[starmapz]

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[sukunahs]

a bouquet of brambles | ryomen sukuna

pairing: god!sukuna x priestess!reader (+ a hint of god!gojo x reader)

summary: greek myth au. being sukuna's priestess is all you've known, and you've spent a lifetime alone in his temple, devoting yourself solely to him and his needs.

when a different god appears at your door one day with promises of more than a life in the darkness, both you and sukuna find yourselves in uncharted territory

word count: 10.7k

content: 18+ mdni, greek myth au, smut, dubcon/noncon elements due to power imbalance, loneliness, rejection, devotion, abuse, worship, violence, mean!sukuna, piv, attempted cucking, fingering, biting, rough sex, hurt/comfort, sukuna is bad with feelings and satoru is a little shit

a/n: in honour of this blog's one year anniversary I wanted to pay homage to one of the first fics I wrote on here: this blindness I'm condemned to! so here's another god!sukuna fic with a florence and the machine title hehe

also i want to give a big shoutout to @liahcharms for reigniting my passion for myth fics with all her brilliant works! please go and read everything she's written asap

Sukuna always smelt of blood, drenched in that metallic scent that would infest your nostrils, sticking around long after he’d departed your side. He’d always appear in the dead of night, whenever the temple would fall silent, looking more like a beast than a god. He’d take up the whole doorway with his mighty stature, four arms hanging loose at his side, his twisted face laden with mania. 

It was you that he’d come to see - his sweet, devoted priestess. He’d waste no time with niceties, for you both knew what it was that he wanted, appearing before you to ensure that you honored your oath of service in whichever manner he deemed appropriate. 

Things always played out the same way, with his crimson soaked hands wrapped firmly around your slender neck, sharp fingernails drawing blood while his fingers left pretty little bruises against your skin. He’d grunt as he bent you over his altar, guttural sounds of pleasure leaving his lips as he pressed his mouth against your ear. 

You’d sob and shake beneath him, hands raking desperately against the marble beneath you, tears dripping down your cheeks as you let him sink deeper into you than you’d ever allowed any man to go. 

He’d give you a taste of divinity, of real purpose. He was your god and you served him well, offering yourself fully for his own pleasure and entertainment, and he ate it up every time, filling you up with his seed and leaving you there once he was satisfied, with no regard for your own gratification. 

And there you’d remain in the oppressive silence, shivering at the foot of your shrine to him, awaiting his next visit with rapt enthusiasm. That was your role in this world, your only genuine purpose - you were to give yourself to him and in the times between you were to yearn for his return. 

You were to tend to his temple, greet his worshippers, and provide him with offerings. You were to sleep on the cold marble every night just in case he required your services, you were to have no family, lay with no man, for you were his in every sense of the word. 

Even if he would never be yours. 

Maintaining your oath had never caused you much trouble, for it was the only life you’d grown to know. You had been raised to be a priestess, had tended to the temple since you were eighteen - Sukuna, and your devotion to him, was the only thing that existed in your narrow worldview. 

That was how it was supposed to always be. 

Until one morning a different deity appeared at your door. 

It was a pleasant spring day, and the forest beyond the temple’s walls was brushed with rays of gold, so filled with life in stark contrast to the confines of your shrine. It was always cold in there, tainted with the vague scent of blood and death that followed Sukuna wherever he went. 

Even though you had never seen another of his temples, nor met another of his priestesses, you were certain that the uneasy darkness lingered in any place where he was worshipped. 

And yet, that darkness, which usually extended to your patch of woodland, seemed woefully absent on that temperate morning. On the contrary, the forest seemed more alive than you’d ever seen it, teeming with colour and life - a beauty that felt utterly foreign to your eyes. 

The cause of the change appeared without warning, manifesting between the trees, blue eyes alight with mischief as he strolled towards your humble temple. He had an otherworldly glow about him, a power akin to that of your own god, but rather different in nature. The air around him felt light and airy, like his mere presence could strip away any sense of despair. 

You didn’t know him. You didn’t know any god but your own. You weren’t supposed to. 

Nervously, you’d flinched back, stepping over the threshold back into your temple, peering past the open doors at the figure who came to a halt on your doorstep, a pleasant smile lighting up his handsome face. 

“Good morning,” he hummed, his tone chipper. “I hadn’t expected to find any humans out here - especially not a beautiful woman.” 

“Are- are you here to make an offering?” You asked, struggling to find your voice. You’d found yourself captivated by his ethereal beauty, your eyes skimming over his toned body and the beautiful white toga that adorned it. There was nothing monstrous about him like your own master, he was gorgeous in the most conventional of ways. 

“An offering? To him?” The god snorted as he gestured to the carvings littering the outer walls of the temple. “Absoultely not.” 

Fear fluttered in your heart as you took yet another step back into the comfortable darkness of your home. It felt like Sukuna was draping himself over you, keeping you safe from the stranger before you. For him to so casually put down your god was the gravest insult in this setting, and you wondered if Sukuna might strike him down where he stood. 

Perhaps he’d strike you down too, for even allowing yourself to bear witness to such heresy. 

“I don’t think you should be here.” You tried to sound as confident as you could, to turn this god away before he could cause any issue. You didn’t want any trouble, didn’t want to find yourself breaking any of Sukuna’s rules. 

“You don’t need to sound so afraid, I mean you no harm.” He took another step forward, his toes brushing against the threshold, peering into the darkness at you. “Come and step into the light, so that we can talk properly.” 

Even though you knew it was wrong, you found your legs obeying his command. There was something about the way that he spoke which commanded the same authority that Sukuna did, filling you with a terrifying desire to do as you were told no matter what your brain truly wanted. This god didn’t wield his authority with the darkness that your own master did, but the underlying implication was still there. 

He would have what he wished, and would employ any method to get it. 

Your legs carried you back outside, eyes wide as you observed the man before you. His blue eyes dragged over your form and you caught the way that they seemed to light up with glee. “You’re a gorgeous creature, aren’t you? Typical of Sukuna to keep such secrets to himself. What do you call yourself?” 

You told him meekly, averting your gaze down to the floor. Now that you were standing before him you found your heart racing unfathomably quick, oddly taken by his immense beauty. You’d allowed your mind to wander, to wonder what it would be like to have his delicate hands hold you. 

It was a thought that you were quick to chase away, for fear that Sukuna could hear every one of your deepest desires and punish you for the slightest deviation away from him. 

“How lovely. You can call me Satoru.” The name meant nothing to you. You’d been raised largely in isolation, taught by your parents your role at the temple and abandoned to silence at eighteen. If Satoru was some well-known god, it meant nothing to you. 

He didn’t seem offended by your lack of knowledge. Perhaps he’d expected it. 

“Are you out here all alone?” 

You were, the people in the closest town would bring supplies to you once a fortnight, and beyond that you were left purely to your own devices. It probably wasn’t wise to tell a strange man such a thing, but you got the sense that he’d know if you were lying. 

“I am.” 

“Oh, how I abhor the cruelty of your master, always keeping his poor worshippers in the worst of conditions. If you were my priestess you’d get to live in the most lavish quarters in some lovely city, surrounded by like-minded folk. No woman should have to linger alone in some dark forest.” 

“It suits me here,” you whispered. “I’ve always been here.” 

Satoru scoffed, shaking his head in disbelief. “Then you simply don’t know any better than what your master has taught you.” 

You were certain that you didn’t need to know. With Sukuna the rules for your life were clear, what more could there be? It was an honor to serve him in the way that you did, it was what you were made for. You didn't need pity from some stranger. 

“Look at you, all confused by my words.” A hand reached out for you, your body shaking as a finger tapped the centre of your furrowed brow before withdrawing. “You can’t even begin to comprehend the unfairness of your life.” 

“It's not unfair,” you bit back, quietly. You mostly believed your words, but you’d be lying if you were wholly satisfied. You had no qualms about living in this place, or about serving your lord, but in the times between Sukuna’s visits you were hollow, desperate for him, caught up in wondering what he was doing, wondering how many other priestesses he treated just like you. 

You wanted him to be yours just as you were his, wanted his devotion to you. 

An impossible ask. 

“It is, but you can’t allow yourself to see it,” he said with a sigh, fingers dragging through his soft white hair. “You’re a great prize of his, you know. One of his favourites. He always likes to brag about your beauty but never wishes to share - he isn’t a man who likes others playing with what belongs to him, even when he has so much.”

“Oh,” you mumbled, not sure what to make of that. You wanted to be flattered but your joy was unraveled by the use of the phrase ‘one of his favourites’. For now he treasured you, saw you as something valuable amongst all he had. One day you’d slide down that list, once your looks started to fail you. 

“I’m here because I had to gaze upon the one that even a monster would desire so deeply.” Your eyes widened in surprise, studying the look on his face. You could sense no trace of dishonesty, his expression open and welcoming, his thoughts written across his face. 

The complete opposite to Sukuna’s perpetually guarded frown. 

“You were certainly worth the journey,” he continued, when you offered him nothing but silence. You should’ve told him to stop when he reached for you once more, but you remained frozen, completely dumbfounded as his hand traced along your soft cheek. It was a caress gentler than any that Sukuna had given you. 

“You shouldn’t be doing this,” you murmured, terrified of what the consequences for his actions would be. You were surprised to find that you didn’t want him to stop, your heart battering against your ribcage at being shown such careful attention for once in your lonely life. 

It was a dangerous feeling.

“I would provide you so much more than he ever could,” he whispered, leaning forward. “I’d give you a place in the light, a place at my side. Beauty like yours doesn’t deserve to be hidden away, it should be celebrated.” 

Your breath hitched as he closed the gap between you. His nose brushed against yours, lips inching closer, and for a second you almost gave in, almost allowed temptation to win out over the oath that you’d bound yourself to. But you had lived a life of discipline, and when you pushed him back with all of your strength, it was your body acting on instinct. 

Kissing him wasn’t right. It would be a betrayal of everything that you lived for. Besides, your parents had warned you about schemes of other gods, warning that if you were to ever encounter one, you would find that they took great enjoyment in playing with humans. 

That was what this was. This man didn’t know you, didn’t care for you. You could feel the dislike for your master rolling off him in waves. He was here to humiliate his opponent, to claim something of his. 

You would be no pawn in his game. 

“I wish for you to leave,” you said as firmly as you could, your heart still fluttering in your chest. “My master would not want you here." 

There was a flicker of hurt in Satoru’s eyes, but he dropped his hands to his sides all the same, stepping back with a somber nod. “He wouldn’t, you’re right. But you should not wish to be here either, for you deserve more than the darkness he shrouds you in.” 

“It- it is what I have chosen.” 

“It is what has been forced upon you,” he countered, offering you a sad smile. “But when you one day choose to free yourself of it, I will be waiting.” 

And just like that, Satoru disappeared, taking the brilliant light of the morning away with him. For some reason you felt cold, an empty emotion not unlike that which would plague you whenever Sukuna would leave you broken and naked on the temple floor. It had been nice to talk to someone, nice to feel the sun on your skin. 

Even if it was all just trickery from some malicious man hellbent on separating you from your duty. 

It was a week after that encounter that Sukuna darkened your door again, in the manner he always would.

Your encounter went much as usual, speaking no words of greeting as he approached, his hands tearing at your clothes, fingers holding you with a bruising grip as he took you beneath him. He was as rough as ever and you enjoyed it all the same, soft whimpers echoing around the temple as you chanted his name like a prayer. 

But when he was done, he didn’t leave in silence as he usually would. Instead, he drew himself up to his full height, towering over your frail body which he’d discarded so carelessly on the cold floor. His red eyes were fixed on you with an unusual intensity, two of his hands resting on his hips while the other two crossed firmly over his chest. 

“You had a visitor this week. Didn’t you?” The question came out as a deep rumble, sending fear coursing through your vulnerable form. 

“Yes.” You kept your eyes down. You weren’t supposed to look up at him without his permission, he was too divine for your eyes to gaze upon openly. 

“And what did you think of him, this visitor?” 

You weren’t quite sure what to say. If you were to tell him the truth, to suggest that you found Satoru captivating in any way, you feared the punishment that may follow. On the other hand, if you tried lying only for him to realise that you were attempting to deceive him, that could land you in even deeper trouble. 

The last thing you wanted was to disappoint him. 

“He was…strange. He was like you but not.” You chose your words carefully, omitting your feelings on the matter. 

Sukuna let out an amused huff. “There is no one like me, little priestess. But to your untrained eye I can understand what you’re trying to say - he held a power beyond your comprehension, and by extension you find us to be similar.” 

Disagreeing with him would be foolish so you simply nodded in agreement, your gaze still trained upon the ground, even as you heard him shifting before you. He crouched, one of his lower hands pressing against your chin and raising your face to look at him.

“What of your opinion on him? Did you enjoy his visit? Do you yearn for him to return with all his foolish light and greenery?”

“No.” The lie slipped out before you could stop it, before you had the chance to truly consider your answer. 

He blinked, a slow grin spreading across his tanned face, his canines pointed and sharp, still dripping with blood he’d withdrawn from your neck minutes prior. “No? Such a well trained little thing,” he hummed, a hand coming down to your hair and stroking it with something akin to affection, like an owner praising their pet. “Though, I thought you’d know better than to lie to me.” 

The grip in your hair tightened, strands pulling at your scalp. A soft yelp left your lips, eyes welling with tears, your gaze still fixed on him as he’d commanded.

“I can hear your heart fluttering, your blood rushing through those delicate veins of yours. I think you wish to see him again, perhaps you yearn for him to visit you in the way I do.” 

You shook your head as best as you could while still confined within his firm grip. Even if you were curious about your visitor, infatuated by the light which he seemed to bathe himself in, you had no desire for his visits to be even remotely similar to Sukuna’s. The humiliation of being taken and abandoned by one god was enough, your heart would not cope with a second. 

“I’m loyal to you, master. Only to you.” 

There was a soft tremble to your voice, your skin prickling with fear. The look on Sukuna’s face was manic, like it always was when he’d fuck you, or when he’d dump a corpse on the temple’s doorstep. There was an electricity to him that told you he had little tolerance where Satoru was concerned, and as his hand twisted in your hair, you felt certain he’d tear your head from your shoulders. 

“Is that so?” He asked, his booming voice echoing around the temple. For a moment, a look which seemed almost conflicted flickered in his red eyes, but it was gone before you could truly verify its existence, replaced by his usual hardened gaze. 

“Yes. I take joy in nothing but serving you.” 

You were starting to grow cold, the chill of the temple’s marble seeping into your exposed skin. He’d seen you in this state time and time again, but to kneel naked before him and talk was different to being fucked by him, it felt too vulnerable, building an urge within you to cover yourself from his gaze. 

Fortunately, your mind stopped you from attempting to draw your arms across your breasts. You were his property and he could gaze upon you as he pleased, you had no right to obscure what had always been his. 

Releasing his grip on your hair, he let you crumple down before him. He then brushed the strands tenderly over your bare shoulders, gentle enough for you to mistake it for the touch of a lover. The coolness of his tone dispelled any such illusion as he whispered in your ear. 

“Make sure to remember it. Lie to me again or find comfort in that fool, and I’ll make sure you regret it for the rest of your pathetic little life.”  

And just like that, he was gone, the warmth of his breath still hot against your ear, your stomach churning with guilt beneath the weight of his bitter disappointment.

Satoru visited again the following day.

He was already waiting for you outside as you threw open the doors to the temple at dawn, leaning against a tree, skin glistening beneath the sun’s gorgeous rays. Doves were flittering around him, whistling away with some merry tune that seemed so out of place within the shadow of your temple. 

Once more, you found yourself faltering, glancing back towards the safety of your temple and wondering if you should barricade yourself inside, your master’s threat hanging heavy in your mind. 

But the warmth and comfort that the god before you exuded was attractive, pulling your feet towards him just like the first time, a moth to his brightly burning flame. He seemed overjoyed at the sight of your nervous figure before him, shuffling about and avoiding his gaze, jumping at every shadow in the forest behind him, as if Sukuna would emerge from the trees. 

“So nervous.” Satoru commented, blue eyes skimming over your form. “You have nothing to fear from me, lovely priestess.” 

“It is not you who I fear.” 

“Ah, of course not.” Pushing the subject no further, the god offered you a soft smile before lowering himself down onto the grass before you, sitting cross-legged on the ground. A flicker of confusion registered within you, for service to Sukuna had taught you that he was never to be beneath you, it would always be him towering over you. 

Satoru seemed to hold no such views, looking up at you easily. 

“Sit with me.” 

Glancing around once more, you shook your head. “I cannot. I told you before, you should not be here.” 

Satoru scoffed, a playful glint in his cerulean eyes. “He doesn’t know I’m here. We’re not all-knowing, and he’s off dealing with some war right about now, his attention couldn’t be further from you.” 

“He knew you were here before.” You pointed out, shuffling your bare feet awkwardly in the grass, pretending to find interest in the way your toes wrapped around the blades to avoid meeting the gaze of the being before you. 

“That was my error. I had been callous in my approach here the first time, unbothered by the idea of him knowing that I’d gone to look at what was his. For that I apologise. I had not realised the way in which it would impact you.” Satoru seemed genuinely sorry for his actions, worry creasing on his otherwise perfect face. 

Part of you wondered if it was an act, but you didn’t linger on the thought for too long. You hadn’t experienced kindness in a very long time, and that alone had your resolve wavering. 

“Please sit. I brought you an offering.” He patted the grass beside him, and you hesitated for just a moment before doing as he asked, intrigued at the thought of a god bringing you an offering. Sukuna had never given you anything, why should he? And yet, Satoru snapped his fingers and a whole spread of food appeared on the ground before you. 

It was a feast for Kings, an exorbitant amount, the likes of which you’d never witnessed in your lifetime. 

Stale bread and the odd bit of cheese had become the staple of your diet over the years, that was all the people from the nearby village were willing to spare for a priestess of a war god, especially when your region had been experiencing peaceful times for as long as you’d lived. 

“This is too much for you to offer me,” you said politely, trying to decline. You were concerned that indulging in wines and meats would be apparent to Sukuna on your breath, perhaps even on your body, for it might stop your skin from stretching uncomfortably over your bones like it did currently. 

Satoru shook his head, beaming at you. “This is nothing. Eat. You’re such a frail little thing, he clearly doesn't feed you enough, so let me help you.” 

You knew it was wrong, knew that you should turn down his offering just like Sukuna would want you to. After all, if your master believed your diet should be so limited, you were in no position to question his judgement. But your piety did little to override the desires of your body, and humiliatingly you could feel yourself starting to salivate. 

He didn’t have to know. You’d eat just enough to sate your hunger and that would be that. You didn’t need to overindulge. 

Hastily stuffing some grapes into your mouth, the pleased look on Satoru’s face emboldened you to continue. Even if he wasn’t the god you were supposed to serve, there was something about him that led you to desire his approval in the same way you desired Sukuna’s. Perhaps it was the knowledge that he could kill you just as easily as your own master could, if he so wished. 

“That’s it,” he chirped. “Enjoy it.” You grew so preoccupied with your feast, luxuriating in a range of flavours that you’d never known, that it came as a surprise to you when a warm hand brushed your neck, long fingers trailing delicately down your nape. 

You withdrew quickly, jumping like some frightened stray cat, eyes wide and worried, unsure of the god’s intentions. He remained unfettered, dropping his hand and studying you like you were a matter of greater interest than some common priestess. 

“Are you sure you’re no nymph? Perhaps some forgotten daughter of another god, cast out into the fringes of our minds?” The honeyed words had your pulse racing, unsure what to make of the compliment. It felt pleasant to be praised, but he was not the man you should be seeking praise from. “You’re so fair, it makes me want to hide you away from Sukuna.” 

He spat out your master’s name like a curse, something dark and unbefitting of his light and lovely voice. You said nothing, peering back at him as you remained crouched in silence. There wasn’t a chance that you’d even acknowledge such a statement, for you knew acknowledgement tended to count as consent amongst gods. 

Satoru shuffled closer once more, “this mark on the back of your neck, he left it on you?” His fingers were back on your skin now, pressing down on what you assumed must be a bruise. You hadn’t kept track of the marks on your body in a long time, aware that Sukuna would often leave them in his wake. They had never really bothered you. 

And yet, Satoru looked concerned.

“I suppose so,” you mumbled. 

Scoffing, he shook his head. “What a barbarian.” 

Again, you found yourself glancing into the darkness of the trees, despising the idea that Sukuna might potentially be listening in on the exchange, waiting for you to slip up. If he was, you wanted him to be certain that you weren’t going along with Satoru’s complaints towards him. 

“He’s not…a barbarian,” you whispered. Despite Sukuna’s treatment of you, it wasn’t so easy for you to cast aside your master. You loved him, you’d always loved him, it was practically built into your body. If he wanted to use you, he was free to do so, if he wanted to kill you, that was up to him. 

Satoru looked sad, carefully withdrawing his hand and dropping it into his lap. It was evident that he’d thought this conversation would go a different way. “Do you enjoy my company?” He asked. 

“I do.” There was no point in being dishonest. The green, airy atmosphere that he brought along with his presence was pleasant, and the opportunity to speak aloud to someone for once in your lonely life felt freeing, even if you knew it to be wrong. But that was where your rule-breaking would stop. You could dip your toes in the pools of possibility, but there were lines you would never cross. 

“I was here last night, you know.” He spoke. 

A chill ran through you at his words. 

“Is that how your visits from him always play out? Letting him have his way with you without so much as a hello? Receiving everything he could possibly want and then leaving you cold and shivering on the floor, praying for a sliver of his affection?” 

You wondered if Sukuna had known that Satoru was watching, if he’d revelled in the idea of an audience. Perhaps he simply didn’t care at all, why should it bother him if there was someone watching him lay claim to what was his? 

“That’s my role,” you said mechanically, upon the realisation that Satoru was waiting for an answer. 

“And again I must ask, you’re happy with that role?” 

“Yes.” 

“Happy for him to leave you in solitude? To take you with such violence and then berate you for talking to another, all while he’s free to do as he pleases?” 

