the rare moments when sukuna is actually clingy and acts like he's yours>>
you hadn't even made it out of bed before sukuna's arms were wrapping around you, pulling you back down against your shared bed. his movements were sluggish, still tired from sleep, but awake enough to realize you were trying to leave.
he pulls you back against him, all four arms wrapped around you tight, holding your body flush against his. two of his hands gripped your waist, the others splaying out against your front, keeping you close against his chest.
"what are you doing..?"
he mutters lowly, his voice rough and gravely from just waking up. you feel your stomach flutter, even after hearing his voice every morning for years, you still weren’t used to it.
you bring your hands up, grabbing onto his forearms and turning your head to look back at him, which only made the fluttering in your stomach worsen tenfold.
his eyes were half-lidded, narrowed in on you; if you didn't know him any better, you would think he was glaring at you. his pink hair was ruffled, short spikes going in every direction. his lips were downturned in a small frown; clearly, he hadn't been happy at the thought of you leaving.
"getting up?"
you reply, an amused smile finding your face as you turn in his grasp. he didn't stop you, letting you turn until you were chest to chest with him.
sukuna grumbles at your words, frowning further, his arms tightening around you instinctively, as if preparing for you to try and get up out of his arms again.
"no."
is all he says, pulling you even closer. the second your cheek hit his collarbone, you wanted to melt against him. he was so warm and soft. the skin of his chest wasn't like his hands, having built up years of calluses; instead, it was smooth, almost like a baby's.
you almost wanted to give in, to just go back to sleep in sukuna's arms; his warmth was inviting and practically calling your name. before you could even make a complaint sukuna's voice continues.
"you don't need to 'get up'."
he murmurs, his fingers starting to trace little patterns on your back, effectively destroying any possible retort you had. at your silence, sukuna starts to relax again, slowly letting himself fall back asleep, but you weren't gonna give in that easily.
you slide your hand up his side, gripping his side and trying to push back, pulling your head up away from sukunas. sukuna only grumbles, arms tightening further around you, wrapped around you like a vice.
after a challenging battle of pushing away from sukuna’s grasp, you somehow manage to loosen his grip, arms still locked around you, but now in a loose hold.
slowly you start sliding down, shuffling out of his grasp, carefully throwing your legs over the edge of the mattress before standing.
you made sure every movement was silent. nothing got past sukuna so you had to put up your best shot.
after making sure the coast was clear and you got off scott free, you turn, ready to start the day, even if sukuna didn’t want to.
“where are you going…?”
a hand reaches forward—then another, both of his right hands lock around your arm, tugging you back against him, into your rightful spot next to him.
this time you sigh, reaching up to pat his back, trying to get him to do something.
“ryo…”
he only exhales through his nose, eyes closed, purposefully avoiding looking at you.
“ryo.. the sun is starting to rise. it’s time to-”
before you could finish your sentence, sukuna rolls, taking you with him, laying fully on top of you, almost crushing you with his sheer weight.
your face was smushed against his neck, body completely shadowed by sukuna’s. sukuna presses his face into your hair, clearly telling you he wasn’t letting you win this.
after a few moments of silence and contemplation, you huff, begrudgingly wrapping your arms around his waist, accepting your fate as sukuna’s favorite pillow.
sukuna shifts, bringing his top set of arms to slip under your head, his lower set of arm staying wrapped tight around you. he finally relaxes, seemingly pleased with your submission.
if this was what it took to stay by his side, you didn’t mind, you’d probably do anything for that stubborn pink haired man.
besides he was really warm, and he did smell good…
—————————————————————————————
guys it’s 3:45am. that’s funny. I am NOT proof reading, I cringe when I read my writing too soon.
synopsis. you're ripped from him. he takes you right back.
content. gojo satoru x male!reader. angst. canon-typical violence, gore and horror elements. major character death. curse!reader. some swearing. excessive use of em-dash because i love it and i refuse to let ai have it.
wc. 6.2k
message from noe. requested by @corsped-groom. i purposefully left curse!reader's design vague so you can imagine him however you want, but i was picture something like the xenomorph, the unknown from dbd, or the lickers from resident evil. anyway. this one is depressing af. blame it on the song of achilles. finally read that book and i feel like it shows a little bit in the style of writing in this one. don't read it if you value your happiness... although who am i kidding. we're jjk fans. we don't value our happiness.
The smell in the alley is the first red flag.
Metallic. Sticky like honey on the roof of his mouth. He welcomes like the old friend it is.
Blood. What else was it gonna be?
Satoru steps forward, slipping in the darkness. Not familiar — he’s got no need for stealth, usually, he’s too efficient for that. His style’s more ‘Now you see me, now you’re dead.’ But there’s no streetlights in the alley, so in the darkness he goes, eyes and ears wide open.
No traces of cursed energy except yours, so faint it must be only residuals. So you were here. It’s a start.
A big bunch of nothing, a sullen voice in the back of his head says.
A start, another, more reasonable one counters. It sounds like you. We can follow residuals. We can find him.
There’s a third voice. Louder than any other, so loud that it’s getting real hard to ignore.
