chapter 9: gods, monsters, monkeys, and the moon
in which it has been ten years, and they finally talk about it.
cw: unhealthy relationships, power dynamic, unreliable narrators, skewed perception of the self and others, tonal dissonance, and explicit sexual content
September 2016, Los Angeles, California.
"Again."
Her Domain dispels, and with it the darkness, replaced by the bright sheen of moonlight that transforms shards of sand into glistening flecks of diamond. The ocean kisses the coast, and Yuna, collapsed on the beach, listens to the waves crashing as she recovers her breath. In front of her, Yuki's bare feet peek through the grains, her toes painted turquoise. It's a color Yuna would never be able to pull off, but Yuki, as Yuki always does, exists unabashedly and beautifully.
"Come on, Yuna," she says, her foot tapping. "One more time."
Yuna gets to her knees slowly, spitting sand. "I don't have enough Cursed Energy."
"Sure you do," says Yuki easily. "It doesn't have to be long. Just one minute."
"The vast majority of sorcerers cannot even do a Domain," argues Yuna, "and the vast majority of ones who do can only do it once a day. I believe I have exceeded expectations already."
Yuki arches an eyebrow and crosses her arms. "That's a lot of words for someone who's too tired to train."
"Yuki-san," she says wearily, "you are so lazy otherwise, but when it comes to teaching, you are relentless."
The Special Grade grins. "I know. How else d'you think I got cute lil Aoi to grow up so fast? Utahime tells me he's gonna be up for Grade One Promotion at the end of his first year—second, max."
Yuna is half-sarcastic, half-impressed. "Remarkable."
"So up!" Yuki claps her hands. "You got it in you. Domains don't have to sap you dry, because if you're ever pulling this out against someone, you're running away right after. Gotta have enough Energy to do that too."
Yuna stumbles to her feet and dusts the sand off her linen pants. They are on a small, unreachable beach along the coast of southern California, one that Yuna had found on her adventures while she'd been practicing the newest tattoos of "Fly" on her ankles. She and Yuki see each other every several months or so—usually it is Yuna who travels to wherever Yuki is located, (currently the depths of Brazil)—but Yuki had been craving Korean food and had flown to Yuna's humble studio in Los Angeles this time.
Each time they meet, Yuki makes it a point to train Yuna. The irony is not lost on Yuna. Despite her disinterest in nurturing others whom she does not find interesting, Yuki is a natural teacher, concise but clear in her explanations. Whether about Cursed Energy manipulation, Technique advancement, or martial arts, she is able to convey her genius, theoretical instinct into plain terms, a perfect trait for a teacher.
(Sometimes, Yuna wonders what would have happened if Yuki had accepted Yaga's offer to be the first-year teacher: if she could have stopped Fushiguro Toji, if she could have saved Amanai Riko, or Haibara, if Suguru would have stayed—)
Yuki raises her hands in fighting stance, her nails shimmering like the waves behind her. "Come on."
Yuna exhales as her hands form the seal, index fingers hovering but never touching, the gap where Oblivion exists: an asymptote.
The darkness envelopes them both, and immediately all of Yuna's tattoos imbued with Cursed Energy light on her skin. She is exhausted, each muscle screaming for rest, but Cursed Energy flows through her unbidden like a dam released.
"Good!" Yuki says, delighted. "Now, Freeze then Blast!"
Yuna wants to complain—manifesting the Domain is already more than enough—but she complies, Freeze just barely enough to affect Yuki for several seconds, before Blast follows.
Yuki's Cursed Dragon interferes before Blast can connect, and then Yuna finds her limit and the Domain releases on its own. The beach returns, and Yuna falls on her back, welcoming the soft sand and lull of the waves. Sweat beads heavily over her skin, dripping down her cheeks, her neck, soaking her clothes. A towel falls over Yuna's face, haphazard, as if she is at a poorly-rated spa.
"Good job!" Yuki sits next to her and continues to rummage through the tote that Yuna had brought with them. "That was really good! That was collectively five minutes—more than enough to do some damage and get away. Even if someone can counter with an Innate Domain, Freeze should be fast enough that they can't activate it, so you can surely get in the first blow."
Yuna sits back up and dabs her face gently. Yuki offers her a water bottle and Yuna takes it gratefully. "The trouble will be if they have their own Domain Expansion. I suppose practicing that will be my next step after sustaining the Domain reliably."
Yuki chews on the cap of her bottle. "I guess."
Yuna glances over at her, surprised by her reticence. "Something wrong? I thought you would be excited that I'm thinking about next steps in training at all."
"Nah. Not about you. You know I'm an open book, Yuna-chan. But I dunno if I can show you my Domain."
"Why not? It's not like I could ever beat you in a battle of wills."
"It's not you." Yuki unwraps a granola bar, takes a bite, and grimaces. She offers it to Yuna, who takes it but doesn't try it after she reads the label: white chocolate and peanut butter. It's something Satoru would love, but too sickly rich for Yuna. "I just don't know if you'll tell Gojou Satoru, and I'm pretty sure down the line, somehow, some way, we're gonna fight, and I'd rather him not know."