“Yes.” You lied, more than happy to pretend that you didn’t spend your nights dreaming of more, fantasising about a life in which you could stay in Sukuna’s embrace, rather than wrapped in the cool emptiness of his temple. 

“And when you grow older? When your looks start to fail you and he ceases his visits, how do you think you'll feel about your role then?” 

The anxiety gripped your heart like a vice. The thought of Sukuna discarding you entirely was something you’d often considered, seeping into the cracks of your mind on your loneliest nights. There was nothing you could do to stop it, for time would march on and you would age, and he would find some new beautiful priestess to have as his favourite. 

“You’ll miss him.” Satoru said, answering the question for you. “You’ll lament and suffer and wish that he’d given you something to keep. You’ll realise that all your faith and devotion meant nothing to him, while he meant everything to you.” 

Tears began to stream down your cheeks before you could stop them, and you found yourself recoiling away from Satoru, feeling suddenly cold. 

“There will be no worth to your life, no honor given to you for your devotion and service. He’ll discard you, just as he discards everything that no longer qualifies as interesting to him. If your loneliness is strong now, it is nothing to what it will be when he’s gone for good, fascinated wholly with another while you wither into obscurity.”

A whimper escaped you, tears dripping onto the grass below as the god before you laid out the future that you’d never wished to consider. Perhaps he was the god of prophecy, witnessing your fate even before it could play out, but he didn’t need to be for your path to stand clear - it had always been obvious to you that things could only end one way. 

Sukuna would cast you out, and that would be that. 

“I don’t- I can’t-” 

“Shhh.” Satoru moved closer, curling around you in a gentle embrace. “Not all is lost.”

Shoulders shaking, you let him hold you, overwhelmed by such a lovely show of warmth and affection that you’d lacked your whole life. He was cooing quietly, stroking your hair with one hand and wiping your tears with the other. It was like he’d ripped your broken heart from your chest just so he could prove to you that it was in pieces, and you weren’t quite sure what to do with that. 

You shouldn’t have huddled up against him, shouldn’t have allowed his comfort, but what was a mere human supposed to do? Whether you obeyed Sukuna or not, the outcome of him casting you aside one day wouldn’t change. 

At least for now, if you disobeyed him, you could experience comfort for once. 

The two of you stayed there for a long time, long enough that by the time Satoru was pulling away, you felt like you’d almost melded into his slender form. “I can make you my priestess, I can make you my world. Beauty like yours is rare, and would never cast it aside like he does, not in old age. I would leave you not in solitude, but keep you in the warmth of my arms for eternity if you’d allow me.” 

“I can’t, I’m his, I want to be his, I-” 

“He’ll never be yours.” His blue eyes were sparkling as he regarded you with a serious look, one filled with desire. “But I can be. I have gazed upon you for longer than I should admit, have stalked about in these woods and watched Sukuna mishandle beauty that deserves more. Let me give you more.” 

Your stomach was churning with anxiety, not sure what to do. Your mind and heart were screaming away about your loyalty to the only master you’d ever known, to the god that you loved, reminding you of the consequences for even hearing Satoru’s offer to completion. 

But there was no denying the desire in your body. 

You felt warm for the first time in eternity, and you didn’t want the softness of Satoru’s touch to leave you. If you couldn’t be held by the one you loved, then it was better to be held by another than abandoned to loneliness when Sukuna grew tired of you.

Satoru’s fingers were grazing your cheeks with the utmost care, so gentle compared to your master’s rough hands. You mewled softly under his touch, pathetic in the way you leaned up against him, letting him pet you affectionately like you were some treasured cat. 

You’d never had much of your own autonomy, always reliant on gods to tell you what you needed to be. You supposed whether that god was Sukuna or Satoru made no real difference. But if one’s light would stay, allowing you to bask in its warmth for a time, that was preferable to one who would leave you to starve in the dark. 

As Satoru pulled you up from the floor, you allowed yourself to be cradled within his strong arms, too distraught over the matter of your master to register the peril involved as the god crossed the threshold into the temple, a domain where he was surely not welcome. 

Seemingly unphased, he took a seat on one of the marble benches just before the altar, holding you carefully in his lap and drying away the last of your tears. “There, there,” he soothed. “Let me look after you.” 

Allowing yourself to melt into his arms, you did nothing to prevent the slow brush of his pink lips against yours, mouth parting for his tongue as if it was the most natural thing in the world. You supposed that in a way, it was, Sukuna had taught you nothing but obedience, so with Satoru’s grip so firm and welcoming, what were you supposed to do if not obey? 

Satoru’s lips tasted surprisingly sweet, the faintest taste of cherry lingering upon them. One of hands moved to the back of your neck, pulling you in closer, allowing his tongue to explore your mouth in a manner that was more curious than domineering. Your fingers gripped at the fabric of his clothes, anchoring yourself to him, like you might lose yourself in his kiss. 

There was no attempt made to prevent his other hand from wandering to the shoulders of your dress, slipping the loose fabric down your arms and allowing it to pool at your waist. Your nipples were perked, whether from arousal or the cool air of the temple, you weren’t quite sure; any thoughts on the matter fled your mind as Satoru broke the kiss and hoisted you up a little, letting his lips find one of your nipples, his tongue flicking against it before taking that sensitive bud into his mouth. 

It pulled a pathetic little whine from you as you clung desperately to his shoulders. This wasn’t something that Sukuna had ever done. His focus had never been on your pleasure, but on meeting his own needs - to experience such devoted touch felt strange, but not unpleasant by any means. 

One of Satoru’s hands moved up your leg, pushing beneath the remaining fabric of your dress and finding itself in the space between your thighs. His long fingers navigated carefully over your pussy, with a gentleness that your master had never possessed, moving slick through your folds and circling a spot which had you whimpering. 

For a few minutes, you were lost in it all. You were off somewhere else in your mind, in some lovely field that befitted Satoru’s pleasant atmosphere, where the two of you could lay beneath the sun and make love amongst the flowers for all eternity. 

It was an illusion that shattered quickly. 

Satoru was just in the process of repositioning you. He’d discarded your white dress entirely, carrying you over to the altar and lifting you to sit atop something that you’d previously only ever been bent over. He’d spread your legs and knelt down before you, peering up from his place beneath you with an expression laden with desire. 

His breath had fanned over your exposed core, your body trembling at his proximity, in desperate anticipation of what it might feel like to have his tongue pressed up against you. 

But the moment he leaned in to give you what you’d been awaiting with bated breath, a large hand found its way into your hair and dragged you violently to the ground. You yelped desperately, struggling beneath an unwavering grip, your shoulder aching where it had bashed against the marble. 

“Stay still.” The voice was cold and bone-chillingly familiar. 

Sukuna wasn’t looking at you, his eyes were fixed evenly on Satoru, who was carefully picking himself up off the floor. His neck and chest was stained with a gold liquid, flowing from a cut which was swiftly closing itself up on his pale neck. 

Blinking, panic began to rise up in your chest. You wanted to fidget, to beg Sukuna for mercy and forgiveness, but such an action would be foolish, so you stayed deathly still in his grip, a rabbit accepting its fate within the jaws of a wolf. 

“I suppose you find this amusing, an attempt to defile what’s mine within my own temple. Did you think I wouldn’t know?” Sukuna’s voice was calm, with a dangerous edge to it. He was addressing Satoru alone, still not bothering to spare a glance at you. 

Satoru shrugged, an impish grin spreading across his face. “I thought you were busy.” 

Sukuna scoffed. “If I broke into one of your frivolous brothels that you refer to as temples, you’d know the second I took a step over the threshold. So what was this? An attempt to upset me?” 

“Why would you be upset?” Satoru asked, pleasantly. 

“You know I don’t like to share,” he said, his grip on you tightening. 

“You have any number of lovely priestesses, where’s the harm in letting me have one?” Sukuna’s red eyes flickered with annoyance, and for the first time he looked at you, a mix of fury and disappointment present on his terrifyingly beautiful face. 

“And you. How dare you?” He asked, dismissing Satoru’s question entirely, his full attention fixed on your quivering form. “Speak.” He barked when you failed to answer swiftly. 

“He- I- I’m sorry-” 

There was no explanation for your lack of loyalty, nothing beyond admitting that you were afraid to be alone, that you loved Sukuna so deeply that you could no longer bear the nature of your relationship. But telling him that would make him just as angry as telling him nothing. 

You weren’t supposed to want anything. You were nothing more than a servant to him with no will of her own. 

You yelped as he slapped you hard across the face, ears ringing at the force of the blow. “I should kill you for this, rip you apart for offering yourself to another. To receive what I give you is an honour, and you’re too much of a whore to be thankful.” He spat.

“I am, I am thankful.” You were mumbling as you tried to sit up, stumbling over your words as one of Sukuna’s hands came to press down on your delicate neck. “I’m sorry, it was a mistake, I didn’t mean to- I was scared-” 

“Scared?” Sukuna’s tone was mocking, his eyes alight with fury. “Scared of him?” He asked, jerking his thumb in the direction of Satoru, who was watching on with detached curiosity. The sight made your stomach churn, because that man’s honeyed words had moved and confused you and now he seemed unbothered by the whole matter. 

Such was the way of gods, as your parents used to say. Mortals were little more than ants to them. 

“Not scared of h-him.” Your answer was honest, because you didn’t truly believe Satoru to be a threat to you. Had you turned him down outside you were certain that he would’ve left you be, the issue was that he’d understood exactly what to say to get you to give in.

You were a fool, falling for nothing more than a silver tongue.

“Then what? Because there is nothing you should fear more than my wrath, little priestess, I thought you were smart enough to understand at least that.” 

His grip was tightening as he leant more of his weight atop you, keeping you helplessly still. Your lungs started to burn, fingers reaching up to grapple at his wrist to no avail.

You could hardly fend off a human man, let alone the god of war himself. 

“I fear- I fear your absence.” You confessed honestly, humiliation filling you at the sheer patheticness of your words. It was an insult to voice such things, to expect that you’d be worthy of his time or attention in any capacity. 

Sukuna’s red eyes flew wide at your words and his grip faltered ever so slightly. “My…absence?” 

“Yes,” you whispered. “One day you’ll leave me alone in the dark for good and I’ll h-have nothing.” 

For a moment he was silent, brow furrowed as if in thought, before seemingly regaining his composure, his expression hardening.

“So you thought to whore yourself out to this fool instead?” He spat. “Forsake everything I’ve taught you, the very vow that you should live by, because you’re afraid of being lonely?”

You nodded as best as you could beneath his grip. “I’m sorry-“

“Pathetic. I’d thought of you as one of my best. I suppose I misjudged you.”

The disappointment in his tone had tears prickling at your eyes, filled to the brim with guilt. In the heat of the moment, Satoru’s points had made sense, had tugged at all your deepest fears. But now, with Sukuna’s weight pressing down upon you, all you could think about was how much of a fraud you were.

How spectacularly you’d failed at the one thing that gave your life meaning. 

“Are- are you going to kill me?” Your voice was tiny, for beneath the judgement of your cherished master you were nothing more than a scared girl who understood little of gods and their whims. 

Again, there was a flicker of something uncertain on Sukuna’s face, like he hadn’t anticipated those words to fall from your lips. You barely tensed as his fingers tightened around your throat once more, leaving you certain that he was moments from squeezing the life from your fragile body.

Part of you hoped Satoru would step in, but it was clear that he wouldn’t, simply lounging on one of the marble benches, watching the exchange with rapt attention. It was becoming apparent that he hadn’t had your best intentions in mind, no more of a friend to you than Sukuna was.

Perhaps all he’d wanted was to have some fun with some poor, hapless mortal.

Letting your eyes flutter closed, you sank back against the marble, accepting the fate Sukuna had deemed befitting of your crime. But before the sweet release of death could find you, the grip on your neck disappeared along with the weight of his body above you.

“You’re not even worth that,” Sukuna hissed, leaving you crumpled and gasping for breath, utterly confused and broken by his decision. “Drown in your sorrow, for I’ll give you nothing.” 

It was the perfect humiliation, a suggestion that you weren’t even worth attention in the form of death, and before you could stop yourself you were sobbing openly, your cries bouncing around the marble walls.

Sukuna paid you no mind, heavy feet slamming across the floor in the direction of the doorway, only to freeze at the sound of Satoru’s calm voice from behind him. 

“Like you’ve ever given her anything.”

“What?” Sukuna hissed, peering over his shoulder. 

“You heard me. She told you what she feared, why she did this, and you still don’t understand. You’ve always been a fool,” Satoru chirped. 

Sukuna remained frozen to the spot as the white-haired god approached you, crouching down behind you and pulling you carefully into his grip. 

“How many times have you visited this temple, Sukuna?” Satoru’s fingers were toying with your body, running across your soft skin. His fingers brushed over your nipples and you flinched ever so slightly, your breathing picking up as his hand moved between your legs. Despite the situation you could feel your arousal growing, the sensation only heightened by the crimson eyes fixed fiercely onto your figure. 

“What does it matter?” 

“Do you remember?” Satoru purred against your ears. 

You nodded, struggling to find your voice. “Eighty-three times.” You whispered, meekly. You could remember each visit with staggering clarity, no matter how similar each one may have been. 

Satoru whistled. “That’s a lot. How often do you visit your other temples, Sukuna? Once? Twice? Never?” 

The fingers dancing over your skin didn’t stop, and you felt that familiar pleasure building beneath Satoru’s touch, a pleasant comfort buzzing through your veins and chasing away the desperate fear which had plagued you moments ago. You saw Sukuna’s throat bob, a flicker of something deeply unhappy in his eyes as Satoru slipped a finger into you once more, all for him to see. 

“I don’t see why it's any of your concern,” he said, finally.

“No? I suppose you don’t mind then, that I’m doing this to your favourite priestess. I suppose you wouldn’t mind if I made her one of mine, fucked her over my altar just like you used to.” 

“I suppose not. She’s nothing. Just some pretty mortal who can’t even follow rules.” Sukuna’s tone was even, but still he didn’t move. His eyes were watching Satoru carefully, as if assessing his next steps. 

“Great.” Satoru picked you up, and sat you down on the altar once more, back in the position that he’d put you in so carefully before Sukuna’s arrival. “I won’t waste any time then.” Discarding his own clothes, he dropped them down onto the marble. Your eyes scanned his form nervously - you were accustomed to being with Sukuna, familiar with his size, and found yourself glad to see that Satoru was smaller. 

Not that you meant that in any sort of disparaging way. 

He had a pretty cock, still thick and girthy, but the type that would bring you pleasure rather than stretch you out to the point of pain. Satoru smiled as he gazed down at you, a reassuring look that had your heart fluttering. Carefully he cupped your face, running his thumb over the purple bruise blossoming over your cheek. 

Fingers clinging to his shoulders, you sucked in a breath as he ran the tip of his cock through your folds. And yet, you couldn’t keep your attention fixed on the man before you, your gaze instinctively drifting to the hulking god standing in the doorway. His red gaze met yours, and there was a moment of terror in which you wondered if he’d kill you for looking at him without permission. 

Instead, he held your stare, your heart beating harder as Satoru started to push into you, imagining that it was Sukuna holding you so tenderly, pushing into you with care and desire beyond animalistic need. 

“Stop.” Sukuna uttered the word in such a low tone that you weren’t quite sure you’d caught it, figuring it was a hallucination born from your own need for the god. When he repeated it a second time, there was no mistaking its reality, for it came out as a bellow, a new deep cut appearing across Satoru’s back. 

And then another.

And another. 

Until the white-haired god was covered in a litany of slashes, pulling back from you swiftly, leaving you cold in your propped up position upon the altar. Your body began to tremble, hardly noticing the way Satoru was cursing off to the side of you, desperately trying to heal the damage Sukuna had caused to him. 

You were too transfixed by your master storming towards you, wondering if Satoru’s slight had led Sukuna to change his mind about killing you. 

With your breath picking up desperately, you were sure that you looked utterly terrified as he came to a stop before you, towering over you just as he always did. His shadow completely eclipsed you, and the hairs on your arm were standing on end, the desire to run overcoming you. But you’d seen what had happened to Satoru, a being who couldn’t be killed - one singular slash would spell your end. 

“Tell me,” Sukuna said calmly. “What is it that you want? Do you despise me? Do you long for him and his temples of light?” 

“No.” 

“No?” 

You shook your head again. 

“Then what?” 

“I told you already.” Your voice was soft and small. “I love you, and I want- I want you to love me.” It felt pathetic to say out loud, to give voice to a request so selfish and impossible. What were you to your master? 

Nothing more than a mortal priestess. 

And yet, after a moment of thought, he answered your question seriously. “I am no god of love. It is not something I could give to you even if I wanted to.” 

Before he could say anything further, he was interrupted by the sound of Satoru’s laughter. The sound came out a little odd, making a gargling noise like he was choking on his own blood as he desperately tried to heal his wounds. “You’re such a fool, Sukuna.” 

Glaring at him, Sukuna’s brows furrowed and another slash appeared across Satoru’s chest. It didn’t seem to phase him - in the time that you’d spent with him, you’d come to realise that few things did. 

“Why do you visit her so frequently? Why indulge in her flesh when you have countless others? What reason can you give?” Satoru pushed. “I have seen you murder for matters most frivolous, but when you find her, your most devoted little thing, in the arms of another you let her go free? Cause her no more injury than a mere strike?”

“I do as I please, I need to offer you no explanation for my actions.” Sukuna hissed, still pinning you beneath his gaze as he dismissed his peer. 

“No, but maybe you should try offering yourself one.” 

Sukuna was frozen, his expression unchanging as he stared down at you. You weren’t sure what to make of the glimmer in your eye, feeling completely exposed beneath his gaze. You wanted to sink into the floor, didn’t want to endure any further humiliation or dismissal. You understood your place with great clarity, you needed no further confirmation. 

“I’m sorry, please, there’s nothing wrong with our arrangement. I’m wrong to be upset. It's my role to serve whatever you desire. I’m sorry.” You chanted out apologies like a prayer, unsure as to what was going through Sukuna’s mind. You were shifting about awkwardly on the altar, feeling too vulnerable beneath his gaze. 

“Oh stop, you. That’s not what you really think.” Satoru cut in. “I’ve been watching you long enough to know your mind, and I’ve always known his. I’d appreciate it if you both stop wasting my time.” 

“Stop wasting…?” You faltered, falling silent, struggling to understand Satoru’s words. He ran a hand carefully through his hair, gaze flickering between you and Sukuna. 

Sukuna's brow furrowed further, finally pulling his gaze from you to look at his fellow god. “I knew you were playing some kind of game.” 

“Oh please, you constantly go off to some poxy little temple on an island forgotten by all of us and expect me not to notice something odd? I had to take a look at what had captured your attention, and to see how you were handling it made me feel embarrassed. I figured I’d give you a push in the right direction. Now go on. Stop lying to yourself.” 

For a moment, it seemed like Sukuna might make a move to attack Satoru, clear rage smouldering in the crimson of his eyes. But by some miracle, his attention turned back to you, and that anger dissipated, giving way to an expression which you were unfamiliar with. 

Shaking, your breath hitched as his fingers trailed beneath your chin. You couldn’t follow what was happening, struggling to piece together the role that Satoru had played here, unclear on whether Sukuna had forgiven you, half convinced that he’d behead you for the annoyance that Satoru had caused him. 

Instead, he leant forward, breath fanning against your face. 

“Do you even know how to kiss?” Satoru interrupted. “She likes that, you know, seemed desperate for it when I-”

“Silence.” 

Sukuna’s thumb stroked along your jaw, and you blinked nervously, eyes darting anywhere but his face. This was uncharted territory, unaccustomed to facing him like this at all, let alone being treated with such tenderness. Anxiety swirled in your stomach, conscious that this act of warmth might be something final.

“Look at me,” he commanded, and you did, staring directly into the deep crimson of his eyes. 

The kiss that followed was slow, stealing the breath from your lungs as his lips pressed against yours, almost tentatively. It was in stark contrast to his usual vigor and aggression, the contact careful in nature.

His tongue pressed into your mouth, dominating you as was always his way, but not devouring you completely as he usually would. The exploration was more like a dance, his tongue flicking curiously against yours as one of his hands found your waist, pulling you closer to him. 

The warmth of his body was new to you, accustomed solely to the weight of him taking you from behind, completely detached from heat and affection. To feel his chest against yours, radiating heat against your smaller form, had your heart racing. 

“Not so hard, is it?” Satoru quipped, only for Sukuna to pull away for a moment and fix him with a glare.

“I will chop you into pieces.” 

“Pretend I’m not here.” Satoru raised his hands defensively, and that seemed to be good enough for Sukuna, his attention turned back to you. Your lashes were fluttering, legs pressing against his waist, the sweat forcing your skin to stick against his. 

“What-”

“You should stay quiet too.” He spoke, albeit more softly than the sharp tone directed to Satoru. “Lest I change my mind.” 

You took his order as gospel, clamping your mouth shut and deciding that you didn’t need an explanation at that moment, despite your confusion. If he was going to treat you with reverence, you’d rather experience such a thing firsthand than force an explanation out of him.

There was no way you’d take the risk of disrupting whatever was currently taking place. 

Leaning in once more, you instinctively closed your eyes at his approach, a little surprised as he stalled just before contact, the skin of his lips ghosting against yours. A hand went to your cheek, brushing over the flowering purple bruise. Wincing, you found yourself watching him carefully, like a deer assessing a new being in the forest, one whose level of threat remained unclear. 

Caressing the bruise, he let out a heavy sigh before a lovely sense of warmth spread through your face, emitting from his hand. Moments later it was gone, along with the throbbing pain in your cheek, like he’d undone the damage he’d caused.

Before you could question it or thank him, his lips were on yours once again, soft and enticing, pulling you against him in an embrace that felt reserved for lovers, rather than one of a god getting his fill of a servant. 

His four hands started to roam over your body, brushing your breasts, squeezing your thighs, feeling you as if it were the first time his hands had touched your flesh. One of his hands moved between your legs, experimentally moving the slick through your folds, a thick finger dipping into you. 

