Chapter Text
The clock startles you, drawing you away from your reading. A short, robotic bleep; the numbers flicker red against black, heralding midnight.
With a sigh, you close the book and rise, walking to the window. It’s been pouring for hours now, and rainwater flows down the glass like tears.
Cold. The city is cold and dark, overrun with a flood of souls and living blood. Neon lights flash in jittery repetition like an irregular pulse, reflected by a veiny system of wet roads: red, blue, red, blue.
Worry binds your heart, and thoughts roil like wind.
Where is he?
You had a day off—a luxury rarely afforded in the Jujutsu world—but your friend’s work is out there on the frontlines. For him, the very concept of a ‘day off’ is, most of the time, no more than that. Always gone, always alone out there, lately. Sometimes you land a mission together where you do your part as an auxiliary manager, but those are few and far between.
You won't call, it’s a given. Any disruptions could lead to injury or worse, and even the mere thought of Suguru being harmed brings forth anxiety, a weight forcing your airways shut.
He’s your friend and the first person who helped guide you when you first reached Tokyo: so patient, laid-back, and generous with his time. The affinity was instant and mutual, and a couple of years later, here you are: sharing a rent. You learned many things about Suguru Geto since then, some wonderful, some worrying—such as his tendency to drive himself into the ground for this vocation.
But in the end, he’s only human, isn't he?
Your thoughts are cut by the familiar, metallic click and turn of a key.
The door to the apartment opens, and the newcomer eases inside.
“Suguru…” You turn, eyes finding him, watching his movements for anything amiss.
Suguru raises his head at your voice, the previous blank expression losing to a fickle smile. “Hey.”His motions are sluggish, his gaze unfocused. It’s been one of those missions, then.
He’s drenched by the rain: his hair, his dark uniform, his skin. “How was your day off?” he asks, propping a hand against the wall and kicking off his shoes.
“It was... it was fine.” Your voice betrays worry, no matter your attempt to smother it.
It must’ve been a difficult exorcism, you think, as he slumps into a kitchen chair.
You go and sit across from him, leaning forward with your elbows resting on the table between you.
He looks exhausted, his complexion sickly, as though he’s taken poison and is living through the worst of it. It’s not the first time you’ve seen it, nor will it be the last.
The rain patters against the windows, puncturing the silence. Suguru hangs his head, rubs at his right eye, and carelessly undoes the uniform button at his chest before shrugging the entire thing off and hanging it on the back of the chair.
“I suppose I shouldn’t ask…” you try, watching him roll up the sleeves of his shirt.
You want to know what kind of special grade he dealt with, but you can't get yourself to press: the strain is on his face, seen in the bags under his eyes, the tension in his body. He looks nauseous. No, talking about it won't help, not now.
Suguru shakes his head, then reaches for a pack of cigarettes and stands.
You follow him out on the small balcony, both leaning against the rail. The rain stopped for a reprieve as you hold out your hand, feeling the sparse drops falling from the sky. The sounds of wheels turning on wet asphalt reach you from the streets below.
Suguru lights a cigarette, staring ahead. On the first exhale of smoke, it looks as though he wants to spit his lungs out.
You know how it goes by now: his cursed spirit manipulation technique leaves him with an aftermath few could bear or live with for long, but still, he does it.
If there's anything Suguru possesses to call his own, it's strong principles and an immutable conviction as far as his role in this world goes.
His silence, in any other context, would feel comfortable. But now his jaw is tight, and he’s crossed his arms at his chest, as if straining to keep all the curses he’s absorbed from breaking free to wreak havoc.
All you can do is reach out, fingers smoothing his dark hair away from his face; a stunted motion, but one you couldn’t resist.
Suguru sketches no reaction to your touch at first. He takes another drag of his cigarette and looks over, holding your gaze. Dark eyes roam over your face.
Your stomach flips, a meld of relief and affection rushing through you, coiling around your ribs like wildflowers. You wonder at this renewed sense of hope as your fingers glide down his cheek, wiping away a droplet of gore.
“It feels as if it’s all too much these days…” you murmur, “even for you.”
Suguru smiles again, once a confident grin—now, a heartbreaking display when contrasting with his state. Sometimes, in recent months, you’d see an odd light in his stare, a spark ready to ignite a sea of flames; but it only lingers for a moment before it dies, and he’s back to the one you know.
“It is,” he says. “But… you’re here.” His eyes close as he leans into your palm, nuzzling against it, the brush of his skin warm and silky on yours.
You swallow.
Sometimes, he makes these small gestures that hide a greater meaning; it’s who he is. You like to think you’re used to it by now.
You’d like to think. “Suguru, are you all righ—”
“Help me.” His words are a warm, rushed whisper against your hand.
You know what it means; you know it helps him on a physical level to recuperate sometimes after overusing his technique. You’re close, the closest you’ve ever been, both very aware of the other in many ways: qualities, needs, hopes, personality.
