Work Text:
A knock on the wooden counter, “The usual.”
The shopkeeper snorts, speaking in a low voice of a decades long chain smoker, “You might be good for business, young miss, but even I can’t help but wonder about your lungs.” Still, she turns her back to her to looks for her usual brand.
Shouko exhales smoke from her last cigarette, “It’s fine, I’m a doctor.” she tells her, looking around the empty streets and alleys. It’s of the rare times she leaves her office by herself; the long walk from the technical college to the only cigarette shop enough of a fresh air to purify her black lungs. For the past year, it’s been a content routine in a weekly basis, to come here and replenish her supply of nicotine.
It’s comforting to walk in the solitary streets devoid of people around, seeing that having some form of human presence near her signals a bad day. Shouko buries herself in the collar of her large jackets, the wind chipping at her bare forehead and whipping her hair uncontrollably.
She has the exact amount of cash and coin laid out for the shopkeeper, fingers already red from the cold exposure, but the older woman doesn’t take her money.
“No need for that, your boyfriend paid for you already.”
“Huh?” Shouko freezes, a reaction not from the freezing night, “Who?”
The shopkeeper sees nothing alarming in her baffled expression and continues speaking, “Yes, yes, tall boy, white hair, poor thing must have something bad happen to his eyes with all the bandages…” she says while searching for something under the store window, “Handsome boy nonetheless, paid just as handsomely to give you this.” she sets a box on the table, wrapped in colourful gift wrapping and even a bright, perfectly bouncy bow.
“When was that?” she asks, eyeing the box.
“Two? Three days ago? Maybe he missed an anniversary… don’t be too hard on him sweetheart. Happens a lot. Even during my marriage-”
“Uh-huh.” she interrupts with a sigh and shoves the box in the bag, “Thanks.” She leaves, still not taking her money back.
Shouko doesn’t have the mind to dig into her new supply, her bag heavier with what feels like cement. Shouko inhales frozen wind and the smog of the city that thins out as she gets closer to the technical college, replaced by nature and trees and the smell of damp soil from last day’s rain.
Upon returning to her office, she puts her fresh packs of cigarettes on the patient bed. Crossing her legs, she stares impassively and wearily at the colourful box sitting on the office table as if it were a bomb, deciding where to start unpacking this.
It’s been three years since she heard of either Gojou or Getou, two of them spent over medical books and the last directly shoved onto the job. And neither give any sign of life or activity, no matter how many people are still on the lookout for them since they decided to elope into defection, everything be damned.
To think now of all times. A week after Shouko’s birthday.
No use of simply staring at whatever this is, picks the gaudy wrapping apart, seeing a black paper box in; no labels, no names, not a card. Opening that too, she stares at what she sees.
Trust Gojou to be filthy rich even as an outlaw.
She’d seen that device on the television. One of the newest, most expensive phones in the market, those revolutionary iphone models that are all the rage nowadays. It’s hard to escape advertisement and marketing even at the morgue but she never paid any attention to any of it, content with the same flip phone since middle school. If it’s not broken, makes basic calls and texts, so it stays.
Her fingers trace along with its rectangular shape and the sole button under the big screen like it’s rocket science. The screen flashes awake with the company logo all of the sudden from accidentally switching on. The phone has a number in since it asks for a PIN number. Instinctively, she puts her own birthday, out of a hunch.
It unlocks.
The opening image that greets her makes her gag in her mouth immediately; she hasn’t missed Gojou’s annoying face at all. The cutesy picture of himself making a silly expression doesn’t make her laugh in the least. Quite the opposite.
His hair has gotten longer, his smile just as brilliant and infuriating. What a moron.
She looks around the phone, getting a feel of it out of curiosity; heavy and very geometric, it’s odd that she doesn’t have anything to flip open, with one sole button on the screen and the three tiny others on the side. From the solely English instructions in the manual, it seems that this newest model hasn’t even been released in Japan yet, but a Japanese keyboard has been installed already.
Going into the contacts, there is only one name.
Shouko-chan’s best friend, Gojou-kun!!
The next moment, fingers fumble to switch off the phone, puts in back in the box and buries it with the wrapping, leaves it in one of the faraway boxes filled with spare medical supples.
Shouko rubs her temples and stares at the white ceiling, opens the first new pack once the sting behind her eyes lessens and her cranium throbs with solely her own applied pressure and follows the smoke trail. She’s tired all of the sudden, the sleepless nights catching up to her, the exhaustion prowling to burden her eyelids and make her fall into slumber.
How many days has it been? Four, five? It’s less than her usual but whatever. Sleep patterns are a hopeless case with her.
She drags her sluggish body to her rarely used room, hanging her coat and flopping in the bed with her clothes on; night clothes just catch bedbugs in her closets with all the nightly emergencies she has to deal with and be at the ready.
Silent darkness blending in her vision, all concerns are paused. Future problem for future her, she’ll flip the coin between tossing the phone to the garbage along with Gojou’s sense of humour or toss it to Yaga’s lap to be his problem instead.
Shouko stumbles in the halls of the technical college, her headache splitting from the annoyance at getting lost in the labyrinth. Turning the lights on will just make it worse, so she navigates herself with touching around blindly until she opens the door to the morgue. Shoes thrown aside and sighing in relief when her bare feet touch the cold tiles, she throws herself to the hard leather of the patients’ bed.
She might have had too much to drink, she admits; it’s the holiday miracle she didn’t break her neck on the way down the stairs. But it’s New Years and the bar’s atmosphere was hypnotic, compelling her to down more and more barrels of beer and then the drinks she earned after kicking the rowdiest group’s asses on poker.
Who was there to put a stop to it? That’s right, no one. And she was of legal drinking age this time; no need for the false ID she held from college.
The jujutsu college is emptier than usual tonight, nothing but ghosts and the warming system buzzing give it hints of life. The harsh mountain winds whipped that bend the surrounding forest to shape don’t reach down here. Nor do the festivities of the megalopolis and the fireworks cracking and colouring the sky. Nothing does.
Her phone pings from inside her bag and a groan escapes her but she gets up to pick it up, never fully escaping the doctor role and its habits. Large crowds would mean a plethora of curses on the hunt and when sorcerers are called, she’s on the speed-dial. In an hour or two, she’ll have her first visitors of the year.
Therefore, she needs to sober up enough to not cut more than necessary. To get the right medicine and make a fresh pot of coffee, she doesn’t realize how she managed to get up, walk to her tasks and she doesn’t question it- most likely mechanical movements burned into her brain.
She does question why she’s seeing double, one phone in each hand.
Oh right, that one. Her inebriated mind provides amidst the craving for that processed coffee and a smoke. She completely forgot about that stupidly expensive phone. The commercials of the now released model had put forth the belief that she had put it in the trash, but here she is two months later. Texting Utahime, Kusakabe and the others a ‘Happy New Year’ wish and an offer to go drinking together next time, all while looking at Gojou Satoru’s stupid expression until duty calls.
It ends on the early days of the morning and no one suspects a thing from her venture out, only the signature tiredness she advertises to everyone. The sun of the first day of the year hasn’t dawned just yet and she takes the opportunity to flop into the naked leather mattress, her back promising pain the next day, to catch some shut-eye.
Yet, here she is, looking up at the wide and colourful screen. Just for a moment, the alcohol still streaming in her veins whispers lullingly. Her fingers don’t know where to settle without pressing something dangerous. Inevitable she does it accidentally to the contact, another obnoxious picture next to that ridiculous name.
It most definitely the large amounts of whiskey affecting her to ponder doing anything but destroying this plastic toy, enforcing her with that infamous liquid courage. While never drunk to forget where and who she is, her inhibitions were lowered more than once while drinking. After all you have to get shitfaced to build up resistance.
By the time she opens her eyes again after supposedly, the new dawn of the new year has risen, sun bright and biting with a cold, deceiving smile. She tries to get up and it’s uncomfortable moving in last night’s clothes, her jeans leaving imprints of the seams and elastic on her skin and waist. When she gets up, a loud thud catches her attention. Tired eyes look at the new device, light blinking in the screen at her.
So it wasn’t a mix of unreality, what she did. Breathing out, she chooses to have a shower to clear her head, brush her teeth to clear her mouth out of her booze so that her favourite brand of cigarettes replaces it. After shoving the phone in her bag blindly, she goes down to her real room, sighing at the smell of sterilization, death and metal, makes herself a fresh cup of black bitter coffee to wake up.
When she checks the phone, a small light blinks at her all the while, and several texts, dated during the night are littering the screen.
Shouko-chan’s best friend, Gojou-kun!!: Shouko-chan!!!! Happy New Year!!! y ( ^ ヮ ^ ) y
Shouko-chan’s best friend, Gojou-kun!!: You didn’t text me on my birthday I was waiting :(((
Shouko-chan’s best friend, Gojou-kun!!: I brought you a phone so we can text in secret!! No one knows about this shhhh not even Suguru
Shouko-chan’s best friend, Gojou-kun!!: Are you still mad??? (´ ･ ε ･｀ )
Mad, he asks. This guy is either too brave or too stupid.
Both. He’s both.
A headache is approaching, she can feel it.
Shouko-chan’s best friend, Gojou-kun!!: Shouko?????
Shouko-chan’s best friend, Gojou-kun!!: Shouko!!! ( ᗒᗣᗕ )՞
Shouko-chan’s best friend, Gojou-kun!!: Please don’t be mad!!
Shouko-chan’s best friend, Gojou-kun!!: We’re still best friends, right??
Shouko-chan’s best friend, Gojou-kun!!: Right?!!?
Shouko taps her new heels to the marble floor, hearing the strong clanking sound over the annoying ticking of the clock.
No reply graces his erratic rabbling but she does change the lame name of the contact, something simple but apt because thinking about this, about them threatens a certain ache in her chest to resurface.
Shouko should really give the phone to Yaga. Toss it to his office as the piece of trash it is. Let him have the responsibility of holding it and Shouko will continue her life as she is.
But she doesn’t.
She buries the phone in her office again, in the locked drawers she doesn’t use and tries to pretend it doesn’t exist. And every time she fails, especially late at night where her thoughts are rampant and encouraged by amassing tiredness, nudging her to unwanted directions. Each time she ends up holding the device, switching it on and off until her eyes sting from the light exposure.
One particular spring day, too beautiful to be true, with birds chirping and the frost melting, Shouko hears about Gojou outside that rectangle with the obnoxious picture. The whispers haunting the halls revitalize the college and Shouko has the honour of hearing the latest of the outlaw couple’s stunts, feeling the headache coming to her.
This is why she doesn’t do politics, and why she never leaves the school grounds for work.