It's as if Yuki had spat the rest of her water in her face. "Yuki-san, I…I wouldn't ever do anything to hurt you."
Yuki nods seriously. "I know. I just don't want to risk it."
"I…" Yuna rarely is at a loss for words, but she doesn't know what to say. Yuki is so carefree, bordering careless. It stings to realize that in reality, Yuki actually does employ caution with limitations, but Yuna is somehow one of those limitations. "I do not think I've ever done anything to lose your trust, Yuki-san."
Yuki blinks. "No, but it's not like you've told me what's in Gojou's Domain either."
Yuna's mouth is suddenly full of sand, sharp and gritty. In her mind flashes a night in Barcelona, when Limitless Void may have shown her all the things Yuna could have dared to want.
"I don't know what is in it," she says.
Yuki nods once. "Point proven."
"Yuki-san—"
"I'm not mad, Yuna-chan. I know I'm important to you. And you're important to me. But I don't know how, or why, or when Gojou-kun became the most important Special Grade to you when I thought he was your least favorite."
"He isn't…" Yuna falters. "I left Tokyo, didn't I? I came and joined you. I left Gojou-kun behind."
"That wasn't for me, that was for you," says Yuki simply. "And I'm glad you did, because you needed to get the fuck out of Tokyo and see the rest of the world and realize you're both bigger and smaller than whatever the jujutsu world has made you to be. But you've never left Gojou. Not even close."
Yuna is quiet, letting Yuki's words sink in, turning them over as if they are smooth stones in a quarry under which she pans for gold.
"Are you angry with me, Yuki-san?"
"No, of course not." The reply is swift and easy. Yuna believes her. "Disappointed, maybe. By him, mostly. I think he limits you."
Yuna turns away toward the ocean. The moon is bright tonight, and the surface of the water shimmers like it is coated in mother-of-pearl. The way it reflects, its color, its brilliance, its expanse, all remind her of Satoru.
"What do you mean?" Yuna asks.
"Well, there's the literal side of things. You being a Gojou Inventory Object. And yeah, yeah, you can blame me for that. Didn't think he'd ever use it against you."
Yuna decides that it's not worth reminding Yuki of this great fear when she had first been named an Object—lingering on possible consequences that come to fruition from bad choices is not something Special Grades do.
"He has not used it against me," says Yuna half-heartedly. "Not in any meaningful way."
Yuki snorts. "Okay. I'll just ignore that wedding invitation I have stashed somewhere."
"That was never serious."
"Tell that to the engagement photo he used, which I'm sure he's jacked off to many times."
Yuna's cheeks burn when she thinks of the invitation—a picture taken by Shouko in a dilapidated hallway, years old, Satoru barely an adult, Yuna in a yukata with the Gojou crest over her womb. "It was hardly an indecent photo. We were both in formal garb."
"In Gojou formal garb—whatever. That's not the point. He might not use it against you, but he certainly uses it. He chases you half-way around the globe, reminding you that he's always there, that he needs you for whatever fucking reason. And because of that, you never take a split second to think to yourself—really think to yourself—what you want."
Despite that they have been training for nearly an hour, Yuna is certain the sheen on Yuki's flawless skin is the spray of the sea and not sweat. It glistens under the moonlight, and her amber eyes nearly glow.
"Honest to the gods, Yuna, I think you're brilliant. You could do anything you want as long as you apply yourself. But have you ever thought for a second about what you really want? Do you even know?"
Yuna doesn't answer immediately. It's moving, in a way, to hear Yuki's confidence in her, even if Yuna has never felt such a thing herself. She wonders if it is simply by extension—that with Yuki's own overflowing self-confidence, she cannot possibly imagine an existence without that assurance of worth—but Yuna appreciates the sentiment all the same.
She seals up the granola bar in its half-split wrapper and puts it back in her bag. The sand filters finely through her fingertips. She wonders if she were to rub the grains hard enough, if they could turn to glass and draw blood.
"Do you have an answer to that yourself, Yuki-san?"
"Of course," says Yuki instantly. "I want to get rid of curses. I want to completely rethink and rehaul our jujutsu system, starting with why we are so reliant on Cursed Energy. I want to change the world, and not be bound by anyone or any stupid rule while I do it."
Yuna smiles but doesn't say anything.
Yuki frowns at her. "You think it's funny?"
"Of course not. I think it's grand. I think you're remarkably powerful and brilliant and can do absolutely anything you want because you are so powerful and brilliant, but also because you refuse to be bound by any obligations or expectations. I admire you deeply for it. I resent you for it, too, because I cannot do the same thing."
Yuki frowns deeper. "You could. It's not hard. You just say 'fuck all' and do it."
"It's not…" Yuna shakes her head. "We are not the same people. We do not have the same options. I thought about what I wanted. Once. A long time ago. And it was not grand or remarkable. It was stupid and simple, but when I reached for it, it turned out very badly. It taught me that what I want is not worth it in the larger scheme of things."
