Yandere! x Reader

-self insert blog!- YANDERE! MDNI (seriously) A writer, occasionally

[huicitawrites]

Sign the Petition

Nashville Zoo Says No to Proposed Data Center

Fuck Ai

[theprofessional-amateur]

link to bluesky post

[theprofessional-amateur]

In addition to how to turn various things, it includes:

Other useful AI Removal/Detection links

How to spot AI Hallucinations like a Reference Librarian (originally on Substack)

Library Freedom Project has a lot of handouts about AI on their Resources page

[huicitawrites]

I never understood “shipping” fights. With the leak of the ATLA movie (remember to support the actual release!) there was a resurgence of Kataang vs Zutara

I like both ships. I understand where both ships come from. Yeah, I have a preference for Kataang, but I do enjoy some Zutara from time to time (enemies to lovers I’ll never get tired of u).

Heck even Katara x Toph or there’s also Zukka.

idk it feels like everyone is being so petty, but then again i guess shipping wars are not serious at all :p

[sapph22]

The Witch Of The Mountain

Yandere Sukuna x Reader

Are monsters capable of love? Ask the girl in the cage

The “witch” survived the fire. The witch survived the hate. The witch did not survive being loved by the monster. You did not survive Sukuna

Warnings : MDNI, 18+, Yandere, Heian Sukuna, captivity, obsession, dead dove do not eat, single mother reader, dark, fanfic, death of side characters (Brief), period typical misogyny, power imbalance, coercive control.

ONESHOT

Heian era

The villagers called you a witch.

You had heard every version of your own story.

That you had lain with a demon to get your power. That your son had no father because you’d eaten him. That the herbs you grew in your garden could kill a man three ways depending on how you ground them.

Two of those things were true.

You had survived seventeen winters on this mountain by being useful, by answering the door when the village women came in secret… my husband doesn’t know I’m here, please, I can’t have another child, I just can’t…. and by keeping your mouth shut about every secret you carried.

You kept records in your head because writing anything down would’ve been the last mistake you ever made.

The stake had come close enough. You still remember the rage of that crowd,the voices rising together, “Burn the witch.”

The way your son had screamed, just two years old and not understanding why everyone was so angry at his mother. You had kept your face still because you refused to give them the satisfaction of watching you break.

The village leader’s son had developed something rotting in his leg the next morning.

And suddenly, the witch was no longer meant for burning. They spared your life in exchange for the cure.

Funny how that worked.

The village still looked at you with the same hate in their eyes when they came to collect remedies.

Sukuna

You knew something was wrong the morning your dog wouldn’t stop whining.

Animals didn’t lie. People did.

The dog stayed near the treeline and refused to move, ears flat, and you stood in your doorway looking out at the mountain and felt, deep in your bones, that something was up there, and it was moving closer to you door.

You got your son inside and put him to sleep with something mild in his evening broth, because you needed him unconscious and not screaming. Then you sat at your table with a knife that would be useless against a real danger.

The protection ward you had built into the mountain path stung something. You felt it like a vibration behind your teeth.

Whatever it had stung didn’t stop walking.

When Sukuna made his way down toward your home, he wasn’t expecting much.

He had come to kill you because you were a mild inconvenience.

Some witch on a mountain whose remedies had broken a curse he’d placed on a valley three weeks prior. Not on purpose, apparently. Just a woman who grew herbs and didn’t know what she was touching. He’d planned to spend maybe four minutes here.

Then your protection ward hit him.

It wasn’t strong but it was precise. Something had built that ward understanding exactly what kind of cursed energy would be passing through, and that was not something a village witch was supposed to be able to do.

He stood in front of a small house and looked at the door and felt something he hadn’t felt in a long time, which was mild curiosity.

Interesting.

You

You opened the door before he knocked.

That was the first thing he noticed

You looked at him the way one looks at a flood… not like you think you can stop it, but like you’re already calculating which direction you can run.

He could see the fear in your eyes. You weren’t hiding it from him. You were holding it the same way you held your posture, straight backed, chin up, like if you stood your ground the world would leave you alone.

“You’re the thing that tripped my ward,” you said.

He had expected screaming. Pleas for mercy. Tears. This, however, was far more interesting.

Sukuna looked at you for a moment.

“You built it well,” he said. “For a woman who doesn’t know what she’s doing.”

“I know exactly what I’m doing.” Your hands were shaking but your chin tipped up, daring him to contradict you “I don’t know what you’re doing here.”

“Did you really think a barrier would stop me?” The corner of his mouth lifted into a smirk, like he was savoring the look on your face.

You swallowed hard, steadying yourself with a deep breath. You didn’t step back

“Why are you here?” you asked. “Is this about the curse I exorcised?”

He stared at you, eyes narrowing slightly, like he was trying to decide whether you were brave or simply stupid. “You’re a strange little thing”

Sukuna

He didn’t know what made him stay.

He’d come to kill you and instead he was standing in your house watching you make tea with hands that wouldn’t quite stop shaking, and he found he didn’t feel like leaving yet.

You were trying keeping your voice steady, probably hoping that if you were useful enough the monster at your table would go away satisfied. He’d seen it before in royal councils and battlefields. People bargaining for their lives with intelligence instead of begging.

“Your ward targeted my cursed energy directly,” he said as you set a cup in front of him that he did not touch. “Who taught you that?”

“No one.” You sat across from him, which took some nerve. “I worked it out.”

There was a sound from the room down the hall. A child turning over in sleep.

Your body reacted before your mind did, putting yourself between him and the room as if your flesh and bone could stop him.

Sukuna said nothing. A faint smirk tugged on his lips as he turned and left.

You were relieved, unaware that it marked the beginning of something far worse.

You

The first visit you had survived.

The second time he appeared in the woods you thought you were dead.

The third time you were almost… almost… starting to understand the shape of what was happening.

He didn’t want your remedies. He didn’t want anything you could name. He asked you questions about your work, interrupted your answers, corrected you twice about curse theory and you couldn’t argue because he was right, and left without explanation each time.

The village found out. Of course.

Now instead of just witch they called you demon’s whore and you just laughed at that.

“Your village hates you,” he said once, watching from your doorway while you worked.

“My village has always hated me,” you said. “They just hate me more now that something they’re afraid of seems to prefer my company.”

“Does that bother you.”

“No,” you scoffed softly. “I stopped letting them bother me a long time ago. They were going to burn me but then they needed my remedy. That’s all people are.”

Something changed in his face. It wasn’t obvious, but it wasn’t nothing either. His jaw tightened. His eyes went colder. You didn’t know what it meant, only that it felt dangerous.

Sukuna

Here’s what Sukuna would never tell anyone….

You were the only person he had spoken to in three hundred years who didn’t measure her words before she let them out.

Not because you were reckless… you weren’t. You were careful in the way only survivors are. You were just too tired to pretend anymore.

You had already burned through all your performances keeping yourself alive.

He came back because he wanted to watch you work. That was the justification he let himself have.

He came back because something about you mixing herbs with shaking hands and steady eyes made him want to see what else you could hold.

He didn’t name the feeling growing in his chest. He had no interest in naming it.

But he started noticing things.

The shadows under your eyes when your son was sick. The way you never ate until the child had eaten. The way you forgot yourself the moment he needed you.

It made him furious in a way he couldn’t explain.

You

The end of of the life you had built… came on a winter night when the village finally decided that a witch friendly with a monster was a worse witch than a regular one.

They came in a group, torches burning in their hands like before

You got your son up and got him to the back window. You had a route planned… you’d always had an escape plan, you weren’t stupid.

Sukuna was already standing in the yard when you came out the back.

He looked at the mob. Looked at you.

Then he turned to the crowd and did something you couldn’t bring yourself to watch. You heard the crack of bones, the thud of bodies hitting the ground.

When it was quiet you were shaking so hard you could barely hold your son.

“You can’t stay here,” he said, his gaze checking you over as if to make sure you were unharmed.

“I know,”

“You’ll come with me.”

You looked up at him. Your son had his face buried in your neck. The torches were still burning but there was no one left to hold them.

“Take me with you.”

You went willingly. Like a silly little rabbit stepping right where the rope was waiting. Oh, you sweet, foolish thing.

The cage

A year is a long time to understand you made the wrong choice.

You know that now. Sitting on the floor of his chamber with the chain loose around your ankle… like he’d thought about your comfort…. you know it the way you know your own heartbeat… a useless information.

You remember the first month clearly because it had been fine…. more than fine. It was perfect

That was the trap of it. That was the thing you couldn’t have known… that a monster could be patient enough to let you feel safe first.

He had given you rooms. Given your son a nursemaid, a woman who was kind enough.

Given you access to a garden. Herbs to grow, to use as you pleased. You had thought… you had genuinely thought… this is what salvation looked like.

You had been grateful to him. Felt something warm and treacherous in your chest when he came to sit with you and asked about your work like he actually wanted to know.

He was the first person in seventeen years who’d spoken to you like you were worth listening to. Not a witch. Not a threat. Just… a normal person who knew things worth knowing.

You had been so starved for it.. you hadn’t noticed the doors locking behind you.

It started small.

You couldn’t visit your son after dark…. “He needs routine.” You couldn’t walk the outer corridors without an escort… “it isn’t safe.”You couldn’t send word outside… “who would you send to? Your village is gone. There’s no one.”

All of it reasonable. All of it said softly, without anger.

By month four you understood that you hadn’t seen your son unsupervised in six weeks. That every hour of your day existed within whatever radius Sukuna had silently decided.

That his attention… which had felt like warmth… was flames consuming you.

You had tried to talk to him about it. You knew how to talk to difficult men who had power over you, which was a skill you had been practicing your whole life.

“I need to spend more time with my son,” you said.

“You’ll see him tomorrow.”

“I need to see him today. Please. He’s two years old and he barely knows my face anymore and I need…”

“Tomorrow.”

Just like that…he closed the door with no handle on your side.

That was the night you stopped sleeping well.

By month six you weren’t sleeping at all. You would lie in the dark and feel the walls of his chamber laughing at your misery and think about the mountain… the cold, the isolation, the vile looks from villagers who would spit near your feet and then knock on your door at midnight for help with a difficult birth.

You thought about how you had hated it. But the hatred at least had air in it.

The feeling that the world was large and you were small in it but free in that smallness.

Here you were everything to someone who wanted everything, and it was suffocating.

You planned the escape when it became unbearable. You waited for a shift change you had memorized. Got your son from the nurse’s room while the woman slept, the boy confused and sleepy and mercifully quiet. You had made it forty feet down the outer corridor.

Sukuna was standing at the end of it.

You suspected he had always known, that he had watched you plan it…. Like a moth circling a flame…. interested in how long it takes.

He looked at you then looked at your son on your hip.

You held your son tighter

“Give him back to the nurse,” he said softly. He never raised his voice at you. The affection in his voice was reserved only for you.

You didn’t sleep for three days after that. The chain was on your ankles by morning.

That was five months ago.

Now you sit on the floor because you prefer it to the bed, small resistances being all you have left.

The chain is long enough to reach the window but not open it. Enough to make you feel like maybe it isn’t that bad.

Your son comes in the mornings. If you’ve been cooperative. If you’ve been…. good. The boy is healthy. Fed. Clothed. He calls you mama and climbs into your lap and you hold him with both arms and count the minutes because you know how many you get.

Sukuna comes in the evenings and looks at you like he can finally breathe. That same suffocating love

“Say it back,” he told you last night.

“No,”

“Then the chain stays.” He said calmly, but his eyes looked hurt

“Then the chain stays,” you turned your face to the wall.

He had told you plainly, the first night after the escape…

“I will keep you here until you return what I feel. I am not in a hurry.”

***

You had survived the stake.

Six winters. A mob. A monster’s first visit.

You did not survive being loved

A dove caught is still a dove.

But the cage is warm

and the captor is patient

A/n : Your Reblogs and comments are appreciated

Not proofread. I’m sorry . You are 26 in this fic.

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[sapph22]

𐙚 ‧₊˚ ⋅

[huicitawrites]

mmm so good and tasty

[miiroki]

𝐘𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐞! 𝐒𝐮𝐤𝐮𝐧𝐚 & 𝐆𝐨𝐣𝐨! 𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

She lived once before, long enough to grow old beside a monster the world called a curse. When she is reborn centuries later, she has no memory of Sukuna, no Limitless, no Gojo name to shield her. Only a powerful cursed technique shaped by memory. Respected as a Grade 1 sorcerer, she builds a life that finally belongs to her. Then Yuji Itadori comes and the King of Curses realizes the woman he waited centuries for has come back, and surrounded by people he may have to destroy.

one: ✶ two: ✶ 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

He would let the world realize, slowly, that it had just been borrowing you.

The world did not end when you died.

Your death was calm. There was no battlefield, no screaming cursed energy, and no brother’s body cooling in the dirt.

Only a large, and quiet estate hidden far from the reach of clans and curses, where the Heian era slowly forgot your name, and where even gods learned how to sit still.

You were old.

Your hands were thin, spotted with age, curled weakly in your lap as the evening sun bled gold across the paper walls. Your breathing came shallow now, each inhale was harder to do, and each exhale given back with effort.

Beside you Ryomen Sukuna sat perfectly still.

And unlike you he had not aged.

Four arms folded neatly, both mouths were permanently frowned. He had burned cities, crushed clans, slaughtered divinity itself.

And yet here he was.

Waiting.

“You’ve been staring,” you murmured faintly.

Sukuna’s gaze sharpened. “You’re getting old.”

“As people do.”

“You were never meant to,” he replied. “I don’t want you to.”

You smiled, tired. “Neither were you.”

For decades after your self banishment from the Gojo clan you had lived where the world could not touch you. Sukuna destroyed anyone who tried. Your own clan stopped searching, and people had slowly forgotten about the Gojo clans princess.

When your hand trembled, one of his steadied it as careful, and reverent as he could. Almost as if afraid his strength might shatter you.

“You didn’t take my eyes,” you whispered. “You didn’t cage me. You didn’t even stop me from aging.”

“No,” Sukuna said quietly. “Because you chose to stay.”

You exhaled, it was a soft, final sound.

Your pulse slowed beneath his fingers.

And for the first time in his existence, Sukuna felt something leave him.

Loss.

Despite his inner turmoil of feelings he did not scream. He did not destroy the estate. He did not curse the heavens.

He sat there for three days.

Holding your body.

Waiting for you to come back.

—

You were reborn gently.

No cursed womb.

No prophecy.

No clan prayers.

Just a modern hospital room and a baby who did not cry much, who did not cry at all, and who stared too intently at faces, as if trying to remember where she knew them from.

You did not remember Sukuna.

Not consciously.

But you slept curled on your side, as if expecting someone impossibly large to be there. You dreamed of two pairs of hands that never aged. Sometimes you’d be driven awake by a dream of fire and blood, but a saviour clad in black would always save you.

Your cursed energy manifested early.

You could feel emotional residue, the memories left behind like fingerprints. At first, it overwhelmed you. Teachers would mistaken it for a girls growing empathy towards her peers. Doctors mistook it for and anxiety disorder.

Then Satoru Gojo found you.

He sat across from you, sat in your family’s dining room table. Sweets and cake laid before him by your parents.

“You said you felt like your dreams are familiar? You’re remembering something you shouldn’t,” he said, holding a fork and mouth muffled with some pastry. “That usually means you’re special.”

You tilted your head. “Is that bad?”

Satoru smiled. “Only if you’re boring.”

He ended up eating all the daifuku you were saving for a rainy day.

—

Your technique followed, forming naturally, utilizing the emotional attachment to memories.

When curses screamed, you had the ability to understood why. When people died, you could see their last emotions cling to you.

You learned to shape those remnants. Turning those raw emotions into weapons. A blade could be born from deep regret, a shield from devotion.

Or

A perfected a domain of memory where nothing could lie.

This ability of yours was coined with the name Mnemonic Dominion. (nih-mon-ik)

By the time you entered Tokyo Jujutsu High, you were already being discussed in rooms you had never entered.

—

You met them young.

Maki Zenin didn’t trust you at first, but through scrapes and bruises, and watching you fight, she never questioned you again.

You would spar together until splotches of purple bloomed on both your bodies.

Panda liked you because you remembered things others forgot, birthdays, preferences, small kindnesses.

Toge Inumaki was a harder nut to crack, it didn’t help that his vocabulary consisted of ingredients, but with the other two’s help you forged a respectable bond.

This school and its people became something stable.

—

Satoru didn’t say you were his favorite.

But he let you walk ahead of him on missions.

“Lesson one. You don’t rush,” he told you once. “You try to wait until all hands are shown.”

In the beginning missions were hard, and mentally straining, it was hard to find motivation and confidence. But after every single one he’d pat your head. Regardless if the mission went well, then he’d always say.

“You don’t need anyone’s approval. You’re already strong, and that should be accepted by everyone because I said so.”

You didn’t know why that felt so familiar.

—

It was known that nothing could escape Satoru.

He noticed how students leaned toward you unconsciously. How your cursed energy remembered things it shouldn’t, due to your abilities nature.

He also noticed what you didn’t do.

You didn’t chase glory, nor did you escalate violence. You were just a nice person, willing to do good. Even willing to out yourself through this ruthless marathon called shamanism.

“You act like you've already lived a full life. Like a grandma.” Satoru said one evening, after shadowing him on a mission. He was leaning against a railing as you watched the sun dip behind the campus. “Most sorcerers cursed energy are constant and always heading towards something, full of activity for lack of a better term. Yours seems to always be waiting.”

You considered that. “For what?” Ignoring the fact that he called you a grandma.

Gojo smiled faintly, his eyes crinkled beneath his blindfold.

“I don’t know yet~”

You stuck your tongue out at him, “you always say weird stuff teach.”

He laughed.

—

Centuries had passed without the king of curses.

His fingers were sealed, and the myth of a great two armed, two mouthed monster were reduced to folklore.

You had grown into a Grade 1 sorcerer, respected easily, and equally loved. Teachers trusted your judgment instinctively.

You were not a Gojo. At least not in this life.

But Satoru watched you like you were.

When he introduced Yuji Itadori to you, it felt like fate finally aligned.

Sukuna was watching through his eyes and he saw you.

Standing whole.

And for the first time since the Heian era.

The King of Curses smiled not because he wanted to destroy the world. But because the world had finally given him back what it took.

—

Megumi knew of your existence, it was hard not to. His guardian (not by choice) had gushed endlessly about your raw talent and sheer talent. So you were both acquainted, and he noted your patience when it came to his teacher as impressive and inspiring.

On the other hand you met Nobara Kugisaki on a rainy afternoon that smelled like metal and wet concrete.

She took one look at you, standing beside Maki, sleeves rolled up, cursed energy steady and calm, and decided two things instantly:

1. You were important.

2. You were super pretty.

“So you’re the famous one,” Nobara said, hands on her hips, eyes sharp and assessing. “You don’t look scary.”

You blinked. “Is that bad?”

She pursed her lips. “It’s suspicious.”

Maki snorted, and Panda laughed from somewhere behind you. Toge raised a thumb. “Salmon.”

Nobara circled you like a cat inspecting a new piece of furniture.

“I saw your sparring match with Maki, you act like you already won.” She continued. “You were super calm. I like that.”

You tilted your head. “You say that like it’s a verdict.”

“It is,” she replied. “Congratulations. We’re friends.”

From that day on, Nobara gravitated toward you with fierce loyalty, dragging you into arguments, gossip, shopping trips, and battles alike. She trusted you instinctively, the way people could trust gravity.

You never bothered to ask why.

You had lived long enough. Once. To know that some bonds did not need explanation.

—

By the time your second Kyoto Goodwill Event approached, your name had weight.

Aoi Todo approached you during a joint training session with Kyoto students, gaze sharp with curiosity.

“You,” he said. “What is your type?”

Nobara groaned from the sidelines watching. “Not again-”

You dropped your stance and answered without hesitation. “Someone who remembers everything about me. And a tall strong body.”

Todo froze.

A slow, reverent smile spread across his face, and a tear slid down his eyes.

“…You are extraordinary.”

From then on, Todo treated you like a comrade-in-arms. He sparred with you relentlessly, pushed you constantly, and included you in his fantasy’s, as his older sister who cared for him since birth. When would occasionally doubt you, he corrected them.

“She is Grade 1 for a reason,” he said once, tone final. “Do not insult her by pretending otherwise.”

—

They told you Yuji Itadori was dead.

You accepted it the way sorcerers learn to accept everything, quietly, with a weight in your chest you couldn’t name. You hadn’t known him well. Still, something about his absence felt. Strange.

Then the Kyoto Goodwill Event began.

And Yuji jumped out of the box that Satoru made him cram into.

Their was a heavy pause, followed by Nobara shouting his name.

You felt it then. A pressure behind your eyes, and a pull coming from deep in your chest.

When Yuji looked at you, he smiled like he always did. It was warm, awkward, and familiar.

But something else looked back.

Inside Yuji, Ryomen Sukuna.

He remembered paper walls glowing gold, hands wrinkled with age curled around his own, your death without blood.

Alive.

—

Sukuna did not surface immediately.

He watched you fight, your technique was unique. Memory's made weapons. He watched how others reacted to you, watched how you developed relationships with your peers.

He felt something dangerous coil in his chest.

They love you.

That night, when Yuji was asleep.

Sukuna was left alone with his thoughts.

“You kept your soul, despite not remembering anything” he murmured into the darkness of his inner domain. “Even without your infinity.”

—

Elsewhere you woke gasping, heart racing, tears on your cheeks with no memory of why.

But your hands curled instinctively. Like they once had, centuries ago. As if reaching for someone who had never let go.

—

Sukuna did not rush you.

He had learned patience beside your deathbed.

He would wait while you laughed with Nobara. While you trained with Maki. While Satoru watched over you.

Because this time, you were not alone.

And Sukuna could not easily steal you from the position that you've created for yourself.

[lexorouswrites]

ꜰɪꜱꜱᴜʀᴇᴅ || Satoru Gojo x Reader x Suguru Geto

You managed to save Riko Amanai, succeeding at your first and biggest chance at preventing the start of Suguru Geto's descent into hatred and despair. Things should have steadily fallen back into place after that; besides, there's a gap of an entire year before Haibara's life is in danger. It doesn't make sense for you to stress out about the unforeseeable future when you know nothing will happen during that time period. But how can you not when two of your classmates, who previously stayed as far away from you as possible, have been so insistent on pushing your personal boundaries?

Chapter 1

Chapter 2: Stay Close (And Let Your Heart Beat Against Mine)

WORD COUNT: 7.8K

TAGS: Literal Sleeping Together, Hugs, Sleepy Cuddles, Domestic Fluff, Swearing, Pet names, Disturbing Fluff, Disturbing Fluff that actually turns into Disturbing Stuff, Forced Proximity, Forced Compliance, Out Of Character, Reluctant Compliance, Mentioned Shoko Ieiri.

A/N: Lost all my writing (easily over 60k words) in December and my will to live along with it ✌⚰

You wake up surrounded by warmth and an absurdly overwhelming amount of cursed energy.

Your tactical mind, still shrouded in the remnants of sleep, believes you had somehow been taken during your slumber and jolts your body awake to make a move for it.

But before you could, you feel a weight atop your waist, sturdy as it loops around your midriff and presses you down into the soft surface.

"Mm... stop movin' s'much." You pause. No, like actually freeze on the spot as you crack your eyelids open with mild difficulty to see a fluffy blanket pressed against your face.

A string of colorful curses replays in your mind like a hypnotic mantra at the disturbance of your sleep, but once the voice registers in your mind—

"Gojo?!" You whisper-yell, disbelief lacing the word.

You raise your hand to push the blanket away from your face, and when you're met with the sight of Geto's, you genuinely feel your soul ascend.

What in the shoujo anime type of shit is this?

You don't like how fast your heart is beating, its rate rapidly increasing the more you keep staring at his sleepy face. His shoulder is lightly moving with every inhale and exhale, soft lips slightly parted, and his inky hair is spread out on the pillow like some makeshift halo.

As if sensing your eyes on him, Geto's head shifts, a minuscule movement that results in his hair being caught by gravity and falling to curtain his face.

You barely get time to process the immaculate and heavenly sight before Gojo's arm lifts from your waist and reaches up towards Geto, lightly tucking the strands back.

The memories from last night flood in, and you're perfectly content with utilizing this moment as a chance for your escape. With Gojo's weight no longer holding you down, you push yourself up on your forearm.

And you're pushed back down not even a second later.

"Awake and already so feisty?" Gojo's drawl is dipped in amusement. "Careful, sweetheart, or I might have to use extreme measures to keep you with me next time."

Despite the easygoing tone, you don't think he's bluffing.

"Let's saayyy," he pauses to think, and you can feel that damned grin of his as he curls an arm around your torso. "Using the power bestowed on the strongest to never let you go?"

Your heart skips a beat. And you think it wasn't necessarily in a good way, though.

"Okay, I played around long enough." You lower your hand to his wrist to pull him off. It doesn't even manage to wrap around all the way. "I stayed the night, and it's morning now. Let go, Gojo."

"So formal," he's tutting near your ear, hot breath licking up at your skin. "What happened to the bold girl in first year? One who was always so fond of pet names?"

Your face is slightly warm, but you don't give the embarrassment time to linger.