Such attention had you whining against him, a sound that was swiftly swallowed by his lips. His finger was thicker than Satoru’s had been, working you open carefully, an action he had never thought to take in the past. You couldn’t understand the effect that Satoru had created within him, unsure as to how he’d gone from hitting and rejecting you, to offering you affection he’d never allowed before. 

He slid another finger into you, stretching you out until he was satisfied, his lips locked against yours until he was pulling his fingers back. “Suck.” He ordered gruffly, a trace of his old self present in the way his fingers pressed against your lips, forcing their way into your mouth. 

Satoru made a sound of disapproval in the background, reminding you of his presence, but if Sukuna heard, he paid the man no mind. He seemed too focused on your body spread out before him, your wide eyes looking up at him nervously. 

He shed his clothes in a single action, letting the fabric pool on the floor beside yours. Your eyes instinctively moved down to where his cock hung heavy between his legs, the monstrous size never failing to steal your breath away. You could hardly believe the number of times he’d sheathed the thing within you without any effort of preparation, your body adapting because it was what he required. 

This time was different. 

Mirroring the treatment that Satoru had given you earlier, Sukuna carefully ran the tip of his cock through your folds, red eyes fixed on your face. You felt shy, eager to turn your face away. It was easier to do this in the manner he usually would, with you bent over while he took you from behind. Gazing upon him so openly felt too vulnerable for your liking, even if the lust in his eyes had your heart racing. 

“You are my favoured one.” Sukuna’s voice was deep, “understand that, because I do not wish to speak more on the matter.” 

Lips parting, the question of what that meant dangled on your tongue. To you it suggested the situation was the same as before - for now he favoured you, in a few years time the matter would be different. 

He seemed to understand your concern before you could voice it. 

“I will not toss you aside for something as trivial as old age. To attract my attention is something significant, not a matter of simple youthful looks.” A yelp fell from your throat as he pushed himself into you, easily filling you to the brim, just like he always would. 

You had a million questions running through your mind, wondering where his true feelings towards you lay. It was clear that Satoru understood him better than you did, pushing him to some sort of conclusion that he wouldn’t have stumbled upon on his own. 

“Do not betray me again.” He huffed in your ear, breath warm against your skin. “Do so and I will not forgive you, you’ll receive no more mercy than my enemies would. But cling to your loyalty and I will give you what you seek. You’ll have my attention, my affection, for as long as you deserve it.” 

“I’ll offer you everything.” The words came out breathy, your body twitching as he withdrew himself from you only to fill you up once more, rewarding you with long deep strokes that held far more affection than the frenzied fucking that you’d usually receive from him. 

You found your nails digging into the skin of his shoulders, drawing blood and marring his perfect form with each brutal thrust, simply trying to cling onto him. Your cries were loud, echoing within the marble just as they always had, but the nature this time was different, for your cries were ones of pleasure rather than desire for more. 

Sukuna’s breaths were heavy, rasping hard against your ear with each smooth movement of his hips. The passion had your eyes rolling back in your skull, babbling out his name pathetically, demonstrating your loyalty to him in your ecstatic reaction to his actions. 

This was all you’d ever wanted. 

An opportunity that had once seemed impossible. 

His fingers were bruising your thighs, pulling you closer with each stroke, and as your thighs tightened around his hips, one of his hands slipped down between the two of you, rubbing that sensitive nub that he’d never deigned to touch before, always too focussed on chasing his own gratification. 

Lights danced in your eyes at the contact, a desperate cry of his name ripping from your throat as you squeezed around him, cumming on his cock. It felt almost humiliating to find pleasure before him like that, something that he’d never been interested in witnessing in past visits. 

If you ever came with him inside of you before, it was an accident rather than intention. 

This time, he seemed to have driven you to it, nipping at your neck and circling your clit carefully, even after you’d gushed all over him. 

Of course, his hips still didn’t let up, fucking you fast and deep until he reached his own release, his arms wrapped tight around your smaller form, pulling you as close as humanely possible as he poured his own seed into you, finding satisfaction in the way that it dripped down your sweaty thighs and onto the altar below. 

Past experience led you to believe that he’d pull away immediately, dropping you down unceremoniously onto the ground, with little regard to the damage it might cause your fragile body. 

But this time he did no such thing. 

He lifted you carefully, cradling you within his muscular arms and sitting down upon the cool floor, keeping you warm within the confines of his lap. Your heart was speeding at one hundred miles a minute, your fingers pressing against his chest, clinging to him as if he’d disappear if you let go for even a moment. 

A hand was brushing your hair, another stroking your thigh, while two were wrapped firmly around your midsection. All four of his eyes were fixed on you too, no distractions in the manner you’d come to expect from him, his focus was on you alone. 

You were his, and at least to some extent, he was yours. 

“How sweet.” Satoru’s saccharine voice sounded from across the room. The god was leaning his face on his hand, blue eyes sparkling as he watched the exchange. Sukuna straightened up ever so slightly, fixing him with a glare. 

“Leave,” he commanded. 

“Aw, not even a thank you? You’re so ungrateful.” The white-haired god stood up, a pout fixed on his pink lips. 

“A thank you for doing your job? No one thanks me for starting wars, so why would I thank you for orchestrating a union? Love is nothing special.” 

“I could’ve sabotaged your love. Kept that pretty little thing all to myself.” He pointed in your direction, offering Sukuna a toothy grin. “In fact, if you cross me I still might. I can make people fall out of love too if I so wish, irritate me and I’ll put a curse on your favoured mortal.” 

Sukuna’s face was stormy, his grip tightening on you in a manner that felt almost protective. “Meddle in matters of my heart ever again and I’ll cut you to pieces and spread them across the corners of the globe. I’m sure no one would miss a few centuries without you.” 

“So prickly.” Satoru rolled his eyes. “I hope you’re kinder to her. How she could ever fall for you is beyond my reckoning.” 

Sukuna peered down at you, and through the centuries of malice lining his ancient, war-scarred face, you could see it - the soft twinkle in his eyes as he met your gaze. The sharp edges of a god of massacre, tempered only for you. 

He would keep his promise. 

His affection would not be altered by lines of age on your face. Despite all his shortcomings, he was loyal to his word, and he had offered you a piece of his heart no matter how shrivelled and blackened it may be. 

And you would cherish that gift for as long as you drew breath. 

a/n: NEED HIM BAD <3

anyway to any crazy in love readers I'm currently working on the next chapter and am planning to have it up in the next week or so

thanks for reading! reblogs and comments are appreciated as always <3

permatags (send me an ask to be added): @calicatzz @suzunu @winkii @sukubusss @bobis-notmylover @tetsuski @torupilled @brattyxackerman @r0vena @chaos-4baby @moonlitreveri3 @feyrinnn @strawberryrosey @creamofsneky-blog @zeeseekay @p1nkfl0wers @apricityn @keiiiluv @dogggggggblog-kaye @duckie3801 @lav4mpira @seellove @cutesytwt @gojodickbig @yuujispinkhair @somos-things @yeagersss @paradisestarfishh @jennilynn63 @tthhaattgguuyy27 @bexxli @being-blue-is-better @tisuruxx @juliarchiv3s @dishs0pe @plutoxxxworld @5kkalara @serenadesvt @00frenchfries00 @warriorofenlightenment @scarlet-issilly @himbosexual @pousivuitton @ksjtozaki @certainfanpoetry @gojoscumslut @ynishalee @nakiich

© sukunahs

[starmapz]

hello!! i absolutely loved the first chapter of fye and the whole l concept so i was kind of wondering if you happen to have any idea when you might update? absolutely no pressure at all, and please don’t feel obligated to give an answer if you don’t have one i’m so really excited to read more whenever it comes out and wanted to ask! <3

hi nonnie!! thank you sm <33 i anticipate it coming out this week sometime! it's quite far along so it shouldn't take me too much longer to finish up and edit it :)

[starmapz]

Hey Trish! I just wanted to pop in because I saw you discussing this in a previous ask a while back and although I don't even go here, I don't really like Netflix's adaptation of Devil May Cry 😭

And I wanted to! I really did. The beginning of season 1 wasn't so bad until I got to the end and found there some stuff that really started aggravating me. I really wanted to like Mary's character, but I just couldn't. And I feel like there was more to Dante's character that the show could have delved into and they just didn't??? Like he's just this funny, comedic relief guy when he has so much more depth and lore they could have used and ugh.

And the thing is, I didn't realize it was a video game adaptation at first and only realized after season 1 ended - I was just looking for something to watch and got involved lmao. But did I see people's reactions on TikTok, and they were so so.

I know season 2 is out but honestly I don't think I can watch it lmao. I saw a woman on TikTok being frustrated because she felt like they got Mary's character wrong so at least I'm not the only one who just couldn't mesh with this version of Mary. But yeah, I just wanted to say that LMAO and if you have any more thoughts, I'd love to hear them :)

hiii!!

i really really tried to like it 😩 i thought the first couple of episodes weren't too bad too!! i can forgive some marvel dialogue if the show is fun and sometimes it was! i love papa roach and silly action, i loved seeing echidna even if the context was weird, and i really did try to enjoy it as something separate from dmc! it's not like this is the first time something like this has happened to dmc anywho LOL

not to mention i liked dante's design!

but not only is the whole thing so far removed from actual dmc while still being close enough that it feels like they didn't actually care, i just didn't enjoy it as a show on its own tbh :( i totally agree about the lack of doing anything interesting with dante and mary!! they absolutely just treat dante like comedic relief which is such a waste :( and he's barely in it!! they spend more time on cracking jokes and doing callbacks to old dmc memes than growing the characters and it's so disappointing when they have so much to work with. and mary... i have a lot of issues with her but i just can't with the swearing 🫠 it's so weird. i don't know what happened or why that happened but i just can't get past it

i TRIED to watch season 2 😩 i made it through about an episode and a half and i can't bring myself to watch more. it feels like more of the same but now they have a third character they refuse to do anything interesting with. i actually think the white rabbit was used well and i was hoping for a bit more of that or at least that sort of vibe but instead it's just all the same :(

it's honestly interesting to hear from the perspective of someone who didn't know it was a game!! i've always been curious bc i watched it with my bf who didn't like it either but had an idea of what the characters were like at the very least but still didn't like it but i couldn't tell if it was just because i was sitting there watching it while baffled at the whole thing LOL

also capcom, who makes the games, just released a trailer for monster hunter wilds' expansion dlc and they added a new weapon that is literally just nero's sword from the games and it feels like salt in the wound (though i do also love monhun and will be playing it)

i am grateful if nothing else that dmc is getting a resurgence. i saw a dmc game shirt at hot topic the other day and i haven't seen official dmc merch since 5 came out in 2019 so i'm glad it's been a reason for people to play the games and see what makes it so beloved to so many people :') it's just frustrating as a long-time fan to see this happen to characters that are very dear to me

[starmapz]

i totally get wanting to destigmatize the views around virginity, but a lot of fics here lowkey make it a fetish factor and over sexualize it, when it's simply someone's state of celibacy.

When I sent that ask (not to hate, jst to clarify) I was genuinely asking. I saw the 'corruption kink' tag and instantly that as though it was going to be one of those "she's a virgin and so sweet and he corrupts/ruins her" which would've been a turn off for me, because as I stated: I don't think virginity should be such a huge spectacle.

while i understand your frustration as i know this has been a topic of discussion lately, i think it's important to acknowledge a couple of things.

the first is that i have seen virginity be fetishized. i have seen corruption kink be an issue particularly when put together. i do not read it.

the second is that virginity has a stigma. that's the reality of our society.

there will always be both readers and writers who want to read/write for a character that is a virgin because they are too and just like being or not being a virgin is absolutely okay, so is writing or reading about it. in not bringing this up in discussions about the topic, it further stigmatizes it. it's okay to not have had sex. it's okay to want to wait to have sex. on the flip side, it's okay to want to have sex. i absolutely recognize a pattern in how virginity is often portrayed but it's important to remember that sex and sexuality, like everything else, is a spectrum. there will be people who are inexperienced writing for the topic who may get things wrong, just as there will be people who are experienced writing about the topic whose experiences or thoughts on the subject you may not relate to because we're all different. it's human nature to want to write about something you either would like to, or have experienced. it's human nature to want to read it as well and there's nothing wrong with that.

even pure smut with a virgin character is often written with the intention of someone wanting to see themself in the reader or write from experience. there's a wide age range of adults in this space on tumblr and an equally wide range of experience. please remember that just because a character is a virgin in smut, does not necessarily mean it's been fetishized.

virginity shouldn't be such a huge spectacle, i agree. and i agree that it's a subject that should be approached with sensitivity and i do understand and know why the topic is being brought up as of late. i mean it when i say i understand your concern. however, shutting down something upon seeing that the reader is a virgin doesn't open that discussion or allow any open discussion of sex. it should be a safe subject that people are allowed to bring up.

i grew up in the "sex sells" era. you had to look/be/act a certain way and treat sex a certain way and a lot of those expectations were placed on women in particular. things are far more open now, but we're now in the loneliness epidemic where sex toys are still seen as broadly "taboo" and the porn industry has issues and the portrayal of sex in media is broadly wrong, so it's very hard to have an open discussion about this. about kinks, about sex, about contraception, or why some positions can be painful. about what different toys do and how to care for them. about aftercare, about healthcare products for the reproduction organs and about virginity. it's not just virginity, but sex as a whole that has a stigma. the world is difficult to navigate right now no matter your age and i want to acknowledge that there should be a safe way to explore all of these subjects as an adult at any age. whether that means you turn to tumblr or your grumpy co-worker, i think both are valid and people should be given the grace to do so.

it's important to acknowledge as well the way you approach a topic. i have stated and will continue to state that my blog and my work is open to discussion. i like to write things that are open to interpretation and i invite discussion on my blog. i've had some extremely engaging and interesting discussions with people who agree with reader's actions more than sukuna's in my series wyk and vice versa. i wrote them with the intention that some people would side with sukuna and i wrote them with the intention of being humans who both make mistakes. however, i ask that before you approach me for a discussion, you read my work. not even the fic itself necessarily depending on the topic, but at least the masterlist. i ask that you at least be open to my side of the story, because when you entered my inbox initially, the way your question was phrased and use of emoji didn't convey a genuine question so much as an assumption and i reacted as such.

my masterlist for that project says that my goal is to destigmatize the notions around virginity while exploring sex and kinks safely. it also says corruption. it does not say corruption kink. sukuna does not have a corruption kink. corruption, in a sexual setting, is typically when someone less experienced works with someone more experienced to explore the more "taboo" side of sex. i can understand a concern with the concept, but the tags also state that she's very confident and the summary states that she's the one who turns to and asks him. she's 25ish and has had the time in an adult environment to learn her body and take in media that contains sex, but like i said above, there's a stigma surrounding sex and between being busy, not having an interest in the people around her, and not finding someone she trusts, she hasn't been able to explore that part of her. she is not innocent or naive or shy, she does not get "ruined". my masterlist makes this clear.

i am and will always be open to discussion in regards to my writing, but please approach me with grace and kindness and i will be more than happy to return it. always remember it's difficult to convey tone over the internet and there's someone else on the other side of every blog.

with that i also want to say thank you for clarifying your concerns and that it was intended to be a genuine question, i can absolutely appreciate that and understand your concerns.

[starmapz]

first of all so sorry you got the previous ask but please know that i really appreciate the genuine effort in destigmatizing virginity in your new fic, im really excited to see how you delve into it!

i appreciate it, thank you <33 i'm really looking forward to delving into it!

i think there's honestly a lot to be said on the matter, particularly with reader's insecurities coming into play. there's so many labels that get tossed around all based on something that's nobody else's business or choice but one's own and with reader being in her mid-twenties, i think the unfortunate reality is that there are a of people out there who would formulate one opinion or another about her based solely on the status of her virginity. exploring her concept of relationships, her kinks, and what sex means to her is something she should have every right to do without feeling unsafe or insecure.

i think the next chapter will shed a lot of light into why despite the fact that he's a dick, she chose him! we see a little bit of satoru's opinions and experiences with the product in the first chapter and we'll start to see more of sukuna's side of things too going forward, and i think it's very fitting for both the work environment and who he is as a person 🙂‍↕️

[starmapz]

do you do tag lists?

i do! feel free to comment on whatever series you're interested in being tagged in :) i'll like it from my main once i've added you to the taglist but there's a good chance it isn't until right before i put out the next chapter so it may take a bit LOL

i also have permatags for all work or just sukuna, feel free to either dm me, send an ask or ask in comments to be added!

[starmapz]

is this new fic another one of those virgin fetishized fics? :/

i would appreciate if you read the masterlist before jumping to conclusions.

thank you.

[starmapz]

hold me like a grudge ch5 - blessed with a curse

➴ childhood bsf trueform!sukuna x f!reader [heian era canon adjacent au] - ongoing series

❝ the world is an unjust beast. it claws and tears until nothing remains but those cursed with the greatest gift of all; power. in another world, ryomen sukuna is the strongest sorcerer in history, capable of an evil no one can dream. but he was once a boy, and you were once a girl. now a devil with docked horns and an angel with tattered wings, you walk this world together, your curse to navigate side by side. ❞

➴ cw ; mdni, 18+ only. dark themes surrounding my interpretation of sukuna's upbringing and how it affects you both. graphic depictions of blood, gore, death, dismemberment, mutilation, and hunted animals. character death. themes surrounding poor mental health. poor coping mechanisms. arguments. best friends to lovers. toxic codependency. child abuse & neglect. self-hatred. attempted self-mutilation. bigotry & period-accurate misogyny. eventual smut after both characters are over 18. angst. hurt/no comfort. eventual hurt/comfort. tragic lovers with a happy ending. dddne.

➴ wc ; 7.1k.

➴ a/n ; please heed the warnings for this chapter.

main masterlist || series masterlist || ⇤ prev || next ⇥ - coming soon

“Straighten your shoulders.”

You follow Sukuna’s instructions, rolling your shoulders back.

“You’re leaning too much on your back foot.”

Your shoulders fall forward as you face him with an aggrieved expression. The bow and arrow fall, one to each side, as you pin him in place with frustration. “You’ve been correcting my posture for ten minutes. Can I shoot already?”

A couple of years ago, he might have smiled at your quip. Now, the almost-twelve-year-old stares at you with equal stubborn challenge in his eyes. “Your posture’s been wrong for ten minutes.”

All the patience in the world couldn’t help you deal with your friend. With a shake of your head, you adjust your stance, bringing the bow steadily back up. Your feet crunch over the remnants of the late autumnal snow as you let out a breath and adjust your stance, using every bit of training Sukuna has taught you. Your breath billows ahead of you, but the cold doesn’t penetrate your thick clothes.

You draw the string back, feeling the tension reach the point Sukuna taught you to hone your senses to feel rather than see, holding steady as you concentrate on the carved target on the tree ahead.

Your dad would kill you if he knew you weren’t making snow sculptures again.

“You need to–”

Ignoring Sukuna’s commentary, you let the arrow fly, embedding itself in the second ring carved into thick bark.

Four eyes stare at the spot where you completely outmatched his last shot, which fell just short of the target’s outer circle. He clicks his tongue, eyes narrowed like the fact irks him. You can practically hear how Saya would have poked fun at him for being beaten by someone who isn’t getting formal archery lessons.

She would be proud of you.

“That was pretty good,” he grumbles in defeat. You puff your chest out in pride. “Your stance is still messy though. It could just be luck.”

“You’re so stubborn.”

He nears the tree to pull both arrows from it, his gaze thrown over his shoulder towards you. His lip curls up just slightly as he shoots you a look with narrowed eyes, receiving a giggle in return. He would have smiled wholeheartedly at that sound not so long ago.

You often feel like you’re chasing what once was, rather than what’s in front of you. It’s not like you don’t care for Sukuna, that couldn’t be less true. He’s your best friend, through and through, but you long for the times where he seemed more willing to indulge his childishness. It’s been so long since you’ve played games that most of your time bonding is spent training.

“Ryo? Can we build a snow castle?”

He casts his gaze over his shoulder again, fiddling with one of the arrows. All four eyes blink. “Why?”

You pout. “For fun.”

His face contorts into a scowl. You can’t make out whether he’s upset or contemplating your question. It’s been painfully common as of late that you can’t make out what he’s thinking. Every time you think you have something pinned, he surprises you.

It’s frustrating when he can read you like a book. Especially when there’s scarcely a moment you aren’t together. Between the search for a new shrine attendant and the constant need for a perimeter guard, your parents and Murata aren’t around as often.

You can’t say whether Saya’s mother joins them. She spends much of her time with Imai these days, helping to care for his sons as if they’re her own. It doesn’t sit right with you when her daughter’s two closest friends are painfully isolated, but you’re old enough to know now that the world isn’t kind.

Still too young to see why, though. Sukuna may stand out amongst other children, but to you he’s just Ryo. He’s the little boy born with a few extra features. It’s cool. You once told him he could fire two arrows at once– which, anatomically, no– but it still stuck with him how much you uplifted him.

His muscles relax as the memory resurfaces and he finds himself nodding. “Okay.”

Setting the bows against the tree, he jogs to your side, kneeling as you begin balling up the sparse snow. It’s been warm enough that much of it has melted and what you’re left with is fairly dirty, but neither of you care too much. As you begin making the base of your first archery tower, your friend trudges around gathering what snow is still scattered around the area.

Once there’s enough snow to comfortably build something, even if it isn’t a full fortress, your friend takes a seat across from you. He builds a second archery lookout tower, but it’s half-hearted. It leans to the left, somewhat precariously.

Your head tilts as you offer a handful of snow. “I think your tower needs some reinforcement.”

His expression falters as you hold the snow out to him. The hardened scowl softens, and he packs the snow into a more reliable tower. Your smile broadens as he relaxes in your presence, even going so far as to slip his lower arms through his sleeves. You can hear a seam pop, but Sukuna pays it no mind as he shaves extra snow off the tower with a finger.

“Are your parents coming home tonight?” He queries quietly in that low tone that you know means he doesn’t want you dragged away to be scolded for training.

