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Gojo Satoru can off himself.
Burn in a pool of lava and leave no traces of death.
Because as soon as Fushiguro gets his hands on the little fucker, he promises to reap havok and suffering for the amount of casualties he’d faced the shitshow of a teacher promised had no chance of happening.
God damnit! Megumi should have known better than to trust his words. If he had just...fuck. He groans into his shoulder, sending small prayers of survival to his unforgiving body.
To hold out just a little longer. He wants to give in, to let go. Of all of it. If he could, he would have already relaxed his muscles and let it happen. Because, in short, Megumi needs to piss worse than he’s ever needed in his short life.
He has to go so bad that all other injuries pale in comparison to his need.
The tight bump perturbing his lower belly is spasming painfully each time the high schooler did so much as take a breath. That’s why Megumi is spiteful, cursing in his head at how this could have all been avoided if Gojo wasn’t so fucking stupid.
Fushiguro winces, muffling stilted plea’s to stop, begs and pathetic whines to his other two comrades. To which, Nobara, takes surprisingly well. “We’re gonna get you out before anything happens, idiot! Just focus on holding it.”
The young sorcerer’s abdomen rolls into the pits of his stomach, the insatiable urge to turn over and tear it out forsakens him.
He nods anyway, mumbling under his breath, “I am.” Barely. Who’s he kidding? The teen is grasping for straws while having no means of fighting the inevitable, though, desperately trying to.
He seethes, almost stuck on his breath in a choke, his wounds rubbing against the grating rope below him. He hardly recognizes the voice speaking to him, calling, “Fushiguro. You’re going to give yourself an infection, we don’t even know how long Gojo-sensei is gonna take-.”
“-Yuuji! Fuck. Stop moving so much, hey– my hair, my hair you dumb shit!” Nobara’s words are less than kind but Fushiguro tries to remain ambivalent, understanding her stress, but hating how much the net swayed each time the two bickered.
How long have they been there, how many minutes, no, hours have they been stuck in the confinement?
Megumi doesn’t know nor wants to, he’s afraid that if he thinks too hard about it he’ll end up giving into relief. Still, Gojo had to be close, right?
approximately 4 hours ago
Itadori groans out, rushing past the grade 1 curse in attempts to lure it towards Fushiguro’s shikigami, shouting loud when it nearly swallows him whole, “To your right!” Megumi aids him, his demon dog smoothly slicing through the cursed limbs.
It screams, a battle cry of sorts, before the frog looking thing pounces off the walls in retaliation, Megumi doesn’t like how slowly the concrete is crumbling. “That’s my right, you idiot.” His anxiety is foretelling and the abandoned mall crumbles under its thrashing.
Shit.
It caves in. They brace themselves.
The zenin decedent is quick to swoop in with his shadow creature to catch his peers. They fly up, hanging by the thread of its claws. Up, down. The bird does its best in avoiding each hunk of metal.
They land, not very comfortably though.
Hair’s everywhere as Megumi struggles to get his ass away from Itadori’s face. “Fuck.” He scrambles, jolting sharply at the sound of his friends' soft groans. Shifting, the teen bites down on his tongue softly, “Sorry.” He mutters sympathetically, dusting himself off after jumping back to his feet.
Yuuji shakes his head, doing the same. “That’s okay! Thanks for saving us, Fushiguro.” Megumi shoots him a ghostly smile. His time is thinning at each disgustingly long second, and to that, it’s even more apparent when another clench to his jaw is forced into his teeth at the sheer pressure pulsating to his bladder.
Nobara grumbles but makes no complaint at Fushiguro’s shikigami’s rough footing. “Thanks.” She bops her head towards the other, but her eyes grow uncomfortably wide until he realizes. Megumi curses to himself, preparing for whatever trouble was headed their way.
But instead, she dopes a rare streak of concern at the boy. “Hey.” She starts, arms folded into her chest. “What’s wrong?” Fushiguro eyebrow lifts into his eyebrow in pretend confusion that he is somehow completely unaware of why he’d been sweating so hard.
Its not until the wetness on his forehead sends physical chills down his spine that Nobara begins to speak again. “You gonna get sick or something?” He trembles violently. Gulping down his anxiety. “It’s nothing.” It’s nothing you need to concern yourself with .
Although as unconvinced as she was, Nobara leaves him be because:
The dual headed curse decides it’s time for round two.