"She learned her lesson to not mess around with you idiots." You're rolling your eyes and— "So how about letting lil' old me off the hook now, huh, Toru?"

He freezes up.

You freeze up.

Crap, you slipped up—

"Hol—hold on a—"

It's loud and pitched but so, so soft at the same time that your mouth automatically snaps shut when he whines.

Like—actually whines right in your ear, the sound reverberating in your eardrums.

Your face catches on fire, and you desperately wish for the mattress to swallow you whole because what in the name of all that is unholy was that? This isn't some damned fanfic; this is real life, and that makes the situation feel ten times worse.

"That's not fair," his voice refuses to pitch down lower, and then he's everywhere.

Cheek pressed against the side of your neck, his chest to your back, legs a little entangled, and you're forced to follow along when he bends his spine to curl inwards. "I didn't know nicknames were an open option now."

Well, buddy, neither did I.

"Dude, we just woke up." Your cheek is smushed into the pillow, eyelids screwed shut as your face starts to numb from self-combustion. "Why are you acting like a hormonal teen?"

"Maybe because I am?" He sounds unsure, but you're left baffled at how easily he divulged his feelings. "I don't know; am so confused right now too." He mutters the last time so quietly that you think it wasn't meant for your ears.

"Then shut up and get off me."

"I won't," he protests.

"Why?"

"Don't feel like it," he counters.

"I swear if someone even gets a whiff that I spent the night here with you two, I'll skin you both alive."

"Waah, so scary," Gojo mockingly exaggerates. "I'm literally shaking right now, aren't I, Suguru?"

...

Oh God, please don't—

You steel your nerves and slowly open your eyelids. Just a peek, a small peek, and then you're bolting right out of here if you—

Geto's amethyst irises are fixated on you, and his pupils literally dilate like some hungry predator sizing up its unassuming prey when the two of you lock eyes.

Yeah, you can't do this anymore. You were wrong; you aren't immune to their charms despite how awfully creepy they're behaving.

Bringing the blanket up to your face, you bury yourself under your self-proclaimed safe haven for the time being and resist the urge to scream your lungs out. Your heart is beating so fast you fear it'll burst out from the confinement of your chest; your blood is roaring in your ears and rushing into your head so fast that you can't properly think.

You feel a tug on your blanket. You tighten your fingers on it.

"Hmm, why are you shying away now?" Geto's voice is closer and gentle, yet it's betrayed by how smug he sounds. "You certainly didn't mind warming up to me last night."

Your lower lip trembles for a moment. "I was literally sleeping, practically dead. Would've done that even if it were someone else."

You don't even need to look to know that wasn't the wisest thing to say.

The air charges up like some bomb prepared to detonate. You're quietly mouthing out profanities and curses at your luck in ruining perfectly content moments when a hand closes around your wrist, fingers warm and much more slender than yours.

"Careful 'bout what you say, pretty." Gojo whispers out, gently trying to coax you out from under the blankets. "Suguru's really kind, but he's quick to get vexed these days."

You don't know if it's your own consternation or the tone he uses that makes you comply anyways.

You let the blanket be dragged away, your hair plastered to your face, and you feel a little chill tickle your cheeks. You keep your eyes shut and refuse to lift your head, but you're too reluctant to just quietly follow along.

You listened to whatever honey-coated words fell from their lips yesterday, but that's about it. You're done.

"I'm serious; I've complied with what you both wanted, but that's it." You hope the finality showed up in your tone. "I have to go back, sort my desk, pick out clothes, hop in the shower, and then get breakfast before anyone else decides to feast on my last two slices of cake that I've specifically labeled do not eat."

It's so quiet that you can clearly hear your own breathing, your own heartbeat. No one says anything, and you believe they've finally taken the message. Just before you could heave out a sigh of relief—

"Satoru," Geto speaks, speaking his name with such softness that it completely contradicts how big of a blow his next words leave. "Go and fetch her brush and clothes; she can use my bathroom."

Wh—

"On it!" The giddy exclamation leaves you flabbergasted, and there isn't enough time for his words to properly settle in when Gojo's weight is lifted off of you.

Your eyes snap open, and you push yourself up, scrambling towards the edge of the bed with your hand held out to yank his ass back on the mattress.

Your fingers close around air.

Fuck.

"What?! No!—Gojo, don't you fucking dare mess around with my stuff—"

And the door snaps shut with his departure.

A sharp exhale leaves your mouth, incredulity shaping your features as you stare wide-eyed at the wooden door before trailing your line of sight back to Geto. He has a smile that is as charming as it is pleased, chin propped up on his palm and head inclined to the side with a single bang loosely covering his left eye.

"What do you gain from doing something like that?" You question, a huff concluding your words.

"Being blessed with more of your time and company." Comes his swift reply, and your mouth clamps shut.

Sly bastard.

Before you could offer him a piece of your mind, your thoughts have no choice but to come to a halt when he lifts a hand to your head. You stop breathing altogether when his fingers brush against your hair.

"When was the last time you oiled your hair?" He runs his fingers along your scalp, and you find yourself leaning into him.

Air finally reaches into your lungs, but it doesn't prevent confusion from bubbling up. Where is this coming from? What's he trying to do?

"I... don't remember. Last month, maybe?"

"Hm, figured."

You feel a nerve violently throb underneath the skin of your temples.

Because you can't really say, "Oh well, I'm sorry for taking up more missions being paired up with literally everyone, especially you, so you won't have to mope around and suffer in silence because if you do, you'll be blinded by hatred and during one mission, kill over a hundred villagers and then your parents, who you call every three days to tell them about your school life. Then a decade later, you'll declare war on Jujutsu society and will be killed by the hands of your best friend—"

In the end, what you chose to say isn't really polite by any means. "The hell you mean 'figured'?"

"It means I'm gonna to do it for you."

"Do what for me—"

And after about five minutes of thrashing and trying to flee, you find yourself on his lap. Like—actually on his lap this time (without combusting, thankfully) as he runs his fingers through your hair. The strands are lathered in oil, but he doesn't stop, gently rubbing his fingertips on the spots he missed.

How you've been brought to this position in the span of one single night is beyond you, but you aren't complaining about being pampered as long as he doesn't freak you out again.

You can't believe how easily you folded and gave in; you need to put up more of a fight next time—

...

...next time?

Did you just seriously think about something like this happening again in the future? The thought has your face scrunching up in distaste. Man, you need to get it together before you actually go insane. More than what's required to be a Jujutsu sorcerer.

You need to focus on your primal motive of preventing Suguru Geto from becoming a curse user. From going against Jujutsu society. Keeping him from endangering the lives of non-sorcerers. So that he doesn't develop a freaking superiority complex—

"Feels nice, doesn't it?" His hum pulls you out of your train of thoughts. "I think I can do this all the time."

Yeah... there's still hope, but—

"You have zero reason to be doing this." You grumble out, nose crinkling after you take in a deep breath. "What even is this?"

"It's rosemary," he answers, retracting his hands from your head.

Taking it as a sign that you're done, finally, you place your palm on his knee and push yourself up.

Goosebumps suddenly prick your skin as you feel it, and just as you lift your head, there's a small curse hovering right in front of your face.

"Holy!—"

You jolt back, instinctively concentrating cursed energy into your fist as you bring it up, but just when you're about to strike, it disappears.

Huh?

Your eyes widen when comprehension floods in your mind.

"Geto, you—"

You're, once again, cut off for the umpteenth time when he lowers his hands back on your head, fingers threading through your hair as he soothingly massages the oil in, cold fingertips drawing small circles on the skin. "Mixed with a little bit of coconut oil."

What is he even talking about?

But your thoughts refuse to cooperate when he's being so gentle, using his other hand to comfortably hold your head up when it inclines too low. You're pretty sure you even let out a low hum, but you'd rather die than ever admit it out loud.

"You..." Your head feels all warm and fuzzy. "Do you have even this much time to spare?"

"For you? Always."

Your heart flutters, but your stomach churns when you, for some fucking reason, decide to ask, "Are you doing okay?"

His fingers freeze for just a moment.

"I'm doing just fine."

You bite the inside of your cheek.

"I'm serious, Geto." You lift your hand and grip the sleeve of his shirt, and his hands are entirely still this time. "I might not be real close to you compared to Gojo and Ieiri, but it doesn't take much to see you haven't been treating yourself kindly."

You pause for a second; the memory of when you saw the Hidden Inventory Arc for the first time flashes behind your eyes. You remember how excited you were to watch it and how you positively fell in love with everything and everyone you saw on screen.

But then you saw how a kind boy lost his spark to doubt and resentment. How a teacher lost his outstanding pupil. How two friends lost their other half. How he lost himself.

And that fuckass, good-for-nothing, better-off-dead, Kenjaku—

Your hold on his sleeve tightens till your knuckles burn, eyes trailing down to your lap.

"You... both you and Gojo fought Zen'in." You feel horrible for calling Toji Fushiguro by the name he despised and left behind (he fucked up things real bad, regardless), but if your foggy memory serves you right, Yuki Tsukumo called him Toji Zen'in when she conversed with Geto about changing the system of the world as they knew it.

The conversation that changed Geto's perspective on everything.

"And he wasn't merciful in any way; you two might be special grades, but he was a special exception too."—one that left both a physical and mental scar. "Don't push yourself to the point you'll break and hurt those that really care about you. Those who want you here."

You take in a deep breath.

The world of Jujutsu Kaisen is a cruel one; the least you can do now that you're here is to make this place a little kinder for all those risking their lives for the betterment of the rest of mankind.

"And if things feel a little too heavy, don't hesitate to let me lift some of that burden."

You barely hear him breathing anymore, and uncertainty creeps into your heart. Were you too sentimental? Did he get creeped out instead? Maybe the way you worded things sounded too cheesy, and his brain cells just gave up and refused to work.

What a joke, man, and here you were trying to actually be considerate for once.

Putting aside the fact that both he and Gojo have been acting uncanny, you softly exhale, ready to apologize because, unlike them, you are nice and considerate.

And painfully average in the Jujutsu society in terms of power and strength.

But nice, nonetheless.

"... okay, look. I know I—"

Your heart lurches up and almost out of your throat when the door slams open.

"I'm baaack!" Gojo sing-songs, dragging the words out to a harmonic end (surprisingly), his arms filled to the brim with—

"What the fuck? Did you bring my entire wardrobe here?" You lift yourself off of Geto, swinging your legs over the bed to stand at the edge.

You watch with the faint pulsation of an oncoming headache as he dumps all of your stuff on the bed.

All. Of. It.

"I'm gonna go and wash my hands." Geto gets up and heads towards the bathroom, his hair, somehow, very conveniently falling around his face to perfectly hide his expression.

But the more you stare at the back of his head, the more—are your eyes deceiving you, or are the tips of his ears red?

Like, really vibrant red.

You blink, taken aback; something akin to pride builds up in your chest because, heck, who wouldn't want a handsome dude to get all flustered by their actions and words?

Then the memories of your first year slam into you like a freight train, and you lower your head with a stifled cry of shame.

Curse you and your dream of wooing handsome men and beautiful women.

"I'm honestly so surprised there's still hope for you," Gojo comments, lifting up a patterned sundress that you—actually don't remember buying. "I thought your fashion sense was reduced to zero."

How deep did he dig into your closet?

"Ha, ha," your laugh was bland and hollow. "Think you're sooo funny, don't you? Alright, give it back."

You reach out to take it from him; he lifts it higher with a sliver of teeth peeking out from under his lips.

Damn him and his stupidly tall height.

"I'm not playing around, Gojo." Drawing closer, you attempt to pull his arm down by tugging on his sleeve. He only brings his face closer, cerulean irises gleaming like he sees something in you that you can't.

...well, he can, actually, but that doesn't stop you from hesitating for a split second.

"M'not gonna just stand around and let you rummage through my stuff." Because, apparently, you have no clue about what stuff you own.

"You don't have a choice in that matter anymore," Gojo sticks his tongue out at you. "Now that I know you just refuse to dress all pretty around us. Hey, Suguru!"

He calls out, and you turn your head just in time to see Geto stop in front of his bed. Gojo moves closer to him, and you lift your brows at his suddenness.

"Look, look! Check this out." Why does he sound so giddy?

You scramble next to Gojo just in time to see him abandon the sundress to the side to pull out an article of clothing from the pile. Your pounding heart calms down when you realize it's just your school skirt.

Phew, you actually thought you had somehow had something scandalous—

Your heart stops beating altogether.

Oh, shit!

"Alright, hands off!" With the smallest burst of cursed energy concentrated in your feet, you propel forward and snatch it from him just before the garment lands in Geto's open hands.

With an exasperated huff, you fold it and put it off to the side, ignoring Gojo's whine, "Hey, I was showing him the discovery of a lifetime!"

"And you did," rolling your eyes, you make a move to stack everything neatly to carry it back. "Now quit cryin'."

"I didn't know you had one." Surprisingly, it's Geto who speaks up, eyeing all of your clothes as he steps up beside you.

"Of course I did; it's the standard," you snap back, irritation slipping into your tone. "And whoever did that must be out of their damn mind to think skirts would be perfectly suitable to wear while handling life-threatening missions that involves fighting."

They both remain silent, and from a brief glance you throw their way, it seems like they're telepathically communicating with just eye contact. Great, more well-deserved silence then.

"... well, Shoko wears them."

This bit—

"And do pray tell, honorable one—" you hear a choking noise. "—how many of them involved her actually fighting with kicks and punches?"

Ieiri is assigned on missions with assistance (obviously), but you have never seen that girl actually put in any effort to exorcise a curse herself, being more fond of letting others handle the tedious task and only stepping in to provide medical attention.

When you turn around, Geto is staring at you with slightly widened eyes, while Gojo is purposefully avoiding looking directly at you, his brows furrowed and cheeks puffed out like an annoyed kid.

Are his cheeks going pink?

Seriously, what in the actual hell is going on with these two? How badly did you mess up the plot? No—scratch the plot, did you actually break these two? Is this not the actual JJK world and instead one of those "isekaied into a video game" kinda tropes?

Turning back around, you take in a deep breath in an attempt to cleanse your mind of trivial thoughts, along with the anger to beat the absolute shit out of both of them, when you choke halfway on it with a sudden thought.

"Where is my phone?" You don't wait for their answer, head swiveling around to locate the device. Finding it perched on Geto's bedside table shortly after.

You practically leap for it, flipping it open and relieved to see it's charged, thumb pressing on button after button as you go through your messaging app. You might not have a lot of people in your contacts, but—

"Hey, who's that?" You feel Gojo's hair tickle your temples before you hear his words, peering into your phone from over your shoulder.

You raise a single brow. "Who's who?"

"That guy." Geto answers from your other side, a finger pointed to your wallpaper. "I thought you had our group photo as your home screen."

You know the exact picture he's talking about, the one you forced your classmates and underclassmen to take with you shortly after Nanami and Haibara joined the school. Only you and Haibara are openly showing your enthusiasm in it, arms thrown around the neck of whoever was the closest.

Now that you think about it, you should probably also take one with Ijichi once he joins; he genuinely seemed like a really nice guy.

"Don't know," is your honest reply, said unconsciously rather than with proper thinking. "Saw him on a magazine once, thought he looked really cute, and decided to use one of his pictures from a shoot."

If your memory serves you right, didn't the wiki say Ijichi's biggest cause of stress was Satoru Gojo himself? He always looked so timid too. You close your eyes for a moment to picture what he looked like and then decide that—yeah, you'll do it. This will be an Ijichi hate-free zone, and you'll be his biggest fan now; everyone here is already way too overrated.

You open your eyes just as your phone is snatched from your hand.

"Okaaay!" Gojo's fingers are moving so fast on your keypad that they blur. "Time for an upgrade then!"

You blink in bewilderment and immediately reach out to take it back.

Geto's hand darts out to clasp yours, and before you could direct your suppressed anger at how diabolical their behavior is towards him, he loosens his hold.

Watching with heat crawling up your neck as he trails the tips of his fingers from your wrist down into your open palm before he laces his fingers with yours.

"Just a second, pretty." His words are suave, and as if his words didn't leave you flustered enough, his eyes close into crescents as he gifts you a heart-fluttering smile.

One that also makes your heart skip a beat with how unnecessarily sharp and forced it looks. "Let him do what he wants, just this once."

You and he both know it's a blatant lie.

"What—no. I very meticulously picked out that one; he looks much more angelic from that angle."

One thing that you've learned is that if you can't fangirl around them about them, it doesn't restrict you from doing that to those who you're a hundred percent sure you'll never see in person.

You barely, just barely, put a foot out in Gojo's direction when there's a pull on your arm and you're chest-to-chest with Geto.

A horrific mixture of a squeak and a yell slips out from your panicked lips; your palm is splayed out on his chest to create some distance, but the attempt is next to useless when his arm snakes around your waist and secures you in place.

Right against him.

Fuck.

You instinctively shut your eyes tight enough for it to hurt. "Let go—"

"Look at me." His words are so close, so soft, yet it's a command. One you're complying to as your ears are streaming up and you're praying to literally whoever's out there that you make it out alive without passing out.

His hair is spilling over his shoulder in soft waves, framing his face in such a delicate way that you can see why he became a fan favorite the moment he appeared on screen. He's handsome in an ethereal way; like how a siren lures its prey into the water with its captivating voice, his looks demand attention.

Maybe this is how he gained his followers in the Time Association Vessel.

The thought immediately pulls a shiver out of you, and you lean your upper body back, reminding yourself that this Suguru Geto is not the one who killed innocent people and called them monkeys.

Yet.

For some reason, it isn't enough to convince your accelerating heart to calm down.

Fuck, are you really getting scared right now?

You turn your head to the side, eyes darting from one place to another in hopes of escaping the situation, when a strand of your hair sticks to your face with a wet sound.

Oh man, you probably look like a wet cat with your hair slathered in oil.

But any thought, relevant or irrelevant, ceases to exist the moment Geto wraps his enormous hand around your fucking throat.

What the fuck what the fuck what the fuck—

He isn't even using any force or exerting any pressure, but your head locks in place, fear and confusion gripping you in a chokehold. You have half a mind to yell for Gojo because why the fuck isn't he doing something?

You're about to, but the words dissolve on your tongue when Geto slides his thumb and forefinger up and under your jaw to turn your head in his direction. You don't know what made it click in your mind to lift your hand and place the back of it against your mouth.

Just in time for Geto's lips to press into your open palm.

You push back, tilting his head away, all while trying to ignore the way his lips leave a soft and warm imprint on your skin, breath hot against your hand as his Geto's half-lidded gaze bores into yours with such profound intensity it leaves you in almost a surreal state of mind. Your brain activity reduces to zero, and each flutter of your eyelids leaves you more and more disoriented.

Then, his lips are moving.

"Huh?" You stop exerting force, your palm now just hovering over the lower half of his face.

"Why do you keep pushing me away?" He repeats, leaning back into you as he juts his lips out into a delicate pout, and what sets you off the most is how clueless he sounds.

"I'm pushing away you both—" you make sure to emphasize because they're both equally responsible. "—because you're forcing me into weird-ass situations for absolutely no reason."

Seriously, you deserve some answers.

Because why did he almost forcefully kiss you?

"I don't get it." He inclines his head to the side like some kicked puppy, yet the hardened stubbornness seeping into his tone contradicts his expression. "You always wanted to be near us before; what changed?"

I started to see you all as real people as opposed to characters I once saw on a screen. I started seeing how you held your friends and comrades so close to your heart. I started seeing how much you were sacrificing for others' safety. I saw how you lost yourself. I—

"I matured," you mutter out, and somehow muster the strength to cup the sides of his face with both hands. His eyes lightly glaze over.

"I may jump into your personal space, and I may joke about literally anything that enters my orbit, but the last thing I ever want is for my words and actions to hurt anyone's feelings." You pull your hands away and lightly jab a finger to his chest. "If all of this is about how I was in first year compared to how I am now, you two don't have to worry about that."

But you never properly apologized, did you? For all the times you dragged them, and Shoko, into humiliatingly embarrassing situations.

"And I'm sorry I caused you to endure that cringe stuff."

You don't remember much from your previous life, but you knew that you hadn't graduated high school. You were an actual teenager then, and you've been trying to properly relive your teenage life now.

And you want to make sure that they live their lives to the fullest too.

Gojo, Geto, Ieiri, Nanami, Haibara, Ijichi, and, hell, even those kids who Gojo is supposed to take under his wing a decade later. Your ideas and hopes may be far-fetched, almost impossible to reach in a world as cruel and unforgiving as Jujutsu Kaisen, but that doesn't mean you can't try.

Ah, you freeze for a moment, carefully pulling your hands away from Geto's face, your palms warm. You got carried away.

Again.

You find it easier to slip out from his hold now, but your heart is tugged with worry when he doesn't even resist, arms falling limply back to his side. You make it your mission to avoid eye contact now.

You've only taken three steps back when you're engulfed in a hug from behind.

Oh jeez, you forgot about—

"Gojo." You swear you feel a nerve pop in your neck, and instead of taking your words with as much value as you utter them, he presses himself against you.

"Ta-da!" His chin finds purchase on your shoulder, not even mindful of accidentally staining his face and hair in oil.

He brings his arms from around your side and holds up your phone in front of your face. The moment your eyes focus on the screen, your face flares up with just a touch of embarrassment mixed in awe.

It takes a few seconds for your reeling mind to deduce where it was taken, but once you do, it's impossible to mistake it with the dimmed room and neon lights. To put it simply, it's you.

Face caked with an unhealthy amount of glitter and shimmer, the ones on your eyelids even more accentuated by how tightly you have your eyes shut. A mic firmly clenched in your hand and just hovering near your glossy lips.

The picture is slightly blurred around the edges, like someone whipped up their phone too quickly and had a nanosecond to snap a picture that perfectly encapsulates how you put your entire soul into pushing out that verse.

It was two nights before Gojo and Geto were assigned the mission to look after and protect Amanai.

All planned and funded by you, obviously.

You remember working your butt off on that part-time job Ieiri helped you secure to raise money, but what surprised you the most was how easily everyone agreed. Even Nanami, and you pretty much held the expectation that he never even thought about going to karaoke.

At first you believe that Gojo found it from the depths of your gallery, maybe when you shoved your phone into Ieiri's hands and asked her to take a few photos and film short snippets of you. But you'd explicitly remember something like that in your phone while browsing through.

"Gojo—" you begin once you find your voice, your cheeks unbearably warm. "Why do you have this?"

"Hm?" His hum rumbles out from deep within his chest, vibrating on the shell of your ear. "Oh, I was snapping a few pictures here and there, for the memories, y'know. All of us never went to karaoke together."

The pressure on your shoulder ceases as Gojo lifts his chin off, and you imagine he's tossing back his long locks of imaginary hair with how cheeky his following words sound. "No need to say thank you, sweetheart; I know I did an absolutely phenomenal job, just like how I always do."

He, indeed, did do a phenomenal job. It has the perfect amount of clarity in the center with edges just slightly shaky. You will not be fueling his already massive ego; this guy deserves some down-to-earth advice, and that's exactly what you'll be serving him.

"Love the effort, but, like—seriously, what made you come to the conclusion that the first thing I wanna see after unlocking my phone is my own face?"

You feel him falter; the hands holding up your flip phone lower just slightly, the act performed unconsciously instead of being one of deliberation. You take it as a win and reach out to take your property back.

"Y'know what? You're right."

Huh—

You barely get a moment to even think before Gojo spins around and settles down on the bed, wasting no time in fidgeting with the buttons of your keypad to navigate into your gallery. You might've noticed the huge addition to the number of photos you never took if it weren't for the fact he fucking brought you down on him.

An arm looped around your waist, applying enough pressure to keep you still against his chest but loose enough for you to move around if you wanted to. Not that you ever intended to do it anyways; you're too dumbfounded at the moment to comprehend that.

Satoru Gojo, the honored one, the strongest, the pinnacle of Jujutsu society himself, had you perched on his lap as if the two of you were an actual, domestic couple.

Which you very clearly are not.

You want to repeatedly bash your head against a wall until you bleed and die because what the fuck is wrong with these two? You've been getting nudged and dragged the second any of the two get the smallest opening.

"What about cats?" He softly asks, and you turn your head just enough to see him peering from way above your shoulder. He's so stupidly tall that even with you sitting up a little higher, his height is still noticeable.

Geto takes a seat next to the two of you, leaning in to see whatever is displayed on the screen. On it, in all its adorable glory, is a white-furred cat. It's super tiny (oh my goodness—) with an even smaller button nose, legs neatly tucked under its furry body as it lounges beside a potted plant.

It reminds you of the fan art people made of Gojo himself as a cat with his signature glasses. The more you look at it, the more you notice some small details, like that huge shadow at the very corner of the picture, suggesting that Gojo must've crouched down near the feline to properly take it.

You know, you just know they're pulling out anything they can get their hands on to distract you. You're not dumb, you're not naive, and you're not oblivious. But a part of you believes that your compliance is simply for the need of survival.

Survival. The word might seem extremely exaggerated—they're teens, not monsters—but they're teens with powers so great, none come close to rivaling them. Not even you. Especially not you.

Maybe that's the reason you're playing along with their strange antics, because you know your triumph card of prior knowledge turned to dust the moment they started behaving out of line.