So many years later, she may not always remember what Toji's voice sounded like, but everything else about him still lingers. Megumi looks too similar, and Maki's void of Cursed Energy too familiar. Every body of water that shimmers in moonlight reminds her of the Edogawa River, the depths of which hold Toji's ashes.
More than anything, Yuna feels nearly daily the overwhelming ache that Toji had left behind—it is maybe the one he'd felt constantly too, imprinted on her soul when he'd sworn his binding vow.
Or maybe, that ache had existed in her all along, and Toji had simply been the one to dig his fingers into it and rip it open into a gaping chasm that can never be repaired.
"You ask me why I don't say no to Gojou-kun," Yuna turns her gaze to the moon. She loves how, even though it shines so brightly, it doesn't hurt to look at. "But that's because no matter how selfish Gojou-kun always seems, he has never left the jujutsu world. You did. Getou-kun did. Nanami-kun did. And the only one left with all the responsibilities, all the obligations, bound by stupid rules and traditions and things that he could destroy with a single flick of his finger, is Gojou-kun. He doesn't have to. He shouldn't have to. But he chooses to, not because he wants it. I'm sure he doesn't want it. Who would want to be the Messiah of the Jujutsu World, when it's all shit?"
"So why would I leave him?" Yuna concludes, voice quiet but firm. "He thinks he needs me, even if I tell him he doesn't. Who am I to deny him that and chase what I want, something small and petty, when he who holds the jujutsu world up alone doesn't?"
"You're asking the wrong question," says Yuki, lips curling, eyes on fire. "It's not about the who and why, it's how. And the answer is, you just do it. You'll realize individual altruism and martyrdom don't do jack-shit in the larger scale of things. Gojou might realize that later. Maybe he won't, being who he is. But you will."
Yuna nods. "You're probably right, Yuki-san."
Yuki just shakes her head, recognizing a lost cause when she sees it. She flops down on the ground, resting her head in Yuna's sand-covered lap, and looks up at her. "So, what was it?"
Yuna runs her fingers through Yuki's hair. "Hm?"
"The stupid, simple thing you wanted that turned out badly?"
"Ah." Yuna wishes she had a beer. Or a glass of chilled sake. She finds a knot in Yuki's hair and works it out delicately. "You'll laugh at me. It's very pathetic compared to what you want."
"Just tell me."
Yuna thinks for a moment. "A quiet life by a river. Living in a small home with someone who sees me in full and still loves me and has sworn to never hurt me."
Yuki's eyes are molten gold. She knows it's not a life with her. "Do you want that with Gojou?"
"That could never happen."
"That wasn't my question, Yuna."
Yuna hums but doesn't answer, leaving Yuki to deduce her own.
Tokyo, Japan. November 2017.
When they return to campus, it is well past midnight, but a welcome party awaits them. Yuna is quiet, letting Satoru spin whatever story he wants, but reassures Megumi that she is not injured and tells him to go to sleep so that he can wake up for school the next day. Satoru lets Shouko attend to Yuna while he briefs Yaga, but explanations take longer than he expects when Yaga asks what exactly Suguru had wanted with Yuna's birth parents. They'd brought the monkeys back with them—her father is still unresponsive, and the mother wisely quiet, and no sorcerer present offers them comfort even though etiquette warrants it.
It is Yuna who, after she assures Shouko that she is largely unharmed, asks Shouko to give her parents a quick examination. Shouko frowns but doesn't resist. After Satoru dodges Yaga's questions enough times, omitting the topics of Yuna's Domain and the Cursed Womb entirely, the principal gives up and says they will resume the briefing tomorrow, when rested minds can come up with a plan for Getou Suguru. By the time Yaga makes this decision, Yuna is already gone, having slipped away under the pretense of needing rest.
Instead of her room, Satoru finds her Cursed Energy on the pavilion overlooking the pond. The indigo now seeps into her marigold, a parasite burrowing into the flesh of an orange. A cigarette glows in her hand, and Yuna blows out a frosty breath as Satoru sits beside her. The sky is cloudless, and the moon beams so brightly the pond glimmers with silver foil. Even with her horrible hair trailing limply down her shoulders, her black roots peeking through her scalp, Yuna looks beautiful in a soft and simple way, like untouched snow, while her Cursed Energy pulses around her like a halo.
He waits for a minute to see if she will speak first, but when she makes no move to acknowledge him, he comments,
"Thought you'd given that up."
The kanji on her fingers glints as her hand twitches. "It was the lesser of two evils."
Satoru glances down to Yuna's lap where Nightmare's Whim rests, unsheathed. The blade is as dark as her ink.
He reaches for the weapon, half-expecting Yuna to fight him for it, but she doesn't. Satoru sets it to his side, out of her reach, and then shrugs off his jacket and drapes it around Yuna's shoulders, as if this had been his intention all along. When his hand rests on her shoulder, Yuna finally glances at him in a way that makes something in Satoru shrivel.
He clears his throat and scoots away. "Bet you wish I were Suguru, huh."
