Roommate!Toji won the poll, so that will be the first fic that I push out. Though it was super close with Incubus!Choso so that will come out maybe next week! Let me know if you would like to be added to the taglist! 💗
tw: yandere, horror, gore, graphic sensory deprivation, some gore. yandere!god!gojo/human!reader. yearning and devotion like you wouldn't believe. objectification? object body horror? gojo's in a very weird situation.
Satoru Gojo as a forgotten god who once protected humankind from curses.
Only, he protected them a little too well - centuries have passed, and with Sukuna sealed away, and curses gone from living memory, humanity no longer has any need of him.
Satoru Gojo who has exactly one "believer" left to sustain him after all this time.
One devotee who cleans out his dilapidated shrine, whose visits break out the monotony and isolation of his defunct existence, whose prayers anchor his frayed mind to this plane of existence.
Darkness had long since surrounded him. Without worship, without people, without any reason to continue his existence -
He's just like another rusted nail in this ancient temple. Old, crumbling, holding up a rotted ceiling that could barely be called a shelter.
A lonely god. A tool with no use. An exercise in futility.
And then you showed up.
You'd be the first to admit it's a sort of creepy shrine.
When you stumble on it, you're sore and exhausted from the hike. The eyes carved into the gate stare down at you; heavy, piercing, boring deep into your soul.
But you had never been very superstitious, and the sun was blazing. You head in, quickly, darting into the shade with a relieved sigh.
Weary limbs cry out in relief as you slump down inside, in the shade. There's still that hot, oppressive summer heat, but at least you're out of the sun.
Lazily, you glance over the interior of the building. It's modestly sized, but not so small as to suggest this wasn't once a frequently visited shrine.
It's seen better days, you're sure. Actually, as soon as you take a long drink from your bottle and sit there a few seconds, the nagging urge to tidy creeps up on you.
There's a broom against one of the walls. A pain - there's no water in it, though - and even some burned away incense at the altar.
Eyes again, you note as you sweep the dust methodically towards the entrance.
They're engraved in wood, with deep burrows in them that you suppose are meant to be pupils. Two, four... six of them, it looks like.
There's dust everywhere in here, really. One day wouldn't be enough to clean all this up, even if you had everything you needed.
Still, it seems a little rude to just leave after rushing in.
You dig out some trail mix. Oats, cranberries - fruit and rice count as offerings, right?
There's no incense, so you awkwardly set a match down in the incense holder and light it.
Hands clasped in prayer, you bow your head, just a little. Thank you for having me. Please let me return home safely.
You should say something nice, too, right? Uhm...
I like your eyes.
Awkward! If there's a spirit here, they're probably laughing at you.
It's a good thing they don't exist! But if they do, they can feel free to laugh, you suppose.
As you leave, you swear the floor is creaking; but it's a light sound, rustic and almost bouncy. Funny.
It puts a skip in your step, and you do in fact arrive home safe.
The darkness had been complete. Absolute. Divine, in its way, surrounding him in perfect blackness so thick he couldn't even see himself.
Perhaps he could have faded away like that. Found peace in the emptiness. Returned to the ether from whence he came; after so long like this, he would have welcomed true nothingness.
It hadn't always been this way.
He had been celebrated, once. A protector of the people. Exorciser of curses. They had sung his name in praise, prayed to him for protection from curses, knelt at his altar and filled it with finery.
But he grew mighty, and the people grew safe. Curses around the world dwindled. The mortals lost their fear, and later, their knowledge.
His power was infinite, but their need of him had not been. Fool that he was, he thought it was a good thing.
As the mortals had trickled away over time, his attachment to this earth had also withered.
And that never mattered to him; not as long as his followers, his friends were there to keep him company.
Even if it was just one person, Satoru didn't mind. He wasn't a greedy god.
But for the mortals, who no longer had any use of him, it seems even that was asking too much.
His friends had disappeared. Slowly, over time, and then all at once. Mortals were like that - fleeting. Eventually all who remained were there by courtesy alone, and as centuries passed, they visited less, moved away, lost interest.
With no purpose, he had lost his power. With no offerings, he had lost his form. When his eyes had been stolen, he had been unable to even protect himself, and lost his sight.
And because no one had spoken to him in centuries, Satoru Gojo could no longer hear -
Until you.
it's just another day for him. if it's even a day at all - it's not like he has any way of knowing. There's no way for him to tell time.
Except, you come.
He hears your thoughts, your feelings, your little worries. He receives your humble offering like weight on a limb that can hardly bear it. A withered tree branch struggling to hold up a budding fruit.
Light as it is, your thoughts, your easy humor is filling.
"I like your eyes" - ha! Millenia ago, he would have howled with laughter at the understatement.
Today? Your inflection, your sincerity, your gratitude despite how little he had to offer...
He feels again. In the darkness, in the silence, with no body or surroundings to speak of, Satoru feels it -
Warmth.
The feeling is gentle, at first, like a quiet acceptance at a gravestone.
It was a nice moment, but the exception to the rule. He had long since understood his fate. Consigned to the void.
Like all the other mortals, you had no use for him -
But still, you returned.
You pass by here often, he gathers. His shrine groans, and he feels it, like old bones shifting underfoot from the new, bustling visitor.
When you lay down a rug before his altar, to kneel on as you pray, it feels like a blanket laid over him.
Your prayers are nothing special. Which is good, because he can't help you anyways.
Please let my boss give me a raise...
I hope the convenience store has the sandwich I like.
Don't let it rain tomorrow... I hate hiking in the rain.
Small, modest prayers, for his small and modest shrine.
But with you lighting incense and leaving rice and wine, he feels his essence gather again.
A candle flickers by his altar, and he finds his breath. And each breath is painful, splintering in his side with each movement... until you peel out the bad planks to put in new ones.
Your repairs are patchwork, clearly done by a novice - but you try. You labor and toil for him, for his empty, worthless, ugly shrine which has nothing to offer you but a smattering of shade.
It's something he would have been ashamed of, once. Being unable to reward your devotion. Generosity had always been in his nature.
For all the good it did. Perhaps that's why they all died out - of all the gods, he was the most powerful, the most beautiful, offered everything to the mortals, and what did it get him? Nothing.
It's silly, now, to feel bashful about his welcome to the sole follower who scampers about his exposed ribcage. To wince at the creak in the steps that raise you up to meet up. To feel his windows flush as you look them over and decide they need dusting again.
He does it anyways. His time in the darkness should have taught him not to hope. It should have cracked him open beyond repair as the mortals drained him dry and left him to rot.
Maybe it has. If you were to scavenge his corpse, if you could be the last in the very long line of mortals who exploited and used him, who picked at his meat until he had truly nothing left... he thinks he'd be happy with that.
But as he is now, it's just so embarrassing. To be in this state.
When you fix up his doors - the paper was yellowed, dirtied, torn, and you replace it with a fresh bright set - Satoru almost feels beautiful.
When had he stopped being beautiful? It's been centuries. The memory of it is gone, the vision - no living mortal has seen his face, now - but he wasn't always this decrepit thing. He'd been beautiful, once.
But he's starting to remember the shape of it. Nourished by a thousand tiny acts of devotion, even if it's just from one person.
As much as it is, he still can't manifest a physical form. Even if he could, he wouldn't; how could he make his grand entrance as your one and only god with so little of his power?
He still can't even see. The god of the six eyes, stripped of his vision. Powerless.
What do you look like, anyways? Are you tall? What color is your skin? Your hair? How long is it?
You're his only follower, after all. It's natural to be curious. The only connection he has to the world, the only company he gets, the only stimulation he has - it's all you. His lifeline in the darkness.
Color disappeared from his world so long ago; he can't even envision it in his mind, but he wants it so desperately.
It doesn't matter the shape or shade. He just wants to see you.
But it's not the only thing he wants. Satoru had never thought of himself as greedy. Starved of contact as he is, devoid of every form of sustenance a god requires, even this little bit should satisfy him.
It only makes him hungrier. You'd given him a taste, shown him what it felt like not to be alone anymore.
It makes him scared.
And with each return, it grew. The terror.
How long will it be before you come back?
Will you come back?
Was this the final time he would encounter you - encounter anyone - and he simply didn't know it?
The thought alone causes him an anguish so severe it's like a physical pain. Electrifying his nonexistent form, searing alarm and suffering into every facet of his being.
There's this one step, the last one your foot touches as you leave his shrine. It feels like a raw nerve.
A glance against it shoots anxiety though him. The candle by his altar flickers, breathless. He cannot see the darkness anymore; his whole world is dark. But he feels it closing in. Suffocating.
This really might be the end, every time you touch that step. Humans don't live long lives, or even safe ones. What if you die on the way to him? What if you get sick and can't come?
What if you stop caring? It's surprising that you've cared this long. He doesn't have anything to offer you.
It would only be natural for you to abandon his shrine. He does nothing for you. He only takes and takes and takes and enjoys your company and effort for nothing in return.
Satoru has never quite wanted to die. And he still doesn't - he wants you to keep coming back.
But if you don't, he truly will go mad with craving of it.
Where are you when you aren't with him?
Family, maybe. Surely not a lover - you've mentioned in a prayer or two; It would be nice to meet a cute guy.
If you just keep coming, he can show you the most beautiful man you'll ever see. You won't want anyone else once you see him.
There's so much he would do for you, if only he could. Even if he couldn't see ever again - if he could just touch - if he could just speak to you -
Satoru tries to curb those thoughts. Excitement comes to him slowly, in inches, weary and unsure after centuries of disuse. After countless instances of being crushed.
Before you, any hope for an improvement in his situation had been met with a long, slow, drawn out defeat.
He'd learned not to dream. But he could not stop himself now, just as he can't stop his endless worries.
How... how long has it been? He doesn't know. Can't tell.
You're... coming back. Right...?
Won't you?
In some ways, it's more agonizing than the emptiness. Waiting in the emptiness, sitting idly in the void.
There are no days or nights in his world. No sunsets, no cicadas crying, not a single thing to observe or interact with.
Every second you're not there. That's all it is. Second by second, instant by instant, drowning in the depths of countless worries. His thoughts are all he has.
And they're terrifying. He tries, now, because he has something to try for, to count the seconds until you come back.
One hundred seventy-two thousand eight hundred fifteen.... one hundred seventy-two thousand eight hundred sixteen....
Seventeen...
Eighteen...
Nineteen...
Twenty...
...
...
Twenty... two? Twenty three?
...
Please... come back soon.
Please... please...
Come back.
It's not worth anything, you're sure. Probably just glass, to be honest.
But as soon as you lay eyes on it in the thrift store, something about it catches your attention. Maybe it's the size - it looks like it would fit exactly.
You make your purchase and head off to your little shrine, almost giddy with excitement.
It's a far hike away from a populated area. No visitors. You have to take a train just to get to the trailhead, and then remember the way from there.
It's like having a secret fortress as a child. Your little project, the tiny safe space you had away from anyone else.
After days and days worth of labor, you've prettied up the interior a bit. It's not craftsmanship, not like the people who must have built this place - but it was well-done, sturdy, and you're proud of the work you've put into it.
It's clean. Everything that's damaged has been replaced - or repaired, where you could.
You pass your cozy little spot by the door, setting your bag and shoes aside in the entryway you built. There's more supplies in the far corner - mid-hike snacks and offerings, included!
Sometimes it's just nice to take your lunch out here and leave out a little food offering at the altar to pretend you're sharing a meal with someone. Talk about your day and all.
The food is always gone, so there must be a mouse or cat or some other animal sneaking in and eating it.
Or maybe there's other visitors... doubtful, though. No one comes along this way. And that's just fine.
Even if you had the money to get someone to come out here to do repairs, it's all the more special to do it yourself, right? Plus, you didn't want to share this place.
Of course, you ponder as you settle beside the altar, it's not as if there's much to share.
The chimes you'd hung at the entrance seem to rattle in disagreement. You've gotten a little eccentric since visiting this place - but that's the fun of it, isn't it?
Superstitions are just made up folklore and nonsense stories. It's far better to make your own little traditions, your good-luck strategies, your relaxing routines.
You take a moment to admire the surroundings. The shrine had a lot of character; inlaid decorations, paintings, faded paint and special carvings in the fixtures.
It must have been well-loved, once. Though it's on the smaller side, and it was suspiciously empty when you got here.
But you'd filled it up - little by little. Just dragging cleaning supplies in here, at first, and then containers and counters to store them.
Then a proper incense holder, and then a pack of them. Then a trash can for when you have to sweep things out. Then the rug, and a chair or two, and some pictures and trinkets to lay by the altar.
A picture of your cat (okay, a few). Your graduation. Some nice photos you'd taken on the walk here. Even a picture of the shrine from outside, once you'd dusted off the exterior as best you could.
Plus an anime figurine from a show you loved, your favorite hair pin, and a very pretty ring you'd found at the thrift shop. Little treasures.
It is your altar, after all. This whole shrine is just for you; you won't deny there's a special feeling to it. Having a sacred place, forgotten though it may be, to call your own. Even if you didn't really believe in that sort of thing.
Just being here, all by yourself, had a calming, meditative effect on you. Or maybe it was the walk here.
You dig through your pouch for a granola bar. Unwrapping it, you stare for a moment, then split off a little part to set on the altar.
Can't let your little friend go hungry, can you? And if there were a god in here, it would be rude not to share.
Speaking of!
You pull the dubious gemstone out from your shopping bag, standing right in front of the intricate, ancient carving.
As you'd suspected - it fits in just perfectly! Right into the carving of one of the eyes, where the pupil would be.
Looking at it again, even if it's just glass, it's a pretty brilliant blue, isn't it?
If you were superstitious, you'd swear it was glittering at you.
You make your pointless offering, your banal prayer, and then - after lighting some incense and carefully sweeping the place again - you leave.
You don't catch the eye blinking at your back.
You couldn't really believe it when you first saw it.
A building with a line through it. Glowing hot. It crumbles, falling down - there's people in there - there's people down there -
Screaming, of course. It fills the streets, loud and harrowing.
People are - it's like -
Like something out of a video game. Guts. Gore. Blood and viscera being spread around.
Their bodies are just flying apart, for - what the fuck is doing it? What's happening?
You back away from the scene, but you hear screams behind you, too. Glancing away from the carnage only to watch a grown man's body crumple and curl up, as if in the maws of some giant, invisible monster -
And there it is.
Massive. Looming. And there's so fucking many of them.
Ravaging the crowds, chasing after people. Men, women, children, running and stumbling and being caught. Limbs lost, only for the person to follow -
You fall to your knees. Heart beating out of your chest.
But you - you can't stop here - there's on nearby -
It doesn't matter, does it? They're everywhere.
A comet, seemingly shooting through the sky, blazes a fiery path into the street.
Not a comet. A person. Red - no, his hair is a faint ink - tattoos everywhere four arms - four eyes -
You think of your little shrine, tucked away and hidden in the middle of a peaceful nowhere. A blue gemstone for an eye. What you wouldn't give to be there now.
This person's eyes land on you, red, vicious, unforgiving. He points a finger at you, flicking, and -
But nothing happens to you. You open your eyes, hesitant.
There's someone in front of you. Clad in white, with pale hair. Standing in the midst of the blood and carnage, completely unbothered.
A strange... aura surrounds him. Like an air of power and weight to the surroundings that warps the space inches away from him, curving the light like some kind of refraction through glass.
"Sukuna," He greets the man like an old friend, "How long has it been? I see you're a little fussy after just waking up."
'Sukuna' snorts. "Still playing the hero, you fool? You're a shadow of your former self."
"Oh," The purr in the white-haired man's voice sends shivers down your spine, "Certainly. But a shadow of infinity is still infinity, you know? Unless you've managed to think of a way to get past it in all that time you were locked up."
There's a sound - words you don't catch - and the white-haired man is next to you all a sudden, hands on you, and you're -
You're somewhere else completely. It takes a moment to look around you - open - open skies? - and below you -
Carnage.
The white-haired man whistles. "Using his domain right away, huh? He really is grumpy."
You cling to him, suddenly filled with a weightless terror at the height. An arm around your waist secures you to him. You're - you don't know how many stories it is in the air but you're level with the tops of skyscrapers.
"Who are you?" You say, throat raw, coughing as you speak.
His eyes, when they lock onto yours, are the deepest and purest blue you've ever seen.
"Satoru Gojo," He says, smiling, glowing, as if he's wanted to say that his whole life, "Don't worry, I've come to save you."
As close as you are, you notice now, in fine detail, the delicate, smooth lines of his face. Elegant, regal, and profoundly lovely.
His skin is clean, unmarked, so impossibly perfect he looks like a doll. Eyes bright and happy to see you. He glows, ethereal, with some kind of inner light.
"GOJO!" An angered shout, so loud that it carries up from what must be ground floor, sounds out.
One of the nearby buildings collapses, and you watch a figure dance up the rubble of it, the impact of its movements splintering concrete like particle board.
Your heart nearly stops in its chest as the figure approaches - Sukuna - like lightning, face full of fury, about to rain down on you -
But he stops still in the air. Sneering in rage.
"Awh," Satoru drawls, his arm wrapping around you tighter, "Looks like you're not doing so hot, either, huh? Not at full power yet? Sure would be a shame if I used my domain..."