But that's truly not it, because the thought had been nagging at the back of your mind ever since Amanai survived. That so-called triumph card turned useless the moment you stepped into Jujutsu High, into their lives. You had no upper hand to begin with.

"Maybe this one, then?" Gojo lightly nudges his cheek with yours, forcing your attention onto another picture that could rival that of a professional photographer.

From the looks of it, it's taken from the window of your classroom of the scenery outside, capturing the sight amidst a light drizzle, with the edge of the photo including a foggy glass panel with dew dangling from the frame.

Seriously, when he said he's naturally good at anything he does, did it also extend to this?

"Is this from last month?" Geto questions, fingers loosely intertwining through yours. You could feel the warmth of his hand without even trying to pay attention to it.

"Mhm," the hum pulled from his chest vibrates against your back. "This is probably one of my favorites."

"Didn't think you liked the rain." You're mumbling out, once again trying to shift off of him for the umpteenth time.

The arm curled around your waist tightens till you feel his bone dig into you. "Well—it's not that I don't like it; I just don't wanna get wet for no reason."

"But you don't seem to mind, do you?" Your name flows out from Geto's lips, soft and with way too much sweetness coating each syllable.

You're still unnerved with how casually he uses your first name when you both were on a last-name basis just yesterday. You can't fathom the fact that it already sounds so natural coming out of his mouth, like he's done this a hundred times.

The only thing you can put it in comparison with is how he calls Gojo "Satoru," like he's almost purring it out.

You vividly feel the hair on the back of your neck stand up.

"Hey, what's got you so jumpy?" Gojo has the actual fucking audacity to ask as if you weren't actively trying to flee with every chance you got.

"Relax, you don't have to put your guard up." Geto's still holding your hand and—

You feel a slight pressure on your cheek.

Then, hear a sound as the pressure fades away.

You blink, and blink, and keep blinking as shame and embarrassment wash over you like a tidal wave.

Did he just kiss my cheek?

Your eyes clamp shut as you bring your free hand over them, sinking down and down while praying for the ground to open up and swallow you whole because you think you might've even heard a small smooch—

"Why in the world are the two of you so hell-bent on embarrassing me with every fucking chance you get?" You couldn't even conceal how badly your voice cracked.

"Embarrass you?" Gojo sounds aghast and accused—and did you really just practically melt into him?

Using the hand still intertwined with Geto as leverage, you push yourself up while trying to ignore how sturdy Gojo's chest was on your back.

Okay, holy hell, you need to chill out. Aborted is the mission to get to your room, and it's replaced by getting the chance to just make it out of here.

"Pretty, being with us is the furthest thing from embarrassment." You're up on your feet by the time your face is on fire; you turn around in time to see Gojo pouting with his arms crossed.

Geto, unfortunately (or is it?), has yet to let go of your hand, so now you're awkwardly standing with an arm stretched way too far out.

"You have no idea how many people would kill to be with us."

Oh, boy, trust me, I do know. Surviving in the JJK fandom was never a joke.

You don't say that out loud for very obvious reasons. Your brows furrow as you try to pry your hand free from the steel-like grip, sarcasm slipping into your next words. "Then go about finding those people who will and leave me alone."

You never really imagined a day where you'd actually say something like this, and to them, no less, but you're not taking your chances when the variables are rapidly growing unpredictable.

From what you can recall, the show never really added on about what happened during the timeskip between Amanai and Haibara's death, so it was widely left up to interpretation other than the fact that Geto was losing sight of his goals and questioning what was keeping him from getting true happiness.

You doubt romance was on either of the boys' minds during that time.

The grip on your hand tightens so vigorously you fear for a moment that your bones did crack.

Okay, that's fucking it—

You activate your technique, watching your hand and entire arm go invisible till a rough and translucent outline remained, only visible to you. Something churns in your stomach the moment your gaze lands on their expressions, like someone yanked away their prized possession.

It makes you feel more of an object than human.

Utilizing the element of surprise, you pry your hand away in the short moment. Geto is left stunned, watching his hand ball up into a fist as soon as your middle finger just barely makes it out of his hold. You wholeheartedly believe your bone would've shattered to pieces seeing how tightly his fist closes up, knuckles burning white and—

Something crimson trickles down his palm.

But the last straw for you is when he calls you by your name; the tone he uses is the same one future Geto used whenever he talked to non-sorcerers.

Laced with false care and empathy.

"We've been patient," he starts, and Gojo lets his back collide with the mattress with an exasperated huff spilling through his lips, folding his hands behind his head. "We've been so, so patient, but you've been insistent on pushing every button while fully knowing that—"

He cuts himself off with a sharp inhale, and you watch with your breath lodged in your throat as he lowers his head to face the floor, a hand carding through his hair. His other hand, which when he unraveled, was stained red. A color so bold and prominent against his fair skin that it's the first thing you'd notice if you watched from afar.

Along with the four crescents dented deep into his palm.

"You always sought out affirmations from everyone, and now that I finally gave you my unfiltered and complete attention, you're desperately trying to run away from me."

He stops. "Why do you want to leave me?"

The air is so positively charged with energy that you feel it humming in your trachea. You bite down on your tongue and very slowly lift up your feet to walk backwards. This is bad; this is really, really bad.

Now, back then, you were very familiar with fanfiction. No, scratch that—fanfics were a part of your daily life, and you were no stranger to JJK fanfics specifically. You've read so many with various plots, unique characters, and carefully crafted plots and twists that you vividly remember a few things that are always repeated in them. Maybe that's the reason why this situation is outright terrifying you.

Because why the fuck is Geto losing his calm while Gojo is the chill one when it's always the opposite?

"C'mon, Suguru, it's fine." Gojo's tugging on the other's bicep, not stopping until the man reluctantly follows along, letting his grip on his hair go slack-handed, and they're now holding hands.

Geto shifts his head, a minuscule shift of his neck so that they can look into each other's eyes. His amethyst irises are shrouded in black. 

Your gaze reflexively follows along too, and you almost wish you hadn't because there's a look in Gojo's cerulean irises that you can't properly put a name to. Crazed? Unhinged? Berserk?

"She's still scared, y'know," your skin lines with goosebumps at how sure he sounds, confident as though he knows something even you don't. "We were there but didn't know she was too. She got hurt to protect the girl whose safety we were supposed to ensure."

His voice kept going lower and slower before coming to a pause, snow-white lashes fluttering to kiss his cheek. You can't help but wonder if it's your eyes playing tricks on you or if his pupils are actually dilating more and more with each blink.

You don't think your mind is making up stuff when his pupils enlarge to a point that there's only a thin ring of blue left.

"She almost died while we were celebrating our victory only a few feet away."

...

What?

You have to clamp a firm hand over your mouth to keep from accidentally saying something out loud because did you fucking hear him right? You avoided getting hit in any vital areas, and you're damn sure your axillary arteries never ruptured.

But then you remember Ieiri, how she was smoking when you first woke up, fiddling with a fresh pack of cigarettes as she filled you in on what happened, avoiding your eyes every three to four seconds as she answered all your questions.

How bad of a condition were you in for even Shoko Ieiri, the most nonchalant person in existence, to get fidgety?

Gojo turns his head, accompanied by a slight ruffling sound that echoes loud in your eardrums, and for a moment you believe he's somehow directly looking at you, his irises encompassed in an eerie glow.

What puts the nail in the coffin is the grin accompanied with that look in his eyes, lazy and with so, so much confidence that it has you faltering.

"But you'll stay, won't you? Because you know that no matter the problem, how minor or significant it may be, the outcome will never change as long as you're with us."

You hold your breath.

"That I'd win."

You feel like you've lost a race you were never a part of, a competition you never signed up for, and each breath you take is tightening a noose around your neck.

Geto follows Gojo's line of vision, and though his gaze isn't as focused because he can't perceive what he can't really see, it doesn't do jack shit against the sharpness in his gaze. Gojo lets go of Geto's hand and reaches into the pile of your clothes that lay momentarily forgotten.

"Here," he drags his hand back and lets the strap of some forsaken dress dangle from his finger as he lifts it up in the air. "Wouldn't want the kitchen to be crowded by the time we get there."

Your gaze switches between Gojo's and Geto's, bright and dark, yin and yang. Complementary opposites.

You take in a deep breath, heart thundering loudly in protest.

You lift a hand to reach out anyways.

@5-applepi-5 @victoria1676 @liddolwhynot2000

[huicitawrites]

Late night idea, yandere au.

Rough concept: yandere! satoru gojo! general! x AFAB!Reader x yanedere! sukuna! barbarian

A retelling of the Mulan tale… but featuring yandere! gojo as the general of the empire army and yandere! sukuna as the barbarian/tribal chief.

Gojo is the strongest warrior from the empire, it’s a title that crushes him with the responsibility of thousands of lives.

Sukuna is the ruthless tribal chief who doesn’t hesitate to spill bloodshed (he may enjoy it, actually) in order to protect his own.

And then is Y/n Fushigoro, who must enroll as a soldier so their little brother Megumi isn’t conscripted at such a young and innocent age.

Y/n struggles greatly in the army, having to train non-stop, remain her identity hidden for it is against the law for women to fight in the army, an offense punishable by exile or even death.

As she wonders the new and danger fields if war, she can’t help but catch the eye of the Six-Eyed General, who at first was frustrated- maybe evn disgusted- by the new weak soldier boy, but becomes slowly attached to him (unbeknownst of her identity).

And then, on one deadly battle, she gets taken as a prisoner of war. As she posses valuable intel, she is not killed in an instant- a decision Ryomen Sukuna would come to regret, for he seems to no longer be able to take his red eye off his war prisoner.

How will y/n manage to keep her family safe, while having two of the strongest, and dangerous, warriors of the region right on her tail?

“I will give you my eyes, my heart, my sword, all I ask in return is for you to stay and not leave me ever again.”

“For my people? Everything. You are no exception, you belong with me.”

[yanderenightmare]

Ryomen Sukuna

♡ TW: cannibalism, implied noncon/dubcon, gore, fluff

♡ GN reader

♡ AN: Heien era sukuna making you sit on his lap while he eats…

One of his lower arms rests on your thigh. Laxly. But it's a threat enough on its own to make you stay put despite your stomach being in knots all the way up to your throat. 

The air is rusty and wet. There are multiple plates of it on the table. Some cooked, some raw. Some cold, some still warm. 

You want to look away, but you can’t bring yourself to. Can’t stop yourself from trying to gauge what each cut is—or was. Loins, lungs, ribs, heart, brain…

His teeth break through bone, and you flinch—blood running down his chin as he chews, dripping onto your thigh in a few splatters, too quick to count.

You whimper looking at it, thinking you might throw up.

“Relax. It’s just meat.”

It’s not though. Not really. It’s human. 

It makes you feel guilty thinking about it, looking at the chunks of meat on the table. How, it’s not really their names or lives that concern you, no matter how you try to convince yourself of your own unshakable morals. Because in an awful way you’d never care to admit, you agree with him. It really is just meat.

That's not what bothers you. Not really.

What bothers you is that it's human. And you are human. It's the thought of how, if he wanted to and whenever he wants to, he could put you on the table and feast on you—that’s what’s causing that sick feeling deep down. This deep and primal fear you’re not used to—the fear of being eaten. 

Sure, you’ve heard of wolves and bears and big cats eating people, and you’re sure, if you were sitting in their lap, you’d feel the same way. But you’ve never been in that situation before. And this lap, though belonging to a beast, isn’t an animal you could excuse. 

Then again, you suppose human beings aren’t innocent either—far from it, in fact. 

You think about how farmers keep animals—how they treat them not much different from pets before slaughtering them for food. Is that what you are? Livestock?

“You think too much,” comes another chide from above, speaking through flesh between his teeth. “I don’t play with my food—and I definitely don’t bed it. If I were going to eat you, you’d be fertilizing the spiderlillies by now.”

Crude as ever, it doesn’t entirely ease your worries, but you suppose, since you have yet to ever catch him in a lie, there must be truth in his words. Though you could have done without the graphic imagery.

Funny enough, it relaxes you a bit. And then, cruel enough, your stomach growls.

The sound is loud and sudden enough to make you gasp and clutch yourself. Feeling heat rush to your cheeks and ears before a chuckle takes them over.

“Oh? Maybe I misunderstood…” he purrs, with a snicker to each word. “Maybe you’d like to try some?”

Immediately you shake your head, along with your entire body, jerking violently in protest. “No! That was just—I’m–I’m not hungry!” you explain, or try to at least, too busy squirming in his grip as he lifts a fork with a juicy cube of raw and bloody flesh and angles it to your face. “Please—no! Please–”

“You’re hilarious,” he keeps laughing and, thankfully, retracts the fork and puts it to his own lips instead. Then, speaking with a mouthful, he dandles you on his thigh like a child, “Freaking out over the smallest things, ‘n makin’ me so fucking hard for no good reason.”

His arm tugs your waist closer, brushing you over the rising bump in his slacks. Lips still bloody as his head dips down to bury himself into your neck, sucking a lovebite into the spot.

“Ew–don’t–the blood–” you cringe, the smell of iron making you sick and restless.

“Oh?” he chirps at that, speaking against your ear. “Maybe you wanna be my next meal after all, hm?”

In the next moment, you’re lifted up and placed down on the table, smack in the middle among the bits of meat, giving sound to a wet squelch, body splashing in a pool of blood and gore.

He laughs some more then—louder now, getting winded, as he easily holds your body down with a single hand placed between your ribs, watching you twist about like a bug on its back.

“It’d be too easy,” he says, bearing down over you, faces a few inches from yours. “Though there’d be fun in it, it’ be over in a second.”

You shiver in the wet seeping into your hair and robes, feeling it stain your skin red—nose wrinkling and brows cinching at the icky sensation.

“Nah…” he smiles, showing canines, and making you cough at the draft of his flesh-laced breath—which again, only results in him snickering at you and the little pout on your lips. Endeared by you for reasons he feels no need to explain further than how you’re just cute. “You’re better off as my plaything.”

Just as quickly as he’d put you down, he hoists you back up, holding you like a princess as he starts carrying you off. “Come. Uraume will make you something more to your appetite while we wash.”

He doesn’t feel the need to tell you it’s for your sake, so that you won’t veer away and say something so rude as ‘ew’ when he tries to kiss you again.

“No meat,” you mumble in a whisper against his chest, eyes downcast, fidgeting with your fingers as if in regret of having said anything at all, feeling the blood on your skin get tacky as it dries into a thick red coat.

If you’re not careful, he might just eat you afterall… sweet as you are. 

“No meat,” he agrees, thinking he’ll spare you just this once. “Don’t you worry.”

♡ RYOMEN SUKUNA masterlist ♡ JUJUTSU KAISEN masterlist

[yandere-daydreams]

Title: The Shade of Envy.

Pairing: Yandere!Gojo x Reader x Yandere!Sukuna (JJK).

Word Count: 4.0k.

TW: Angel/Demon!AU, Non/Con, AFAB!Reader, Implied Kidnapping, Oral Sex, Threesomes, Prolonged Imprisonment, Religious Trauma, Dehumanization, and Slight Physical Abuse.

Every few days, Satoru clipped your wings.

Not to imply that was his sole offense. He was a constant nuisance, waking you up in the morning with out of tune hymns and refusing to leave you alone at night until he’d forced sweetest, most acidic of delicacies past your lips. For the most part, you considered him an annoyance. Occasionally, you’d be grateful for the distraction, thankful for a little company in your otherwise monotone existence. It was only when he arrived at door of your cage with those golden shears in-hand, when he smiled so softly and promised it wouldn’t hurt at all – that was the only time he scared you.

The first few times, you’d tried to run. Escape was futile, of course. He and Sukuna were the only ones with keys to your little prison, and even if you did manage to slip out, Sukuna’s domain was an abyss of brimstone and fire, his palace a labyrinth that lost souls could wonder for hundreds of years without ever stumbling across the way out. You were more gifted at finding your way than most – a messenger of the heavens must always know the path forward, of course – but it would’ve been hopeless without your wings. After that dream had faded, you’d considered fighting, but the ornaments of your daily life were limited to the furniture of your cage, which consisted of only a swing, a lounge seat, and whatever gifts Satoru had brought you that day – nothing that would’ve made for a passable weapon. That was probably for the best. You’d never been much of a warrior. You were even less of one now, really, trapped and flightless.

…come to think of it, that was probably why Satoru kept them clipped. He probably didn’t want to see you make a fool of yourself.

There was a bolt of pain from the arch of your left wing – hot and sharp and agonizing. You jerked forward on reflex, but a strong hand held you still, keeping your wing spread and your body stubbornly anchored in place. Satoru hummed apologetically. “My bad, my bad. That may have been a little too high.” You could feel the blades of his shears close around the stem of another feather. You shut your eyes, braced yourself, but this time, the pain was minimal, a barely-there ache before a sudden lightness. Satoru clicked his tongue, satisfied. “See? Not so bad, right?”

It was worse than bad. It was wrong. You felt clumsy and unbalanced, like your body wasn’t sure how to carry itself with so many missing parts. Even walking proved difficult, not that Satoru let you do much of anything by yourself, anymore.

You set your jaw, bowing your head and glaring into your lap. He cooed, moving to your other wing. “Are we back to the silent treatment?” Another pang, another feather lost. “I guess that’s fair. Although they should really teach you better ways to voice your complaints, up there. Demons don’t tend to be so observant.”

“We don’t have to be.”

Your eyes flickered up and across the grand hall your cage was kept in. In the entryway, arms crossed and expression stern, loitered Sukuna. You had hoped you wouldn’t have to see him today, but that was a fool’s dream. Satoru rarely let you out of his sight, and Sukuna rarely let Satoru out of his.

It was an odd thing, to think of Satoru as he was now. Heaven’s shining star, its guiding light, its strong soldier – now the lapdog to the king of demons. You allowed yourself a moment to examine Sukuna, the bestial muscle corded around his four arms, the gluttonous mouths that emerged from his palms, his biceps, his stomach, before glancing toward Satoru, attempting to align the two in your mind. Satoru was not so corrupted, but you could not say he’d escaped it entirely. His wings, once as white as yours, were shot through with veins of gold and silver, markers of greed. His halo had long-since split apart, forming jagged horns that seemed to sprout from either side of his skull. Worst of all were his eyes. He used to cover them – blind justice and all, the metaphor was never overly complicated – but now, that bright and shining blue could bore into you without rest. Two extra sets were slotted vertically along each of his cheeks, and they all seemed to be so unceasingly focused on you.

His lips quirked into a small, teasing smile. And he’d noticed you staring. Perfect. You snapped forward before pride could be added to his ever-growing list of sins.

“Your type is so damn obvious, we barely have to pay attention,” Sukuna went on. He was grinning. Or sneering. It was hard to tell the difference. “Always going on about ‘confession’ and ‘repenting’ – it’s a miracle that this brat can keep its mouth shut.”

“He doesn’t mean that.” Satoru leaned down, his breath fanning over the shell of your ear. “He’s only jealous that I’ve had more time to admire that pretty voice of yours.”

Sukuna scoffed. “Finally going to make the songbird sing for me?”

It happened fast. The shears clattered to the floor. An arm wrapped around your waist, dragging you into Satoru’s chest as his wing lashed out to shield you from Sukuna’s view. Sukuna cackled and Satoru let his hold on you loosen. “I think we’re just about done,” he said, the levity in his tone more than a little stilted. “Can you try and move your wings for me?”

You didn’t want to, but there were worse things Satoru could do than ask. He moved back, giving you space to flap your wings – once, then twice, with just enough strength to prove that you weren’t going anywhere at all. Satoru beamed, and you tried not to hate him for it. Wrath was a sin too, after all.

You heard Sukuna grunt, already impatient. There was a sigh from Satoru, a quick roll of his eyes, but he pushed himself to his feet regardless. He rested a hand on your shoulder as he passed by, squeezing gently. “I’ll be back soon,” he promised. “Don’t miss me too much, alright?”

“It’s not as if they’ve got anything better to do.”

Your glare was hot and fierce. Sukuna drank it in like golden ambrosia.

“Don’t pay him any mind.” Satoru, on the other hand, didn’t seem to notice. His obliviousness was disappointing, but not surprising. You could drive a sword through his heart, and he’d only fret over whether or not you’d cut your finger.

“All you have to worry about is being my little angel.”

~

The training den was dark, dank, and dirty. The ceilings were high, but the vacancy was filled with smoke and sweat, turning the air humid and filling your lungs with impurity. There was enough floor space for a small army, but all other occupants had been cleared away long before your arrival – leaving only you, Satoru, Sukuna, and one his demonic soldiers. It must’ve been Satoru’s call. You knew, rationally, it was only jealousy, some possessive urge to keep you out of sight, but small, hopeful part of you had to wonder if he still held on to some of the angels’ lessons. Your superiors had always taught you that demons were corruptive through their very presence. If that was true, then Satoru ought to know it better than most.

Watching them fight was like watching a viper try to tear a hawk out of the sky. Satoru was light on his feet and fast, but he was confident and far too easily bored to maintain the distance he would need to gain a real advantage. Sukuna was strong and disciplined, making up for what he lacked in refinement with relentlessness. They seemed to dance around one another, never slipping apart but never quite meeting, either. If you didn’t know better, you might’ve thought they were equally matched. If you were truly a fool, you might’ve called it beautiful.

And then, Sukuna’s hand curled around Satoru’s ankle and it was over. Satoru flapped his wings on reflex, attempting to flee into the air, and Sukuna used his momentum to bring him to the ground, instead – chest colliding with unyielding stone. Their next few movements were hard to track, Sukuna’s hand on Satoru’s waist and Satoru’s back arching into Sukuna’s chest and a peel of jagged, cruel laughter. Robes were brushed aside, and then Sukuna’s hips were pressed flush to Satoru’s ass as Satoru—

Your eyes dropped to the floor abruptly, your wings wrapping around you. “What are they doing?”

Your demonic guard – Kento, maybe, although you hadn’t exactly thought to commit it to memory – paid you a glance out of the corner of his eye. He was an intimidating figure, but not nearly as monstrous as Sukuna. “Do you actually want me to answer that?”

“They were fighting.”

A sound that was not entirely pained rose above the soft, rhythmic crash of body against body. Kento grimaced. “They stopped.”

“Oh.” Your cheeks burned. This type of thing wasn’t unheard of in heaven – pure and mutual holy love was the furthest thing from a sin – but it was rare. Indulgences of the flesh could be a slippery slope. “Do they… not fight often?”

Kento didn’t answer, not immediately. You could feel him staring you down, assessing you. You straightened your back, but it didn’t do much good. Even among the angels, you’d always been more cherub than seraphim. “Do you know what Satoru fell for?”

You should’ve. You were supposed to. The others had tried to tell you, but you refused to listen. It’d taken weeks for you to sincerely believe that Satoru had fallen at all, and even after that, the wound was too raw to so casually abuse. He was the strongest among you. Your guiding light. Your flaming sword.

Yours.

You shook your head. In your peripheral, you could see movement – Sukuna being thrown onto his back. Satoru straddled his waist, grinning from ear to ear.

“Lust,” Kento explained. “It was a human priest, a practitioner from one of the more hedonistic divisions. Satoru can tell you more about him, if you ask.”

You wouldn’t. Come hell or high water, you wouldn’t. “To love humanity is not a sin.”

“I don’t think ‘love’ was part of the equation.” Kento let out a breath of a laugh. “What? Don’t tell me you’ve never wanted something you couldn’t have.”

“It is not our place to look with envy upon—”

“I never said anything about envy.”

His tone was curt, cold. You opened your mouth to retort, but closed it just as quickly.

Faintly, nearly lost beneath the din of moans and bodies and desire, you thought you might’ve heard Satoru’s voice muttering a familiar prayer.

~

“Winged brat.”

You looked over Sukuna, then cast your gaze over his shoulder. If Satoru was on his way, he was still lagging far enough behind to be functionally nonexistent. Normally, you would be glad for the reprieve, but this was the first time Sukuna had visited your cage on his own. Unfamiliar territory was no longer something you could afford to tread carelessly.

At least, from your swing, you had the small privilege of looming above him. You crossed your arms, and he did the same. “Answer me.”

“You haven’t asked a question yet.”

“Be quiet.”

“But you told me to—”

“Quiet.”

You huffed, but bit your tongue. Sukuna seemed to evaluate you, his burning eyes raking over your body, your expression, your wings. It took everything you had not to curl into yourself – shame was an expression of guilt and surely, you had nothing to feel guilty for. Still, the temptation was there. You were Satoru’s pet, and you knew that. You were less certain of your status with Sukuna.

And yet, as the seconds passed by, discomfort grew into agitation and agitation turned to brazenness. If you couldn’t hide, you had to push back, make yourself all the more apparent. Surely, survival was a good enough reason to indulge in a few moments’ worth of hubris. “It was very clever – having your soldier lie to me like that.”

Sukuna’s grin seemed to widen. It was suddenly clear to you that this was the game he had come to play. “And what poison am I trying to pour in your ear, exactly?”

“You had him tell me that a mortal was Satoru’s downfall. As if he’d ever be so weak-willed.” You fluttered your wings indignantly. “I know you were the one to call him down from on high. The stronger the devil, the more silver his tongue.”

“I wonder how many platitudes you can spout before you lose your voice.” He reached out, fingertips brushed against your knee before you pulled away, out of his reach. That didn’t stop him from going on, of course. It would’ve taken far more to actually shut him up. “It would be convenient for you, were I to have been his first lover.”