It’s been too long. It’s been a few hours at most. Still too long. He would’ve never taken so long to return. He would’ve come back to lick his wounds. He would’ve called for help if he’d needed it. It’s been too long.
Satoru knows you inside out, by now. All your quirks and little habits. Like how you bite your cheek when you’re focusing on something. How you never sleep on your back because you’re scared shitless of sleep paralysis. How you make it a point to keep him in the loop when you go on missions, because you know he gets nervous when he doesn’t hear from you for too long.
It’s been too long.
There’s something in this alley. Something that makes his hair stand on end, an unpleasantly familiar shiver down his spine. Something that he’s missing, but he can’t tell what it is just yet.
Something’s wrong. No visible threat for now, but he’s learned his lesson when it comes to things he can’t see — learned it the hard way. Something’s wrong.
It’s been too long.
A moist sound. Soft and sticky under the sole of his shoe — the blood that’s been stinking up the alley. A lot of it, from what he can tell.
There’s a shape just ahead. Barely distinguishable in the darkness, but there. His mind assesses, quick as a whip. Unmoving. No immediate threat. He steps closer.
It’s a body.
𖦹
Humans are just meat that talks.
That’s what Satoru tells himself, when he looks down at the body laid before him. The girl was once a bright, living thing, full of hopes and promise. Now she’s a lump of meat on cold metal. She’s not the first or the last, and the casualness with which her body’s treated in the morgue is a painful reminder. It raises his hackles.
Add this one to the pile, right?
You knew her; he did not. You stand over her together anyway, both looking at her face silently.
You were the one who retrieved her body. For the occasion, Shoko allowed you to smoke inside. You’ve already smoked two in the hallway. You light the third one over her.
“Do we know if she had any family?” You ask quietly. As if afraid to disturb her rest.
Shoko takes a second to answer. Lights her own cigarette, pockets the lighter. Takes a deep drag.
“What was her name again?” She eventually says.
“Yumeko,” you reply. You take a drag. Shoko takes a drag. Those things will kill you, Satoru wants to joke. But you look a little too sad for that, right now. “Sawai.”
“Sawai Yumeko…” Shoko turns in her seat to type at her computer. “Found her dad. Should I leave you the honors?”
“Fuck no.”
No one says anything for a while after that. Shoko sighs, puts out her cigarette, and steps out.
“So, how’d this happen?” Satoru finally asks. His tongue was getting itchy.
“The intel was wrong.” You sound weary, but not surprised. He isn’t, either. This is commonplace. “It wasn’t a cluster of Grade Threes, it was a Grade One.”
A job for him. Or for you. But not for Yumeko. Poor kid.
Another moment of silence. Satoru’s never known what to say in those situations. Pretty ironic, considering he can’t keep his fucking mouth shut most of the time. Or is it fitting? Gojo Satoru, the guy who can’t come through when it actually matters.
He threads his fingers through yours and pulls you away from the table. Away from the body and the smell of formaldehyde. You put out your smoke as you walk out.
He knows what you’re thinking — he’s thinking it, too. How many more will have to die because the people on high can’t be bothered to do their fucking job right?
“You think they knew?” you ask when you’ve stepped outside.
He hasn’t let go of your hand. It’s starting to feel like he never will. “Oh, yeah. They knew.”
And they sent Yumeko to her death anyway. Add this one to the pile.
You won’t let go of this. Neither will he. It’ll fester and keep festering.
𖦹
He doesn’t recognize the body — it’s a relief until it isn’t. Intel said one curse user, one, and you don’t deviate from your mission. Ever.
It’s not pretty. You did a number on the guy, almost savage in the violence you’ve inflicted. Like a cornered predator that lashed out. Your residuals are all over him.
You would’ve wiped them if the job had gone right. Wouldn’t have left him in such a state in the first place.
There’s two more bodies— no, three. One is collapsed in a heap just two paces ahead in a similar pool of blood. The second is to Satoru’s right, flat on his back. This one, he recognizes. The curse user you were after. A gun rests loosely in his palm, coated in dark, flaky blood. The simple sight makes him shiver, brings back memories he’d really, really like to keep buried.
The third one is farther. Hunched against the wall, head hanging limp. Covered in blood, like the others.
Dead like the others, but different. Satoru feels it immediately. Your residuals are clustered there.
He ignores the alarm bells in the back of his head, the instinct screaming at him that this is wrong, wrong, there’s something wrong about that body—
He can see the fatal wound. An entry, on what was the temple, probably caused by a bullet. Might be an exit, too. Might not. Either way, it’s not nice to look at.
These kinds of wounds are ugly on anyone, but here it’s a whole other story.
His stomach turns. The world tilts on its axis, the ground drops from under his feet— that face, that body, it’s—
His brain simply refuses to process the information, at first. Can’t connect the dots between this lifeless lump of meat before his eyes and… and…
𖦹
“It’ll be easy. One and done. I’ll be home for dinner.”
Satoru hums skeptically, burrowing his face at the junction between your neck and shoulder. The gentle morning sun warms his back, feather light like the touch you ran up his spine to pull him from sleep.