Sukuna's face contorts in shock, "And what about your other worshippers? You're going to leave them down there to their fates?"
"Yup!" He chirps, but his smile grows sharp. "I'm only here to save one person."
Red eyes narrow... and Sukuna backs away. "Have your fun then. Next time I see you, you're dead."
"Have fun with that," Satoru sings and Sukuna charges back down into the fray, leveling an entire city block.
"What?" You're shuddering now, even as he wraps another arm around you, gasping as your racing heart slows down.
Satoru's face nestles against your hair. "Oh, don't worry about him. He doesn't have a way to hurt me anyways. And even if he did... I'd just kill him first."
"Then - " This is insane, this is all so insane and make-believe that you barely think about what you say, "Then why don't you?"
He squints. "Do I haaaaave to?"
And those eyes - those eyes - examine you carefully and you get this strange sense of nostalgia, of something.
"What do you mean? He's killing people!" You sound almost as hysteric as you feel.
Instantly, you feel insane for demanding such a thing from this guy, but - everything happening is crazy, too. He'd said that he could, anyways.
"He's killing other people," Satoru corrects, "Not you. You have me. You'll be just fine!"
"Oh my god." Other people. Everyone - down there - they'd been ripped apart like dolls, "Oh my god - you have to do something - Satoru-"
His face twists, mouth turning downwards, "This is the very first prayer you're saying out loud, and you want to pray for other people?"
Something in his voice makes you pause. Not warning, but sheer, unmitigated disappointment. As if he had been expecting something specific from you and been let down.
"Prayer?" The word is almost lost on you. There's a vibration - shock. Shock, you're shaking.
You notice, then, that his arm around you - his whole body pressed against yours - is unusually cold. As if he's made entirely from ice.
Or maybe it's just those icy eyes staring at you, into you.
"I said I was here to save you," Satoru continues. His voice has this strange, echoing quality, rattling around in your head like a melodic hymn, "No one else."
"Why?" The word emerges from you before you can think about it.
And then he smiles again - beatific, gorgeous, something so pure you could almost call it divine, and he speaks.
"Why wouldn't I save you?" His face draws closer to you, breathtaking in its beauty. He nuzzles your nose playfully, "My one and only believer. You're the only person who's prayed at my shrine in centuries."
The shrine. You -
"You thought of me, too," White lashes lower softly over those impossibly pretty eyes, "Of being with me. I could tell... I could see, actually. Because of you."
Your heart is racing, now, so many thoughts crashing together in your head - but an explosion in the distance makes you flinch, brings your mind back.
Satoru hugs you harder, closer, "Let's go home, now-"
Home - "Please," You beg, thinking frantically of where your loved ones might be right now, "My family - my friends - can't you-"
And that pretty face twists again. You feel your heart drop right through your stomach.
"They don't matter," He bites out, vicious, "They've never prayed to me, never visited. I'm not their god, I'm yours, and I don't care what happens to them."
"But I do!" Your hands come up to his chest, clutching at his shirt, "Please! How were they supposed to worship you, they - they didn't even know you existed - "
Your mind completed the thought - you'd never told anyone. You liked the shrine as your special, secret place. You liked having it all to yourself. It was your fault, if anything.
But for the first time, you catch yourself. It... might not be a good thing to admit.
Satoru laughs, "Even if they knew, they wouldn't care. It'd make it worse, even. Until the end, you're my one and only..."
Those eyes seem to glow, shimmer, iridescent - you think you're seeing double, or something, superimposed irises over each other -
"You don't know that," You say, desperately, thinking of the people below, their bodies ripped into shreds like tissue paper, "I promise, I'll bring them to the shrine, I'll-"
"No!" His voice sounds, ringing again through your head, but this time loudly, like a thunderclap, "I don't want them. It's fake, all of it's fake - so many people worshipped me just to save their own worthless little mortal lives. And do you know what happened to me? When I was no longer needed?"
"They wouldn't do that!" Your entire body aches with the strain, as if his words physically compressed you, "I wouldn't-"
"But they would!" Satoru snaps, and it feels like a rubber band stinging in your head, "And I'll be left alone - abandoned - do you have any idea what it feels like? How long I was stuck like that?"
"I don't," You cry, "I don't, I'm sorry, please. Please, just don't leave them to die!"
Those blue, blue eyes take you in for a moment, and Satoru relaxes briefly. For a moment, relief courses through you, and you can't help but sigh.
"No, you don't. You're only mortal. You've known so little in your small mortal life, you think they're important. You've never felt anything like that..."
No... oh, no.
"It's okay," He holds you against him, closer, "I can show you."
Everything goes dark.
It's... it's still dark, now. Nothing has changed. It feels like it's been a while - or, has it been?
You... can't tell.
One one-thousand, two one-thousand, three one-thousand... even counting seconds in your head feels disorienting, inconsistent. You can't hear your own thoughts.
But you know them. You have to know them, right? Otherwise you couldn't be thinking at all right now.
You can't see anything. Or maybe there's just nothing here? It's black, everywhere, in all directions.
It's... which way is up? There's no pull on you, nothing at your feet, nothing on your shoulders, no pressure anywhere or direction that you can tell.
You look down at your hands - there's nothing there.
In fact, you don't even feel yourself move. You try to look left, right - nothing changes. It's like being underwater, like floating, but you don't feel - you don't feel anything.
The numbness is all-encompassing. It's not that your limbs are still; it's more like they're gone completely.
There's nothing there, just empty space. You're no more able to move your own arms than you were able to move the moon in the sky.
If you could feel your heart, maybe it would be racing.
Distantly, terrifyingly, you realize that you haven't even taken a breath. You can't take one.
How - how... does that work again?
It's so familiar - you remember it - air rushing into your lungs, chest expanding, then letting it out -
But it just - it won't come, it's not working, you can't breathe and maybe you don't need to but there's a panic inside you too because what if you never breathe again?
What if you get out of here and you don't know how to breathe? What's happening to your body now? Why can't you feel anything?
The questions rush over you like a flood, overwhelming, all at once. Anxiety fills you like breathlessness would, like the desperate, overwhelming need for air but -
There was - you'd gotten home and. And then that person, Sukuna - and then all that bloodshed, the chaos, and then Satoru and then - and then here?
Was that what happened? It feels like it's been a while. Has it been?
Maybe this is a dream. Maybe you're dead.
Fuck, what if you're dead? What if this is what it is, forever?
"See?" The voice - it's him, you recognize, but the sound of it shakes you, shakes your entire universe, because all you have now are your thoughts.
"This is what it was like. Every time you left, this is what you left me in. This is what the mortals condemned me to."
It's hard to listen, to understand, and yet you KNOW - you FEEL it, so profoundly.
The sound of his voice fills you, fills ears you still can't sense, that you can't tell you even have.
As soon as he finishes speaking it's like your hearing is gone entirely, replaced by a supreme silence, one that makes you question if you heard him at all.
If you just hallucinated.
And then -
And then -
You feel them open. Six of them... six eyes.
He looks - and his eyes define you, fill in your body like the sound has filled your ears. Like you exist because he sees you.
And you realize, suddenly, that you are not inside your body at all.
You are looking at yourself from the outside, seeing parts of yourself you've never seen before -
Satoru blinks, and you feel all six eyes close and open again.
What is this, you cannot whisper, for you have no mouth, but Satoru knows your thoughts.
Instinctively, you know this; that he can hear you. There is no mouth to produce words, and yet they appear in your mind all the same, and you know that it is from him.
"This... is godhood," Satoru answers, "This is my life without you. Before you. They left me to rot."
Even though you can't hear - you just know the words - the bitterness comes along with them, and you feel it like you would your own.
A person you'd done a favor who turned their back to you instead of repaying it. A friendship where you always seemed to make the effort to connect, to show care, to meet up. A relationship of all take and no give. Showing up to a party only to find out everyone had already left.
The wet, heavy, raw-throated rage that had once accompanied different instants is old, festered. Stale.
Every feeling from your memory seems to coalesce into that final word, rot.
Rotted, pilfered, abandoned. You're worth nothing now; you know it deep in your bones. You have no power. No one is coming to help you. You don't even have a body.
"Do you understand?"
The words hit your mind like raindrops. Splattering against your awareness, trickling, sliding along formless surfaces of your consciousness until you can conceive an answer.
He'd - he'd been here whenever you weren't here. And it was because of... mortals? Everyone? There's so much feeling there, but nowhere to direct it; like a dam build up and ready to pour over anything that happened to be in its path.
The weight of it is unbearable. This place is hellish enough as it is -
"And your friends, your family, everyone out there getting torn apart by Sukuna - what did they do to help me? What did they do to help you?"
Nothing. They've done nothing, they could do nothing, they were worthless and weak and they deserved their fate - how could you feel sorry for them when they'd just leave you behind -
Thoughts crowd up, it's all blending together. Twisting, invasive, the words just seep through your brain, steeped in centuries of dissatisfaction.
This - it's people you care about! It's not their fault they can't help you! It's not their fault they couldn't help Satoru -
"Stop saying my name in the same sentence as those other people. You should only care about me. I'm your god."
Yours. All yours, he'd said it before. The god of the six eyes, your precious secret in your little shrine all to yourself, your safe place.
Why should you share him with anyone?
Why should he share you?
"No one else deserves your love. Why love something that does nothing for you?"
That - it wasn't like that - was it? Maybe with some people you knew, but - not all of them - right?
Questions trickle through you, sticky, tacky. It's hard to even muddle through them, to question what's yours, what's his.
And that's the scariest part. Where one begins, where the other ends, it's not clear anymore. Your own feelings, from your own memories, things that happened to you - you know they happened to you - and then -
Shrine gates empty. So many had walked through them, praying for salvation.
Each and every desperate wish had moved your heart; "Please save me," "Protect my family," "I've lost everything."
Of course you should help them. You want to help them. That's the right thing to do -
Empty, now. Bleak, forgotten. Lonely.
They didn't need you anymore. They all left. You're hungry, now. Starving. Wasting away.
They pick at your body like vultures. Peck your eyes away. Leave you in the dark.
It's dark. It's so, so dark.
Dark. Silent. Empty.
You and your thoughts and your grief and nothing else. Memories of a time when you had a life. People cared about you.
To... him? Everything is so overwhelming, so mind-numbingly terrifying, so vast in the emptiness that surrounds you. The body you see in the darkness but can't feel, it looks so lonely, so alone -
Arms that embrace. A chest against your back. Breath returning to your lungs.
"You're everything. You're the reason I'm still here... the reason I can see. You gave me my eyes back."
You slammed your bedroom door so hard the frame shook.
“NOPE. Nope. I’m not doing this today. This is your house now. I'm gone. I’ll mail you my stuff.”
You were practically crawling onto your bed, eyes wide, staring at the door like the spider might try to pick the lock. Blanket over your head, phone clutched in hand, you dialed the one person who never answered nicely.
Sukuna.
The phone rang twice before he picked up with a bored: “What.”
“There’s a spider. In the hallway. Outside my door. It looked me in the eyes.”
“You called me for that?”
“I locked myself in here.”
“…Are you crying?”
“No but I will, Sukuna. I will fucking cry. It jumped. It had shadow. It made noise.”
He let out the deepest sigh imaginable. “Jesus Christ. It’s a bug, not a demon.”
“Says the man with literal demons tattooed on him. Please. Please just kill it. I’ll owe you. I’ll fold your laundry. I’ll—I'll delete that photo of you asleep with your mouth open—”
“I knew you had one, you little freak.”
“SPIDER. HALLWAY. DEATH. NOW.”
You heard him groan on the other end, then footsteps. Heavy, slow, purposeful like he was entering battle—because he was. For you. For honor.
The door creaked open.
“There you are,” Sukuna said lazily.
You flinched behind your pillow. “Is it gone?”
“Still there. Big bitch too. Could probably rent a room.”
“SUKUNA.”
“Relax.” You heard a loud slap. Then another. A third. “Damn, it’s fast.”
A long pause.
Then, “Got it.”
You peeked up. He was in the doorway, holding a crumpled tissue like a badge of honor.
“You’re safe, princess.”
You sagged onto the bed, dramatic. “Thank god.”
“Little guy fought back. I almost had to call backup,” he smirked.
You sniffled. “Thank you for your sacrifice.”
He tossed the tissue in the trash. “You owe me.”
“I’ll Venmo you spider hazard pay.”
He grinned. “Nah, I’m charging interest.”
You blinked. “How much?”
He leaned in, resting a hand on the doorframe. “Dunno yet. Might collect in cuddles.”
You threw a pillow at him.
He caught it, still grinning, and winked. “You’re welcome, scaredy cat.”
rockstar!ryomen sukuna x reader x rockstar!satoru gojo
synopsis: Two rival bands. One sound engineer. Trapped between Gojo’s charm and Sukuna’s intensity, you navigate a world where music is war, tension runs high, and falling for the frontman, or both, could change everything.
a/n: this fan fiction is heavily inspired by @/indiewritesxoxo ‘s no. 1 party anthem series! (which you should 100% check out! it’s such an incredible concept and it’s very addicting. you can find it here)
You’re not sure why you agreed to this. Maybe it was to avoid what happened at the venue. Maybe it was because, deep down, you really did want to go back to Sukuna’s place.
You weren’t sure.
That’s what you were thinking as you sat in the passenger seat of Sukuna’s, admittedly nice, car. Clean leather, deep red interior lights, quiet music pulsing through the speakers like a heartbeat. It didn’t smell like him, not exactly. More like winter air, soft cologne, and something faintly metallic. The kind of scent you couldn’t name but would remember.
He didn’t talk much on the drive.
You didn’t either.
And maybe that was the first thing you noticed, how silence with Sukuna didn’t press in the same way it did with others. It wasn’t awkward. It was patient. Steady. Like he knew the words would come eventually and he wasn’t going to fish for them before you were ready.
When he pulled up to the curb outside a tall, narrow building tucked into a dim side street, he glanced at you, not expectantly, but just to check.
“You good?” he asked simply.
You nodded, even if you didn’t fully mean it.
The inside of his apartment was… unexpected.
Clean. Minimalist. Dark wood floors and black walls, lit only by warm, golden track lights and a single floor lamp. A guitar rack stood against one wall, lined with instruments that looked expensive and well-loved. There were band posters too, some framed, some slightly crooked. Not all of them were his.
He toed off his boots by the door and gestured for you to come in. “Make yourself at home.”
You hesitated before stepping fully inside, your fingers brushing the doorframe like you were trying to get a read on the space through touch alone.
“It’s nice,” you said quietly.
He raised an eyebrow, amused. “Didn’t peg you for someone who’d be surprised by furniture.”
You snorted softly. “Didn’t peg you as someone who dusts.”
“I don’t. My manager sends someone once a month.”
You wandered further in, pausing in front of a set of black-and-white photos hung over the couch. One showed a younger Sukuna on stage, no tattoos yet, hair longer, his mouth open mid-scream. Another showed his band’s first tour lineup, all in sharpie-scrawled t-shirts, sitting on a cracked curb with fast food bags between their feet.
“You look… lighter here,” you said without thinking.
He joined you, arms crossed, eyes flicking to the photo. “I was.”
You nodded slowly. “What changed?”
He was quiet for a beat. Then: “Success. Pressure. Satoru.”
That last word made your chest tighten.
He didn’t elaborate. Just walked to the kitchen and pulled two bottles of tea from the fridge, same kind he always left on your console.
He handed you one.
“Thanks.”
You both sat on the couch, and for a while, the silence returned. He flicked on a playlist, mostly instrumentals, ambient and slow. Nothing flashy. Nothing with words.
“Why’d you say yes?” he asked eventually.
You turned to him. “To coming here?”
He nodded.
You stared at the tea bottle in your hands. “Because I didn’t want to go home.”
“That all?”
You exhaled. “I don’t know. It’s like, being around you is confusing, but being away from you is...”
That earned a small, sardonic smile. “You’re not exactly easy for me either.”
“Yeah?”
He nodded, then turned fully to face you. “You walk into a room and everything feels like it’s about to change.”
You blinked. “That’s dramatic.”
“It’s true,” he said, and there was no teasing in it. “You ask questions no one else does. You make things feel like they’re worth saying out loud.”
You looked away. “Gojo says stuff like that too.”
“He would.”
You turned back. “He’s not a bad guy.”
“I never said he was.”
“You hate him.”
Sukuna’s gaze sharpened slightly, but he didn’t deny it.
“I respected him once,” he said. “Maybe still do, in ways I don’t like admitting. He was the first person who made me feel like I had to prove myself. I used to think that was a compliment.”
You let the silence settle again.
“He’s in love with you,” Sukuna added, like it wasn’t a question.
“I know,” you whispered.
“Do you love him back?”
You didn’t answer right away. The words tangled up in your throat.
“I don’t know,” you said honestly. “I think I did. Maybe I still do, in that way you love the people who grew up beside you. But he’s… he’s always been my anchor. And lately it feels like I’ve been trying to swim, and he’s afraid I’ll drift too far.”
Sukuna’s eyes stayed on you, unreadable.
You reached for something to change the subject, heart pounding.
“Earlier, when you were teaching me guitar, can we go back to that?”