You bared your teeth. “Love doesn’t play any part in this.”

“If that were true, then you wouldn’t be here.”

“Your cruelty cannot be compared to—”

This time, he didn’t give you a chance to pull away. His hand found your leg, curling around your ankle and jerking you off of your perch in the same motion. Your wings lashed out on reflex, and Sukuna took you by the arches, keeping you suspended as yet another palm smashed into the back of your head and forced your mouth against his. It wasn’t a kiss. You would not call it a kiss because nothing so violent, nothing so harsh, nothing so scalding should ever be called a kiss. He forced his tongue into the hollow of your cheeks, dug his fanged teeth into your lips, then drew back just far enough to lap over the side of your face. You were all-but catatonic by the time he pulled away, too stunned to so much as thrash. Sukuna, for his part, could not have looked more pleased.

“The cracks were already there,” he whispered, breath hot against your skin. “I only showed him how to widen them.”

With a surprisingly delicacy, he lowered you to the ground – allowing you to settle onto your own feet. You managed to hold yourself up for a second, then another, before your legs gave out and you crumpled to the floor, wrapped in your own wings.

You heard Sukuna’s laugh, his heavy footsteps retreating. By some miracle, you managed to wait until he was out of earshot before curling into yourself, clenching your eyes shut, and starting to cry.

~

You were still where you’d fallen when Satoru sought you out, hours later. He had Sukuna in-tow and violence in his eyes.

The door of your cage was thrown open and left that way. Satoru had his fingers tangled in Sukuna’s hair, and Sukuna was already carrying a split lip, a bruised cheek, and a burn on his chest that looked uncannily like those left behind by holy flame. He grimaced as Satoru let go of him and pointed to your lounge. “Lay down.”

“My dove, it was only—”

“Lay down and don’t you dare move.” Satoru’s voice was cold, sharp. An angelic warrior, not a demon’s pet. “You would not be the first demon I’ve cut down, Ryomen. You wouldn’t even be the strongest.”

Sukuna opened his mouth, but closed it just as quickly. Whether out of self-preservation or simple curiosity, he did what he was bid to.

You assumed Satoru’s edge would dull by the he turned his attention onto you. A guilty, loathful part of yourself hoped that he would comfort you as he once had, a steady hand on the top of your head, a softened voice muttering assurances that you were a good soldier, a good angel, a holy creature. Instead, you felt his fist curl around curl around the collar of your robes, jerking you up and onto your feet. When he spoke to you, his voice was cruel, his tone demanding, as if you were just as worthy of his scorn. “What did he do?”

“I didn’t—”

“Please, love.” He forced a humorless laugh. “Tell me what he did.”

Suddenly, there seemed to be worse things in the world than Sukuna’s lips. “He kissed me. That was all he did – kiss me.”

“You asked him to?”

“No.” That, at least, you could say confidently. “Never in a million years.”

Finally, he relaxed. His shoulders fell, his expression easing from stony anger to a more set, pointed resolve. He closed his eyes, resting his forehead against yours. You spent a moment like that – quiet, close and still – before he drew back, took a deep breath, and started for Sukuna.

The King of Demons had regained his composure. Spread across the velveteen lounge, one pair of arms crossed behind his head and the other hung lazily at his sides, he showed no trace of fear or uncertainty, no sign that he was in anything but total control. If Satoru had any interest in shattering the façade, you couldn’t tell. He seemed more focused on dragging you off of your feet and forcing you onto Sukuna’s midriff, your back facing his chest. It still surprised you, sometimes, just how big Sukuna was. Even straddling his waist, your knees barely touched the lounge’s cushions.

“This is what you want?” he asked Satoru. You weren’t naïve enough to believe that he might be asking after your desires.

Satoru hesitated, but nodded. “It is.”

“And you’re sure?”

“I am.” And then, more defensively, “You’ll know when to stop.”

Sukuna huffed, the sound disgruntled but affirmative. Momentarily, confusion overshadowed your distress. You moved to push yourself up, but Sukuna’s hands found your thighs, keeping you pinned in place. Something split open underneath you, and abruptly, you understood just how much danger you were in.

The mouth stretched over Sukuna’s midriff was wet, hot, and grinning. You could feel the curve of his lips underneath your thighs, the dull edges to teeth scraping over your skin. His tongue was the worst part. As thick as your forearm at its tip and frustratingly slothful as it lapped over the space between your legs, slathering the whole of your cunt in his spit. The sound, the feeling was almost sickening, but the noise that erupted from your throat was less decidedly disgusted – shrill and cracked and humiliating. Immediately, Satoru’s darkened expression brightened like the sky at the first light of dawn.

Sukuna seemed more encouraged by that than anything he might’ve been able to milk out of you. His tongue moved rhythmically, lapping over your slit, tapered point circling your clit. There was too much happening. Heat and slick and a sudden, terrible pulsing at the pit of your stomach, guilt mixed with fear and shaped into something large and spiked. You bent forward, digging your nails into the muscled plane of Sukuna’s midriff. Even that reflex, harmless as it was, was swiftly corrected. Satoru hummed as he took your hands by the wrists, bringing them to his chest. “None of that.” His voice was a patronizing lilt, drawn out by pity and endearment. “Isn’t he doing a good job, love?”

No. No, no, no, no, no. You opened your mouth to snarl as much, but the tip of Sukuna’s tongue thrust into and anything intelligent you might’ve said was stolen away, cruelly replaced by an incoherent babble. It was a terrible position, really. Every little movement, every little swipe over your clit or curl inside of you made your thighs shake and your body feel weak. All of it left you that much more unable to hold yourself over Sukuna and, in turn, that much more snug against his abdomen, against the source of your abuse. With or without your wings, this was inescapable. This, beyond any scripture or heavenly judgment or afterlife, was hell.

Worst of all, it left his mouth – his actual mouth – free. “Poor thing.” His voice was a mocking drawl of Satoru’s. The unholy impersonating the divine. “Watch yourself, songbird. I’ve been known to bite.”

“One drop of blood, and I eat your heart.” Satoru was quick to defend you, but his attention was elsewhere. There was an awful, searing heat in the pit of your stomach, a second pulse behind your eyes that played in time with Sukuna’s ministrations. His tongue twisted in some awful, jagged way and you gasped, hips jutting forward. Satoru laughed, the noise bright and airy. “There it is. Even the most depraved creatures have their uses, don’t you think?” You couldn’t answer, but he didn’t seem to care. “It really isn’t so bad. The blinding light, the parables and proverbs – it clouds your vision. You can’t really see, not until you’ve fallen below it. Fuck, you can’t think until you’ve gotten it out of your head.”

One of his hands cupped your cheek while the other fell low, palm pressing flat against your lower stomach. “Do you feel that?” He asked as searing heat turned molten. “It’s pure love.”

It was too much. This was your breaking point, your zenith. You were going to fall apart. You were going to burst into flame. You were going to—

“Stop.”

Immediately, Sukuna stopped moving, and the fire went cold. Your eyes snapped to Satoru’s expression, every part of you bleeding desperation and betrayal. He only laughed, kissing your cheek. “Turn around for me, alright?”

You didn’t get much of a choice. Sukuna’s hands were already on your sides, already mangling your body to face him. You were still straddling him, but it was different, now – your back forced to arch, your chest forced against his, your ass forced into the air. You were vaguely aware of Satoru settling behind you, but that seemed secondary to your sudden proximity to Sukuna. With the last remnants of your dignity, you grit your teeth and shoved against him. “Don’t touch me, demon.”

“You should really cut the act before it gets old.” Your last sparks of resistance were smothered by large hand between your shoulder blades, just enough forced to leave you flush against him. “Any longer, and I might actually start to believe you don’t know that you want this.”

You tried to summon something bitter and vitriolic, but Satoru’s hands found your hips and that burnt out, too. He leaned against your back, wrapping an arm around your waist and bringing something large and blunt to your entrance. There were no words spared, no condolences offered, before he pushed into you and the world broke open.

You had never known a torment so visceral. You had never known a bliss so true.

You were beginning to think that you’d never known anything at all.

His cock was too hot and too big inside of you. You froze there, open-mouthed and stock still against Sukuna. Satoru moaned, rocked against you, turning the pain into a scorching agony and the pleasure into a sunlit paradise. You felt his touch on the nape of your neck, then the bend of your spine, before he stilled over the small of your back. “Oh,” he said, coming to a gentle stop. “Look at that.”

You didn’t think to wonder what had caught his attention, not until you felt his fingers moving over your wing. There was a slight pull, then something entering your field of vision. It took you a moment to process what it was – a feather, black as coal and slick as oil. Anything but angelic.

It took another for you to recognize it as one of your own.

Satoru’s purr was delight incarnate. Sukuna’s laughter, deafening.

You could only bring yourself to wonder why, if this was love, Satoru had not shown you mercy and cut off your wings altogether when he had the chance.

[indiewritesxoxo]

lovefool

part three: loss | chapter index

love without loyalty is just lust - but which feeling lies where between the king you've sworn to serve and the clown who'll never be able to make you laugh?

synopsis: the only way for a siren like you to survive was as the king's pet, his pretty nightly pastime who spent years pining after him. but what happens when he's meant to marry another? or when a member of his court offers you a way out?

pairings: king!Sukuna x siren!Reader x jester!Gojo

content: MDNI, mostly angst ngl, medieval fantasy AU, forbidden love, heavy pining, very unbalanced power dynamics, messy relationships, love letters, fem reader, secret relationships, medieval court politics, sukuna being a pathetic loser in love, so much yearning, betrayal, emotional hurt

art is by @/to00fu + divider by @/bronzewasp

There was nothing worse than getting what you wanted.

How long had Sukuna be searching for silence? For solitude? A break from the boring monotony of being untouchable?

He had told himself feelings were worthless, that the world was cruel and broken - that was just the natural order of things. Who cared if he made it bend to his whims?

But even he had consequences.

Sitting along on your barren bed, staring at the unlit hearth, fist dripping down his knuckles.

Sukuna didn't realize he'd been fucking tricked until it was too late.

A week and a half.

Ten whole goddamn days since he'd seen you - how far away could someone get in that long? How much further would you be while he struggled to play catch up?

He tried to replay it, but everything after the last time he saw you leaving the party was a blur, a flurry of disarray starting from the moment a knight came with news that their western port had been attacked by a full fleet from a neighboring territory, one that had previously been peaceful. Report after report flooding in of random villages being pillaged to, forced to bark orders and delegate troops, spreading his forces thinner and thinner as he dispersed them out to take care of each new issue cropping up.

It was obviously coordinated - someone pulling strings to orchestrate confusion and chaos. To disorient him, leave him distracted and weak.

He held fast at first though, keeping his cool despite how disgruntled he felt, jaw locked as he studied a map of his land from his office with Uruame - selecting a handful knights and sending some to ride through villages and send warnings for them to prepare themselves and be wary of any strangers. The night bled into morning, and then afternoon, his eyes aching and exhausted, his body running on fumes as he tried to clean up the mess being made of his kingdom.

It would've been fine. If it wasn't for the fire.

It started from the courtyard, or maybe from the barracks. He wasn't sure even now, not since all the first and second hand accounts seemed to contradict each other. But it spread fast.

Sukuna had dozed off, shoulders slumped, paper stuck to his cheek when he woke up to the smell of smoke, immediately snapping up. Yanking the paper off of him and stumbling to the door, his fuzzy thoughts instructing him to find the source.

But his feet were taking him to you, unsteady legs leading him down the path he was so painfully familiar with. Instinctively looking around the tapestries and the stained glass windows, squinting as he searched.

He half-expected you to crash into him, wide-eyed and wild, clinging to his shirt and burying your face in his chest. He'd have to get you out of here, already planning on scooping you up and cradling you close to carry you out as fast as he could rather than just tugging you along by hand.

His first priority should be putting the fire out. But it was really just finding you.

And where the hell were you?

He came to a stop where the hallway split down several paths, looking each way, weighing how much time he had to race to your room as the smell of smoke got stronger, what he could even say before one of the knight commanders still left at the castle stumbled through one of the other halls.

Dark eyes flitting over his king before they looked down the hall he already knew he was debating going down.

"I'll see to it she gets somewhere safe," He nodded, a dog ready to obey his master. He didn't need to say your name for Sukuna to know he was talking about you.

It wasn't a secret who his heart belonged to. His soul was tied to this miserable kingdom he'd been born into, bound and chained here. But the rest of him beat for you.

How long had it been like this?

Itching to put you before his promise to help his people?

Sukuna had always been selfish - but he was rarely scared. And the idea of you seeing him differently, judging or condemning him for not upholding his duty, it was usually what made him begrudgingly choose the latter.

He helped because he thought it was what you would do. What you would want from him.

You held your tongue, even when it was just him, hid what you really felt. But he noticed how you fiddled with the rings he gifted you, the little flickers of disappointment in your face when you thought he was being cruel or conceited.

He couldn't change who he was, and he never wanted to change you. But he'd bury his impulses if it meant you'd stay.

Fuck, he'd been doing that since he brought you home with him.

"If anything happens to her-" Sukuna started, practically growling.

"You can trust me, Your Majesty," He bowed, turning before he was dismissed to run in the direction of your room.

He didn't trust him. Trust anyone.

But every soldier knew that when it came to you, failure meant death. And Sukuna thought he could put faith in their fear.

You were more precious than any treasure. Worth more than his crown or his family jewels or whatever anyone could ever offer him.

Sukuna could just never afford to show it.

He almost sprinted down the hall. Grimacing as his brain betrayed his body and he forced himself to turn down where the smoke was the strongest.

Putting out the fire was more important.

If he didn't, everything else would fall apart. Would he be putting you at more risk anyway if he let it burn?

It wasn't him people would blame if it spread further. It would be you they turned on if he saved you before stopping it.

Not that it mattered in the end. He helped what remained of his knights and mages extinguish the flames, saved the castle from turning into ash, and still, his world crumbled anyway.

Unaware until a few days passed, preoccupied with rebuilding the few burned areas and investigating how it started, swamped with work and continuously popping-up problems to realize what was wrong. Who was still missing.

He'd gone days without talking to you before, too used to the space you'd been giving him since he started this whole charade of 'searching' for a wife to question your absence, not thinking twice when he got a note passed along through a knight that you were in a safe house and would return soon.

But then soon didn't come.

He knew something was wrong when he requested an update, sent out an impatient letter demanding they bring you back now, only to get nothing.

The silence was too loud, unable to focus on the reports being dropped on his desk, foot tapping the floor as he resisted the temptation to go check every safe house himself.

He didn't know when that silence turned to worry and his anxiety twisted into suspicion, his worst fears confirmed when two more nights came and went without a single letter about your whereabouts. Not a single goddamn sign of the knight commander either - and no help from any of his other staff when it came to locating you or him.

Sukuna had been played for a fucking fool.

He was living with traitors. Truthfully, he had suspected as much, thought a few had snuck their way into his ranks over the past few months.

But to pull off all of this right under his nose?

There had to be more, in higher positions than he previously considered.

But what were they trying to distract him from?

Another impending attack? Or stealing you?

Torturing what was left of his troops for answers was fruitless so far. Picking them apart and searching their stations for evidence that had been scrubbed clean - or maybe burned in the fire.

Nothing left behind but enemies sleeping in his own home.

He didn't know why he was in your room like he'd find the answers there. Palm tracing over the places on the sheets where you were both supposed to be right now.

Where were you right now?

Safe somewhere? Were they holding you hostage? Trying to sell you off? Taking you to a black market?

He shut down all the ports. Called in an artist to put out a portrait of you in every village, one that promised a reward worth more than anything anyone would be able to sell you for just for information.

But he had a feeling he knew what happened. Knew where you'd be headed - who the knight who must have taken you had really sworn an oath to.

Sukuna had plenty of enemies.

But the pesky prince up North was the perfect culprit. Probably feeling the pressure from Sukuna's announcement that he was marrying soon, annoyed at his own circumstances preventing him from being the king of anything.

Sneaky fucker always trying to make moves from the shadow, a coward creeping around the corners instead of coming to face him.

If he wanted war, Sukuna would be sure to win.

But the idea of you becoming a pawn in his problems, a hostage in the hands of a prick, made his stomach churn.

Did he want to use you to force Sukuna to bow to him instead? Turn you into a bargaining chip to make him beg and parcel out pieces of land or territory in exchange for you?

You were supposed to be his wife. Not that Gojo had any way to know Sukuna was planning to make you Queen. He probably assumed you were the same as a favored concubine, a pretty plaything instead of the only person he actually cared about.

Sukuna was pacing, playing out scenario after scenario, scrambling to come up with something to get you back - wondering what the price would be.

He'd sacrifice his pride if it meant you were back in this room, sprawled out in bed and smiling at him again.

His fingers brushed against the wood grain of the jewelry box he gave you a lifetime ago, slowly pulling open the top drawer. He didn't know what he was looking for. If he just wanted to remind himself of what each ring or necklace or bracelet looked like on you. How it felt the first time he saw you wearing something he gifted you, the pride in your smile when you shyly met his eyes.

There was just a tiny problem.

Some of your jewelry was missing. Automatically noticing which rings weren't in their proper places, frowning harder as he tugged open another drawer just to discover more of the same.

All your favorites were gone.

He couldn't breathe. Like his lungs had been left with yours, ripped from his chest as he started yanking out the rest of the compartments, panicking as he started rifling through your vanity next.

It wasn't your accessories he found.

But the evidence he was looking for was there.

Letters. Sheets of paper hidden underneath one of your books - one even tucked inside of them.

He almost tore a couple trying to tug it free - freezing at the unfamiliar handwriting covering them. Every single one was addressed to you, his eyes skimming over the contents as disgust curdled inside of him.

Someone using saccharinely sweet poetry, making promises that made Sukuna sick to read, a stranger trying to sweep you off your feet right under his goddamn nose.

They weren't signed.

He ran through every possible person who might have harbored secret feelings for you, despite the fact no one else ever tried to talk to you - although, when he really thought about it, most of your days were technically unaccounted for.

When did you stop coming to hang out in his office? When did you drift away enough that you started keeping love letters from some secret admirer?

"Fuck."

It was raw, from the depths of his throat as he read more, realizing that you must have written him back at the very least, considering the way he brought up past conversations, alluding to things Sukuna didn't even know.

And then, on the very last one in the stack, the oldest one, he guessed, from the way the ink had started to fade, there it was at the bottom.

With adoration, your loyal jester.

Sukuna was going to hang him. Throw him in the dungeon to rot or string him up in the town square for his crime of wanting what was his.

Did he touch you? Dare to press his lips against yours and breathe your air?

This was treachery. Treason.

Sukuna's fist crumpled the papers, tempted to start a fire just to toss them all in. As if it could erase the words on the page.

There was no way you liked this sappy shit. But you kept them, hadn't you? Saved every note as if his chickenscratch meant anything?

He left your room, heading straight back for his office, bones visible underneath his knuckles, ignoring everyone who tried to call out or stop him.

How much time had he wasted on their problems? Solving their issues? Clueless to the massive fucking one being created in his absence?

Sukuna could survive anything.

Except for you not loving him back.

"Where the fuck is that jester?" He growled, a hot ball of anger growing in the pit of his gut as he shoved the door to his office - Uruame barely looking up from where they were perched on his couch, looking through the documents scattered across the table in front of it.

"He's one of the ones still unaccounted for," They blandly replied, too busy to care why.

Sukuna couldn't even fucking recall what the hell he even looked like - had never paid any attention to the moron who made drunk idiots laugh at all his banquets. He didn't think he ever even spoke to the man.

"What do you-"

"This came for you," Uruame added, pale fingers gripping a thin folded-up letter and holding it out for him to take before he finished asking his question.

Sukuna snatched it, heart seizing in his chest before he even opened it, some small part of him already knowing it would only piss him off more. Would only serve to sever the threads of fate tying him to you.

His thick fingers fumbled to unfold it just to find your pretty penmanship inside. He froze, jaw locking as he read his name in deliberate swirls, the single page simply addressed Sukuna.

No dear. No my.

And then an apology.

No. You didn't. You wouldn't run away. Even if your letter said otherwise. Even if paragraph after paragraph was your regret, your raw hurt hidden in gratefulness. Acting like all you had ever been for him was a goddamn burden instead of the only reason he was even here. Like you were leaving him because you loved him.

He refused to fucking believe it.

Whether or not you wanted him to, Sukuna was going to find you.

You hated it here.

"What do you think, sweetheart?" Satoru purred, pushing a plate of some foreign dessert in front of you as you twisted your fork around in your hand. You took a tiny bite, already past full from the four other ones he made you try, your stomach curdling at the scrutiny of his stare.

And everyone else's in the crowded cafe.

You nodded like you liked it.

"Good," he grinned, grabbing his own fork to devour the rest.

Someone whispered at a table nearby, calling you a name you hadn't heard in a long time. You had nearly forgotten what that was like.

To feel like a fucking freak show.

At least back home, back where you were Sukuna's, you were ignored. Treated like wallpaper instead of a centerpiece. One, it appeared, everyone had automatically decided they disliked.

Your silence was usually your armor, wrapping yourself in it like a warm blanket, but Satoru had ripped it away from you. Just like he ripped your dreams of the cottage by the sea. Of a quiet life where you only lived for each other.

There was nothing quaint about any of this.

He apologized a thousand times on the way here. Begging you to understand once your bags were loaded into the carriage, carrying you into it when you couldn't even get your feet to move from where they were firmly planted on the ground. Rubbing your back and murmuring that he couldn't tell you until it was safe, his thigh pressed against yours. Trying to break through your cold shoulder, remind you why you were here. Why you picked him.

You guessed you knew now why he'd been so panicked at the thought of Sukuna marrying you. He was the one who wanted to parade you around.

What were you supposed to do?

You couldn't go back. Couldn't return to Sukuna. Not when your betrayal to him was even worse than how Satoru betrayed you.

All you could do was continue.

Let Satoru try to mend the shattered pieces of your trust with his sickly sweet words, swearing that your relationship was still real - even if the image of him you had never was.

Your jester was a prince.

And you were just an idiot with the moronic idea that a man might actually love you. But you still weren't so stupid that you couldn't see when you were being used.

Satoru proposed once you crossed into his kingdom. Pulled out a ring box when the carriage stopped by some scenic field of flowers, revealed some ridiculously big gemstone that glittered and shimmered in the sunlight, promising that he would make all of this up to you. That from now on, he would tell you the truth.

As if that wasn't a lie too.

And still, you said yes. Let him slide the ring on your finger, feeling the invisible weight of some enchantment on it while he peppered your face with delicate kisses.

You didn't want to know to know what it was. If it was like the scarf. Or something worse.

But you'd do whatever it took to survive. Even if all you were doing was trading one cage for another.

"My wife," He hummed into your hair afterwards, so soft it was nearly inaudible when he picked you up and buried his face in your neck.

"We're not married yet," You reminded him, but all you got back was the faint click of his tongue.

"I like the way it sounds."

Enough that he hadn't stopped calling you that ever since then. Showing you off to his parents when you made it back to his capitol, bringing you home to their glittering castle, one far fancier than the bare bones of stone and cobble of Sukuna's cozy one.

His parents weren't exactly pleased with his pick of a bride.

His mother had been horrified. Called you a creature. His father said you were the kind of woman meant to be kept as a concubine.

You honestly agreed with him.

No one would ever respect you as a ruler. As a queen.

Sukuna had known that. But Satoru somehow didn't. Even when presented with the proof of his people's disdain.

He dropped coins on the table, enough to cover the cost and then some, leading you out of the pretty shop and out on the street where you only garnered more stares.

"You can speak," He nudged you, slipping his hand in yours. "I'll keep you safe."

You didn't say anything.

Just stared ahead solemnly, pretending you didn't notice his pout next to you as he squeezed your palm.

"He should muzzle her," A man muttered when the two of you passed by, talking low like he didn't want Satoru to hear. The woman he was walking with laughed, snickering like you really were a rabid animal.

"They're all beneath you," Satoru leaned in to whisper to you, a dark edge to it that made the hair on the back of your neck stand up. "Say the word, and I'll muzzle him."

You shook your head instead, staring ahead at the other people passing by.

Retribution seemed exhausting. You didn't have anything left inside of your for the indignation to burn. The hurt just sat in the bottom of your stomach, scooping the tiny shreds of you still in there out like it would make the ache stop.

All you really wanted was to sleep.

To curl up in a ball and give up - but you kept pushing forward.

It was the only thing you knew how to do.

Satoru didn't push it. Changed the subject once you returned to his personal carriage to go back to his castle, greeting practically everyone he passed when you entered through the front gates.

Except for his mother - who was standing outside of the doors to his chambers like she was personally guarding it. Her nose scrunched up like she smelled something disgusting at the sight of you behind her son.

"You're back," She frowned, forcing herself to sound semi-polite.

"And you're still here," Satoru sharply retorted, his grip on your hand tightening.

"I don't appreciate your attitude," She snidely replied, huffing as she glanced between the two of you. "Or that you're just allowing her around like that. She's not like us, she's-"

As if you should be on a leash.

"Is there a reason you're speaking to me?" He coldly cut her off before she could make it more offensive.

"Dinner will be at seven. Come alone," She instructed, just for Satoru to laugh in her face.