At first he didn’t understand why you woke him early just to lounge in bed, doing nothing. Not like he dislikes doing nothing with you, the opposite really. Still, a couple of extra hours of unconsciousness before facing the world would’ve been nice. He woke up disgruntled, but settled quickly, warm and mellow with the sun and your arms around him.
It makes sense about an hour of lazing around in. When you break the news to him in the softest voice you can muster, caressing his cheek with your knuckles.
Emergency in Kyoto. Experienced sorcerer needed for a curse user hunt.
They could’ve called literally anyone. But no. They called you. It feels intentional. It’s probably intentional. You’ve been a little too open and vocal about your dislike for the higher-ups, lately — they can’t have that.
It was supposed to be just the two of you today. No interruptions, no obligations, just you and him and him and you, Netflix and chill both literal and figurative. Displeased, Satoru rolls over to his side, turning his back to you. It gets cold when he rolls into the shadow, when your arms slip from his waist.
He should’ve expected it, honestly. No, really, because after all why would he have been able to have a nice, relaxing day with his man? He can’t have nice things. Ever.
You don’t leave him in the cold for too long. You chase, shifting to press against his back, eager to leave no space at all between him and you. It makes him feel better. A little. Your arm wraps around his shoulder and you reach up to poke his cheek playfully.
“C’mon, babydoll,” you purr in his ear. Bastard. You know exactly what you’re doing. “Don’t be mad. I’ll be back before you know it.”
“Hm.”
You chuckle, squeezing his cheek to force his lips into a deeper pout. “Swear. You won’t even realize I’m gone.”
“Whatever.” Satoru rolls his eyes, pushing your hand off his face. He stays silent for a moment. Then, “I just think it’s funny how you’re needed for a sudden emergency on our first day off together in, like, two months.”
You exhale a little sigh through your nose, softening. The teasing urge falls away as you press a kiss on his nape.
“Yeah,” you say lowly. “I know.”
“For each you see, there’s ten that you don’t. You know, like cockroaches. It starts with one and ends up with you gone three weeks trying to take down the whole shtick.”
“I know, Satoru,” you say again. Sharper.
He turns to brace himself on his forearms, narrowing his eyes at you. “What, ‘m I not allowed to be pissed?”
“You’re allowed to be pissed.” You roll to your back, running a hand down your face with a long-suffering sigh. “Just… please.”
Right. No, you’re right. He shouldn’t get pissy with you for something that’s completely out of your hands, especially when you’re clearly just as pissed. Even worse, because you just wanna enjoy the time you have left with him before you go. He’s horrible.
He settles back down, head nestled against your shoulder and a hand braced on your chest. He pats you gently to calm you down.
“We should go out tonight,” he murmurs to make amends. “When you get back. Himawari Ramen?”
“Yeah. Yeah, that’s perfect.” You lean down to kiss the crown of his head, and Satoru melts into you once more, closing his eyes. “Just what I need.”
You stay like that for a moment, basking in each other’s warmth. The morning sun warms his back.
Eventually, you have to get up. He feels you shift him off you, already half-asleep. Your lips kiss his cheek and your voice says: “Love you.”
𖦹
Most sorcerers don’t have the luxury of experiencing the five stages of grief. There’s too much death happening all the time, civilians and coworkers alike. If you want to live, you accept the death and you move on. Or at least you grieve in silence and keep doing your damn job.
It’s true for Satoru as much as anyone else. He’s been affected by deaths before, sure, felt sorry for the victim or angry that another life was snuffed unnecessarily. He’s been moved. Grieved? He’s only done that once. He’s a grief-virgin in that sense.
But of course, in his world no one is spared. He just hadn’t expected it to hit immediately.
Denial comes first.
First, his brain’s refusal to process the information it’s receiving. Your face damaged and covered in blood, the sheer wrongness of the bullet hole deforming your head grotesquely. Then, his mind’s inability to face the truth.
It can’t be. It just can’t. There’s… there’s no way, right? No way.
You said you’d be home for dinner. You said you’d be back before he knew it. You said you wanted to go out for some ramen. There’s no way you’re just… what you’ve been reduced to, what he’s seeing, it’s…
Just meat that used to talk.
He stays frozen, fingers trembling, eyes bouncing all over your body in a desperate search for life. He finds nothing, nothing but residuals of your cursed energy on your clothes, and your immediate surroundings. That can’t be, there’s no way, there’s no fucking way, there has to be something, anything.
He can’t move. Can’t think. Can’t breathe. This can’t be real. This is a nightmare. Just a nightmare, and he’s gonna wake up. And you’re gonna kiss it better, hug him and tell him you love him, and you’ll go out for ramen together and it’ll be just fine. He’ll forget about the nightmare eventually and… and…
He can’t bear to look away, but each new detail only serves to hurt him further. There’s more than just the bullet wound on your skull. Your knee is busted, there’s a dark stain on your side, one of your hands is missing—
The sight of you is gnarly, cruel in its honesty. This morning you were warm and soft. This morning you told him you loved him. Now you’re a fucking corpse left to rot in a dirty Kyoto alleyway.