And sometimes, sometimes… You oblige each other.
He’s done the same for you before.
And you did miss him, the anticipation pooling down your core an irrefutable proof. “Then…” your thumb strokes his jaw, gliding to the corner of his lips.
Suguru slowly draws back, catlike eyes opening. His lips part as he puts out the unfinished cigarette, a tremble to his fingers. “I need a shower.”
You can’t help but smile and chew on your lip as he passes you, his hand grazing the small of your back. “Wait for me?”
“Where would I go?” you tease, voice a little choked.
Selfish? Yes, you most certainly are. Suguru is kind and possibly the most courteous person you’ve met among your peers, and he’d do anything for the people he cares about. When you first spoke of your closeness and deepening friendship, you agreed to keep things open, not least because your occupations didn’t allow for much more.
Distance means safety.
Distance means less pressure.
But, there’s a flip side to everything, and deep inside you wonder—would anyone else, apart from Satoru, maybe, be able to remain by his side for as long as you both have?
The answer doesn't matter, does it?
You stare ahead at the city, not slowing for a moment despite the hour. Wetness splashes your face anew, and faraway thunder rolls with renewed vigor. Rain falls, slower this time, reluctant drops that induce a near catatonic state of mind.
It takes a moment to feel the arms wrapping around your middle.
“Hi again,” you murmur.
Suguru buries his face against your neck; the softness of lips follows, slow and purposeful on your skin.
“Hi,” he says, hugging you tighter and pressing a kiss to your jaw. His hands feel heavy on your body, one sliding down your thigh while the other reaches up to your ribs, ghosting the side of a breast.
You have to admit, whatever lies you tell yourself, your body will always deny it through the swift, unruly reactions to his proximity. You missed him, and now…
Now you want him in ways that make your head spin.
Base. Primal.
Knowingly, the hand on your thigh drifts inward and up, up, up. His chest heaves against your back, and his grip is tighter when he reaches the warmth between your legs. “May I?”
You nod, a smile against your neck as his hand presses deeper, massaging the hot center through the material of your nightgown.
You huff a short breath; Suguru’s smile falters into a sigh.
“So warm…” he squeezes gently, his long hand arched and slowly moving back and forth between your legs.
You grasp his other arm, knees already useless. The rain is cold, his mouth is warm. His hair is loose and still wet from the shower, dripping down your collarbone as he tilts your chin to him, and presses his lips to yours.
Suguru tastes good. He’s always tasted better than anyone you recall, now deepening the kiss faster than you can react, and you sense the frenzy building behind that pressure. The hand between your legs draws your hips against his.
“… you're so…” his fingers never stopped teasing your slit through your clothes, and he’s hardening against your rear as he speaks, “...delicious,” he says, sucking harshly on your lower lip before melding his mouth to yours with even more urgency.
You can barely get an intake of breath, and as good as this feels, you're both getting pelted by the rain now.
Not that he cares: one hand holding you by the jaw and the other weakening you, he feels overwhelming, so much so that it hurts a little as you break the kiss. “Suguru, the rain…”
“Yes, you’re right,” he mumbles, still nipping and licking at your lips, “Of course, of course, you’re right…” and with that, he all but drags you after him as you are, never releasing you.
You reach the one room with a double bed—usually yours to sleep in—where he throws you down, following and dragging you under him, pausing for a moment to stare at you. He’s wearing nothing but loose dark pants, and your eyes are drawn to the ragged cross of scars lining his chest. Unable to resist, you trace one with your finger, then rise and kiss along it as he holds the back of your head.
“You… I’m so… glad you’re here, I’m…” he doesn't continue, instead pushing you down by the shoulders and hastily sliding your nightgown up your thighs with both hands. His movements are clipped and deliberate, through the kisses sucked along your sensitive inner thigh and his head dipping lower and lower. His breath is hot, eyes half-lidded as he looks up at you briefly while gently pulling aside your panties.
Your lower body shivers with need, the sight alone throwing you in a daze—he’s good at this, you know he is, and he—
Your thoughts disperse; your mind empties when he runs his tongue along your slit in a slow, hot, languid stripe.
“Oh god…” he says against your cunt, hands on your inner thighs keeping them spread as he melds his lips to your tender, fleshy folds.
You clutch at the sheet, fingers finding purchase in his hair when he sucks on your clit with the softest insistence, eyes closed, a furrow to his brow that you’d mistake for concentration if it weren't for the needy sounds slipping as he takes you slowly, again and again; thirsty, wanting.
You're at a breaking point, thighs trembling beneath the pressure of his soothing hands, mouth watering in pleasure at the sight and sensation of his pink tongue circling your clit, and all you can articulate is his name.