It’s only getting worse when she gets the respective text.
Idiot 2: New Kids!! ヽ (> ∀ < ☆ ) ノ
Under the text an image is attached of Gojou posing with the Zenin kid that Gojou outbid the clan for, a head full of spiky black hair and a grumpy, unimpressed expression that screams of wanting to be left alone and in peace, which Shouko relates to. Next to them a girl of the same age, long hair and calm, comforting smile. She’s cute and seems sensible; at least one of those kids has chances of getting along with Getou- if he ever gets over whose kids those are that Gojou bought.
She wonders how many things those two still hold onto. How many reasons that lead them to the path they are worthy and matter now, in retrospect of their current life. Personally, she doesn’t divulge much, especially sober.
Gojou seems happy. Well, he always is but she knows- no, she knew- him well enough to decipher the strained edges on his smile, the minute details that didn’t exist in his expression when he was truly content.
The environment on the picture’s background betrays some hints of their location, somewhere outside Tokyo, away from the crowded parts. She saves the picture, telling herself that it’s for supposed evidence. Just in case.
It unexpectedly marks a start.
Just like Gojou to take a centimeter and make it a mile, waiting until he’s confirmed that Shouko hasn’t given the phone.
Something else hasn’t changed as well; her being annoyed every time he’s proven right.
The next image he sends is of two girls snuggling on each of his sides, cute similar faces restful, mussed up hair and curled in comfortably, Gojou grinning but posture stiff as to not wake them.
Idiot 2: blonde is Nanako, brunette is Mimiko
Technically, Shouko knows of them; the only two survivors of Getou’s village massacre that marked the beginning of the end. The report of the mission implied the existence of twin curses and it being a village in the middle of nowhere, it was clear that sending Getou there in the state he was a grave mistake.
He overreacted, in Shouko’s opinion; but seeing them clinging onto Gojou, Shouko feels a portion of that shock.
The girls become the new topic of the texts he receives, much like an overly try-hard parent that wants to show off his kids.
The girls themselves are cute in whatever they do. Their drawings are decent and their favourite obviously isn’t Gojou. She learns about them, and soon the Zenin kids called Megumi and Tsumiki enter the picture. Gojou has apparently forgotten who he’s talking to, or perhaps he’s taking this as some kind of personal diary that Shouko is forced to read. She never answers any of them but when has Gojou not been insensitively stubborn?
In the meanwhile, Shouko has entered a self-regulated rehab of alcohol, drinking only until the pleasant buzz arrives and she falls into dreamless sleep, without hangover and regrets the next morning.
Besides that slight complication in her daily life that she keeps under control, which is easy to pretend doesn’t happen in the rest twenty three hours of her day, her life resumes as normal. She treats people, hums while performing necropsies. Cigarettes, coffee and easily made food. It’s only her, Yaga and the attendants hurrying around for their own errands.
Everything is fine. She will give the phone away soon, stop trying to get wrinkles before twenty-five.
One very early and very dryly cold morning, it rains insistent messages.
Shouko is in the middle of healing a sorcerer, sending them back on their way for a return to her table in one way or another. She’s curious more than annoyed -when did she spot being annoyed?- picks up the phone and is assaulted with a word vomit.
Idiot 2: Shoko-chan!!
Idiot 2: Help!!!
Idiot 2: Nanako has been running fever of 39 degrees since yesterday!!
Idiot 2: sweats a lot
Idiot 2: coughs a lot
Idiot 2: Mimiko caught it and she has started to get warm too
Idiot 2: she throws up and her belly hurts she said!!
Idiot 2: help!!!
Idiot 2: Suguru is about to have a panic attack
The rest of the messages are various pictures of the girls for reference, bedridden with flushed skin, compresses and buddled up in thick blankets, along with four different thermometers proving their high fevers. They don’t look good, Nanako’s eyes are red with exhaustion and tears and Mimiko has a disgusted expression, hair clinging to her face.
Shouko’s heart clenches, in spite of herself. It’s just a cold, a worse than usual since the season is deceiving that lulls children to play outside and sweat, but still something that will pass; either way, those two may be idiots but they’ll handle it- they know as much.
Her fingers, however, move against her logic.
Me: Keep as you are. Make them eat something light like rice or chicken soup. Chamomile helps too. If it’s their stomach that hurts, don’t give them painkillers.
Me: It’s just a bad cold. Children tend to have them. The fever will run its course over the next couple of days.
Me: And stop bothering me already, I’ll sell you out.
Shouko bites her bottom lip until she tastes the coppery taste of blood, throws the device away towards the beds, running her hands through her hair. She craves a smoke.
Her actual phone doesn’t ring during for the rest of the afternoon, meaning that she can spend it on the lounge balcony with cigarettes rapidly swapping on her lips, feeling the biting late winter breeze on her face, distracting her with its unrelenting frost from the dark corners of her thoughts threatening to grab her.
It doesn’t really work, as some days later, her hand shoots for the smartphone when it makes that high pitched noise she can’t forget.
Idiot 2: Twins fully recovered!! You’re a lifesaver Shouko-chan!! ( ￣ ε ￣＠ ) ( ￣ ε ￣＠ )
Two images come in the next messages. The first one is of the twins; healthy and adorable with their skin flushed with the leftover wave of fever. They are seated in a shared bed, watching morning cartoons on the television, easily stomached food and tea around them.
The next one is what makes her feel frozen with rage, regret and frustrated yearning.
In this picture, the twins are sleeping but smalls hands are clinging to the bigger figure, which is curled around both protectively and breathing deeply and evenly.
It is none other than Getou Suguru.
Hook
In the large scope of things, that must have presented as the perfect opportunity for Gojou to get his confirmation. His mentions of Getou in his previous texts were the necessary minimum. Shouko never received a picture until now. If he had any doubts before, the incident was a confirmation.
There is no possible way Shouko will be able to throw away this fucking smartphone.
She realizes she wasn’t thinking about it for the past few weeks. Shouko finds herself shallowed by the thoughts she kept at arm’s length, walked away from them like Getou and Gojou had walked away from her.
Her skin is very thick and little gets under it, but when it fucking does, it festers grossly from the inside. And of course Gojou knew, knowing someone goes both ways and she hates that she fell into this trap of a test and passed it.
In her lowered guard, an onslaught of emotions follows her for the following weeks as the stinging aftermath of a physical strike upon her, pouring herself into dissection and work to keep her mind off, but its power caused cracks big enough for more intrusive thoughts to slither between, even when her eyes have drifted away from the cursed device.
The year proceeds with the well-oiled machine of time and the months and seasons pass right in front of her eyes. She roams the hallways in a pitiful effort for exercise, she has gone out to town more often, even invited people from medical school out more than once. Thrumming with the need to toss that energy out in any way possible, she buys double the packs of cigarettes to the point where Yaga decided to cut an intervention. Just one.
“If you need anyone to talk to Ieiri…” he trails off unsurely, putting a gentle hand on her shoulder and pats twice. It’s as awkward as one might expect from getting comforted by your former high-school teacher and current boss, but he’s sincere and means well.
If she gains an inkling of understanding how Getou felt then, hands clawing up and nothing there to grab, she suppresses it.
Shouko simply nods, “I’ll try to cut it.” she says emptily. Or brush her teeth four times a day so that she doesn’t get yellow and rotten teeth before fifty- that is, if she gets to live that long. A tough gamble.
It was her one chance of opening her mouth and speaking out.
I know where they are. Just take this and do whatever.
I don’t care.
That’s why instead of opening her mouth to speak the choking truth, she breaks her New Year’s resolution. She gives herself credit, she lasted until a particular early December day, the snow clinging grossly on the pavement as everything does on her skin. The atmosphere is already buzzing with festivities, so why not celebrate as well?
With the unused money of her salary, she sweeps the expensive wine. Unlike twelve months ago, she decides something fancy, from one of the expensive stores, with a sommelier at the ready, even taking a large and crystal wine glass to toast to no one.
After however much she drank, her feet lead her to the old dormitories. Enters the world of the dusted, cold past with tired legs and hunched shoulders, laying on a bed that swallows her whole.
It’s Gojou’s room. It’s hard to tell since Getou’s and Gojou’s stuff expand to two rooms and she always made bets with herself on which would be whose. She doesn’t know what gives it away but this space speaks more of Gojou, a hint of flamboyance distinctly belonging to a spoiled young master that was never told no. No trinkets and no earthly things. Getou’s at least has two snow globes, one from his only trip abroad and the other as a gift from Okinawa’s aquarium. And one family picture.
Somehow, Gojou’s room is more comforting to her in its desolate state. Its distance is grueling and reminding.
In her hands, the smartphone’s screen lights back to life after more than eight months of restrain and silence.
There is no exaggeration in her words when she says at least a hundred messages are stacked unread and if she were to have a drinking game out of them, she’s be less drunk than she aims.
As expected, they are all pictures of the happy outlaw family; the kids together. Nanako holding a newer model of Shouko’s smartphone with pride and a video with the preface: ‘We found out Nanako’s cursed technique uses phone pics and now she chases me for a picture π_π’ as Gojou’s commentary.
The majority of them are as if they are making up for his absence before; it’s Getou.
With silly braided hair obviously by a child.
Cooking with Tsumiki.
With a traditional and ridiculous monk attire in front of a temple.
Training with Megumi, weapons becoming extensions of his hands, sweat drenching his shirt and clinging to his skin, cordial but not fully unguarded yet.
With the cursed users he picked up, smiling.
With Gojou, out on dates, with always a different shop as the background setting and different types of food.
With Gojou, on the temple, in ridiculous traditional clothes, Getou’s looser and Gojou’s more form fitting.
With Gojou and the kids.
With Gojou, genuinely happy.
She feels privy to something. Not a new feeling but one forgotten for a long time. Their absence brought rust of what was had been witnessing for months on end, even before those idiots got together. Getou was less visibly shameless, he’d at least offer and halfhearted apology while Gojou took every chance he’d get to fawn over Getou. Or pick a fight with him.
She keeps staring at the album of a new life, hand wanting to break the phone but she can. She’s furious and filled with envy.
Getou looks good. Better than he’d been the year after Okinawa, a husk of his self that Shouko tried to keep standing in her own way with her own small hands. Eyes sunken and defeated day by day, his serene smiles hollow, becoming an ugly grimace.
In those pictures, he’s nothing less than stunning – the closest to the boy the day Shouko first met him in the beginning of a world that would do anything to use him and toss him away as it did but also leagues different now in adulthood. His skin is back to its healthy colour, his hair glossy and shiny as silk, he doesn’t slouch his shoulders anymore and most importantly his eyes have regained the life, meaning and exuding silent confidence.