Home. At some point, the walls that surround the place you live stopped being known as such for you. You can’t say whether you’d give that title to any one place now. You haven’t known real safety in over a year. Not since the loss of Saya that keeps you up at night, particularly those away from your best friend.

Using your palm’s heel to pack snow down into a wall-ish shape, you shrug. “I don’t know.”

One pair of eyes glides towards you while the other continues on with his snow building. You always find yourself wondering how he manages to pay attention to two things at once when something as simple as chatting has you temporarily pausing your motions.

Sighing as you now have his attention, you shrug again. “Last night my father said a Zen’in sorcerer is coming to help.” The second pair of eyes glides to you now, his back straightening at the mere mention of the faux heroes. “They found some burnt trees a bit south and they think the fire Gojo sorcerer is nearby.”

The boy’s entire demeanor changes as you impart the information, something not unlike the very fire caused by the sorcerer burning behind his eyes. His expression harshens as two hands ball into fists, the others still holding snow. “We should practice more.”

Resigned, you shake your head as you watch him adamantly get to his feet and move towards the bows. “Ryo, we can’t fight a sorcerer.”

“We can,” he decides, facing you with a stark determination that’s so bull-headed you’re positive it’s a piece of Saya that he picked up over the years. “We have to.”

“We’re kids.”

“So?” His jaw is clenched, a desperation lingering behind his eyes that you’re just now catching as you stand up to follow his steps towards the tree.

“We should leave that to the adults,” you murmur, reaching out for the bow he’s now got clasped between his hands. You give it a little tug, but his lower hands stay firmly planted. “Murata-san is home tonight anyway, right? We’ll be safe with him.”

“He was home the night of the fire!” Your friend insists, tugging the bow back hard enough to tear it from your grip. “That didn’t save–”

He hasn’t been able to say her name since the night you taught him how to pay respects.

As he falters, you watch the shift in how he carries himself. His shoulders fall, the determination becoming forlorn as if he knows you’re right but abides by his stubbornness. “I could have done something if I’d just–”

He couldn’t have. Even as he stares at the very hands capable of calamity, he knows he can’t turn back time. If he could, he wouldn’t be the cursed child, would he? He would be a hero. It doesn’t make it easier to grapple with when he sees the way he’s so often stared at, either.

The mere thought has the hair on the back of his neck standing on end, and his head whips up suddenly, staring past you where he sees the faintest hint of movement. His lower eyes shut and he drops the bow, struggling to pull his lower arms back into the cover of his clothes, but it’s too late.

A pair of eyes a couple of years older is staring at him intently from behind a tree. Another pair pops out, followed by one more. All three bear the same features as their carpenter father, which includes the scorn that makes your skin crawl. The oldest’s lip curls as Sukuna attempts to hide his arms.

“We already know, there’s no point in hiding them.”

With one elbow partially pulled into his sleeve already, Sukuna freezes, scowling as he faces the boys. The oldest who you know as Noboru– as well as the boy your age whose name escapes you– both emerge from the trees, moving towards Sukuna. The youngest trails behind, watching more than he chooses to participate.

Sukuna is bigger. He’s taller, standing over a head above Noboru, but there’s a stark difference in the way they face one another as Noboru confidently approaches.

Sukuna is on the defensive, and startlingly conscious of the fact that you’re here. Too close, and too dear to him. Static brews in the air like electricity. It shoots from his chest to the tips of his fingers, but it remains there, within his grasp, where you can’t catch a stray slice, nor this life that he treasures. Hackles raised, two hands ball into fists, while the other two are held up defensively, with his forearms protecting him.

Noboru, on the other hand, moves with the confidence only a child of Imai could. At fourteen, the boy is still of a smaller stance than your four-armed friend, but the way he carries himself makes him feel bigger. The look in his eyes, the unadulterated hatred fueled by ignorance, is the sort of propaganda you’ve seen mirrored in Imai before.

Stepping up to Sukuna’s side, your fingers clasp around his sleeve in an attempt to push him behind you. You, the shortest of the bunch, trying to defend the very curse that caused your village to fracture.

If ever Sukuna needed proof he still has a heart, this moment stands as it. His chest clenches, but before he has time to process how quickly you stepped up for him, Noboru is already stepping forward.

“Why are you playing with him anyway?” Noboru’s attention turns to you. “You shouldn’t even be learning archery, it’s not your job.”

Frustration simmers under your skin with how often you hear that. From Noboru, it makes your blood boil. “I can do what I want!” You insist, hands balled into fists at your side. “Just leave us alone!”

“Not until he leaves!” The middle child calls out, pointing at Sukuna. There’s an air of innocence to him that Noboru doesn’t retain, like he’s simply following the leader and this situation holds no real stakes for him.

You inch in front of Sukuna again, your short posture barely coming to his chin. “I’m not doing anything wrong,” he grumbles out, his frustration restrained by your presence.

The eldest scoffs. “You’re what’s wrong. You know my dad said you ate your twin in the womb?”

For the briefest of moments, Sukuna averts his gaze. It’s a moment too long, confirming the statement.

“It’s true!” The middle child points out his blunder.

Sukuna’s breath fans the crown of your head behind you when his breathing stutters. “I didn’t– I wasn’t–”

“You didn’t,” Noboru mocks in a faux whining tone. “You’re a mistake,” he growls out with no regard for your friend. “You got everyone killed! It’s all your fault!”

For as hardened as Sukuna has gotten over the years to the constant cautious glances and hateful stares, the verbal assault still gets under his skin. It slips through the cracks and embeds itself in the way he clenches his fists and grinds his teeth. He swallows hard, lip curled as he tries to push back in spite of his vision going white at the edges with red hot anger. “I didn’t do anything. I wasn’t even awake,” he grits out.

“I wish they got you instead of papa’s sister,” the youngest murmurs from the back, peering out behind his brothers.

Horror twists itself through your chest at the fact that the coldest statement thrown at Sukuna could come from someone so young. Sukuna’s breath fans the top of your head again as the words grip him in ways he could never prepare for. Barely audible is the way he breathes out at the dreadful way it slips beneath his skin, colder than the late autumn air.

“Stop!” Your voice breaks and you’re forced to steel yourself when Noboru is already scoffing. You hold your hands out protectively in front of your friend, casting your concern over your shoulder. He’s visibly shaken, for as much as he tries not to let anything affect him, it doesn’t change that he’s just a kid. “That’s not fair. You don’t have to be so mean.”

“Get out of the way,” he huffs. “This isn’t about you. I thought your dad told you to stop being around him anyway.”

The revelation comes as news to Sukuna, whose shoulders fall as his attention flicks to you. There’s a minute change in your stance, like the reminder is something raw and painfully real. It’s a knife to the chest and he’s certain that’s what Noboru wants, but it’s equally a reminder that you choose to remain by his side against your father’s wishes.

Against everyone’s wishes, he’s certain.

Even Murata hardly seems to tolerate him these days. He spends most of his time out of the village or holed up in a corner enacting Murata’s sudden need for secrecy. The only exception to this rule is archery or reading with the limited material the village has available.

But you only allow that raw shift in stance, giving away the truth for a brief moment before stiffening, building walls of brick to keep Noboru’s harsh words out.

You chose Sukuna. Again.

His gaze flickers back up to Noboru, brows drawn together to a tent to compliment the troubled frown he bears.

“It doesn’t matter,” you mutter in reply. “He’s my best friend. Just leave us alone.”

“Just get out of the way,” Noboru hisses, hand closing around one of your outstretched forearms as he wrenches you behind him into his two brothers. You collide with the middle of the three, whining as Noboru’s grip burns your skin as his palm twists around it. Before you have a chance to run back to Sukuna, who’s already charged forward to help as he calls for you, the middle brother’s arms close around you.

You throw your weight at his arms, but it’s not enough to break through his grip. The cold reality is that he’s stronger than you, but you don’t easily give up, wrenching against his arms that have closed around you.

Sukuna reaches for you, and in spite of his greater size and strength, he falls just short when Noboru gets a hold of his upper left arm. He pulls at just the right angle that the cursed child yelps, reminded of the sensation of the very same arm hanging loosely out of the socket when he was just three. Recoiling, Sukuna holds the arm close, having narrowly avoided the same fate as he faces Noboru with a scowl twisted with pain and uncertainty.

“I just want to be left alone,” the child mutters, cradling his arm.

“I want you to leave the village alone.”

“Don’t listen to them, Ryo!” You call, wrenching your body to the side and finally breaking free of the middle son’s grip. You stumble forward, narrowly catching yourself from falling face-first into the ground when you’re jerked back by your arm. Your body collides with the hard mix of mud and old snow, your head snapping back against the rough bark of a tree. You blink deliriously, looking up as the world spins around you and air finds your lungs once more after the rough landing.

You can hear them talking. You can make sense of Noboru’s intense sense of egoism passed down by his father. You hear Sukuna’s voice, smaller in spite of the fact that he should have the upper hand. He’s stronger than them, of that you’re sure, and you know he’s holding back out of fear of being left behind by the village.

You can sympathize with his need to stay in the one place he’s ever found a home, but you wish he’d fight back. You wish you couldn’t hear the way his voice wavers as Noboru’s words slip through the cracks. Ice forms within the boundaries of Sukuna’s being, the cold and bitter wind biting and gnawing at his mind until it leaves nothing behind.

Because that’s how someone like Noboru wins. Not through strength, but through cowardice and words.

And he knew it from the moment he emerged from behind the tree.

You blink, shutting your eyes tightly and rubbing at them as you attempt to make sense of what’s going on before you.

When your eyes open once more, Sukuna’s hardened expression isn’t one of rugged self-defense. His walls have crumbled, and the single step back he takes from the group is enough that all three boys jump him, assaulting him with the sort of vicious words only the cruel know while they attempt to restrain his arms.

“You’re disgusting.”

“Everyone is dead because of you.”

“You don’t deserve to live.”

“I bet your parents got rid of you!”

“I know Dad would have.”

They have the gall to laugh on top of it all.

Blinking hard, when the world stops spinning enough that your vision comes together, you’re able to finally make sense of what’s happening.

Sukuna is silent throughout it all, unwilling or unable to fight their cruel words. His chest heaves, eyes glossy as he attempts to keep his weak shoulder away from them, all the while enduring every pull and scratch at his arms and face. He doesn’t fight so much as simply trying to defend himself from the onslaught and it pains you to think it might be because he believes a word they say.

Your words don’t come together as well as you wanted, nausea tipping the scales away from your favor. “Ryo!” You call, tumbling clumsily from your lips. It catches his attention, even as he tugs and pulls his arms away. “They’re wrong!” Just slightly, his movements all stutter as the boys are almost able to restrain him fully while he holds his most vulnerable arm away. “Don’t let them hurt you!”

By the grace of whatever god listens, your words push him to use his strength. He sends the middle child flying back into the grass, forcefully wrenching his other arms away from the youngest and eldest. He stumbles back once he’s free from their grasp, a delirious and shaken expression on his panting face.

What really breaks you is the way he doesn’t seem to be all there. His eyes pass over you like you’re a part of the background of the scene, flickering around as he heaves for air. Whatever state he’s in, he clearly can’t make sense of what’s going on.

So he runs.

“Ryo!”

He stumbles forward the first few steps, his breathing audible as he struggles to put himself together, before he’s gone into the distance.

You push up onto your hands and knees on the chilly earth, your head still pounding as your vision starts at last to come together. It’s still white at the edges, fuzzy in ways that make you desperate to take a seat, but you can’t stay near the three boys.

You push up onto your feet, clinging to the tree you fell against as you look back at Imai’s boys, gathering themselves after the fight as they help the middle child back up. Turning away, you stumble back towards the village, rubbing your eyes repeatedly. The spot where your head collided with the tree is already swelling, an ebb to the way it aches as you walk. You hug yourself tightly, checking over your shoulder to make sure the boys aren’t following but you don’t spot them again.

As you near Sukuna’s home, you rub your eyes once more, grateful that the world is no longer spinning and your hearing is clear again. Your head still aches and some movements make your stomach churn uncomfortably, but overall you’re able to walk steady for the time being.

Your fingers curl around the bamboo perimeter of Murata’s door, gliding it open without thinking too hard. Slowly, you make rounds through the corners of the house that’s far larger than yours, but neither Sukuna nor his guardian are present. You know Murata is at the shrine rebuilding today, but you figured your friend would have retreated here.

Standing stagnant in the center of the small area, you wrack your brain for areas he may have gone, but it just has you pressing the heels of your palms into your forehead as you draw a blank. You passed the burial plot and he wasn’t there. He wouldn’t have gone to your parents’ or Saya’s, not since the attack.

Where the hell could he be?

Sliding the door shut behind you, you squint beneath the overcast sunlight, still too bright for your pounding head. You look left and right, but there are no signs of your friend to be found and the snow in this area has completely melted. You round the house to the field, pushing through the first layers of crops in hopes that you might find him hunched over somewhere, but it does no good.

The field’s too big, and he refuses to answer when you call out for him. Returning to Murata’s home in defeat is when you find something at last.

But it makes your heart drop to the pit of your stomach like a rock. It rocks your body with more nausea at the sight of crimson staining the white-speckled ground. It’s only one drop, it could be nothing, but as your eyes rise to the wooden exterior where Murata resides, you catch movement in your peripherals.

Your body goes rigid, frozen to the spot like it knows before your mind catches up. It doesn’t let your eyes move faster than a drag as he comes into sight, staring down into the very rain barrel that once reflected a flower crown back at him. Now, that feels like a distant past.

His lower arms have run red, the water beneath him slipping from a natural translucence to something far more agonizing as it ripples under tears and bloodshed in equal parts. His breathing is a wheeze between sobs, pained as his trembling upper hands dig a small iron dagger into the point where his lower arms protrude from his torso. The wooden handle is stained the very color of his eyes as he presses the weapon in deeper, exposing more flesh with each jagged movement.

He winces, his voice too high with each sob, too strained. It shakes you to your very core, more than your young mind can process.

Your limbs feel as though they’re being pulled down by tar. Every attempt at movement is heavy, leaving you feeling like a spectre out of your own body. Like you’re a passenger along for the ride in this life, unable to prevent those you love from getting hurt.

But it’s that very same thought that reminds you that this time, you do have autonomy within this situation. And you’ll fight tooth and nail to prevent the scenarios in your head from playing out.

“Stop.” It’s barely a murmur at first as you press forward, breaking through the barrier keeping you in place. “STOP!” You cry, startling your friend as you move towards him at last. He jolts, the dagger falling with a muffled thump to the dirt below. Tears blur your vision as you take in what’s happening, shaking your head in an effort to keep yourself conscious when fear, nausea, and your injury from earlier all collide.

You hold your hands out in front of you, trembling violently as they hang in the air before the sobbing boy still staring at his reflection. His jaw hangs open in despair, having gone silent as he grapples with the pain. His vision swims, and although he heard you, it’s clear that everything is a blur.

Nothing could have possibly prepared you for this moment, and you’re at a complete and utter loss at what to do.

“Ryo, please.” Your melancholic plead is all that you can manage, throat tight as you barely manage to keep yourself upright. But he needs you. So you press forward, hugging him tightly. He’s still and rigid in your arms, and painfully cold. “Stop, please stop,” you beg, hiding your face in his chest as you sob too.

You can’t say whether it’s his adrenaline draining or the lack of blood, but he slumps forward after a moment, barely managing to keep himself upright against you. To your relief, he finds it in himself to wrap one pair of arms around you. Your laboured breaths mix until you can’t make out where his ends and yours begins.

You can’t tell which of you is shivering harder, but his state takes a turn for the worst when his knees give out, sending you both to the ground.

“Why?” Your head pounds as you hit the ground under his weight. “Why did you do it?”

He coughs around a painfully dry throat. It takes a moment before he can manage to push out any semblance of words. “I don’t feel good,” he utters, head lolling forward onto your shoulder.

“Ryo? Ryo!” You shake him hard enough that his eyes flutter open. “I don’t know what to– I have to–” When you try to get a look at him, he slumps back onto the snow-covered dirt. His lower arms have splayed out beside him without movement, cold and irregularly pale with a blue hue. You don’t know the first thing about medicine, but you know it’s wrong.

You’ve seen your father bandage small wounds before, and use what information you’ve gathered from that to wrap his arms to the best of your ability with your outer kimono as you shrug it off. To your horror, it stains a dark red so quickly that a new wave of panic floods you.

“Hold on Ryo,” you mutter, hesitating as you get to your feet. Ignoring the pain in your head, you bolt down the path, past Imai’s boys to the shrine. Your legs carry you faster than you’ve ever moved as you nearly collide with Imai himself, holding up a beam being placed into a hole dug in the ground.

Scouting the space out for Murata, you bolt in the direction of familiar robes.

“MURATA-SAN!” You scream, earning his immediate attention and concern. As he whips around with wide eyes, horror fills his expression when he’s faced with a little girl covered in dried bloodstains.

He addresses you by name, moving towards you with urgency. “What’s going on?”

Terrified that your best friend won’t be cause enough for Murata to chase after you, you simply grab his wrist and pull with all of your might.

And it’s enough. He doesn’t question it as you lead him past Imai, past the three children, and behind his own home.

He audibly sucks in a breath at the sight that greets him.

You were here only a few moments ago, and yet it still strikes you to the bone to see him splayed out in stained snow. His chest rises and falls so shallowly that you fear it’s fate to lose the people who mean the most to you. You thank every god, every spirit, anyone who will listen that Murata moves into action faster than you do, moving aside your clumsily tied outer robes in an effort to get a look at what’s happened.

“Go get Arai.”

Your afternoon is a blur. Your evening is a blur. Your night is a blur.

The moon hangs in the sky like a taunt that the world will keep going, even if it chooses to leave behind the people who matter most to you.

The light that greets you in the morning when you wake up at Murata’s is too harsh on your pounding head, a forgotten relic of a terrible day.

But what matters most is that at some point in the hustle of saving your best friend, he stabilized. His breathing, although shallow, remained even all night, and his wounds were packed well enough that the lacerations cauterized.

Even if it came with a cost you have yet to learn about necessity, command, and bias.

Because Arai is not your ally, regardless of what he did for the young boy.

For now, that’s a distant thought.

For now, you focus on the boy laying awkwardly under a pile of blankets with a worn and weary expression. You’ve always thought that one should look peaceful when they sleep, yet evidence is pointing elsewhere when it comes to Sukuna.

Rubbing your eyes, you slip out from under the blankets, squinting in the intense light as you move closer to your friend’s bedside. Your palm hesitates as it hovers over the upper hand laying over his blankets. His blankets move steadily over his chest, but some part of you fears that when your hand meets his skin it might bear a cold that seeps to the bone like an ill omen.

You blink at the sight of his wrists. In the years since you met, you’ve never known Sukuna to have markings over them. His wrist bears a band, black as coal. Like ink, yet it doesn’t seem to be that, too settled in the skin to be fresh. It looks as though he’s worn the markings for years. You glance at the other one, chalking it up to delusion and a lack of sleep. You would have noticed if he had them before. You would have noticed if Arai or Murata had marked his wrists somehow, it would have taken too long given the evenness of them.

You brush it off as best you can, figuring it’s a puzzle for when your head feels as though it’s on straight and your heart feels as though it can beat steadily.

When you lower your hand, relief floods you as warmth curls into your fingertips. You let out a sigh of relief, slumping back as you lean on your free palm.

You can’t say how long you sit there. The sun moves across the sky, but you’re in and out of consciousness so often that time doesn’t touch you. Your hand never moves from his, though.

Sometimes you tell him stories. Sometimes Murata comes to check on him.

But only when his fingers twitch and close around your smaller hand, does your nervous system allow itself to shut down as you fall asleep on the floor beside him.

–

Your name is called with equal anger to what you feel as you slide the door shut behind you with force. The bamboo clacks hard as it collides with the exterior of your home. You can practically feel your father’s disappointment, but at twelve years old, you can’t be bothered to care.

Sukuna is leagues ahead in both archery and now reading with what little material Murata has been able to gather. He joins his guardian on small hunting trips held between only the two of them, while you’re left learning to weave with your mother.

You hate it.

You hate the household chores.

You hate the way you’re belittled for being a girl.

You hate the way you don’t get to read.

But most of all, you hate that the hobbies you’re meant to have are more or less chores too. Weaving, foraging, telling stories.

Why is it that you can’t stand alongside Sukuna and protect the village, too?

Now you can’t even read?

Trudging across the thick mud left behind by last night’s cold rain, you make your way to Murata’s, where you know Sukuna will be in the shadows nearby.

Things have changed since his recovery.

Your friend can rarely be found around others. He prefers to spend his time in solitude, save for your company and Murata’s teachings. He sticks to the shadows when he leaves, often guiding you through the field and far deeper than ever before into the woods to spend time with one another. He doesn’t sleep in his bed anymore, and you rarely see him return home for dinner either. His archery has improved enough that he can feed himself, keen eyes honing in on prey before you’ve even identified the possibility of it.

It’s a strange feeling to watch your friend excel in all the areas you wish to, while you’re taught to weave. The sensation of being left behind is stronger than ever these days, particularly when you find Sukuna leaning against the back of his home, knees bent as he studies the language strewn across a prayer scroll.

He doesn’t react upon your arrival, already keenly aware of your presence.

He looks bulkier these days, and while you know he did hit a growth spurt and has been training, you also see the awkward way he carries himself. It’s not so simple as outgrowing his own clothing, his robes are stuffed with hemp fabric. The severe nerve and muscle damage in his lower shoulders and arms causes them to sit wrong, no longer wrapped easily around his torso. The lack of feeling in the majority of both of them make it difficult for him to maneuver them, while one entirely lacks the strength to hold itself at such an angle altogether. He has to stuff his robes with fabric if he hopes to fake a semblance of normalcy.

You’re willing to bet it’s uncomfortable, but he never complains. He moves about his day like it’s just another fact of life.

But you see it, in the moments when midnight is a distant memory and the sun kisses the frost-bitten grasses. He’s tired. He’s angry.

He wants so badly to be normal.