Yuna's look burns through his skin, but she waits for him to explain.
"Not Suguru now," he clarifies with an aimless wave of his hand. "Not the insane one who's trying to get you to kill your parents. They deserve it, by the way. I mean the one we knew. If I'd been the one who'd gone to the Dark Side and Suguru was left behind, he probably wouldn't have exorcised that thing without asking. He'd ask you how you felt about it. Woulda heard you talk about how it was some remnant of your Cursed Womb, the manifestation of all your guilt for it not surviving, blah, blah. Woulda let you keep it because you wanted to, even though you shouldn't."
He pauses, waiting for Yuna to respond, No, of course I didn't want that Cursed thing, maybe even say, No, Satoru, of course I don't wish you were Suguru, but that's just a pointless wish. Ten years ago, they had sat on this pavilion on a hot, summer afternoon. Yuna had been the most truthful she has ever been with him, something she has never been since. It has been ten years and they have never talked about her rare truth laying the bricks of guilt and obligation that would become the foundation of their relationship to this day.
"I'm not sorry, Yuna." He looks at her unapologetically, even though Yuna is staring over the frozen pond instead, her cigarette rolling between her fingertips. "Guilt is what keeps you alive. I barely have you now. Megumi and Tsumiki barely have you. If you'd kept that Curse, we'd lose you to it. So I got rid of it, because I don't need to compete with another thing for you, too."
The silence stretches after Satoru finishes. It's not an excuse. It's not an apology. Satoru, despite his blessings, his wealth, his godliness, gets so little of what he wants—the world is all shit and Satoru is the always the one left to clean up the dumpster fire and salvage what he can. He is the Honored One who carries the world—sorcerers and monkeys alike—on his shoulders, and so he takes what he is owed. His selfishness knows no bounds, his inconsolable void of desire (for what?) is only ever-expanding, and the Curse he'd exorcised is as significant as a single star among thousands of galaxies. What is it worth, then, in the scheme of what Satoru wants?
"What makes you think you need to compete for me?" she says finally, tone betraying nothing.
He barks out a laugh. "Everything. Fucking Tsukumo Yuki, for starters. You give Shouko and Nanami your address every time you move. You only come back to Japan for Megumi and Tsumiki. You even came back to Japan just for Maki, once, and you barely know her. What's with you and the Zen'ins?" Satoru gestures to the Cursed dagger next to him. "And that's only the living ones. Forget the fucker who died ten years ago but you still stab yourself to see."
"I don't," she says abruptly, but then cuts herself off, likely realizing that she is rising to an accusation that is not worth defending. Yuna falls quiet again, words turning in her head carefully, and Satoru wishes he could just shake her and scream that she doesn't need to be so careful with him. He has sworn a vow that he takes seriously, that he will never hurt her, and even without the vow in place, why is it so hard to convince her that he'd never want to?
"I know," he says wearily. "It doesn't matter what I do. I'm always gonna want you. But I'll always be a monster to you. So, I'll just do whatever—be a monster—if it means I can keep you however I can."
"What…" Yuna takes a drag, thinking a bit. Exhales. Clears her throat. "I do not think you are a monster, Gojou-kun. But I also do not think you want me."
Satoru laughs again, and it sounds deranged. He does not need much sleep, but he's exhausted. They are preparing for a war he knows he will win, but does not know if he is ready to, because victory means he will hold Suguru's corpse in his hands. It feels so stupid, in the larger scheme of things, to still be pointlessly circling through this argument of misaligned fundamental beliefs that they have been trapped in for the last ten years.
"Yeah, I know," he says, voice gone toneless. "I've been trying to convince you for ten years, but you will never see me as anything more than the worst that I could do."
Yuna's gaze turns to him sharply, nearly angry. "That is not what I meant. You cannot want me, Gojou-kun, because you do not know me."
Satoru scoffs. "You don't let anyone know you, Yuna, but what I do know, I know I want."
"That's stupid and childish," she says bluntly, her eyes flashing, and he can glimpse it now: her mask cracking, truth spilling like vomit, indigo Cursed Energy flailing like a limp, inflatable balloon. "You do not know the worst part of me, because if you did, you would've let Getou-kun kill me."
"There's no way I would ever let Suguru or anyone else lay a hand on you," argues Satoru, convinced in his indignation. "There's nothing you could say or do, Yuna, that would make me not want you because the things that would change my mind are things you aren't capable of—"
"My child wasn't stillborn," Yuna blurts out as if she cannot hold herself back any longer, expression somewhere between frightened and livid.
Satoru's mind grinds to a halt—not because he is stunned, but because for a split-second, he cannot remember what child Yuna is talking about.
"Huh?"
"My child," she repeats, quieter this time, fire doused by mist. "From before I came to Jujutsu High. I said it was stillborn. I told Yaga-sensei it was. But it wasn't. It…he was alive. He killed my husband and Kamo-san. I think, somehow, I could will him to do so. But afterward, I…" She makes a gesture with her hand, as if she is pressing down on a lever. "I killed him and buried it in the backyard."