Shouko wants to be downright furious that her efforts then did nothing and both of them had to leave her to find their peace, but the other can’t help but be relieved that neither of them resembles their selves from their third year of high school, lost and overly plaint.
Taking a deep swing from her glass and pouring another one, uncaring for spilling on sheets that haven’t been used for years, she presses the play button for the first video sent, somewhere near May.
“Suguru!”
The sound of Gojou’s voice is the first thing she hears and it’s been so long, it brings shivers down her spine. They are in a kitchen the camera shaking as the contents of a fridge are shown extensively before the camera blurs and focuses on something else.
“Is it ready yet?” Gojou’s deep, disembodied voice sings impatiently, childishly, “The twins will be there any minute! Come on!”
Getou’s gaze breaks away from the bowl of mixture he’s focusing on, brow twitching in annoyance. He’s wearing an apron up his loose casual shirt and sweatpants, gloves and his hair falling from his bun dangerously close to what he’s making.
“If you shut the hell up and help me then-” the voice stutters when the camera closes in on the delicious looking unfinished cake before being shoved away and the kitchen switches off.
“What the hell are you filming?” Getou asks, turning his face away from the camera.
Gojou whines, knocking shoulders with Getou, “Come on Suguru! It’s their birthday! And every birthday goes to a photo album! But digital. Give the camera a proud mama smile!”
Getou refuses to acknowledge neither Gojou’s nor the camera’s existence, his long fringe obscuring his face and dangerously close to the pastry. He gives a very pointed look on the knife within hand’s reach. Gojou’s not having any of it however, wraps an arm around the camera, chuckling at the failed elbow that never reaches his ribs and plants a kiss on Suguru’s crown.
“Come on!” He pulls him closer, “I promise no one outside the family will see it.”
He whispers something to his ear and swoops frost with his finger to splay it on Suguru’s face, which has the desired effect on making him briefly acknowledge the camera, brow furrowed with annoyance but expression overly fond.
The video ends with one last, meaningful look from Gojou, one eyebrow raised above his new, thin glasses with the blue lens.
Without second thought, she plays it again.
And again.
Pauses on the disgustingly domestic setting they are in, their new home away from here, full of personal touches and colour. How they have changed now that she sees them erasing the image of the two boys that made her life loud and complicated and warm, to realize that they’ve all grown into adults without exception, each on their own path. Their voices have changed just enough, timbers low and steady, especially in their happiness. Their bodies have become fitter, built for the conquest and destruction of the jujutsu society while in those same arms they hug each other and the small army of children they take care of.
And what is she doing? Drinking and smoking alone, always and without stopping.
Her own fridge is empty. The one on the morgue is full of human organs and the occasional bought lunch. She doesn’t have juices with cute cartoon characters in their colourful boxes, or variety of fruits or boxes from the most expensive patisserie. She’s sure if she does blood tests on herself, she’ll be healthier than the dead.
She’s here, unchanging. She thought that Getou was stuck in a time, in the Okinawa incident and that might have been true for a while and Gojou might have been stuck in the time before everything spiraled, that’s why he was so astonished by Getou’s action.
Both of them, stuck to the past. Shouko called them, and still does, absolute morons. The defection was the most idiotic thing they’ve ever done.
But maybe, despite their idiocy, she must be the one worse off. Time moving in a snail’s pace, melding altogether without any highs or any lows, beside the high of the skies she looks as she smokes and the low of the glass she’s drinking. At least they seem to live with their decisions to their fullest.
Her wine is finished. She falls asleep, creeping under the covers of the distant cold room, burying herself in the snow and wishing she was covered by it. Dreams of ivory silk snow and unearthly skies above and the forbidden words: ‘No one outside the family will see it’
Idiot 2: Megumi leaves food outside and out yard has filled with stray dogs!!! *Image attached* *Image attached*
Idiot 2: He tries to bring them all inside from the bad weather awww
Idiot 2: I think Tsumiki is developing an allergy to them :///
Idiot 2: *Image attached* when suguru isn’t home, the girls go for onee-chan’s attention
Idiot 2: boardgame night!! Everyone gets very antagonistic *Image attached*
Idiot 2: But when the kids go to bed, it becomes a parlor ¥¥¥ *Image attached* *Image attached*
Idiot 2: We bought a yacht!!!From our dear fans’ money this time!!!
Idiot 2: We never went flower viewing together it’s so pretty *Image attached*
Idiot 2: not as pretty as Suguru tho ♡ ( ◡ ‿ ◡ ) ♡ ( ◡ ‿ ◡ ) *Image attached* *Image attached* *Image attached*
Idiot 2: *Image attached* *Image attached* *Image attached*
Idiot 2: Ugh there is more cult shit to deal with I don’t like wearing traditional clothing
Idiot 2: nvmn Suguru said I look cool in it nvmn it’s not that bad hehe ＠＾ ▽ ＾＠
Idiot 2: there should be more festivals, Suguru looks great in yukata Σ>―( 〃 °ω° 〃 ) ♡ → *Image attached* *Image attached* *Image attached*
Idiot 2: *Image attached* *Image attached* *Image attached* *Image attached*
Idiot 2: Family picture!! y ( ^ ヮ ^ ) y *Image attached *Image attached*
Idiot 2: Suguru took that one and he sucks at it that’s why they are so shaky
Picking up the baton from spring, summer is busy season for sorcerers and, by consequence, for Shouko as well. The infirmary and the morgue fill quickly, her gloves have become second skin that she sometimes forgets to shed even when she eats. The need to pull out the fourth spare lab coat is a given, she can’t wash the blood fast enough.
She was never fond of summer, too much crowd outside, smoking can become tedious, everything smells of heat corrosion and sweat. That dislike had worsened recently, the season carries the additional emotional dysphoria on top of the physical one.
“Today, we’re here at the beach!” the erratic camera voices the obvious. Going back and forth to show the setting, empty from any crowds. Of course Gojou would have the money to close a beach, or even buy it.
“Finally! No one wanted to come last year!” The rich man in question appears soon, pouting and shirtless in only his patterned swim trunks. Planes of muscle expose and remain on the camera that Shouko roams her eyes on, all under pale skin. She wouldn’t be surprised if his infinity is used to repel the sunlight and prevent him from turning red as a lobster.
“It’s an important day because it’s the kids’ first swimming lesson!” the camera turns to the two girls firmly standing next to Getou, toes dipping in the water experimentally. Next to them Megumi has walked in to his knees and seems frozen in confusion and assessment before slowly stepping back.
“Aw Megumi-kun are you afraid?” Gojou asks and the boy visibly tenses, “Don’t worry, I’ll teach you how to not drown!” the boy glares fiercely but it’s undermined by how cute he looks in his frog patterned trunks and dog-patterned wings.
The only one of the kids that’s holds one modicum of excitement is Tsumiki, trying to hold her stubborn brother’s hand protectively.
“Satoru stop filming already!” Getou shouts from off-screen, fussing over the girls and whispering unheard reassurances, laughing when they cling to him and his lift them up to his sides effortlessly.
“I told you I’m keeping a photo album Suguru! Are you listening to me?” Gojou protests approaching the sea with his phone is hand, to which Getou smiles sarcastically, “Half the time.”
His technique comes in handy for multitasking as the shone is held up in the air, his hands now free to make silly signs and teach a very reluctant Megumi how to swim.
Getou by contrast seems the happiest Shouko has seen him; grinning and glowing under the sunrays, being kissed instead of being burned, she can hear from the still frame the encouraging warm words he speaks to the girls, who hang on from his lips and literally from his arms.
Shouko doesn’t remember when she had been at the beach last time. Perhaps middle school, before getting enrolled to the college. She never truly enjoyed it, the sun burns too hot, the salt was bothersome to wash off and the sunscreen even more bothersome to apply in its creamy slimey quality. She had preferred the indoor pool near her house more, by a small margin, and she had quite enjoyed swimming classes in school.
It's just like them, she thinks, to make everything more palatable to her with their presence. The jujutsu sorcerer life wasn’t as bad in high-school, smoking with company didn’t become awkward and certain sweet foods had gained decent flavour.
To each other, they may have changed their life drastically, but Shouko was never a woman of grand ideals and gestures. She was neither someone that lived every moment like it was her last, extreme attitude like that seemed exhausting. Shouko considers herself minimalist and those few things she enjoys are the brushes of extravagance and indulgence she needs; her cigarettes, her coffee, her job and her alcohol are some.
But those two have their way to make her greedy and hunger, plant dissatisfaction in her consciousness that makes room for unwanted questions. Summer is her least favourite season and a time she stubbornly stays indoors like a mole, but now she thinks about clear sea waters that cool you after stepping on scorching sand, the exercise of swimming and floating, letting yourself being taken away and empty your mind. And not for the first time, she sees that unconventional but happy family of outlaws too high on their ideals and she’s pulled onto their flow again.
She’s smiling – a small unimportant thing that to her might as well be a hysterical grin- and doesn’t bother to hide it while seeing the rest of the pictures from their beach trip, Gojou keeps a very meticulous ‘diary’. To the point Shouko can almost imagine being there, she can almost delude herself that Getou’s small and fond smile is aimed at her.
It’s dangerous to get so involved, to immerse herself so much. She knows this but the taste of the bait has never been so savory and making her forget the hook piercing the skin of her jaw.
On a late August day, she ventures out to a much too familiar path. Her t-shirt and shorts are already soaked with sweat and sticking to her skin, the natural overbearing sun blinds her with its brightness. She has grown much too used to artificial white lights.
There is already a visitor in the cemetery, the same that always meets her here. His shoulders have grown broader, he looks like a proper businessman with experienced exhaustion, not the tiredness of a rookie.
With a nod of acknowledgement, she kneels down to the memorial of a boy gone too soon, like many of them, with a bright smile on the picture, eyes crinkling with laugh lines.
She pulls up a smoke and extends her hand, “Want one?”
Nanami considers it for a second, before nodding and picking one out of the pack, “Thank you.”
She smiles when he tries to not show his disgust and hide his cough. The edgy haircut might be gone, but in some ways, he hasn’t changed much.
It can’t be helped that she’s reminded of another boy that she dragged into smoking, one that picked it up easily, that didn’t cough and for whom tasting disgust is part of his being.
“How’s work?” she starts a conversation then and now.
“Shit.” Nanami responds straight-forwardly, making her snort and accidentally inhale smoke.
“So the same…Here isn’t any different.” She says, frowning. “You ever thought or returning?”
This time, Nanami pauses, “No.”