Denial clings, still. Because there’s no way three lowly curse users did this to you, there’s just no way. The state you’re in, and the state you left them in — how could this happen?
His thinking becomes practical. He can’t stand to think of you as a person for too long, he needs to think about something else, needs to think about what he can do to… to fix this? Find the people responsible? He doesn’t know.
He scans the alleyway, looking for tracks, residuals that he missed, anything. He comes up empty. Either there were others responsible and they covered their tracks remarkably well, or… or maybe it’s just those three curse users.
Denial falls away and anger takes its place. Not at the people that killed you. At you directly.
How could you let this happen? You’re better than this. You’re stronger than those three curse users combined, you’re— how could you let this happen? What the hell were you even doing, to get jumped and torn apart like that? Were you admiring the view or something? Petting a stray cat? What the fuck is your problem? You were supposed to be home by dinner. You were supposed to go out for ramen with him. You swore you would. Did that mean nothing to you? Is that just the kind of guy you are — the kind that breaks his promises like that, like they’re nothing?
He feels guilty, but he also doesn’t. He means it. At least, part of him means it, all of it.
The thoughts don’t last. He’s angry because he wants you back. Nothing more than that.
He crouches beside you. The hand you have left is also spotted with blood. Do you simply have no clean skin left? He brushes your hand with his fingers all the same, wondering what the hell he did to deserve this.
Isn’t he good? Isn’t he always doing the right thing? He tries and tries and tries, he gives it all he has and what is he given in return? Resentment and adoration in equal measure. One blessing that gets torn away.
He calls your name, voice surprisingly steady.
He just wants you back. Isn’t that normal? He’d do anything to have you back. Just come back.
“Get up right now.”
You don’t move. Obviously. What does he need to do to have you back? He’ll do it. Whatever he has left to give, he’ll give it. Anything. Anything.
I love you. I love you. Please get up.
Stubbornly, you remain still, as corpses tend to be.
Please. Please. Get up. Just get up and come home.
He’s not sure how long he stays there, staring at your fingers.
Please. Don’t leave me. Don’t leave me. You can’t leave me. You’re all I have. I love you. You can’t die. Please don’t die.
Hoping they’ll twitch.
Don’t leave me. I love you. Don’t leave me. Don’t do this to me.
Silently begging.
I love you. I love you. I love you. I love you. Don’t leave me. Don’t leave me. Please, don’t leave me. I love you. I love you. I—
At some point, he stands. He can’t leave you like this.
He reaches for his phone and calls the first person who’d be any help.
Ijichi’s voice is sharp and alert, even in the middle of the night. Up writing reports. Probably Satoru’s. Who fucking cares.
“G-gojo-san? It’s… it’s midnight—”
“Sent you my location.” He sounds so steady. So calm. Who even is he right now? “Call the Kyoto school and have them send a clean-up crew.”
“A-a clean-up crew? Why—”
Satoru hangs up. He doesn’t care to hear whatever Ijichi has to say. That call took all his energy. He feels drained, heavy. He needs to get out of here.
His feet stay glued to the ground.
He can’t leave you like this. He should wait for clean-up. Or maybe he should just… take your body himself. He doesn’t trust anyone to handle you right.
A sound in the alley tears him from his deliberating.
Sharp and wet, like a bone snapping. He hears it once. Twice. Then, just as he turns to see what the fuck is going on behind him—
Your body’s no longer collapsed against the wall. You’re standing, but…
He sees the wrongness of it immediately. It kills any hope that tried to flare in his chest, snuffs out the remaining light he had in him.
Your head is limp on your chest, still. It’s not like you’re standing; more like your body’s being held up on strings, like a puppet. All at once you drop to the ground in a heap, but something remains.
A dark shape, almost a silhouette. Darker than darkness, thick as blood, quiet like it’s not even there. Pure curse energy, he realizes instantly. Cursed spirit. Goosebumps run down the back of his neck, his mind assesses, quick as a whip—
Threat. Imminent threat.
He takes half a step back, ready to exorcise the curse, but— but then the weirdest thing—
“Satoru…”
It’s your voice, but it’s not. It’s wrong, off, distorted in the slightest way. A shiver runs down his back. It’s wrong. So wrong. It’s not you. It’s not you.
Except it is. It is you.
The curse lowers to the ground, slithers closer— he should do something, he should exorcise it, he should do anything other than just fucking stand there—
“Satoru, don’t go…”
He’s gonna throw up.
You push closer, blood and goo dripping from your still forming arms. You get close enough to touch him.
Your hand grabs his ankle, and his entire body tenses in revulsion. It’s cold, it’s holding him too tightly, it just feels wrong, but…
But it also feels like you. It’s still you. Isn’t it?
“Don’t go. Satoru, don’t go. Satoru, I love you...”
Satoru’s stomach lurches violently and he does the first thing he can think of: he slams his palms together and teleports the fuck away.
He lands hard on a wooden floor, tumbling to his knees immediately. He’s not sure where he is, can’t tell because the world just won’t stop spinning — it doesn’t matter. What matters is that he’s far, very far from that alley. Far from the bodies. Your body.
Your body.