“Mm?” He doesn't even look up, still eating you out with maddening insistence, sucking on your pussy lips before licking between them, up to your clit and down to your clenching hole, slipping his hardened tongue inside and urging your hips to move against his mouth.
“I-I’m-I’ll…”
A stutter of muscles, and he won't stop but keeps eating you out like he's in his own dream, urging you on with his eyes closed.
“Come on… for me, will you…? You taste so good, so-so-good, did I ever tell you that? If not I’m… an idiot-your scent-your—...”
You can't hear the rest over the waves of a sudden high, nerves suffused with pleasure and the deepest relief you’ve ever felt. Suguru breathes against your quivering cunt, enjoying as your fingers lazily card through his hair. When he looks up at you again, his eyes are feverish, his lips aglow with your shine.
He crawls up to you like a stalking feline, pulling down his pants and reaching for a bedside drawer at the same time. “Where… did you have those…”
“It’s fine,” you urge him back down. “On the pill for a while now.”
He watches you for a moment, then leans in for a slow, open-mouthed kiss. His erection is pressed against your dripping mess, his forearms on either side of your head, hands caressing your temples.
He’s heavy against you, but it’s that pleasant heaviness that goes with a craving to be consumed. Just as you think this, Suguru severs the kiss, rising to his knees.
“Off. Take it off,” he says, his voice low and breathy as he slides his pants down his hips.
You don't even get to comply before he’s yanking the garment off himself, unveiling your body with jerked, impatient movements. “Much better…” he says, and for a moment you see it—that light in his eyes, the spark that both scares and thrills.
But you’re easily distracted by the sight and sound of him pumping his cock as he stares at you so hungrily, as he drags you by the hip towards him and grabs you by one ankle, resting your leg over his shoulder.
It strikes you how attractive the sight of him is, and you make sure to capture the memory: the slight crease between his eyebrows and the deepened flush across his cheekbones, his disheveled inky hair, the parted lips as he rubs the wet tip of his thick erection against your needy slit. The way the muscles in his abdomen tense and the soft, barely audible moans leaving him with each stroke. “Ready?” he asks, but doesn't wait for an answer and you grit your teeth, watching the head of his cock disappear inside your body. “Good girl… a little more, you can take me…”
“Suguru, wait, it’s—” you hiss at the sudden thrust, back arching off the bed.
Suguru clamps a hand over your mouth, hips pressing down as you cry out against his palm. “… all in, it’s fine. I told you, like last time…”
But last time it wasn't quite like this. Last time was a slow, tender affair full of exploration. This feels like an impending storm and he feels different, too.
You enjoy it. This is him, still him.
He sank inside you to the hilt but now doesn't move, locking eyes with you. He’s biting down on his lip; his cock twitches inside your cunt, once, twice.
You involuntarily tilt your hips upward. He’s aware enough to see the feverish desire in your eyes, in the way your tongue peeks out to lick at the inside of his palm.
Suguru smiles—there it is, that fox-like grin, a little tired but reminiscent of better, brighter days.
Affection melts into the urgent need for more.
Suguru removes his hand from your mouth and slinks out of you slowly, torturously, until the thick head barely grazes your hot entrance.
The sudden thrust slams right back into you. Your vision sways. “God...”
“I know…” he gasps, fingers digging into your hip bone, his other hand grasping the leg still propped against his shoulder.
Another thrust leaves you dizzy, the angling of his hips changing as he leans forward, pressing more of his body weight onto you, and then—
He knows rhythm, he’s always had an innate understanding of it, and now that sense of his must be at work because his pace is a lascivious crescendo, the long drags of his cock inside you harder and faster and just how you like them, his chest rising and falling, shaken by his labored breathing. His eyes catch your stare, clouded with pleasure from the incessant, decadent ebb and flow.
He fucks into you faster, until his skin is sleek with sheen and you're moaning helplessly from his sweet, merciless intrusions. In truth, you never have time, never enough energy to invest in someone else. It just comes with the territory, with the way of life most people would never understand. “Suguru…”
At the silent question in his eyes, you add:
“Harder…”
A huff of laughter escapes him. He wastes no time pulling out—you feel the loss immediately, a whimper your protest, but it’s short-lived as he turns you over.
“On your knees.”
You comply, rising to all fours in a breath. A slap to your ass nearly has you tumbling forward on the bed but the firm grasp on your hips keeps you tethered. He pulls you right back onto his cock, moaning softly as you involuntarily clench and squeeze; telling you how tight you are, how fine and slick you feel, all the while placing warm, shallow kisses along your spine.
And then the world tilts sideways. You can hear nothing but the slap of his hips, feel nothing but the building rush inside as he pumps into you with vicious strength, punishing you at a pace that has you quivering and crying out.
“Harder? Is that what you said?...” There’s no trace of teasing or humor in his tone as he fucks you deeper, and the more you struggle, the more bruising his hold on you becomes.