“Hmm. Very cold hearted on your part. This senpai would like some company in misery.”
He runs a hand through his hair and sighs, “Ieiri-senpai, sometimes you are as overbearing as the other ones.”
“Also disrespectful to your elders as all my kouhai were.” He chuckles, stomping her cigarette and picking up a second.
“I do not respect neither of them.” Nanami is still halfway on his first, the ash amasses and threatens to fall on his finger. Shouko nods it to him and he flicks it off in time.
Shouko snorts inelegantly, then her voice erupts into laughter, hearted and ugly. When was the last time he did?
Perhaps that time when Gojou ate food so spicy he couldn’t use his tongue and for one blessed day he was silent, to avoid speaking with a stupid voice? And kissed both of them to experience the unpleasantness of his boiling mouth?
Or when Getou tried curling his hair and he not only he looked as if he had snakes in his head, but the ends were horribly burnt? Shouko was used to the smell of burnt from smoking an awful brand of smokes for a month and was the only one that could tolerate being near him, even ending up cutting his hair after the mess subsided in the same way she still does her own?
“Yeah, me neither.” She says, amused by Nanami’s raised eyebrow. “They’ve done nothing but disappoint me.”
She doesn’t know how much lie and truth weigh in her words but she’s not measuring.
A glance at her companion, the dark circles under his eyes, “You should sleep more, or corporate will kill you.”
Nanami’s gaze is incredulous caught off guard between taking this as an ironic joke or sincere unawareness, “I wouldn’t trust a shady doctor that looks worse than me.”
They both look at the grave, the name on it.
That evening, she receives a photo, with Getou and Gojou standing where Nanami and Shouko were only hours ago. Albeit that it’s only Getou in the photo, more solemn and closer to the boy she knew than he ever looked in Gojou’s domestic diary, swallowed by his casual clothes.
Idiot 2: Do you think he’d want us to be here?
Despite the clear question, the text feels more rhetorical, a bit desperate. Shouko never responds but even if she did, she wouldn’t answer this.
In the end, it doesn’t matter.
She was the one that had to perform the dissection to Haibara, having to push both Nanami and Getou out and to raise the volume of her voice. She had to cut and open the chest of the same underclassman that could urge her out of the infirmary when Gojou and Getou were out. The same boy that was the only one to complain and try to convince her to cut the cigarettes, only for her to blow smoke at his face and tell him that because she’s a head shorter than him, he isn’t her big brother. That she had eased to act spoiled like a younger brother.
She had to work on his mutilated half corpse, the world he involved himself in didn’t bother to spit him out whole. The rage of that day didn’t only course through Getou, didn’t only affect him.
Shouko can’t answer Gojou’s question because if she were to wonder the same thing, she might have not liked the answer.
Shouko doesn’t have many thoughts about Amanai Riko. The name has become infamous more than the girl in everyone else but perhaps Satoru and especially Suguru. Her death and role precede her actual humanity. Shouko herself saw only the faint ghost of a girl their age that looked like all the others, easily forgettable, but clinging so tightly on Suguru’s bigger frame, bending it with the weight of a life he knew for some days but changed his life.
And because of that briefness in their lives, Shouko wanted to hate her. Shove the blame to someone; she delayed the trip to Okinawa for the transfer, she latched herself into her stupid, simply stupid boys and they still carry her memory with them.
Illogical. Childish. Mad. Emotional. Envious. All reactions Shouko is still ashamed about. No matter what, she couldn’t bring herself feeling anything for this girl she doesn’t know, she’s had younger corpses on her morgue and felt nothing.
Because Amanai was a girl, more normal than Shouko that wanted to live a life unchained from jujutsu traditions everyone imposed on her because she was born with it.
She was the trigger than changed everything, Shouko’s content life shattered. Suguru faded through her fingers, Satoru gone with him in an instant and now they are engaged in this poorly aged farce in which no one is laughing.
So no, when she sees that message, she knows exactly what it’s referring to. And she remembers it all.
Satoru: we went back there.
In the images that come after the text, Suguru doesn’t look as bad as one would assume, even if he’s wearing a solemn expression and his body is tense. Around them the crowd is walking, unaware of the turmoil of two of the thousands of the aquarium’s guests. The blue of the waters and the bright of the day is intense for her vision in the middle of the night.
A video is embedded after.
Suguru smiles weakly at the camera, expression too heavy to hold anything more.
“Filming again?” He asks in the tone of a resigned parent.
For the next minute, it’s only a recording the small colourful fish, and parts of the shark whale swimming above them and making them feel small.
“I love you.” Satoru says, the whisper caught only in the dead quiet of Suguru’s old room. A shiver runs down Shouko’s arms, raising goosebumps on her flesh and her heart to beat faster. Not solely the words, but the way he spoke them; tender and vulnerable in the way she rarely was, always hiding behind the mask of the prodigy kid that changed the world with his existence, of the one who can have everything he asks.
He still holds the conviction of someone sure of their feelings, that he’ll have what he wants even if the world will be damned in the process.
(and who knows, with them it might as well teeter on the edge.)
The camera doesn’t cut away from the fish, but it stutters for a few seconds, as if Gojou is startled behind it and he almost lost his grip. Imagination doesn’t have to reach very far to think about the reason.
“I love you too.” Suguru says with an exhale, light and exorcised, his voice closer to the camera and its effect on her is the same.
She replays the video. Once, twice, thrice. Their words don’t stop affecting her with the repetition, on the contrary. She curls on herself, tensing her thighs and desperately trying to rationalize that this elaborate scheme of Gojou’s is to mess up with her for being the one behind, the one that called them idiots for defecting. To see who has the last laugh.
But the exhausted part of her, the one that misses them desperately, whispers bitter hopes to her. That maybe their relationship wasn’t just ‘Getou and Gojou, with Shouko holding the candle for them’ that a family with cute and deranged kids with even more deranged guardians might have a place for one more twisted soul to live this parody of a fantasy.
“No one outside the family will see this.” Satoru’s words whisper in her ear, so vivid she can feel his plush, shiny lips on the shell, his breath a ghost, always tempting and prevailing above all tries to be silent.
Line
Elegant fingers take away her cigarette and replace it with a thicker, more luxurious cigar. It even tastes expensive and its smoke is dense and pleasantly clouds her mind, shutting out every thought.
“Do I have to pay you for this?” she half-jokes, half runs the mathematics.
Mei-Mei laughs, chiming and rich as everything else around them. Shouko will have to save up two years of complete salaries to step into this hotel’s suites; and she makes quite a lot from the desperation towards her abilities.
“I know how to indulge in something for free,” she inhales the smoke of Shouko’s cigar right of her lips, her lithe body fully pressing against her, her full breasts pressing against Shouko’s, cold skin against cold skin, “And even if I didn’t, I’d made an exception for the birthday girl.”
Her lipstick tastes like something floral, the colour stark and syrupy against her sickly skin. Mei-Mei might have praised her of how pretty she looked in her pallor, but she felt anything but.
It’s been ten days since her birthday and she feels at loss ever since. The ‘festive’ day was spent in a strange limbo, feeling like she attended a funeral of part of her instead of celebrating turning twenty-two. A surprise visit by Utahime, to make up for missing last year due to a mission, had detracted her from another sad year and putting the tumultuous morning in the back burner. She bought it Shouko a new cardigan, long and cozy and thicker than her lab coat, with deep pockets both in and out to save her stuff.
Shouko had thanked her, a rare peaceful smile pulling at her lips, trying to live the present moment.
It all crashes down when Utahime holds her hand, rubbing circles with her thumb and Shouko had snatched it away as if it burned her before she realized.
Utahime had blushed and stuttered to cover it up and they called it early because of Shouko’s work. She wasn’t even out of sight when she had texted Mei-Mei to meet up at night, heart pounding and freezing herself to not looks back.
Utahime was too kind for Shouko, she smiled prettily and wholeheartedly and enjoyed every moment of her life like it was the last. She’s the restricting detox to someone that has been addicted to addictions, cannot survive without acid blood and black lung and insomnia.
Mei-Mei was simply another body and no feelings attached. She was perfect for fleeting bliss. And it was fleeting, incomplete too; her orgasms didn’t leave her body buzzing, didn’t gently floated her back to reality. She was crash-lashed to it each time, with a bling of an eye.
The fingers inside Shouko were roughened and strong but well-groomed and obsessively taken care off; weren’t thick or calloused enough, broken skin healed over and over. Her hair spilling on Shouko’s skin weren’t white enough, its feel too silky and not dark enough as she fucked her with the strap.
The voice calling her name as they entangled wasn’t deep enough just like the fingers, nor had the correct tilts, her name didn’t have the same appeal and her body was too slim, not corded enough with muscle-
“Somewhere else to be?” Mei-Mei whispers mischievously in her ear, nipping at the shell.
“Hm?” she asks absentmindedly.
The other woman reaches out to brush her bangs away, tracing the bags under her eyes in a way one would be deceived to call tender, “You’re looking towards you phone a lot, waiting for a call?”
With one last glance, she captures her lips to a kiss, “Just on the lookout for work.” She tells her, sighing at the fingers trailing down her stomach and spreading her folds apart.
The fingers are too elegant, too well manicured and the callouses well taken care off. Too soft, it feels like sand. The lips kissing her and down the column of her neck are shiny and plush. If she focuses on that sensation, she can pretend.
Pretend that she’s in bed with the only contact in her phone remembers her again and gives a sign through the phone shamelessly set in her nightstand.
It’s easy to replace the rough and feminine moans from her current partner, she does it subconsciously now that her guard and mind are mushy with pleasure while another body pins her down. She can’t erase the horrors she had heard during high school because of two overly hormonal boys.
That must have not changed at all in that regard, if the ‘present’ Satoru sent her a minute after midnight. It should have been a red flag that it wasn’t a visual file, but an audio.
An audio of rasped breathing and loud moaning, her sleeping place in Satoru’s room right next to Suguru’s where everything takes place.
Like she would do then, she moved away from the sound before it possessed her, plugged her ears closed and burned the images her imagination unhelpfully provides for the sake of moving with her own life, away from idiots without sense of boundaries.
But they echoed then, and they echo now, and it’s pushing her towards her last orgasm of the night, lips sewn shut as to not fuck up and say something she means.
Shouko returns to work the following morning, pretending everything is the same. She sends a text of apology to Utahime and a promise to make it up on her treat next time. Pretending her touch didn’t scorch her to leap away.
The year has changed.
Shouko leads her usual life as best as she can. The same routine, the cigarette packs she buys have increased by only one, which isn’t bad in her standards. In the confines of her office, everything outside is redundant.