He throws up everything his stomach has to give, shivering violently. Then, he simply rolls to his back and pants. Stares at the ceiling until the dizziness fades. Maybe it takes minutes, maybe a few hours. He simply can’t tell.
His vision evens out — his breathing doesn’t. At last he realizes where he is.
His apartment. In Tokyo. The one he shares with you.
He curls into a ball, trembling all over. Paralyzed with fear.
What did he do? What the fuck did he do to you?
𖦹
The next couple of days pass by in a blur. Satoru floats through the hours, like a passenger in his own body.
He knows he shouldn’t, but he pulls some strings and gets his hands on the report from the Kyoto crew. Reads it, again and again and again. To the point where he has it memorized. Masochism in its purest form.
Every building in an fifty-meter radius around the alley was reduced to rubble. Three civilians dead. Fifty-two injured, including thirteen in critical condition. The Kyoto sorcerers didn’t retrieve the bodies of the curse users — report states there “wasn’t enough left to retrieve.”
They found you, though. Brought you back to Tokyo.
Shoko covered your body with a thin, white sheet after the autopsy. She left him alone in the morgue, to take a breather, let him figure out what he wants to do with you.
Burn the body, don’t burn the body. In the end, it’s all the same to him. What’s this lump of meat good for? It’s not you. Just another corpse he can add to the pile.
You haven’t manifested since that first time. He can’t feel your cursed energy, and he can’t figure out why. It’s not like curses just vanish into thin air.
He can’t track you, and it makes him anxious. He can’t have you killing any more people, and if he can’t control you...
Better not to think about it. He’s great at avoiding tough topics, even in his own head.
Slowly, he reaches out. The sheet is thin, smooth to the touch.
The autopsy table’s sent flying before he has time to react.
Shit.
Satoru covers his head with his arm as you fly past him. The autopsy table hits the wall with a metallic clang!, and you grab your body midair, slamming it into the wall. Hard. Again and again and again, screeching in fury.
You’re fully manifested. On school grounds. You could not have had worse timing.
“Cursed Technique Lapse: Blue!”
You’re ripped away and sent flying to the other end of the room. You slam against the wall and crawl up to the ceiling, snarling at him. You almost sound offended.
“Whatever!” Satoru shouts back.
You try to jump past him again, but he’s ready this time, and he extends Infinity’s reach to push you back. With another indignant screech, you scuttle back up to the ceiling, pacing around like a caged tiger.
Shoko chooses that exact moment to burst into the room. Positively incredible timing on her part, too.
“Gojo, what is—”
She catches your attention, and your head snaps to her. He sees you bunch together to pounce and skids in front of her.
“No!” He points a finger at you menacingly, and crazily, it’s enough to make you back down. Like you’re a misbehaving puppy and not a seven-foot tall bloodthirsty Special Grade.
Because that’s what you are. He can tell, now that you’re fully manifested. Special Grade. His doing.
“No,” he repeats, low and firm. Great. Now he’s scolding you like you’re a pet. He’s lost it.
Behind him, Shoko clears her throat. Satoru turns halfway, to face her and still keep you in sight.
“Uh... I can explain?”
She gives him a sharp look. “You sure?”
She looks up to the ceiling. You’re pacing again, losing interest in the situation but restless with buzzing energy. Yeah, okay. He can see why she’s skeptical. Satoru rubs the back of his neck, feeling overwhelmed.
“I’m, uh. Maybe sit down?”
“I’ll stand.” Shoko reaches in her white coat’s pocket for her pack and a lighter. She stays silent for a moment. Takes the time to light her cigarette, take a drag. “...It’s him, isn’t it?”
Satoru doesn’t answer immediately. It’s one thing to know what he did — what he did to you. It’s another to have someone else say it. Be a witness to it.
“Yeah,” he breathes. “Yeah, it’s him.”
They both look at you, pacing around on the ceiling, looking almost harmless in the cold light.
“I’m not gonna ask what happened,” Shoko says.
Of course she isn’t. She already knows. She’s had your body on the table, and looking at you now, it doesn’t take a genius to figure it out. A curse as powerful as that? Yeah. Doesn’t take a genius.
Satoru almost thanks her for it. He’s not ready to admit it just yet. That he’s the one he put you in that state. That he’s the one who condemned you to such an existence.
“What are you gonna do?” Shoko continues.
The merciful thing would be to exorcize you, wouldn’t it? Or at least find a way to undo what he did. Let you rest in some way.
“...I dunno,” he replies, defeated.
Shoko looks around the room. Her overturned desk, the computer and files scattered on the floor. The blood you’ve left over the wall and the ceiling. And on the other side, the bloody mess against the white tile. “At least he listens to you, right?” She lets out, dry and dead.
Satoru follows her gazes. He crosses the room to inspect the damage.
There’s not much to look at. You haven’t left much of your body for him to scoop up. Guess he’s burning you after all.
He turns to look at you. “Why’d you go and do that, huh?”
You pause in your movements. Your head snaps towards him, with a crack, almost like you snapped your own neck to look at him faster.
“You were scared,” you say lowly. He can feel your voice in his chest, like a purr. “And sad. Angry.”