He blinked. “Yeah. You still interested?”
“Sort of,” you said. “It just felt like something I didn’t have to overthink.”
Sukuna stood up and retrieved a guitar, handing it to you with careful hands. It wasn’t the same one from earlier in the day, no, this one was a deep red. It matched his eyes.
You held it like it might break.
“Relax,” he said, moving to sit beside you. “You’re gripping it like it owes you money.”
You laughed. “Sorry. It’s expensive.”
He chuckled and shifted closer, knees brushing yours. “Here. Try this chord.”
You fumbled. He reached around you, one arm across your back, his hand guiding yours into position.
Your breath hitched.
His voice was low, barely above your ear. “There. Feel that?”
You nodded, unable to speak.
He didn’t move away immediately. His hand lingered on yours. His presence wrapped around you like gravity, quiet and impossible to ignore.
You didn’t move.
You couldn’t.
His breath was warm on your neck. His arm still draped lightly behind you, steadying the guitar, steadying you. You weren’t sure when you’d started leaning into him, or if you had at all, but suddenly the space between your bodies didn’t exist. It was like the air itself had shifted, grown heavier, slower.
“You’re holding your breath,” Sukuna murmured.
You exhaled, shaky, caught.
“Sorry,” you whispered.
He tilted his head just enough for his temple to brush yours. “You always apologize when you get close to something.”
Your fingers tensed slightly around the fretboard. “Close to what?”
He didn’t answer, not directly. His hand ghosted down your arm, knuckles skimming your wrist as he took the neck of the guitar from you and gently set it aside. His other hand landed on your knee, barely touching, just enough for your breath to catch again.
“Maybe it’s not the guitar that’s making you nervous,” he said, voice quiet but deliberate.
You met his eyes.
It was hard not to.
In the soft light, his expression was unreadable again, but his focus was unshakable, like everything about him was wired for intensity. He didn’t look at people, he looked into them.
“I don’t usually do this,” you admitted, voice low.
He gave a slow nod. “I figured.”
You laughed once, awkwardly. “That obvious?”
“Only to someone who notices,” he said.
His hand slid just a little higher along your thigh, resting there with purpose. Not pushing. Not testing. Just letting you feel him.
“Sukuna…” you said, unsure of the rest.
“I won’t rush you,” he said quickly. “If you’re not sure, just say so. I don’t need the wrong kind of silence.”
But you weren’t unsure.
That was the terrifying part.
Your whole body felt like it was strung on a wire, every nerve humming. You weren’t afraid of him, you were afraid of how easy it was to want him. How easy it was to forget the rest of the world existed when his voice dropped to that tone and he looked at you like nothing else in the room mattered.
“I’m not confused about this,” you whispered.
A pause. His gaze sharpened just slightly.
“Then what are you confused about?”
“Everything else.”
That made him smile, small, crooked. But real.
“Good,” he said, leaning in closer until your noses nearly brushed. “Let everything else wait.”
And then he kissed you.
Not cautiously. Not testing the waters. It was deliberate and slow, confident in a way that left no room for doubt.
His mouth was warm, more grounding than dreamy. Where Gojo’s touches always felt like flirting with gravity, Sukuna’s felt like being claimed by it, steady, certain, unmistakably real.
You opened to him without meaning to, lips parting as he deepened the kiss. One of his hands moved to your waist, the other brushing your jaw, holding you still like he didn’t want to let you drift.
You pulled back slightly, just enough to catch your breath, to feel your pulse in your throat. “This isn’t complicated for you?”
He shook his head. “It could be. But it’s not. Not when you’re here.”
You swallowed.
“Then take me out of my head.”
He didn’t need more than that.
In a fluid motion, he leaned back into you, drawing you into his lap, your knees bracketing his hips on the couch. The guitar was forgotten, pushed somewhere behind you. His hands slid up your thighs, then under the hem of your shirt, thumbs tracing slow, grounding lines against your skin.
“Tell me if you want to stop,” he said against your throat, even as his lips pressed there, open and slow.
“I’ll tell you,” you breathed, your hands curling into the fabric of his shirt.
“You’re shaking,” he murmured, though it didn’t sound like a question.
“So are you,” you whispered back.
That got a laugh out of him, a low, warm sound that vibrated against your collarbone. His hand moved higher, palm splaying across your back as he pulled you closer.
Then his mouth was on yours again, hungrier now. Like something in him had snapped once he knew you wanted this too. His teeth grazed your lower lip, and you gasped, heat licking through your body at the sound of it.
You didn’t know when your hands started tugging at his shirt, or when his fingers found the waistband of your jeans, but suddenly you were drowning in sensation. His body against yours. His breath against your skin. His voice, low and wrecked, murmuring things you couldn’t even process as his mouth moved along your jaw, your neck, the curve of your shoulder.
“Sukuna,” you whispered, the word barely holding shape in your mouth.
He looked up at you, eyes heavy, pupils blown wide. “Say it again.”
You did.
You said it again and again as the couch shifted beneath you, as his hands mapped out your skin like he was memorizing you, as the last of the distance between you disappeared.
And by the time the room had settled again, clothes discarded in a lazy trail to the floor, your body aching in the best possible way, there was only one thing you knew for sure.
You hadn’t just gone to his apartment to forget what happened at the venue.
You had come here to be seen.
And Sukuna?
He had seen all of you.
You woke to quiet.
The kind of quiet that felt unfamiliar, not the cold stillness of your own apartment, not the background hum of an empty venue. This silence had weight to it. Warmth.
You didn’t open your eyes at first.
There was pressure against your back, steady, strong. A forearm draped loosely over your waist. The slow, measured rise and fall of a chest behind you. You were still tucked under a blanket, curled up in a bed that wasn’t yours. The scent of tea, cedar, and that faint metallic note from last night lingered in the air, now mixed with something warmer. Skin and sleep.
Sukuna.
Your stomach twisted, not with regret, but with the soft jolt of realization.
You’d stayed.
You’d fallen asleep in his bed. In his arms.
And he hadn’t let go.
Carefully, slowly, you shifted your arm and reached for your phone on the nightstand. The screen lit up with a low glow, casting blue light across the room.
It was past ten.
You blinked.
Two messages at the top of your screen made your stomach drop:
[10:07 AM] Ijichi (Venue Manager):
Hey. You and Ryomen were scheduled for load-in yesterday—everything okay?
And then another, from someone else entirely.
[9:46 AM] SATORU:
Thought you said you needed space.
Guess I just didn’t realize who you wanted space with.
There were several more messages from him, all scattered across the night, each one a little softer… and a little sadder.
[11:12 PM] SATORU:
You’re not answering. That’s fine.
I just wish you’d tell me when things change.
[11:24 PM] SATORU:
I keep wondering when I stopped being enough.
When did you stop telling me things?
[11:46 PM] SATORU:
Sorry. That wasn’t fair. I’m just—
I don’t know what I’m doing either.
[12:03 AM] SATORU:
Forget it. Pretend I didn’t say any of that.
[12:19 AM] SATORU:
I hope he makes you laugh the way I did.
Or better. Maybe you deserve better.
[12:47 AM] SATORU:
I keep checking my phone like an idiot.
Why do I do that?
[1:03 AM] SATORU:
I miss you.
Even when I try not to.
[1:26 AM] SATORU:
I’m going to bed. Don’t worry. I won’t message again.
You swallowed hard, pulse tightening behind your ribs. You turned your phone screen over, pressing it to the mattress like that would erase what you saw. Was satoru drunk? Why would he message all those things to you? It wasn’t like him at all.
Sukuna stirred behind you, it ripped you out of your thoughts. 
His voice was rough with sleep, deeper than usual. “You okay?”
You didn’t answer right away. He shifted slightly, pulling his arm back and propping himself up on one elbow to look at you.
“You’re tense.”
You gave a soft, humorless laugh. “We missed rehearsal.”
His brow furrowed. “Shit. I didn’t even set an alarm.”
You shook your head, not angry. Just… overwhelmed.
“I’ve got like five texts from Ijichi,” you added. “And a few from Satoru..”
That last part came out quiet.
Sukuna didn’t say anything. You looked over your shoulder at him.
He was watching you, awake now, his expression unreadable again. His hair was mussed and falling into his eyes, and there was a crease on his cheek from the pillow.
He looked human.
“What did he say?” Sukuna asked, voice steady.
You reached for your phone again and turned it around so he could read only the first message.
Sukuna’s jaw ticked just once. “Of course.”
“He’s not wrong,” you said, softer than you meant to. “I didn’t tell him anything. I didn’t even tell him I was with you.”
“You didn’t owe him that.”
“Maybe not,” you admitted. “But I owed him something. A conversation. Honesty.”
Sukuna leaned back, resting against the headboard. His voice was quiet now. Careful. “Do you regret being here?”
You looked at him, and you hated that you didn’t have a quick answer.
“No,” you said eventually. “That’s not the problem.”
“What is?”
You sat up, pulling the blanket with you, suddenly too aware of your bare shoulders, of his sheets, of everything intimate and raw that had been left behind from the night before.
“I don’t know what I’m doing,” you admitted. “With any of this.”
Sukuna nodded once, like he’d been expecting that.
“Do you want me to drive you home?” he asked.
You hesitated, then shook your head. “I don’t want to go home. I just… need to think.”
He stood up then, grabbing a hoodie from the chair in the corner and slipping it on. “You can think here.”
You glanced up.
His voice had changed, less clipped, less guarded. A little gentler.
“I’ll make something,” he said. “You eat eggs?”
You blinked, surprised. “Yeah.”
“Cool. Don’t go ghosting on me while I’m in the kitchen.”
A faint smile curved your lips. “Not planning on it.”
He disappeared down the hall, and the sound of cabinet doors and the hum of a stovetop filled the silence he left behind.
You sat there for a long moment, the smell of coffee starting to drift into the room, mixing with the warmth left in the sheets beside you.
It was quiet again.
For the first time in days, it didn’t feel like running. But how come you couldn’t stop thinking of Satoru?
this could work for bf! satoru or snow leopard! satoru but i feel like he'd be REALLY into omorashi... stay with me here.
idk how he discovered that he was into it but GREAT GOD ALMIGHTY 😫
just imagining him curled up into you quivering out of desperation. you have a steady hand on him (conveniently placed where his bladder is) to hold him in place. poor thing has tears in his eyes, just begging you to let him go already (but we both know he doesn't mean it)
satoru has never looked more gorgeous to you
he's more than capable of overpowering you to leave and properly relieve himself, but god, does it feel good to be at your mercy (or rather lack of )
his desperation just gets worse the closer he gets. he just NEEDS to relieve himself somehow, so he proceeds to beg you to have your mouth on his. this time around, you decide to be a little nice and listen to his pleas. and god he just melts.
It's so damn messy, but neither of you can get enough of it. satoru is drooling everywhere and moaning into it. idk how, but he managed to sound even cuter than before.
neither of you care to pull back for air, and the lack of it gets to satoru's head as he feels a wave of warm and pure bliss wash over him.
or maybe it was something else........
YEAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH GRAY I NEED TO KISS YOU SUPER ULTRA SLOPPY STYLE HOLY FUCKKKK I'M GONNA GO WITH OUR LITTLE LEOPARD AGAIN BC FUCCCKKKKKKKKKK IT'S SO FUCKING HOTT
18+ mdni; snow leopard!gojo x gn!reader + piss kink
sitting on his big thighs, you jerk him off with your one hand while the other presses down on his bladder. he squirming, his hips can't stay still underneath you and he just looks so pretty like this. he throws his arm over his face in desperation and your heart swells at the sight of his exposed neck. purple and red marks litter his marble skin - they look like they belong there. he's whimpering and mewling like the baby that he is and he loves it so fucking much.
"need to go. i really– need to go." you can hear the pout and it makes you want to push him even further. the tip of his cock is so fucking pink and swollen, pre-cum leaks from the slit and your mouth salivates at the thought of taking him down your throat. his tail thumps and swings in the air from all of the excitement and his fuzzy little ears twitch uncontrollably.
"yeah?"
you sound so mean and he fucking loves it. you're not concerned abt him – no, no fucking way. you want to push him further and further. you want to break him. you swipe at his leaking slit with your thumb and watch his fangs sink down into his plump lower lip. his hips lift a mere inch from the bed but you push him back down with ease.
the leopard peeks from under his arm, his teary eyes observe you as you punish and torture him with a toothy, proud grin. the slick sounds from your hand steadily pumping him fill the room alongside with the mewls that keep bubbling up his throat.
the pressure in his stomach keeps getting stronger and stronger and he knows he really can't hold it in any longer. his slender fingers wrap around your wrist, gently pulling at you to get your attention.
"please– fuck. i can't– i can't hold it, i'm sorry." oh, his eyes are so beautiful like this. his flushed cheeks are stained from the tears that have already spilled from the corners of his eyes and his lips wobble so desperately.
"don't be sorry, baby. just go."
he can't tell whether you're joking or not, but he's getting so fucking close that he really doesn't have the time to figure you out either. you tighten your fingers around him and shimmy yourself down his legs, bending yourself closer to his cock. never taking your hand from his lower stomach, you slowly but surely add even more pressure on his bladder to finally convince, to force, him to let go.
his fingers dig into your wrist but he doesn't push or pull – he's making sure that you won't take your hand off of him. his eyes are even wider now, his curiosity is eating him alive. what do you mean by 'just go'? he watches your smile stretch even wider, even further, as you rest your head on his thigh. your breath fans his dick and he shudders at the sensation. fuck, he really can't hold it anymore.
tears spill from his lashlines, his pretty angel eyes, and you press a kiss to his base. you feel him twitch in your hand, you feel his tail whip at your back. he can't control it. he's about to burst.
more pressure. his eyes roll back into his head and his ears twitch again. you squeeze his tip and kiss down his sensitive balls.
"i— "
he has never sounded this broken. his breath hitches in his throat and his nails are beginning to leave little dents in your skin. his other hand finds your cheeks, but it doesn't stay there. his fingers push through your hair until they stop at the back of your head, pushing you closer into him. your nose brushes at his soft skin and fuck – he feels you smile against his balls. he can't do it, he can't do it, he can't do it.
"give it to me, angel."
his eyes finds yours just as your lips part and wrap around his swollen tip. he can't look away. his balls contract as he stares at you. his face is red as a tomato and he's panting as if he's about to fucking die.
he is about to die. your mouth is so warm around him, your tongue is so wet and this whole situation is just too fucking much. you lower your head and bury him deeper inside your throat. saliva drips from the corners of your mouth and his hips buck up, making you gag on him so deliciously.
when you try to pull away, the hand resting on the back of your head stops you. humming around him, he bucks his hips again. his head lolls back onto the pillow and his back arches – he looks gorgeous. pressing further down on his tummy, you prepare for what's coming.
his tail thumps fervently beside you and his whole body twitches. a broken moan spills from his lips and warm liquid fills your mouth and throat. tears form in the corners of your eyes from the suffocating feeling but you surpress the need to pull away. you want him to feel good. he's your baby after all.
you press down on his tummy a little more, intent on getting every drop out of him. he feels so good, it feels like heaven. you feel like heaven, your mouth. the sight of you only makes him more insane – your own tears, the spit and piss trickling from your lips. your eyes. they twinkle up at him, so determined, so focused on taking care of him.
you gag again and tap on his thigh to let him know that you need air and he immediately removes his hand but keeps it on your cheek as you pull off of him with a loud gasp. piss dribbles down your chin and neck and satoru thinks he's going to pass out. you take a deep breath in but waste no time diving back in. he caresses your soft skin as you wrap your lips around him once more, letting your mouth fill with the liquid again.
he's so fucking in love with you.
everything is so messy. piss soaks the bedsheets below him and spit coats his heavy balls. a bead of sweat rolls from his temple and his hands shake. his fuzzy tail wraps around your middle as you drink him up like he's the only thing that could satiate your thirst. taking your hand off his tummy, you bring it down to his balls. you massage and fondle them only to watch your big cat sink even deeper into the bed. your smile widens as you kiss his tip and the underside of it, making him curse under his breath.