By the time they’re done exorcising the high grade, Nobara and Megumi are panting out on the floor. “No chance that was only a first grade.” She growls, head shaking. Megumi agrees. He’s defeated a decent amount of first grades on his own before, but this one was especially stubborn.
He hates how slow he takes to sit up. His gaze clicking back and forth, looking for a secluded area to excuse himself to. And- Thank god. Now he can finally go. His bladder tightens on cue. He turns to Nobara, who is still sprawled over the flat concrete with her hands to her head, chest rising.
“Hey, Kugisaki.” He starts, fanning his legs in and out, toes wiggling, “I’m gonna go over there for a moment to uh…check something. Tell the idiot to wait for a sec, I’ll be quick.” He finishes. Nobara lifts her arms enough to show a quirked eyebrow, staring back with exhaustion ridden on her creased forehead.
“Yeah, okay? Do whatever.” Her arm comes down again, waving him off with the flick of her wrist. Megumi is so entirely grateful for his best friend's uncaring nature. And while on the topic, his other one is fiddling with a glossy paper–something the cursed spirit probably dropped when they’d defeated it.
He’ll ask about it later, for now, peeing comes first.
Just as he’s lifting himself up with the palms of his hands, a white light beams so brightly that he thinks he might be dying.
He figures very soon after that death would have been an easier, kinder alternative.
Turns out, Fushiguro doesn’t need to find out whatever sheet Yuuji’d been messing with because he’s shown in the form of a net trap hanging lowly from a tree with all three of them inside.
They’ve teleported somewhere in a forest. They don’t even know if they’re still in Japan, let alone in Kyoto.
Megumi, a teen boy who doesn’t believe in God, prays for the first time in his life.
“Yuuji! What the fuck did you do.” Kugusaki screams and kicks inside the small space, trying to fit her hand through the net but quickly realizing it’d been protected with an invisible barrier—much like Gojo’s ‘infinity.’
She tries with her cursed technique next, resulting in a trick of electricity to spark Yuuji’s neck. “Ouch, ouch! I don’t know! I just said a few words and this happened.” Yuuji is as confused as the other two and that alone makes Megumi feel slightly responsible for even letting him touch the object.
His light green eyes flash a soft yellow in the moonlight, “What did you say?” Calmly, the teen attempts to position himself at a better angle–to which–is entirely useless with Yuuji and Nobara on top of his about-to-burst bladder.
Yuuji thinks quietly to himself, “Trap.” Of course.
Nobara screeches.
“Fucking dumbass. Who in their right mind says a written word on a cursed object?” Yuuji, apparently.
Megumi, however, doesn’t have the luxury of getting angry, not with his mind racing with urgency. “Now that you got us in this mess, how do you expect to get us out?” He’s curt, to the point and almost professional, acting collected as if his hips weren’t pathetically moving on their own.
Of course, he didn’t expect a real answer. I mean–what was there for Yuuji to do that they couldn’t? Maybe it’s the bitterness in his chest that makes him ask or even his scrambled brain. He’d been so close to going but just had to be interrupted a minute away because of some stupid mistake.
Yuuji’s optimistic. “I don’t think I’ll be of any help, but Gojo-sensei could totally get us out! Let’s call him.” It’s smart, and honestly, Megumi hadn’t thought about it until his friend brightly brought it up. Yuuji pulls his cell from his back pocket and in his movements, accidentally grinds against the others rock of an organ. Megumi hisses loudly.
“Oh, no. You okay?” Bless the pink-haired soul that asks in pure concern, but it's a concern that Megumu doesn’t really need right now, because if he needs anything; it’s that phone to dial his annoying mentor's number. “Yes. Just call him, please.”
Yuuji is naturally observant, considerate and kind. That’s why he doesn’t push him any further–that’s why Megumi appreciates this team so much.
“There’s reception. We must be close by the city or something.” Yuuji tells the two. His happiness spreads like wildfire, Megumi is so relieved he could cry or pee, or both.
The line rings for a few long dials. The raven-haired is actually worried his teacher won’t pick up and knowing him, it’s a probability that he has no means of fighting.
Thankfully, Gojo isn’t that incompetent.
“Hello? Yuuji~”
“Gojo-sensei! Could you help us? We’re in a bit of a bind.” Yuuji explains, sighing.
Gojo hums, “Care to elaborate?”
“Uhm, so, I accidentally used the curse object the grade 1 dropped and now we’re trapped inside a net.”