It stuns him for a moment. The tunnel vision you have when it comes to him.
You didn’t even recognize your own dead body. You just saw it as a threat to him.
“Well,” Shoko sighs. “Shit.”
Yeah. Satoru couldn’t have said it better.
𖦹
Another week passes without you ever manifesting. Satoru’s life goes on as normal as it can. He goes through the motions mechanically, like he did before. Only now he has no one to talk to. No one to curl up against at night. No one to brush his teeth with. He feels less and less like a person each day. Like he only existed because you were there to perceive him.
It’s the opposite now, he supposes.
At first he couldn’t figure out how you did it, simply disappearing into thin air at will. He thought you had to go somewhere. A curse like you would be attached to an object, something of significance to you while you were alive. He combed through your stuff about a thousand times, looking for the thing.
It’s nothing of yours. It’s his apartment key. The one you offered to him about six months into your relationship, just after you bought the place.
“In case you need a place to crash,” you’d said. In case you need a place to get away, was what you really meant.
It started as an occasional thing. He’d pop up for a night. Sometimes two. Then he started staying over after every date. Then he started leaving his things there. At some point he couldn’t recall the last time he’d gone to his place on the Jujutsu Tech campus.
He still hasn’t gone back to that place. The key sits untouched in his pocket. Your cursed energy is there, dormant; he couldn’t feel it because it’s too intertwined with his. He’s part of you. You’re part of him.
He barely sleeps these days, even less than before. He lies on his back and stares at the ceiling. He wonders what he’s gonna do with you.
Really, he’s just going in circles. He knows what he should do. He knows the practical, logical answer. You’re a curse. His job’s to eradicate curses. There’s only one way this can go.
But this is different. Isn’t it? You weren’t always like this, he’s the reason you’re like this. He should find a way to free you. Undo the curse. Let go of you.
Besides, doesn’t he owe it to you, who he claims to love? Shouldn’t he be merciful to the man he loves?
But Satoru’s never been merciful. Not once in his life. And he’s not about to start now, is he? Not even for you. Not when love is the whole reason you’re still here in the first place.
Don’t leave me. Don’t leave me. I love you.
Who’s the real monster here, you or him?
“Satoru...”
You sensed his distress, likely, and now you’re here to protect him. Funny. He’s the scariest thing in the country.
Satoru pushes himself up to a sit, keeping his back to you. He lowers his Infinity, still. Eager to feel your touch. Your hand slips up his arm, to squeeze his shoulder. You did that when you were alive. To comfort him, without overwhelming him. Is it muscle memory? The idea that you may still be as considerate now as you were then makes him want to throw up.
“You can go back,” he murmurs. “There’s nothing here, Y/N.”
Your hand moves to the back of his neck. Your claws graze the sensitive skin. He feels the sting. You cut him.
“There’s you,” you reply.
Is it because you understand that he’s his own worst enemy right now, or did you just want to see him? He couldn’t make sense of you before — great to see he still can’t. He thought curses were simple creatures. Easy to read, easy to predict. It’s always been easy for him.
Maybe you’re just hell bent on turning the world upside down for him.
“Why don’t you come back when I’m in actual danger?”
He meant it as a tease — you haven’t shown up once while he was fighting curses, though he thought you’d be eager to help him. But you take it seriously.
“You’re never in danger,” you say accusingly. “How would I see you?”
Satoru turns to face you. “It was a joke. Jeez, don’t you curses have a sense of—”
Your grip turns harsh, and you push him to his back, pinning him. Familiar, and not.
“You just don’t want to see me!” Your voice changes, becomes less human and more other. “Just admit it!”
“I’m not playing this game with you,” Satoru grits out, struggling against your grip. It’s instinct. Curse nearby equals danger.
“You said you loved me!”
“I do!”
And just like that, you calm down as quickly as you got angry. Your grip loosens, it’s less punishing. Almost tender. Satoru’s not sure why he still hasn’t shoved you off.
“I do,” he breathes. “Of course I do.”
You lean over him, pleased. Your tongue lolls out, far longer than a human’s. It slides over his jaw, up to his ear and back to his face, to run over his lips. Satoru reaches up to grab your head and turn it away. He turns his face in the other direction, almost coy. His chest is heaving.
You push his hand off you easily and return to him. Slower, like you’re afraid to spook him. As if. You’re far from the scariest thing he’s ever seen.
You lean down and kiss him, as well as you can with that mouth full of teeth. You bite at his lips, push your tongue in his mouth. He welcomes you eagerly. He doesn’t care that he’s bleeding. He has you again. His heart is racing.
𖦹
He found the curse users that killed you.
Not the perpetrators themselves, of course, you took care of them yourself. But he tracked down the organization they belonged to.
Because there is an organization. He was right, in the end. If you hadn’t died, you’d still be in Kyoto, chipping away at it to get to the core. Far, far away from him. Maybe what happened was for the best.
The building’s deceptively mundane. Three stories, all grey concrete and big, modern glass windows. Gleaming under the setting sun. Fits the surroundings: the more modern part of Kyoto, downtown. Easily glossed over. Easily forgotten.