"you're so cute, baby."
your purred out words immediately go to his lower stomach; another kind of pressure builds and grows – the knot tightens with every kiss and every lick and every touch and every breath. he whimpers at you, his eyes big and glassy. his lips are parted and you catch sight of his sharp fangs.
wrapping your hand around his cock again, his whole body jolts and you tease him with a laugh. you squeeze at his base and tongue his sensitive slit – you know he can give you more. you take the tip back into your mouth and take him down your throat while jerking him off at the same time. all it takes is a steady pace and a tight grip and your mouth is being filled again. thick and sticky cum floods your throat and you swallow as much as you can; some of it still escapes your soft lips though – a mixture of spit and cum and piss coates your lower face and satoru thinks you look beautiful. moans fall from his lips like a waterfall, he's not even trying to hold back. it's not like you want him to do that anyway. you're just as greedy as he is.
you give him a smile and then he's already pushing himself up from his position and pressing his lips against yours. he can taste everything and he can't help but moan into your mouth. you pump him lazily as you let him suck on your tongue like a good boy. he paws at your skin and you know he's hungry.
he's fucked out and he's exhausted but he'd be nothing if he didn't take care of his baby the way you take care of him. it's your turn now; you let him mark you with his scent and taste and he can't wait to let you do the same to him.
one wears a crown and the other seems destined for chains and dungeons. but whose to say which one you'll end up in - or with?
synopsis: from his playmate to his personal servant, you've spent your life pining after the pretty prince. until you're reminded just how misplaced your affections are for a man whose meant to marry another. so you do what any other sane person would do, sell off his possessions and slip out of his palace in the dead of the night! how far will he go to get you - and his stuff - back to his bedroom? and to keep you there, as princess or prisoner?
pairing: prince!Gojo x maid!Reader x bandit!Sukuna
content: mdni, angst and smut, medieval fantasy au, VERY DUBCON, YANDERE GOJO, collaring, jealousy, unprotected piv sex, EXTREMELY unbalanced power dynamics (master/pet), very messy relationships and emotional entanglements, heavy yearning/pining, oral (m! + f!receiving), murder, torture, manipulation, threats, drugging (we put sleeping pills in his tea lol), literally chained to his bed guys ok he's INSANE and EVIL, codependency, kidnapping, branding, manhandling
Satoru Gojo liked you best on your knees.
Scrubbing some stain his drink left behind, brows knitted together on the task at hand. Your work dress sprawled on the floor, your ass sticking out while you strained to wash the wood grain clean. Your breasts would bounce with the force of it, cleavage threatening to spill from the thin cotton barely holding them in.
Sure, his office aide protested the costs of getting a custom uniformed tailored and made specifically for you - but you were the prince's personal maid. You should stand out.
"You missed a spot."
And oh, how pretty you looked pouting over your shoulder at him, biting on that bottom lip before replying softly. "Sorry, Your Royal Majesty."
"How many times do I have to tell you to call me by my name?" He murmured, leaning down, but not to get on your level. No, it was meant to remind you of it. You were beneath him. His property to do with as he pleased.
It wasn't that you'd done something to deserve it.
He was just born better than you. Better than everyone.
You didn't speak, just nodding, that familiar spark in your eyes like you were desperately seeking his approval before you let your head hang low.
"My apologies again," You murmured, hesitating to let the next word fall from your lips. "Satoru."
Honestly, he'd prefer master, but you might do something foolish if he insisted on it too soon.
He wasn't exactly patient.
But he was trying to be for you.
To break you in slowly, mold you into the perfect shape he wanted before he made you snap.
Was it his fault your adoration was so addictive? Those big eyes you'd give him? The shy glances you'd steal? Obediently following his every request and anticipating the ones he hadn't even ordered yet? Cutting his food into cute shapes and adding extra salts to his bath after particularly grueling training sessions?
He used to think you were like a lost puppy. Your parents worked in the kitchen, and you ended up exploring the palace most days when you were both younger, following him around starving for whatever scraps of attention he'd throw at you.
It was annoying when you were six and he was seven. But no matter how spoiled he was, he knew better than to kick a hungry dog. They could bite. So he allowed your company, your devout compliments and bright smiles while you clung to his side. Growing up with you as his shadow.
He wasn't sure what changed - or even when.
Just that somewhere along the way, you both grew up - and he was the one chasing your tail.
From your first confession that you'd be starting work in the scullery despite barely finishing your schooling, he scoffed and snatched you up to work in his chambers instead. It was awkward at first. He was barely a man, and you were meek in your little maid outfit, but your clumsy fingers still worked to fasten the buttons on his outfits and fix his bathwater every morning, just as attentive as his servant as you were as his friend.
It'd turned into something more once you were adults. Unable to hide the attraction, and why should he? You'd been his since the first day you tugged on his sleeve and called him Toru. It only made sense you'd end up sharing his bed and crying his name out now.
He'd been keeping your leash tighter lately, insisting you wait on him during his meetings, despite your protests that you needed to clean his chambers and prepare his things during the day.
Nonsense.
He was your duty. Your god, really.
To be worshipped and waited on.
His word was the law. What was the point of being a prince if what his words weren't worth their weight, if his orders weren't absolute?
"I want strawberries," He hummed, watching your shoulders briefly stiffen, before you nodded again.
"I can go pick some from the garden," You immediately offered, before swallowing hard and correcting yourself, standing up slowly and readjusting your dress so you looked a little less like a hired whore, pulling up the front to cover your breasts more. "I'll go now."
That was power, wasn't it? Three words and you were rearranging your entire day simply to satisfy his whim.
"Come here," He murmured, and you obeyed.
Scampering over with those fluttering lashes, a permanent glimmer of hope glittering in your eyes when you tilted your pretty head up to look at him.
"Yes, Your-" You blushed, cutting yourself off and fumbling with your hands. "Satoru?"
His ego could sustain itself just on the way you pronounced his name alone, the hesitant way it pitched up at the end, the intimacy in each syllable, soft and sweet.
Satoru wanted to swallow you whole - refuse to spit you out even if meant you'd suffocate.
His hand traced down your side, settling on your waist before squeezing you there. You melted into his touch the way you always did, never stopping for a second before molding yourself around him.
"Don't take too long," He murmured, not particularly caring if you did so he'd have a reason to scold you later. To watch you whimper while you tried to make up for it. Preferably underneath his body between the sheets. Stain it enough that you'd have to spend tomorrow cleaning it with the reminder of what you were washing away.
"I'll be back soon," You promised, your stare lingering on his lips like you wished he'd kiss you goodbye.
He leaned down, grazing his mouth ever-so-slightly against the edge of yours, gracing you with the closest he could come to being gentle. A ghost of a peck to satisfy you.
Couldn't you see how kind he was?
Your prince could be a cruel man.
He didn't mean to be.
Maybe it was in his nature.
Cold to the rest of the world, an icy exterior masked by grand hand gestures and bright smiles, neither ever reaching his sharp blue eyes. Commanding a room like the world was just at the reach of his fingertips, there for the taking, all too aware that your world revolved around his every word.
He was magnetic, had been since the first second you saw him, pulling you in with one look, one touch. Plucked you out, preserved you like you were a perfect flower to admire instead of a poor thing to pity in comparison to him.
You weren't oblivious to his favoritism.
You reveled in it.
Happy to be his fool if it meant his eyes wouldn't stray, happy to pine for being put in your place if he was the one on top of you, unhealthily attached to attempting to be the center of his life too, pathetic or not.
That was love, right? Or the closest you could afford to come to it?
He assigned you a role - you played it to the best of your ability. He gave you a task - you did it without a question.
Satoru had been born to rule. You were born to serve him.
So you slung the woven bag over your shoulder, shielded your eyes from the sun and started out towards the overgrown garden path to the strawberry patch behind the palace.
The heat was oppressive, sweat already pricking at your forehead within minutes, your dress clinging to your chest and the hem collecting dirt and grass stains as the stepping stones turned to gravel and weeds.
No one else was there, the kitchen probably too busy preparing lunch for anyone to be collecting ingredients under the sun.
You'd barely made it through filling half your basket before you heard the crunch of leaves, your head snapping over in the direction of the woods nearby, squinting through the thick patch of trees.
But then a hand grabbed your shoulder, turning you around to see an angered Satoru. He was wearing his crown, standing out on top of his shaggy white hair, the gold metal glinting and all the little jewels nestled inside it glittering in the light.
You blinked, unable to breathe until he huffed and held out his arm. It took you a second to see what had irritated him so much.
The coat you picked out for him this morning had a small rip in the sleeve, something only a trained eye would notice. Or a particularly vain man obsessed with the tiniest details devoted to his appearance.
"How am I supposed to show up to a meeting with this?" He frowned, but you knew better than to actually answer.
Let him groan and give you his list of grievances, listened to him moan about the merchants he had such important business to discuss with despite the fact he'd called them imbeciles when you were in bed together the night before.
"Are you mad at me?" You spoke quietly, swallowing hard as you stood there awkward and stiff.
He scoffed at you, rolling his eyes as he held up the frayed stitch.
"I want this fixed tonight," He curtly said, taking off the jacket and tossing it at your chest. "I'll just have to go without it."
The snarky part of you that you usually had to shut down whispered that it was too hot for him to wear a coat anyway. That he was searching for something to complain about.
"I'll fix it," You echoed him, carefully draping it over your arm so you didn't have to meet his scrutinizing stare.
"Get the chefs to prepare a fresh pastry with those for when I finish talking to those morons," He demanded, looking down at your basket with disdain.
"Okay," You murmured, embarrassment coiling in your stomach, slippery snakes of it slithering around and sinking deeper in your gut at the feeling of failing him.
Satoru bent down, hardly an inch away, nose grazing against your ear as he brushed your hair back.
"I'll expect you on your knees when I return," He dryly instructed.
It wasn't a whisper.
If anyone was around, they'd have heard. But Satoru had never given a shit about your reputation, or the murmurs of his other staff.
He'd probably tell the entire palace you were sleeping together if someone showed the tiniest sliver of interest in you.
Satoru didn't wait for you to say anything.
Turned on his heel and walked away, not paying attention to the vines, flattening a stray strawberry under the sole of his shoe, a mess of red mush left behind.
You turned your attention back to the bushes, bending back over to pick a few more strawberries, to give yourself something else to think about.
Another twig snapped, and you glanced back up, expecting Satoru to be returning with something new to say, but it wasn't him.
Instead, it was someone you were sure you'd never seen before.
You certainly would remember a man who was somehow even taller than Satoru, broad and bulky, shoulders and arms that were strong enough to probably crush a grown man in a headlock. Pink hair sticking up, a few leaves stuck to it from being in the forest, a deep set scowl etched into his face, but it was the amusement in his eyes that pissed you off.
He was tattooed too, thick black lines and strange symbols you were unfamiliar with on his skin.
Some sort of magic, maybe? A mage from the wizard's tower also here in business?
No, Satoru would've told you about something like that.
"Who are you?" You defensively asked, holding your basket close to your chest as if you'd actually be able to protect yourself if he chose to do something.
"Just a nobody," He casually shrugged.
"I meant your name," You insisted, more than a little flustered at the focus behind his stare. It wasn't that it was purely physical, but rather measuring, weighing some quality you couldn't discern.
"Do you know anyone's name other than his?" He hummed, a hint of genuine curiosity there.
Irritated by his not entirely inaccurate assumption, you started to turn, to pretend he didn't exist, but he wasn't about to let you.
"Still, it must be nice," The stranger whistled, long and low, greedy eyes searching you up-and-down.
"Excuse me?" You huffed at him, throwing the last couple ripe strawberries in your basket and glancing around the empty garden.
"To have someone as pretty as you to toy with," He shrugged, one corner of his mouth curling up as he jutted his thumb in the direction your prince stomped off into.
"I'm not a toy," You mumbled, looking down at the plants growing by your feet, the smashed strawberry he'd stepped on without a second thought.
"Does he know that?"
Some people might think sweeping floors and stitching his clothes might mean you didn't have much dignity, but you did those things for your prince.
He picked you.
"You're rather rude," You commented. He didn't seem to care, stepping closer much faster than you'd think someone as big as him could, cornering you before you had the chance to scamper away.
Up close, with him hovering over you, you could admit (to yourself alone) that he was rather attractive, strong and sharp, albeit in a wildly different way than Satoru was.
You held your breath, waiting for what would come next, but he just snatched the gold pin off of his Satoru's coat, something that had to cost an absurd amount of coins.
He dropped it in his pocket with a clever smirk.
"You're a thief," You accused, heart beating too fast in your chest, pulse pounding in your ears. Men like him made a living off of stealing from the rich, royal or not, filling their own pockets instead rather than give back to the poor.
"You're a pet," He remarked with the same sort of contempt.
"If you're trying to call me a bitch, I'd prefer you just say so," You snarled back.
"You wanna go rat me out to your master?" He murmured, making fun of you straight to your face. "I'll wait."
You should. Start running while he was giving you a head start. But some piece of you refused to move. And you weren't sure what was making you so reluctant? Resentment?
That couldn't be it.
You loved Satoru.
"Just leave," You muttered under your breath.
He laughed at you for letting him go.
"If you ever get tired of your cage, come to the guild at the edge of the village down there," He leaned in the same way Satoru had, but this was a mockery of it. Still, you weren't sure which one of them was threatening you and who was flirting with you. You didn't think you wanted to know.
His breath was cool against your warm skin, taunting.
And then he pulled away, the moment slipping past so quickly it felt almost as if you imagined it.
You watched him disappear between the trees, but the encounter refused to leave your mind the rest of your day, stuck on the still image of him with that stupid pin for the fleeting second it was between his fingers before he pocketed it.
Stitching up the sleeve until the tear was unnoticeable two hours later while the palace chef finished making Satoru's favorite treat, well, second to you. Would he notice the pin was gone? He had to.
What were you supposed to say?
Oh, it must have fallen off?
Satoru was too smart to buy that.
You were still anxiously mulling over it when you were balancing the silver tray and his coat on your arms, slowly making your way down to curving halls and confusing inner labyrinth of rooms to Satoru's chambers.
Was it good luck he wasn't back yet? Or did it mean his meeting was running long and he'd be in a foul mood by the time he returned to you?
You had barely sat the platter down on his polished nightstand and hung his coat back up in his closet when you heard the creak of the door handle.
And a good dog waited with its tongue out.
You spread your skirt out around you, hands in your lap on the ground and mouth open to form an apology before he even fully opened the door.
But he was already talking, saying he was starving just to shut up once he saw you sitting as he requested.
"Sweetheart," He purred, obviously pleased, but more with himself than you. He looked down at you as he approached, cocking his head to the side with a smug grin. "Such a good girl for me, huh?"
"I fixed your coat," You confirmed, sheepishly avoiding his stare like that would cover up your blush. "And the chef has prepared your snack."
"What if I changed my mind?" He teased, grabbing ahold of your chin and tilting your face up to look at him.
Automatically, you opened your mouth like a puppy waiting for a treat.
He clicked his tongue, chiding you with a soft chuckle. "Patience, princess."
You hated yourself for how much you liked him calling you that.
For pretending for even a second that you were more than just his maid. Or at most, a poorly paid concubine.
He dropped your chin, walking a few steps over to check his jacket. Running his fingers over seams to double check your work. You held your breath, waiting for him to notice the absent pin, but he didn't.
Just hummed his approval and walked over to the tray, lifting the lid to snag his dessert before dropping it with a clang. He draped himself across the closest armchair, long legs spread out and taking a bite of his treat, groaning at the taste. He indulged in every little luxury available to him in life with the same enthusiasm, his crown now askew and crooked on his hair.
You watched him from across the room. Studied the strawberry sticking to his lips, painting them a dark shade of red that reminded you a bit of blood.
He caught you staring, a charming grin spreading across his face before he licked the strawberry off.
And with his free hand, he tugged his cock free from the confines of his pants, already hard, thick veins running along the outside as he stroked the base, readjusting to get more comfortable.
"Well?"
You supposed that was your treat.
Palms pressing against the floor, you were about to push off to stand but then he made a soft scolding sound that stopped you in your tracks.
"Crawl."
You had done worse for him. Would do worse. But for the first time in your relationship, unease had slipped through the cracks. Disgust. With yourself, mostly. That you'd put yourself so far underneath him that you were already crawling to him.
Even though it hurt your knees. However humiliating it was to hear him chuckle at you slowly making your way to him.
And once you were close enough, you were wrapping your mouth around his cock, sucking slow and soft at first, lapping up every drop he had to offer you. Taking what he gave without gagging.
Letting him bully himself deep in your throat, his tip practically bruising the back of it with how hard he was shoving it in. Groaning and grabbing a fistful of your hair to guide you how he wanted.
He kept bumping up into the roof of your mouth, your breathing getting cut off every few seconds, barely able to keep your hands in your lap to stop from steadying yourself on his thighs.
It made your jaw ache, whining a little when your tongue pressed against his vein and it throbbed, desperate for him to cum already.
By the time he did, you were close to tapping out, your mouth about to lock up when you felt his abs tense and he moaned your name, warm cum hitting the back of your throat. You swallowed what he gave you without a question, the slightly salty taste lingering on your tongue even after he pulled out, dragging his leaking tip over your lips with another soft laugh.
You still waited for him to tell you to move, knees surely bruised from the hard floor, one of the few spots in the room without plush carpet.
He took his time putting his cock back up, wiping the last drop of his tip with his thumb and popping it in your mouth, waiting for you to suck that clean too.
Once you did, he fixed the band of his pants as if none of it had even happened, pulling a small box out of his pocket and smiling at you so sweet you could almost forget about what happened in the strawberry patch earlier.
"Close your eyes," He instructed.
You swallowed hard, but did what he said anyway, all your senses on high alert when you couldn't see anything.
"Here," He murmured, something cold slipping around your neck, light on your skin. You reached down to grab it, eyes immediately fluttering open to find a pretty gemstone glittering in a fine silver setting. It wasn't large, but it was obviously worth more than a year's worth of your salary - maybe even two. It caught the light in a strange way, reflecting it back oddly as you examined it between your fingers. "A token of my appreciation."
The stranger was long gone, but part of you couldn't help but wish he was here so you could rub it in his face. See?
Your prince appreciated you.
No one else you knew received gifts of any kind from him.