The other end goes quiet for a second.
“Huh? I’m pretty sure I assigned that cursed spirit to Nanami unless…oh oops! Anyone in mortal danger over there?”
Wait…what? Fushiguro’s blood boils. That’s it, he’s going to kill him, this is the last fucking straw.
“No! We’re all very much alive.”
“Sorry about that, Yuuji! That object was supposed to be confined with a special tool. I’ll come and pick ya guys up right away.”
“So where are you?” His voice transforms despite being so laidback before, something hinted that Megumi can only recognize as concern, a rare emotion for Gojo to express. This must’ve been an emergency then.
But in this case, Megumi’s emergency was veryyy close to becoming the flooding of a country if Satoru didn’t haul his ass. The teacher was definitely hiding something but Megumi’s priorities are elsewhere.
“We don’t know. The cursed object teleported us into the woods somewhere but I think I can hear cars a few miles away.” Itadori describes, wait, seriously.
The teacher chuckles, asking the anticipated, “Anyone hurt?”
Something warm, tangible flows out his lower body and for a second, Megumi thinks he’s done it. But there’s no relief, no convolutions to signify emptiness, no hissing or sounds of spilling. The warmth turns into pain.
Oh.
“F-Fuck.”
He’d been ignoring all other sensations in his body up until now. But he couldn’t turn a blind eye to the rippling at the back of his thigh anymore. The fucking rope had grated into the cut he’d gotten while fighting and was slowly tearing it open.
“Fushiguro?!” Yuuji turns his head and watches in horror as the blood on one of Megumi’s hands goes back to hold thigh. “Gojo-sensei. Megumi’s bleeding out!”
“Stop yelling, I’m not dying, idiot.”
“Sorry.”
The sorcerer sighs, “It’s fine. Just tell him to hurry. I have something I need to take care of.”
As if on cue, his bladder clenches inside him painfully. Trembling, he grits his teeth. “Please…I need to go.” He whispers the last bit, but certain that Gojo could hear it because he wastes no time.
“Sit tight. I’ll be there soon.”
Megumi is irrationally angry at his teacher. He remembers how easy he’d said the mission would be, so unworried about their safety that he’d hadn’t even said his goodbyes.
What an asshole! He didn’t deserve to be a teacher. Peice of shit…fuck…fuck!
“-Fushiguro? Ya listening?” Nobara calls out at him for the third time when he is, in fact, not. “Sorry, what?” His voice is shaky now, not nearly as steady as it had been ten minutes ago when Yuuji’d claimed his body would be dead in another five.
Which might be half-true if his bladder miraculously bursts and that ends up killing him, but now that he’s aware of just how much he’s losing to himself and made an attempted front of ‘I’m fine.’ That in reality, is only helping bullshit himself. Especially not since Nobara caught on ages ago.
“You’re not gonna piss yourself, right?” Yeah, wow.
“What are you talking about?”
“I mean, you excused yourself a little earlier to… go, right? That’s why you’re all antsy and moving a bunch. I’m sure pea-brain here can see that too.” A woman’s intuition is never wrong. Terrifying.
Yuuji nods his head, sighing. “Well, I mean if he’s already aware of it himself then what the point of embarrassing him by saying we know? That’s why I didn’t say anything. Kugisaki, you really aren’t a sensitive person, huh?
“The fuck you say?”
“I’m just pointing out how you could be nicer!”
“Yeah, I’ll be sure to keep that in mind once we get out so I can bash you’re fucking head in, you rat!”
Megumi chokes on his breath.
“Stop. If you know then stop. I just need to wait until Gojo comes, i-it’s fine I’ll be fine.” However long that takes but hopefully soon.
But, unfortunately, things get bad and fast.
Megumi feels control slipping like a tide rolling back into the sea from the shore. He’s been dribbling slow, small droplets into his underwear for the past minute.
He wants to let out more, to let it spurt uncontrollably and call it a day, but his body doesn’t let him. His mind, rather. He’d been so afraid of humiliating himself in such a vulgar way that he’d physically refused to go.
Yuuji sniffs the air and Megumi withers in shame.
“Fushuguro.” Itadori stares blankly. The other much more frantic teen prepares himself for the endless reverb of insults. Disgusting. Gross. I thought you could wait? None of that imaginary slander comes. Because, Itadori cares about him.
“It’s only human nature to lose control.” Fushiguro’s eyes grow so impossibly wide he thinks they’ll fall out. The pink-haired pauses, thinking for a moment before continuing.