Satoru can tell that it is taking every practiced fiber of control Yuna has to say this aloud. He holds himself back, because even he can recognize how rare it is for Yuna to speak for such a length of time.
"I think," she says after a short pause, "the Cursed Womb today was birthed from my child's corpse. I didn't kill it with Cursed Energy. I didn't know how. And so all the resentment I had for being a mother, for my own child, just festered and formed into that…thing."
Her gaze has dulled, and she looks nearly pensive as she turns her attention back to the pond. The cigarette smoke wafts in a glimmering haze through which the moonlight punctures. The campus is as quiet as a church, save for Yuna's confession.
"I wonder why it attacked my parents and not me. Maybe I hate them more than I thought. Maybe I have known that all along, and all these years of trying to be someone better than I am are just…" She shrugs, sighs, softens, searches the sky. "What am I saying?" she murmurs, and Satoru isn't sure she's even speaking to him anymore. "I've had this conversation before. Under this moon. Confessed this to a man for validation and love, only for that man to be just the same as me. A monkey." Her lips quirk. "Except Toji-san, for all his horrors and sins, could never have formed a curse even if he tried, and I…"
Her eyes close, as if she can feel the moon kiss her skin, and Satoru half-expects her to ascend in the sliver of moonbeam like some celestial body being recalled home.
"You cannot want me, Gojou-kun, because you are not a monster but I am, because after all my sins and all my guilt, I saw the Cursed child I birthed twice and still hated it, even though it existed through no fault of its own. It was not yours to exorcise," the monster baptized by the moon says, "because it was mine to die by at last. I am both a monster and a monkey, and you are a god. You cannot want me."
For a brief moment, Satoru has clarity: not about what Yuna is saying, which is batshit, but about how they have reached this point. It is not just the two of them, but Suguru, Shouko, Megumi, his shithead father, the entirety of the jujutsu world—how they are so limited by these "shoulds" and "can'ts" of rules and obligations and expectations that are deemed sacred but have no concrete basis. Satoru understands that he alone has this clarity—that he exists and rises above it all—he has known that from his youth, but this is the first time he understands the fruitlessness of declaring how pointless it all is. It is as if all the years of Shouko's constant reminders—that the plane he exists on is lonely because he alone can exist on it—finally registers, because as badly as Satoru wants to scream at Yuna about how little he cares about her obligations and her guilt and this Cursed child he exorcised into oblivion, he understands that he cannot extend his Limitless to her when their convictions orbit each other on opposing ends of the galaxy.
Instead, Satoru reaches toward her hand and draws it in his. Infinity is deactivated, and they are both freezing. He tucks his palm against hers, his skin pale against her Los Angeles tan and crisp kanji and inky nails, and he bends his neck to press his lips against her knuckles. It is the closest thing to respect Satoru has ever offered, the barest semblance of a bow, but the touch of his lips against her cold skin elicits a sound from Yuna: a gasp, a sob, both and neither. When he raises his head, he sees his electric reflection in the glassy surface of her eyes.
"I told you," he says, voice steady, clear. "There is nothing that you could say or do that would change anything." He presses his lips again to her skin, firmer this time. "The Cursed Womb wasn't mine to exorcise. But you are mine to protect, no matter what you say, because I want to. Because I want you."
Yuna's expression shifts in the way it always does, with miniscule twitches of individual muscles, but maybe Satoru can read her better than either of them gave him credit for. Incredulity, resignation, and maybe somewhere underneath, a profound relief. He can sense the question on the tip of her tongue—how, why—but Yuna holds herself back, just lets her hand rest in his, and they look at each other, gods or monsters or monkeys all worth nothing under this moon, and Satoru realizes that this is the first time since they've met that they can see each other in full.
Satoru lets their hands drop. He brushes a loose strand of hair out of Yuna's face and tucks it behind her ear, then turns away from her. It was a declaration, not a question requiring reciprocal response. It feels odd to have the conversation stop there, but Satoru has said his piece and does not think he expects anything from Yuna in return.
"Satoru." Beside him, Yuna stamps out her cigarette on a wooden plank.
"Mm?"
"You are the only person in the world who knows about what I did with Toji-san. And what I did to my child."
"Lucky me."
"And still, you…" She gestures to herself. "You want?"
He blinks. "Yeah."
She suddenly climbs over him, onto his lap. He jerks his head up, only to glimpse her blank, pale face before her mouth slots over his and they are kissing—Yuna is kissing him. She tastes like cigarettes and it nearly makes Satoru nauseous, but he instinctively kisses her back. Satoru cannot remember her ever being the one to initiate this kind of touch, even though there have been plenty of times she has yielded to him. It feels different, like something out of a dream; she is not shy, her hands curling around his neck, behind his ears, into his hair. Her kiss is firm, coaxing, and when Satoru opens his mouth against hers, Yuna slides her tongue in. Her skin is cold, but the warmth of their joined mouths sends a shiver through Satoru; she is pressed tight against his chest, and when she shifts to kiss him deeper, she grinds down against him in a way that can only be interpreted as purposeful.
