief lighting up his eyes.

What's wrong with his man.

As the gentleman handed Satoru a key with an approving nod, you turned to the gentleman, offering an apologetic smile. "I'm so sorry about him. We're not really—"

"Sweetheart, don't apologize. Let's not make a scene," Satoru interjected, shooting you a sly wink as he gently tugged you away from the counter, key in hand.

Finding yourself weaving through a corridor, guided by his assertive yet gentle touch on your back. Satoru's fingers enveloped the quaint, antique key, turning it in the lock with a soft click. The door gently swung open, revealing a room awash in the gentle glow of ambient lighting, the delicate scent of roses permeating the air.

You blinked at the sight that unfolded before you. The room, undeniably beautiful, was adorned in what could only be described as quintessential honeymoon décor. A lavish bed, blanketed in delicate rose petals, stood as the room's focal point, while a scattering of softly flickering candles cast a gentle, romantic light across the space.

You could only stare, a combination of disbelief and amusement dancing in your eyes as you took in the careful, romantic arrangement that had clearly been made with a newlywed couple in mind.

Turning toward Satoru, you caught the barely-contained chuckle in his throat, his eyes shimmering with an undeniable joy.

"Satoru, what on earth—"

Carelessly, he strolled into the room, carefully setting down the bags before theatrically collapsing onto the petal-strewn bed with a contented sigh. "I know what you're thinking," he began, his words slightly muffled by the plush bedding, "but this was the best room they had."

"And it didn't occur to you to mention that we aren't married?"

He propped himself up on his elbows, a smirk curling at his lips. "The look on your face? Absolutely worth it."

"You're ridiculous, you know that?" you parried, leaning against the doorframe, "Didn't it cross your mind to book two rooms?"

He sat up, meeting your gaze steadily. "You think I'd let you sleep alone in another room when there's a strong curse lurking around?"

Your eyes narrowed suspiciously. "You didn't have any ulterior motives in mind?"

He raised a hand, palm facing forward in a gesture of innocence. "I swear."

Sure.

But it was there—a subtle flicker in his eyes, and you found yourself inexorably drawn towards him despite your resolve. Your heart pulsed with a gentle yearning, fluttering softly against the protective walls you'd so carefully built. To be drawn to him, to be seduced by his unspoken words, and at the same time to fight to protect yourself from his potential pain—that was torture.

His allure was not simply physical but an emotional, magnetic pull that tugged at something deep within you, something that perhaps, you weren't entirely ready to acknowledge or explore. Every soft smile he shared, every lingering look, they pricked at your defenses, causing minuscule fractures in the fortress safeguarding your heart.

"We're friends, Satoru."

His expression sobered, the playful gleam now subdued, "I'm trying my best to remember that."

You stepped into the room, your footsteps soft against the lush carpet. Rose petals were scattered across the white duvet, and a bottle of champagne chilled in a silver bucket beside a small bouquet of flowers on a table near the window.

Struggling to maintain a serious demeanor amidst the clearly romantic setup, a playful smirk teased at your lips.

"Should I start calling you 'husband' then, if we're playing the part?"

But the levity of your comment seemed to falter in the air, as you noticed the subtle catch in his throat and the way his jaw clenched for a moment. "Forget it," you quickly amended, reaching for the champagne, eager to introduce a new focus. "We should get this open."

He offered a half-smile, a shadow of his earlier mischief lingering. "I'm not much of a drinker."

"Fantastic," you returned, easing the cork from the bottle, "more for me, then."

Oh, it was going to take a fair amount of alcohol to get through this night.

****

The gentle hum of inebriation softened the edges of the world around you as you lounged languidly in an armchair, a half-empty bottle of champagne cradled in your hand. Satoru, with all his languorous grace, sprawled across the bed, an inscrutable gaze fastened intently upon you.

"And then—then, Yuji, he—he looked at this giant poodle, right? And he was so sure, Satoru, so sure that it was a curse!"