You barely avoid biting on your tongue as your body shakes from his pitiless moves until you can’t take it anymore: your arms give way, and you fall over, face muffled against the sheet. “S-Suguru...”
He rams you into the bed, leaning down and sucking on your ear as you lie there and take it and take it and take it. For how long?
“SUGURU—”
The cleaving pleasure of an exquisite orgasm is a coil, unwinding where your bodies are joined to spread like heavenly vines through your body.
Suguru flips you over at the same time, entering you and going completely still; his arms wind around you in a hot embrace. “I love… I love it when you do that,” he whispers against your neck, enjoying the uncontrollable spasming of your cunt around him.
As you come down, he picks up the pace again; your legs cross around his torso, your heels touching the small of his back.
“That’s right…” You sigh as he groans into your neck, “Use me… use me…”
“What?... Say that again.” His voice is pleading now, in direct opposition to the ruthless treatment from moments before.
“I want you… to use me, Suguru,” you repeat, and oh, how you mean it. He feels even deeper now, raising his head, your lips barely touching as he moves. “Use me! Use me-use me-god-fuck…” and he’s doing just that, moaning against your mouth as your hands come fisted in his hair and you pull.
His movement is erratic, rhythm and all failing before successive, incessant, desperate pounding, so deep it hurts and—
His hips stutter once, twice, and he clutches at you fiercely when warmth floods your cunt, hot cum spurting as he keeps you trapped beneath him until you’re full of it.
You lie chest to chest, breathing each other’s air. Your fingers ease the grip on his hair. When he tries to move, your hands press down onto the hard muscle of his behind. “Stay inside me for a while longer?...”
His amber eyes soften; you can feel his heart beating against your chest as though it wants to burst free of its own cage. Suguru doesn’t answer but tilts you both to the side, an arm wound around your middle, the other on the thigh draped over his hip, keeping you entangled.
You’re spent, all the life force drained from your body, while he looks as though he’s run a marathon without pause: face flushed, muscles gleaming, tense and warm against your softness. His honeyed irises are brighter.
“Did it? Help?...” you ask, tucking yourself against his chest. The distant roll of thunder returns outside.
“Help?… Oh, yes, absolutely. But…” he pauses, like the times he does when mulling over the right words. A trace returns of the Suguru you know most of the time: the gentle, responsible one. Usually so selfless and kind that one would be hard-pressed to believe he’s caused the bruises currently forming on your hips.
“But?” you ask, barely able to stay awake now; he’s so, so warm, and so close, and your mind can barely process coherent thoughts.
“I…”
You never hear the rest, drifting away, light and content as a leaf wayworn by the wind. Tomorrow… all else can wait until tomorrow.
Morning light shivers across your eyelids, warms your cheek, and consciousness returns from its restful seclusion. The sheets and pillow cozily hug your naked form, as does the arm coiled about your waist and the body curled around yours. Memories from the night emerge, and your eyelashes flutter as you bask in this element of intimacy: his face hidden in your hair, nose touching the nape of your neck; his soft, regular breathing tickling your skin. As far as you can tell, Suguru’s not awake yet, his arm resting heavily around your middle.
But when you try to rise, that arm slowly pulls you back in, accompanied by a low voice, roughened by sleep. “Stay… a little longer…”
You’d be lying if you said this awakens nothing in you, something safe, peaceful, and tender—but neither of you signed up for any of that. “Working early today,” you say through a smile. “Have to get ready, Suguru.”
“Mm… right,” comes a drowsy mumble, and his hold weakens as you slip off the bed.
In the shower, you remember more fragments, aided by the aching muscles in your thighs and the bruises on your hips. You like that side of him, more than you thought you would. The subtle, controlling notes in his voice as he drove you insane, that ‘please’ spoken so eagerly by the end…
You turn the water temperature even lower. That was then, this is now. Wake up. Nothing will change between the two of you, just like it didn’t last time—you’re aware enough to realize that, and you know he feels the same. Or, you think you know. Right, no use dwelling on that.
When you enter the living room and kitchenette area, Suguru’s there too, standing with his back to you, handling the glass water boiler. He’s pulled on his dark house pants and a gray t-shirt, his loose black hair draping over his shoulders.
“Hey,” you yawn, dressed and ready, sitting at the table with your bag and trying not to groan at the slight muscular ache felt with each movement. He didn’t spare you at all, damn it.
But what are you going to do? Complain about giving you what you asked for? ‘Harder’, huh? The thought makes you smile and roll your eyes at yourself.
“Tea or coffee?” Suguru asks, looking over his shoulder at you. “... what’s the smile for?” He’s visibly relaxed, unburdened by the restlessness of the evening.
“Oh, umm… nothing. Tea, please… hibiscus! If there’s any left.”
“As long as I’m here, there will always be stock of that,” he turns back around.
