Note:

Flashbacks and thoughts in italics

I do not condone or encourage any behaviours in this story. It is simply a fictional story.

"Frankincense Burning"

CHAPTER 5

sick angels

.

Embers levitated as Mai's bullets flew. When Panda confronted Kokichi, the fire flared up in embers. Then Miwa realized that if she didn't run away, she would be out before she knew it. Dead leaves eddied in the air as the heels of her dress shoes skidded, then slipped in her haste. Kasumi fell forward, unprepared for the fall.

There was a jarring noise. It screwed up Miwa's face and made her lips purse like she had been chewing a lemon rind—the ripping sound of her clothes. Maki had yanked her by the edge of her suit jacket. Her resilience was gone. Her heart galloped.

She hoped she was dead. It was better than enduring the needling pain that came with figuring out how to untangle herself from the hazard called Maki. Miwa panted, almost tumbling down the narrow road of mud and moss. She turned a corner past the clay and murk that twirled aside, dirt sloshing over her pants. She huffed, wishing she hadn't pushed beyond her boundaries and overexerted herself. She supposed that what had got her on the edge had more to do with the presence of two people, the last thing she wanted to see in a place like this. Inumaki should be at home or on a soccer field, not here. And Gojo Satoru has no right to be here. Although he may possess physical capabilities, his head is not okay for a job like this.

Bump.

Wham.

Plop.

Her breasts were pushed up against the ground painfully, and the air felt gelid as her suit got split at the back. It scudded down, cutting along her backline, with its fabric barely holding onto her torso. She screamed, feeling two calloused palms holding her back by her neck exposed, where her shirt collar had been tugged. The rough grip left harsh vermilion marks bruising her skin. For a moment, her body went still, frozen in fear. She swirled about in a whirlpool of instincts to wrench the foreign hands off her neck.

Making her landing, Maki smirked. There were specific instructions about not using alpha commands, but her opponent had been begging for it.

Miwa's slashes didn't graze the brunette, who ducked and moved at a pace faster than her eyes could follow. She got punched twice in the face. Her uniform had gotten muddy after her shoes almost met a snake camouflaged on the ground. She lurched sideways, tripping. She lost count of how many times Maki's long but seemingly painless weapon knocked the air out of her lungs.

Miwa moved her foot to the side and grabbed Maki by her shirt coat, but the brunette was fast. She didn't expect the hand coming for her neck, slamming her side to knock her face flat on the ground. Her heartbeat shuddered as her cheeks pressed against the rough mud, Maki on top of her, her sword in hand. She couldn't move her hand as it got stomped over, pinned under Maki's foot. "Dammit," Miwa cried out loud. Aware of the spectators, her eyes clamped shut. There was just too much pressure to bother.

The mentors and graders observed from the room, assessing every movement. Maki was too strong for her opponent. Gojo jabbed at Utahime, telling her how much of a good teacher she was. He reclined in his seat, the cup of popcorn thrown at him, falling to the floor without touching a fibre of his skin. It's not his place to do anything preventing this situation. In the name of fair play, his hands are tied. Despite his words, despite feeling proud, his mind was banned from complete satisfaction. The problem was Maki's opponent and what Maki was. The sight of a defeated Kasumi had not brought a smile to his face. It wouldn't have mattered if she was under him, soaked in his scent.

Utahime has her eyes and ears open. Gojo makes one wrong move, and she could play her cards to keep Kasumi out of his reach. Now, when he is at the closest he has gotten to claiming her. After all his efforts, he will not be delighted with that. Unacceptable. Troubles like this could've been avoided if she had let him mark her the very first day they met like she should've done. But he had waited for her, been patient for her. So she has to be his before anyone comes in between their fate.

.

There was blood on her feet when she woke up. She lay on a stone bench covered in leaves, cushioning her back. Had the twigs punctured her after all the running? But then she found her shoes resting on the roots of a nearby tree. Seeing that her feet weren't hurt, she must have been wearing them. Someone had taken them off. In Tokyo, only surprises awaited her. They counter-attacked until her head reeled from the heavy cannonballs whanging at her.