A guffaw erupted from Satoru, his form undulating with the force of his laughter, the sound a warm, vibrant echo in the romantically adorned room. But his eyes, oh, those eyes, never veered from you. A simmering intensity, an emotion undefinable yet visceral, lingered within them, caressing you with a tenderness that teetered on the brink of too much.

In your tipsy state, the narrative continued to weave through flares of hilarity and absurdity, "—he was so ready to exorcise that poor dog! Had his stance and everything!"

But even amid the mirth, you were wholly aware of Satoru's gaze, the steady beam of his attention, undeterred and unyielding. It was almost too potent, the way his eyes seared into you, both exhilarating and terrifying in equal measure.

As the echoes of your laughter dwindled, replaced by the palpable silence burgeoning with unspoken words, you shifted in your seat, a meek defense against the onslaught of his unrelenting gaze.

Heart raced, yet you found your voice, albeit wobbly, "Don't—don't look at me like that, Satoru."

He propped himself up on his elbows, the soft glow of the room's ambient lighting gilding his form with a tender, almost magical aura. His voice, smooth and laced with a sincerity that pierced through the alcoholic haze. "Like what?"

"Like—," a pause lingered, a fragile thing suspended amidst the serenity and the storm both threatening and promising to engulf you, "—like I'm your everything."

His eyes softened, yet the intensity within them did not wane, merely transmuting into something even more intense.

"You are—," he whispered, a simple confession, yet laced with an undertone of bitterness, "You are everything to me."

And there it lingered, suspended amidst the petals and the soft glow of the room.

"Don't say that."

"Don't ask then."

"That's not fair."

"Maybe." He began to stand, each deliberate step towards you echoing in the charged silence, "But here, we don't have to hide," he murmured, closing the diminishing gap between you, "—here, we're just a man and a woman, a married couple far from Tokyo."

"I hate you," the words, a tender contradiction, drifted into the delicate space separating your lips from his.

"I know," he breathed, his arms coming to rest on either side of your chair, imprisoning yet protective, "—I can accept that, as long as you'resafe."

His proximity was a furnace igniting every nerve ending into a frenzied state of awareness. Retreat was a tempting illusion, his nearness a siren's call inviting surrender, stirring a turmoil of restrained desires. He lingered on the precipice, an intricate dance of restraint and desire reflected in eyes that quietly pleaded and promised all in a single glance.

"We should get some rest," though his voice was steady, his eyes, drowning in restrained longing, told an entirely different story.

"Satoru—," your voice wavered, trembling against the temptation mere breaths away. Your neck arched so sharply to maintain that intoxicating proximity to his lips, you almost winced. Every exhale of his brushed warmly against your lips, every shaky inhale felt like it was drawing you in further, until you were both just teetering on that razor-sharp edge between giving in and holding back.

"I know," his breath, shaky, warm, against your lips, "I hate it too."

Your whole body was practically screaming under the strain, your neck pulled tight in a delicate arch to stay that close to him, muscles trembling with the effort. Your breaths mingled in the tiny space between you, hitched and ragged, a testament to the sheer restraint being exercised in maintaining that fragile distance.

It was like an invisible force field held you apart, despite the fact your entire being seemed to magnetically pull towards him.

In his gaze, the world beyond seemed to dissolve, its warnings rendered moot, every ounce of attention fixed on the gentle caress of breath against skin, and eyes that held worlds of silent pleas and promises. And there you lingered, a breath away from falling, from surrender, lost in a gaze that bore the weight of emotions unvoiced, yet palpably felt in every charged particle of the air around you.

With a shuddering breath, Satoru turned away, creating an immediate, almost tangible void where the warmth of his proximity once lingered. The room seemed to shrink around you, every rose petal, every softly glowing light now feeling impossibly distant and blurred by the sudden pain in your veins.

In that instant, a bitter realization came, more profound and cutting than any epiphany before—there wasn't a place on this Earth where you could flee to escape him, the deep-seated pain that his mere presence elicited within you.

Inside you, longing wove a tapestry of pain, wrapping tightly around every thought and emotion until you were bound by it, held captive by the silent cries of a heart pushed to its limit.