The lightness of his tone feels good, the choice of words less so. You choose not to ponder too much on it, though, instead rummaging inside your bag to ensure you have everything for work. “Heh, forgot you love the stuff.”
Suguru comes over and takes a seat opposite you at the table, pushing a cup of crimson tea within your reach.
“Thank you,” you say without looking his way, fiddling and arranging this and that object inside your workbag.
Feeling watched, you pause and raise your eyes. Sunrays filter through the open blinds, softening his features with a warm glow. He’s propped leisurely against the backrest of the chair, cup of tea in hand. You find yourselves in the same position at the table as the night before, though the mood is wildly different.
“... what?” You like the geniality of his stare, an infrequent sight lately.
Suguru shakes his head, then drinks from his tea and leans forward, setting the cup aside. “We’re fine, aren’t we?”
Oh, is that what this is about? “Of course we are. I am. You…?”
A faint smile. “Never better.”
You raise an eyebrow. “... then why ask?”
“Just… checking,” his gaze drifts towards the balcony, the smile still pulling at his lips.
Suguru, ever the thoughtful one. You think this fondly, though with half a mind to make a joke about what he’s done to certain parts of your body. You’re not sure how he’d take that, though, so… better not. You’ve known each other for years, sure, but this was only the second time you’ve had sex, after all.
Distance means safety.
But ever since you’ve started benefiting from each other this way, as much as you’d like to not think about it… There is a subtle, barely discernible change in that liminal space that separates you and him. You realize you’d been lost in thought as the door to the balcony closes, and you turn briefly to see Suguru outside, lighting a cigarette.
Suguru watches you rise and continue to prepare, arranging your shirt and going back to your bedroom—likely having forgotten something. He follows your silhouette with his eyes, taking a long drag of smoke into his lungs and holding it. On an exhale, his hand grasps the rail, eyes closing.
Not for the first time, he wonders what the hell he’s doing, and why. Last night, when he came home, he wasn’t tired; he was angry. Some curses he subdues do cause states he has to purge somehow afterward to regain his balance, but this was not one of them.
No, he was at the end of his tether, again. Nothing, nothing has ever been the same since his failure four years ago, and he’s tried so, so hard and for so long. He tried to accept the consequences, to keep to his principles after Riko, even after finding Mimiko and Nanako. He often returns to that evening in the village, to that sight that made his heart drop to his feet, wondering how it could’ve been different. He’d done the right thing, he’d called Jujutsu officials that very moment to take the girls away, but…
He clenches his fist, turning briefly to the streets, where endless streams of people rush about. Is this all for them? Fear makes monsters of people. Fear of the unknown, of things they envy or can’t understand.
He’d been alone for most of the time since those days, year after year. But he understands—like him, both Shoko and Satoru have their hands full with the ever-rising tide of curses, and sometimes the sinuous side of dealing with Jujutsu Tech politics. He doesn't envy Satoru at all in that respect.
Suguru raises his head, staring at a clear blue sky. It all used to be different, but then... change is the only constant. He does miss those moments with his old friends, sometimes painfully so. A sunny spring. Satoru. A chance missed. But then he forgot about all that when a girl's blood splattered his tunic. Sometimes, he still hears the gunshot and the clapping, intermingling in a mocking symphony. In his dreams, she dies over and over again, and they all smile wider and applaud, hovering over her lifeless body.
He grits his teeth, shakes his head as though to free himself of his own mind. Is this all for… them…
Suguru takes another drag of his cigarette. Yes, he’d been angry last night, his mind fogged with the taste and slime of negative emotions being absorbed by his cells and his spirit.
And then he saw your face, and your worried glance depleted him of that helpless, overwhelming fury. Someone who cares, who knows nothing of his failures. You thought he was exhausted, and he let you. He took what you were willing to give, let himself be cleansed by your nearness, the scent of your skin, and the heat of your body. Even now, his heart beats faster remembering the way you cried his name.
If only he could freely express the relief he felt and tell you all that lies beyond it, but a part of him is ashamed; you hold him in so high esteem, you’ve let him so close, trusting him with so much, most of all your friendship. Suguru chews on his lip. Luckily for him, it appears you didn’t actually hear what he said to you at the end. That might’ve uselessly complicated everything.
He sighs.
“I’m off, then.”
Your voice has him looking up. You’re standing there, on the balcony threshold.
“Who are you working with today?” he asks.
You snap your fingers. “Haibara-san.”
“I see. That’s good.” He’s dependable enough. “Be careful.”
You roll your eyes, nodding. “Am I not always? And right back at you, all right? See you today maybe—in one piece, hopefully.”
“Hopefully,” Suguru snorts. “Hey, wait!” he calls after you, remembering. “Are you heading to the campus at all today?”
“I am. Setting out from there, why?”