"My wife comes with me or I don't go," He threatened.

You knew he was only bringing up the title to upset her more, but you could feel your heart stall at how sternly he said it. How sharp his face looked from the side, solid and strong.

What a fucking imbecile you were to think that a man like him could merely be a jester.

You should've known from his letters, from his laugh, from how easily he slipped into your life like he knew he would get what he wanted.

His mother shook her head, grimacing as she turned her glare to you, starting to step in your direction before Satoru blocked her path.

"I don't know what you did to him, but-"

"Don't," Satoru snarled, shutting her up before she could finish.

You stared at her - eyes locked onto her brown ones, searching for anything in her face that reminded you of Satoru. But there was just cold contempt there.

It was a little ironic. Her thinking you had done something to him when he was the one who deceived you.

Simply, you never would've left Sukuna if you had known the truth.

You were the one under Satoru's spell.

He pulled you into his room once she was down the hall, only letting go of your hand to lock the door, running his fingers through his hair as if he was the one exasperated.

"I'm sorry about her, angel," He murmured softly, pulling you back into an embrace. His chest pressed firmly against your back, one strong forearm wrapped around your waist.

You knew he wanted you to reply, but it was hard to find the words with him anymore.

"Talk to me," He whispered, his mouth warm on your skin. "Please."

The softness in his voice still made your heart lurch. His presence still pulled you in, pierced through you. His fingers dug in, wrinkling the dress he had bought for you.

All your old clothes replaced with ones in the style here, all of them in softer shades, ones that shimmered every time you moved.

"I know I hurt you. I hate that I did," Satoru continued, saying it like it hurt him too. "But I promise, I did it for us."

You shook your head, signaling you didn't believe him.

He did it for himself.

"Just give me time, okay? All I've ever done here was to protect you." He was practically begging, his own breath hitching behind you. "You'll see soon."

You didn't like the way he said soon.

But you were too scared to ask what he was planning.

"Why do you care what I think?" You mumbled under your breath, feeling him freeze behind you.

"Do you honestly think that I don't?" He returned the question, twisting you around to face him.

You couldn't even look up at him though, not here, not in private where he could see through your practiced expressions you usually plastered on in public. All you could do was shrug.

He didn't care when he hid who he was.

The only thing that mattered was that you were here with him, wearing his ring and allowing him to call you his wife.

"Is it about something I did? Or what she said? The assholes back-"

"Your mom wasn't wrong," You interrupted him. "I'm not like you."

"She's not even my mother," Satoru snapped, sucking in a sharp breath before he grabbed your chin and made you look up at him. "She just remarried my father and thinks that means she's the fucking-"

He stopped himself, taking a deep breath after he saw whatever expression flashed across your face. Regaining his composure after a few seconds, restarting slower this time.

"My real mom would have loved you," He softly added, the lump in his throat bobbing as his fingers drifted up to cup your cheek.

"My mom would've hated you," You mumbled awkwardly.

She hated all men - and you were fairly certain she'd been correct in her assessment that they were selfish pieces of shit you shouldn't waste your time with.

All they ever wanted was to break you up, rip off bits and pieces of your heart and treat it like snacks. Sinking their teeth in and tearing into you until you were nothing but bones.

Satoru's mouth twitched up, letting out a low chuckle like he thought it was a joke.

"Do you hate me?" He asked, and you hated that you didn't have an easy answer.

You tried to hate him. Tried to find it in yourself to be repulsed by what he'd done. To despise him for dragging you here.

But you couldn't. Not completely.

And when you finally met his eyes, looking up at him scared and skeptical, your heart squeezed and stalled.

"No," You admitted. "I wish I did."

He leaned in, his nose nudging against yours, like he was tempted to kiss you but scared you'd reject him.

"I love you," He softly said. "If you believe anything, please believe that."

"How?" Your voice wavered, nearly broke, and he winced.

His fingers slipped back into your hair, tilting your head to the side as he pressed a tender kiss to your lips. Soft and sweet, intimacy that threatened to make you melt.

"Once I take the throne, you won't have to worry about anything," He promised when he pulled away, lips grazing against your cheek. "No one will be able to say anything about you."

"Why do you think I care what they say about me?" You asked, a little too pitchy to be believable.

"Why do you let them say anything in the first place?" He challenged, blue eyes blazing as he called you out for your impassivity. Your inaction.

You swallowed hard, molars grinding as you struggled to explain it to someone who had never known what it was like to be on the bottom rung of the food chain.

"You could shut all of them up with just a sentence," Satoru firmly stated.

But then you'd be exactly what they said you were.

The monster they wanted you to be, something to be scared of, that needed to be muzzled before your words could bite.

"You're hiding," He accused, like he was desperate to make you see his point. "You could do anything here. You don't have to be scared."

Wasn't that what you once wished for?

That you could just exist in public?

But what he was suggesting was just a pretty picture of a someday that wouldn't come. Realistically, if you did what he was suggesting, wielded your voice like a weapon, all you'd earn was fear.

That wasn't the same as acceptance.

You stepped back from him, shaking your head and feeling a hot lump building in the back of your throat, sitting on the edge of his massive bed.

He refused to stray more than a foot away, following you like a shadow.

"I'm not scared," You weakly protested.

You just spent so long hating the power you were cursed with that the idea of using them was inconceivable.

"I have spent months watching you stand in the corner of parties pretending you didn't care what anyone thought," Satoru exhaled, low and hard. "Do you think that I want to watch you wither away for the rest of our lives?"

Every time you thought it couldn't sting more, he somehow found another way to twist the knife.

Whether it was good fortune or bad, he saw you. He was the only who ever did. Who bothered to try to break down your shield and see what was underneath.

Sukuna probably wasn't even searching for you.

And if he was, it was probably just to punish you.

You were so fucking tired of feeling like this. Reduced down to just a ghost in your skin. Scraping by to survive, treading water neck-deep and sucking in air like your next breath might be your last.

How long had you tried to convince yourself that just surviving would be enough?

And now that you had a taste of what more than just that was, even if it was just for that single night you shared with him, everything felt so much more shallow.

You just didn't understand.

Why weren't you just enough for him?

"Then let's leave together," You suggested.

He didn't say anything for a second, and you couldn't tell what he was thinking. Apparently, you never could.

"Me and you," You continued under your breath, pain bleeding through. "We could go anywhere. Have a garden and our little cottage and-"

His hand ruffled your hair, his features strained as he struggled to stop himself from immediately agreeing on instinct.

"I can't," Satoru muttered, and he broke your heart for a second time in two weeks.

"So what do you want from me then?" You whispered, drawing your knees against your chest, wrapping your arms around them just for him to get down on the ground and pull them back down.

His hands went back to your waist, his eyes burning with an intensity that almost scared you. Reminded you of the moment he asked you to run away with him.

You regretted saying yes then.

"All I will ever ask from you is to be yourself."

"A siren," You corrected him, hollow and hurt.

"That's what you are," He reminded you - and you didn't know which one of you was right. What you were wasn't exactly the same as who you were. "You decide what you get to do with it."

Did he just want you for your voice? Your body? How genuine were his feelings when they were tied to how useful of a tool you might be?

"Go," You grimaced, firm enough that it would force him to listen.

"Sweetheart," He started, but you swallowed hard, stopping him before he could say anything to convince you.

"Find somewhere else to sleep tonight."

If he wanted you to speak, you could. You just couldn't promise he'd be happy with what you had to say.

His face scrunched up, but no protests passed his lips. His movements were stiff, dragging his feet as his body forced him to leave.

Sukuna probably would have been able to resist. But Satoru wasn't there yet.

Maybe in a few years.

What would your life look like then?

Would you be sitting on a throne here next to him? Carry his kids and curse them too?

For now, you changed into the closest thing you had to pajamas here, a thin slip that hardly covered anything, curling underneath his blankets in a bed that was far too big for just you, letting your mind wonder back to another kingdom.

Another king.

The sun was still out, drifting through the open window and fluttering the curtains before you shut your eyes and allowed yourself to drift into dreams of him.

Of a sunny day where you watched from the courtyard while he trained, a younger version of both of you, back when he was barely a man and you were a girl with a crush. Unburdened by the weight of what worried you now.

Studying his scarred face in the sunlight, the gleam of his sword swinging while he spurred.

His eyes met yours for a single second, narrowing down to thin slits as his sword clashed against the practice dummy, some dark emotion twisting inside of his stare before his lips started to move. Making a shape without any sound coming out.

You tried to talk, but nothing would come out either. No noise escaping when you attempted to ask what was wrong.

All you could do was read his lips.

Wake up.

You almost jumped, startled as your eyes shot open, brought back to the reality you'd been running from. The room was dark, vaguely aware of a voice but too sleepy to process who it was or what it was saying, starting to sit up before something cold was pressed against your throat.

Mouth opening, ready to scream, to tell them to stop, but then a gag was shoved inside, muffling any command you might've made.

And without your voice, what good really were you?

reblogs/feedback super appreciated mwah smooches :p

[huicitawrites]

dinner is served!!

[gojobbymama]

𝚃𝚊𝚗𝚐𝚕𝚎𝚍 𝚋𝚢 𝚃𝚠𝚘 𝚃𝚑𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚜

𝙶𝚘𝚓𝚘 𝚂𝚊𝚝𝚘𝚛𝚞 𝚡 𝙵𝚎𝚖𝚊𝚕𝚎 𝚁𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚎𝚛 𝚡 𝚂𝚞𝚔𝚞𝚗𝚊 𝚁𝚢𝚘𝚖𝚎𝚗

⋆.˚ ☾⭒.˚ ⋆.˚ ☾⭒.˚ ⋆.˚ ☾⭒.˚ *ੈ✩‧₊˚ *ੈ✩‧₊˚ *ੈ✩‧₊˚ ⋆.˚ ☾⭒.˚ ⋆.˚ ☾⭒.˚

⋆.˚ ☾⭒.˚ ⋆.˚ ☾⭒.˚ ⋆.˚ ☾⭒.˚ *ੈ✩‧₊˚ *ੈ✩‧₊˚ *ੈ✩‧₊˚ ⋆.˚ ☾⭒.˚ ⋆.˚ ☾⭒.˚

!!! 𝙼𝚒𝚗𝚘𝚛𝚜 𝚍𝚘 𝚗𝚘𝚝 𝚒𝚗𝚝𝚎𝚛𝚊𝚌𝚝 !!!

𝚆𝚘𝚛𝚍 𝚌𝚘𝚞𝚗𝚝: 𝟷𝟶𝚔

𝚂𝚢𝚗𝚘𝚙𝚜𝚒𝚜: 𝙰𝚕𝚕 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚕𝚒𝚏𝚎 𝚊𝚕𝚕 𝚢𝚘𝚞’𝚟𝚎 𝚔𝚗𝚘𝚠𝚗 𝚒𝚜 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚌𝚑𝚒𝚕𝚍𝚑𝚘𝚘𝚍 𝚋𝚎𝚜𝚝 𝚏𝚛𝚒𝚎𝚗𝚍’𝚜 𝚜𝚑𝚊𝚍𝚘𝚠 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚗𝚘 𝚖𝚊𝚝𝚝𝚎𝚛 𝚑𝚘𝚠 𝚖𝚞𝚌𝚑 𝚢𝚘𝚞’𝚟𝚎 𝚝𝚛𝚒𝚎𝚍 𝚝𝚘 𝚌𝚞𝚝 𝚝𝚒𝚎𝚜 𝚠𝚒𝚝𝚑 𝚑𝚒𝚖, 𝚑𝚎 𝚜𝚝𝚒𝚌𝚔𝚜 𝚊𝚛𝚘𝚞𝚗𝚍. 𝙷𝚘𝚠𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚛, 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚛𝚎𝚕𝚊𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗𝚜𝚑𝚒𝚙 𝚋𝚎𝚌𝚘𝚖𝚎𝚜 𝚛𝚘𝚌𝚔𝚢 𝚊𝚏𝚝𝚎𝚛 𝚊 𝚗𝚎𝚠 𝚐𝚞𝚢 𝚜𝚝𝚊𝚛𝚝𝚜 𝚐𝚒𝚟𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚊𝚝𝚝𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗.

𝚃𝚊𝚐𝚜: 𝙲𝚘𝚕𝚕𝚎𝚐𝚎 𝙰𝚞, 𝚜𝚒𝚡 𝚎𝚢𝚎𝚜 𝙶𝚘𝚓𝚘 𝚂𝚊𝚝𝚘𝚛𝚞,𝚌𝚞𝚛𝚜𝚎𝚍 𝚎𝚗𝚎𝚛𝚐𝚢 𝚒𝚜 𝚜𝚝𝚒𝚕𝚕 𝚊 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚑𝚎𝚛𝚎, 𝙽𝚎𝚛𝚍𝚢 𝚕𝚘𝚜𝚎𝚛 𝚏𝚎𝚖𝚊𝚕𝚎 𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚎𝚛, 𝚙𝚘𝚙𝚞𝚕𝚊𝚛 𝚏𝚞𝚌𝚔 𝚋𝚘𝚢 𝚌𝚑𝚒𝚕𝚍𝚑𝚘𝚘𝚍 𝚋𝚎𝚜𝚝 𝚏𝚛𝚒𝚎𝚗𝚍 𝙶𝚘𝚓𝚘, 𝚏𝚞𝚌𝚔 𝚋𝚘𝚢 𝚂𝚞𝚔𝚞𝚗𝚊 𝚁𝚢𝚘𝚖𝚎𝚗, 𝚐𝚊𝚗𝚐𝚜

𝚆𝚊𝚛𝚗𝚒𝚗𝚐𝚜: 𝚍𝚊𝚛𝚔 𝚌𝚘𝚗𝚝𝚎𝚗𝚝, 𝚍𝚞𝚋 𝚌𝚘𝚗, 𝚢𝚊𝚗𝚍𝚎𝚛𝚎 𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚖𝚎𝚜, 𝚘𝚋𝚜𝚎𝚜𝚜𝚒𝚟𝚎 𝚋𝚎𝚑𝚊𝚟𝚒𝚘𝚛, 𝚝𝚘𝚡𝚒𝚌 𝚛𝚎𝚕𝚊𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗𝚜𝚑𝚒𝚙𝚜 𝚍𝚢𝚗𝚊𝚖𝚒𝚌𝚜, 𝚜𝚖𝚞𝚝, 𝚊𝚗𝚐𝚜𝚝, 𝚕𝚒𝚐𝚑𝚝 𝚏𝚕𝚞𝚏𝚏 (𝚜𝚘𝚖𝚎𝚝𝚒𝚖𝚎𝚜)

𝙰/𝙽: 𝙸 𝚍𝚘𝚗’𝚝 𝚌𝚘𝚗𝚍𝚎𝚖𝚗 𝚊𝚗𝚢𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝙸 𝚠𝚛𝚒𝚝𝚎, 𝚒𝚝’𝚜 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚎𝚛𝚝𝚊𝚒𝚗𝚖𝚎𝚗𝚝 𝚙𝚞𝚛𝚙𝚘𝚜𝚎𝚜 𝚘𝚗𝚕𝚢. 𝙿𝚕𝚎𝚊𝚜𝚎 𝚍𝚘𝚗’𝚝 𝚒𝚗𝚝𝚎𝚛𝚊𝚌𝚝 𝚒𝚏 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚔𝚒𝚗𝚍 𝚘𝚏 𝚌𝚘𝚗𝚝𝚎𝚗𝚝 𝚞𝚙𝚜𝚎𝚝𝚜 𝚢𝚘𝚞. 𝙾𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚛𝚠𝚒𝚜𝚎, 𝚎𝚗𝚓𝚘𝚢.

⋆.˚ ☾⭒.˚ ⋆.˚ ☾⭒.˚ ⋆.˚ ☾⭒.˚ *ੈ✩‧₊˚ *ੈ✩‧₊˚ *ੈ✩‧₊˚ ⋆.˚ ☾⭒.˚ ⋆.˚ ☾⭒.˚

Lame, prudish, boring and geeky are words you’ve come to accept over the course of most of your life. High school was a literal hell on earth for you. Unlike for you, it was heaven for your childhood friend Gojo Satoru. Satoru had and still has it all. Good looks, wealth, an overwhelming amount of friends and the gift of being an ace at any and everything. Countless times back then you found yourself wondering, overflowing with jealousy how he did it all. 

How was it possible to be as blessed as him and not have an error or flaw at all? A bigger and better question you’d find yourself also wondering was why he stuck around someone like you? Hell, you hardly even liked him back then at times. Drowning in your childhood friend's shadow isn’t exactly the most pleasant feeling in the world. 

Three times during your senior year of high school you tried cutting Satoru off. Each time he came flying back like a moth to a flame. The most prominent time being during prom night. Tears stained your cheeks, ruining your horribly attempted makeup and your hair was a mess from fighting against stormy rain winds when you ran all the way home from the dance. All because your supposed date stood you up that night. 

Hidden in a corner by the off green bleachers, you sat awaiting your date’s arrival. As you waited you watched Satoru from afar on the dance floor dancing with his date. The girl he took was pretty and popular just like him. A true perfect match for Mr. Popular. But, what set you off that night was when they all found you sitting alone sulking. As usual Satoru was the one who came seeking you out. Cupped hands over his eyes, he scanned the dimly lit gymnasium until he spotted you. And of course like brainless zombies his friends followed after him. 

They all surrounded you at the table and Satoru just had to plop in the seat next to you. Then he uttered your date’s name, asking his whereabouts. His words struck a nerve. Tears burned your eyes and fogged your vision and before they fell down your face, you jetted out of the gymnasium. At home your parents were missing in action, away at a relatives house for a party event. So, you were alone at home, sobbing on the living room couch. Twenty minutes you sat there balling out your eyes until a killer headache rocked your head. 

Suddenly the door bell rang. The sound echoed all through the house. You assumed it must’ve been your mom and dad, but when you opened the door it was him. Feline shaped eyes bluer than the sea stared back at you. His snow white hair blew in the rowdy breeze. You tried slamming the door, but he easily caught it and let himself in. He coddled you with gentle words meant to ease and soothe you, but it was unwanted. He was met back with screams and cries of frustration as you commanded him to leave. Yet Satoru didn’t. He stayed. 

That was the night you came to realize Gojo Satoru, your childhood friend, would never ever go away. 

Fast forward to present time. You're both enrolled in University. Three years in deep. Of course he’s at the same one as you too. 

It’s the season of autumn and October. You're deep into the fall semester. Friday arrives and plans for fun are in motion across campus amongst the student body. Not for you though. You sit crisscrossed in the bedroom of your apartment ten minutes away from campus. A chunky math book lies on your desk paired with a lap top, a cup of hot chocolate littered with tiny marshmallows and notebook scribbled with math notes. 

Your phone lights up with a chime. Satoru’s contact name appears on the screen. It takes a minute before you check your phone, choosing to solve the math problem above anything else first. Once you’re finished you pick up the phone and unlock it to see his text. 

Blue Eyed Freak: party at Shoko’s, be to pick you up in 30 :P

You: can’t come. Busy with hw. 

Blue Eyed Freak: lol sure. See you in a min

You huff out a sigh, rolling your eyes at the thought of a disturbance. You tell yourself there’s not a chance you're going. One, you’re sure it’s gonna be a costume party since Halloween is the hot topic and two, you don’t do parties. Period.

Thirty minutes zoom by and as he said, he comes. The doorbell buzzes repeatedly like a broken record until you finally let Satoru inside. He slides in past you, a playful smirk dancing on his face. His attractive face that never seems to break out, blemish or display a single flaw. 

“You ready?” He purrs, voice low and husky. 

Your lips purse. “What does it look like?” 

He walks further inside and you trail after him. He hoists himself atop the kitchen counter, raiding the cabinets for a quick snack. “I’ll give you ten minutes to get dressed. I don’t mind waiting. More time alone with you is never a bad time anyway.” 

You stand in his view and whack away his hands from the cabinets. “No stealing my chips!” Then you sigh, pinching your nose bridge. “Satoru, look, I’m not joking, but uh, I’m not going out tonight. No means no.” 

Satoru grasps your upper arm lightly. Then he pulls you in close. You’re between his spread legs. Too close for your own liking.

“What are you…doing?” 

He cocks his head to the side. A lazy toothy grin pulling his lips back as he gazes down at you. “awe, come on. Don’t be a party pooper, plus,” he trails off and leans in close to your face. So close you can smell the faint scent of his cologne. “I miss you. You’re always so busy with classes, homework, blah, blah, blah. I never see you anymore these days.” 

His minty breath fans your ear. Heat rises to your face and suddenly you forget how to breathe as your heart pounds like a drum in your ears. Even words jam in your throat. “W-What? Satoru, I see you all the time during lunch breaks,” you splutter like word vomit.  

He throws his head back. A raspy groan escapes his lips. “Sixty minutes isn’t enough,” he whines. 

Your face flushes hotter. “W-Well, too bad,” you counter quickly. 

When Satoru looks up at you with puppy eyes, your heart nearly melts. You yank away, creating an open gap between your bodies. 

“Pretty please? Come with me to Shoko’s party?” Something about his voice is off. It sounds mocking yet sincere. 

You can never tell with him. Afterall, to this day you still don’t understand why someone such as himself hangs around you so much. Or why he constantly bothers you. You hate to admit it, but you still don’t trust him. It doesn’t matter how much guilt randomly stops you when you think about your hidden feelings, you can’t help it. 

Your eyes drift to the side. “Fine,” you grit with an emphasis on the N. 

His face brightens in delight. “Yay!” He celebrates pumping a fist in the air.

Your eye twitches in irritation. “Give me ten minutes, jerk,” you mumble the last part, thinking he doesn’t hear. 

Except he does. “I love you too,” he chirps. 

Pure embarrassment burns on your face. You attempt to yell at him just to further embarrass yourself by tripping over your words. Hearing him laugh harder makes you scramble to your room. The door slams behind you. Pants spill from your mouth as you tremble in anger. 

God, you sometimes hate Gojo Satoru. 

Ten minutes top like you told him, you make an appearance from your room. The kitchen is void of him. Instead you find him on the living room couch. Boredly he scrolls on his phone until he feels your presence in front of him. He stops scrolling and looks up. A simple pair of blue jeans hang loosely on your legs and a faint green hoodie from several washes swallow your torso. You push up your black thick frame glasses sliding down your nose. “I’m ready.” 

“Finally, let’s jet.” He springs off the couch. 

The car ride to Shoko’s shared house isn’t long and is filled with Satoru’s, in your humble opinion, questionable taste in music. Music blares from the car speakers from the moment he drives out the parking lot. 

At Shoko’s place when you guys arrive it’s already a sea of people crowding everywhere. Like in his car music bumps, shaking the floors. Girls, barely wearing any clothes, dance either with their girl friends or random guys they find hot. Dudes pile in corners, their eyes lurking for something pretty to take home or make out with in the upstairs bathroom or guest room. Clouds of weed smoke fog the air and strong smells of liquor reek everywhere you walk. 

It’s a total nightmare for someone like you. At home doing homework was the agenda for tonight, and now you’re stuck here. The only way you’re getting back home is when Satoru takes you back.

As most party hosts do, Shoko hides away in a less crowded area of the house—the kitchen. By default Satoru flocks there and so do you like a lost puppy. 

“Sup, Satoru,” Shoko coolly says. She leans back on the refrigerator, a blunt between her fingers. 

“What’s up, Shoko,” he replies back just as chill. 

In a chair at the table, sits Suguru, another life long friend of Satoru. His moon crescent eyes land on you. “Oh? You brought along Miss little goody two shoes, eh, Satoru?” 

You don’t know why, but you don’t like his tone. It comes off as condescending, but then again, you never enjoyed Geto Suguru even back in high school. He always gossiped behind your back to Satoru to stop bringing you around to hangouts. In his words he claimed you ruined the mood whenever you were dragged along. You suppose you probably did. Sulking in the corner of every hang out or turning into an awkward hot mess whenever someone tried talking to you probably was a vibe killer. 

Oh well. 

Satoru shrugs at him, lifting his eyebrows. He doesn’t care about what Suguru or anyone else thinks about him bringing you. He then peeks over his shoulder at you and winks. A little gesture of reassurance. 

“Long time no see.” Shoko waves in your direction, taking a hit of her blunt. “Been awhile. So, how’ve you been?” 

Suguru scoffs. “Probably cooped in her room with her nose shoved in books just like in high school.” His comment, though not wrong, strikes your nerves. 

“Fuck off, Suguru,” Satoru says. He’s smiling, but the smile doesn’t reach his eyes. 

Shoko joins in. “Yeah, leave the poor girl alone, asshole. So what if she does like reading books, I do too.” 

Suguru throws his hands up in the air at the sides of his head. A slick smile curling his lips and fake voice hides how he truly feels for poking fun at you—embarrassment. Serves him right if anyone asks you.

Satoru is quick to change the subject, asking the whereabouts for any form of liquor. He wants to get wasted tonight. Shoko guides him through a hall to another cooler full of untouched beers and Suguru follows them too. Which leaves you alone in the kitchen. They don’t return for some time. In the time of their lengthy absence a tall blonde stumbles into the kitchen. 

His face is flushed hot pink. He holds onto the wall for dear life as his entire world spins on loop. “F-Fuck, I think I’m gonna be sick,” he groans under his breath.