"Oh, fuck," Satoru groans. His hands come around Yuna's waist and he pulls her even tighter against him, hips bucking up against her. It's just a little kissing, a little touching, but Satoru can feel himself grow hard—he can't believe this, he wonders what his seventeen-year-old self would think, the one who'd lied down on Yuna's lap and admitted that he might want her a little bit, but that was ten years ago, he was a student, she was a teacher, it shouldn't make this even hotter and that's fucked-up to think about now—
He grapples with her clothes, sliding his own jacket off her shoulders so he can find the edge of her sweater and run his hands under it. He has touched her like this before, but Yuna has always stopped him before they get too far; nothing more than a little kissing, a little touching, and some part of Satoru keeps waiting for the rug to be jerked up from beneath him because in what universe would this conversation have led to them here?
"Wait," he gasps against her, even though every cell in his body is screaming, reminding him of the decade of unrepentant horniness he has had to endure. "Wait, are you sure?"
"I've wanted this for a long time, Satoru," she says, backlit by the moon. "I just didn't think you should too."
"Right," he says dizzily. "Yeah. Fuck that."
He kisses her, hungry and yearning and unlike all the times before, when Yuna would try to slow him down, he can she is the same, can hear her heart pounding against his. Still, she has more semblance of control than he does.
"Satoru," Yuna murmurs against his lips, hands carding through his hair. "We should go inside."
"Yeah," he says, dazed, unbelieving. She slides off him and he follows her, chasing her lips, her touch.
"The room," she says pointedly when he kisses her eagerly. "Let's walk first, Satoru."
"Walk?" he laughs. "Did you forget who I am?"
He wraps her arm around her waist to teleport them to her room. His foot knocks against something, and he looks down to see the black glint of Nightmare's Whim, the oni's grin gleaming at him. Yuna doesn't seem to notice. Satoru keeps it that way, pressing his lips to the top of her head as she tucks her face under his chin. Right as they disappear, he kicks Nightmare's Whim into the pond. He hears the telltale splash of the water consuming the weapon, echoing through the surface where the moon's reflection ripples, until the pond stills and finally returns to peace.
When she had first met Satoru, Yuna remembers distinctly feeling that if she let him in, he would consume her until there was nothing left. It is the way Satoru is, a blistering wildfire, the bottomless chasm of a black hole, his surroundings collateral damage. He is born to want, to consume, to destroy, and so Yuna is both surprised and amused that when finally given permission, he kisses and touches her with reservation and cautious restraint.
When he teleports them back to Yuna's room, Satoru lands them gently on Yuna's bed. He vibrates with practically every movement, pushing her sweater up to expose her navel, running his hand down her back, unconsciously grinding between her parted legs, but he doesn't take her clothes off, seemingly content to just kiss.
In the future, Yuna will justify her actions with a multitude of excuses: she has every right to be emotionally labile and vulnerable, having seen her parents who'd sold her, having her favorite student try to kill her, having both confronted and then confessed her greatest sins to jujutsu's god, all in the same night. In reality, she knows it is not all of these factors that finally change her mind. Some part of her, the darkest, most unworthy, most unforgiveable part of her, has wanted Satoru for years now. It is the part that Yuki had guessed about but does not fully understand, because Yuki does not know about Satoru's binding vow, and therefore does not know that the factor that had held Yuna back for all these years was the firm belief that Satoru could never see what she is truly worth and want her all the same.
The fact that Satoru is restraining himself is therefore sweet but a bit irritating. Yuna slides her hand down and palms at the bulge already well-formed between them, eliciting a moan from Satoru.
"What the fuck," he says into her ear, grinding down immediately against her. "You can't do that, I'm gonna come in two seconds if you tease."
"Then perhaps you should move a bit quicker," she whispers back.
"But I…" he hesitates, and Yuna cannot understand how Satoru, of all people, can suddenly be shy.
Yuna pushes him up so she can pull off her sweater herself. It has been some time since she has had sex, and even though Satoru is familiar, they have not been unclothed like this before, especially with Yuna being so blatant. It makes her uncomfortable, but when she unclasps her bra and lets it fall, Satoru practically whimpers.
He pushes her back down against the mattress, taking the time to tug his own shirt off. In the unlit room, even with shades drawn, Satoru seems to radiate a light of his own. It registers that this is the first time Yuna has seen him like this, too—bare chested, flawless skin, muscles demarcated by sharp lines and shadows thrown in relief. His eyes are so unbelievably blue and bright in this darkness, the fluorescent lights of fish in the deep sea meant to draw prey near, but Yuna is not frightened of him. She draws her palm down his chest, her inked fingers sacrilegious against his purity, and rests over his heartbeat. For just a few beats, they remain still, her hand over his heart, his hand over hers, skin-to-skin, both of them half-bare, and they look at each other.
Do I love you? thinks Yuna in a bizarre moment of clarity. Does it even matter?