When you plop down at his side, your shoulder brushing his arm, he lowers the scroll, his bottom eyes shut as he regards you with a contemplative frown. “Your father?”

“I hate that it’s predictable,” you grumble, pulling your knees to your chest as you rest your chin atop them.

He might have given you a wry laugh over that when you were younger. Instead, he’s quiet, blinking as he watches the way you eye the rain barrel to your left. He wonders if it’s subconscious, or if the pale remnants of a horrible day still staining the wood has drawn your attention. His throat tightens, shifting all four of his arms as his shoulders grow uncomfortable, but he can’t find a position that feels right.

“I’m practicing reading if you want to join,” he offers a distraction, holding the scroll out.

You turn your attention to his neutral gaze, unguarded as he only knows how to be around you. “My parents won’t teach me.”

One of his black-banded wrists that you never found answers for turns the scroll towards you, pointing out what he’s able to in an effort to explain its significance. Slowly but surely, you unwrap your arms from around your knees, pointing to different characters as you learn with Sukuna, who tilts his head at some of them. Still, as the sun begins to set over the horizon, you have the majority of the scroll memorized.

“Do you have any more?” You query, motioning to the paper.

He shakes his head. “No. The shrine keeper used to keep religious texts at the shrine, but they all burned up.”

You nod, but it’s a start that you’re thankful for regardless. Whether it’s the teenage rebellion your parents insist it is, or a denial of the world you were born into is yet to be determined, but you won’t let your father stop you.

Your gaze shifts to the left, staring at the stained rain barrel. Everything is only a termporary distraction when you subconsciously lean into your friend like he might disappear at any moment. Images of crimson deeper than his eyes stain every part of your brain until the question is unavoidable. “How are your arms?”

Sukuna’s hackles raise, his walls fortifying. “Fine.”

You know better than to expect more, but it’s frustrating nonetheless. You know his clothes are stuffed with additional materials to make the awkward way his arms sit less obvious. You were there when he first decided to do it, yet he still won’t talk to you about it as he remains carefully guarded.

He may shut you down quickly, but he doesn’t move away. The shared silence is one you welcome, in fact. Wheat stalks rustle in the wind, chill as winter quickly approaches. Snow feels imminent with the amount of frost that clings to the trees every morning.

“Ryo?”

“Mm?”

“Do you think someday we could really both be archers for an army?”

Sukuna raises a hand to push it back through his spiky pink hair, but he stops when the ball of his palm brushes the protruding cartilage of the right side of his face. The answer is plain as day, one of the many reasons that not only will Sukuna not be an archer for an army, but he won’t be anything to anyone someday.

“I think you could.” He fails to understand what could stop you. Your father’s word isn’t law, and although he’s now aware women aren’t commonly a part of any armies, it’s not impossible.

You’ve grown more keen over the years, no longer oblivious to Sukuna’s mistreatment, nor his own self-esteem issues. “What about you?”

His gaze flickers to you, although his head remains straightforward. It flicks back after a moment of stifling silence. “Maybe.”

He might agree, in some way or another, but the fact is that his tone and his body language give him away. He doesn’t believe there’s a place for him on the good side of history, doomed to be nothing more than the monster people make him out to be.

You catch his attention when you grab his upper shoulder, careful not to shake it too hard and disturb his still-healing wounds. “Don’t let Noboru get to you. He’s just mean because he can be.”

But Sukuna’s brow furrows now, his frustrations brought to light as you keep pushing for goodness in the world when he fails to find it anywhere but within you. You’re an exception, not a standard in this cruel world. “Stop,” he grumbles, shrugging you off his shoulder. “I know you want to think life is easy and things will work out because you want them to, but it’s not. It doesn’t work like that.”

“Come on Ryo, you can’t think like that. We can be better–”

“Noboru is the proof that things won’t get better!” He snarls, though the lilt to his voice is one of hurt and outward frustrations not necessarily directed at you. The reality of his situation is that he doesn’t get to leave any situation unscathed, while Imai’s boys don’t even get a slap on the wrist.

Life isn’t fair in ways you both have yet to comprehend, no matter how much you beg and cry for something to be done about Imai on Sukuna’s behalf.

Your brow tents as he lashes out and shifts away. His body twists awkwardly as he’s unable to hold his weak arm against his torso and it hangs at an angle that clearly bothers him. He huffs in frustration, rolling his upper shoulders and tugging the arm back into place.

“What if he isn’t?” You push up onto your knees as you face his retreating form.

“You can’t seriously think that Noboru is the different one here,” he deadpans, his lip curled into a phantom of a snarl.

“Saya and I–”

Something painful flickers in his eyes at the mention of your old friend. “Don’t bring her into this!” He pushes to his feet, glancing away as his jaw hangs open while he parses for words. “Just because one other person didn’t hate me–”

“What about Arai?” You interrupt with hopeful insistence, still seated on your knees with thumbs twiddling in your lap.

“Arai told me I would have been better off without my arms.”

Your shoulders drop at the revelation. You’ve spent much of your time at Sukuna’s side since that day, but you must have been asleep or gone when that took place. Your lips part in disbelief as you stare up at the vulnerable boy who refuses to look at you upon imparting that information.

“He’s wrong.”

Sukuna’s expression doesn’t change. The air that hangs around you isn’t without the tension of a hurt child, but you don’t let it stop you from providing comfort in the only way you’ve learned ever helps him. You push to your feet and envelop him in a hug. He stiffens, staring down at you with a stubborn frown.

“Don’t let them win,” you murmur into his chest, careful when you squeeze him not to jostle his wounds. “We’ll find our own way to be archers.”

He stares down at you, an intense frown curling his lips. He wants to believe you, he really does. The world just doesn’t have space for someone like him. His teeth grind as he lets the moment exist too long for your comfort without so much as a twitch of a finger.

“You’ll keep teaching me, right?”

There’s an anxious edge to your voice that crashes through his resolve. He shuts his eyes, swallowing hard as he shoves aside his doubts. He’ll make space in the world for himself, if it means sticking by your side.

“Yeah,” he agrees, his muscles loosening as he lets out a breath and envelops you in his upper arms. He leans down, not daring to leave the one good piece of his life with any doubts. You stay like that for a long time, clinging to one another like it’s all you have. “I promise.”

And it very well might be.

main masterlist || series masterlist || ⇤ prev || next ⇥ - coming soon

➴ a/n ; thank you for reading <3 you might recognize some inspiration from hellboy b.p.r.d. 1948 and angel's origin in x-3 the last stand. unfortunately i see sukuna's situation as being vastly similar to theirs in many regards, as much as it pains me to put him through it.

as a note, please never be afraid to reach out to a crisis hotline if needed.

please continue to heed the warnings for the following chapter.

➴ taglist ; OPEN. age must be visible in bio. 18+ only. @lilrosyhaven @tiny-mimi @grimm3r @yujisredkicks @knittybritty98 @sukunahs @saezzi @epicderpface @ynishalee @pandabiene5115 @silibiliballs @ane5e @feyrinnn @jkslvsnella @maomimii @megumuro @beaniesayshi @ryomeowie @suguusatoo @sukubusss @matchaenthusiast1111 @peachhiz @seellove @msrinnnn @amenabiii @jasontoddscumslut @asimpinamillion @rottenrange @ricktastix @indiewritesxoxo @cosmotoic @berry-marys @eli54sa @lovers-roq @arcanelusttt @cheol-lies @scarletcachecyclone @bam-boozledx @icebearcucumber @meatboy167 @t4ters @slushycoookie @yarimarjane @dishs0pe @martianzmars @tohru-tales @loijkiupo0 @crimzie129 @belovedria @therealjustpeachesback

writing, format & dividers © starmapz. commission art © zb relic. do not repost, translate, or copy.

[starmapz]

hold me like a grudge ch5 - blessed with a curse

➴ childhood bsf trueform!sukuna x f!reader [heian era canon adjacent au] - ongoing series

❝ the world is an unjust beast. it claws and tears until nothing remains but those cursed with the greatest gift of all; power. in another world, ryomen sukuna is the strongest sorcerer in history, capable of an evil no one can dream. but he was once a boy, and you were once a girl. now a devil with docked horns and an angel with tattered wings, you walk this world together, your curse to navigate side by side. ❞

➴ cw ; mdni, 18+ only. dark themes surrounding my interpretation of sukuna's upbringing and how it affects you both. graphic depictions of blood, gore, death, dismemberment, mutilation, and hunted animals. character death. themes surrounding poor mental health. poor coping mechanisms. arguments. best friends to lovers. toxic codependency. child abuse & neglect. self-hatred. attempted self-mutilation. bigotry & period-accurate misogyny. eventual smut after both characters are over 18. angst. hurt/no comfort. eventual hurt/comfort. tragic lovers with a happy ending. dddne.

➴ wc ; 7.1k.

➴ a/n ; please heed the warnings for this chapter.

main masterlist || series masterlist || ⇤ prev || next ⇥ - coming soon

“Straighten your shoulders.”

You follow Sukuna’s instructions, rolling your shoulders back.

“You’re leaning too much on your back foot.”

Your shoulders fall forward as you face him with an aggrieved expression. The bow and arrow fall, one to each side, as you pin him in place with frustration. “You’ve been correcting my posture for ten minutes. Can I shoot already?”

A couple of years ago, he might have smiled at your quip. Now, the almost-twelve-year-old stares at you with equal stubborn challenge in his eyes. “Your posture’s been wrong for ten minutes.”

All the patience in the world couldn’t help you deal with your friend. With a shake of your head, you adjust your stance, bringing the bow steadily back up. Your feet crunch over the remnants of the late autumnal snow as you let out a breath and adjust your stance, using every bit of training Sukuna has taught you. Your breath billows ahead of you, but the cold doesn’t penetrate your thick clothes.

You draw the string back, feeling the tension reach the point Sukuna taught you to hone your senses to feel rather than see, holding steady as you concentrate on the carved target on the tree ahead.

Your dad would kill you if he knew you weren’t making snow sculptures again.

“You need to–”

Ignoring Sukuna’s commentary, you let the arrow fly, embedding itself in the second ring carved into thick bark.

Four eyes stare at the spot where you completely outmatched his last shot, which fell just short of the target’s outer circle. He clicks his tongue, eyes narrowed like the fact irks him. You can practically hear how Saya would have poked fun at him for being beaten by someone who isn’t getting formal archery lessons.

She would be proud of you.

“That was pretty good,” he grumbles in defeat. You puff your chest out in pride. “Your stance is still messy though. It could just be luck.”

“You’re so stubborn.”

He nears the tree to pull both arrows from it, his gaze thrown over his shoulder towards you. His lip curls up just slightly as he shoots you a look with narrowed eyes, receiving a giggle in return. He would have smiled wholeheartedly at that sound not so long ago.

You often feel like you’re chasing what once was, rather than what’s in front of you. It’s not like you don’t care for Sukuna, that couldn’t be less true. He’s your best friend, through and through, but you long for the times where he seemed more willing to indulge his childishness. It’s been so long since you’ve played games that most of your time bonding is spent training.

“Ryo? Can we build a snow castle?”

He casts his gaze over his shoulder again, fiddling with one of the arrows. All four eyes blink. “Why?”

You pout. “For fun.”

His face contorts into a scowl. You can’t make out whether he’s upset or contemplating your question. It’s been painfully common as of late that you can’t make out what he’s thinking. Every time you think you have something pinned, he surprises you.

It’s frustrating when he can read you like a book. Especially when there’s scarcely a moment you aren’t together. Between the search for a new shrine attendant and the constant need for a perimeter guard, your parents and Murata aren’t around as often.

You can’t say whether Saya’s mother joins them. She spends much of her time with Imai these days, helping to care for his sons as if they’re her own. It doesn’t sit right with you when her daughter’s two closest friends are painfully isolated, but you’re old enough to know now that the world isn’t kind.

Still too young to see why, though. Sukuna may stand out amongst other children, but to you he’s just Ryo. He’s the little boy born with a few extra features. It’s cool. You once told him he could fire two arrows at once– which, anatomically, no– but it still stuck with him how much you uplifted him.

His muscles relax as the memory resurfaces and he finds himself nodding. “Okay.”

Setting the bows against the tree, he jogs to your side, kneeling as you begin balling up the sparse snow. It’s been warm enough that much of it has melted and what you’re left with is fairly dirty, but neither of you care too much. As you begin making the base of your first archery tower, your friend trudges around gathering what snow is still scattered around the area.

Once there’s enough snow to comfortably build something, even if it isn’t a full fortress, your friend takes a seat across from you. He builds a second archery lookout tower, but it’s half-hearted. It leans to the left, somewhat precariously.

Your head tilts as you offer a handful of snow. “I think your tower needs some reinforcement.”

His expression falters as you hold the snow out to him. The hardened scowl softens, and he packs the snow into a more reliable tower. Your smile broadens as he relaxes in your presence, even going so far as to slip his lower arms through his sleeves. You can hear a seam pop, but Sukuna pays it no mind as he shaves extra snow off the tower with a finger.

“Are your parents coming home tonight?” He queries quietly in that low tone that you know means he doesn’t want you dragged away to be scolded for training.

Home. At some point, the walls that surround the place you live stopped being known as such for you. You can’t say whether you’d give that title to any one place now. You haven’t known real safety in over a year. Not since the loss of Saya that keeps you up at night, particularly those away from your best friend.

Using your palm’s heel to pack snow down into a wall-ish shape, you shrug. “I don’t know.”

One pair of eyes glides towards you while the other continues on with his snow building. You always find yourself wondering how he manages to pay attention to two things at once when something as simple as chatting has you temporarily pausing your motions.

Sighing as you now have his attention, you shrug again. “Last night my father said a Zen’in sorcerer is coming to help.” The second pair of eyes glides to you now, his back straightening at the mere mention of the faux heroes. “They found some burnt trees a bit south and they think the fire Gojo sorcerer is nearby.”

The boy’s entire demeanor changes as you impart the information, something not unlike the very fire caused by the sorcerer burning behind his eyes. His expression harshens as two hands ball into fists, the others still holding snow. “We should practice more.”

Resigned, you shake your head as you watch him adamantly get to his feet and move towards the bows. “Ryo, we can’t fight a sorcerer.”

“We can,” he decides, facing you with a stark determination that’s so bull-headed you’re positive it’s a piece of Saya that he picked up over the years. “We have to.”

“We’re kids.”

“So?” His jaw is clenched, a desperation lingering behind his eyes that you’re just now catching as you stand up to follow his steps towards the tree.

“We should leave that to the adults,” you murmur, reaching out for the bow he’s now got clasped between his hands. You give it a little tug, but his lower hands stay firmly planted. “Murata-san is home tonight anyway, right? We’ll be safe with him.”

“He was home the night of the fire!” Your friend insists, tugging the bow back hard enough to tear it from your grip. “That didn’t save–”

He hasn’t been able to say her name since the night you taught him how to pay respects.

As he falters, you watch the shift in how he carries himself. His shoulders fall, the determination becoming forlorn as if he knows you’re right but abides by his stubbornness. “I could have done something if I’d just–”

He couldn’t have. Even as he stares at the very hands capable of calamity, he knows he can’t turn back time. If he could, he wouldn’t be the cursed child, would he? He would be a hero. It doesn’t make it easier to grapple with when he sees the way he’s so often stared at, either.

The mere thought has the hair on the back of his neck standing on end, and his head whips up suddenly, staring past you where he sees the faintest hint of movement. His lower eyes shut and he drops the bow, struggling to pull his lower arms back into the cover of his clothes, but it’s too late.

A pair of eyes a couple of years older is staring at him intently from behind a tree. Another pair pops out, followed by one more. All three bear the same features as their carpenter father, which includes the scorn that makes your skin crawl. The oldest’s lip curls as Sukuna attempts to hide his arms.

“We already know, there’s no point in hiding them.”

With one elbow partially pulled into his sleeve already, Sukuna freezes, scowling as he faces the boys. The oldest who you know as Noboru– as well as the boy your age whose name escapes you– both emerge from the trees, moving towards Sukuna. The youngest trails behind, watching more than he chooses to participate.

Sukuna is bigger. He’s taller, standing over a head above Noboru, but there’s a stark difference in the way they face one another as Noboru confidently approaches.

Sukuna is on the defensive, and startlingly conscious of the fact that you’re here. Too close, and too dear to him. Static brews in the air like electricity. It shoots from his chest to the tips of his fingers, but it remains there, within his grasp, where you can’t catch a stray slice, nor this life that he treasures. Hackles raised, two hands ball into fists, while the other two are held up defensively, with his forearms protecting him.

Noboru, on the other hand, moves with the confidence only a child of Imai could. At fourteen, the boy is still of a smaller stance than your four-armed friend, but the way he carries himself makes him feel bigger. The look in his eyes, the unadulterated hatred fueled by ignorance, is the sort of propaganda you’ve seen mirrored in Imai before.

Stepping up to Sukuna’s side, your fingers clasp around his sleeve in an attempt to push him behind you. You, the shortest of the bunch, trying to defend the very curse that caused your village to fracture.

If ever Sukuna needed proof he still has a heart, this moment stands as it. His chest clenches, but before he has time to process how quickly you stepped up for him, Noboru is already stepping forward.

“Why are you playing with him anyway?” Noboru’s attention turns to you. “You shouldn’t even be learning archery, it’s not your job.”

Frustration simmers under your skin with how often you hear that. From Noboru, it makes your blood boil. “I can do what I want!” You insist, hands balled into fists at your side. “Just leave us alone!”

“Not until he leaves!” The middle child calls out, pointing at Sukuna. There’s an air of innocence to him that Noboru doesn’t retain, like he’s simply following the leader and this situation holds no real stakes for him.

You inch in front of Sukuna again, your short posture barely coming to his chin. “I’m not doing anything wrong,” he grumbles out, his frustration restrained by your presence.

The eldest scoffs. “You’re what’s wrong. You know my dad said you ate your twin in the womb?”

For the briefest of moments, Sukuna averts his gaze. It’s a moment too long, confirming the statement.

“It’s true!” The middle child points out his blunder.

Sukuna’s breath fans the crown of your head behind you when his breathing stutters. “I didn’t– I wasn’t–”

“You didn’t,” Noboru mocks in a faux whining tone. “You’re a mistake,” he growls out with no regard for your friend. “You got everyone killed! It’s all your fault!”

For as hardened as Sukuna has gotten over the years to the constant cautious glances and hateful stares, the verbal assault still gets under his skin. It slips through the cracks and embeds itself in the way he clenches his fists and grinds his teeth. He swallows hard, lip curled as he tries to push back in spite of his vision going white at the edges with red hot anger. “I didn’t do anything. I wasn’t even awake,” he grits out.

“I wish they got you instead of papa’s sister,” the youngest murmurs from the back, peering out behind his brothers.

Horror twists itself through your chest at the fact that the coldest statement thrown at Sukuna could come from someone so young. Sukuna’s breath fans the top of your head again as the words grip him in ways he could never prepare for. Barely audible is the way he breathes out at the dreadful way it slips beneath his skin, colder than the late autumn air.

“Stop!” Your voice breaks and you’re forced to steel yourself when Noboru is already scoffing. You hold your hands out protectively in front of your friend, casting your concern over your shoulder. He’s visibly shaken, for as much as he tries not to let anything affect him, it doesn’t change that he’s just a kid. “That’s not fair. You don’t have to be so mean.”

“Get out of the way,” he huffs. “This isn’t about you. I thought your dad told you to stop being around him anyway.”

The revelation comes as news to Sukuna, whose shoulders fall as his attention flicks to you. There’s a minute change in your stance, like the reminder is something raw and painfully real. It’s a knife to the chest and he’s certain that’s what Noboru wants, but it’s equally a reminder that you choose to remain by his side against your father’s wishes.

Against everyone’s wishes, he’s certain.

Even Murata hardly seems to tolerate him these days. He spends most of his time out of the village or holed up in a corner enacting Murata’s sudden need for secrecy. The only exception to this rule is archery or reading with the limited material the village has available.

But you only allow that raw shift in stance, giving away the truth for a brief moment before stiffening, building walls of brick to keep Noboru’s harsh words out.

You chose Sukuna. Again.

His gaze flickers back up to Noboru, brows drawn together to a tent to compliment the troubled frown he bears.

“It doesn’t matter,” you mutter in reply. “He’s my best friend. Just leave us alone.”

“Just get out of the way,” Noboru hisses, hand closing around one of your outstretched forearms as he wrenches you behind him into his two brothers. You collide with the middle of the three, whining as Noboru’s grip burns your skin as his palm twists around it. Before you have a chance to run back to Sukuna, who’s already charged forward to help as he calls for you, the middle brother’s arms close around you.

You throw your weight at his arms, but it’s not enough to break through his grip. The cold reality is that he’s stronger than you, but you don’t easily give up, wrenching against his arms that have closed around you.

Sukuna reaches for you, and in spite of his greater size and strength, he falls just short when Noboru gets a hold of his upper left arm. He pulls at just the right angle that the cursed child yelps, reminded of the sensation of the very same arm hanging loosely out of the socket when he was just three. Recoiling, Sukuna holds the arm close, having narrowly avoided the same fate as he faces Noboru with a scowl twisted with pain and uncertainty.

“I just want to be left alone,” the child mutters, cradling his arm.

“I want you to leave the village alone.”

“Don’t listen to them, Ryo!” You call, wrenching your body to the side and finally breaking free of the middle son’s grip. You stumble forward, narrowly catching yourself from falling face-first into the ground when you’re jerked back by your arm. Your body collides with the hard mix of mud and old snow, your head snapping back against the rough bark of a tree. You blink deliriously, looking up as the world spins around you and air finds your lungs once more after the rough landing.

You can hear them talking. You can make sense of Noboru’s intense sense of egoism passed down by his father. You hear Sukuna’s voice, smaller in spite of the fact that he should have the upper hand. He’s stronger than them, of that you’re sure, and you know he’s holding back out of fear of being left behind by the village.

You can sympathize with his need to stay in the one place he’s ever found a home, but you wish he’d fight back. You wish you couldn’t hear the way his voice wavers as Noboru’s words slip through the cracks. Ice forms within the boundaries of Sukuna’s being, the cold and bitter wind biting and gnawing at his mind until it leaves nothing behind.