He follows you inside, returning with two small satchels. “I might not make it. So, will you please stop by the dorm and hand these over to Mimiko-chan and Nanako-chan for me? Small gifts from my trip to Nagoya.”
Your eyes smile. “Of course! Suguru, you…”
He tilts his head, expectant.
You stare at him for a moment longer. “Those girls care for you deeply.”
“As I do for them.”
“You’re really something else.”
Oh, if only you knew. But his eyes turn to crescents as he smiles that benign, cheerful smile.
“Well…” you stuff the satchels inside your bag. “See you later!”
“Yes... later.”
Each day either of you leaves for a mission, there’s no certainty of tomorrow. He’s never pulled you in, to urge you to be prudent in other ways, to show you his worry and embrace you like he wants to lately, outside the bounds of mutual convenience.
Hah… coward.
“Haibara-san… Haibara-san! Can you hear me?”
The signal is never the best due to interference caused by the veil but it’s never failed like this before. Someone answers the phone. All you hear is static.
Damn it.
You stare anxiously at the dark barrier you’d lowered more than an hour ago over a funeral hall in Setagaya. Just the place for curses to gain momentum, you think. The brief said ‘semi-grade 1 cursed spirit’. Haibara dealt with those before over the past year, but you have little information to go on when it comes to this one’s abilities.
After several moments of hesitation, you reach a decision. Losing contact with the assigned mission lead usually warrants a call for backup, but you’ve been out with Haibara before. There is a level of trust and collaboration between you, and despite being an auxiliary manager, you have enough cursed energy to support him if need be. Sometimes you wonder if you should’ve tried harder, aimed for graduating as a sorcerer yourself. Well, bygones. You also know just the person who’d be none too happy about that—which shouldn’t matter to you, not as much as it does, anyway. “You keep harping on about the dangers of being a sorcerer, Suguru, but what am I to do?” you mutter. It certainly would have helped now, you think, crossing through the veil.
The building is silent. “Haibara-san!” you call, your weapon at the ready—a tessen, a special grade cursed tool obtained via Satoru from his family stash. Suguru insisted, vehemently, that you accept it as a gift ever since you began heading out alone. It pulses in your hand, the cursed technique vibrating through your nerves.
Cold sweat drips down your spine at the unnerving silence: you could never completely shed the fear from your body in high-strung conditions. Principal Yaga once said that’s healthy, a sign that you’re prepared to fight.
Roof shingles are falling everywhere. You jump back, waving the tessen just in time to repel the debris and violet-tinted fumes bursting through the caved-in structure.
You see the apparition, just barely, before a bright slash culls the creeping tendrils, turning them to dust.
Haibara.
“Are you hurt?!”
“The tessen, use it now!” He yells back, both hands clamped together in a seal.
Right. You snap the fan open, its metal ribs singing in your grip. You wave it in a pattern, focusing the aim of the cursed energy blow towards the apparition, through sheer luck timing it with the sorcerer’s strike.
The curse withers to a strangled mess before you both, and you’re trapped there, watching as bruised fumes slither towards you—it’s not long before you’re gagging, eyes watery and lungs burning. You’re being dragged away by someone.
“Thank you… that was close… so-so close…” Haibara murmurs. “Thank you… we did it. Are you fine? I’m sorry, it was a stubborn one…”
“I’m fine.” You feel as though you've bathed in a pool of warm sake and drunk just as much while still coughing your lungs out. “Well...a little out of sorts... ”
You reach the car outside the dispersing veil, both leaning against its metal body and sighing in relief.
Haibara glances at you. You glance back. All things considered, he appears unhurt, maybe a bit ruffled.
“You don’t look so good,” he says.
Huh. “How do you mean?”
Haibara squints, then rubs at his right eye and observes you closer. “Your pupils look… strange. Maybe you should visit Ieiri-san for a check-up, just to make sure?”
Your hearing is shot. Your vision is tinged with violet at the edges, and your legs feel weak at the joints. A peculiar taste is in your mouth. “... yeah. Yeah, that might be a good idea.”
“Come on,” he urges. “I’ll write up the mission report this time.”
The weather is far from hot. You pull at the collar of your shirt. You’ve struck a fever, or so it feels. “... t-thank you.”
“Hmm.”
“Well…?”
You’re seated on the examination table in the doctor's office, eyelids heavy and breaths ragged.
Ieiri-san is poised before you, having just removed her stethoscope. “Elevated heartbeat, but nothing else out of the ordinary as far as vitals go,” she says. “How do you feel now?”
How do you feel? Drowsiness took over your arms and legs; your heart does seem to beat right up your throat. You rub your thighs together, unable to help it. “Like something’s missing.”
Ieiri-san smiles, removing her gloves. “Since you say you’ve inhaled the residuals of that curse, I can only deduce that you have a mild intoxication… Despite that, I can’t see or sense any such residuals on you.”