Technically, Satoru’s off duty right now. But a guy’s allowed to have hobbies, right? It might be a little revenge trip for him, but at the end of the day, it’s about thirty less curse users that Jujutsu society has to worry about. A win-win.
He lowers a veil, because he’s not a complete maniac. Waltzes in like he owns the place. They didn’t even put up a barrier, choosing stealth over protection. Big mistake.
The lobby’s empty.
“Hey, baby,” he murmurs, clutching his key in his pocket. “You wanna come out? Have some fun with me?”
This time you answer immediately. The pressure of your presence is crushing, even for him — the curse users are bound to come running.
You prowl on all fours, rubbing against him affectionately. “Yes, Satoru?”
“You wanna help me clear out this place?”
You face contorts. You’re trying to smile.
“Okay!” You let out cheerfully.
Satoru catches movement in the corner of his eye. The curse users are starting to spill in. Two, three, four. They see him — see you — and step back warily, arms and weapons raised in self-defense.
Good, he thinks, suddenly thirsty for blood. You should be fucking scared.
Seven. Eight. Nine. They keep coming. He sees you bunch together, prepared to pounce. Anticipation buzzes under his skin.
“It’s Gojo Satoru!” One of them shouts. “Fall ba—”
He never finishes his sentence, because in an instant you’ve leaped and ripped his head off.
It’s a slaughter, to put it plainly. It’s his first time seeing you like this, feral and hungry and horrifying in so many ways. Not so different from when you were alive. Not so different from him.
He doesn’t step in. Doesn’t intervene once. He lets you have your revenge, lets you bite and tear and rip, lets you prowl through the building to find the rest of them.
Doesn’t let a single one of them touch you. Not like they’d ever come close to exorcizing you, anyway. You overwhelm them as well as he would’ve.
The walls are slick with blood, by the time you’ve killed the last one. You are, too. You prance back to him almost happily, crawling all over the walls and the ceiling. You even bring him back an arm, like a cat showing off its hunting prize. His heart is racing.
He doesn’t call clean-up when he lowers the veil and leaves. They can fucking rot.
𖦹
TWO YEARS LATER.
After swallowing a corpse’s mummified finger and a high school principal’s handmade doll coming to life, Yuji was convinced he’d seen the weirdest jujutsu had to offer. Monsters are real and they kill people, and he can do something about it? Okay, cool. He can do that. How weirder could it get?
Clearly, much weirder. Gojo-sensei’s full of surprises.
The first years’ first official training session as a class starts out nothing out of the ordinary. Some warm-up. Then, taking turns sparring against each other. Yuji’s in the middle of beating up Fushiguro when Gojo steps on the field, waving cheerfully.
“Hey everyone! How’s it going?”
Yuji waves back, just as enthusiastic. “Going great, sensei!”
Somewhere on the floor behind him, Fushiguro grumbles. Seems like he doesn’t agree.
Gojo steps closer, hands in his pocket, and as always when he gets close, Sukuna’s hackles raise, cursed energy spiking slightly. Yuji thinks nothing of it, neither does anyone else, but this time—
This time something pops up behind Gojo-sensei. Arms, legs, until a full-blown curse is leaping in front of his teacher, screeching at him.
Yuji leaps back, and behind him he hears his classmates doing the same.
“A curse?!” Nobara lets out. “Isn’t the school supposed to be protected?”
But Gojo-sensei doesn’t look the slightest bit worried.
“Hey, hey, everyone, let’s all take it down a notch!” He pushes your head down forcefully, and you relent, rubbing against his legs and— purring? “Everything’s okay, he’s just a little riled up right now!”
“Gojo-sensei.” Yuji tilts his head incredulously. “Why are you petting the curse?”
“Hm? Oh, right.” Gojo moves to grab under your chin, shaking your head affectionately. You smile. Or at least Yuji thinks it’s a smile? Maybe? “Everyone, this is my husband, Y/N! Don’t worry, he’s totally harmless! Mostly!”
Like they’re in each other’s head, Yuji and Kugasaki turn to look at Fushiguro. Fushiguro looks away. Shrugs. Then turns his back to them completely.
“Fushiguro!” Nobara grabs the boy’s chin to forcefully turn his head. “Give us explanations!”
“Ask him explanations, not me!”
Gojo chuckles at their antics, scratching under your chin. You roll over to your back. Like... a cat.
“Don’t worry,” Gojo says lightly. Like this is completely normal and he’s wondering why everyone’s making such a fuss. “Think he might’ve just sensed Sukuna and decided to come see what’s up! He won’t hurt you. I think.”
Not too reassuring, but... Well, if Gojo says it’s fine, then it must be, right? Yuji gives a salute. “Got it, sensei! I won’t attack your curse husband!”
Behind him, Fushiguro and Kugisaki both sigh.
“You’re way too easy-going, Itadori.”
“I have a feeling this teacher is a problem...”
this one was a delight to write, honestly. it flowed really smoothly. also i genuinely had to stop myself from writing a full blown smut scene between satoru and curse!reader. anyway thanks for reading!
male reader, fluff, ooc(?), heian era, mentions of killing, reader being referred to as "husband."