Much less a nice necklace like this.
He reached down to pick you up by your waist, pulling you up onto his lap, grinning at your giddiness.
"I suppose you like it?" He hummed.
"I love it," You murmured, impulsively craning your neck up to kiss his cheek.
He pushed your hair off your shoulder, pulling down the sleeve of your dress to return the kiss, his lips tender on the bare expanse of your skin.
There was a pause, a silence the two of you rarely had, where you felt more like a couple than a master and his servant. Where you could be in his lap and enjoy his lips without thinking about how badly you needed him to need you.
"I wish it was always like this," You breathed, touching the gemstone, admiring the glittering blue as his lips made their way up your throat.
"Me too."
A new rhythm had been established. You tried to reason with yourself that your relationship with Satoru was sustainable. Waited on him hand and foot and went to every length imaginable to keep him content. And he had sex with you every night like he wasn't. Like he wanted more.
Fucking you in front of the mirror just to watch the necklace he'd given you bounce, laughing when you blushed or tried to hide your face.
But there were moments where you wondered about the man you'd only met for a few moments. Sukuna.
You knew why he lingered on your mind.
He just said the quiet part of your relationship out loud. The fact you forced yourself to forget every morning before you got out of Satoru's bed. That you were more like his pet than a person.
Convincing yourself that somehow you'd chosen that path.
What were your other options?
Go work for pennies doing hard labor? Your only real skill was taking care of Satoru.
There was no guarantee you'd get treated better anywhere else.
So yeah, you weren't trying to snoop. Just struggling to focus when you stumbled across a letter sticking out of Satoru's drawer.
And come on, the jarring words marriage proposal right next to coronation were pretty eye-catching no matter how nice the cursive they were written in was. You dropped your rag. Fingers trembling as they traced over the neat lettering.
Your prince was no longer yours.
He was to be engaged to a princess in a neighboring territory in a matter of months. And rather than a dowry, he'd get their kingdom.
How long had you known it was coming for it to still be a shock?
There was nothing you could do.
You had no power. Hardly any money.
Once their princess knew about you, how long would it be till you were disposed of too? Discarded so he could have heirs?
Maybe moved back to the scullery where you were always meant to be, probably to be ostracized and made an outcast once he'd officially thrown you away.
It wasn't like you had proof any of that would happen.
But even the possibility that it could was too much for you.
Anxiously, you reached up to fiddle with your necklace, only to stop the second your fingers closed around it.
It didn't have a damn thing to do with appreciation.
This was appeasement.
He'd known about the letter.
And still had kept his mouth shut. Didn't say a word about the fact he was supposed to marry someone else.
You shoved his letter back in his drawer, jealousy and disgust simmering inside your stomach like it might burn straight through you.
It held you in place, every muscle too tense and taut to move while you tried to stop yourself from hyperventilating, from crying or screaming or punching something.
"What are you doing?" Satoru's voice startled you, and you snapped out of it.
"I dropped this," You answered, bending over to pick up the rag you'd nearly forgotten about.
Before you could, something hard was pressed against your ass, a firm palm sliding over your side to cup your breast with a chuckle.
What you wanted was only a means to what he wanted.
Would you be thirty-something some day with nothing to show for your life but calloused hands and cold baths? Or would he kick you out the day you were no longer some pliable pretty thing to bend and twist?
You didn't want that.
And maybe, you didn't want him.
Not if this was what it meant.
Sukuna was an asshole.
Maybe the one man who could rival Satoru's cockiness.
But when you showed up knocking on a shady building under only the light of the moon with an potato bag filled with expensive pieces of jewelry and coins Satoru had left lying around, his closet and drawers pilfered for valuables he'd forgotten about, Sukuna just smirked and told you where to put it.
It was a heat of the moment mistake.
Something you normally never would've done. But treason wasn't exactly a simple thing you could walk back.
And Satoru would certainly see it as that instead of just thievery.
"Can you get me across the border?" You murmured, anxiously looking back at the door as he sorted through the treasures you brought him. The gift you'd been given was in the stack, the blue stone glittering at you more like a taunt.
"What? Are you scared or something?" Sukuna scoffed, barely sparing you a glance.
"I just don't wanna be around when he wakes up and realizes I'm gone," You quietly answered, picking at the nails you bit down all afternoon. "And that I took all of this with me."
"I doubt he'll notice," He grunted. "He'll forget about you once there's some new maid in a tight dress taking care of him. People like us are replaceable."
He was right and wrong. You might be replaceable - but Satoru would remember. Especially if he felt scorned.
Which, you were fairly positive he would, considering you impulsively slipped sleeping aids (plus an extra dose or two) you usually took in his nightly tea instead, making sure he stayed asleep so you could steal his shit.
You swallowed your pride to meet Sukuna's harsh expression, the hardened frown and rocky exterior.
"Please."
He stared at you, squinting at little before sighing.
"Fine," He grumbled, giving in before you even had to beg too much. Throwing the necklace that had been around your neck two days ago into a pile of stuff to be sold. "A merchant boat is leaving for the south tomorrow morning. Hope you're fine being a stowaway."
It couldn't be worse than being a servant.
He knew something was wrong when the sun woke him up.
No gentle fingers brushing through his hair or soft voice calling out to him through his dreams. No feet scampering around his room to start his bath, no food waiting for him beside his bed. No you.
He gritted his teeth, ripping out the tracking scroll he'd never suspected he'd actually need to use from his bedside drawer, a magic map of the palace and nearby village roughly sketched on the parchment. The latter was marred by a single glowing dot, hovering over where the market usually was held in the mornings. Your necklace must be there - so you had to be too.
Perhaps it was self-absorbed, but the only conclusion he could come to was you wishing to surprise him with as gift on your meager salary. Maybe his gesture had moved you more than he expected.
He'd still have to scold you for leaving without his permission.
But he'd be lenient this time.
He was about to place it back in his nightstand, but the letter about his proposed marriage caught his attention, immediately scowling at the sight of it.
As if he'd actually let himself be married off in some political sham of a union.
He'd rather take their kingdom with blood. None of it was his own anyway. It was a numbers game. Who was willing to sacrifice how many bodies before they ran the risk of losing their head.
The letter might as well be a white flag. Offering up their only daughter because they were terrified of him?
He didn't need her or them to take his father's throne.
It was already his.
So why have a wife when he had you?
He sighed, swinging his legs off the bed, grimacing at how heavy they felt, leaden and body still thick with sleep, every movement a drag.
His head hurt, a dull migraine blooming behind his eyes and hitting him hard the second he stood, forced to sit back down on the edge.
If you were here, he'd be demanding you fetch the apothecary to concoct him something to fix this awful headache.
The faint irritation burned brighter as he laid back down, glaring at the door as if it'd make you walk through it faster. The only thing that made him feel any better was the thought of waiting on him, pressing a cool compress to his forehead bathing him with your hands when you got back, imagining pulling the sick card so you'd be forced to pamper him and feel bad you'd left him like this.
But maybe he'd take a nap first.
You'd surely be back by the time he woke up again.
You didn't know what happened first. Falling out of love with Satoru or falling in love with Sukuna.
The feelings were tangled up in each other, twisted so you couldn't exactly separate them.
Three months without Satoru felt more like a millenia. Each day was your own to dictate.
The first few weeks were weird.
Strange to wake up without a million tasks ahead of you, to crawl out of a stiff and unfamiliar bed or sleeping bag, to survive off stolen foods and dressed in different clothes you pilfered from suitcases and from staff.
You were supposed to part ways with Sukuna at port the ship you'd stowed away with him on docked at.
But after the time you'd spent together, awkwardly picking together the pieces of his life and offering slices of yours, he'd begrudgingly taken you with him to meet the other members of his guild. They operated under the cover a different one - disguised to orchestrate an entire underground market of stolen goods.
You never expected any of them to welcome you in.
Yet they did anyway.
Instead of being tossed back onto the street, they offered you a room to stay in. Helped you create a fake identity and set you up waiting tables for extra coins in the tavern that they met in the backroom of. And when Sukuna showed up at your door grumbling that he was supposed to go on another trip, you surprised yourself by asking to go with him.
He surprised you more by taking you with him.
It was strange in itself.
He'd been, well, clingy lately. Still standoffish and stoic, brusque every time he talked to you, but he never strayed too far from your side, no matter how strained his expression was.
So you tried to play it cool the first time you felt his hand settle on your shoulder, the weight of his arm heavy on your frame. Pretended to be normal about it when you leaned into his sturdiness.
You thought you'd be protected by Satoru.
But you never knew what safe felt like until you were with Sukuna.
He didn't have a name to back him up. Or the type of money to bail you out. But people steered clear when he was around, shrinking back before he stepped anywhere close to them and listening to everything he said the first time he snarled it out.
You liked to study his face when he was sleeping, all his features still stiff, frowning at whatever his dreams brought, only relaxing when you curled up against him, an arm wrapping around your waist to pull you in tight enough you couldn't escape.
The sun was starting to poke out from above the canopy of the trees, shadows casting across his face when you tried to squirm out of his grip.
"Don't be a brat," He muttered, squeezing you tighter.
"We should get going," You whispered.
"Fuck," He grunted, groaning as he started to sit up, still not letting you go.
The day continued the same. A hand on your waist. His mouth brushing against your ear when he spoke to you. His hip pressed into your body.
The village you stopped at was small, wary glances thrown your way when you walked into the only place that served any food in town for travelers passing through.
Sukuna managed to convince someone to lend you a room for the night with a few coins, grabbing bowls of some stew that would at least be warm, dragging you back in and double checking the door was locked before putting the food down on the rickety wooden table.
You ate slower than usual, too busy scrutinizing every flicker of his face.
"Stop starin'," He grunted, shoving a spoonful in his mouth before you rolled your eyes and glanced out the window instead.
It was pretty here, all sorts of plants and greenery you'd never seen before, white flowering shrubs and small pink weeds among the mossy grass. It looked like something out of a storybook you used to steal from the palace library, hiding away in the corner just to stare at the pictures of, pretending Satoru was the prince in the fairytale.
You felt your lips twitch down into a frown, the way they always did when you thought of him.
Was he busy wedding planning? It had to be happening soon.
Or had he forgotten about you already? Moved on?
A part of you that you were ashamed of hoped he hadn't. Hoped he wished he'd loved you more when you were around, or that he'd yearn for you long after you left. It was selfish and incredibly stingy, but you couldn't help it.
You'd been avoiding any news about the kingdom you left behind, cringing and walking away whenever you overheard someone speaking of it, turning a blind eye.
But you saw him sometimes, in your memories disguised as dreams, where he'd hold you and make more promises that meant nothing.
But he was your past.
And a much larger piece of you had started to think of Sukuna as your future.
"Are you thinking about him?" Sukuna broke the silence.
"What?" You looked back at him, blinking back shock.
"Your prince," He spat the word out like it left a disgusting taste on his tongue that wasn't just from the stew.
"Only that I'm glad I left," You shrugged it off, looking back out the window.
In just a few short months, you'd seen more of the world than you had your whole life. And it was a lot fucking bigger than what was inside the castle walls.
Sukuna had handed you a map a couple days ago, asking you to pick a place for the two of you to travel to next after you mentioned how exciting you found all of it. Being with him included.
"Yeah?"
It seemed he was just full of surprises lately. Because in a few short seconds, he was pushing his chair back with a creak, crossing the short distance between you and bending down to kiss you.
You were once again reminded how little he was like Satoru.
This was starving, filled with a hunger, a fever that Satoru's lazy kisses lacked. He had kissed you like he had all the time in the world. Sukuna kissed you like there wasn't nearly enough.
Sucking on your bottom lip and cradling your cheek, tugging your hair while murmuring your name. Hard and soft and everything in-between.
You weren't fully aware how you ended up on the bed, too distracted by the heat of his palms on your skin hiking up your dress to notice until your back was on the mattress, the frame whining under your combined weight.
"Sukuna," You breathed, about to ask him to roll over so you could do what you'd done so many times for Satoru, but then he was on his knees, peeling your little lace underwear down your legs. "W-what are you doing?"
You could feel his smirk against your skin when he tailed kisses up the inside of your thighs.
"Taking care of you."
He was two days from losing his damn mind. Or maybe it'd been gone from the moment he realized you were.
Months. It'd been months and he still hadn't found you.
Satoru had searched every inch of the palace personally. Commanded a task force to look for you, scouring through homes and ransacking businesses.
The tracker in the necklace only lead them to a goddamn trash can.
You'd throw away his love for you just like that.
Too bad, really. Because he couldn't do the same to his affection for you.
You just needed to remember how much he'd done for you. How much he loved you. Because once he had you again, he wasn't letting go.
Surely, something had driven you away. Or someone has convinced you to leave him.
There was no way you'd do it on your own.
Stealing his fucking stuff and drugging his tea?
His pet wouldn't dare.
So who the fuck had gotten to you when he wasn't paying attention? Who dared to sneak in and slip free your leash right under his nose? He'd be sure to return the favor.
He was chasing another lead, following the trail of a criminal who allegedly was known for distributing stolen goods in black markets. Satoru had to personally torture a pompous prick of a merchant to even get that much information.
As if there was someone actually scarier than him.
He honestly thought it'd be another dud until Ijichi stopped the carriage to give the horses a break and he stepped out to see his scrawny driver chatting with some disgustingly dirty locals.
They didn't know who he was, although he guessed they would soon enough when he inevitably took over their pitiful excuse of a land they still had the audacity to call a kingdom.
"Have you guys seen a man? Around my height? Pink hair? A beautiful young woman with him?" Satoru called out, refusing to step down into the dirt and gravel and mess up his shoes.
"Oh, um, sure, a day or two ago," One of them quickly replied.
"You're sure?" He frowned, squinting at them like he could discern whether or not they were lying.
"I mean, he was a bit taller than you-"
The first one elbowed the other to shut up before interrupting, "They were going that way."
He thanked them, plastering on a polite smile before slamming the carriage door shut behind him.
Perhaps you hadn't left him to rot and care for himself. You hadn't just deserted him.
You were probably kidnapped.
Waiting for him to come to your rescue.
His princess wasn't in a tower though, no, you were in bed.
Another man's head - between your thighs.
Squirming around while his hands clawed at your hips, your fingers tangled in his hair, tugging him and chasing your climax. What sounds were you making? Moaning and whimpering for someone else like a whore?
He watched through the window, unable to move. Stuck on the way the man's tongue slipped over your cunt, how you cried out when his mouth wrapped around your swollen bud.
Anyone could see you if they passed by. Not that you seemed to care. Too busy getting serviced to be aware that you were putting on a show.
Those pretty lips of yours were gasping for air, open and sucking it in when you should be sucking him off. Not in this rundown village letting some street scum taste your precious pussy. He didn't give a shit what rusted heirloom those morons ransacked and ruined. Except for stealing you.
His prized possession was priceless. Although, he was sure he'd find a way to make them pay.
And your punishment?
Well, it'd be more personal.
It wasn't Sukuna's arms you woke up in.
Body sluggish and sore, but when you tried to open your eyes, it was only black. After a few panicked seconds you realized someone blindfolded you. You guessed by the lingering exhaustion in your body, you'd been drugged too.
You called out to Sukuna, but the only answer you got was the creaking of carriage wheels and the crunching of gravel beneath them.
It took you longer than it should've to figure out what happened through your broken and hazy thoughts.
Satoru had come back for you.
Probably used the same trick with the tea you used on him, maybe paid someone to slip it into your food or drink at the place you'd been staying at.
He wasn't there. But you recognized the voice of his typical driver when the carriage stopped to feed the horses.
The trip to return you to the palace was unpleasant.
Confined to small spaces for most of it, always locked up in handcuffs or blindfolded even during the voyage back. Barely being fed enough to go on, offered scraps that were never rotten enough to make you sick, but foul tasting.
It was particularly humiliating to be paraded back through the village handcuffed, lead back through the main street as some new cruel punishment, sketches of you still stuck to building with the word missing scribbled at the top of each one.
You guessed they'd have to rip those down now.
For two days, you were bound and gagged in some rat-infested dungeon in the depths of the palace. They tried to nip at your feet, only dissuaded by your week attempts to kick with your ankles still tied in rough ropes.
Listening to someone being tortured down the hall, unable to make out much in the dim candlelight, only pray that it wasn't him.
You supposed it was probably time to start praying for yourself too.
"My poor pet," A familiar voice cooed, a shadow crossing in front of the bars while you shivered. "Look at you."
Pathetic. Definitely dirty and disgusting. Dirt sticking to your skin and twigs probably still tangled in your hair. The only baths you got lately had been getting doused in freezing salt water.
And then in the low flickers of the candle, you saw him, your stomach churning at just how clean he was. As perfect as the day you left him.
It wasn't pity in his eyes though, it was excitement. Amused to have his plaything back, even if it'd almost been broken.
"They want me to cut your hands off," Satoru sighed, pausing for dramatic effect, watching you flinch and shrink back, not that you could move much.
You tried to make a sound, muffled and weak. You'd beg him if you had to.
He knew it too.
"But even though you betrayed me," He murmured, making sure the word felt like a stab, guilt piercing through you as he mulled over an offer. "I'm still willing to pardon you."