Then he collapses on the floor near you and it startles you. You don’t understand why, but you rush to his side. Worry coats your voice as you ask if he’s alright, on your knees. 

“N-No. I’m gonna puke…God help me.” 

Another guy comes into the kitchen. His bowl cut hair is an awful mess, and a wet spot stains his shirt. He slurs, “Nanami...” He hiccups, “that’s where you were! Come on, buddy, let's go back to dancing and drinking more shots!”  

Seeing people like these two just further encourages you that parties aren’t worth the rave. In your eyes these two look like a hot mess. You figure once they wake up tomorrow a mean headache and unwanted flashbacks will haunt them for days, especially if they did something embarrassing. 

“I’m not going anywhere!” Nanami shakes his head and regrets doing so. It’s making his head spin worse. 

Right when the bowl cut haired guy opens his mouth to speak, a tall girl, hair similarly white like Satoru’s but silvery pale blue strides into the kitchen. She yanks bowl cut guy and Nanami off the tile floor. “Pathetic, you both are. Couldn’t even handle a little vodka.” 

She doesn’t seem to be drunk herself. Tipsy maybe, but not off her ass wasted.

Nanami gags. He slaps his on his mouth, holding them there firmly, face contorting in misery.

You gasp, pointing at him. “Hey I think he’s gonna throw up!” 

“What?” The girl’s eyes widen with fear and pure disgust. 

You run to his side to give her an extra hand. “I can help you with him…” your voice trails off, “but we gotta move quick or he’s gonna have it everywhere.” 

She simply nods and you guys hurry upstairs to the bathroom. It’s a struggle getting two drunken grown adult men up the stairs but you two make it work. Once you all get to the bathroom, the silvery pale blue head girl stays outside in the hall while you help Nanami. Not like you could get her to come inside anyways, despite him being her friend. 

He hurls his guts out in the toilet bowl as you gently pat his back. You keep him held in place so he doesn’t end up head first in toilet water mixed with vomit. 

“That’s it, you’re doing fine,” you whisper softly. 

He gags and hags, his back heaving and hands shaking uncontrollably gripping the toilet’s edges.

Any other person would probably gag at this unsightly scene. Not you though. This isn’t your first rodeo doing this. So many times during your freshmen year in college, you’d find yourself helping out a wasted Satoru. Oh, how you hated it. It would happen late at night when you least expect it. Heavy eyelids, blurred vision, you’d open your dorm door to a disheveled Satoru. 

He’d collapse on you and his heavy body weight like dead weight pulled you down. You’d both sink to the floor like a ship and after managing to pry off his body, you’d drag him inside. 

Always after a ten to twenty minute mark the vomit would come. And it was horrible. But you learned to get used to it because it became a daily occurrence on weekends, then even on weekdays. 

Having thrown up everything he’s eaten today, Nanami sits across from you. He’s in a daze until there’s a knock at the bathroom door. It cracks open, revealing the girl. She pinches her nose and tosses a water bottle inside before immediately closing the door. 

More time passes by and you've helped him sober up. He’s grateful and thanks you nonstop. 

“No worries. I just, that wasn’t my first time helping a person throwing up. Like I’ve done it before too many times to count.” You let out a small laugh.

“Seriously?” He’s appalled. 

“Yeah. Like of course I hated it but I had to do it because who else would, plus it always was at my place.” A giggle escapes you. 

He lets out a breathy chuckle. “Well you’re a lifesaver. It would’ve been pretty bad if I made a mess everywhere in Shoko’s place.” 

“Tell me about it.” 

***

Little do you know, downstairs Satoru searches high and low for you. When he, Shoko and Suguru came back to an empty kitchen, something snapped in him. His first thought was you maybe went out into the party to mingle on your own. As time went on, looking for you, that idea became less and less believable. It was already unbelievable from the jump. 

With more thoughts racing in his mind, he began to blame Suguru. A heated argument erupted among the two. Daggers and low blows were thrown back and forth until Shoko broke it up. 

After checking every possible place, asking people and blowing your phone up, Satoru started to act strange. His hands fidgeted. His eyes wouldn’t stay still. Worst of all he became increasingly oddly agitated with anyone in his path. Even Shoko wasn’t exempt from it. 

“I’m sure she’s somewhere around here, Satoru. Just chill out.” 

“Don’t tell me how to fucking feel, Suguru,” he growls. 

The trio heads up stairs, Satoru leading the way. Shoko presses a hand on his shoulder meant to comfort, only to be shaken off. She draws her hand back to her chest. Hurt contorts her face. She wants to speak, but doesn’t. 

Suguru notices her withdrawal. If he didn’t like you before, now he really doesn’t like you. “Ignore him Shoko. Don’t let him get to you,” he whispers. 

She nods still clearly hurt. 

In the hallway upstairs Satoru spots two familiar faces. “Mei Mei, Haibara!” 

Only Mei Mei responds, looking at him. Her eyes scan up and down his body, and she lets out a snarky giggle. “You look like a madman all huffing and puffing. What’s your deal?” She points out. 

He ignores her taunts. Usually he’d say something back to match her energy, but he doesn’t and it brings her shock. He questions her about you. Mei Mei hesitates to answer because your name doesn’t ring a bell in her mind. 

“What exactly does this girl look like?”

He gives a clear, brief description. 

“Her?” She tilts her head to the side. 

“Where is she?” His voice darkens, almost threatening. 

Mei Mei smiles wickedly and points an index finger to the bathroom. She’s been looking for some fun and drama all night and she’s just found it. “Your little friend is in there with Nanami, Satoru.” 

Satoru's face fades of color, and his eyes grow wide before darkening again. He storms to the bathroom and forces open the door. The handle whams into the wall inside. You and Nanami flinch, entire bodies almost jumping in mid air. 

He marches over to Nanami, a storm brewing behind his blue eyes. “You prick,” he grits. Leaning over, he glares at the blonde. “What the hell are you doing in here with her, huh?”

Nanami’s face twists in confusion. “What?” He utters out, still weak from vomiting. 

You’re also just as dumbfounded as him. You have no idea what Satoru’s talking about and you’re at a loss for words. 

“Don’t play dumb with me Kento, you foureyed freak.” 

You leave your corner of the bathroom and stand at your childhood friend’s side. You tug at his shirt hem. “Satoru, leave him alone.” 

But he ignores you. It’s like he doesn’t hear or see you. 

“I didn’t do anything with her. Why would I when I don’t know her?” Nanami proposes. 

Haibara, who’s crumpled like a paper on the hall floor, adds in his friend’s defense. “It’s true man, she helped him throw up without hurting himself or breaking anything in Shoko’s bathroom.” 

The deathly expression fails to fade until you join in too. “Yeah, I helped him sober up inside here. I didn’t have anything else better to do while you three went off getting beers or whatever.”

Satoru’s face eases up and he backs away from Nanami. Gradually his temperament cools and as it does realization settles in. Back to reality he glances around. Everyone stares at him with fear and concern written in their faces. 

Gojo Satoru losing his temper? They’ve never heard of it. 

Mentally he curses at himself for letting a minor misunderstanding send him into a blind rage. Lighthearted laughter erupts from him. “I think I had too many drinks tonight”, he lies. “We’re gonna head out now, come on.” 

He strides out of the bathroom and you follow when he calls for you to come too. No goodbyes to his friends or apologies are given. 

***

On the ride back home it’s mostly silent. No obnoxious ear bleeding music, no talkative Satoru, no nothing. Just an uneasy tense quiet and the faint hum of heat flowing through the vents. 

You want to talk, and dig answers clean out his mouth. But you don’t. You simply keep your eyes ahead on the dark road lit up by his headlights. You wonder what’s keeping you tongue tied. Could it be the stone cold expression he wears on his features, you wonder? Is it the way he subtly grips the steering wheel, turning his knuckles white? Or how his nostrils flare when he lets out a deep breath? Maybe it’s everything about him as of now. 

God, you don’t know. 

Sooner than later he pulls into your apartment complex parking lot. His car rumbles after coming to a halt by the entrance door. 

“Toru,” you murmur, glancing at him. 

The nickname you rarely ever use softens his stone face. Even his firm hands loosen on the steering wheel. Only his eyes travel over to you for a mere second, then look straight ahead again. He stays quiet. 

Your whole body turns toward him now and you lean in close. A small gap separates your faces. “Toru, please talk to me, you’re worrying me. What’s wrong?” 

A shudder ripples his shoulders. Then Satoru's chest deflates, a sigh escaping his lips.  “I was worried about you.” 

“But, why?” 

He lets out another quick breath of air. “Cause I thought something happened to you.” He stares you directly in the eyes. “Something bad.” 

Your lips form an O shape. More questions flood your brain, but you don’t ask them. Further forcing him to explain isn’t something you want to do right now. You may have an internalized hatred and envy for him, but that doesn’t mean you don’t have any care for him. Because you do care. How could you not care after all these years of him glued to your hip?

You swallow the newly formed lump in your throat. “I see. Well, I’m sorry I caused you to worry about me.” 

He shakes his head. Regret, shame, and guilt, killing his spirit. “No. It’s not your fault. It’s mine. I’m the one who owes Nanami an apology.” 

You don’t deny him that. He’s got a valid point. 

“Okay, well I’ll see you later then. Night.” 

“Night.” 

He watches you, making sure you safely get inside before driving off. 

***

The rest of the weekend you don’t see Satoru or hear from him. For once peace and silence engulfs your apartment. At first it’s strange, foreign, but in the end you learn to appreciate it. Also, you don’t reach out to him either. You figure what’s the harm in giving him his space after Friday night. 

Monday rolls in. You're back in class with all your assignments turned in and ready for the next bundle of workload. Each class sails smoothly and the same as usual. Except for your last class of the day. An unfamiliar face sits in the seat next to yours in the back of the lecture hall. 

Black ink tattoos adorn his handsomely sculpted face and the sides of his neck. Strangely placed they are, it compliments him surprisingly well. Even you can admit that. 

One part of you finds annoyment in the fact he chose a spot coincidentally right next to yours. The other part is drawn in to him and curious as a cat, wondering what he’s like. But, the ruling thought in your mind overrides all others, telling you there’s nothing to know about the new guy. He’s just another dude who probably dropped one class and added this one to his schedule. Irresponsibly. At

You take your seat next to him and once the professor waltzes inside, class begins. Instead of the usual notes taking day, he puts on a movie related to the topics you guys are learning. While watching the film, boredom kills you, but a pair of lurking eyes on your left side watches you. 

At least that’s what you think. One minute goosebumps cover your neck. Sensations of being closely watched creep up the side of your face, burning your skin. But when you peek in the new guy's direction, he’s staring straight ahead. 

Weird. 

The professor dismisses class and everyone bolts out.  Some of them if not all likely have other noon classes to attend. But, since you're done for the day you take your time, gathering your belongings and shoving them into your book bag. 

Finally packed ready to go, you look up to see the new guy talking with the professor. It has nothing to do with you, so you head for the exit only to be stopped in your tracks by the professor. He calls your name loud and clear. 

You turn, looking at him. “Yes?” 

“Sukuna Ryomen is playing the catch up game and needs notes and concepts we’ve long ago explored explained to him. Can you give him a helping hand?” 

Hell no is what you wanna say. “Uhh, I don’t know. It may slow me down in my other classes, sir.” 

He smiles, having a trump card up his sleeve not even you can refuse. “Extra credit if you do me this solid.” 

You freeze for a second in thought. In his class specifically you’re stuck at an irritating ninety percent while in other classes you score one-hundred percent. It’s a shot you can’t throw away. You bite the inside of your lip. “How many points?” 

Knowing he’s got you in his grasp, the professor laughs. “Fifteen points. Sure to boost that A minus to an A plus.” 

No thoughts, you blurt, “deal!” 

“Great.” His smile widens. “You two should get to know each other then. Dismissed.” 

Sukuna lazily strides forward following you out the lecture hall into the long corridor. An awkward silence thickens the air between you two. It makes you wish maybe you hadn’t been so greedy and thirsty for fifteen measly extra credit points. 

“So,” you begin, “why’d you wait so long to switch courses? Isn’t the deadline like… over?” 

“I found my last professor's voice to be insufferable and last week I just couldn’t take it anymore,” he simply states as if that’s not something incredibly odd to admit. Not to mention his stoic demeanor makes it no better. 

You're at a loss for words. 

“That’s new, I’ve never heard that one before.” 

He doesn’t speak and again in mere seconds the silencing vibe from a few minutes ago returns. 

“Well, okay. If you're not busy, meet me at the library tomorrow.” 

“Can’t do that one.” 

You perk up a brow at him. “And why’s that? The library is the perfect place for these kinds of things.” 

Unable to control it, your real personality shines unlike the shy and awkward one reserved for strangers. Only Satoru gets a load of the true authentic you. 

He finally looks at you after all this time, a hint of interest written on his face. “Because it’s closed down for two weeks. Construction reasons.” 

“Oh.” Your face suddenly burns to the touch. “I didn’t know,” you squeak. 

“Clearly.” He grins cockily. 

Tonight you definitely won’t forget this moment for sure. 

He digs out his phone. “Let’s exchange numbers and you can meet me at my place tomorrow night since I’ll only be free then,” he states as matter of fact. 

***

The next day comes quickly and is a blur up until it’s time to meet with Sukuna. Being the introvert you are, his number isn’t saved in your phone. Sitting next to him during lecture hall doesn’t help or make you save it either. So when your phone buzzes in your back pocket, you pause and stare at the unfamiliar digits. 

xxx-xxx-xxx: I’m room 666

You: Who is this? 

xxx-xxx-xxx: u didn’t save my number? That’s cute.

You: What? Who are you? 

xxx-xxx-xxx: Sukuna 

Your phone almost slips your hands. “Oh him.”  You make sure to save his number this time around. 

Stopping home, you freshen up in the shower, chow down a quick snack and put on something more comfy.  Plain sweat pants, a hoodie and sandals. Sukuna lives on campus too, so the walk over is less than ten minutes. 

As you wait for Sukuna to answer the door, something fuzzy rubs against your leg. A stray cat with pure white fur, purrs and meows. The sight of it melts your heart. 

“Aww, well aren’t you the cute little one?” You bend down and pet it. Its eyes are blue and vibrant like the sea and like someone you know. 

Satoru. 

Now that he’s crossing your mind, he still hasn’t reached out to you at all. It was strange at first until it wasn’t and now it’s becoming weird, concerning even. It’s not like him. Satoru isn’t the type who stays away for days. No texts, no funny memes sent or anything. It’s worrying you. 

A wonderful idea pops into your mind. You decided when you're back home you’ll give him a ring. If he doesn’t answer, you stop by his place. Problem solved. 

Apartment door 666 swings open. A shirtless tattooed chest dripping wet, moist salmon pink hair, Sukuna stands in the doorway. He nods, signaling you to come inside and you do. 

Anyone else would be in shock, discomfort or drooling at the nude sight of him. Not you. How could you of all people be? You can’t count on both hands how many occasions you’ve seen a naked Satoru. More than anything, annoyance fills you. You can’t stand guys who shamelessly flaunt themselves off. It’s not impressive or hot, just strictly annoying. 

So, you walk right past him unfazed. 

“So where will we be getting this session started?”

Sukuna, however, is impressed by your resistance. Given his godly good looks, girls drool over him. But nope, not you. You’re different. One of a kind. “My room. It’s on your left straight to the back.”

He closes the door, locking it in one go then follows after you to his bedroom. His bedroom has a common repeating theme—black and blood red. Heavy metal bands posters decorate the walls. Upside down crosses lay scattered on a dresser and red LED lights dimly glow barely lighting up his room. 

“Nice room you got here, buddy,” you say, voice stale and dry..

He chuckles low. “Doesn’t sound like it’s nice to you.” 

“Well, if that’s what you think. Anyways, let's get started on the topic. I’ve gotta be home before seven.” 

“Fair enough.” He pays a trip to the bathroom to get dressed before joining you back in his room. 

Sukuna’s quieter than a forest at night as you explain several complex concepts. He follows along, his eyes closely examining you point at specific written notes in a notebook. You don’t realize him sitting too close to you on his bed, too hyperfixated on the notes. 

There’s others things you also fail to notice from the moment you two met. Compared to you, like Satoru, Sukuna’s height is towering. Every aspect of his body makes yours look like a small fun size thing. At this very moment, he’s hovering over you. His hands, huge and veiny, crease the bedsheets near your thighs. He’s practically got you caged in his arms leaning into you while listening to you speak.

“Do you comprehend everything so far?” You don’t bother looking up, flipping through pages. 

He leans back a little, admiring your face. From the way your big glasses refuse to stay up your nose bridge, the plumpness of your lips, the stern little expression dancing on your features. It’s all so cute to him and he doesn’t know why. You’re nowhere near his type. He’s into flamboyant, hot, mean girls who suddenly become brain dead around him. Bend to his every command. He finds it fun to break them in half. 

He’s never tried with a nerd though because he never wanted to. But, you, he’s debating giving it a go. 

This time you look away from the notes. “Hey, did you hear me? I said do you-”

“Shut up.” 

“What?” 

He leans in closer to you. His fire brown red eyes lock with yours. “Nerdy girls like you are usually not my thing.” His voice drops low to the depths of hell. 

Your brain screams for you to back away, but you don’t. “What are you talking about?”

“I’m saying you’re doing something to me.”

“Huh?” 

“How bout we worry about you catching me up later on and have a little fun?” 

Suddenly his body hovers yours more than it did a few seconds ago, no longer ignorable. You can even feel heat emitting off his body and smell a scent of sharp cinnamon. Probably his body wash.

“W-What type of fun?” 

He slightly tilts his head, pure astonishment on his face. “Ever heard of sex? Or are you really an inexperienced little nerdy girl?” 

Sex? 

Time freezes and your mind goes blank as a white canvas. Sex has never been of interest to you. Why would it be? Or at least that's what you’d ask yourself whenever the topic comes up. Satoru, the fuck boy he is, always has sex. You don’t realize it yourself, but he’s the reason you refuse to do it because of how sinful and shameful he is about it. Not to mention the anxiety and stigma holding you back from doing it. Growing up the nerdy, undesirable girl also stops you. Afterall, who wants the four eyed freak? 

Too blunt for your own good, you squeak, “but I’m a virgin. You can’t possibly have sex me! It won’t work! Plus, it wouldn't be any fun since I’m inexperienced.” 

His smirk deepens, eyes glimmering with more desire and hot lust. “It’s not a problem when you’re with someone like me.” 

He leans down closer, his chest forcing you back on the bed. Your head lands on his soft pillows. The only thing holding up your frame just barely is your elbows. Saliva gathers in your throat before you gulp it down, staring up at him, eyes wide and innocent. Which turns him on even more, especially between his legs. 

“Don’t worry I’ll take good care of you and won’t be too rough. I promise,” he rasps. 

His frame looms over you. At both sides of your head are his hands, his strong arms bulging sculpted muscles. You can even see his pecs begging to burst out his compressed black short sleeve shirt. 

Your lips part to speak, but a swift thought hits you harder than a brick. Maybe losing your virginity isn’t such a horrible idea. Sukuna is hot enough for you or he’s as hot as it gets for the likes of you. This isn’t a chance you’ll probably ever get again. Like a gift presented from the Gods themselves. Afterwards you can cockily brag all about it to Satoru who sometimes teases you about being a prude virgin for covering your eyes during sex scenes in films you watch together. 

“Wait,” you whisper. 

He pauses, his lips ghosting above yours, heart radiating from them. “Hmm?” He hums. 

“Just please be gentle…I hear about how much it hurts and I don’t want it to hurt.” 

He soaks in the view of you for a brief moment. Doe eyes behind thick framed glasses looking up at him. Pouty plump lips begging to be devoured. The way your hands rest on your chest, fidgeting. He licks his lips, a silver piercing showing on his tongue, as he trembles with uncontrollable greed. 

He wants to ruin you and plans to do it. 

He presses a gentle kiss on your forehead. “I promise it won’t hurt.” 

You shyly nod, cheeks flushing warm. 

It happens fast. Your lips are crushed by his. You’ve never kissed anyone before, and don’t know what to do but you try to anyway. He devours your smaller lips to an unspoken rhythm and you try to follow along. It’s messy, hot and wet. Sounds you’ve never made before spill out, filling the room. A whimper or two slips you as you desperately keep up with Sukuna’s lips, pants from the adrenaline coursing through your body. 

When he draws back, freeing your mouth, a long thread of saliva connects both of your lips. “Good job keeping up. It was sloppy, but cute. I’d use my tongue, but it’d be too much for you, wouldn’t it?” 

You stay quiet, looking anywhere else but at his face. You're too scared to look because any false moves will drown you in a world of embarrassment. 

“Hey.” He grips your chin, forcing you to meet his stern gaze. “Eyes on me when I speak to you. Understand?” 

Your heart flutters nonstop. “Mhm.” 

His fingers grip harder on your chin. “Use your words.”

A gasp sneaks past your lips. “O-Okay.” 

“Good girl.” 

Underneath your baggy hoodie, his rough callused hand explores your belly. Electrical sparks ignite everywhere his hand glides along your skin. Soon his hand makes its way under your bra. 

“Soft skin. Just how I like it.” He squeezes your breast before doing the same to your nipple. 

Instead of a little whimper a surprised moan rushes out your mouth. You smack a hand on your lips, disgusted and shocked. You never heard yourself moan before and for some odd reason you absolutely hate how it sounds. 

Sukuna chuckles. “You’ve never even touched yourself before have you?” 

You shake your head no. 

He pinches your nipple again, but this time roughly. It wringes out another sharp moan from you. 

“Words. Use your words.” 

Right, he doesn’t want you to be a mute. “No,” you whine. 

“I can tell. Most girls these days won’t even sweat if I touch their tits. But of course you would.” 

“Don’t mock me, asshole.” 

He pinches it again, but you bite your lips holding back any sound. 

“I’m not and watch your tone.” He warns, voice dangerous and husky. 

He discards your hoodie and sweat pants in some random place on the floor. The only thing left is your pink lacy panties and bra. It’s a matching set you bought not too long ago in an attempt to be more girlier. 

“What a surprise. I expect your underwear to be as plain as you dress.” You cover yourself, but he binds your wrist above your head. “Don’t get shy now, or I’ll tie you to my bed’s rails.” 

Once he frees your wrists, his lips, soft and warm, kiss a line from your neck down to your breasts.

He strokes up and down your slit covered pussy, and gradually traces soft teasing circles on your most sensitive area—your clit. It drives you mad, the pleasure, the kisses and licks on your neck. Then he does the worst thing possible. 

He removes your bra easily, and plays with your breast too. Your body twitches and trembles as Sukuna tongue glides in loops before sucking your bud as his hand lazily stimulates your clit. By now you're a drenching wet mess in your panties, leaving a damp spot.

Then it happens. Your body jolts, back arched, shaking as you let out a loud whiny moan. His mouth frees your nipple with a pop and he leans back. 

You’re a sight to behold and he drinks in every inch of you. From your flushed cheeks, heaving chest, parted plump lips. 

He laughs. “Only took my fingers and mouth, huh. How adorable and pathetic,” he mocks between laughs. 

Far too tired, you can’t speak, trying to catch your breath. He slips a hand past your panties to play in your sensitive wet heat. You flinch at the touch, whining and whimpering. 

“You’re wet enough down here. That was pretty easy.” He inserts one digit, pumping it in and out. His fingers' pace is slow. “Looks like I won’t be needing my fingers after all to stretch you open.” He slides in another finger then another. He thrust them in slowly, gradually swiftly building up speed.  

You cry and writhe under him until he pulls them out, and through hazy vision you watch him lick every bit of slippery slick. 

“D-Don’t do that, it's gross,” You breathe.

In response he shoves all three in his mouth, sucking and licking them clean, eyes still locked with yours. Impatiently he yanks off his shirt, pants and your panties too. Last goes the boxers. His dick is huge, bigger than you anticipated, standing proudly. The tip is an angry red, leaking precum. 

“Let’s fuck raw, I’ll buy you plan B afterwards.” 

You nod not knowing what else to do in a moment like this. Before you can blink your legs are spread wider with him between them, sliding his shaft against your folds. 

The neediness returns, hitting like a truck. “J-Just put in it already! Stop teasing me,” you cry. 

“So needy and impatient, aren’t you?” He drawls, lining himself up with your hole and thrust in. Your walls separate, hugging his dick tightly. 

You throw your head back on the pillow unconsciously, whining. “O-Ow. Ow! It hurts! Why does it hurt, Sukuna?” Fresh tears pool in your eyes.

He leans in close and is careful to not move too quickly, avoiding adding on to your suffering. His hands rest above your head, balling the sheets in his hands as he holds back not to move deeper inside your walls. 

“You forget yourself. A virgin is always gonna be in pain at first…Fuck…” he hisses, bitting his lip, feeling your walls tighten around him.

Overwhelmed, more tears stream down your cheeks. “You liar! You promised it wouldn’t hurt.” 

“I didn’t lie. It won’t hurt, but I have to move,” he shakily groans. 

“No, pull it out. I don’t want it anymore.” 

Hot irritation spikes in him and, he suddenly remembers why he doesn’t fuck virgins. The idea of ruining them is always a fun fantasy, but actually dealing with one is a major pain in his ass. Of course he doesn’t want to pull out. You got to cum and he wants to as well. It’s only fair.