-> Definitely would marry someone who was just as crazy as he was (freak4freak), or someone who could handle him. Either you wanted to or not, Sukuna would make you his husband. If you were really strong, that was an added bonus, he didn’t need to worry so much about keeping an eye on you.
“Husband.”
A deep voice grumbled in the gardens, his large shadow stood over from behind. It might be a terrifying sight, to you, his husband; it was the man you married and (sadly) have to deal with for the rest of your life.
“Yes?” you answered, your attention focused on the flowers.
“What are you doing?”
“Planting seeds, do you want to help?” you raised your head up with a small smile, as if he wasn’t a monster with four arms. Sukuna paused, narrowing his eyes for a moment, after a long moment, he ended up sitting near you with a low grunt. Even if the curse wasn't helping, it was at least something.
He watched you for a couple of minutes, red eyes focused on the way your hands gently held the dirt. You didn't mind his intense gaze, used to the way he looked at you after realizing it was meant to be seen as an innocent intent.
"I have no idea why you bother with that crap if it's just going to die anyway." His negative comment didn't stop you. You chuckled, “maybe, but that's okay, all life must come to an end eventually, it's the beauty behind it.”
-> You were the only man who could say "no" to his face and live. Servants watched in shock every time you refused one of his demands, expecting him to shred you into pieces, he clicks his tongue and walks away angrily. Later that day, he sits beside you again in silence, it was his own apology.
Sometimes it led to small arguments, which was no problem, you had no fear of him or his glare. As always, you stood your ground against his anger, winning in the end.
-> Sure, you were the opposite of him; kind to the servants and any guests in your home, never destroying things (unlike a certain somone). That also didn't mean you were easy to target. You've had your moments too, incidents like dealing with your husband's crappy moods.
"Sukuna, can you please tell me why there's a dead body on the floor?" You asked one day, watching him adjust himself on his throne. You were calm, nothing new...except, he could tell deep down there was frustration.
He rolled his eyes, “the servant was bothering me, so I got rid of him.” Letting out a deep inhale, your hands clasped together in front of you. "I see." You smiled with tension. "Well, next time, don't make a mess on the floor.” Sukuna blinked, watching you walk away casually after hearing the deep tone in your voice.
Safe to say, the next time he killed someone, he made sure to clean up after himself. A happy husband is a happy life.
your boyfriend ragebaits himself and then fucks it out in you!
hey, satoru never claimed to be very sensible when it came to you.
it had started long before you had even agreed to go out with him. back when he still had a big, fat and very poorly concealed crush on you. his mind was his biggest opp, truly.
sitting down in class, staring at the back of your head as he imagined scenarios of some other douche asking you out - and his biggest nightmare - you agreeing.
or, the thought of there being someone else who would snatch you right up before satoru built up the courage to ask you out.
back then, these thoughts gave him the push he desperately needed. he asked you out, you agreed, and he's been living his blissfully happy life ever since.
except...
satoru had his weight pinning you down in a mean mating press, his thick cock particularly hard today as he thrusted inside you like a mad man.
"'t-toruuuu-" you sobbed, your fingers digging in the skin of his back as you held on for dear life as your boyfriend pounded in you. the bed was creaking under the weight of satoru's hurried thrusts, making sounds that were lewder than the symphony of moans and cries leaving your mouth.
"y-y'belong to me," satoru panted, bringing his head to the side of your neck. he bit down on it, making your arch up and cry out.
"p-plea- hngh- haaah," you moaned, trying to twist your neck off his jaw, "s-slo- p-pleas-"
he brought his hand under your thigh, pulling your leg over his shoulder. the angle made you gasp out as satoru's weeping cock hit that particular spot, over and over again.
"say it," he gripped your jaw, turning your face towards his. his cock twitched at the sight of your fucked-out expression, his pupils dilating as he felt a surge of pride.
i did this, he thought, turning his hips up a notch. mine, she's mine.
"s-say it," he repeated, releasing your jaw, "you're mine, ngh-"
you moaned out some gibberish, too far gone to concentrate on what your boyfriend was saying as you tried to survive his relentless thrust, mind more focused on your oncoming orgasm.
"baby," he dipped down, taking your open mouth in a sloppy kiss before biting down on your lower lip, "y'r mine, baby, please, say it."
you nod, tears streaming down your face as you clench down hard on his cock, “‘m- m’yours- hic- youurs—”
“atta girl,” he presses a kiss on your calf, gripping your hips as he slams inside of you, grinning when your mouth falls open in a silent gasp as you cum all over his cock, fists gripping the sheets as you arch off the bed.
“s-so- fuckkk… so pretty,” he doesn’t slow down, fucking you through the orgasm as he bends down, “so pretty.. ngh- a-and all f’me.”
“satoruuuu,” you garble against his mouth as he kisses you again, pressing his entire weight on top of you, “slow down— please— hic!”
“we’ve got a long night ahead, sweetheart,” he pressed a kiss to your tear stained cheek, licking up the salty residue, “need to make sure this pussy moulds to the shape of my cock.”
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