“... s-strange, isn’t it? Haibara-san seemed to be fine... But then, what else can one expect…” The meaning of strange has reached a different level from the moment you became active in the Jujutsu world.
Ieiri-san helps you stand. “My only thought is this: since the curse’s been exorcised, the residual effects should wear off as well.” She pauses before speaking again. “I’m just not certain how lasting they are. Are you able to go home like this?”
Well, it’s certainly a weakening state, but not life-threatening in any way, is it? You’ll be able to crawl back. “Yes, I think so.”
“I’d drive you myself, but I’m stuck here for another consultation. Ijichi, however, is still around. Stop by the office and ask him, why don’t you? I seem to remember your place is in his way.”
“It is…” You murmur, fumbling with your shirt buttons as you dress; your body feels brimming with smoldering embers, and you wipe your brow of pinpricks of sweat.
After urging you to come and see her again tomorrow and words of gratitude from you, Ieiri-san lets you go. What did you want to do?
Right, find Ijichi… Get home…
Crossing the corridor toward the administrative office proves more difficult than you thought. Your legs stumble over each other; the embers in your body burn hotter. Something… something’s missing, missing so badly it hurts.
Suguru…
Like salt in an open wound, his name and all the meaning behind it spikes your feverish state, turning your chest and lower abdomen into a pulsing mess. You wonder what he’s doing, how his mission went…
Will he be there when you come home?
You shake your head, leaning with a shoulder against the cold wall as if the lifeless contact could crush some reason into you.
So what if he will be… so what… A violent rush hastens down your core instead of an answer; a new kind of pain you’d not experienced before, that of ravaging, unbearable need. Shame fills you at the viciously selfish trail of thought, but…
Your name echoes along the gray, dimly lit corridor.
The voice is both a balm to your mind and a rake to your lungs. Your breath stutters as you glance up ahead, catching sight of your friend’s confounded stare.
Running fingers through his hair, Suguru absently frees it from its tie. He’s a mess after today.
The daily grind of this work is, as ever, a taxing routine; the supernatural strengths of malevolence bred from their emotions are barely contained and subdued by his own.
He’s famished. Annoyed. Confused.
He’s exhausted.
Can he keep this up? Again and again, the question swirls through his mind: is it worth it? For them?
Suguru couldn’t help it—any other time, he’d never show up to see the girls after a mission, looking as disheveled and grimy as he usually does. But today he craved it: their smiles, their grounding presence. They thanked him for the gifts, they hugged him despite his warnings of how filthy he was, they insisted on wiping his face of blood.
It helps, it always does. If not for them, he’d be alone. Again, he wonders if following the path of sorcerers is the right call for them. Cogs in another machine. Ultimately, it will be their own choice, but it still makes him fret.
And then there’s—
You?...
Suguru stops in his tracks, eyes widening at the sight of you, knees buckling together, a shoulder propped against the wall. He can hear your labored breaths even from this distance.
His legs are moving faster than his sense; he nearly collides with you in his rush. “What’s wrong?” he asks, tilting your chin up.
He freezes.
Your countenance unsettles: pupils dilated so wide your eyes are black glistening depths, your face drawn from unseen strain, brow crunched in… pain? He can’t tell. And a scent…
He doesn’t know what it is, but it pulls him in like a warm flame in a winter storm.
“Suguru, you’re here… How come?” You clutch his dark jacket at his chest as you lean into him, his own hands swift to grab onto your arms.
“Forget that. Why are you in this state?” His fingers spasm where they grip you.
“I had… a small mishap today.” Words, slurred. Vision, drowsy. And that odd, drunken smile?…
“A mishap.” His voice is colder than he’d meant it to be. “Did Shoko examine you?”
You nod in assent, your weight falling even more against his as you struggle through a brief retelling of the mission.
“I see,” he says at last, and narrows his eyes, taking a closer look at you. No, there are indeed no visible residuals from the curse, nothing as profuse or intense as to be detected.
But something is there. It’s as though it fused with you, infiltrating your cells, altering your chemistry, changing your scent… He feels it, even as he feels similar sensations unfurling from the depths. He’s been through this too many times not to know.
You push against him suddenly and sloppily, trying to right yourself on your feet and shielding your eyes with your palm. “Sorry… I’m sorry… I didn’t mean to push you like that, I just… I hate this, it’ll wear off…”
“Hey.” He’s being as gentle as he can, as composed as the situation allows. He would never, ever want you to feel embarrassed when it comes to him, to hide, or to run. He can’t bear the thought of it. Suguru draws you back in, taking advantage of your halfhearted resistance.
…Yes, if it’s to make things right, Suguru can and will use any means available. He will lie, exploit, take advantage. He will be anything for the people he loves. The end of that thought slams into him as he looks down at you.
Tears of frustration well in your eyes. “It’s not fair… we’re not… you’re not obliged to… to deal with this.” No matter you can’t even stand on your own two feet.