****

A harsh splash of water against tiles jolted you from your precarious perch between wakefulness and the somber sanctuary of sleep. Dazed, you blinked into the semi-darkness, the remnants of last night's melancholy wrapping itself around you like a shroud, heavy and all too familiar.

Your head throbbed, the remnants of alcohol-induced haze still coursing through your veins and the fragmented memories of the night before slowly knitting themselves back together in your consciousness. Satoru. The tenderness in his eyes, the tangible yearning that hovered in the space between you, and the impassable wall that came crashing down.

You pushed yourself into a sitting position, a hand gently massaging your temple as you tried to steady the world that seemed to be insisting on tipping off its axis.

The romantic ambiance was gone, every candle extinguished, every rose petal swept away.

Moments later, the bathroom door creaked open, unleashing a waft of steam that lazily swirled into the bedroom. Satoru emerged, a single towel slung low around his hips, droplets of water tracing paths down his defined torso.

His hair, darker when wet, clung to his forehead in damp tendrils. His eyes shining as always as they met yours, without sunglasses or a blindfold clouding them.

"Good morning."

Satoru's voice broke through your haze, his signature cockiness more comforting than you'd like to admit. Your eyes narrowed slightly, though the effect was somewhat lost given your state.

"Is it?" you replied, groaning as you held a hand to your aching head.

Without a word, he flipped an aspirin in your direction. "—for the headache."

One won't be enough, probably.

Your eyes tracked him, watching as he ambled around the room, gathering his clothes. The low-slung towel from earlier had been replaced, but the image remained, and you couldn't help but sneak a glance or two.

"That's sexual harassment, you know?"

You smirked, echoing his words from the night before. "Nothing I haven't seen before."

Swinging your legs over the edge of the bed, you padded over to your bag, sifting through for something to wear after your impending shower.

From the bathroom, his voice echoed slightly, muffled by the walls. "What do you want for breakfast?"

The thought of food made your stomach flip. "Just coffee."

He reappeared in the doorway, now fully dressed, shooting you an incredulous look. "Coffee isn't breakfast."

"It is."

"You're something else, you know that?"

"I'll take that as a compliment."

Navigating the space, you drew closer to him. The room felt smaller, charged. As you reached the bathroom door, he made way for you. There was a moment, a fleeting brush of shoulders, a shared breath. The memories of last night heavily in the air.

Not now, you thought, not today. But in the depths of your heart, you wondered if there'd ever be a day when he wouldn't affect you quite this way.

Chilled air grazed your bare skin as you exited the bathroom, a cascade of water trailing down from your damp hair. Clad only in underwear and pants, you aimed an exasperated yell into the calm ambiance of the room, "Satoru, where did you put all my tops?!"

He barely glanced up from his phone, unbothered by the urgency in your voice, or the semi-exposed state he found you in. "Maybe I put them in my bag," he responded, a casual lilt to his voice that only slightly betrayed his intrigue.

Your feet padded softly on the floor, moving towards his bag. The brief journey across the room felt extensive under his subtle scrutiny.

"Here they are," you mumbled, mostly to yourself, feeling a strange twinge in your stomach at the unintentional intimacy of mingled belongings.

Retreating back to the bathroom, a soft inquiry tethered you in place. "Does it still hurt?"

You paused, instinctually knowing his eyes traced the rugged line of the scar that blazed a path down your back. "It doesn't."

"You know Shoko could fix that."

Facing him, your eyes locked onto his. "I don't want her to fix it. It's a reminder that this world is not fair."

"You're just torturing yourself."

Sardonic laughter barely crept into your voice as you met his accusation, "Takes one to know one, huh?"

Silence settled between you, perforated only by the soft drips of water from your hair to the floor. He averted his eyes from yours as he rose, a newfound stiffness in his posture. "I'll wait outside," he mumbled, sidestepping the invisible barrier that had grown between you. Wrapping yourself in a top, you exhaled a breath you didn't realize you'd been holding, the fabric gently brushing against the scar.