You waited for the catch you knew was coming.
He unlocked the door to the cell, pushing it open with ease, striding over to where you were curled on the ground. Satoru clicked his tongue in disappointment at your sorry state, bending down and grabbing your chin to tilt your head side to side, shaking his head at the way your spit had soaked through the gag, the tears pricking at your eyes.
And even though somewhere in the back of your mind that he put you here, he still was framing himself as the hero plucking you free from it.
"There's one condition," He murmured, slowly pinching the thick fabric to loosen it before pulling it down from your mouth to hang around your neck.
For a second, you had the grim thought of a noose, a fleeting moment where you could do nothing but hope Sukuna was spared from whatever they had previously planned for you.
You didn't even mind if he sold you out if it meant that he made it out of this safe.
"What?" You croaked, voice raw and raspy.
"You won't ever leave the palace again."
It wasn't as bad as you anticipated. You expected him to be angrier, more upset with you for abandoning him.
"Okay," You mumbled, accepting his terms.
You probably should've thought harder about that.
But then he was pulling a knife out from a sheath on his thigh, cutting your restraints and freeing you before you could take it back.
You stilled, not entirely convinced he wouldn't cut you you too, but suddenly you were being lifted from the floor, cradled against his chest like you were his bride instead of a burden.
This time, you were spared the indignity of an audience when he brought you back to his chambers.
Your roles reversed as he prepared a bath for you, insisting that you have a sip of tea and nibble on a snack already waiting on a table for you. The water was warm when he ushered you in, scrubbing your skin clean and washing away all the grime, feeling raw by the time he finished. Smelling like his soap and shampoo as he worked his fingers through the knots in your hair. He poked at the scrapes and bruises left on you, sighing like a parent admonishing a child before he finally picked you up out of it and used a towel to dry you off.
The new knowledge that he'd always been capable of taking care of someone stung. You supposed he never had any interest until you were no longer there.
"I'm sorry for lea-" You awkwardly started in a low whisper.
He shushed you.
You didn't know how to act around this new him. How to be the new you when your body was begging you to give back into his hands as he dressed you up. It wasn't your old uniform.
It was barely even clothes.
A thin and sheer dress that left little to the imagination, clinging to your cleavage and short enough he barely went past your ass. The fabric was more expensive than anything else you ever wore, reflective when the sun shone on it through his oversized windows.
"I don't think I'm going to be able to fetch much for you in this," You tried to joke, hesitantly looking up at him. There was a wild look in his eyes there hadn't been before, something you only noticed now that you were so close to him. The unsettling thought occured that maybe it had always been there, but you were too lovestruck to pay it any mind.
"You won't be fetching anything," Satoru casually said, fixing the strap of your dress and guiding you over to his bed without even elaborating.
"What?" You blinked.
"You said you wouldn't leave," He shrugged, like it shouldn't be a surprise to you.
It was only then you noticed what was new in his room.
A thick iron chain now clasped to his bed and at the end, and sitting on the pillow you used to rest your head on, a fucking collar.
You froze.
"What do you think?" He innocently asked, moving your hair way from your throat with a soft hum. "Made this one just for you. Bet it'll be a bit harder to throw this one away."
You were wrong.
Satoru was pissed. Just hiding it behind his pretty face, his practiced friendliness.
His fingers traced a line down your arm, goosebumps raising with his touch.
"What will it be? You wanna stay with me? Or go back downstairs?" He murmured, pressing a soft kiss to the edge of your shoulder. As if downstairs didn't actually mean dungeon.
What scared you wasn't your answer. But how easily you made it, how much of you was still attached to him, how of a hold he had on you that a few stray touches and the purr of his voice had your thighs squeezing together.
"You."
He just laughed.
You let him lock the collar around your neck.
Thick fingers skimming over your much thinner skin, feeling the tendons go taut as you swallowed hard. There was the loud clink of the chain, the heavy metal immediately weighing your head down the second he stopped holding it on, settling uncomfortably on your collarbones. Reflexively, you reached up to touch it, panic setting in at being confined. Feeling around for some weak spot, touching the lock just for your stomach to drop at the realization there wasn't any escaping this.
Willingly, you walked into your own cage.
You were trapped.
Condemned to the same room you'd spent years of your life coddling him in. Where you supposed you'd be serving your time in, despite your lack of a trial.
You'd been sentenced to a life of a different type of servitude.
Maybe it hadn't set in, but you still couldn't stop yourself from looking up at him like he saved you. That you'd loved Satoru before. You could convince yourself to love him again. After all, hadn't he done this just to have you?
"This was what you wanted. Right, sweetheart?" He hummed, caressing your cheek softly.
A growing numbness had started to harden over your heart, nodding slowly as your hand dropped down to the bed, glancing around to see how long the chain was. It looked like you could probably make it through to his attached bathroom, but the door to the hall was too far away. What did it matter when stepping foot outside would mean getting arrested again?
He tugged on the chain, making you jolt forward with a gasp.
"Just gonna be us now," He promised. "Always."
"I thought you were getting married," You heard yourself mutter, still not entirely present, a little detached from the reality it felt like you'd been dropped into the second the collar was locked around your throat.
"Where'd you hear that?" He cocked his head to the side, amused by the hint of jealousy in your words.
You clamped your lips shut, unwilling to admit you looked through his stuff.
He chuckled at you anyway, stroking your hair like you were just some stray he'd taken in.
"Don't worry, princess," He mocked. "You don't need to think about anything anymore. There was a proposal, but I rejected it."
"Why?" You whispered.
"Unlike you, I wouldn't throw what we have away for a stranger," He wryly replied, another pointed jab that succeeded in making you feel like shit.
Should you feel guilty?
What really was there to throw away?
"I'm sorry," You murmured anyway, barely managing to meet his accusatory stare.
He waited for more, for you to beg or cry about it.
But the only tears you had in you weren't for him.
"Was your family upset with you?" You asked instead. "Or did any of the lords give you trouble?"
"Sure, but I killed them," He shrugged, as if he said something so simple - "I mean, some of the useful ones are imprisoned, but still-"
He saw the way your mouth fell open, panic-stricken but painfully aware there was no place in this palace or outside of it to run to. Not that you were sure you would even if you could.
"Don't be scared," He dryly chuckled, dragging a thumb over your cheek. Soft. Unscarred.
"Your parents," You started to sputter.
"They were problems," He condescendingly corrected you.
You reluctantly dragged your stare up past his eyes, only now realizing the crown atop his head was no longer the same one as before.
No, it was bigger, crafted for a king.
Your prince had overthrown his father for the throne.
There was no one above him now.
And it didn't take long for you to get used to being underneath him again.
Time slipped away from you, the days dragging by when you were confined to the bed most of the time, the collar making moving too much inconvenient and uncomfortable. All you had to look forward to was him.
Growing accustomed to him holding you at night, following whatever schedule he saw fit and falling back into old habits. Picking out his clothes and drying his hair for him, cleaning his room just for something to do on the days where he'd leave you there for hours. You still had yet to have sex, but you figured it was just a matter of time.
What he was waiting for, you were clueless.
It hurt your feelings more than it should've, guilt chewing on your self-esteem, eating away at it. Did he think you were dirty now? Tainted?
You were just now realizing how much more there was to him you were completely unaware of.
He hadn't exactly forgiven you, but he was pretending to. Kissing you like he used to, holding you in the same places, just stopping short of heavy petting.
The idea he'd killed his one family was taunting you, how easily he spoke of it, like it hadn't affected him at all. That he'd done it all in your name.
As if it all was some act of devotion.
What haunted you more was how flattered a sick sliver of you found it.
Listening to him describe in detail while he brushed and styled your hair one morning, as if he was discussing lunch plans.
"They did have a point," He hummed, carefully sliding a pin into place.
"What?" You swallowed hard, the collar shifting and irritating your skin while you studied the makeup products he'd bought for you scattered across the counter.
"I do need an heir," He sighed.
The implication was obvious.
He couldn't be serious.
You were chained to his fucking bed. A prisoner in a pretty dress. A peasant compared to him. There was no way he meant-
"You'd be safe in here," He murmured. "No one would be able to touch you or the baby."
"Satoru," You quietly spoke back, trying not to sound too against it without letting him know you didn't want a fucking baby to destroy the already fragile relationship you'd been attempting to rebuild with him.
"Master," He corrected you, and you felt ill.
It was too much.
"What?" You breathed, waiting for him to say it was a joke. That all of this was. That his parents would walk in with a cake and he'd take the chains off and you could all laugh at you for falling for it.
He pulled something out of his pocket, a small ring you recognized as his mom's. You didn't say a word when he slipped it on your fourth finger.
For some reason, it felt heavier than the collar around your neck.
There was no proposal. Just mutual understanding of what it meant.
"I got you something else," He changed the subject, leaning down to murmur in your ear. "Get on the bed."
You were just glad he didn't ask you to crawl, but you weren't sure what to do once you climbed back on, ending up sitting on the edge. He was quick to readjust you, pushing your stomach down on the mattress and ass in the air, unmoving while he tied your hands behind your back.
Part of you questioned if this was it, if he was finally going to fuck you or if this was just another punishment disguised as foreplay.
Satoru walked to the door - and left.
It felt like he was gone forever, but it was more like fifteen minutes when you heard the hinges creak, turning your head to look at him.
He wasn't alone.
Sukuna was behind him.
Your heart shattered. All the thoughts you'd been burying, all the hopes you'd been holding onto crushed by the cuffs around his wrists and ankles, barely able to even take steps forward, Satoru happily holding the chain to tug him in.
He dragged an armchair over, pushing him down in it.
"Did you miss him?" He asked you, waiting for your reply with those feral eyes that you'd begun to fear.
"Sa-" You stopped yourself, voice shaking as you tried to find the shred of courage you had left to protect Sukuna, pushing aside whatever sick and twisted feelings you still had for Satoru. "Please don't hurt him, okay? He didn't do anything. Everything was my fault."
"He touched something that belongs to me," Satoru spoke so calmly, but you couldn't miss the hatred in his voice. He walked to the side of the bed, bunching the slip you were wearing up past your ass to where your hands were bound. Nudging your thighs further apart just to slip his hand between them, rubbing his palm over your panties. "Tasted it."
And then he pulled his hand away, walking back over to Sukuna, grabbing his strong jaw between his fingers and forcing it open.
You really almost threw up.
He cut out Sukuna's tongue.
What was there looked excruciating, a still-healing wound that must've happened days ago. But Sukuna didn't react, didn't offer him the satisfaction of it, his face set in a familiar disdainful state.
You couldn't speak. Weren't sure what you'd even say if you could.
There was no sorry that would give him his tongue back.
"What do you think, pet?" He mocked.
Something damp was on your face, but you couldn't even wipe the tears away. Hands straining against their restraints, wishing you could break free for even a moment to touch him one last time.
"You said I shouldn't think," You reminded him, a poor attempt at not giving him the reaction he wanted either.
Satoru wasn't fazed, glancing back at Sukuna with a smirk.
"I'd take her tongue too, but I can think of a better use for it," He smugly winked, and Sukuna took the bait, struggling against his restraints, enraged by the obvious implication. "You wanna see my favorite trick of hers?"
"Let him go," You murmured. "Please, Toru."
You hadn't used the nickname since you were kids, and it was more effective than you expected.
He stood up straight, his attention snapping back to you.
"Why should I?" He expected a real reason. Well, he expected one specific one.
Most likely the whole reason he even bothered dragging him out from whatever cell he'd been keeping Sukuna in.
You hesitated over the words that'd really condemn you, briefly glancing to Sukuna for even just a snippet of the safety he used to give you. His eyes told you to suck it up and stop feeling sorry for yourself. To survive.
"I'll give you whatever you want," You muttered.
You didn't want to even whisper the word.
But it wasn't hard to imagine what you meant when you only had one thing to give.
"Say it then," Satoru dared you.
"I'll give you a heir," You swallowed hard. You didn't even know if you'd hate him for it, if it was something else you'd teach yourself to accept.
Really, he could take what he wanted from you at any point, but he wanted you to choose it. To pick him.
If Sukuna could talk, you knew he'd be shouting.
But you weren't the only one here Satoru was determined to embarrass.
"Isn't she gonna be cute? All stuffed full and swollen?" He leaned down to mutter in Sukuna's ear. "Shame you won't be around to see it."
You weren't sure you could even be grateful when he dragged him away, unable to stop yourself from crying the second the door closed behind them.
The prince you'd once thought would slay dragons for you putting away a man who acted more like a king than he ever could.
Satoru's mouth latched onto your neck the second he returned, murmuring beautiful words, like he could talk enough to make you overlook the humiliation burning in your gut even after he cut the ropes restraining you free.
Telling you he loved you (he loved the power he held over you), that he was yours (you were his), that he'd give you anything (but only if you gave him everything).
And when you had sex, you still kissed him back, let his tongue slip between your teeth with the disturbing reminder Sukuna didn't have his anymore, despising yourself for letting go of him to live through this. Hating the shadows inside you that wanted Satoru. That whispered to you that no one could love you like he did. No one else would burn the rest of the world just to have you to hold.
You were just as disgustingly devoted to him. Maybe better at hiding it.
Able to shove it down and suffocate it when he wasn't around.
But the second his mouth was on you, the second his fingers plucked off your underwear or slotted themselves inside you, you were putty in his hand. Happy to wear his collar and call him whatever he wanted.
You were both ashamed of it and unable to shut it off completely.
All the confidence Sukuna granted you left with him.
There was nothing you could do but hope Satoru kept his word and let him go.
"Did you set him free?" You barely managed to work up the strength to murmur the question a few days later, fiddling with the chain attached to your collar as Satoru readjusted, his head resting in the crook of your neck and his cock buried inside you, cum leaking out into your thighs.
"I will once you're pregnant," He murmured, leaving a kiss on your collarbone. "You can even watch."
You had a feeling that really meant something else entirely.
But even when your hands weren't tied, it felt like they were.
There wasn't a single part of you he didn't own. He had his seal stamped just above your ass, branding you as his so he could see the permanent reminder of who you belonged to every time he fucked you from the back. His kisses littering your body, the expensive silks and slips he dressed you up in hardly ever covering any of it.
But hadn't you signed up for it?
This was the deal he gave you - the one you took.
"I might be late today," He murmured as you fixed his crown. Had it been a couple days? Or a couple weeks? What difference did it make?
"Okay," You yawned, exhaustion lingering in your bones. It'd been getting harder to get out of the bed in the mornings, body sore from being bent over and broken in.
"I'll bring food," He kissed your cheek, squeezing your ass one last time before heading out the door.
The lock clicked behind him.
You dragged yourself back to bed, curling up and lulled back to sleep by the scent of sex and him. You weren't sure how long you'd been out for when you were being shaken awake.
A hand grabbed your waist, tugging at your limp form. You didn't bother moving, let yourself be tugged around, eyes still shut from your attempt to sleep when he suddenly shook you hard enough they shot open.
Squinting up at Satoru only to realize it wasn't him.
You made a pathetic little sound - half a squeak, half a strangled gasp.
Sukuna flipped you over, thick brows furrowed together as he frowned at the heavy iron collar around your throat. No chains attached to him this time, no handcuffs or restraints to weigh him down, although you could see how they had scarred his skin, raw red marks left where they'd been. You were terrified to know what your neck must look like. You hadn't made it a habit to look in mirrors lately, not wanting to see what your reflection had to say about you.
He didn't say anything.
Couldn't.
You opened your mouth to speak, to ask him how he managed to get free before you remembered he probably couldn't answer anything outside of shaking his head.
Blood was smeared across his cheek.
He yanked a hair pin out of your hair, bending it out and tilting your head so he could jam it in a key hole you couldn't see.
Every second that passed by where was was working the lock and you stared at him, trying to swallow your hope was torture.
He was struggling with it, a deep crease forming between his brows with frustration.
"You should save yourself," You whispered, reaching out to touch him. Skimming your finger over his jaw and nose, brushing your thumb over his lip. One last time was all you wanted. Maybe the universe had answered your request.
Sukuna rolled his eyes at you.
"I'm being serious," You huffed in a heated whisper. "I'll make sure he won't chase you and-"
He covered your mouth with one of his huge palms, flashing you a glare to shut up so he could focus.
You pouted, but kept your lips sealed, struggling not to say anything when you heard it.
The faint click.
He actually did it.
Yanking the collar off and throwing it on the bed like it was diseased, helping you off and grimacing at how unsteady you were on your feet.
He rummaged through the drawers and threw one of your old dresses Satoru thankfully still had at you, turning away so you could throw it on.
You hesitated by the threshold, glancing back over your shoulder at the room. The expensive rugs and the canopy over the bed, the details you'd discarded before.
But Sukuna held out his hand.