She fixes up people, and they come back in some way or another. Cogs in the machine, and she makes sure they run properly.
She got a new phone. The old one ran its course until the end. The new device is supposed to be for work, but she puts another SIM card into it and other files in it. That way she can hear the chime on the phone that has gone dead for weeks on end, feel that false flicker.
One random Saturday where the winter has almost melted into spring on the trees outside Suguru’s window, clinging to the leftover homeliness, cradling the dying spark, the new phone comes alive for its first time.
Satoru: Suguru is away on stupid cult business and I’m bored!!! :(
Minutes later, just when she thought that that was it and anger at him -but mostly herself for being an idiot- encourages the blood in her veins to rebel, a video comes.
It starts with Satoru’s face, exposed bright eyes stare right through her soul, one winking at her. The camera moves erratically for a moment before it settles into a wider shot that shows most of Satoru’s tall body laying on a large bed.
Shouko rolls her eyes at the sensual show of his dressed down body, but she doesn’t avert her gaze from the tight fit of the shirt, his corded neck and exposed pale thighs and even more from the tent on the pair of black boxer briefs and the hug around his assets.
“Woohoo! Shouko-chan-! It’s been a while,” Satoru calls her in a low tone, luminescent with mischief. The sound of her name being called sweeps an intense rush from her tips of her hair to her toes
“I missed you Shouko,” he tells her seriously, eyes burning into her through the screen, “Suguru does too... Sometimes he says your name when we fuck.” His breath catches as the palms his clothed erection, keeping his eyes on the camera nonetheless, “I couldn’t get it that time, because he was too stubborn not to…since it was your birthday and all.”
The picture of Suguru saying her name in the throes of passion along with seeing Satoru in this state, stirs awake something in her. The only name she accidentally heard while coming across them in the past was of the man she’s looking at palming himself, so intimately she had to seal it away with everything else.
Now it all resurfaces and it’s a flood an old battered damn cannot withstand. What she accidentally heard and saw, the irrational thoughts she made in her empty room swallowed by the dark and vanquished by the next time she had to look at them in the eyes again and pretend.
She’s good at pretending but in truth she’s simply tired. And tiredness makes it easier to not care and to let go without much effort.
When did she cross that line? When they left? Later? She didn’t know nor cares to find out.
Right now, all her attention in of Satoru, exactly like he wanted. Without much idleness, he pulls out his cock, thick and fully hard already and strokes it with one large hand, while Shouko presses her thighs together to quell the heat prowling in her lower belly.
“When I plug- hng- plug him at both ends, it’s easy to pretend and it slips out of him, quietly.” Satoru pants out, hand not stopping. “Sometimes -fuck- his face picks up a forlorn expression when something reminds us of you so much…” his eyes open again and keep her captive, to engrave the words in her head.
That they remember, that they still-
“Shouko, Shouko-” Satoru pants desperately, his hand picking up the pace and stroking along his long shaft, “Suguru…”
She quickly settles on her back. Her hand trails down under the waistband on her sleeping pants, and her fingers press on her clit through her underwear tentatively, experimentally, shuddering in the process. She’s more sensitive than she imagined, and wetter, judging by the damp spot on her panties.
A low whine escapes her as she presses harder, panting on the pillow that belonged to Suguru, inhaling the phantom of his scent, fingers and rubbing up and down between her folds.
The room is empty but it has so many memories the former occupants must have. Memories that she wasn’t invited to but saw its aftermath because that was always the case of Satoru and Suguru and being subtly shameless.
Memories of shared clothes that now Shouko wears as leftovers, memories of studying together- those she was participating often. Devours them all.
It’s easy to imagine the heavy dip of two bodies falling onto the bed. Sleeping together at night, limbs tangling with each other. Taking a turn for the forbidden as they would roam each other clumsily, Satoru’s eagerness making up for his inexperience and Suguru’s natural coquettishness making up for his shyness.
That bed she’d been sleeping on has creaked loose from their sex, the pillow has drunk beads of sweat dripping from them, has breathed the same air Suguru exhaled when Satoru must have shoved his face into it as he fucked Suguru so hard that the bite mark he left didn’t fade for a week. Suguru had to beg her to heal it with that sheepish voice and a bat of his long dark eyelashes that Shouko always found herself weak to.
Her weight isn’t as significant as the weight of two very tall and well-built teenagers that unleashed their hormones on each other, the pillow doesn’t smell like their mix of their sweat and the sheets are pristinely clean but seeing Satoru like this drags her senses into feeling them. Of being there.
Shouko would see the way all those bruises and bite marks were made, would hear the pleasured sounds while deep into their ecstasy. Satoru always like calling Suguru pretty and beautiful and this would be the moment he thrives in his obsession because Suguru would be defenseless and open to preen at the praise and not shove him away.
“He’s such a pretty slut,” the Satoru in the video provides as if he’s reading her thoughts, “It’s a sight to see from up close, I fall in love with him every time…”
Shouko’s thumb now toys with the waistband of her panties uncertainly, the index and middle finger never stop their ministrations. She’s panting into the fabric of her pillow, her other hand holding the phone shaky until she finds a quick makeshift way to prop it up. It’s ridiculous, how she acts like a teenager facing her first exposure in porn, trying to keep the flame alive but wanting to feel that elation for as many moments as possible.
Her now free hand slides under Satoru’s baggy shirt and on her breast, pinching a nipple at the same time Satoru presses his thumb on the drooling slit of his cock, both gasping at their respective stimulation.
She spreads her legs apart farther, the hand on her pussy obeys her definitive command to slip under, toy a bit with the coarse hairs before pushing the middle and ring finger insider her with a low-pitched gasp. Tight and wet warmth surrounds the digits, sighing at the bulk of tension leaving her body. She scissors her fingers to get used to the sensation- she doesn’t remember how long it’s been since she had the mood or the time to take her time and masturbate; perhaps since high school or after a hard exam period in college. Pulling them out emits a squelching sound that bounces around the room, as does thrusting them back inside, accompanied with a loud gasp and a minute squeak of the bed.
All she can hear is her heartbeat rattling her ribcage and pounding in her ears, Satoru’s dulcet but strained tone as he brings himself closer with Suguru’s and her name spilling off his lips like waterfall. The fingers inside her cunt can’t stop and the palming of her breast stings deliciously between harsh pinches and rolling of her perked up nipples. Her index finger joins the other two inside, thrust deep so that the meat of her palm can grind on her clitoris perfectly, exhaling a moan that sounds a lot like Satoru’s name.
Her eyes go back and forth between his intense, blown out gaze and his cock. She never thought she would think about Gojou Satoru’s dick without even a hint of disgust or guilt but there she is, wondering how Suguru feels when it rams inside him all the way in their married bed, needing it inside her because her fingers might be adequate, she’s sick and tired of just adequate, she wants to be stretched out by him as she rides him to hell and back-
“Fuck, fuck-! Satoru!” she comes with a hurried wave she can’t prolong any longer, thrusting until her pussy pains her and clenches around her now unwelcome fingers. They are soaked and smell strongly and the damage on her panties alerts her she must change them.
On the screen Satoru comes with a grunt, spilling on his hand with copious amount of cum, closing his eyes, sighing and panting to ground himself.
When his breathing evens, his eyes open and she feels seen and captured. The smirk on his face brings her paranoia that he knows exactly what she did, the dark desire in his eyes fighting to swallow that overwhelming sky blue, panting lightly. Her eyes trace the slow blinking of beautiful ivory eyelashes and the aroused redness on his grinning lips as a pink tongue lick them.
Then with his soiled hand, he gives her a slow wave.
“Thank you for keeping me company Shouko.” The video abruptly cuts.
She pants at the ceiling, legs quivering lightly and hand starting to feel disgusting.
“Shit.”
“We found them.” Yaga tells her with an even expression.
Shouko’s scalpel doesn’t stop moving and her breath doesn’t catch on her lips. Her heartbeat falls to her stomach for a moment, but no one will be able to tell.
“I see.” She responds just as evenly, muffled from her surgical mask, “And?”
She avoids Yaga’s gaze, refuses to feel like a teenager that would coward to her teacher- she never did anyway, even if she was the less rebellious of the three.
“They are in Kyoto, the sister school will take care of it.” a pause, “I’m telling you so you’ll be prepared.”
She wants to laugh. Bitterly, tauntingly. There is no paranoid whisper about the worst-case scenario. The only thing she will do is wait for the respective bodies to arrive. And they will not be neither Suguru’s nor Satoru’s.
They are the strongest. Together. Individually. The only way to foil one is to use the other, and that she knows won’t happen at this point. She lived them three years, while still growing, from the sidelines as they made it to special grades in such a young age.
There is no way Yaga isn’t aware of it and of the futility of this desperate manhunt.
“How did you find them?” she asks with little shown interest.
“They were monitoring some of the curse users Getou had recruited. Children among them. The Zenin Clan too keeps an eye on their almost heir- they are investing a lot in this.”
Briefly, she remembers one of Satoru’s texts telling her about the new shop that’s opening in Kyoto, full of sweets that him and the twins pleaded with Suguru to visit. Megumi might have been swept along as he always does.
A wave of sudden emotions washes over her; most oddly a feeling of protectiveness of kids she never met in real life, only in more than a hundred pictures and dozens of videos Satoru assaults her with.
How did she end up being so ridiculous? She might as well be a moron like them.
Some hours later, a group of injured sorcerers come for a patch up, many of them of the Zenin assassins. No deaths, but the injuries will leave marks on all of them.
“You should have seen their smug faces, Shouko-chan!” Utahime exclaims, pacing around the infirmary until she finally sits down and gets her broken arm fixed. “That bastard Gojou told me right in my face I was weak and Getou passed right by me after breaking my arm, laughing like a maniac!” she finally plops down with a frustrated scream and then a pained one. Shouko tenderly grasps her arm and hand and begins her technique, focusing on fixing the carefully fractured humerus and radius as well as her dislocated shoulder.
Utahime sighs at the relief from pain, looking up at Shouko with a gaze she avoids.
“I’m so glad you’re not like them Shouko-chan.”
She smiles back, lips straining to make it less awkward and genuine. If only that were true.
If only she could guiltlessly lean into Utahime’s touch, feel something. But she won’t and forcing herself has never been part of her. No apologies, no excuses, nothing.
Promptly, she sends her away.
Unsurprisingly, her smile is more genuine and her lips this time strain from the disuse of her smiling muscles as she scrolls along the pictures of Satoru posing in front of some unconscious bodies, Suguru doing the same and a pair of couple photos. The last pictures are a family photo of the both of them along with the kids and some members of the family Satoru had mentioned dining all together.