Aggravating. Stubborn. Suguru grips your chin between his thumb and forefinger. Watching, gaze dropping to those wet lips that you’ve bitten raw. Gently tilting your head, he licks up the warm, translucent trail falling down your cheek; hears your weak moan as your mouth falls open, feels your body seizing, face turning as his tongue slowly glides beneath your closed eye. “Don’t push me away…” he says, tasting down your cheek the salt of tears and the changed aroma of skin.
Yes, he can feel the affliction, tingling against his lips now. Despite its nature, it’s a lush decadence that sears his throat, thrumming through his body like a tonic.
He wants more.
Your lips find his jaw. Your breath, warm on his skin; you’re clinging to him again.
“It’s all right… It’ll be all right,” he says. Of course it will.
“Suguru, please…”
Oh, but he’s a devious man.
Why else would he love the way you beg at a time like this?
He envelops you, holds your trembling body flush against him, his cheek pressed to your feverish forehead. Yes, he knows exactly what to do. “Let’s get you home.”
Somehow, you make it to his car together. You can barely see straight at this point, even less so think past the blood gushing through your veins, hot and wild and merciless, drowning you with one thought and one thought only dripping down your core. An endless, shameless call.
Suguru, Suguru, Suguru.
Nothing else will satisfy.
It has to be him.
You gasp as he twists and turns you to help you into the seat; his closeness became a necessity long ago. You can barely keep your hands from touching, feeling, roaming; barely release him so he can get into the driver’s seat.
It’s torture. It’s humiliating, this craze, being this bent out of shape for someone.
“Soon, we’ll be home soon,” is all he says, his voice earnest in reassurance. There’s a rough edge to it full of promise that grazes your nerves, shooting those electrifying pulses between your legs.
Your cunt tightens at the mere thought of soon.
It makes the wait even more unbearable. You look at him, panting, studying the shapes of him, all the little details you’ve come to know. Suguru returns your glance before his eyes turn back to the road.
Soon, soon, soon.
To hell with 'soon'.
Your hand is on his thigh; the muscle tenses at your touch, and gratification swells at the certainty that you affect him this way. Your fevered gaze catches his brief stare, then trails down the bob of his throat.
“Wait—”
“Can’t.” Who the hell is this? Is it you? You want to feel warmth, want to hear him, see how his face changes in pleasure, anything, anything, anything. Your hand roams up his thigh, skimming his hip, up to his belt. You pull at a loop.
Suguru tilts his head back, eyes still stubbornly focused on the road, his hands gripping the wheel so hard his knuckles whiten. “I mean it. This is… dangerous,” he says as your hand skims lower, finding him rock-hard.
“I don’t… care…” Horrible, horrible woman. But your thoughts are on the tip of your tongue, and you can’t rein in their crass honesty, hands unclasping your seat belt as you lean closer to inhale and lick up his throat, to suck on his earlobe. The cold gauge feels good against your hot mouth.
A soft groan, laced with desire. “Please.” Outright begging now.
He breathes through his nose while you palm him through his trousers, squeezing hungrily and rubbing your thighs together in the absence of touch.
Without another word from him, the steering wheel takes a sudden turn.
You fall back as Suguru pulls over. The rumble of the engine barely dies as he leans in and, without ceremony, reaches for you, fingers curling around the nape of your neck, dragging your face to his.
His lips crush yours, hot tongue demanding to intrude. You let him, you’d let him do anything to you at this moment. The sudden gush of warmth soaks your already dripping core, and you remember: residuals or not, no one’s ever had such command of your body, not the way he does.
His hand finds your shoulder, winds down to your chest, squeezing and thumbing at one breast through a moan.
Your eyes close. Suguru smells like a damned walking aphrodisiac to you, overpowering your will when he touches you exactly where you need it and how you need it; you smile like a fool, a hand disheveling his soft, dark strands as he licks at the dip of your collarbones, his own frenzy mellowing.
A click.
Your eyes open, glazed, meeting his darkened ones. You’re still so close, breathing each other’s air.
He draws back enough for you to look down: he’s fastened your seat belt.
Suguru kisses your forehead, lips skimming your skin as he speaks. “Won’t you wait a little longer for me, hm? We’re almost there.”
There’s a truth in his eyes that you can’t ignore, like a mesmerizing incantation stilling you and the torpor in your blood.
All you can do is nod beneath that languorous stare. Your eyelids droop lazily as Suguru properly retakes his seat, his gaze still blazing on you while he starts the engine.
You make a sheepish attempt to withdraw your touch from his thigh, but his warm hand presses your fingers back. “No,” he says, his Adam’s apple dipping as he swallows, eyes back on the road. “Keep it there.”
You do, melting back into the seat, licking at his taste in your mouth and hoping it’ll last you long enough.