It was just up to you to take it.
alright guys it's up to YOU actually
choose
god ending
bad ending
Voting ended onJun 25, 2025
^its supposed to say GOOD ending lmfao but I can't change it lol sorry guys brain is fried haha my apologies for any other typos/autocorrect stuff I missed <3
rockstar!ryomen sukuna x reader x rockstar!satoru gojo
synopsis: Two rival bands. One sound engineer. Trapped between Gojo’s charm and Sukuna’s intensity, you navigate a world where music is war, tension runs high, and falling for the frontman, or both, could change everything.
a/n: this fan fiction is heavily inspired by @/indiewritesxoxo ‘s no. 1 party anthem series! (which you should 100% check out! it’s such an incredible concept and it’s very addicting. you can find it here)
content warnings: emotional conflict, jealousy and possessiveness, and verbal tension
series masterlist
It was after another charged performance, the kind that left your bones vibrating long after the final chord, the kind that made the silence after feel too sharp, too sudden. Though it didn’t involve Sukuna or Satoru today.
The venue was quiet now. Most of the crew had cleared out. A few flight cases creaked across the concrete in the distance, and one of the stage lights above still flickered every few seconds like it didn’t know the show was over.
You crouched backstage, coiling cables with slow, distracted hands. Each loop felt like muscle memory. Your body was here, but your head was somewhere else entirely, still caught between the echo of Satoru’s words.
They were pulling at you in different directions and somewhere between his music and glances, you’d lost track of what you actually wanted.
You didn’t hear the footsteps until they were close.
“Didn’t expect to see you still here.”
You looked up.
Suguru stood near the edge of the shadows, hands buried in his jacket pockets, the faintest trace of a smirk on his face. But his eyes were serious, dark and thoughtful in the way only his could be.
You were surprised to see him of all people, his band hadn’t performed tonight. You let out a sigh of a relief. It was nice seeing someone other than Gojo and Sukuna.
You straightened slowly. “I’m always the last one out.”
“Yeah,” he said, stepping closer. “You always look like you’re trying to pack your thoughts into those cables.”
You huffed a breath through your nose, almost a laugh. “That obvious?”
“Only if someone’s paying attention.” He stopped a few feet from you, gaze flicking between your hands and your face. “You okay?”
You hesitated. “Just tired.”
He tilted his head, unconvinced. “When Satoru’s tired he usually starts rambling about how great you are.”
You glanced at him sharply. He raised his brows, like it wasn’t news to him.
You just couldn’t get a break from Satoru, even when he wasn’t here. It honestly almost made you laugh.
“You know,” he said casually, snapping you out of your thoughts, “he used to talk about Sukuna’s band all the time. Admired the hell out of them. Said they were the only ones that ever made him feel like he had something to prove.”
There was a pause. The weight of what Suguru wasn’t saying pressed into your chest.
Great, now you couldn’t even get away from Sukuna. Always caught between him and Satoru. But what Suguru was saying still made you think. You remembered those days.
“But now?” he continued, a bit quieter. “He won’t say his name without spitting it. Something changed. Somewhere along the way, the admiration curdled.”
“Into jealousy?” you asked before you could stop yourself.
As long as you’d known Satoru, he never told you why he suddenly began to dislike Sukuna, and you never bothered to ask. But now you wondered, why didn’t you?
Suguru gave a small shrug, the kind that carried more truth than a direct answer. “You’re closer to Sukuna than anyone Gojo trusts wants to admit. And I think that’s screwing with him more than he lets on.”
You looked down at the coiled cables in your hands, suddenly aware of how tight you were holding them. “It’s not like that with Sukuna. I don’t even know what it is..”
“That’s kind of the problem,” Suguru said. “You’re in his orbit. And Sukuna never lets people that close.”
You blinked. “So… what? You think I’m a threat?” Suddenly you regretted not cozying up to Suguru before this conversation.
“I think Gojo does.”
You looked up. His expression had shifted, less guarded now, almost sympathetic.
“He’s been different lately,” Suguru went on, a little softer. “More careful. Less showy when you’re around. Which is saying something.”
You swallowed. “Because of me?”
“Because he’s trying not to screw it up,” Suguru said. “And believe me, that’s not something Satoru usually thinks about.”
You didn’t know what to say to that. Your thoughts were already too tangled, and this only made them worse.
Suguru watched you quietly. “He cares about you. Maybe more than he realizes. And I think it’s driving him a little insane that Sukuna sees it too.”
You stared at him. “Sukuna doesn’t—”
“Maybe not in the way Gojo does. But he treats you differently. That’s enough.” His voice dipped then, almost unreadable. “I don’t like him, if that wasn’t obvious. But I’ve never seen him give anyone that kind of space without expecting something in return.”
Your chest felt tight. Like too many wires crossing at once.
“You don’t have to pick sides,” he added, more gently now. “But you should probably figure out what it is you actually want before they try to decide for you.”
You nodded slowly, even though you didn’t fully understand.
He offered a ghost of a smile. “Don’t run yourself ragged trying to split your frequency between two stations.”
You laughed, soft, real this time, even if your stomach still felt knotted from the conversation. “That metaphor’s terrible.”
Suguru grinned, and gave your shoulder a light pat. “Maybe. But it will stick.”
Then he stepped back, fading toward the hallway that led to the exit. Before he disappeared, he glanced over his shoulder.
“Whatever choice you make, make sure it’s yours. Not theirs.”
And with that, he was gone.
The cables in your hands slipped loose. And for the first time since the set ended, you were truly alone with a hundred different answers buzzing in your head, and none of them sounding like your own voice.
The days that followed your conversation with Suguru blurred into something quiet and unfamiliar.
No more coffee breaks with Gojo.
No late-night green room banter.
No hanging around the soundboard after a show, hoping one of them would linger.
You needed space, whatever that meant. A place where the noise in your head could settle, where you could remember who you were before all this started pulling at your seams. The attention, the rivalry, the eyes that saw you too clearly. It was all too loud.
So you slipped away.
You answered messages late. Politely, distantly. You showed up on time, worked cleanly, professionally, and left before anyone else could catch you in a hallway or at the edge of the stage. And still, you couldn’t shake the feeling that your silence said more than you meant for it to.
Gojo caught on quickly, of course he did. He always noticed when your rhythm shifted, even slightly. The messages started coming in quickly:
“Did I do something?”
“You mad at me?”
You hesitated, then forced yourself to be honest, at least a little.
“I just need some space. From everything. Just for a while.”
He didn’t reply after that.
Not a word.
Not even a joke to soften the silence.
Time passed and then it was four days before the next rehearsal, you told yourself you’d arrive early, just to recalibrate.
The venue doors groaned open under your hand. The lights were dim, most of the house still dark, the stage half-lit with a faint orange spill from a single rig overhead. You carried your bag against your side, hoodie drawn up over your head, shoes soft on the worn floor.
It felt different being here without the crowd, not in a bad way. If anything, it was calming. Almost comforting.
And then you heard it, low, deliberate notes winding out from the monitors. Not a song. Just fragments. Warm-ups. Someone tuning with care.
You froze halfway down the aisle, looking up.
Sukuna was already there.
He sat on a stool near the center mic, guitar in his lap, fingers moving with fluid ease. Not showy. Not performing. Just… playing. Like it was for him alone.
His hair was a mess, like he’d just rolled out of bed and driven straight here. Honestly, it wasn’t a bad sight.
But you pushed the thought aside, replacing it with the urge to slip out before he noticed you. But it was too late, he looked up just as you started to turn away.
“You’re avoiding me,” he said.
There was no bite to it. No anger. Just fact.
You stood still. The words hit harder than they should’ve.
“I’m not—” you started, then stopped. Swallowed. “I just needed space.”
He set the guitar down, the echo of the last note trailing into silence. “From me?”
You couldn’t shake the way his words etched themselves into your skin, sharp, unfiltered, almost enough to make you flinch. He wasn’t wrong. Maybe that was the worst part, he’d said out loud what you hadn’t even said yourself.
“From everything,” you clarified. “From… this.” You gestured vaguely at the air around you, at the stage, at the place where things used to feel simple.
Sukuna’s gaze didn’t shift. “Then why does it feel personal?”
Was it that obvious you were distancing yourself?
“I don’t know,” you admitted before you could stop yourself. “That’s kind of the problem.”
A beat of silence passed.
“That’s fair,” he said, setting the guitar on his thigh. “You don’t really know me.”
You looked at him, surprised at the admission. “No, I don’t.”
You expected him to get cold. Dismissive. But he didn’t. If anything, his posture softened, shoulders loosening, voice quieter.
“I notice you,” he said. “But I guess I never gave you much to notice back.”
You crossed your arms. “You show up. You leave tea. You tell me when I get a filter right. But I don’t know what you do when the music stops.”
He tilted his head, watching you for a long moment. Then, he did something you didn’t expect. He he gestured to the stage next to him.
You hesitated again.
“You’re not going to psychoanalyze me through chords, are you?” you asked.
“Not unless you ask nicely,” he said, that rare, subtle smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.
Still wary, you walked over and stood beside him, leaving just enough space to keep your heart rate reasonable.
“Here,” he said, shifting the guitar in his lap and offering it, neck-first.
You blinked. “What?”
“Play something.”
“I don’t—”
“Then learn.” His eyes flicked to yours.
You narrowed your eyes but took the guitar anyway, awkwardly trying to balance it. Your fingers hovered over the frets, unsure.
“Left hand here,” he said, reaching over. His palm brushed your fingers, guiding them into place. “You want to mute the first string with the edge of your index.”
You tried. It buzzed terribly.
He leaned in, his breath warm near your temple. “Relax your grip.”
“That’s easy for you to say,” you muttered.
“I’m not the one choking the neck like it insulted your family.”
You laughed, the tension cracking just slightly.
He looked down at you. “Better.”
There was a beat, a silence not empty, but full of something you hadn’t yet named. You were hyper-aware of how close he was. How different it felt from Satoru’s nearness. With him, you felt known. With Sukuna, you felt seen, and that was somehow scarier.
You looked down at the guitar, trying to ground yourself. “This is stupid. I came here to be alone.”
Sukuna didn’t move away.
“But you stayed,” he said.
You sighed, not responding as your fingers fumbled over the strings again, the chord too muted to ring cleanly.
Sukuna moved behind you, too close, but not in a way that made you flinch. His presence felt heavy, grounding, like gravity was working a little harder with him this near. You hadn’t set the guitar down like you meant to. Instead, it was still cradled in your arms, the weight of it pinned between your arms and the heat of him behind you.
“You’re locking your wrist,” he murmured, voice low, close to your ear. “Let me help.”
You stiffened, but didn’t stop him. His hands came forward, slow, deliberate. He guided your wrist, repositioned your fingers, hovered over your hands without touching at first, just enough for the air to shift. Then, carefully, he pressed his palm against the back of your hand, grounding it.
“There,” he said, his breath ghosting the side of your jaw. “Try again.”
You strummed.
The chord rang out clear.
“You did it,” he said quietly, almost like he didn’t mean for you to hear it.
You felt your chest tighten and your heart beat faster. The sound still vibrated between your fingers. You looked down, your hands under his, your legs nearly flush together. He hadn’t moved back. Neither had you.
“I don’t even know what I’m doing anymore,” you whispered. “With you. With myself.”
His voice softened. “Then stop pretending you have to figure it all out at once.”
You glanced at him, your face angled over your shoulder. His expression was unreadable, eyes half-lidded, mouth slack, like he was trying not to want something too badly.
But he never moved out from behind you.
“You don’t get it,” you said.
“Then explain it.”
You hesitated.
His hand was still lightly touching yours.
“Then what about me?” he asked, quieter now. The question barely reached the air.
You turned your head toward him more again. “You’re unpredictable. You’re difficult. You don’t let anyone in and then you show up with tea and compliments like I should know what that means.”
Sukuna’s mouth parted slightly, but you didn’t let him speak yet.
“I don’t know what you want from me,” you said, voice rising. “And I don’t know if I’m just a sound tech to you or if I’m—”
You froze.
Because in that moment, right as the words tangled in your throat, you caught movement from the corner of your eye.
Satoru.
He was standing in the wings, just past the curtain. His face was unreadable, shoulders squared, hands shoved in the pockets of his hoodie.
Your breath caught.
“Satoru,” you said, barely above a whisper.
Sukuna turned too, but Gojo didn’t look at him.
His eyes were only on you.
For a moment, he didn’t speak. Then:
“So… this is what space looks like?”
His voice wasn’t cruel. It wasn’t angry. It was something worse, quiet and calm and so heartbreakingly careful.
You separated yourself from Sukuna quickly. “It’s not what it looks like.”
He gave a small, humorless laugh. “Isn’t it?”
“I was just—he was just showing me something on the guitar—”
“Right,” Gojo cut in, walking forward slowly. “A lesson. Middle of the stage. Lights low. Classic.”
Sukuna shifted beside you, jaw flexing. “You done?” He looked annoyed, eyes dark as they stared at Gojo.
Gojo didn’t look at him at first. Just knelt beside his pedalboard, his voice dropping.
“I didn’t realize rehearsal started early,” he murmured. “Guess I’ve been early a lot lately.”
He plugged in his guitar, still not looking at either of you. His fingers moved with precision, too tight, too fast, like they didn’t know how to slow down anymore.
“I used to think you’d always tell me if something changed,” he said suddenly, his tone sharper now. “But maybe that was just me getting ahead of the script.”
“Satoru—” you started again.
But Sukuna stepped forward, his voice low but clear.
“Maybe if you weren’t always busy performing, you’d see what’s happening off-stage.”
Gojo stilled.
Then he laughed, quiet and cold.
God could this moment get anymore awkward? You wished Sukuna could see that defending you wouldn’t help any.
“That’s rich. Coming from you, of all people.” Satoru scoffed.
“Yeah?” Sukuna said, taking another step. “At least I don’t need a spotlight to matter.”
Gojo looked up at him then, fully. His expression was all teeth.
“Right. You just lurk in the dark, pretending it makes you deeper.”
“Better than faking charm and calling it love.”
The words hit hard enough to make your breath catch.
Satoru stood slowly, every inch of his posture shifting into something colder, tighter.
“Funny,” he said. “You act like you see through everyone, but you couldn’t even play clean until she was behind your board.”
Sukuna’s hands curled at his sides. “Don’t talk about things you don’t understand.”
“I understand enough,” Gojo said, turning his gaze back to you now. The temperature of the room dropped with it. “I understand that I was honest. From day one. I showed up. I waited. I didn’t try to be something I’m not.”
He slung his guitar strap over his shoulder, tone quieter but laced with something sharp. “But maybe that was the wrong move. Maybe pretending to care less would’ve gotten me closer.”
“No one asked you to pretend to be anything,” you said, your voice small but trying to hold.
Gojo looked at you for a long moment, eyes too bright, too tired.
Then, finally,
“I’ll be outside.”
And with that, he stepped down off the stage and out of sight.
No dramatic slam of a door.
No guitar smashed or words thrown over his shoulder.
Just the echo of everything he didn’t say.
You stood frozen, your heart thudding painfully against your ribs.
Sukuna didn’t say anything for a while. Just watched the spot where Gojo had been, jaw still tight.
“I didn’t mean for him to hear that,” you whispered eventually.
Sukuna didn’t look at you. “I don’t think it’s what he heard that matters.”
You swallowed.
He turned to you now, his expression unreadable. “It’s what you haven’t said yet.”
The silence that followed wrapped around the two of you like smoke.
Not comforting.
Not clarifying.
Just confusing and thick with everything unspoken, and the weight of a choice you weren’t ready to make.
Then, out of nowhere:
“You look like you’d rather be anywhere but here,” he paused. “Do you wanna come back to my place?”
synopsis: at a buzzing club on gojo’s birthday, a quiet moment between you and choso turns into something unexpectedly intimate and tender.
content warmings: MDNI alcohol consumption, consensual lap dance, suggestive themes, mild peer pressure, and semi-public intimacy
a/n: next post will be a feedback post, i promise 🙏🏻
The neon lights of the club flickered against the slick, rain-kissed city streets, casting pinks and purples onto puddles like scattered paint. Inside, the heavy thrum of bass vibrated through the floorboards and into your chest, each beat syncing with the pulse of the crowd.
The scent of alcohol clung to the air. Vodka, cheap perfume, and something smoky beneath it all. You moved with the music, hips fluid, a soft sheen of sweat catching the overhead lights.
You had just finished a short set, nothing wild, just a few songs you liked to move to. The rhythm was still in your bones, soft and steady, as you made your way down the side steps of the platform, letting your breathing even out. Your fingers ran along the hem of your outfit absently, your mind drifting. It wasn’t until you heard someone shout across the floor that your attention shifted.
At a tucked-away corner booth, a group of five men stood out like a sore thumb, though not for lack of style. Their energy buzzed differently. Like the club was their playground for the night and they were only half-interested in the rules.
“Alright, Choso,” someone called over the thrum of the music, playful and just a little too loud, “it’s your turn to have some fun!”
A tall man with wild white hair and a voice that carried, clearly the ringleader. Satoru Gojo, if you remembered right, he’d been in before. Always loud, always laughing. Beside him sat Suguru Geto, poised and sharp. Kento Nanami, composed and distant. Ryomen Sukuna, who radiated barely-contained disdain like it was cologne, and…
Your gaze caught on the fifth man, the one they were all looking at.
Choso.
He sat hunched low, stiff as a board, nursing a drink he hadn’t really touched. He wasn’t meeting anyone’s eyes.