Heading Downstairs, the murmur of the morning crowd in the dining room was a soothing hum, the scent of freshly brewed coffee wafting through the air, providing a semblance of normalcy. Through the window, Satoru's form etched against the emerging light of the day on the terrace.

The crisp breeze kissed your skin with its autumn chill as you stepped outside, hastily pulling on your jacket. His eyes lifted to meet yours, his wet hair grazing his forehead, providing a fleeting distraction from the intensity of his gaze.

"Black coffee, your 'breakfast'," he said softly, a warm cup extending towards you.

Accepting the cup, your fingers fluttered momentarily against his. "Thank you."

His eyes, devoid of their usual shield, met yours with a nakedness that was almost too raw to behold. "Skipping the sunglasses today?"

A part of you missed the familiar shield that his sunglasses provided, granting you a reprieve from the depth of his gaze, that seemed to always see too much, feel too much.

He sighed, eyes briefly diverting towards the distant horizon, "Something's amiss today."

"What do you mean?"

"I can't place it," he mused, bringing the cup to his lips, "—but I want to be prepared, especially with you here."

Satoru. Stop.

"And the curse we're hunting?"

A momentary stillness enveloped him before he spoke, "It's already here." His stance subtly shifted as he eased away from the railing.

Huh?

"Stay back," his eyebrows knitting together even as a cynical smile played upon his lips. "—we're dealing with a special grade cursed spirit."

HUH?

Satoru's piercing eyes flickered a mere second before chaos erupted, an immense force shattering the serenity of the morning. With an almost imperceptible movement, he was before you, his shimmering, vast, cursed energy unfolding with devastating beauty. The cursed spirit, grotesque and dripping with malevolent energy, lunged with astonishing speed, aiming directly at you.

Just as the malevolent force was about to collide, Satoru parried, an invisible barrier of his own cursed energy deflecting most of the blow. Still, the residual shockwave was devastating, bursting outward, a storm of shattered timber and screaming metal splitting the once-silent dawn.

The lodge behind you was violently engulfed, splinters of wood and shards of glass scattered, suspended as if time itself had been torn apart. For a second you stood, frozen in the midst of the devastation, a stage set of wreckage all around you.

"Help the people escape!" His voice, amidst the chaos, was an unwavering command.

Your limbs, though trembling, pushed you backward, the adrenaline sharpening your senses. As you pulled away, the fight between Satoru and the cursed spirit intensified, their movements almost too fast and brutal to discern, intertwined flashes of cursed energy colliding and recoiling with devastating effect.

Panic. Chaos.

Sirens wail in the depths of your ears as shrapnel from the once idyllic lodge sprays across the landscape, razor sharp and merciless. No time. No time to process the hellish scene as your body moved on an instinctive impulse, hurtling through the carnage.

Smoke and dust clogged your lungs, your eyes, and yet through the sting you saw them—a huddled mass of terrified faces, trapped beneath a grotesque sculpture of shattered wood and twisted metal.

Adrenaline drove you forward, hands working with feverish precision, tossing aside the wreckage, clutching desperately at the shivering bodies beneath. The child's tear-streaked face is etched in your memory, wide eyes piercing through the chaos, seeing salvation in your outstretched hand.

"Move!" you shouted, your voice a whip that cut through the chaos, sending the child sprinting towards the tree line.

Behind you, an unholy thunder, a tempest of cursed energy and malevolence that blackened the sky, twisted and turned, the battle between specters and the spectral, unseen but felt in every thunderous crash, every shockwave that rattled through the splintering earth.

The child—stumbling, crying—disappeared into the embrace of the forest, its safety a cold comfort against the war raging behind you. A fleeting glance towards Satoru, you saw him, a symphony of power and finesse, every strike, every dodge a testament to his immense skill.

But the cursed spirit was relentless, an embodiment of pure malevolence, unleashing wave after wave of harrowing attacks, each one threatening to dismantle the very earth on which they fought.

Why doesn't he lure the curse away? If he continues to fight so close they will kill these people here. But there was no time to think.

Another trapped, another to save.