Because that’s how someone like Noboru wins. Not through strength, but through cowardice and words.

And he knew it from the moment he emerged from behind the tree.

You blink, shutting your eyes tightly and rubbing at them as you attempt to make sense of what’s going on before you.

When your eyes open once more, Sukuna’s hardened expression isn’t one of rugged self-defense. His walls have crumbled, and the single step back he takes from the group is enough that all three boys jump him, assaulting him with the sort of vicious words only the cruel know while they attempt to restrain his arms.

“You’re disgusting.”

“Everyone is dead because of you.”

“You don’t deserve to live.”

“I bet your parents got rid of you!”

“I know Dad would have.”

They have the gall to laugh on top of it all.

Blinking hard, when the world stops spinning enough that your vision comes together, you’re able to finally make sense of what’s happening.

Sukuna is silent throughout it all, unwilling or unable to fight their cruel words. His chest heaves, eyes glossy as he attempts to keep his weak shoulder away from them, all the while enduring every pull and scratch at his arms and face. He doesn’t fight so much as simply trying to defend himself from the onslaught and it pains you to think it might be because he believes a word they say.

Your words don’t come together as well as you wanted, nausea tipping the scales away from your favor. “Ryo!” You call, tumbling clumsily from your lips. It catches his attention, even as he tugs and pulls his arms away. “They’re wrong!” Just slightly, his movements all stutter as the boys are almost able to restrain him fully while he holds his most vulnerable arm away. “Don’t let them hurt you!”

By the grace of whatever god listens, your words push him to use his strength. He sends the middle child flying back into the grass, forcefully wrenching his other arms away from the youngest and eldest. He stumbles back once he’s free from their grasp, a delirious and shaken expression on his panting face.

What really breaks you is the way he doesn’t seem to be all there. His eyes pass over you like you’re a part of the background of the scene, flickering around as he heaves for air. Whatever state he’s in, he clearly can’t make sense of what’s going on.

So he runs.

“Ryo!”

He stumbles forward the first few steps, his breathing audible as he struggles to put himself together, before he’s gone into the distance.

You push up onto your hands and knees on the chilly earth, your head still pounding as your vision starts at last to come together. It’s still white at the edges, fuzzy in ways that make you desperate to take a seat, but you can’t stay near the three boys.

You push up onto your feet, clinging to the tree you fell against as you look back at Imai’s boys, gathering themselves after the fight as they help the middle child back up. Turning away, you stumble back towards the village, rubbing your eyes repeatedly. The spot where your head collided with the tree is already swelling, an ebb to the way it aches as you walk. You hug yourself tightly, checking over your shoulder to make sure the boys aren’t following but you don’t spot them again.

As you near Sukuna’s home, you rub your eyes once more, grateful that the world is no longer spinning and your hearing is clear again. Your head still aches and some movements make your stomach churn uncomfortably, but overall you’re able to walk steady for the time being.

Your fingers curl around the bamboo perimeter of Murata’s door, gliding it open without thinking too hard. Slowly, you make rounds through the corners of the house that’s far larger than yours, but neither Sukuna nor his guardian are present. You know Murata is at the shrine rebuilding today, but you figured your friend would have retreated here.

Standing stagnant in the center of the small area, you wrack your brain for areas he may have gone, but it just has you pressing the heels of your palms into your forehead as you draw a blank. You passed the burial plot and he wasn’t there. He wouldn’t have gone to your parents’ or Saya’s, not since the attack.

Where the hell could he be?

Sliding the door shut behind you, you squint beneath the overcast sunlight, still too bright for your pounding head. You look left and right, but there are no signs of your friend to be found and the snow in this area has completely melted. You round the house to the field, pushing through the first layers of crops in hopes that you might find him hunched over somewhere, but it does no good.

The field’s too big, and he refuses to answer when you call out for him. Returning to Murata’s home in defeat is when you find something at last.

But it makes your heart drop to the pit of your stomach like a rock. It rocks your body with more nausea at the sight of crimson staining the white-speckled ground. It’s only one drop, it could be nothing, but as your eyes rise to the wooden exterior where Murata resides, you catch movement in your peripherals.

Your body goes rigid, frozen to the spot like it knows before your mind catches up. It doesn’t let your eyes move faster than a drag as he comes into sight, staring down into the very rain barrel that once reflected a flower crown back at him. Now, that feels like a distant past.

His lower arms have run red, the water beneath him slipping from a natural translucence to something far more agonizing as it ripples under tears and bloodshed in equal parts. His breathing is a wheeze between sobs, pained as his trembling upper hands dig a small iron dagger into the point where his lower arms protrude from his torso. The wooden handle is stained the very color of his eyes as he presses the weapon in deeper, exposing more flesh with each jagged movement.

He winces, his voice too high with each sob, too strained. It shakes you to your very core, more than your young mind can process.

Your limbs feel as though they’re being pulled down by tar. Every attempt at movement is heavy, leaving you feeling like a spectre out of your own body. Like you’re a passenger along for the ride in this life, unable to prevent those you love from getting hurt.

But it’s that very same thought that reminds you that this time, you do have autonomy within this situation. And you’ll fight tooth and nail to prevent the scenarios in your head from playing out.

“Stop.” It’s barely a murmur at first as you press forward, breaking through the barrier keeping you in place. “STOP!” You cry, startling your friend as you move towards him at last. He jolts, the dagger falling with a muffled thump to the dirt below. Tears blur your vision as you take in what’s happening, shaking your head in an effort to keep yourself conscious when fear, nausea, and your injury from earlier all collide.

You hold your hands out in front of you, trembling violently as they hang in the air before the sobbing boy still staring at his reflection. His jaw hangs open in despair, having gone silent as he grapples with the pain. His vision swims, and although he heard you, it’s clear that everything is a blur.

Nothing could have possibly prepared you for this moment, and you’re at a complete and utter loss at what to do.

“Ryo, please.” Your melancholic plead is all that you can manage, throat tight as you barely manage to keep yourself upright. But he needs you. So you press forward, hugging him tightly. He’s still and rigid in your arms, and painfully cold. “Stop, please stop,” you beg, hiding your face in his chest as you sob too.

You can’t say whether it’s his adrenaline draining or the lack of blood, but he slumps forward after a moment, barely managing to keep himself upright against you. To your relief, he finds it in himself to wrap one pair of arms around you. Your laboured breaths mix until you can’t make out where his ends and yours begins.

You can’t tell which of you is shivering harder, but his state takes a turn for the worst when his knees give out, sending you both to the ground.

“Why?” Your head pounds as you hit the ground under his weight. “Why did you do it?”

He coughs around a painfully dry throat. It takes a moment before he can manage to push out any semblance of words. “I don’t feel good,” he utters, head lolling forward onto your shoulder.

“Ryo? Ryo!” You shake him hard enough that his eyes flutter open. “I don’t know what to– I have to–” When you try to get a look at him, he slumps back onto the snow-covered dirt. His lower arms have splayed out beside him without movement, cold and irregularly pale with a blue hue. You don’t know the first thing about medicine, but you know it’s wrong.

You’ve seen your father bandage small wounds before, and use what information you’ve gathered from that to wrap his arms to the best of your ability with your outer kimono as you shrug it off. To your horror, it stains a dark red so quickly that a new wave of panic floods you.

“Hold on Ryo,” you mutter, hesitating as you get to your feet. Ignoring the pain in your head, you bolt down the path, past Imai’s boys to the shrine. Your legs carry you faster than you’ve ever moved as you nearly collide with Imai himself, holding up a beam being placed into a hole dug in the ground.

Scouting the space out for Murata, you bolt in the direction of familiar robes.

“MURATA-SAN!” You scream, earning his immediate attention and concern. As he whips around with wide eyes, horror fills his expression when he’s faced with a little girl covered in dried bloodstains.

He addresses you by name, moving towards you with urgency. “What’s going on?”

Terrified that your best friend won’t be cause enough for Murata to chase after you, you simply grab his wrist and pull with all of your might.

And it’s enough. He doesn’t question it as you lead him past Imai, past the three children, and behind his own home.

He audibly sucks in a breath at the sight that greets him.

You were here only a few moments ago, and yet it still strikes you to the bone to see him splayed out in stained snow. His chest rises and falls so shallowly that you fear it’s fate to lose the people who mean the most to you. You thank every god, every spirit, anyone who will listen that Murata moves into action faster than you do, moving aside your clumsily tied outer robes in an effort to get a look at what’s happened.

“Go get Arai.”

Your afternoon is a blur. Your evening is a blur. Your night is a blur.

The moon hangs in the sky like a taunt that the world will keep going, even if it chooses to leave behind the people who matter most to you.

The light that greets you in the morning when you wake up at Murata’s is too harsh on your pounding head, a forgotten relic of a terrible day.

But what matters most is that at some point in the hustle of saving your best friend, he stabilized. His breathing, although shallow, remained even all night, and his wounds were packed well enough that the lacerations cauterized.

Even if it came with a cost you have yet to learn about necessity, command, and bias.

Because Arai is not your ally, regardless of what he did for the young boy.

For now, that’s a distant thought.

For now, you focus on the boy laying awkwardly under a pile of blankets with a worn and weary expression. You’ve always thought that one should look peaceful when they sleep, yet evidence is pointing elsewhere when it comes to Sukuna.

Rubbing your eyes, you slip out from under the blankets, squinting in the intense light as you move closer to your friend’s bedside. Your palm hesitates as it hovers over the upper hand laying over his blankets. His blankets move steadily over his chest, but some part of you fears that when your hand meets his skin it might bear a cold that seeps to the bone like an ill omen.

You blink at the sight of his wrists. In the years since you met, you’ve never known Sukuna to have markings over them. His wrist bears a band, black as coal. Like ink, yet it doesn’t seem to be that, too settled in the skin to be fresh. It looks as though he’s worn the markings for years. You glance at the other one, chalking it up to delusion and a lack of sleep. You would have noticed if he had them before. You would have noticed if Arai or Murata had marked his wrists somehow, it would have taken too long given the evenness of them.

You brush it off as best you can, figuring it’s a puzzle for when your head feels as though it’s on straight and your heart feels as though it can beat steadily.

When you lower your hand, relief floods you as warmth curls into your fingertips. You let out a sigh of relief, slumping back as you lean on your free palm.

You can’t say how long you sit there. The sun moves across the sky, but you’re in and out of consciousness so often that time doesn’t touch you. Your hand never moves from his, though.

Sometimes you tell him stories. Sometimes Murata comes to check on him.

But only when his fingers twitch and close around your smaller hand, does your nervous system allow itself to shut down as you fall asleep on the floor beside him.

–

Your name is called with equal anger to what you feel as you slide the door shut behind you with force. The bamboo clacks hard as it collides with the exterior of your home. You can practically feel your father’s disappointment, but at twelve years old, you can’t be bothered to care.

Sukuna is leagues ahead in both archery and now reading with what little material Murata has been able to gather. He joins his guardian on small hunting trips held between only the two of them, while you’re left learning to weave with your mother.

You hate it.

You hate the household chores.

You hate the way you’re belittled for being a girl.

You hate the way you don’t get to read.

But most of all, you hate that the hobbies you’re meant to have are more or less chores too. Weaving, foraging, telling stories.

Why is it that you can’t stand alongside Sukuna and protect the village, too?

Now you can’t even read?

Trudging across the thick mud left behind by last night’s cold rain, you make your way to Murata’s, where you know Sukuna will be in the shadows nearby.

Things have changed since his recovery.

Your friend can rarely be found around others. He prefers to spend his time in solitude, save for your company and Murata’s teachings. He sticks to the shadows when he leaves, often guiding you through the field and far deeper than ever before into the woods to spend time with one another. He doesn’t sleep in his bed anymore, and you rarely see him return home for dinner either. His archery has improved enough that he can feed himself, keen eyes honing in on prey before you’ve even identified the possibility of it.

It’s a strange feeling to watch your friend excel in all the areas you wish to, while you’re taught to weave. The sensation of being left behind is stronger than ever these days, particularly when you find Sukuna leaning against the back of his home, knees bent as he studies the language strewn across a prayer scroll.

He doesn’t react upon your arrival, already keenly aware of your presence.

He looks bulkier these days, and while you know he did hit a growth spurt and has been training, you also see the awkward way he carries himself. It’s not so simple as outgrowing his own clothing, his robes are stuffed with hemp fabric. The severe nerve and muscle damage in his lower shoulders and arms causes them to sit wrong, no longer wrapped easily around his torso. The lack of feeling in the majority of both of them make it difficult for him to maneuver them, while one entirely lacks the strength to hold itself at such an angle altogether. He has to stuff his robes with fabric if he hopes to fake a semblance of normalcy.

You’re willing to bet it’s uncomfortable, but he never complains. He moves about his day like it’s just another fact of life.

But you see it, in the moments when midnight is a distant memory and the sun kisses the frost-bitten grasses. He’s tired. He’s angry.

He wants so badly to be normal.

When you plop down at his side, your shoulder brushing his arm, he lowers the scroll, his bottom eyes shut as he regards you with a contemplative frown. “Your father?”

“I hate that it’s predictable,” you grumble, pulling your knees to your chest as you rest your chin atop them.

He might have given you a wry laugh over that when you were younger. Instead, he’s quiet, blinking as he watches the way you eye the rain barrel to your left. He wonders if it’s subconscious, or if the pale remnants of a horrible day still staining the wood has drawn your attention. His throat tightens, shifting all four of his arms as his shoulders grow uncomfortable, but he can’t find a position that feels right.

“I’m practicing reading if you want to join,” he offers a distraction, holding the scroll out.

You turn your attention to his neutral gaze, unguarded as he only knows how to be around you. “My parents won’t teach me.”

One of his black-banded wrists that you never found answers for turns the scroll towards you, pointing out what he’s able to in an effort to explain its significance. Slowly but surely, you unwrap your arms from around your knees, pointing to different characters as you learn with Sukuna, who tilts his head at some of them. Still, as the sun begins to set over the horizon, you have the majority of the scroll memorized.

“Do you have any more?” You query, motioning to the paper.

He shakes his head. “No. The shrine keeper used to keep religious texts at the shrine, but they all burned up.”

You nod, but it’s a start that you’re thankful for regardless. Whether it’s the teenage rebellion your parents insist it is, or a denial of the world you were born into is yet to be determined, but you won’t let your father stop you.

Your gaze shifts to the left, staring at the stained rain barrel. Everything is only a termporary distraction when you subconsciously lean into your friend like he might disappear at any moment. Images of crimson deeper than his eyes stain every part of your brain until the question is unavoidable. “How are your arms?”

Sukuna’s hackles raise, his walls fortifying. “Fine.”

You know better than to expect more, but it’s frustrating nonetheless. You know his clothes are stuffed with additional materials to make the awkward way his arms sit less obvious. You were there when he first decided to do it, yet he still won’t talk to you about it as he remains carefully guarded.

He may shut you down quickly, but he doesn’t move away. The shared silence is one you welcome, in fact. Wheat stalks rustle in the wind, chill as winter quickly approaches. Snow feels imminent with the amount of frost that clings to the trees every morning.

“Ryo?”

“Mm?”

“Do you think someday we could really both be archers for an army?”

Sukuna raises a hand to push it back through his spiky pink hair, but he stops when the ball of his palm brushes the protruding cartilage of the right side of his face. The answer is plain as day, one of the many reasons that not only will Sukuna not be an archer for an army, but he won’t be anything to anyone someday.

“I think you could.” He fails to understand what could stop you. Your father’s word isn’t law, and although he’s now aware women aren’t commonly a part of any armies, it’s not impossible.

You’ve grown more keen over the years, no longer oblivious to Sukuna’s mistreatment, nor his own self-esteem issues. “What about you?”

His gaze flickers to you, although his head remains straightforward. It flicks back after a moment of stifling silence. “Maybe.”

He might agree, in some way or another, but the fact is that his tone and his body language give him away. He doesn’t believe there’s a place for him on the good side of history, doomed to be nothing more than the monster people make him out to be.

You catch his attention when you grab his upper shoulder, careful not to shake it too hard and disturb his still-healing wounds. “Don’t let Noboru get to you. He’s just mean because he can be.”

But Sukuna’s brow furrows now, his frustrations brought to light as you keep pushing for goodness in the world when he fails to find it anywhere but within you. You’re an exception, not a standard in this cruel world. “Stop,” he grumbles, shrugging you off his shoulder. “I know you want to think life is easy and things will work out because you want them to, but it’s not. It doesn’t work like that.”

“Come on Ryo, you can’t think like that. We can be better–”

“Noboru is the proof that things won’t get better!” He snarls, though the lilt to his voice is one of hurt and outward frustrations not necessarily directed at you. The reality of his situation is that he doesn’t get to leave any situation unscathed, while Imai’s boys don’t even get a slap on the wrist.

Life isn’t fair in ways you both have yet to comprehend, no matter how much you beg and cry for something to be done about Imai on Sukuna’s behalf.

Your brow tents as he lashes out and shifts away. His body twists awkwardly as he’s unable to hold his weak arm against his torso and it hangs at an angle that clearly bothers him. He huffs in frustration, rolling his upper shoulders and tugging the arm back into place.

“What if he isn’t?” You push up onto your knees as you face his retreating form.

“You can’t seriously think that Noboru is the different one here,” he deadpans, his lip curled into a phantom of a snarl.

“Saya and I–”

Something painful flickers in his eyes at the mention of your old friend. “Don’t bring her into this!” He pushes to his feet, glancing away as his jaw hangs open while he parses for words. “Just because one other person didn’t hate me–”

“What about Arai?” You interrupt with hopeful insistence, still seated on your knees with thumbs twiddling in your lap.

“Arai told me I would have been better off without my arms.”

Your shoulders drop at the revelation. You’ve spent much of your time at Sukuna’s side since that day, but you must have been asleep or gone when that took place. Your lips part in disbelief as you stare up at the vulnerable boy who refuses to look at you upon imparting that information.

“He’s wrong.”

Sukuna’s expression doesn’t change. The air that hangs around you isn’t without the tension of a hurt child, but you don’t let it stop you from providing comfort in the only way you’ve learned ever helps him. You push to your feet and envelop him in a hug. He stiffens, staring down at you with a stubborn frown.

“Don’t let them win,” you murmur into his chest, careful when you squeeze him not to jostle his wounds. “We’ll find our own way to be archers.”

He stares down at you, an intense frown curling his lips. He wants to believe you, he really does. The world just doesn’t have space for someone like him. His teeth grind as he lets the moment exist too long for your comfort without so much as a twitch of a finger.

“You’ll keep teaching me, right?”

There’s an anxious edge to your voice that crashes through his resolve. He shuts his eyes, swallowing hard as he shoves aside his doubts. He’ll make space in the world for himself, if it means sticking by your side.

“Yeah,” he agrees, his muscles loosening as he lets out a breath and envelops you in his upper arms. He leans down, not daring to leave the one good piece of his life with any doubts. You stay like that for a long time, clinging to one another like it’s all you have. “I promise.”

And it very well might be.

main masterlist || series masterlist || ⇤ prev || next ⇥ - coming soon

➴ a/n ; thank you for reading <3 you might recognize some inspiration from hellboy b.p.r.d. 1948 and angel's origin in x-3 the last stand. unfortunately i see sukuna's situation as being vastly similar to theirs in many regards, as much as it pains me to put him through it.

as a note, please never be afraid to reach out to a crisis hotline if needed.

please continue to heed the warnings for the following chapter.

➴ taglist ; OPEN. age must be visible in bio. 18+ only. @lilrosyhaven @tiny-mimi @grimm3r @yujisredkicks @knittybritty98 @sukunahs @saezzi @epicderpface @ynishalee @pandabiene5115 @silibiliballs @ane5e @feyrinnn @jkslvsnella @maomimii @megumuro @beaniesayshi @ryomeowie @suguusatoo @sukubusss @matchaenthusiast1111 @peachhiz @seellove @msrinnnn @amenabiii @jasontoddscumslut @asimpinamillion @rottenrange @ricktastix @indiewritesxoxo @cosmotoic @berry-marys @eli54sa @lovers-roq @arcanelusttt @cheol-lies @scarletcachecyclone @bam-boozledx @icebearcucumber @meatboy167 @t4ters @slushycoookie @yarimarjane @dishs0pe @martianzmars @tohru-tales @loijkiupo0 @crimzie129 @belovedria @therealjustpeachesback

writing, format & dividers © starmapz. commission art © zb relic. do not repost, translate, or copy.

[starmapz]

hold me like a grudge ch5 - blessed with a curse

➴ childhood bsf trueform!sukuna x f!reader [heian era canon adjacent au] - ongoing series

❝ the world is an unjust beast. it claws and tears until nothing remains but those cursed with the greatest gift of all; power. in another world, ryomen sukuna is the strongest sorcerer in history, capable of an evil no one can dream. but he was once a boy, and you were once a girl. now a devil with docked horns and an angel with tattered wings, you walk this world together, your curse to navigate side by side. ❞

➴ cw ; mdni, 18+ only. dark themes surrounding my interpretation of sukuna's upbringing and how it affects you both. graphic depictions of blood, gore, death, dismemberment, mutilation, and hunted animals. character death. themes surrounding poor mental health. poor coping mechanisms. arguments. best friends to lovers. toxic codependency. child abuse & neglect. self-hatred. attempted self-mutilation. bigotry & period-accurate misogyny. eventual smut after both characters are over 18. angst. hurt/no comfort. eventual hurt/comfort. tragic lovers with a happy ending. dddne.

➴ wc ; 7.1k.

➴ a/n ; please heed the warnings for this chapter.

main masterlist || series masterlist || ⇤ prev || next ⇥ - coming soon

“Straighten your shoulders.”

You follow Sukuna’s instructions, rolling your shoulders back.

“You’re leaning too much on your back foot.”

Your shoulders fall forward as you face him with an aggrieved expression. The bow and arrow fall, one to each side, as you pin him in place with frustration. “You’ve been correcting my posture for ten minutes. Can I shoot already?”