“So uhm, don’t hate yourself for it if that ever happens!” Even though Megumi cannot see it, he’s certain Yuuji is wearing that same wide transparent smile he always carried.
It nearly makes him plummet into a state of depression.
How could anyone be such a good person?
Megumi doesn’t respond and instead nods into the other's shoulder weakly, unable to find the strength to thank him. Yuuji is content though, even with his lack of response–or maybe because of it.
Gojo finds them twenty minutes later when Megumi has passed the meter of limits. He’s breathing harshly and trembling so hard that he vibrates against Yuuji. Although Satoru knows exactly why he’d been the part, it didn't stop him from worrying that some of the reason for his shaking was the result of his injury.
As Satoru takes another step, the world around the young sorcerer freezes. Every moment pounds hardnto his stomach, the bridge he was so close to crossing now disappearing into the cold night—with his fingers so ever hot despite the whistling wind.
It almost feels like a bad dream when the dribble from before turns into a harsh, unmistakable hiss.
A tight, foreign ball gathers at his throat, and with the push of air out his lungs his voice cracks at an uneven tone. “G-Gojo.” There’s no time left.
Megumi never cries.
Not in pain. Not out of happiness.
He never cries.
So why is he?
He’s relieved he isn’t sobbing, throwing a tantrum and demanding to be let down because of how much, much worse that would be for him. Instead, his face crumbles into a permanent frown. With trembling lips and fingers, the salty tears drip off his eyelashes and fall into the soil.
He’s grateful for Gojo’s speed. Undoing the trap immediately upon the realization of what his kid was doing. Megumi lands on his feet effortlessly, and knows, but dreads what will happen next.
Fushiguro tries, he really does, but the sudden shift in gravity sends his world crashing to a stagnant halt. The best he can get is an awkward about-face in the opposite direction.
A haggle of privacy. It doesn’t make it any less upsetting. A loud, thunderous hiss escapes his pants and echoes into his ears. Not just his. The hot, unruly liquid cascading down his legs feeds the hungry soil.
His dark pants are getting impossibly darker, his poor socks and shoes subject to the pouring. Megumi’s cheeks hold that same wetness, his devastation in the form of a light pink hue, staining his cheeks and ears.
His cock stutters with his breath, forcing him to push harder and faster, until the already heavy splattering grows even thicker—more availing to his bladder. The broken dam floods his uniform for at least another minute.
Fushiguro doesn’t notice how good it feels until the stream is tapping into a trickle, and the pulsing in his organ is no longer from the pressure but the emptiness. Delicious nothingness.
He forgot how good, how normal it feels to get rid of that constant urgency.
His daze is broken seconds later by the stifling realization of his actions.
Horror litters his face.
Gojo Satoru cannot comprehend how entirely awkward the whole situation is, but makes it his duty as a teacher and the kind mentor of his shell-shocked student, to be as understanding as possible.
He steps forward, walking to face Megumi’s low hanging body, and once finally meeting his eyes he quirks his head. “Megumi-chan~.” He starts, unfazed, “It’s about time we head home right? You must be tired from your mission, right guys?”
Yuuji nods, grinning widely, “Yeah! Let’s get to school, already. We’ve been here long enough.” Nobara, on the flip side, blinks blankly at how fast the other two were willing to forget whatever the fuck just happened.
Whatever. As long as that meant her taking a nice hot bath then there was no harm in playing along. It’s for the best, she figures. Plus, Megumi definitely needed that bath more than she did.
She strides towards the white-haired man hurriedly, framing a scowl, “Damn right we have. Teleport us back already, teach.” She points her thumb in a random direction, listening as Gojo lets out a content chuckle. “Ya heard them, Megumi-chan. Let’s go home.” Megumi wipes his eyes with the hem of his uniform sleeve, quietly suppressing the urge to cry again in knowing it’ll do him no good.
His eyes crinkle into telling crescents, grateful.
“Yeah, okay.”
Megumi yawns, eyeing the blue orbs that followed back. “So what really was that thing we were trapped in?” Megumi’s unyielding, unprevailing. Gojo, surprisingly, is the first to break contact, awkwardly laughing while patting his students shoulder robotically.
“Let’s just say, an hour later and the three of you would’ve become something similar to squeezed lemons.”
After a second of rendering the comment, Megumi lets out a soft scoff.
Fucker.