The last picture is specifically of the empty seat between Tsumiki and Suguru.
Satoru: we have room for one more ;))))
The cavity in her chest rips open.
Sinker
Deep inside her, she knew the day would come.
For the following months on end, she lives with that realization, that anticipation that pulses in her veins. Her body feels as light as if it were high from something other than smoking or drinking, her lungs expand wider and breathing is easier, body alight.
The bottles she stored for drinking alone have gathered dust. Mei-Mei’s invitations answered with refusal. Instead, Shouko stands in the highest balcony in the college, with the same brand of cheap smokes. She hasn’t been there for so long and the view is always striking.
This had been her spot until their third year when Suguru joined her, shuffling his feet and slouching from sleep, yawning as he shoved a cigarette between his lips before he ate anything, silently watching the sunrise with her, hair flowing at the autumn breeze, eyes far away deep in the sky. Possibly looking for Satoru.
The view then was more striking than now, she’ll have to admit.
On a whim, she starts cleaning the infirmary. Normally the help would do it, but she sends them away when they arrive at five in the morning to find her deep inside a thalamus as she wipes and disinfects it.
The corners of her space. The tiles she’d walk on a million times. The music of her heels clacking on it soothing and rhythmic in its sterility. She scrubs them with all her being, changes the lightbulbs by herself, the smell of disinfectant covering that of death and flesh ever so prominent.
She finally heeds everyone’s advice and tidies up her office. Organizes the papers, throws away her full ashtray and open one window to let some fresh air run through the place. It’s a slow week and she has nothing better to do, even if she curses every five minutes for the ash that falls down where she’s just swept the floor.
And when the place is shining and is as good as new, she hangs her lab coat and lays into the couch and takes a nap. Her muscles burn from the strain but she’s not used to having unleashed energy simmering under her skin until it’s completely gone like an exorcised curse’s existence. It might as well have been.
Despite being a doctor, she never fully experienced the healing qualities of sleep to this extent. Her joints don’t hurt, crack at her movements and her eyes are vision is bleary with leftover sleep instead of insomnia.
Her phone blinks to indicate a new message, received half an hour ago, breaking the last long period of silence.
Satoru: *Image attached*
In the image, the visceral picture breaks all the peace of the past few days and her blood pounds in every fiber of her body, set ablaze.
Suguru put in a humiliating position, his clothes askew and barely covering him, his face unseen from his position and the angle where the main attraction is clearly his ass. More specifically, his hole. Obscenely plugged by a huge toy, slick transparent fluid dripping from his tense thighs. His cheeks are red and his cock hard and dripping, straining from the ring around it.
On right on that flushed skin, the words ‘CUM HERE’ one word on each cheek. Written with lipstick, the perpetrator grins at her, shirtless and sporting an erection under the strained tent of his boxers.
Right under that picture, a second message.
A location.
It’s easy to leave everything behind.
No belongings taken with her beyond the phone in her pocket, she exits the technical college with a confident stride that’s close to running. Uncaring of who sees her, unhearing of who calls for her.
Shouko’s body moves on its own, unconsciously and mechanically that she forgets the trip the moment she looks up to the luxurious hotel raising high up in the sky. Right then, her head becomes clear again, the weight of realization setting upon her and that it’s not too late to go back to her abnormal, morbid and coolly quaint life, throw the phone she clenches in his hand to the ground and break it along with that connection that it created, pick up the weight of her longing back up and carry it to her grave.
But she doesn’t. She doesn’t want to go back, not now that she can’t contain the reignited desires licking her skin.
She walks inside the gaudy reception hall and insistently presses the elevator buttons, watching the countdown and then the count up as she’s taken to the highest floor.
The door is already slightly open. Her hand reaches out to grab the handle but it’s swinged wide and the golden room number showing her distorted reflection is replaced with a pair of eyes she knows all too well and meets for the first time.
How arrogant on Satoru’s part to leave it slightly agape for anyone to enter and then appear behind it wearing nothing but his underwear. Without thinking or -more accurately- without doubting who will be on the other side.
But at this moment, the façade crumbles. The tension on his shoulders evaporates at the sight of her, his eyes wide and fond and even stunned to see her. He smiles at her, boyishly and unburdened, taking her in.
He leans down -damn he really grew taller, she reaches up to his chest at this point- and silently pecks her cheek, too close to the corner of her lips.
Chaste, still unsure and cautious. Gauging her every reaction.
Too bad for him, because the moment her own inhibitions were undressed off her along with her lab coat left behind in her office, abandoned along with all the rest of her life in the college. She takes a handful of that soft snow-white hair and captures his mouth with hers roughly.
His lips are oh so soft and glossy, and he feels real as her, quickly wrapping his arms around her waist and sweeps her off her feet. Instinctively her legs lock around his waist, their bodies pressed against each other as the kiss becomes deeper. They taste too sweet, licorice mixed with more sweetness and she wants it all. His body solid and warm pressed to her own, finally real after more than a year of fucking teasing and flaunting, haunting her dreams.
Satoru moves, takes her inside and closes the door, sealing all of their fates and paths as he helps her out of her jeans.
He lets her down gently into the fluffy and soft luxury bedding, a finger on his lips to keep her silent.
“Satoru?”
They both turn to the voice, Shouko taken away by a stronger current of fondness, cracking with restrained desire.
“I’m here.” Satoru tells the blindfolded Suguru, who quivers all over, wrists bound still with Satoru’s bandages. Satoru kisses him on the forehead, one hand tracing his spine to the end with one finger and the other down to the hollow of his neck and sternum, pinching one rosy nipple and making him mewl.
Shouko licks her lips, hands reaching out to cup Suguru’s face, fingers tracing his jaw tenderly. She takes in how he flinches at the new touch, his posture steeling to readiness to shake everything away.
“Satoru what’s —” Shouko greedily steals the words from his lips. Makes herself known with kisses that were meant for summer mornings between smokes next to the vending machines, she gives them now and mixes them with years of yearning. Suguru makes a confused sound at first but he melts in her hands, lips trembling. Unlike Satoru, he tastes bitter but not as she envisioned. The foulness of ingesting curses is ever-present and felt in on her tongue, but it’s a secondary taste. It’s the taste of someone that eats actual food, that doesn’t starve to exhaustion in fear of retching it all in the next hour.
She can taste Satoru in him too, a stroke of oversweetness. Well-kissed and well-loved.
Hands carding the hair clinging on Suguru’s nape, she toys with the blindfold finally taking it off him.
Suguru dizzily opens his eyes, dark and long eyelashes prettily fluttering at her to adjust to the new light, caressing his cheekbones. Amber pools take in her appearance in astonishment, swollen lips parting to speak but only little gasps from the stimuli come out.
“Shouko…” he sighs her name like a prayer, wishing for her to be real in front of him and not just a vision- a sentiment she can understand completely, “Shouko?”
His fingers continue caressing her jaw and her lips pull into a small but fond smile, “Yeah… it’s me…” she wipes the tear that wells in the corner of his eye softly, “I’m here…”
Suguru suddenly finds strength to rise and kiss her again, devouring her mouth now that he knows she’s real. Or perhaps he still doesn’t believe it and tries to manifest it. Shouko gives as she takes, her hands threading through dark luscious stands, lets herself be pressed on the bed with Suguru half-looming above her.
He buries his head on the crook of her neck, breathing her in and out while she plays with his hair and traces shapes at his nape. She must smell like smog.
“How- I…how?” he speaks on her skin and she shivers.
From over his shoulder, she raises an eyebrow at the observing Satoru, who wears the grin of a man that did nothing wrong in his life.
“I see Satoru didn’t tell you anything in the end,” she sighs, “I thought domestic life meant no secrets between the lovebirds. Just look what happened last time.”
Suguru lifts his head, sending a glare towards Satoru, the effect of which is downplayed but his flustered and compromising appearance, “Satoru…”
“I said I’ll tell him eventually!” Satoru defends himself, groping Suguru’s thigh and rounding his eyes to appear himself innocent.
“What would you do if I told anyone else in the jujutsu world hunting you came instead and they caught two death row curse users fucking?”
“But you didn’t.” Suguru says, the same knowing look and tone Satoru had all this time, the same light smirk that could be mistaken as a saint like smile but it’s nothing more than devilish. Those lips kiss up and down her neck, sucking visible and possessive marks into her skin, with just enough teasing hint of teeth that leaves her craving for them to sink in.
“But I didn’t.” She confirms, tilting her head to the side and give him more access, while her bare leg’s skin raise with goosebumps at Satoru’s featherlight touch.
The bed is comfortable and the sudden tsunami of affection from those two make her sink into the mattress and sigh uncharacteristically dreamily. If it wasn’t for the sheer torrent arousal dampening her simple panties, she would have fallen asleep drowned in comfort.
However, it’s making itself all the more known with every glance at them and their marked-up skins. Coursing through her veins, curling in her gut and pooling between her muscles. Desire courses through her veins in the sight of Suguru, debauched and rutting on the bedding between her legs but unable to find any relief from the cock ring’s restriction while arching his back to the dildo stuffing him in an uneven rhythm.
“You’re so sexy babe,” Satoru whispers into Suguru’s ear as he descents downwards to her thighs, nosing the sensitive skin there, “Show Shouko what she was missing,” He positions himself behind her, his erection poking the small of her back, hot and thick and dripping precum on her skin. His sneaking fingers work on taking off her shirt fast, leaving her with her plain bra which also goes moments after.
“And whose fault is that?” he quips back.
“You should get sexier underwear,” Suguru’s words take shape in her inner thighs between kisses and licks, the teeth now making their proper appearance. In an innate synchronized rhythm, Satoru’s mouth latches on the untouched side of her neck, his hands cupping her breasts with the tips of his fingers circling her areolas.
“It’d suit you better,” She pulls at his dark hair once, smirking when it makes him keen, his eyes darkening to burnt caramel. Leans back to his wide chest mouthing his Adam’s apple, marveling the antithesis of the blush to his pale skin.
“Oh we have a closet just for those,” Satoru smirking lips peck hers, his hand curling around Suguru’s jaw, pulling slightly at his earlobe, teasing the shell of his ear. Suguru on his part seems dizzily torn on whose hand to nuzzle first, “Now that you’re here, I won’t have to smuggle you pictures.”
“You-!” Suguru flushes scarlet at the realization, “All that filming-!” he buries his face into her thighs, “How…much did he sent you?”
“It won’t be necessary anymore.” She responds with a cryptic smile, enjoying how cute a humiliated Suguru looks, dark blush crawling to his chest, his cock jolting despite his words, her mind reels, “Why bother?”