A couple of years ago, he might have smiled at your quip. Now, the almost-twelve-year-old stares at you with equal stubborn challenge in his eyes. “Your posture’s been wrong for ten minutes.”

All the patience in the world couldn’t help you deal with your friend. With a shake of your head, you adjust your stance, bringing the bow steadily back up. Your feet crunch over the remnants of the late autumnal snow as you let out a breath and adjust your stance, using every bit of training Sukuna has taught you. Your breath billows ahead of you, but the cold doesn’t penetrate your thick clothes.

You draw the string back, feeling the tension reach the point Sukuna taught you to hone your senses to feel rather than see, holding steady as you concentrate on the carved target on the tree ahead.

Your dad would kill you if he knew you weren’t making snow sculptures again.

“You need to–”

Ignoring Sukuna’s commentary, you let the arrow fly, embedding itself in the second ring carved into thick bark.

Four eyes stare at the spot where you completely outmatched his last shot, which fell just short of the target’s outer circle. He clicks his tongue, eyes narrowed like the fact irks him. You can practically hear how Saya would have poked fun at him for being beaten by someone who isn’t getting formal archery lessons.

She would be proud of you.

“That was pretty good,” he grumbles in defeat. You puff your chest out in pride. “Your stance is still messy though. It could just be luck.”

“You’re so stubborn.”

He nears the tree to pull both arrows from it, his gaze thrown over his shoulder towards you. His lip curls up just slightly as he shoots you a look with narrowed eyes, receiving a giggle in return. He would have smiled wholeheartedly at that sound not so long ago.

You often feel like you’re chasing what once was, rather than what’s in front of you. It’s not like you don’t care for Sukuna, that couldn’t be less true. He’s your best friend, through and through, but you long for the times where he seemed more willing to indulge his childishness. It’s been so long since you’ve played games that most of your time bonding is spent training.

“Ryo? Can we build a snow castle?”

He casts his gaze over his shoulder again, fiddling with one of the arrows. All four eyes blink. “Why?”

You pout. “For fun.”

His face contorts into a scowl. You can’t make out whether he’s upset or contemplating your question. It’s been painfully common as of late that you can’t make out what he’s thinking. Every time you think you have something pinned, he surprises you.

It’s frustrating when he can read you like a book. Especially when there’s scarcely a moment you aren’t together. Between the search for a new shrine attendant and the constant need for a perimeter guard, your parents and Murata aren’t around as often.

You can’t say whether Saya’s mother joins them. She spends much of her time with Imai these days, helping to care for his sons as if they’re her own. It doesn’t sit right with you when her daughter’s two closest friends are painfully isolated, but you’re old enough to know now that the world isn’t kind.

Still too young to see why, though. Sukuna may stand out amongst other children, but to you he’s just Ryo. He’s the little boy born with a few extra features. It’s cool. You once told him he could fire two arrows at once– which, anatomically, no– but it still stuck with him how much you uplifted him.

His muscles relax as the memory resurfaces and he finds himself nodding. “Okay.”

Setting the bows against the tree, he jogs to your side, kneeling as you begin balling up the sparse snow. It’s been warm enough that much of it has melted and what you’re left with is fairly dirty, but neither of you care too much. As you begin making the base of your first archery tower, your friend trudges around gathering what snow is still scattered around the area.

Once there’s enough snow to comfortably build something, even if it isn’t a full fortress, your friend takes a seat across from you. He builds a second archery lookout tower, but it’s half-hearted. It leans to the left, somewhat precariously.

Your head tilts as you offer a handful of snow. “I think your tower needs some reinforcement.”

His expression falters as you hold the snow out to him. The hardened scowl softens, and he packs the snow into a more reliable tower. Your smile broadens as he relaxes in your presence, even going so far as to slip his lower arms through his sleeves. You can hear a seam pop, but Sukuna pays it no mind as he shaves extra snow off the tower with a finger.

“Are your parents coming home tonight?” He queries quietly in that low tone that you know means he doesn’t want you dragged away to be scolded for training.

Home. At some point, the walls that surround the place you live stopped being known as such for you. You can’t say whether you’d give that title to any one place now. You haven’t known real safety in over a year. Not since the loss of Saya that keeps you up at night, particularly those away from your best friend.

Using your palm’s heel to pack snow down into a wall-ish shape, you shrug. “I don’t know.”

One pair of eyes glides towards you while the other continues on with his snow building. You always find yourself wondering how he manages to pay attention to two things at once when something as simple as chatting has you temporarily pausing your motions.

Sighing as you now have his attention, you shrug again. “Last night my father said a Zen’in sorcerer is coming to help.” The second pair of eyes glides to you now, his back straightening at the mere mention of the faux heroes. “They found some burnt trees a bit south and they think the fire Gojo sorcerer is nearby.”

The boy’s entire demeanor changes as you impart the information, something not unlike the very fire caused by the sorcerer burning behind his eyes. His expression harshens as two hands ball into fists, the others still holding snow. “We should practice more.”

Resigned, you shake your head as you watch him adamantly get to his feet and move towards the bows. “Ryo, we can’t fight a sorcerer.”

“We can,” he decides, facing you with a stark determination that’s so bull-headed you’re positive it’s a piece of Saya that he picked up over the years. “We have to.”

“We’re kids.”

“So?” His jaw is clenched, a desperation lingering behind his eyes that you’re just now catching as you stand up to follow his steps towards the tree.

“We should leave that to the adults,” you murmur, reaching out for the bow he’s now got clasped between his hands. You give it a little tug, but his lower hands stay firmly planted. “Murata-san is home tonight anyway, right? We’ll be safe with him.”

“He was home the night of the fire!” Your friend insists, tugging the bow back hard enough to tear it from your grip. “That didn’t save–”

He hasn’t been able to say her name since the night you taught him how to pay respects.

As he falters, you watch the shift in how he carries himself. His shoulders fall, the determination becoming forlorn as if he knows you’re right but abides by his stubbornness. “I could have done something if I’d just–”

He couldn’t have. Even as he stares at the very hands capable of calamity, he knows he can’t turn back time. If he could, he wouldn’t be the cursed child, would he? He would be a hero. It doesn’t make it easier to grapple with when he sees the way he’s so often stared at, either.

The mere thought has the hair on the back of his neck standing on end, and his head whips up suddenly, staring past you where he sees the faintest hint of movement. His lower eyes shut and he drops the bow, struggling to pull his lower arms back into the cover of his clothes, but it’s too late.

A pair of eyes a couple of years older is staring at him intently from behind a tree. Another pair pops out, followed by one more. All three bear the same features as their carpenter father, which includes the scorn that makes your skin crawl. The oldest’s lip curls as Sukuna attempts to hide his arms.

“We already know, there’s no point in hiding them.”

With one elbow partially pulled into his sleeve already, Sukuna freezes, scowling as he faces the boys. The oldest who you know as Noboru– as well as the boy your age whose name escapes you– both emerge from the trees, moving towards Sukuna. The youngest trails behind, watching more than he chooses to participate.

Sukuna is bigger. He’s taller, standing over a head above Noboru, but there’s a stark difference in the way they face one another as Noboru confidently approaches.

Sukuna is on the defensive, and startlingly conscious of the fact that you’re here. Too close, and too dear to him. Static brews in the air like electricity. It shoots from his chest to the tips of his fingers, but it remains there, within his grasp, where you can’t catch a stray slice, nor this life that he treasures. Hackles raised, two hands ball into fists, while the other two are held up defensively, with his forearms protecting him.

Noboru, on the other hand, moves with the confidence only a child of Imai could. At fourteen, the boy is still of a smaller stance than your four-armed friend, but the way he carries himself makes him feel bigger. The look in his eyes, the unadulterated hatred fueled by ignorance, is the sort of propaganda you’ve seen mirrored in Imai before.

Stepping up to Sukuna’s side, your fingers clasp around his sleeve in an attempt to push him behind you. You, the shortest of the bunch, trying to defend the very curse that caused your village to fracture.

If ever Sukuna needed proof he still has a heart, this moment stands as it. His chest clenches, but before he has time to process how quickly you stepped up for him, Noboru is already stepping forward.

“Why are you playing with him anyway?” Noboru’s attention turns to you. “You shouldn’t even be learning archery, it’s not your job.”

Frustration simmers under your skin with how often you hear that. From Noboru, it makes your blood boil. “I can do what I want!” You insist, hands balled into fists at your side. “Just leave us alone!”

“Not until he leaves!” The middle child calls out, pointing at Sukuna. There’s an air of innocence to him that Noboru doesn’t retain, like he’s simply following the leader and this situation holds no real stakes for him.

You inch in front of Sukuna again, your short posture barely coming to his chin. “I’m not doing anything wrong,” he grumbles out, his frustration restrained by your presence.

The eldest scoffs. “You’re what’s wrong. You know my dad said you ate your twin in the womb?”

For the briefest of moments, Sukuna averts his gaze. It’s a moment too long, confirming the statement.

“It’s true!” The middle child points out his blunder.

Sukuna’s breath fans the crown of your head behind you when his breathing stutters. “I didn’t– I wasn’t–”

“You didn’t,” Noboru mocks in a faux whining tone. “You’re a mistake,” he growls out with no regard for your friend. “You got everyone killed! It’s all your fault!”

For as hardened as Sukuna has gotten over the years to the constant cautious glances and hateful stares, the verbal assault still gets under his skin. It slips through the cracks and embeds itself in the way he clenches his fists and grinds his teeth. He swallows hard, lip curled as he tries to push back in spite of his vision going white at the edges with red hot anger. “I didn’t do anything. I wasn’t even awake,” he grits out.

“I wish they got you instead of papa’s sister,” the youngest murmurs from the back, peering out behind his brothers.

Horror twists itself through your chest at the fact that the coldest statement thrown at Sukuna could come from someone so young. Sukuna’s breath fans the top of your head again as the words grip him in ways he could never prepare for. Barely audible is the way he breathes out at the dreadful way it slips beneath his skin, colder than the late autumn air.

“Stop!” Your voice breaks and you’re forced to steel yourself when Noboru is already scoffing. You hold your hands out protectively in front of your friend, casting your concern over your shoulder. He’s visibly shaken, for as much as he tries not to let anything affect him, it doesn’t change that he’s just a kid. “That’s not fair. You don’t have to be so mean.”

“Get out of the way,” he huffs. “This isn’t about you. I thought your dad told you to stop being around him anyway.”

The revelation comes as news to Sukuna, whose shoulders fall as his attention flicks to you. There’s a minute change in your stance, like the reminder is something raw and painfully real. It’s a knife to the chest and he’s certain that’s what Noboru wants, but it’s equally a reminder that you choose to remain by his side against your father’s wishes.

Against everyone’s wishes, he’s certain.

Even Murata hardly seems to tolerate him these days. He spends most of his time out of the village or holed up in a corner enacting Murata’s sudden need for secrecy. The only exception to this rule is archery or reading with the limited material the village has available.

But you only allow that raw shift in stance, giving away the truth for a brief moment before stiffening, building walls of brick to keep Noboru’s harsh words out.

You chose Sukuna. Again.

His gaze flickers back up to Noboru, brows drawn together to a tent to compliment the troubled frown he bears.

“It doesn’t matter,” you mutter in reply. “He’s my best friend. Just leave us alone.”

“Just get out of the way,” Noboru hisses, hand closing around one of your outstretched forearms as he wrenches you behind him into his two brothers. You collide with the middle of the three, whining as Noboru’s grip burns your skin as his palm twists around it. Before you have a chance to run back to Sukuna, who’s already charged forward to help as he calls for you, the middle brother’s arms close around you.

You throw your weight at his arms, but it’s not enough to break through his grip. The cold reality is that he’s stronger than you, but you don’t easily give up, wrenching against his arms that have closed around you.

Sukuna reaches for you, and in spite of his greater size and strength, he falls just short when Noboru gets a hold of his upper left arm. He pulls at just the right angle that the cursed child yelps, reminded of the sensation of the very same arm hanging loosely out of the socket when he was just three. Recoiling, Sukuna holds the arm close, having narrowly avoided the same fate as he faces Noboru with a scowl twisted with pain and uncertainty.

“I just want to be left alone,” the child mutters, cradling his arm.

“I want you to leave the village alone.”

“Don’t listen to them, Ryo!” You call, wrenching your body to the side and finally breaking free of the middle son’s grip. You stumble forward, narrowly catching yourself from falling face-first into the ground when you’re jerked back by your arm. Your body collides with the hard mix of mud and old snow, your head snapping back against the rough bark of a tree. You blink deliriously, looking up as the world spins around you and air finds your lungs once more after the rough landing.

You can hear them talking. You can make sense of Noboru’s intense sense of egoism passed down by his father. You hear Sukuna’s voice, smaller in spite of the fact that he should have the upper hand. He’s stronger than them, of that you’re sure, and you know he’s holding back out of fear of being left behind by the village.

You can sympathize with his need to stay in the one place he’s ever found a home, but you wish he’d fight back. You wish you couldn’t hear the way his voice wavers as Noboru’s words slip through the cracks. Ice forms within the boundaries of Sukuna’s being, the cold and bitter wind biting and gnawing at his mind until it leaves nothing behind.

Because that’s how someone like Noboru wins. Not through strength, but through cowardice and words.

And he knew it from the moment he emerged from behind the tree.

You blink, shutting your eyes tightly and rubbing at them as you attempt to make sense of what’s going on before you.

When your eyes open once more, Sukuna’s hardened expression isn’t one of rugged self-defense. His walls have crumbled, and the single step back he takes from the group is enough that all three boys jump him, assaulting him with the sort of vicious words only the cruel know while they attempt to restrain his arms.

“You’re disgusting.”

“Everyone is dead because of you.”

“You don’t deserve to live.”

“I bet your parents got rid of you!”

“I know Dad would have.”

They have the gall to laugh on top of it all.

Blinking hard, when the world stops spinning enough that your vision comes together, you’re able to finally make sense of what’s happening.

Sukuna is silent throughout it all, unwilling or unable to fight their cruel words. His chest heaves, eyes glossy as he attempts to keep his weak shoulder away from them, all the while enduring every pull and scratch at his arms and face. He doesn’t fight so much as simply trying to defend himself from the onslaught and it pains you to think it might be because he believes a word they say.

Your words don’t come together as well as you wanted, nausea tipping the scales away from your favor. “Ryo!” You call, tumbling clumsily from your lips. It catches his attention, even as he tugs and pulls his arms away. “They’re wrong!” Just slightly, his movements all stutter as the boys are almost able to restrain him fully while he holds his most vulnerable arm away. “Don’t let them hurt you!”

By the grace of whatever god listens, your words push him to use his strength. He sends the middle child flying back into the grass, forcefully wrenching his other arms away from the youngest and eldest. He stumbles back once he’s free from their grasp, a delirious and shaken expression on his panting face.

What really breaks you is the way he doesn’t seem to be all there. His eyes pass over you like you’re a part of the background of the scene, flickering around as he heaves for air. Whatever state he’s in, he clearly can’t make sense of what’s going on.

So he runs.

“Ryo!”

He stumbles forward the first few steps, his breathing audible as he struggles to put himself together, before he’s gone into the distance.

You push up onto your hands and knees on the chilly earth, your head still pounding as your vision starts at last to come together. It’s still white at the edges, fuzzy in ways that make you desperate to take a seat, but you can’t stay near the three boys.

You push up onto your feet, clinging to the tree you fell against as you look back at Imai’s boys, gathering themselves after the fight as they help the middle child back up. Turning away, you stumble back towards the village, rubbing your eyes repeatedly. The spot where your head collided with the tree is already swelling, an ebb to the way it aches as you walk. You hug yourself tightly, checking over your shoulder to make sure the boys aren’t following but you don’t spot them again.

As you near Sukuna’s home, you rub your eyes once more, grateful that the world is no longer spinning and your hearing is clear again. Your head still aches and some movements make your stomach churn uncomfortably, but overall you’re able to walk steady for the time being.

Your fingers curl around the bamboo perimeter of Murata’s door, gliding it open without thinking too hard. Slowly, you make rounds through the corners of the house that’s far larger than yours, but neither Sukuna nor his guardian are present. You know Murata is at the shrine rebuilding today, but you figured your friend would have retreated here.

Standing stagnant in the center of the small area, you wrack your brain for areas he may have gone, but it just has you pressing the heels of your palms into your forehead as you draw a blank. You passed the burial plot and he wasn’t there. He wouldn’t have gone to your parents’ or Saya’s, not since the attack.

Where the hell could he be?

Sliding the door shut behind you, you squint beneath the overcast sunlight, still too bright for your pounding head. You look left and right, but there are no signs of your friend to be found and the snow in this area has completely melted. You round the house to the field, pushing through the first layers of crops in hopes that you might find him hunched over somewhere, but it does no good.

The field’s too big, and he refuses to answer when you call out for him. Returning to Murata’s home in defeat is when you find something at last.

But it makes your heart drop to the pit of your stomach like a rock. It rocks your body with more nausea at the sight of crimson staining the white-speckled ground. It’s only one drop, it could be nothing, but as your eyes rise to the wooden exterior where Murata resides, you catch movement in your peripherals.

Your body goes rigid, frozen to the spot like it knows before your mind catches up. It doesn’t let your eyes move faster than a drag as he comes into sight, staring down into the very rain barrel that once reflected a flower crown back at him. Now, that feels like a distant past.

His lower arms have run red, the water beneath him slipping from a natural translucence to something far more agonizing as it ripples under tears and bloodshed in equal parts. His breathing is a wheeze between sobs, pained as his trembling upper hands dig a small iron dagger into the point where his lower arms protrude from his torso. The wooden handle is stained the very color of his eyes as he presses the weapon in deeper, exposing more flesh with each jagged movement.

He winces, his voice too high with each sob, too strained. It shakes you to your very core, more than your young mind can process.

Your limbs feel as though they’re being pulled down by tar. Every attempt at movement is heavy, leaving you feeling like a spectre out of your own body. Like you’re a passenger along for the ride in this life, unable to prevent those you love from getting hurt.

But it’s that very same thought that reminds you that this time, you do have autonomy within this situation. And you’ll fight tooth and nail to prevent the scenarios in your head from playing out.

“Stop.” It’s barely a murmur at first as you press forward, breaking through the barrier keeping you in place. “STOP!” You cry, startling your friend as you move towards him at last. He jolts, the dagger falling with a muffled thump to the dirt below. Tears blur your vision as you take in what’s happening, shaking your head in an effort to keep yourself conscious when fear, nausea, and your injury from earlier all collide.

You hold your hands out in front of you, trembling violently as they hang in the air before the sobbing boy still staring at his reflection. His jaw hangs open in despair, having gone silent as he grapples with the pain. His vision swims, and although he heard you, it’s clear that everything is a blur.

Nothing could have possibly prepared you for this moment, and you’re at a complete and utter loss at what to do.

“Ryo, please.” Your melancholic plead is all that you can manage, throat tight as you barely manage to keep yourself upright. But he needs you. So you press forward, hugging him tightly. He’s still and rigid in your arms, and painfully cold. “Stop, please stop,” you beg, hiding your face in his chest as you sob too.

You can’t say whether it’s his adrenaline draining or the lack of blood, but he slumps forward after a moment, barely managing to keep himself upright against you. To your relief, he finds it in himself to wrap one pair of arms around you. Your laboured breaths mix until you can’t make out where his ends and yours begins.

You can’t tell which of you is shivering harder, but his state takes a turn for the worst when his knees give out, sending you both to the ground.

“Why?” Your head pounds as you hit the ground under his weight. “Why did you do it?”

He coughs around a painfully dry throat. It takes a moment before he can manage to push out any semblance of words. “I don’t feel good,” he utters, head lolling forward onto your shoulder.

“Ryo? Ryo!” You shake him hard enough that his eyes flutter open. “I don’t know what to– I have to–” When you try to get a look at him, he slumps back onto the snow-covered dirt. His lower arms have splayed out beside him without movement, cold and irregularly pale with a blue hue. You don’t know the first thing about medicine, but you know it’s wrong.

You’ve seen your father bandage small wounds before, and use what information you’ve gathered from that to wrap his arms to the best of your ability with your outer kimono as you shrug it off. To your horror, it stains a dark red so quickly that a new wave of panic floods you.

“Hold on Ryo,” you mutter, hesitating as you get to your feet. Ignoring the pain in your head, you bolt down the path, past Imai’s boys to the shrine. Your legs carry you faster than you’ve ever moved as you nearly collide with Imai himself, holding up a beam being placed into a hole dug in the ground.

Scouting the space out for Murata, you bolt in the direction of familiar robes.

“MURATA-SAN!” You scream, earning his immediate attention and concern. As he whips around with wide eyes, horror fills his expression when he’s faced with a little girl covered in dried bloodstains.

He addresses you by name, moving towards you with urgency. “What’s going on?”

Terrified that your best friend won’t be cause enough for Murata to chase after you, you simply grab his wrist and pull with all of your might.

And it’s enough. He doesn’t question it as you lead him past Imai, past the three children, and behind his own home.

He audibly sucks in a breath at the sight that greets him.

You were here only a few moments ago, and yet it still strikes you to the bone to see him splayed out in stained snow. His chest rises and falls so shallowly that you fear it’s fate to lose the people who mean the most to you. You thank every god, every spirit, anyone who will listen that Murata moves into action faster than you do, moving aside your clumsily tied outer robes in an effort to get a look at what’s happened.

“Go get Arai.”

Your afternoon is a blur. Your evening is a blur. Your night is a blur.

The moon hangs in the sky like a taunt that the world will keep going, even if it chooses to leave behind the people who matter most to you.

The light that greets you in the morning when you wake up at Murata’s is too harsh on your pounding head, a forgotten relic of a terrible day.

But what matters most is that at some point in the hustle of saving your best friend, he stabilized. His breathing, although shallow, remained even all night, and his wounds were packed well enough that the lacerations cauterized.

Even if it came with a cost you have yet to learn about necessity, command, and bias.