They say nothing, but the energy shifts. He reaches for her, he likes to kiss her, and his hand brushes her breast. When Yuna presses into him, encouraging, he grows bolder, as if finally understanding her cues and recognizing that yes, she wants this, yes, this is happening. He pinches one nipple between his thumb and index and takes the other breast fully into his palm, kneading and pulling in response to the noises that Yuna makes and he devours. His lips trail to her ear, down her neck, until he takes one breast in his mouth and his tongue swipes over her nipple and he sucks, hard. Yuna jolts toward him—it's not painful, far from it, because she can feel herself grow wet and she wraps a hand in his hair to keep him there, seeking the stimulation.
Satoru only eagerly obliges, licking and sucking before he travels to attend to her other breast, teeth barely grazing the nub. One of his hands travels south and unbuttons her jeans. He half-heartedly tugs them lower just to her mid-thighs, too impatient to cup the apex of her legs where she is embarrassingly warm and wet even through her underwear. Satoru strokes over the cloth, teasing.
"Satoru," says Yuna urgently.
He makes a noise that sounds like a laugh and detaches from her breast so that he can leer over her, smile faint.
"Yeah?" he says, index finger sliding her underwear down and tracing along her slit, already slick. "You this wet after just a little tit-sucking?"
Yuna's cheeks flare. "I will make you leave."
"No, no, no," he says immediately, forehead leaning against hers. "Don't kick me out. I'll behave."
He kisses her just as his index finger splits her folds and teases her opening. His thumb finds her clit and rubs at it gently, just a senseless circular motion, but Yuna moans into his mouth, hips shifting, core aching, but Satoru doesn't enter her.
"You should," he says between kisses, eyes soft, "probably consent out loud. Because of the vow. I can tell you're tight."
She nods, grateful that he remembered. "I consent, even you accidentally hurt me."
His index finger finally penetrates her, past the initial resistance with slow, careful deliberation, then sinks slowly and smoothly inside her.
"Oh," the sound comes out dazed, feverish. Satoru's finger is so long, so thick, it feels—she can't—she unconsciously arches off the bed, unsure if it's to help him or to get away.
"You okay?" he says, his glowing eyes the only thing she can see, his heat and touch the only things she can feel. His finger stills inside of her, but his thumb presses encouragingly against her clitoris, sending pleasant shocks through her and forcing her walls to relax.
"Yes," she murmurs.
"Hold on to me," he says, more like a suggestion than a command. She loops her arms around his neck and he adjusts her in his arms, his free hand splayed at her hip so he can spread her wider. "I'll go slow. I won't hurt you."
He kisses her again as his finger withdraws and then thrusts back in gently. Yuna tilts her pelvis toward him, the angle helping. She knows instinctively that this is not the way Satoru fucks—slowly, carefully, considerately. She can still feel his restraint, but it's not the same kind of hesitation that he'd had in the beginning. It feels intentional and thoughtful, his massive body angled over hers but not oppressive. When his second finger slides in, it does so easily, with Yuna's slick now soaking her folds, hairs, and Satoru's palm. A soft occasional squelch accompanies his thrusts, and a third finger follows suit soon after.
"Hear that?" says Satoru against her open, panting mouth. "Messy."
"Satoru." It comes out less chiding than she wants it to be—more desperate, more—
"Needy," he observes, his three fingers pump in and out of her easily, curling inside of her, reaching deep to spots she hasn't had touched in years. Yuna's eyes flutter shut as she feels the pressure build between her legs, in her lower stomach, it feels like all the air is being slowly squeezed out of her lungs as the her body is overwhelmed with pleasure brought just to boil—
He presses down on her clit abruptly, hard, and Yuna's eyes snap open as she lets out an audible whimper.
"Eyes open," says Satoru, foxfire vision. "I want you to see me when you come."
It doesn't take much after, just a few more thrusts and his thumb flicking her clit twice and Yuna comes apart, pleasure rippling through her entire body as her walls spasm around Satoru's buried fingers, and all she can register are his Six Eyes enveloping her in sensation, an overwhelming good.
She has barely come down from the high when she realizes that Satoru is frowning.
"You're quiet when you come," he notes as he withdraws his fingers with an audible squelch. "Let's try that again."
"What—"
He scoots lower and pushes Yuna up against her pillows and headstand so that her torso is at a slight angle. He then buries his face between her soaked thighs, his tongue lapping at her flitting hole just once before thrusting in without further warning. Yuna whimpers as his tongue sinks in and out, the muscle warm and smooth, before two fingers re-enter her all at once. The whimper becomes a sob, the faint pleasant aftershocks now turning into something more dangerous, almost sinister. The build-up is too much—the slight electric charge is now a constant current with each pointed, purposeful thrust, she wants to crawl out of her skin, she can't, it's too much—
"Satoru," she begs him, but the eyes fixed on her are unforgiving and all-consuming as he pulls his tongue out, thrusts three fingers back in, and then sucks on her clit, hard.