Satoru Gojo leaned forward with that trademark wild grin, white hair disheveled from dancing, or maybe chaos. “Come on, don’t be shy!” Gojo laughed, leaning across the table to clap him on the shoulder. “It’s my birthday, and nothing would make me happier than watching you get absolutely flustered for once. My gift to me.”
Choso blinked rapidly. “Gojo…” he muttered, voice barely audible even from across the floor. “I don’t—what are you even—?”
Gojo smirked, then looked straight at you and gestured flamboyantly. “Behold! The prettiest girl in the building. You’re gonna sit right there,” he told Choso, pointing to the empty chair just beside their booth, “and she’s gonna do her magic.”
Nanami, ever the composed one, took a long sip of his bourbon and adjusted his tie, already loosened from an hour before. He was sipping his drink with detached amusement, offered, “You’re overthinking it. Just let yourself enjoy something for once.”
Geto leaned in, chin in his hand, eyeing Choso with a sly smile. “Wouldn’t hurt to loosen up. You’re allowed to have fun, you know.”
“I’m gonna die,” Choso mumbled under his breath.
Sukuna, who’d been silent until now, scoffed from where he sat, legs spread like a king on his throne, tattooed fingers drumming along the table edge. “Tch. You’re pathetic,” he said, though there wasn’t real venom in it. Just a challenge. “At least pretend you’ve seen a woman before.”
Choso looked ready to evaporate but he didn’t retort. He just dragged a hand through his dark hair, mumbling something inaudible, clearly wishing he could melt through the floor.
You felt something tighten in your chest as you watched him shift, uncomfortable and uncertain, clearly wishing he could vanish into the smoky corners of the club. He wasn’t the only one feeling the pressure, you were suddenly hyper-aware of the way Gojo had spoken about you like you were a novelty. A prop.
You didn’t like that.
So instead of strutting over with fanfare, you took your time, walking slowly and deliberately toward their table, your expression soft. Not seductive, gentle. Curious. You caught Choso’s eye for just a second, and when he didn’t look away fast enough, you gave him a small smile. A real one. It made his shoulders stiffen, but not in fear.
When you reached the booth, Gojo spread his arms like he’d just summoned an angel. “And there she is!” he beamed. “Sweets, this is our tragically inexperienced friend Choso. Please ruin his life, gently.”
You laughed a little under your breath, but your eyes stayed on Choso. “Hi,” you said simply, lowering your voice so the others wouldn’t hear. “Are you okay?”
He looked startled by the question. His lips parted, then closed again. “I—yeah. I mean… I don’t know.”
“Do you… want to do this?” you asked, lowering yourself into a crouch beside his seat, bringing yourself to his eye level. “Because I’m not going to make you uncomfortable just because it’s someone else’s birthday.”
His mouth opened again, then closed. His fingers gripped his glass tighter.
“I don’t know what I’m supposed to do,” he admitted quietly. “I’ve never—this isn’t really my thing. But I don’t want to… ruin it for you either.”
You smiled gently. “You’re not ruining anything. You’re being honest. That’s more than most people here bother to be.”
He looked at you, really looked this time. Not like a deer in headlights. His brow furrowed slightly. “You’re not like them,” he said, gesturing towards his friends with the man of his head.
You shrugged, resting your hand lightly on the edge of the table near him, not touching. Just grounding yourself there. “I like people to feel safe. If you don’t want to do anything, I’ll go. No hard feelings.”
He hesitated.
Then, after a pause, his voice barely above the music, he whispered, “Can we… just sit? For a minute? You don’t have to do anything. I just… I want to try. I think.”
You nodded instantly. “Of course.”
Gojo raised an eyebrow from the other end of the table but didn’t interrupt. Nanami gave a subtle nod like he was approving your approach. Even Sukuna didn’t say anything, just watched.
You moved to the empty seat beside Choso, folding your legs beneath you comfortably, keeping a few inches between you. You turned slightly so your body faced him, but your posture stayed relaxed. Unthreatening. The music had shifted again, slower now, smoother. Less urgent.
“Okay,” you said gently. “We’ll just sit here. And if you feel alright, I’ll start moving a little. Not touching you, just… vibing. Yeah?”
He gave a small nod. His hands were still clenched, but his shoulders had dropped ever so slightly.
You started slow, swaying your hips gently to the music, keeping your upper body still, just letting him see the rhythm in motion beside him. A little at a time. His eyes flicked to you, then away. But not in panic anymore. He was watching.
After a few more minutes, you let your hands trail lightly over your own thighs, drawing soft patterns over the fabric of your outfit. You glanced at him and murmured, “Still okay?”
He nodded again, faster this time.
A breath left you in relief.
You shifted slightly closer, just enough that your thigh brushed against his knee. “You can stop me anytime,” you said, eyes on his. “Just say the word.”
Choso swallowed hard but didn’t pull away.
So you leaned in, just a little, moving with care, fluid but restrained. Your hair tickled his arm. He inhaled sharply, but he didn’t move. When you brought your face close to his, only close enough that he could feel your breath, you smiled.
“You’re doing great.”
This time, Choso didn’t look away.
His voice was barely audible. “You’re really gentle.”
You smiled softer. “So are you.”
At the table, the others had quieted, watching from a respectful distance now that it was clear you weren’t putting on a show for them.
Just for him.
And for the first time all night, Choso didn’t look like he wanted to disappear.
The club buzzed around you, its rhythm thrumming through the floor and into your bones, but here, in this small pocket of stillness beside Choso, it felt like everything else had quieted. The laughter from the others at the table had faded to background noise. The music softened to a steady pulse. You were still seated beside him, close but not crowding, your body warm where it brushed his.
Choso hadn’t moved. Not away, not toward you. But he was watching you now, truly watching. His brown eyes lingered on the subtle roll of your hips as you swayed beside him, on the way your fingers danced idly along your thighs. He looked like he was trying to understand it, make sense of this softness being offered to him when he expected mockery or pressure.
You leaned just a little closer, lowering your voice to barely above a whisper. “Still okay?”
He exhaled slowly. “Yeah,” he said. His voice had more weight to it now, still quiet, but grounded. “I… yeah. I think I’m ready. You can… start.”
You didn’t rush. You let the moment breathe.
With a careful shift, you rose from your seat beside him and turned to face him properly. The music picked up into a low, sensual beat that crawled up your spine like heat. Choso didn’t move as you slowly lowered yourself to straddle his lap, your knees sinking into the cushions on either side of his thighs. He inhaled sharply, head pressing back against the booth as your body settled against his, but you still didn’t touch him, not fully. Just the suggestion of closeness.
“Tell me if anything’s too much,” you murmured, voice like silk at his ear. Your breath brushed the curve of his neck, and you felt the shiver ripple through him.
“I will,” he said, though his voice cracked on the words.
You let your hands ghost over the air beside his shoulders before dragging them down slowly along your sides. Your hips rolled forward in a smooth rhythm, a steady grind that remained teasingly light, not yet committed. You arched your back just enough to let your chest brush against the plane of his, watching his jaw tense at the contact.
Choso’s breath hitched. His hands remained clenched at his sides, white-knuckled against the fabric of the booth seat.
“You can touch me if you want,” you said softly, moving your hips a little slower now, pressing just a little closer. “But you don’t have to. This is for you.”
“I—” He looked up at you, stunned, overwhelmed. His cheeks were red again, but his eyes… they were locked on yours now, burning with something deeper than just nervousness. “I don’t know where.”
You smiled gently and reached down, guiding his hands, one to your hip, the other resting on your thigh. You held them there without pressure.
“Right here’s okay.”
He nodded, still watching you like you were something he wasn’t sure he deserved.
You began to move in earnest now, slow, deliberate rolls of your hips, your body melting into the rhythm. You leaned forward, letting your chest press fully against him this time, feeling the way his breath stuttered beneath you. One of your hands slid up his chest, fingertips grazing the hollow of his throat, and he trembled beneath the touch.
“You’re really…” he whispered, but the words died in his throat.
You leaned in closer, lips brushing the shell of his ear. “Really what?”
He shivered again. “Beautiful. Soft.” He swallowed. “I thought this would be scary. But you’re…”
His eyes fluttered closed for a moment. “You’re kind.”
Your heart fluttered at that, an unexpected crack of tenderness in the middle of so much heat. You pulled back just enough to meet his gaze again, your hips still rocking slowly against him. “You deserve kind,” you whispered.
And something shifted in him.
He exhaled shakily and let his fingers grip your hips more firmly, grounding himself in the moment, in you. There was still shyness in the way he held you, but now there was also hunger. Permission. Wonder.
You deepened the grind, your body pressing flush against his, your thighs tightening around his hips. You could feel something hard digging into your thigh, but your attention shifted back to him once his head tipped back slightly, a soft groan slipping past his lips before he could catch it. It was so quiet, you almost missed it, but it stirred something hot and needy in your core.
Your lips hovered just over his neck now, not quite touching. “You feel good,” you breathed. “You’re so warm.”
Choso’s fingers twitched against your hips, drawing tiny circles through the fabric of your outfit like he didn’t even realize he was doing it. “I—I didn’t think I’d be able to handle this.”
“But you are,” you whispered, your voice dropping. “And you’re doing so well.”
His eyes fluttered open and locked onto yours. His pupils were blown wide, a haze of heat clouding the hazel color. “You’re gonna ruin me.”
Your lips brushed the edge of his jaw. “Maybe just a little.”
Your next roll of your hips was deeper, slower, drawn out and intentional, dragging delicious friction through both your cores. You felt him tense beneath you, his grip on you tightening just slightly as he struggled to stay still. You rocked again, and again, drawing soft, breathy noises from his throat that he couldn’t quite stop. His face was flushed, sweat beginning to gather at his temples, lips parted.
You leaned in and murmured right against his mouth, “Can I kiss you?”
He didn’t hesitate.
“Yes.”
So you did.
It was slow at first, tentative. His lips were soft, unsure, but he met you halfway, a quiet gasp escaping him as your tongue gently brushed his. You moved your hips with the kiss, deepening it, syncing your bodies with each pull and press.
You felt him melt into you then, hands finally gripping your thighs with intent. The kiss deepened, heated, his body trembling beneath yours as you rocked together in perfect rhythm, breathing each other in, feeding off the growing tension that coiled and sparked between you.
When you finally pulled back, he chased your lips for just a second, eyes half-lidded, pupils dark with need.
You rested your forehead to his and smiled.
“I think,” he breathed, chest heaving, “that’s the best birthday gift Gojo’s ever forced on someone.”
You laughed against his mouth. “Happy first lap dance, Choso.”
He smiled, genuinely this time, wide and a little breathless. “Can I have another one?”
“Only if we find somewhere with less of an audience.”
The rest of the group pretended very poorly not to be watching. Sukuna was leaned back with his mouth covered, grinning like a wolf. Nanami had one hand over his eyes but was definitely peeking through his fingers with red cheeks. Geto simply sipped his whiskey with the air of someone who was absolutely unphased.
Gojo, still, didn’t say anything even if it was a challenge. Just smirked, and looked away.
dividers by @/strangergraphics and @/enchanthings <3
okay bc you guys are demanding a recount i do decree it will be allowed
plot: medieval au where reader is the servant to the vain prince/king and has been in love with him since childhood but steals and sells his shit to start a new life with a gang of bandits. he's desperate to get you back but only because he wants his stuff back too!! definitely not because he wants to keep you prisoner in his bed
snippet:
That's when he saw it.
Another man's head - between your thighs.
Those pretty lips of yours were gasping for air, open and sucking it in when you should be sucking him off. Not in this rundown village letting some street scum taste your precious pussy. He didn't give a shit what rusted heirlooms those morons ransacked and ruined. Except for stealing you.
His prized possession was priceless. Although, he was sure he'd find a way to make them pay.
And your punishment?
Well, it'd be more personal.
things to keep in mind:
the prince is very much going to be evil and yandere and this will definitely be fun on but reader will be getting it on with both guys <3
synopsis ୭ ˚. ᵎᵎ when you’re too sick to care for your baby, nanami brings her to the office strapped to his chest—calm, efficient, and completely unfazed as he gives presentations with a pacifier on his tie and a baby on board.
tori’s notes ᝰ.ᐟ this is ridiculous i’m warning you
nanami doesn’t even flinch when you croak from under the covers, voice raw and pitiful: “ken, i can’t—i think i have a fever, and she won’t stop crying unless i’m holding her.”
your voice cracks halfway through the sentence. you look like a ghost of yourself, half-sunken into your nest of tissues and blankets, hair a disaster, eyes glazed and watery. the baby’s red-faced and sniffling too, sprawled across your chest like a little heater, tiny fists grasping your shirt like she knows you might try to hand her off.
nanami, standing in the doorway, calmly adjusts his watch.
“i’ll take her.”
you blink. “you… you have three meetings today.”
“and now i have three meetings with a baby,” he says, already crossing the room like a man with a mission.
you can’t even protest properly before he’s kneeling beside the bed and gently peeling her off you, expertly switching to his papa voice — warm and low, as if he’s de-escalating a tiny, fussy hostage situation.
“there we go,” he murmurs, pressing a kiss to her forehead, then yours. “we’ll manage. rest. you know what medicine you should take. call me if you need anything.”
ten minutes later, he’s at the front door in his usual tan coat, baby carrier strapped securely to his chest like she’s a very warm, very giggly piece of office equipment. she’s wearing one of those obnoxiously frilly headbands you swore you’d never put on her — but she screamed when he tried to take it off, and he’s not here to pick battles today.
diaper bag over his shoulder. bottle packed. pacifier clipped neatly to his tie. hair combed, shoes polished, baby securely swaddled and babbling.
“don’t let the interns try to hold her,” you wheeze weakly from the hallway.
“i would rather die,” he replies without missing a beat.
as he walks out, you hear him murmur to her, “no loud commentary during the finance report. we must suffer through it in dignified silence.”
cut to: the morning finance meeting, 9:01 a.m., in a fluorescent-lit conference room downtown.
the projector is humming. spreadsheets fill the screen. half the team is slumped in various degrees of caffeine withdrawal.
nanami kento walks in, perfectly on time, baby on his chest like it’s the most natural thing in the world.
he doesn’t explain it. doesn’t apologize. he walks straight to the head of the table, clicks open his laptop, adjusts the projector, and begins speaking with the same calm, measured cadence he always uses—
except this time, there’s a tiny foot sticking out of the carrier, gently bumping his blazer.
“moving into Q3,” he says, clicking to the next slide, “we’re forecasting a moderate increase in asset reallocation—”
the baby lets out a soft, inquisitive coo.
nanami glances down at her, gives a very small nod, and says to the room, “correct. the Q3 projections are, in fact, unfortunate.”
silence.
well—almost silence.
from somewhere near the coffee machine, an intern tries to whisper, “is that a—?”
nanami turns his head fractionally. just enough to shut it down.
“yes. she’s here in lieu of her mother, who is unwell. please direct all questions to me or her, depending on the topic.”
no one questions it.
she doesn’t cry, not even once. in fact, she seems thrilled. she clutches his tie like it’s her personal emotional support ribbon and waves her tiny hand every time someone shifts in their chair. at one point, she lets out a high-pitched giggle, and nanami simply pauses mid-sentence, gently pats her back, and continues like nothing happened.
someone tries to make eye contact and smile at her—
she beams and throws her toy at them.
nanami takes back the toy and sighs, “don’t encourage her. she’ll never stop.”
the entire time, he keeps presenting with his utmost precision, occasionally glancing down at her to tuck the headband back into place or swap her pacifier like he’s been doing this his whole life.
he wraps up right on time.
“any further questions?”
dead silence.
even the regional manager just gives a tight nod. no one wants to risk being shamed by a baby.
—
back home, it’s late afternoon when the door creaks open.
you’re still buried in blankets, half-delirious and clinging to a half-empty box of tissues. you blearily lift your head at the sound of keys in the bowl.
nanami walks in with the same exact expression he had when he left: calm, unreadable… except there’s a little extra softness at the corners of his eyes.
the baby is still strapped to his chest. fast asleep now, one hand gripping his tie, the other curled against his collarbone. she’s drooling slightly. he hasn’t removed the headband.
“she was very well-behaved,” he says quietly. “arguably more professional than half the team.”
you laugh — or try to, but it comes out as a croaky wheeze.
he crouches beside you, brushing a bit of hair from your face. “how are you feeling?”
“like death.” he nods and kisses your cheek.
you glance over at the baby. “how was she, really?”
“chatty,” he says, straight-faced. “opinionated about quarterly earnings. but otherwise excellent.”
he lifts her hand gently, unhooks her fingers from his tie.
“you’re insane,” you whisper.
he leans in to kiss your forehead, gentle and lingering.
“efficient,” he corrects.
then, after a beat—
“also… she now technically works in accounting.”
you blink. “what?”
he shrugs.
“someone handed her a spreadsheet. she drooled on it. that’s more than my latest intern did today.”
you laugh again, properly this time.
he finally unstraps her, carefully settling her into the bassinet. she doesn’t stir — not even when he tucks her blanket in with military precision.
you lie there watching him move quietly around the apartment, sleeves rolled up, tie chewed, hair slightly out of place, and realize:
papa nanami could take over the world with a baby strapped to his chest and a pacifier in his pocket, and he’d still be home in time to fold the laundry.
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