“Baby, hey, listen to me. Look at me, please?” His rough, grumpy voice ceases, replaced by a softer one. 

It works on you too. You do as he says, pouting. 

“I promise it’s going to feel good. So fucking good. I just have to start moving or else it’ll never feel good, okay?” 

And when you only offer an obedient nod, he doesn’t bother making you be verbal. He buries his head in your neck, slowly rolling his hips. It’s hard, but he manages to control his overwhelming thirst and greed to slam his hips in you unapologetically. Not yet. He reminds all good things come with patience. 

He liters the crook of your neck in wet sloppy kisses before sucking, leaving colorful hickies, 

Small, quiet breathy moans begin filling the bedroom paired by the sound of your wet pussy being stretched by his dick. One moment your hands awkwardly scrunch the bed sheets in fists, but slowly find themselves around Sukuna’s neck. 

The longer he thrusts at a slow past, deep and steady, your pussy produces more slick. It makes it easier to slide in and out. Soon delicious pleasure takes over your mind and body. 

You officially lose yourself in it, drowning to the very bottom. 

“Kuna, m-more. I want more,” you pant, holding on tight to him for dear life, tits bouncing. 

“Finally.” He lets loose and gives you what you want. 

His hips slam hard and rough, knocking a loud moan out of you. Again and again, he repeats. He ends up taking off your glasses and dips in to steal your parted swollen lips. The bed creaks and bumps against the wall. 

The neighbors are probably confused, wondering what’s that noise. But, Sukuna doesn’t give a fuck. It’s not like they haven’t heard a similar noise coming from his apartment. He’s pounded more girls into his sheets worse than how he’s fucking you. And they were louder, very loud. 

You don’t think, only feel. But, if your brain, empty as it is, does manage to conjure up a thought or two, you think of how Satoru isn’t as wrong as you thought. You see why he likes having sex. It feels amazing and it’s like your nerves are stimulated on some sort of happy drug. 

Sukuna devours every moan, whimper and cry as he sloppily kisses you. Somewhere on the bed, your phone buzzes drawing in his attention. He pulls back still rocking his hips in a newly adjusted position, holding both your thighs pressed down against your chest, earning deeper access. 

“Your phone’s going off, baby.” 

“Huh?” Stars float in your hazy vision. 

He looks closer again, and recognizes the contact on the screen. Mischievous excitement courses through his veins. “Wanna answer?” I  think it’s an important call,” he drawls, voice deep and rich. 

You nod, too drunken from pleasure in the new position he’s folded you in, abusing your velvety walls. 

Sukuna’s quick to grab the phone, answering on speaker.

 “Hello?” The voice says.

“Hey,” he answers for you instead. 

“The fuck? Who is this?” 

“Aww, fuck I’ma little  hurt. You don’t recognize my voice?” 

There’s a long pause on the other line. Sukuna’s smirk widens into a devilish grin. 

“Sukuna…what the fuck are you doing with her phone? Where is she?” The voice becomes loudly aggressive. 

“FaceTime and find out.”  Sukuna hits the hang up button, his dick hardening even more. 

At the speed of light the phone rings again.

“K-Kuna? Who was it?” You manage to mumble. 

He ignores you, answering the FaceTime call and pushes deeper. He goes so deep his dick kisses your cervix, making you whine the loudest you’ve been tonight.

“Where the fuck is she?” The voice booms. 

Sukuna smirks in the camera. “Are you so sure you wanna know?” 

“Where. The. Fuck. Is. She?” 

No words spoken, he flips the camera on you. In the camera frame everything is seen crystal clear. The drool dripping down your chin. Your teary eyes, begging for more. Your exposed tits bouncing from every rough thrust he gives you. Your flushing cheeks and pouty lips. Everything. 

Sukuna stops moving fast. Instead, he slides in and out deliberately and slowly .

As he expects, you whine, “please don’t. Fast, I want it faster please, Kuna!” Your body squirms against his strong hand holding your legs in place against your chest.

“Come on, baby. Say it again. I can’t hear you.”

“Please give me more. More. I promise I’ll be a good girl, so please.” 

On the other line the camera view crashes to a pavement sidewalk before the screen goes black and hangs up. 

***

You wake up curled on something warm and firm. Feels like skin on your fingertips. As your eyelids flutter, open, you realize it’s a man’s chest. You flinch at the sight and sit up. Your head spins from the fast movement before going away. The hand hooked around your waist pulls you closer and locks tighter. 

You look to your right to find a sleeping Sukuna. Every memory from yesterday comes flying back one by one. Each one is a slap in the face, leaving you in shock. 

Then the worst one of all hits you. You search the bed for your phone and break loose from his hold. 

“Shit. Shit. Shit.” 

“Aye, cut it out,” he groans, voice raspy and groggy. 

You freeze, your eyes gliding over to him. 

“All that moving is disturbing my peace.” He peeks open an eye, reaches for his own phone on his nightstand dresser. “It’s only ten in the morning, go back to sleep.” 

You frantically shake your head. “I have to go.” 

You jump out of the bed. Cold air hits your skin, making you whimper and shiver while searching for your clothes lost on the floor. “Where’s my phone?” 

“Hell if I know.”

Any other time a response like that would’ve hit a nerve, but you’re far too nervous to care. 

“Please, Sukuna, where is it?”

“Why should I tell you? You’ll just leave me anyway.” 

Is he pouting? The guy who exudes so much dominance, who made you cry like a baby while pounding you into his mattress is pouting over you leaving? That’s rich. 

“I-I promise I’ll come back! Plus I have to anyway cause our session was interrupted.” 

“Fine.” He fishes underneath the he’s laying on and pulls out your phone.

“Thanks.” 

But when he hands it to you it’s dead. 

“Shit,” you sigh. 

***

Back home in your apartment you ache and limp. Every inch of your body aches like hell. If you knew the aftermath of sex leaves you limping you wouldn’t have done it. 

After a long shower your phone is half way charged and glowing in the darkness of your room. You unlock it and immediately race to the call logs. Immediately your heart sinks upon seeing who called last night.

“Satoru called?” Uncontrollably your hands shake, nearly dropping the phone. You instantly hit his contact. The phone doesn’t ring, instantly sent to voicemail. 

“Leave a message! I’m not by my phone!”

You try again, again and again, but nothing changes each time. Just Satoru’s old automated voicemail from freshman year in university.

You don’t know why, but an unsettling wave of anxiety hits you. It makes your knees knock together and hands jitter. First he goes ghost for a couple of days then randomly calls while you’re losing your virginity. Now he isn’t picking up for you. 

What the hell? 

You try to shake the feeling but you can’t. It won’t stop. Then you realize you missed two classes and have three more to go. Classes you can’t afford being absent in or you’ll be dropped. And one of those classes has Sukuna in it.

Great, him again. You hope he doesn’t show today. 

You rush out the apartment with your bag halfway zipped up, glasses missing, and sneaker laces sloppily tied. It takes ten minutes to get to class and on top of that you’re tardy. You suppose it’s better than being absent then dropped. 

Class goes by fast and then it’s your lecture hall class up next. Sukuna in fact does show and he’s looking hotter than usual. You plop down next to him and instantly his attention is focused on you. 

“Hey,” he purrs, sharp canine teeth you never noticed before, showing. 

“Hi,” you mutter, looking straight ahead. The chair he’s in scrapes loud as he scoots closer. 

“You get everything sorted out at home?”

Your head whips around at him. “What?” Your brows furrow. 

He likes it, the way your face looks, trying to be intimidating or firm. It’s cute. There’s only one thing you're missing. He pulls out your glasses from his bag. 

“Missing these?” He changes the subject with ease. 

“Ah, oh!” You reach for them and put them on. “Yeah, I was wondering why I couldn’t see.” 

He huffs out a laugh. “So cute.” 

“Stop that. It’s not true anyways. I’m not cute.” 

He keeps his gaze on you, laying his head down in his folded arms. “Don’t know. You’re pretty cute to me. Especially when you begged for more, saying a little nickname no girl’s ever called me during sex,” he drawls. Greed and lust brews behind his reddish brown eyes. 

Heat rises in your face. You look around to see if anyone heard him. Then whisper yell, “shut up! Someone will hear.” 

He chuckles, enjoying your torment. “No one in here heard me. But, I’m sure my neighbors heard you last night.” 

“Cut it out!” You blurt, voice echoing off the walls. 

The thing you tried so hard to stop happening happens. Eyes from every corner in the room stares. Some judgemental, others curious. The professor, however, shoots a scornful glare your way. 

“Is there a problem?” He lifts an eyebrow, mentioning your last name. 

“No, sir.” You look down at your desk, avoiding their eyes. 

He clears his throat loudly. “As I was stating, class.” 

For the remainder of class Sukuna doesn’t mess with you. Afterall, he’s the reason you were embarrassed by the professor. 

Dismissed from class, he walks with you down the corridor, around campus and to your apartment unit. It’s not until you unlock your door, you realize he’s still sticking around.

“Ugh, why are you here? I’ve got plans, shoo!” 

“Can’t a guy be a gentleman? I can’t make sure you get home?” 

Your heart stutters, shock freezes you whole. But you’re fast to bounce back to normal. “Huh? There’s no reason for that! I’m not your girlfriend.” 

He leans down, towering over you. “And who says you can’t be? Maybe I want you to be?” 

Again you’re whiplashed by his shamelessness, drowning in pure confidence. 

You sigh. All your life long insecurities come flooding in like tsunami waves. “Why would a guy like you want me? There’s nothing special about me.” 

He leans in closer, grabs your chin and looks you dead in the eyes. “Stop talking lowly of yourself. It’s fucking annoying. If you were this ugly piece of shit, don’t you think I wouldn’t be standing right here right now?” 

His words are harsh, cruel, but ring with undeniable truth. To hear such a thing come out of someone's mouth like his sounds too good to be true when all your life you’ve been a nobody nerdy girl. A total loser compared to other girls. Never chosen, always last, or overlooked. 

“R-Really?” Your voice cracks, still in denial. 

“Aww don’t cry.” 

It’s too late. Tears are already filling your eyes and falling. The pad of his thumb gingerly wipes them away. An unknown softness rules over his face for once unlike usual. 

“You’re beautiful to me. I wanna get to know you more.” He blows out a breath, somewhat embarrassed being all mushy. “Take you out on some dates, buy you gifts. You know romantic things guys do before making it official.”

Your heart swells with warmth. It’s a feeling you’ve never known before, especially coming from another person that’s a male. 

“You’d like that?” A tint of blush clouds his tattooed cheeks. 

You nod, smiling through tears. “I-I would.” 

He grins softly. “Okay, text me. Let me know when you’re free and let’s make it happen. Now get inside,” he commands. 

“Okay.” You sniffle. 

Once inside you slide down the locked door and do something foreign you’ve only ever seen in movies—you squeal like a teenage high school girl. You got a date and he’s actually hot. 

You gleefully skip around your apartment, Satoru no longer plaguing your mind, forgotten. For once in your life you decide to kick back and relax. You change into comfy pjs, pop some popcorn and drink a can of soda while watching one of your favorite shows. Two hours pass on and the sun no longer beams in the sky. The living room is one big shadow illuminated by the flat screen TV. 

Your doorbell rings. But, you don’t hear it due to the loudness of the show. It rings again and again. Still you don’t hear it. Then three booming knocks fill your entire apartment. You jolt, sitting up from your slouched position on the couch. With the remote you pause the show and slowly walk over to the door. 

Through the peep hole is Satoru, standing. You gasp, eyes growing big. You can’t believe you forgot all about him so easily. One last time looking through the tiny hole, you get a good glimpse of him. He stands there in all black from top to bottom and a hood over his head. He’s even wearing a black mask as oddly as it sounds. Usually he wears clothes that match his unmatched flamboyant personality. 

You unlock the door and open it. “Satoru! I-I’m so sorry about yesterday. Y-You didn’t see or hear anything weird on the phone right cause I-” 

He bumps past you, coming inside and shuts the door hard, shaking the walls. 

Uhh, okay? 

He pulls down the mask and takes off the hood. His hair is a mess of uncombed white strands. Dark bags are underneath his eyes and his skin is paler than usual. In his eyes there’s a frenzied look to them you’ve never seen before. The night at Shoko’s party you recall seeing a glimmer similar to it, but this is way worse. Scary even. 

“Hey, uh, you okay?”

He leans back on the wall, dropping his head into his palm. His chest heaves as he pants uncontrollably. “What the hell were you doing with Sukuna Ryomen yesterday?”

You go stiff. “You know him?”

His head snaps up, darkened eyes glaring daggers at you. “Do I know him?” Satoru hisses through gritted teeth. “Of course I fucking know him!” He spits.

Embarrassment rises in you and suddenly you wish the floorboards would just gobble you up. “Okay, besides the point. You didn’t answer my question.”

He laughs manically, looking around in astonishment. “Do you really wanna know?”

“God, stop playing around and answer the question!” 

He springs off the wall, each step stomping over to you. You can’t help but to walk backwards until your back hits the wall and he’s cornering you. His body towers yours, casting a long shadow across your face as you stare up at him. More than ever you’re confused and somewhat anxious. The way he’s acting isn’t normally like him. 

His palms slam above your head. You squeak and flinch like a horrified mouse before daring to look up to his irate gaze. “I saw. I saw it all,” he growls, his jaw tightening. 

Too many emotions at once are twirling within you out of control. Your cheeks burn hot, tears of humiliation glisten in your eyes, your body trembles on edge not knowing what Satoru’s going to do next. “T-That wasn’t supposed to happen,” your voice comes out barely above a pathetic whisper.

“It shouldn’t have happened at all. You shouldn’t be fucking losers like Sukuna!”

“That’s not fair! You have sex all the time with girls. But I can’t do it with one person?”

He bends down to your level, making sure his wide eyes lock with yours. “He’s fucking dangerous. Do you understand? He doesn’t fucking like you. Why would he like you? Look at you!”

You gasp. His words cut deep. Deeper than imaginable. He’s never insulted you before. Ever. 

“G-Get out.”

He pulls away, realizing what slipped from his mouth. He opens his mouth to speak, but nothing comes out for a while as he thinks of the right thing to say. 

“I said get out,” You utter.

“I-I didn’t mean that. Please, I’m sorry. I’m just worried for you. He’s really not a good guy. Sukuna runs around with gangs, sells drugs, and commits crimes. He doesn’t care about anyone but himself. There’s blood on his hands and I don’t want you in the middle of it all,” he rambles, voice shaky.

You yell, “get the hell out! I don’t care! Get out! Get out!”

For the first time in his life of being around you, his heart wavers in pain. Of all the things you’ve said and called him, this hurts worse. Or maybe it’s because of your broken voice, teary red face and look of betrayal. 

Then he makes the worst mistake possible, inching close again in a desperate attempt to comfort you. 

“D-Don’t fucking touch me,” you wail, jerking away from his reach.

He calls out your name softly, but it doesn’t reach you nor your shattered heart. 

“Please leave me alone. Go away, Toru.”

Then using his nickname only you ever use. His heart throbs, cracking into pieces. 

“I’m sorry,” he rasps. 

Then he’s gone. You're left on the hallway floor, drowning in your own tears. 

𝚃𝚘 𝙱𝚎 𝙲𝚘𝚗𝚝𝚒𝚗𝚞𝚎𝚍

[justabratsworld]

Masterlist: “Echoes of the Emperor’s Moon” On going

Sukuna x reader

Themes: Obsessive love, redemption, death, memory, fate, reincarnations

Synopsis:

Once, he called her forgettable and she died whispering his name, cursing to haunt him for the rest of his days.

In another lifetime, she’s just a tired barista who dreams of palaces and snow. While he’s a cold-eyed CEO who remembers everything. She's forgotten the moonlight that watched her die. He never escaped the haunting of her soul.

Now she brews his coffee, and he looks at her like she’s a ghost he’s been chasing for centuries. A love that was too late once and a promise that refused to die. Haunted dreams, second chances, and the cruel mercy of fate.

“If I find you again,” he once vowed, “I won’t let you go.”

The tragedy was never that they died, it’s that he remembers.

Part One: The Emperor's Loathed Concubine

Chapter 1: The Flower That Withered Unseen

Chapter 2:

Chapter 3:

Chapter 4:

Chapter 5:

Chapter 6:

Part Two: Two Souls Reborn

Chapter 7:

Chapter 8:

Chapter 9:

Chapter 10:

Chapter 11:

Chapter 12:

Chapter 13:

Part Three: The Weight of Sorrows and Fear

Chapter 14:

Chapter 15:

Chapter 16:

Chapter 17:

Epilogue: Two Souls and The Moon's Blessing

[arcane-apathy]

The Prize of War Masterlist

***Actively Updating

  Your monotonous life was ruined when you were once again drafted into another pointless war. After the brutal defeat of your fellow countrymen in battle, you were claimed as a prize by the enemy. Now you must adapt to survive. Yet you can’t help but wonder, who’s side are you actually on? 

Extras: Pronunciation Guide,  Protective 

Chapters:

Prologue 

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10 

Chapter 11

[angelltheninth]

Vander and Silco Get Baby Fever After Seeing Felicia Have Kids

Pairing: Vander, Silco x Fem!Reader

Tags: nsfw, smut, established relationship, creampie, size difference, breeding kink, mentioned future pregnancy, on the bar, desk sex

Ko-Fi | Rules | Fandoms and Characters

A/N: I saw them in that flashback and haven't had time to get them out of my mind sense. They were all so hot, we lost so much!

Vander was usually careful when having sex, at least when it came to pulling out on time

Lately he's been actively pushing you against his cock to make sure his cum goes inside you, not out

Will put you in a headlock while he breeds you

If he notices you teasing him through the day he will wipe the bar down at the end of the night and fuck you on top of it, not even caring to carry you to the bedroom

Already has a list of names in his head

Uses his fingers to push his cum back into your pussy while holding you up with his other hand, those fingers dancing along your spine

Gets pussydrunk very easily when you say how much you want him to make you pregnant, how good of a dad you know he'll be

Could go all night if he thinks it would increase the chances of your pregnancy

Raises your ass when he fucks you from behind, his strong thighs smacking against your cheeks hard, the bed protesting under you both

Eats his cum from your pussy if it leaks out, at least then it won't fully go to waste

Silco never thought he'd want to become a dad but now it's all he can think about, all day, every day

Cockwarming was always one of his favorite things, one of the best ways to pass the time while he works but now there's an added bonus to it of him keeping your pussy nice and full

Bends you over the desk almost immediately after you enter his office and actually enjoys seeing his cum drip down your thighs

Has so much more cum to give you so it's no issue

Never masturbates, not until you get pregnant anyway, because he wants to make sure that as much of his seed ends up in your womb as possible

Knows that pregnancy will be hard, and raising the kid even harder, he is ready to be there every single step of the way, especially when all the hormones kick in

Folds you into a mating press, the slight curve of his cock hitting your sweet spot and making your pussy squeeze so hard you milk the cum right out of his balls

If he really gets into it it's debatable if he would stop fucking you if someone were to walk in

Every time he imagines how beautiful you'd look pregnant his cock stirs in his pants, it's a problem if he's at work during that time

When he's balls deep inside of you he gets very talkative and starts brainstorming names and things that you'll need to buy for the baby

[huicitawrites]

i’m starving

[huicitawrites]

Diaries of the Priestess of The Malevolent Shrine

Entry List

Originally planned as a novel, now rewriting scenes of my fanwritten AU

Entry#0

Entry #1

Entry #?

[huicitawrites]

Diaries of the Priestess of The Malevolent Shrine

Yandere! Heian Sukuna x Fem! Reader tags: @a-tiny-teez @kazusan7yanderekun @eleventhdoctorsangel @sircatchungus warnings: yandere, “slow burn”, violence, death and torture, slavery

Diary Entry #?, The Harvest Festival

all entries

-It has been two years since you've become his priestess.

You sit on your knees, head bowed, the scarlet hakama folded perfectly beneath you, your pristine white kosode a mockery of the purity expected of a priestess.

What a joke, you think bitterly.

The being in front of you is far from holy—he is the devil incarnate, Ryomen Sukuna, the King of Curses.

Hesitantly, you peel one eye open.

His huge, muscular form sits without a care for modesty, one knee raised, the other placed open, his four arms slouching around his body. His four bloodshot eyes hold no emotion, and his two-sided face remains blank. The harvest festival, so sacred to the people, means nothing to him. All that mattered was that he would be revered.

They would pray to him, treat him as a god, and with that thought, his ego was fed. His lips twisted into a smug smile.

You felt dirty despite your clean robes. After all, being his priestess meant serving his blasphemy.

His grin caught your attention, and your eyes were drawn to his face. But when his gaze locked with yours, you quickly looked away.

You heard a deep chuckle rumble through his broad chest.

You despised making eye contact with him. You couldn’t bear those crimson, bloodshot eyes. They were seared into your memory, a scar etched into your soul on that day.

The day your clan was massacred. In your weakness, you surrendered to his mercy and betrayed the legacy of your parents. You became his ‘priestess.’

A fancy title for a slave, nothing more—a pawn in the hands of the King of Curses who sought to be a god. A God of Chaos, a God of Suffering, a God of Carnage.

The drums began, a slow, steady thud that echoed through the temple halls, shaking you from your thoughts. The festival was starting. You remained kneeling beside Sukuna, just behind his massive form, your hands folded neatly in front of you. The beat of the drums reverberated in your chest, growing louder with each passing moment, as the priests below began their solemn procession.

They moved in tandem, their steps perfectly synchronized with the rhythm, white robes swaying like ghostly apparitions. Incense wafted into the air, thick and cloying, its sweet scent filling the temple as it curled upward to the dark rafters. You felt trapped beneath the weight of it all: the suffocating smoke, the oppressive atmosphere, and the sheer force of Sukuna’s cursed energy beside you.

The chanting began, a deep, guttural sound that filled the courtyard. Ancient words, meant to honor the gods, now twisted in purpose, directed at the devil sitting next to you. The villagers and priests alike believed this to be a sacred festival, a prayer for a prosperous harvest, but you knew the truth.

This was no prayer to the gods. This was a celebration of him, Ryomen Sukuna, so that he may be more willing to spare their lives. The villagers and priests would leave tonight, grateful just to have survived the day under his gaze.

You glanced at Sukuna again, careful not to meet his eyes this time. His expression was as indifferent as ever, his four eyes half-lidded in boredom. One arm rested lazily on his knee, while the others hung loosely by his sides. Uraume stood by his right side, ever faithful, the perfect servant.

The villagers knelt outside the temple, their foreheads pressed into the dirt, offering their fear and devotion in the only way they knew. None of them dared look up, too terrified of the consequences. Sukuna’s smirk grew, feeding off their terror, and you could feel the faint pulse of satisfaction that radiated from him. This festival—this display of submission—was nothing more than fuel for his inflated ego.

The chanting grew louder, the rhythm of the drums quickening, as the priests raised their hands in supplication. Before Sukuna, they laid baskets of rice, fruit, and incense.

You stood there, silent and still, your head slightly bowed in mock reverence.

But as the chanting reached a fevered pitch and the drumbeats pounded in your ears, you felt a shift in the air. The festival was only just beginning, and for some reason, your gut was screaming at you, warning you to not lower your guard.

Then, a figure emerged from the crowd. It was a half-naked woman—her kimono slipping from her shoulders and wide open. Her wild eyes locked onto Sukuna the moment she saw him, and something changed in her expression—a manic grin spread across her face, unrestrained and desperate.

“Yorozu-sama, wait!!” you heard a young voice plead.

But as you turned your face to comprehend just what in the heavens was going on, a venomous voice whispered in your ear, "Out of the way, bitch."

“From now on, I will be the one to stand by his side!” Yorozu’s voice rang out, high-pitched and gleeful.

And then it happened—a swift, brutal kick struck you in the side, sending you flying off the wooden altar. You gasped as the air was forced from your lungs, landing hard on the floor below. The gravel dug into your body as the world around you spun and blurred.

You winced, barely able to lift your head, blinking a few times as your vision recovered.

The sight of Sukuna made your stomach twist. He hadn’t moved, but his expression had changed—the casual indifference wiped away, replaced by a deep, disgusted frown. His eyes burned with fury, a heat that seethed and promised destruction.

Uraume stepped forward quickly. “How dare you,” they snarled, standing between Yorozu and their master. Their voice was cold and sharp, the tension palpable. They wouldn’t allow such disrespect to stand.

Yorozu, however, ignored Uraume entirely. She didn’t even look at them, her eyes only for Sukuna, her fixation unwavering. She was completely enamored, her entire focus on him and no one else. Uraume’s presence meant no threat to her.

You groaned and coughed, your chest heaving with each breath. The pain was sharp, but you could feel a servant’s hands on you, lifting you gently, trying to help you sit upright. You leaned into their support, struggling to regain control over your breathing.

The servant whispered in your ear, their hands delicate and soft as they tried to calm you. “Forgive my lady's actions, please, stay still. You’re hurt.”

Yet your focus—no, all eyes—were on the woman standing in front of Sukuna, her half-naked form still and eerily focused. Yorozu, crazed and delirious with adoration, stood as if she had discovered something divine.