In the rubble, a man cried out, blood streaking down his face, his leg trapped by a massive beam, splintered and impaled on the shattered floor. The acrid stench of charred wood burned your nostrils as you rushed toward him, dodging the remains of a once sturdy structure now reduced to a death trap.

You grabbed the beam, muscles screaming, splinters embedded in your palms as you heaved with every ounce of your strength. The wood groaned but stubbornly held, the man's screams growing louder, cutting through the din of the ongoing battle.

"Hang on!" You screamed through clenched teeth, your veins pulsing as your eyes desperately scanned the wreckage for something, anything, to use as leverage.

The man's hand gripped your ankle, his eyes, wide and terrified, locked with yours, a silent plea etched into every crease of his pain-stricken face. A fresh explosion detonated behind you, a sinister crescendo of cursed energy that sent shadows dancing wildly through the chaos.

Debris, relentless and indiscriminate, rained down as the remains of the lodge groaned ominously, threatening imminent collapse. In this perilous moment, the bitter taste of despair clawed at your throat, every second a taunt against the relentless march of time.

Weak. Weak. Weak. Weak.

Swallowing hard, your eyes traced the cruel angle of the beam, down to where it impaled flesh and bone, understanding, reluctant and horrified, blooming in your chest. Your hands, slick with sweat and stained with his blood, trembled.

"We have to," you began, voice barely a whisper, your words choked by a thick knot in your throat, "I have to—your leg, I..."

His eyes, already dulling with agony, flickered with an understanding just as terrible. "Do it," he breathed, a single tear escaping to trail down his cheek, "please."

Shuddering, you reached to your side, your fingers closing around the hilt of your blade. Its familiar, cool touch offered no comfort as you lifted it, the steel glinting ominously amidst the wreckage. You steadied your hand, whispered a hoarse apology into the desperate silence, and lowered the blade.

A scream, raw and soul-shattering, tore through the air, intertwining with a sound you hadn't realized was your own sobbing until your vision blurred with tears. You turned away, the sight of his newly freed, mutilated form too much, but the haunting echo of his agony remained, an indelible stain on your conscience.

Adrenaline coursed through your veins as you tightly wrapped your jacket around the man's bleeding stump, trying to staunch the flow.

"Stay with me," you whispered, voice barely steady, hands shaking as you worked, nothing left of your usual surgical precision.

Then a sudden, intense presence emerged behind you. "Found you."

Panic struck as the malevolent presence loomed, its aura sickeningly oppressive, instantly suffocating the area. Your heart raced, pulsing violently against your ribs as the enormous curse lunged forward, a sinister grin distorting its hideous features.

Your hand wrapped around the hilt of your blade, instinctively positioning your body between the injured man and the approaching curse.

No time. No options.

You thrust your katana up, deflecting his hideous blow with a guttural scream, the impact reverberating violently through your bones. Your name, a tortured scream, echoed from afar—Satoru, fighting, reaching, his eyes burning with fear.

But he was bound, more curses leaping into his path, sneering, cackling, weaving a sinister barricade between you. His blows were deadly, precise, but for every curse he struck, another rose, an endless tide of malevolence keeping him at bay.

It was a trap.

But you would not fall here.

Not today.

The wind screamed through broken windows, carrying shards of splintered wood and glass. The hollow, menacing gaze of the curse pierced into you, an abyss of malevolence that saw you, saw through you. With a swift, voracious energy, it lunged again.

Your legs tensed, foot slammed forward. The curse was sent sliding back across a minefield of shattered remains. Without hesitation, your katana was a silver flash, striking, aiming to extinguish the threat in an instant.

The curse howled, agony and rage intertwining in its grotesque features. Yet, in a mere heartbeat, the curse was back on its feet, lunging into another assault.

Your breath hitched as the curse's claws barely missed your torso, grazing your arm instead. Blood, vivid and scarlet, sprayed into the cold air, staining your clothing and grounding the pain in reality. Stumbling backwards, you fought against the fog of agony that tried to cloud your vision, gritting your teeth to keep a scream behind them. Memories, ghosts of Satoru's words, haunted the chaos of your mind.