Because Arai is not your ally, regardless of what he did for the young boy.

For now, that’s a distant thought.

For now, you focus on the boy laying awkwardly under a pile of blankets with a worn and weary expression. You’ve always thought that one should look peaceful when they sleep, yet evidence is pointing elsewhere when it comes to Sukuna.

Rubbing your eyes, you slip out from under the blankets, squinting in the intense light as you move closer to your friend’s bedside. Your palm hesitates as it hovers over the upper hand laying over his blankets. His blankets move steadily over his chest, but some part of you fears that when your hand meets his skin it might bear a cold that seeps to the bone like an ill omen.

You blink at the sight of his wrists. In the years since you met, you’ve never known Sukuna to have markings over them. His wrist bears a band, black as coal. Like ink, yet it doesn’t seem to be that, too settled in the skin to be fresh. It looks as though he’s worn the markings for years. You glance at the other one, chalking it up to delusion and a lack of sleep. You would have noticed if he had them before. You would have noticed if Arai or Murata had marked his wrists somehow, it would have taken too long given the evenness of them.

You brush it off as best you can, figuring it’s a puzzle for when your head feels as though it’s on straight and your heart feels as though it can beat steadily.

When you lower your hand, relief floods you as warmth curls into your fingertips. You let out a sigh of relief, slumping back as you lean on your free palm.

You can’t say how long you sit there. The sun moves across the sky, but you’re in and out of consciousness so often that time doesn’t touch you. Your hand never moves from his, though.

Sometimes you tell him stories. Sometimes Murata comes to check on him.

But only when his fingers twitch and close around your smaller hand, does your nervous system allow itself to shut down as you fall asleep on the floor beside him.

–

Your name is called with equal anger to what you feel as you slide the door shut behind you with force. The bamboo clacks hard as it collides with the exterior of your home. You can practically feel your father’s disappointment, but at twelve years old, you can’t be bothered to care.

Sukuna is leagues ahead in both archery and now reading with what little material Murata has been able to gather. He joins his guardian on small hunting trips held between only the two of them, while you’re left learning to weave with your mother.

You hate it.

You hate the household chores.

You hate the way you’re belittled for being a girl.

You hate the way you don’t get to read.

But most of all, you hate that the hobbies you’re meant to have are more or less chores too. Weaving, foraging, telling stories.

Why is it that you can’t stand alongside Sukuna and protect the village, too?

Now you can’t even read?

Trudging across the thick mud left behind by last night’s cold rain, you make your way to Murata’s, where you know Sukuna will be in the shadows nearby.

Things have changed since his recovery.

Your friend can rarely be found around others. He prefers to spend his time in solitude, save for your company and Murata’s teachings. He sticks to the shadows when he leaves, often guiding you through the field and far deeper than ever before into the woods to spend time with one another. He doesn’t sleep in his bed anymore, and you rarely see him return home for dinner either. His archery has improved enough that he can feed himself, keen eyes honing in on prey before you’ve even identified the possibility of it.

It’s a strange feeling to watch your friend excel in all the areas you wish to, while you’re taught to weave. The sensation of being left behind is stronger than ever these days, particularly when you find Sukuna leaning against the back of his home, knees bent as he studies the language strewn across a prayer scroll.

He doesn’t react upon your arrival, already keenly aware of your presence.

He looks bulkier these days, and while you know he did hit a growth spurt and has been training, you also see the awkward way he carries himself. It’s not so simple as outgrowing his own clothing, his robes are stuffed with hemp fabric. The severe nerve and muscle damage in his lower shoulders and arms causes them to sit wrong, no longer wrapped easily around his torso. The lack of feeling in the majority of both of them make it difficult for him to maneuver them, while one entirely lacks the strength to hold itself at such an angle altogether. He has to stuff his robes with fabric if he hopes to fake a semblance of normalcy.

You’re willing to bet it’s uncomfortable, but he never complains. He moves about his day like it’s just another fact of life.

But you see it, in the moments when midnight is a distant memory and the sun kisses the frost-bitten grasses. He’s tired. He’s angry.

He wants so badly to be normal.

When you plop down at his side, your shoulder brushing his arm, he lowers the scroll, his bottom eyes shut as he regards you with a contemplative frown. “Your father?”

“I hate that it’s predictable,” you grumble, pulling your knees to your chest as you rest your chin atop them.

He might have given you a wry laugh over that when you were younger. Instead, he’s quiet, blinking as he watches the way you eye the rain barrel to your left. He wonders if it’s subconscious, or if the pale remnants of a horrible day still staining the wood has drawn your attention. His throat tightens, shifting all four of his arms as his shoulders grow uncomfortable, but he can’t find a position that feels right.

“I’m practicing reading if you want to join,” he offers a distraction, holding the scroll out.

You turn your attention to his neutral gaze, unguarded as he only knows how to be around you. “My parents won’t teach me.”

One of his black-banded wrists that you never found answers for turns the scroll towards you, pointing out what he’s able to in an effort to explain its significance. Slowly but surely, you unwrap your arms from around your knees, pointing to different characters as you learn with Sukuna, who tilts his head at some of them. Still, as the sun begins to set over the horizon, you have the majority of the scroll memorized.

“Do you have any more?” You query, motioning to the paper.

He shakes his head. “No. The shrine keeper used to keep religious texts at the shrine, but they all burned up.”

You nod, but it’s a start that you’re thankful for regardless. Whether it’s the teenage rebellion your parents insist it is, or a denial of the world you were born into is yet to be determined, but you won’t let your father stop you.

Your gaze shifts to the left, staring at the stained rain barrel. Everything is only a termporary distraction when you subconsciously lean into your friend like he might disappear at any moment. Images of crimson deeper than his eyes stain every part of your brain until the question is unavoidable. “How are your arms?”

Sukuna’s hackles raise, his walls fortifying. “Fine.”

You know better than to expect more, but it’s frustrating nonetheless. You know his clothes are stuffed with additional materials to make the awkward way his arms sit less obvious. You were there when he first decided to do it, yet he still won’t talk to you about it as he remains carefully guarded.

He may shut you down quickly, but he doesn’t move away. The shared silence is one you welcome, in fact. Wheat stalks rustle in the wind, chill as winter quickly approaches. Snow feels imminent with the amount of frost that clings to the trees every morning.

“Ryo?”

“Mm?”

“Do you think someday we could really both be archers for an army?”

Sukuna raises a hand to push it back through his spiky pink hair, but he stops when the ball of his palm brushes the protruding cartilage of the right side of his face. The answer is plain as day, one of the many reasons that not only will Sukuna not be an archer for an army, but he won’t be anything to anyone someday.

“I think you could.” He fails to understand what could stop you. Your father’s word isn’t law, and although he’s now aware women aren’t commonly a part of any armies, it’s not impossible.

You’ve grown more keen over the years, no longer oblivious to Sukuna’s mistreatment, nor his own self-esteem issues. “What about you?”

His gaze flickers to you, although his head remains straightforward. It flicks back after a moment of stifling silence. “Maybe.”

He might agree, in some way or another, but the fact is that his tone and his body language give him away. He doesn’t believe there’s a place for him on the good side of history, doomed to be nothing more than the monster people make him out to be.

You catch his attention when you grab his upper shoulder, careful not to shake it too hard and disturb his still-healing wounds. “Don’t let Noboru get to you. He’s just mean because he can be.”

But Sukuna’s brow furrows now, his frustrations brought to light as you keep pushing for goodness in the world when he fails to find it anywhere but within you. You’re an exception, not a standard in this cruel world. “Stop,” he grumbles, shrugging you off his shoulder. “I know you want to think life is easy and things will work out because you want them to, but it’s not. It doesn’t work like that.”

“Come on Ryo, you can’t think like that. We can be better–”

“Noboru is the proof that things won’t get better!” He snarls, though the lilt to his voice is one of hurt and outward frustrations not necessarily directed at you. The reality of his situation is that he doesn’t get to leave any situation unscathed, while Imai’s boys don’t even get a slap on the wrist.

Life isn’t fair in ways you both have yet to comprehend, no matter how much you beg and cry for something to be done about Imai on Sukuna’s behalf.

Your brow tents as he lashes out and shifts away. His body twists awkwardly as he’s unable to hold his weak arm against his torso and it hangs at an angle that clearly bothers him. He huffs in frustration, rolling his upper shoulders and tugging the arm back into place.

“What if he isn’t?” You push up onto your knees as you face his retreating form.

“You can’t seriously think that Noboru is the different one here,” he deadpans, his lip curled into a phantom of a snarl.

“Saya and I–”

Something painful flickers in his eyes at the mention of your old friend. “Don’t bring her into this!” He pushes to his feet, glancing away as his jaw hangs open while he parses for words. “Just because one other person didn’t hate me–”

“What about Arai?” You interrupt with hopeful insistence, still seated on your knees with thumbs twiddling in your lap.

“Arai told me I would have been better off without my arms.”

Your shoulders drop at the revelation. You’ve spent much of your time at Sukuna’s side since that day, but you must have been asleep or gone when that took place. Your lips part in disbelief as you stare up at the vulnerable boy who refuses to look at you upon imparting that information.

“He’s wrong.”

Sukuna’s expression doesn’t change. The air that hangs around you isn’t without the tension of a hurt child, but you don’t let it stop you from providing comfort in the only way you’ve learned ever helps him. You push to your feet and envelop him in a hug. He stiffens, staring down at you with a stubborn frown.

“Don’t let them win,” you murmur into his chest, careful when you squeeze him not to jostle his wounds. “We’ll find our own way to be archers.”

He stares down at you, an intense frown curling his lips. He wants to believe you, he really does. The world just doesn’t have space for someone like him. His teeth grind as he lets the moment exist too long for your comfort without so much as a twitch of a finger.

“You’ll keep teaching me, right?”

There’s an anxious edge to your voice that crashes through his resolve. He shuts his eyes, swallowing hard as he shoves aside his doubts. He’ll make space in the world for himself, if it means sticking by your side.

“Yeah,” he agrees, his muscles loosening as he lets out a breath and envelops you in his upper arms. He leans down, not daring to leave the one good piece of his life with any doubts. You stay like that for a long time, clinging to one another like it’s all you have. “I promise.”

And it very well might be.

main masterlist || series masterlist || ⇤ prev || next ⇥ - coming soon

➴ a/n ; thank you for reading <3 you might recognize some inspiration from hellboy b.p.r.d. 1948 and angel's origin in x-3 the last stand. unfortunately i see sukuna's situation as being vastly similar to theirs in many regards, as much as it pains me to put him through it.

as a note, please never be afraid to reach out to a crisis hotline if needed.

please continue to heed the warnings for the following chapter.

➴ taglist ; OPEN. age must be visible in bio. 18+ only. @lilrosyhaven @tiny-mimi @grimm3r @yujisredkicks @knittybritty98 @sukunahs @saezzi @epicderpface @ynishalee @pandabiene5115 @silibiliballs @ane5e @feyrinnn @jkslvsnella @maomimii @megumuro @beaniesayshi @ryomeowie @suguusatoo @sukubusss @matchaenthusiast1111 @peachhiz @seellove @msrinnnn @amenabiii @jasontoddscumslut @asimpinamillion @rottenrange @ricktastix @indiewritesxoxo @cosmotoic @berry-marys @eli54sa @lovers-roq @arcanelusttt @cheol-lies @scarletcachecyclone @bam-boozledx @icebearcucumber @meatboy167 @t4ters @slushycoookie @yarimarjane @dishs0pe @martianzmars @tohru-tales @loijkiupo0 @crimzie129 @belovedria @therealjustpeachesback

writing, format & dividers © starmapz. commission art © zb relic. do not repost, translate, or copy.

[starmapz]

i love ur stories so muchh <3 i swear ive been following like forever but ive been off tumblr for years so nice to see fellow sukuna lovers what new au's are u brainstorming if i may ask

thank you so much ml <33 i love to spread the sukuna agenda

i don't have much in the works rn aside from fye and grudge since those take up a majority of my time and i'm not the fastest writer but i have also been working very slowly on toji's end for killer instinct and a gojo angst to comfort oneshot i teased AGES ago where gojo accidentally finds a reddit post that he's positive is geto's wife

other than that, most of the rest of my ideas aren't super thought out or concrete since i wanna wait until i'm nearing the end of finishing something currently ongoing to think about that LOL

i would at some point like to do a rockstar au with sukuna since i have a degree in audio and i wanna gush about it so bad in a fic 🙂‍↕️ but my main focuses for a while will be what i'm already working on! so nothing much else being brainstormed aside from those rn

[starmapz]

hi!! just wanted to say i’m already so hooked on your new series ❤️ everything is sooo good and sukuna is mean af but man, he is hot 😭 and even tho obviously he’s not a virgin he’s really interesting because somehow he doesn’t immediately give me typical fuckboy vibes, especially with how serious he seems about his studies and his dynamic with the reader is so good already. i’ve literally been making up scenarios in my head since i finished the chapter 😭 can’t wait for the next chapter, your writing is incredibly good!!

hii nonnie!! thank you so much <33

fye!sukuna is such a dick 😭 he's so painfully arrogant and sure of himself and just looooves to make sure everyone else knows it. he's definitely not your typical fuckboy and we'll see more of that over the course of the next few chapters!!

his character and motives for this series went through a few iterations but i'm suuuuper happy with where i landed with him

AND icl i love writing him being a prick. he's the worst /affectionate

i'm so glad you're enjoying it so far, thank you!!

[starmapz]

hold me like a grudge might just be the best sukuna fic ever

omg thank you 😭 i've been working on its general outline since early last year so it's been fun to finally put it to a page and i'm so glad you're loving it <33

[indiewritesxoxo]

jur-ASS-ic

four | previous chapter | chapter index

what could go wrong when you try to cure a disease by changing your colleague's DNA? more than you might think. now it's up to you to deal with the, ah, side effects.

synopsis: so you spliced your former friend-with-benefits DNA with a few different dinosaurs, all samples courtesy of your high-paying job at the world's most innovative research lab. the good news? he's not sick anymore. the bad? there's more to worry about than just scales and teeth and a tail when a certain white-haired investor catches on to your after-hour activities with the new specimen you created - and wants a bite of you for himself

pairing: dino!Sukuna x scientist!Reader x investor!Gojo

content: mdni, angst, jurassic park au, reader is a scientist but there's not even a drop of scientific accuracy here ok, sukuna gets his DNA spliced with a dinosaur (let's not ask questions), similar to true-form sukuna (one dick and also scales and a tail), emotional hurt/comfort, slight horror elements, everyone is INSANE in this

"I have two dicks."

"This is still fixable," you tried to insist, holding your hands out helplessly as your stare refused to drift from the topic at hand. Both cocks were so hard you wondered if it hurt, the pretty pink tips swollen and leaking with pre-cum.

You blinked as they dripped onto the floor, swallowing hard as it hit you the scales by his hips had started to spread towards them.

Shit.

"Fixable?" Sukuna scoffed, and you nodded uselessly, not actually sure what the hell you were going to do from here other than make him more promises.

The horny voice you'd spent far too much time listening too lately was already crudely suggesting to give the second cock a try - for scientific purposes. To see if it could cum like the first one, if it functioned the same or if there were some fundamental differences not immediately apparent.

"What the fuck are you gonna do? Cut it off?" He hissed, demanding more answers than you currently had available.

"No," you shook your head defensively, folding your arms across your chest as you tried to wake yourself up more. "I just need more time to figure out-"

"How much time do I even have left?" He grunted, the bed creaking as he sat back down, glaring at the greedy appendages practically begging for your attention.

But he wasn't wrong.

You were running out of time.

To fix him. To fix this.

Suguru had made your lack of funding pretty fucking clear.

You probably only had one more shot before you'd be forced to either give up - or make a deal.

Sell a part of yourself to save him.

Sure, the transformations to Sukuna's body, to his DNA, might stop.

But you didn't know that.

And with this latest mutation, you were beginning to worry about the growing chance these changes might not be reversible.

Yeah, you wouldn't mind it if he permanently had two cocks to plow you into the mattress with, but you had told him you'd take care of him.

That you could handle this.

And what the hell had you accomplished?

No matter how much blood you'd drawn and tests you'd put him through, all your fixes had failed.

"Tell me," he demanded, grabbing your wrist in an attempt to make you look up at his face. "How much time do we have?"

You guessed you weren't as good at hiding your concern after all.

Even if he hadn't overheard last night's conversation, he clearly had already anticipated that this current pace, your current plan, none of it was sustainable.

"We should go to the lab," you murmured, ignoring his question as you shrugged his hand off of you and got out of the bed. Picking up last night's clothes and hurriedly putting them back on.

"You really think you're just suddenly going to find something to undo this?" He snarled, and you tried to tell yourself he was just upset.

Lashing out from the lack of control he had over himself, trying to take it back with you.

"I have to try," you hissed back.

You had been the one to do this to him. Even if he let you, he'd only done it because he believed in you.

How the hell were you supposed to betray that?

Even if he had the misfortune of being correct after you spent the entire day going over lab results again and again trying to figure out what you were missing.

Where you'd gone wrong.

Tempted to tear your hair out as you glanced up at where he was sitting rigid on a too-small chair just outside of your office, Shoko pulled up to a stool next to him as she plunged a needle into a vein.

Having four arms did make it much easier to get his blood.

"So what'd you do in your last life to deserve this?" she snickered, drawing one last vial from the crook of his elbow as Sukuna openly glared at her.

"Can't you do this?" He called out to you, noticing your stare as he clenched his jaw, irritated at your mutual coworker's mockery.

"I'm busy," you muttered, rubbing the corner of your eyes as you tried to refocus on the data in front of you.

"I'll let Yuji finish you up then," Shoko hummed, returning his disdain with a bored shrug.

Cleaning up her equipment without even looking back at him, strolling away and calling for one of your junior employees to take her place.

You had actually hired Yuji because of Sukuna, even though he barely acted like they were related in the lab, feigning ignorance whenever anyone brought up the fact they were family.

"You could've said something," Sukuna petulantly suggested, as if you weren't already asking a lot from your team just to add onto their workload to help with him.

"I'm doing my best here," you muttered, your own fuse cut short with the weight of his problems and yours on your shoulders.

You wanted to believe that if you kept doing your best, you would find the solution. That every problem had one.

"Hey, boss," Yuji chirped, peeking through the open door of your office and waving before going back to where Sukuna was sitting. A vein was already bulging across his forehead, mouth twitching down in irritation.

He tried to hold himself together, to bite back his annoyance, but when he picked up the glass of water you had left there an hour ago, all the ice melted as the condensation dripped down the side.

But the moment he lifted it off the table, it shattered.

Despite seeing it happen, you still jumped, startled at the sound.

"Shit."

Everything was falling apart.

Even the glassware.

Yuji scrambled to grab a broom, cleaning up the mess as you stared at a now half-soaked Sukuna, his dark eyes burning into you as his hand was left holding nothing in the air.

He hadn't noticed that he was even bleeding.

Shards sticking out of his skin, dripping down to his muscled thighs as all the muscles in his face tensed.

You could go over.

Help Yuji pick up the rest of the pieces and fawn over his now injured hand.

But you were at capacity.

Debating on what invasive procedure you'd have to beg him to let you do, or whether or not to give chemo a try to see if you'd treated it like a cancer, you might be able to cure him.

Worrying about what his last straw would be, the moment he decided this was too much and gave up on you.

And if that happened, where would both of you be?

"Sucks that this happened to you," Yuji frowned, leaning over your boyfriend's body to pluck out a piece of broken glass stuck in Sukuna's wrist just to earn an aggravated grunt.

"I'm aware," he sarcastically scoffed.

"Jin misses you," he muttered, and you felt a weird twinge of jealousy at their connection. At the domestic side of his life you never got to see. To be apart of.

"He's fine without me," Sukuna derisively said, once again directing his anger at the wrong person. His nephew and his brother wanted to be there for him.

You wanted to be there for him.

And he wanted nothing more than to not need any of you.

For things to go back to how they'd been before.

"At least you have her," Yuji tried to offer his best attempt at consolation, sheepishly smiling, his fingers trembling as he tried to dislodge a particularly jagged piece from Sukuna's calloused palm.

"We wouldn't even be together if it weren't for this," Sukuna retorted, sharp and snarky.

You knew he wasn't wrong.

Had thought the same thing a thousand times since then.

But it hurt a lot more hearing it from his lips.

You grimaced, getting up from your chair and walking over to the door, refusing to look at him as you shut it.

No need to hear anything else that would just hurt your feelings.

At least you would simply have invisible scars.

You'd left more than a few marks on him.

You buried your face in your hands, exhaling as you leaned forward to just rest your head on the desk, knowing what decision you were being dragged closer and closer to.

Getting your eggs harvested didn't sound particularly pleasant. Knowing that you'd have a child that was half you walking around, maybe even multiple if you agreed to Gojo's offer was not exactly a dream come true for you either.

But you owed Sukuna his life back.

Even if he decided he didn't want you in it once you gave it to him.

Besides, hadn't he been through far worse because of you?

Growing extra appendages? Claws and scales and a goddamn tail because you made the choice to use dinosaur DNA to cure him?

You hesitantly picked up the phone, bringing it up to your ear as you dialed a familiar number.

The director answered on the second ring.

"Need something down there?" Suguru slowly asked, almost as if he could sense what you were calling him for.

"Tell your friend I'll make a deal."

[starmapz]

i start break dancing whenever i see u post

LMAO thank you omg this made me smile <33

[starmapz]

Hey, sooo i kinda binged WYK and lemme tell you.. THIS IS LITERATURE. Not a fic but literature in its finest. I want to seriously thank you from the bottom of my heart for writing this. The whole thing is immaculate from scenery characters, emotions everything. There is not a single bad thing I could find in this work of art. Im so inspired by your talent thats its crazy. Keep up the good work and I can't wait to read the rest of your works!! 🫶🫶🫶

thank you omg 😭🫶 that's such a huge compliment, it means the world to me <33 i put my all into my writing and i'm so glad that i get to share it with so many people :') tysm, i hope you enjoy the rest!!