“The real thing is much better.” Satoru adds, pulling at her nipples and making her gasp. His fingers are thicker than Mei-Mei’s, she can feel the glyphs of his calloused fingertips on her perked-up buds. Her free hand finds Satoru’s cock and grips it tight, his moan biting her skin and then at her lips, his tongue clashing with hers to desperately map out each other’s mouths.
What dominance she gained with her lips and tongue is vanquished as Suguru’s lips finally kiss Shouko’s folds and her head lolls back at the sensation. Suguru is more tender than Mei-Mei initially, shy to indulge, but at the same time hungrier and more eager to please her so his mouth gains a desperate hint when he tastes her for the first time. Its warmth is nothing sort of heavenly, sucking at her labia and nosing her clit before diving in deeper. His whorish moan sends vibrations that transform into shudders all over her body.
His tongue delves deep into her, wet and warm and her thighs flex around his head, her hands reaching to grab him by the hair and navigate him. Suguru obeys her because he’s pretty and lovely like this, with foggy eyes that look up at her with inquiry and the yearning for praise and affirmation, then closing them to slowly like a cat to focus on his task and bask at the attention.
Since Shouko is currently busy, Satoru has left his spot behind her and moved at Suguru’s other end; he teases Suguru’s cock that causes him to moan into her pussy. He sees him lighting swatting his wiggling ass, open up his cheeks and hums in appreciation. He looks back at her, “Sure you don’t wanna get the first round?”
She nods, petting Suguru’s hair absentmindedly, “Go for it,” she answers, “I wanna see how you do it.” As much as she wants to pull the toys from Suguru one by one, she wants to finally see both their expressions for herself. Be the audience beyond her imagination to what actually happened behind closed doors in their high school years after only seeing the results of their activities. Finally see the image attached to the recording Satoru had sent her months ago that reawakened her desires, their lips and bodies producing the alluring sounds.
Satoru tosses her a remote that she fumbles to catch with her shaky fingers and Suguru cheekily continuing eating her out.
“I’ll leave that one in.” he winks and without further preparing, Shouko sees him thrusting his cock between Suguru’s cheeks once, twice, slicking himself up with lube before entering him.
One hard thrust that sends Suguru’s face deeper into her, his nose pressing on her clit insistently and moaning loudly, causing electricity to light up her whole body to her core. For a fraction of a moment, her vision whites out and a sudden shriek escapes her.
She thankfully didn’t cum -she needs to spread her energy as best as possible so that she doesn’t end up exhausted from the first round- but it was near thing. Suguru is lapping at her gushing slick from her throbbing pussy, licking it up from her thighs as would a parched man on the only oasis in the desert.
Pulling at his hair up, she craves to see their faces; Suguru’s gaze has hazed further, tongue lolled out of his mouth and licking at his glossy lips. No picture would ever do him justice in the sheer eroticism he exudes.
“Shouko… hah- ngh… Satoru…” he moans their names fervently. Behind her, Satoru’s eyes are closed, brows furrowed and panting, getting used to the tight grip of Suguru’s smooth walls.
Shouko flicks the switch on the vibrator’s remote to the highest setting at once, catching both of their off-guard reactions. Suguru’s still bound arms buckle at the combination of sensations, head falling between her breasts, lips latching onto one nipple. Satoru’s eyes snap open, darkened with storm and intensity behind pure showy lashes and hair. Shouko shivers to her toes, guiding Suguru for another kiss while her eyes stay locked with Satoru’s.
She feels him thrusting through Suguru’s body, shoved close to hers. He hasn’t finished his job and he wiggles out of her grip, guided with the help of her eager hands back into her pussy. Satoru’s thrusts put a new spin on the pleasure, as he even his shallowest thrust pushes Suguru unbelievably close to her. His large hands grip around Suguru’s tapered waist with such force that will imprint bruises on his skin. Handprints that will be larger that Shouko’s when she puts her own hands, just like the way Satoru’s hand envelop hers.
With that thought in mind, she undoes Suguru’s wrists, setting them free. Both hands immediately grasp around her thighs strongly, just as large as Satoru’s and covering more than half her thigh. Suguru too envelops hers, but here he is on his knees to please her and they’ll have matching bruises of possessiveness.
When she takes one of his hands to away from her skin to lace their fingers together for a brief moment, Suguru actually looks surprised at the intimacy, eyes glassy.
“I’m here.” She tells him again, kissing his knuckles one by one and putting his hand on her left breast where he can play with her while feeling her heartbeat under her skin. The muscles on his back appear to go lax at this action.
Her eyes travel between Suguru’s face and the slamming of Satoru’s hips into him, their naked muscles rippling and expressions open and unlike she ever saw them before.
It’s Shouko that comes firsts, unsurprisingly, having the least stamina of the three and under Suguru’s enthusiastic tongue, his hands pulling him closer to her pussy by the thighs and waist, her legs strain to open wide for more.
“Fuck-! I’m…Suguru—!” The frayed thread snaps and she throws her head back, moans his name, hips frantically rolling up to ride her orgasm. It’s better than what she experienced in her college years and after and more relaxing than her hand.
Her vision blacks for a moment and when she comes to, blinking slowly, Suguru has that small smile on his face, half smug, half ecstatic and a part of her wants to wipe it out, if not for the glistening sheer of her release on his face, particularly on his overworking, swollen lips, cherry red and parted for him to finally breathe out of her weak grip he subjugated himself to.
She tips up his chin with stern fingers and kisses him, tasting her own citrusy taste and smell her acidic scent in gusto. She does nothing else after she has her fill for now, sadistically refusing his increasingly needier kisses and anything more than her touch. Shouko simply watches him get fucked by Satoru, the two of them in a sync that was built over years of knowing each other’s bodies as perfectly as their own. Calms herself down with taking in the information of the angle Satoru uses to hit Suguru’s prostate dead on, what makes him moan or whine or keen, burning it to her mind as cigarette burns.
From now on, there will be time and they won’t separate, she thinks with a shiver. Even if they world around them burns, even if they fall and become ashes with it, now their fates have linked up and melted to one.
Satoru’s hands tighten around Suguru’s waist, his head leaning forward to nuzzle between Suguru’s naked shoulder blades, his thrusts frantic and losing control. With Suguru’s head on her chest, she reaches up to kiss him, sharing her taste and savouring his again, to balance Suguru’s.
“Mmh, coming-!” he hisses on her lips with one last slam and Suguru’s draping over her almost completely she tastes his moans when he releases deep into Suguru’s ass.
With that sight in front of her, heart pounding against her ribcage, it’s quick for the heat to reignite, her cunt throbbing again, her thighs sting from Suguru’s bites, her nipples stiff and goosebumps erupting throughout her skin.
It doesn’t escape Satoru’s all-seeing eyes, smirking and taking her in hungrily, “You ready to go now?” he asks cheekily.
She displays herself without any shame, she knows her effect on them as much as vice versa, “Make a show for me first.” she smirks.
From below, Suguru shivers and he tries to lift himself up, resembling more of a trembling fawn on its first steps, but Satoru assists him, grabbing him but his marked thighs and making themselves comfortable on the queen size bed, splaying Suguru open while still inside him, legs spread wide open to hide nothing. A display of colourful marks, the thin sheen of sweat and black hair flowing down his shoulders and chest, his bangs framing his face.
His cock remains hard, angry red and begging to be touched and come. Shouko tucks her hair behind her ear and takes the head into her mouth, tasting bitter pre-cum. With all the smoking she’d done, she’s not put off at all but the bitterness; on the contrary, it only fans the heat in her core.
Shouko knows she can’t take him more than halfway- Suguru is not small by any means in terms of both length and girth- her gag reflex constricts her and she’s not an overachiever as her men to try and master it now. She’s rather continue with what she knows how to do, she’s funnily impatient but she can’t help it. Now is the time to release her innermost desires until she’s exhausted.
Taking a look at his twitching hole, prettily plugged with the egg-shaped vibrator strapped around one thigh and Satoru’s dick, dripping down the amount of cum that overflows his guts, she grabs the strap on she saw in the corner of the last picture. Smelling of new leather and metal, it digs to her skin pleasantly when she sets it, cold to barely quell her boiling skin, keep her from falling apart into pieces too early.
She fumbles with the straps for a bit, her hands shaky from nervousness and anticipation alike. It’s funny, she always thought herself calmer than this, as she was with her night with Mei-Mei, but when it comes to those to idiots that warmed their way into her hand and messed with her head, she’s no less of a mess than them.
Suguru’s glassy eyes focus on her, shaking his head and keening into Satoru’s neck and jaw, whimpering in anticipation masked as reluctance.
“No… it won’t-” it’s cute, how innocently he asks, as if she doesn’t know. As if she’ll be appalled at how much of a slut he is. Not when he wants them so much he forsakes all conservations and solely his body speaks.
“Oh but you’ve taken a lot more, right Suguru?” she cuts him off, lips tracing his jaw, “This will be no problem for you then. You can take us both, can’t you? Be good.” she shoves her fingers inside. Suguru yelps suddenly, his jaw laxing and body bucking down to take more. The obscene squelching sounds fill the room, the heat of his wet, velvety walls, filled with Satoru’s warm cum is vile and incredible, tightening around her and sucking them both in, his irrational fear is easily broken. Two birds with one stone, she can also trace the hot hardened flesh of Satoru’s cock nestling inside, pulsing and twitching.
“Shouko…ngh-!” Suguru whines from the overstimulation, while Satoru bites his nape to keep silent but she won’t have that, her free hand fondling his balls.
“You…play dirty,” Satoru laughs darkly, smile wide and full with sharp teeth that just gnawed at Suguru’s skin deep for drops of blood to appear. Suguru keened and back down his body as best as he could, seemingly used to and enjoying the harshness.
“Says you. You pulled all the dirty tricks to bring me here,” Shouko snarks back, “Isn’t this what you wanted?”
“It is- mmmhn!” He still manage to roll his eyes at her comment. A large pale hand fists and strokes Suguru’s cock a couple of times, him sinking further back at Satoru’s chest, “As if you weren’t miserable yourself. You had plenty chances.”
“C-can you both,” Suguru hisses, “Shut up… and fuck me already?” he spreads his legs and his arms grab her by the shoulders and pull her to a languid kiss, “Now!”
It’s nothing less than trying to swallow her whole, ingest her as one of his curses and keep her bound to him until they perish. Shouko shudders at sight of this nature, hidden under the mild mannered and emotional boy she knew that desperately tried to be strong and now let his darkness consume him, until it broke him and all three of them for five years by ultimate consequence.