"Sukuna…!" the mad woman praised, her voice shaking with reverence. "You are magnificent! Seeing you in the flesh—" Yorozu took a step closer, eyes bright with infatuation. Her words of praise drowned in the background noise of hushed whispers as you felt the gentle hands from before pat your shoulders.

You turned to the servant holding you, and your eyes widened in fear. It was a boy, surely no more than ten. Your eyes jumped from the child to Yorozu and then to Sukuna. Back and forth, you repeated this pattern.

“You look… lonely. I can feel it. Allow me to be the one to cure your loneliness! Let us turn this world into a cursed chaos—

Amidst her blabbering, the realization befell you, and as the boy tried to lift you up, your hands twisted the fabric of his yukata.

"Run. Flee at once!"

"Miss, you need to calm down! I need to take you to the healers—"

-a world fit for the King of Curses! A world where—”

“Shut up.”

Sukuna’s deep voice cut through Yorozu's words with finality, cold and disdain. Before she could react, Sukuna moved.

With barely a flick of his wrist, he unleashed his cursed technique, faster than a heartbeat. An invisible slash of cursed energy sliced through the air, clean and precise. Yorozu’s words choked into a sharp gasp, her eyes still lovesick and lidded as her body crumpled to the ground, lifeless in an instant.

The priests and villagers cowered, their terrified murmurs drowned out by the overwhelming pressure of Sukuna’s presence. Blood splattered the gravel floor beneath her, pooling around her as if her life had never mattered. Silence hung heavy once more.

Your breath hitched as you tried to stand up and move the shocked child away. The pain in your chest flared up again, making you struggle against your coughs. But before you could get away with the child in hand, a shadow loomed over both of you.

In one swift motion, you felt yourself being lifted off the ground, strong hands wrapping around you, pulling you up effortlessly. Your body was pressed against Sukuna’s massive form, his cursed energy suffocating as it crackled in the air.

You heard a thud behind you and turned your head sharply to assess the child's well-being.

Yet two of his arms held you firmly, immobilizing you. One hand gripped your waist, the other snatched your chin, forcing you to meet his gaze.

“Look at me,” he commanded. His crimson eyes inspecting every detail of your face. “Are you hurt?” he asked calmly.

Your heart raced, panic flaring as the blood from Yorozu pooled around the gravel. “The boy—please, he’s just—”

Sukuna’s eyes narrowed and his grip tightened, “Pay attention to me,” he said, his voice a dangerous command “Answer me—are you hurt?”

The words barely escaped your lips. “I—I’m fine, my Lord,” you stammered, feeling utterly vulnerable within his caging arms.

Satisfied for the moment, Sukuna turned his attention back to the villagers, who now knelt in terror, prayers spilling from their lips, frantic and desperate. His voice dripped with dark amusement, the very embodiment of menace. “Quite the rude hosts, don’t you think?” he remarked, his eyes gleaming with malice. “They seem to have forgotten their place.”

As he raised his spear, glimmering ominously in the dim light, the air turned thick with tension. You could feel it before it happened—a wave of pure, unfiltered chaos. Carnage ensued.

Screams erupted as Sukuna cut through flesh and bone, a whirlwind of death and destruction. The villagers, once fervent in their prayers, now fled in terror, but there was nowhere to hide from the King of Curses. They fell around you, bodies littering the ground like discarded offerings.

Pinned in his grip, your eyes were shut but you were forced to withstand the sounds of the massacre. Sukuna’s eyes gleamed with a primal excitement, the thrill of slaughter igniting a fire within him that was terrifying. Each swipe of his weapon, each agonized scream, only served to fuel his insatiable bloodlust.

“Such chaos… it’s intoxicating,” he mused, his voice laced with a dark satisfaction that sent chills down your spine.

As the last echoes of terror faded into silence, Sukuna’s gaze turned back to you, his grip still firm around your waist. His eyes darkened, holding a predatory intensity that made your heart race.

With a twisted smirk curling his lips, he leaned closer, the scent of blood and incense clinging to him. “Consider this a reminder,” he murmured, voice low and chilling, the warmth of his breath grazing your skin.

"Uraume", he called out and the cursed-ice user made no haste to come close and kneel, "Let's go."

"Yes, Sukuna-sama"

And so, as he carried you away and Uraume left in tow, your eyes desperately secanned for any hint of survivors, but you only found a torn piece of that poor, innocent boy's yukata on the pools of blood.

[huicitawrites]

Diaries of the Priestess of The Malevolent Shrine

Yandere! Heian Sukuna x Fem! Reader

tags: @a-tiny-teez @kazusan7yanderekun @eleventhdoctorsangel @sircatchungus

reposted: Diary Entry 01, Beginnings

warnings: yandere, “slow burn”, violence, death and torture, slavery

Previous Part / Next Part

The day itself was no different than any other spring day in Japan. The vast forest gleamed with green and a soft breeze danced through the trees and rattled the leaves. In the depths, the sound of rushing water could be heard, indicating the presence of a waterfall or spring.

And yet, it was still awfully quiet.

No sounds or sights of animals- no heads of reindeers or tails of mountain foxes, not a single bird sat atop the tree branches and not the single chirp of a cricket or the all-too-known hisses of cicadas.

In any case, the air was tense, the spring wind carried gloom and silence. The dense forest did not hide you, but made you feel small and intimidated, vulnerable to the feeling of being stalked like prey.

You were capable of seeing their eyes and malformed shapes, their sights were focused on you, who was sitting inside the decorated carriage, and the men who carried you to the slaughter.

They outnumbered you and the men, they made you easy prey and yet, they did not jump at the opportunity. No, they watched. Although the bodies pushed and squeezed each other, they did not cross your path and in its stead, formed a straight path up the hill- at the top of it and at its end, a massive torii-gate could be seen.

Like a lamb to the slaughter.

Yes, that’s what you were- The make-up, the accessories and wedding hanfu were all a traditional façade, you were not a woman to be married off to a man as the noble customs dictate.

No.

You were a sacrifice.

An unlucky sheep being delivered to the wolf’s den in a ridiculous attempt to save the other sheep.

As the carriage advanced, you couldn’t help but grasp and twist the fabric of the dress. It was shameful, if anything. Your clan was once proud and strong, almost at par with the family that held possession of The Six Eyes. Your parents were proud leaders that had exorcized countless curses and led their fellow shamans to dominate the battlefield.

A terrible encounter would be their doom and leave the [L/n] clan in shambles. Your parents and many other clanspeople fought and lost their lives to the King of Curses. The L/n’s, once vast and powerful, was rendered scarce and vulnerable. Without the support such a big clan provided, your village’s riches run dry and your clan was abandoned by the townspeople. Even when you as the heiress of the Clan pleaded for help to the other great clans in hopes they would honor their alliances held for over decades, they turned their backs on you without a second thought.

What could you, a young woman with feeble grasp of her own inherited technique, hope to do to? In a world where power ruled over all and guaranteed survival, what could you possibly do to prevent your clan from extinction?

How could you ever save the legacy of your dear parents?

It seemed like your uncle, the only closest relative you had alive, had a wonderful idea. "We'll put to use your youth and face”, he had said, “I am sure you can please him, your parents would be proud to see you do anything in your grasp to save our clan. As a young L/n heiress, it is your duty. Bask in pride.”

‘Bask in pride?’ To hell with him, it seemed that he had also forgotten about his sister, your beloved mother, and his brother-in-law. They would never sell you out, as long as you can remember they never pressured you to accept any suitor and they would always express their desire for you to choose out of your own right.

And screw your Uncle’s words, they would rather fight tooth and nail against the whole Jujutsu world than to see you being sent off to the Cursed King himself. Your parents would rather die than issue an alliance with Ryomen Sukuna, the murderer of your clan, through you- their cherished daughter.

However, they had indeed died. They could do nothing to prevent you from your fate and save you from the madness and desperation of your uncle.

‘Mother, Father’, your fingertips instinctively brushed the piece of jewelry that adorned your [Y/n] hair - a colorful hairpin in the shades of [favorite color] passed down to you as a family heirloom - when you closed your eyes, the faces of your deceased parents and fallen clanspeople flashed in your mind.

To hell with your uncle, to hell with the King of Curses.

Too caught up within your mind, you were brought back by a ‘knock-knock’ from the outside wall of the carriage. Your uncle’s voice reached your ears, “We are almost there, [Y/n]. Prepare yourself.”

“Remember, our lives depend on you. Do not do anything stupid.”

You knew well what he meant to say, ‘don’t you dare step out of line’. You can perfectly recall the sting of the palm of his hand on your right cheek when you had first opposed. You were still opposed, you could not hide the truth that reflected in your face. Your uncle was mad, but he was not blind. He was aware of your intentions and the unwavering loyalty you had for your parents and the clan. Their teachings, values and traditions were well rooted within you.

The ascending movements of the carriage came to a stop. Your curiosity willed you towards the window of the carriage. When taking a peak out of it, you noticed a massive, old and strained torii. The color of it had faded and lost itself to time and the wood of it had various cracks that ran through the columns. In spite of it all, it stood tall and its height made you feel even smaller and more insignificant to its grandness.

Past the torii, meters away and framed at the center, was a shrine.

When the lot of you crossed the torii, a massive aura came crushing on you. The tension solidified ten times over, and the air became even thicker than before. Unlike in the forest, there were no cursed spirits yet the cursed energy emanating from the shrine was hundreds of times stronger and fouler.

This was where Ryomen Sukuna lived.

He had to be there, inside.

The gates of the shrine opened on their own as if he were already expecting your arrival. He knew all of you were here the moment you put a foot in that cursed forest. The doors creaked and the ominous scenery lit up.

The shrine was spacious, there were three columns at each side of the hallroom and between the last pair there was his throne.

The veils of the carriage hid you, but you could feel your uncle and his men freeze. You could feel his cursed energy radiating past the carriage walls and veils, directly hitting your skin and making your body tremble. You bit your lower lip and your nails crumbled the fabric even tighter. It would leave permanent creases, if you ever lived past this moment to see them that is.

“Oh, great King of Curses,” your uncle’s voice announced and his body bowed along the remaining clanspeople, “We have come in peace and humbleness with an offer.”

Your uncle could not resist slightly raising his head and taking a mere glance, but once he did, he was quick to redirect his forehead to the ground and sweat began to break all over his body.

At the top of the leading stairs and in a golden throne gilded with skulls sat Ryomen Sukuna, seemingly bored. Even as he sat, his body was huge, and he had two pairs of arms. The lower set held two weapons, a staff and a dagger, which did nothing but aggravate the threat that he was. His top left arm laid on the armrest as his right elbow bent to cushion his cheek. Although his head was tilted to the side and there were no traces of ire or madness right away, his four eyes looked down upon them with disdain. As if he were glancing at a couple of ants.

His eyes were, however, quick to glance at the carriage. Of course he knew what this was about, this was not the first time he was made an ‘offering’. His red irises glanced back to your uncle and the people behind him, oh how he enjoyed the sight of fools bowing to him.

“Bring the carriage forward and back off. I’ll see whatever’s inside for myself”.

His voice was low and thick, Sukuna ordered them around without much more explanation, only with the expectation that they would fill out his command. They were at his mercy, and so, the carriage was carried forward with you in it. Slowly, they lowered it and dropped you on the ground. As they retreated, their forms were still kept bowed and low.

Ryomen Sukuna stood up from his throne, full seven feet or more of stature in display. Strange black markings stretched across his skin. As he descended the stairs, his heavy footfalls thudded the wooden floor, vibrating through the it.

The carriage shook in the ground, you could tell he was enormous and monstrous due to those footfalls of his. With each step, he got closer, and you grew even more nervous.

Sweat began to break from the skin of your forehead, your eyes widened and your pupils constricted, your throat became tight and dry.

‘He’s getting closer, he’s getting closer, he’s-’

The shadow of his silhouette tinted the veils, and suddenly everything around you disappeared. All you could hear and feel was the frantic drumming of your heart in your ears.

You could see in slow motion how his muscled arm came to grab the veil. One by one, his black claws passed through the division of the veils.

‘He will open them any second now.’

Your breathing became ragged and snippets of your life flashed across your eyes. Your parents, your clanspeople, the townspeople, everyone.

You would rather die than betray them.

You prepared yourself and below the sleeves of the damned hanfu, your knuckles turned white.

When Sukuna drew open the curtains, he was met with a pretty sight. It’s not an outstandingly new thing, but a pretty maiden is always a relief to a man’s eyes, even to one such as him.

Dolled up just for him with delicate makeup and luxurious fabrics, a lady with [h/c] hair and [s/c] skin sat on her knees elegantly. Her back was poise and kept, her eyes were closed, displaying long and curled eyelashes.

For a second, Sukuna lost his usual cool composure- he was truly impressed, even though many had come to him in a similar manner.

However, what followed suit was what definitely picked his interest.

The calm and docile demeanor of the lady snapped and her eyes shot open, revealing a pair of fierce [e/c] burning with fury. From the inside of the carriage, she leapt forward to him- to his throat to be precise.

“Oh?” The Cursed King expressed with genuine interest, an eyebrow cocked and all, as he admired your form in the air.

Your hair spread free and wild in the air, like the mane of a lion, and your teeth were bared as a warcry left your red-painted lips. Your left arm was extended and the palm of your hand was wide open, while the other arm’s elbow was bent behind your head. Sukuna was also quick to take notice of the weapon in your hand infused with cursed energy, a familiar one as well, and his eyes widened in further surprise when the cursed energy became so sharp it flashed in red and black.

The corners of Sukuna’s lips picked up, his lips parted in a wicked, toothy grin laced with malice. He ran his tongue over his lips, he could already taste it, the massacre. Your form was getting nearer and nearer by the second, with the naive intent to strike him down.

“I’d rather die than be sold off like a broodmare!”

“You foolish girl, you’ll kill us all!”

The King of Curses held an amused face in contrast to your enraged one, and just when you thought you would be able to pierce and slice open his throat, one of his arms stopped you. Abruptly, and quite ironically, he caught you by your own throat. His hold was strong, immobilizing you completely mid air. Your body halted and trembled, even as you struggled to find air, the object still held your cursed energy and your eyes kept burning with ire.

“Now this is getting fun”, Sukuna giggled as his four eyes scrutinized your form. He found that the way you resisted was pathetically adorable as if he had just caught an insect with the pads of his fingers, one he could squash in less than a second.

“A hairpin infused with cursed energy? Creative, I’ll give you that, but so stupid. You thought you could kill me? With a hairpin? That’s a little insulting to say the least ” His tone was mocking and condensing, his tongue lacing the words with venom. With his hand still choking you, he brought you closer.

He made out the words ‘fuck you’ from your lips, which just made him laugh some more. You raked your fingernails across his arm in agony, trying to tear apart his skin. Such a feisty lady.

The King of Curses made sure to glare at you right in the eyes with false pity as he spoke, “For someone who would rather die, you sure are putting on a pathetic display as you are giving it your all for some air”.

Something about his words resounded deep within you. A truth you wanted to deny yourself in the name of your parents. Everyone died whilst fighting and here you were, the least you could do was join them and honor their dignity!

Your eyesight was getting clouded with dark spots due to the lack of oxygen, but your ears were keen to the following words, “Hmm? You want to live, don’t you?”

Sukuna hummed the words as he was drowning in the details of your bodily expressions as you gasped for a last breath of air. He had taken many lives, some squealed like lowly pigs at the slaughter, others simply gave up, but some put up a fight, or some sort of resistance. Yours was such a case, in which you’d put on a brave facade, acting tough and daring, but deep down you wanted to survive and live on so, so badly.

He could see it in the diminishing fire of your eyes, and how the cinders of fear and regret took over. You were beginning to question yourself, to panic. And Sukuna relished in it, took all in.

“So? What will you---“

Sukuna blinked his eyes and tilted his head downward upon the feeling of someone tugging on his yukata. “Please forgive her, my lord! I am sure she is just nervous, please reconsider it!”, at the level of his feet, the old man that had delivered his sacrifice was clinging to his ankles. His nose was buried in the fabric of his clothes, and Sukuna gagged in disgust.

“Spare her foolishness! I am certain of her capability to–”

“Silence, you fool”.

The voice of the King of Curses dropped decibels lower, lacking any twisted humor and simply on point. His eyes held no emotion but irritation, his face was relaxed but his eyebrows and mouth were lined straight. Sukuna was serious.

His voice boomed through the hallroom, and you heard the way everyone dropped to their knees again. Your uncle hit his forehead on the floor with a loud slap and he shook like a leaf. A leaf to be trampled on.

Sparing you no other glance, Ryomen Sukuna threw you to the side of the room like a mere toy. Your back crashed against the wall and upon impact. Air was knocked out of your lungs once again and you howled silently in pain, unable to produce a sound. Your body coiled in itself as it attempted to reduce the pain, and you coughed furiously.

Your eyes blinked a couple of times, making feeble attempts to open fully- but all you could see was a blurry mist, in which you only figured out the characteristic pink hair and monstrous build of the demon. You noticed your uncle at his feet, without really thinking, you reached out your arm to him and stretched it wide open. It collapsed on its weight. All you could do was watch the tragedy unfold.

Sukuna kicked your uncle in the gut and he rolled back a few steps. He groaned in pain. He had no time to gather himself, for Sukuna kicked him once more. This time, in the ribs.

“You dare barge into my shrine without care, shamelessly bringing up an unsolicited offer. You were an idiot if you thought you would get something out of me. An alliance, or my ‘divine’ protection?” He sneered, “ You are the fool here. At least the girl stood up to fight, coward.”

Your uncle tried to shape words with his lips, tongue and teeth, but all that came up was splotches of blood and saliva.

“Uraume,” the Cursed King called out and from the shadows, a young man made his appearance at Sukuna's side. His odd light-blue locks cascaded down as his head was bowed, and his robes draped over his legs on the floor. His arm crossed over one of his knees, it was evident that he was awaiting orders.

“Yes, my lord?”

“Help me with dealing with this trash. I am fed up with this.”

“As you say, my lord.”

When he raised up his face, a sinister grin decorated his face. He lifted his body off the floor and dusted his clothes, making way towards the poor souls in Sukuna's hall.

“This one's for me to kill, and that girl over there-” the Cursed King pointed at you “- leave her be.”

‘Uraume’ nodded once more and muttered the loyal words. Without further haste, he launched himself to the rest of the people.

You struggled to stay conscious, the dissonance of horror enveloping you, though your senses were waning. The screams of terror, the sickening squelch of flesh and blood, the bone-chilling cracks—these sounds permeated your fading awareness. However, the overwhelming cursed energy in the air compelled you to regain consciousness. As if it kept your body awakened with its sheer presence.

Your tear-blurred vision flickered as you blinked repeatedly, attempting to adjust your eyesight to the scene before you. Regret – instant and churning painfully your heart – flooded your thoughts as you took in the gruesome scenery.

The room was a nightmarish maelstrom of chaos. Blood pooled around lifeless bodies strewn across the floor. Limbs and entrails laid in grotesque disarray. An overpowering metallic stench overtook your sense of smell, assaulting your nostrils with the unmistakable scent of iron.

You longed to turn away, to escape the horrors unfolding before you, but your body remained unable to move itself. You were far too hurt. Wide-eyed and trembling, you observed that many bodies lay headless, including your uncle's.

His severed head stared right at you, a loud but silent testament to the brutality of the carnage. The weight of the guilt sinked deep within you, the cold look on your uncle’s corpse blaming you.

Your shoulders slumped, and despair welled up, but your body lacked the strength even to shed tears. You clenched your fists so tightly that your fingernails dug into your palms, an agonizing reminder of your helplessness.

"God... please," you whispered, your voice a desperate plea in the midst of the macabre scene. The last remnants of your clan, the servants, the soldiers, your own blood—their lives had all been snuffed out.

The once-proud [L/n] clan, now reduced to a memory, stood on the precipice of extinction. You were the sole survivor, a solitary heiress to a lineage of nothingness. The weight of this grim reality pressed upon you, though it felt like mere seconds separated you from joining the departed.

Alone and vulnerable, you embraced grief and awaited death.

"Wasn't that quite refreshing, Uraume?" Sukuna's voice rang out, his presence looming closer.

"It certainly was, my lord," Uraume responded, his words dripping with sadistic amusement.

You remained ensnared in your misery, dry tears long gone, your throat raw from unspoken anguish. As Sukuna drew near, his laughter filled the air. He crouched before you, his posture languid, his gaze filled with a sadistic fascination that thrived in your torment.

“Now, what will I do with you…” A reminder that you were at the mercy of the King of Curses. As he hummed with closed eyes, searching for answer in his evil mind, his clawed-thumb supported his chin as he tilted his head, his other arms resting over his knees. He was unfazed, lacking any remorse or guilt, he was amused. He truly could not care less about what he had done.

“Ah, yes!” he clapped his hands, eyes wide open along with a bright smile. He sought to meet your gaze, but your head hung too low to notice, and without warning, he raised it with his hand. He pinched your chin, puncturing his claws in your (color) skin. Perhaps, it would leave a scar, but that would heal. Unlike your heart, which would certainly have one– a nasty, deep one, for sure. One that would never heal.

Even though he lifted your head, your gaze refused to meet his. Your (e/c) were dull and empty, your eyelids were swollen and you were crestfallen. His red-eyes went to the side. It slightly irked him, he despised the weak and that face you held was the epitome of weakness. Yet, he could put you to greater use.

“Hear me out, girl” Ryomen Sukuna spat. His eyes glinted with malevolent intent, “You haven’t been the only one to come up to my shrine and be offered as a pretty human bride. But I fear there is just no more space in my harem and I have just enough servants… But I am missing a priestess for my shrine, someone to worship me and pray in my name. A human to set as an example for the rest, a shepherd for these pathetic, weak sheep.”

His tone holds mockery and his eyes hold mischievousness, an egotistical and narcissistic abyss that wants to be filled to the brim. He is asking you to strip off any remaining pride and honor, just to serve him.

“So what do you say? Who knows… if you do your job well you might get to live a little bit more…”

The King of Curses looked back to your face, you were bewildered and your features scrunched in disgust. Of course, Sukuna knew you would hesitate, you just need a little pushing around, “And if you don’t accept my kind offer, well, I could just have my fun with you before ripping you apart and ending your miserable life.”

You gulped. The implications of his word, ‘having his fun with you’, it sent shivers down your spine. It could mean anything, and nothing good for certain. You do not wish to die such a horrible death, what choice do you have? Being used by Ryomen Sukuna like a doll would be humiliating and atrocious, but serving him like a priestess would betraying your morals– yet, you’d live.

You would live to see another day.

You grimaced, a silent tear slipping down the corner of your eye, ‘I am sorry, Mother, Father, Uncle… everyone’

“I don’t have all day, girl”

“I accept”

Sukuna’s eyes widened in pleasant surprise as a cheshire grin spread on his face. He chuckled upon your despair, what more could the weak do than take the slightest chance to be spared? If you were stronger, you could have attempted to resist him, but you were not, you were at his mercy.

“Then bow your head to your new god and present yourself”. The sentence came in the format of a command, one so powerful it instantly made your elbows seek the ground and plummeted your forehead below.

“I am [Y/n] [L/n], heir of the [L/n] Clan.”

On the back of your head you felt a sudden pressure being forced, its flat surface made you believe it was one of his feet. “That name…”

The pressure intensified as he sank his foot deeper and rubbed it against your skull, his next words only aggravated the pain “Ah, yes! The [L/N] Clan, yes, I got word I killed two of their most powerful sorcerers, the heads of the clan nonetheless. It made it all the more funny, they were weakling scum. Pathetic really how the remains of their oh so proud clan, barged into my home pleading for mercy and now I have their daughter right at my foot to serve me.” His laugh was loud and boisterous, as if someone had told him the best joke around, his four eyes holding disdain and madness. His laugh continued to echo across the room, before dying down as he inhaled and exhaled, a smaller smile painting his face.

His four eyes looked down at you.

“You are now solely [Y/n], after all, no [L/N] remains… Stand up.” he removed his foot.

He ordered you to stand up and although your knees buckled, you managed. However, you remained your head low, avoiding eye-contact.

“Well, then. You ought to begin, your first task will be to clean up this mess. Leave this place spotless.” He said without a care of the bodies, without acknowledging the value of the lives he had taken. “Uraume, after she finishes give her further instructions, show her how things work around here.”

“As you wish, my lord”. The man with light-blue hair and peculiar robes showed himself again, this time, right by your side but not at the same level, a step in front.

“And [Y/n]- I despise incompetence”. His eyes shot daggers at your form and his voice rid itself of any sarcastic or ‘humorous’ tone, it was a very real threat. You gulped and nodded, bowing your head in an instant, but something about the way he said his words unease you– the gears in your head began shifting rapidly and you were quick to reach the conclusion, for your sake.

“Y-yes, my lord.” You copied this ‘Uraume’ man, and bowed your head further. The King of Curses chuckled.

“Very good, you are a fast learner it seems.”

Without further ado, Ryomen Sukuna walked away along with Uraume, who later came back to toss you cleaning supplies, a bucket of water and a broom and a rag- he disappeared with a twisted smile too, much like his lord.

You stood still there with the broom in your hands as by your feet, the severed head of your uncle kept staring at you. You rolled the sleeves of the ruined hanfu, and began to mop.

[huicitawrites]

I'm alive! And I will resurrect this fic too :)