Faint light fell upon his hair and made him seem holy, even when he was unholy in many ways. They say the face doesn't always reflect the heart. He was no angel, no god. Only a man, an alpha down to his roots. Her cheeks were mellow saffron when he slithered closer like a ghost and peppered kisses over her face. At first, he would seem like a golden dream on a dark night. It takes time to know that he is as dark as the night. Wicked. Warped somewhere deep inside.

Gojo looks into her eyes, his heart thudding in his ears and a firework of fondness going off as he inhales her scent. Miwa's hands go for his collar, dragging him behind a tree. "What are you doing? Someone will see us!" Miwa hissed, trying to shield him with her petite form and soon giving up.

She came like a wind he had breathed in and stayed like a rock in his chest, a disease stemming from his head and flowering in his heart. Its pollen is intoxicating, and it is rare because it never dies. Love. It never started slow. It was both the behemoth-fabled dragon and the fast fluttering of a butterfly. In her half-lidded eyes, he saw a future with her. And wanted it. That's where it got complicated because once he wants something, that's already taken by him.

Gojo had chosen, and so Miwa is his.

She was a sweet night making him want to imprison himself in a never-ending dream. Gojo cradles her face in his hands, his lips falling on her pillowy ones, heat building as they collide and meld. "I love you."

"No, you're obsessed," Miwa corrects. "This is not love, Gojo—Sensei."

Gojo pulls back to whisper a chaste kiss in her ear. "I like that. I can't wait to have you as my mate." Kasumi puts a hand on his chest. "Call me Satoru. By my name."

Kasumi has never been loved like this if you could even call it love. It should not be hard to refuse a monster like him.

Who doesn't want to be loved? Her eyes burned a request left unuttered, tingling her lips. "Don't love me like this." She felt like a little plaything caught in his grasp, a pining little knickknack who wanted all the passion he offered her. To be in his care, to be held by him, even if it would end up choking her. She wondered what rapture it would be to die in that lovely suffocation. Was she that desperate, ready to give everything away, to be consumed in this fiery illusion created around her?

Although she may not be as strong as Maki, she shall not break. Even if someone were to reassure her that all of this was real, she would not believe their lies. The trees cast shadows on the darkening day. Once her head droops with a rasp, her blue hair creates a curtain around her face. Gojo was a flame that could burn her wings when all was said and done. "I'll give you my body." She straightens her spine, a hand flipping the hair out of her face. "But my heart, it's mine alone."

Gojo's fingers meet the buttons of her shirt and hook onto the cloth, pulling it up and dragging her onto her tiptoes. "I'm not ripping it off, Kasumi," he chuckles.

"I'm only taking it because you're meant to be mine," she stumbles closer, her face looking up to meet his eyes. "I'm the best you could ever have. Just relax, and you'll be mine before you know it."

Her breath hitched as she got whisked off the ground into his arms and swung over his shoulders like a bag of potatoes. That's when she noticed. Gojo's shirt was torn, a piece of it ripped off and now tied up around her ankles. "Drop me!" Her legs flailed about his front, and her fisted hands beat his back in rapid frustration. "What's wrong with you! You degenerate!" She cried and tried to bite down, but that wasn't possible with her position.

Gojo smirked, patting her butt like it was some greeting. "You hurt your ankle. Let me do this for you!"

"Stop. D—don't touch my butt." She was angry, red mad, and seething now. What is this! She must feel afraid, but instead, her feelings are totally dumb when it comes to him. She must be fed up with tears running down her face. But instead, his pheromones have twisted inside her and are messing with her head. Her inhales gradually got calmer, and her head did not ring. It's about time she asked: "Where are you gonna take me? You don't plan on celebrating our mating in the school, do you?"

"I really want to." He deadpanned, stopping in his tracks. Miwa bit her tongue. At least her blank mind isn't a slate where her fears could scribble.

Author's Note:

the hell did I just write