Suguru pants into her mouth, eyes molten, “I’ve wanted to do this for so long, Shouko please please - I…I missed you.” he tells her and all words are forgotten at his begging. There is no point looking over their shoulders to a past that seems a life time ago.
Shouko swallows, her face flushed hot and her skin shivering with desire and the knowledge that both of them can break her… but they don’t, they let her take what she deserves from them. Before she can put her third finger to open up Suguru more, Satoru’s two longer ones join them, helping her in more effect.
“Sorry,” he mumbles on Suguru’s pouting lips, “We got you, we’ve being wanting this forever right?” Suguru nods and lets himself become plaint on Satoru’s arms, relax so that he can take them both.
When Suguru is finally ready, Shouko lines up her cock with his puffy red hole, breaching slowly and sliding against Satoru. The pressure of the strap on her clit makes it hard to stop and she doesn’t, slamming home once the head is in.
Suguru howls and flinches in ecstasy, his hands grip harshly at her shoulders, blunt nails digging to her pale skin. A silent beat where all try and catch their breath, before Satoru and her share a nod and start moving again.
It’s clumsy at best -she feels like a virgin again- to try and find a pace but they manage it in record time. Suguru’s velvety insides clench around them since they are never empty as one of them fills him up to the brim when the other’s flesh or silicone head catches on his abused rim. Shouko has a first-row view that the slight but visible distention on Suguru’s lower abdomen from their cocks, its synced appearance and movement with their thrusts. When she presses it unkindly, Suguru whines cutely that only urges her to grope it more and harsher.
His body molds to their shape, his mind to their whims. Suguru’s strength might creak her, Satoru’s words might bend her, but she was alone and fairing for years. She will be the one that breaks them.
“It’s far better than what I imagined,” she mumbles aloud but they hear it, “I already knew that your body was slutty as hell, Suguru, but never like this…So open and willing, shit,” she bites as his pressed lips, swallowing his restrained moans, “You feel incredible…” the other’s body flushes dark pink and unconsciously preens at her praise, presenting his chest at the level of her mouth and she’s too far gone to question of greedily doing what her body and heart tell her.
Her mouth bites down without any softness at one perked up nipple with a new mark, above the larger circle of teeth which has just started healing. She finds it more hot than frustrating that Suguru always had bigger tits than her, a fact that annoyed her at first in high school but eventually she started finding really sexy from the days of eyefuls of his naked chest as he was training. One more instance where he advertised the marks Satoru gave him the night before.
Now she claims what she’s owed for years of unresolved sexual tension that they will definitely pay her for the rest of their lives, resolves her teenage dreams and insecurities about Suguru’s plush chest. With his weight supported solely by Satoru -who manhandles him with ease and the uncontrollable lust he always harbors- she can multitask to the best of her ability, her hands freely groping his flexing abdomen and chest, while her mouth paints him with her own colour to blend with Satoru’s.
All while her hips don’t stop their languid thrusting, more interested in reaching deep inside him, remain drag on his walls to carve him than Satoru’s stamina-filled faster pace. She’s dripping again down her thighs, the bite of the harness adding a nice flavour of the dig of the leather on her skin. Still, she doesn’t have the power for too many orgasms like them, her clit needing a different kind of stimulation.
“If you come dry,” she whispers, biting down and licking a wet stripe on Suguru’s neck, “I’ll take off the cock ring and let you fuck me first,” she smiles on his skin when he feels him shiver and arch to her touches, clenches impossibly tight around them.
“That’s an easy one!” Satoru pecks Suguru’s cheek, “Come on baby… let her know how great your beautiful body is.” He winks at Shouko.
And he’s true to his word. She sees for herself the way Suguru’s pants and gasps slurred facsimiles of their names and his whole body violently shudders in Satoru’s embrace as he most definitely orgasms with both their cocks inside him, but ultimately nothing is released from his bound cock.
“Good boy.” Both Satoru and her praise him, wiping his teary eyes and patting his mussed up hear respectively. The aftershocks of his orgasm remain even when he’s laid on his back, beautiful hair climbing like a dark halo around him and jolting whole. Always tempting, that Suguru, even when he didn’t want to.
In moments like this when his gaze is hazy with never-ending arousal, bare under her as he climbs on his lap, twitching and trying to speak, he’s temptation in two legs.
“How come you’re not going to complain?” she raises an eyebrow at Satoru.
“Hmm?” he looks up at her from his stroking of his cock next to Suguru’s face.
Shouko shrugs, a pointed looks at his cock.
Satoru pretends to be flustered, “If you want to have your way with me, Shouko, just say so~” she slaps his arm with one of the leather straps of her harness, leaving an interesting mark on the outside of his wrist, dangerously and deliciously close to his cock.
“You can say that I am making up for delaying connecting my darlings sooner,” he tells her, giving a tender, knowing and actually apologetic gaze towards Suguru.
Shouko can’t help but roll her eyes; Satoru still hasn’t actually made up to either her or Suguru. A few tears and some begging for them would pass as more sincere.
But just as he did, Shouko keeps her stronger cards saved up for when the time is right.
Slicking up Suguru’s cock with copious amounts of lube and stroking him tightly so he doesn’t come with just this, enjoying the way he tries not to buck his hips at her hand. She spares him the wait, spares them both since Shouko is still hot and bothered, her cunt pulsing with the open need to fill the emptiness inside her. She guides herself above Suguru, hiding her preening under two pairs of attentive lustful eyes, lines up his cock with the soaking folds and breaches herself with it.
It’s been a long while since she had a real cock, since she had a problem with the faces attached to it in her few hook-ups, but this…this feels better than she had dared to imagine.
Suguru moans her name whorishly, a hand grabs at her hip desperately. They both pant when their hips meet, her legs admittedly weakened from the strain but she can push through for her final orgasm.
She gathers what’s left of her wits; a poor and futile effort, especially as in front of her, Satoru guides his cock between Suguru’s dark cherry lips to shut him up, swollen with abuse and mix of their spit and fluids.
Suguru expertly slacks his jaw to take him in, his throat bulging the more length he swallows. His eyes shift back and forth from Satoru to Shouko, eagerness to splay his body for them and please them. Only Suguru would make such a position prideful.
Exchanging a glance with Satoru, he thinks the same thing; it makes them want to break them and make him cry even more.
And from Satoru’s smile, the anxious palpitations of her heart ease up. They have all the time in their world now. More days, more nights like this. So many ways for future euphoria.
Her hands are steady on Suguru’s chest as she starts rolling her hips, getting used to his size, toying with his nipples while doing so, something which makes him moan and sent vibrations to Satoru’s cock.
It’s more straining that she remembers, she finds herself out of breath soon, the orgasm quick to build up again and from the hints of oversensitivity and pulling along of her body, it really will be the last.
“Shouko, look up here,” Satoru calls and when she lifts her head up, his lips are on her own again. His hands grab onto her hips and help her move, higher up to almost pull Suguru out of her before slamming her back up again. She moans into his mouth and her walls clamp tighter around Suguru.
It’s a messy tangle of limbs, mouths and sweat but it’s also powerful warmth that heats up the cold bones. She feels full and something really close to content. Her moans higher-pitched and needier than she ever heard her own voice become. She bears loved bruises from her grown boys, now foolish men that have changed but also remained the same.
She can feel Suguru’s cock pulsing inside her. Her body is wracked and moved with all kinds of sensations until the coiling in her lower belly is close to snapping, she ruts against Suguru fervently to his pelvis with her folds.
Her fingers rush to touch her throbbing clit, rubbing fervently and erratically until the last of her coiling knots snaps and she comes with a silent scream, eye fluttering close as she rides it out.
Even as the oversensitivity begins to prickle, she doesn’t pull out, continues to roll her hips in the rhythm Suguru picked up. Nestled inside her, he’s pulsing and twitching.
“Mhhn…nhg-!” he moans choked around Satoru’s cock and with one last thrust up, he comes inside the condom Shouko put on him, before falling plaint on the bed.
Satoru is the last to come, but he doesn’t take too long either. His balls hit Suguru’s cheek and he buries his cock deep in his stretched-out throat, pulling at his hair as Shouko’s finger still pitch at his nipples almost absentmindedly, to see him flinching in oversensitivity.
All three of them are sweaty, panting and boneless, the silence in the room content and breathing out the fever. Each one of them has marks from the others, each sticky with fluids that are not solely their own.
Shouko’s clothes are useless at this point, if Satoru hasn’t brought her any in his infinite wisdom and fortune telling-
It doesn’t matter, her mind supplies. She’s so content, it’s tiresome to think to much and stress over such stupid details.
Instead, what she does is lay down on Suguru’s side, while Satoru plops himself on the other. Suguru radiates satisfaction and bliss, his amber gaze is still dark with leftover desire.
One arm wraps around her stomach, fingers tracing her sides, counting her ribs, thumbing the jut of her hip.
She rolls her eyes, “You always think too loudly. It’s too late to think about returning now.” she tells him, and Suguru grins on her nape.
“Good. I wouldn’t let you leave.” His smile loses the feral edge, and his nuzzles against her hair. From the other side, Satoru hugs him from behind, his long arms embracing her as well.
It’s going to get stifling in less than a minute, but that’s a worry for future Shouko. For now, she basks in the heat.
“Tomorrow I’ll introduce you to the family.” he murmurs on her hair.
“Already done that.” Satoru perks up, then groans.
Suguru retreats his elbow from the other’s ribcage, “Properly.” he smiles threateningly, a smile he shares with Shouko and brews interesting ideas to consider in the future.
“Whatever,” is all Shouko says, her strength depleted but she also finds no need for more words. She shoves her face into Suguru’s plush chest.
She has the faint urge to smoke. When she wakes up from her satisfying and full nap, she fulfills it in an expensive balcony that touches the sky, looking down at the small things she left behind, unable to even find them. Dressed in only a baggy and very expensive shirt she has to roll the sleeves up twenty times, sharing light with the boy that smoked with her in high school, while the other one mimics them again with a lollipop. They bicker and they watch the sky from their place up in the sky.
Glancing at them, black and white hair flowing beautifully with the breeze, their faces matured but their souls the same.
“You two should stop smoking, it’s disgusting.” Satoru complaints.
Suguru sends her an exhausted look, no doubt from years hearing those words. He spitefully exhales smoke on Satoru’s face, leading him to a coughing fit and fake complaints. Just when he recovers from it, Shouko does the same, kissing him square on the lips and blowing the smoke into his mouth.
Shouko hides her grin in her palm. She can’t believe she’s stuck with those two again.