Yuna comes with a scream, her entire body spasming around his fingers, his tongue, his face and his unblinking eyes. For a moment, her vision whites out, and she is nothing but a bundle of cells plagued by pleasure. She does not know how long passes, if she's still in her body or if they've ascended to another plane, but the next thing she knows is the taste of herself on her lips as Satoru kisses her, frantically muttering at the same time,
"Sorry, Yuna, was that too much? But that was so good—that was perfect, you sounded like everything I dreamed of—like a fucking wet dream—"
She can't make words, can barely kiss him back, can only receive his kisses open-mouthed like the receptacle of a holy blessing.
"Yuna," he breathes as he shuffles above her, pulling off her pants and drenched underwear completely. "Please tell me you're on birth control."
She nods, dazed. "IUD."
His eyes flare. "Can I—I'm clean, promise, can I come inside you?"
She nods again.
"Fuck, fuck, yes." He lies back briefly to shuck off his trousers and boxers and tosses them onto the floor. When he scoots back over, fully naked, Yuna's mouth goes dry. His cock is expectedly large, erect, head leaking and balls engorged, but he takes the time to adjust her back on the pillows so that she's lying flat and her thighs are pressed apart in each of his huge hands. "I'm gonna fuck you now, I'll be careful, promise."
Despite seeming so manic, he actually does enter her carefully, the tip of his cock gliding in slowly. Satoru balances over her, the front of his thighs pressed against the sides of hers as he sinks into her. He watches her intently, quiet until he seats himself inside; even with her two orgasms, Yuna feels unbearably filled, as if Satoru's cock is pressed up in her throat.
"You okay?" he asks, voice strained when he is fully buried inside.
"A moment," she gasps, eyes watering, "to adjust."
"Okay," he says, eyes blazing, body vibrating. "Tell me when."
He plays with her breasts, tugging at her nipples, licking them, trying to coax her to relax. True to his word, he does not move inside her until Yuna begins to relax and she rests her arms around his shoulders.
"Okay," she whispers. "You can move."
He does so slowly still, withdrawing only half way before pushing himself back in, and Yuna groans. Satoru freezes at the sound, but she taps his shoulders and he resumes the motions, thoughtfully, gradually building up speed and rhythm. The intrusion grows more comfortable and soon, whenever Satoru withdraws from her, Yuna's walls clench in aching need, only happy to be filled when he plunges back inside. They find a good pace, Yuna's legs wrapped around his back to anchor her as she thrusts her hips down to meet Satoru's every motion. His balls slap against her skin with every movement, the sound drowned out when Satoru reaches above her to find balance against the headboard and starts fucking her into the mattress, each thrust accompanied by the clack of the bedframe against the wall.
"Satoru," she says, uncertain if she is worried about the bedframe breaking or other people hearing them or if she wants him to fuck her harder.
"Yeah," he says, eyes bright as sunrise, "I'm close. You got another one in you?"
She doesn't think so, but when Satoru reaches down between them where his cock enters her warmth like he's carving an imprint into her and flicks her clitoris again, she moans.
"Yeah," he says, breaths coming faster, sweat beading down his forehead, "you do. 'Course you do. Eyes on me, Yuna." His fingers move faster, pinch harder, and the pressure clenches, escalates, but hovers—
"Come, now."
The pleasure crests as a third orgasm is ripped from her, both tears and sweat trailing down her face as Satoru places both hands on either side of her face and begins to fuck her, hard. Her walls squeeze around him, fluttering, begging him for mercy but also to never leave, and Satoru's orgasm erupts through him in a moan. His pupils are so blown that for a moment, he is not Gojou Satoru with the Six Eyes but just Satoru, and it is just Satoru whose warmth spills between her legs and seeps out onto the covers beneath them.
Yuna reaches up, cradles his face in both her hands and kisses him hungrily, tasting salt and warmth and love. He kisses her back as he finishes with a few more weak thrusts, then stills, and they are left simply with lazy swipes of their tongues.
"Yuna?" he rasps when they finally break apart.
"Mm?"
"I…" He pauses, uncertain.
She understands the uncertainty. What is there to do, after wanting but not having for over a decade? She runs a hand through his sweaty hair, relishing this. Infinity is off, and in this room, for this night, Satoru feels like he is hers and not the god shared with the rest of the jujutsu world. It is not true, and she knows that, but it is a truth that she will confront when she wakes.
"Let's go to sleep," she says. "We'll talk tomorrow."
He nods, suddenly serious. "Today, you mean."
"Yes. I mean later."
He nods again and pulls out of her. Yuna does not wince, even though it is slightly uncomfortable to feel his release trickle down her legs. Satoru cleans her up with the top of the duvet, and then they both shuffle underneath it, their heat trapped by the covers. It is something they've done many times before—sleeping together—with Satoru wrapping his arms around her waist even though he prefers being the little spoon. He whispers a goodnight, lips brushing the shell of her ear, and just this time, Yuna does not think about all the ways in which this should not be, that she does not deserve this—she puts aside these thoughts for just tonight, and lets herself, for the first time in ten years, simply exist in what she wants.
