#jjk reader insert

[softtashoney]

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ texts with husband sukuna

kind of a continuation of this smau universe, seeing what your texts look like with your husband, sukuna ryomen.

trin talks: haha, silly continuation of my lil bit unhinged reader & husband sukuna smau !! hope you enjoy LOVE YOUU

divider creds: @/saradika-graphics

© softtashoney, 2025. do not repost, edit, copy, or plagiarize my works.

[slut-kuna]

perv!bsf!megumi loves looking at your boobs. they look so good.

in a bra. out of a bra. they'd look even better in his calloused hands, being squeezed and kneaded.

he's a very good boy, though, so you never notice how his gaze lingers on you when you're lounging in your living room without a bra on. or how he watches you walk, each step making your boobs bounce. megumi would never say anything. he values your friendship way too much.

so he goes back to his room and lays on his bed. an arm across his eyes, he fists his cock to the thought of you. how your boobs moved. how they were shaped. how good it'd feel to wrap his lips around that sensitive bud of yours and suck on your breasts until he couldn't anymore.

god, he wanted to leave marks all across them and make you his.

[cinnamorollcrybaby]

I need a freak to drive me crazy!

Tags: Choso x fem!Reader, insecure chubby!reader, yearning, face sitting, nsfw, mdni

@prized-jules asked: choso with insecure chubby reader pretty pls!!

An: I’m so sorry it took me this long to get to this! Join my discord server here!

"Please..." he panted softly as his big dark puppy eyes bored into your very soul. "Haven't I been good?" His lower lip twitched into a pout that made you feel weak in the knees.

Choso had been asking for you to sit on his face ever since Gojo had introduced him to the idea. "Dude, I'd happily die between my girl's thighs. You're seriously missing out if she hasn't sat on your face yet."

You had given him the pleasure of letting him eat you out, but he hasn’t had your sweet body using him as a chair yet. It felt like a disservice.

His hand pawed at your thigh as his bottom lip jutted out in the most pathetic of pouts. “Please baby? I’ll make you feel really good.”

You couldn’t even look him in the eye with how much your conviction were slipping away. As much as you hated the thought of plopping your thickness onto his face, he seemed to salivate over the idea.

“I might hurt you…” Your voice came out sheepish as you kept your eyes away from him, but Choso was quick to remedy that.

His fingers grabbed your jaw, squeezing your cheeks ever so slightly as he forced your face back towards his. “Hurt me? Are you saying I’m not strong enough?” His pleading eyes were like pools of never ending chocolate, coated with a thin sheen of tears, like he’d maybe cry if he didn’t get to taste your sweetness.

Your face heated up, feeling a familiar flutter between your thighs. “I’m not saying that at all! I— I’m just… y’know a bit on the bigger side.”

Choso’s eyes skimmed over your body as if he hadn’t noticed the extra weight. His lower lip tucked into his mouth before he returned your gaze, his eyes now smoldering. “You’re perfect.” His hands groped at your thighs, massaging the plush flesh. “I love your figure. Please… please let me show you. I’ll make it good for you.”

Your heart drummed erratically in your chest. You’ve never sat on anyone’s face before. No one had showed this much interest in your pleasure. You were tempted to indulge him — more because he would clearly enjoy it just as much as you.

“Okay.. fine… Just make sure to tap my thigh three times-“

Choso was eagerly tugging down your bottoms. He didn’t even have enough decency to remove your panties. His nose buried between clothed folds, and he breathed in deeply.

“Choso!” you shouted as embarrassment burned your face. Your hands grabbed at his hair, tugging and pulling to try and separate him.

He groaned against you from scent alone, lulling out his tongue to get a taste through the fabric. He then firmly grabbed at your plump behind, pulling you to where you’re sat upon his chest.

The breath whooshed from your lungs. You immediately tried to lift your hips — to hover above him instead of truly sitting. Even after his words, you were terrified to put your full weight against him. What if he didn’t enjoy it as much as he thought he would.

Choso had the crotch of your panties pushed to the side with just his mouth. “You’re not sitting,” he practically whined before wrapping his arms around your thighs. His muscles flexed as he forced you down against his mouth.

“Mmph… so fucking sweet,” he mumbled against you, lapping you up and drinking you down like honey. His hips began to jut up towards the air on pure instinct. His cock stood fully erect, leaking, soaking his boxers and pants.

Your head fell backwards, every muscle in your body just relaxed. It was freeing — trusting him and allowing yourself to feel your full pleasure regardless of how you’re seated on him.

His tongue flattened and trailed your leaking slit up and down, over and over. His lips then sealed around your clit, suckling as he hummed from pure contentment. His eyes were even closed, like he was in heaven underneath you.

“Oh god— I’m gonna cum already..” you gasped as your legs trembled. Your hips began to rock against his mouth.

Choso could nearly cry. This was better than anything Gojo could’ve described. “Don’t wanna stop yet… ngh~ Not gonna stop.”

Your hands tangled in his hair, grabbing ahold of him as your orgasm took ahold on you. “Choso!” you choked out. Your inner thighs were soaked and slick from spit and juices.

Even as your pussy spasmed, Choso made good on his threat. He continued devouring you like you were his last meal. He wasn’t keen on stopping. “I can’t— fuck, you’re so… mmm~ so good, baby. So pretty. I can’t take it…”

Though Choso would never admit it, he gave himself just as many orgasms as he gave you.

Taglist: @theuniversesnepobaby @airandyeah

[blueberriesyuh]

Favoritism <3 ₊˚⊹♡₊✩ ♬ ₊.🎧⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

Megumi x reader

Megumi is used to making fun of you and pretending to be annoyed but there’s no denying you’re his favorite.

˚. ✦.˳·˖✶ ⋆.✧̣̇˚. ˚. ✦.˳·˖✶ ⋆.✧̣̇˚. ˚. ✦.˳·˖✶ ⋆.✧̣̇˚. ˚. ✦.˳·˖✶ ⋆.✧̣̇˚. ˚. ✦

“Human Earthworm 4 was such a trip!” Yuji exclaimed while jumping up and down so constantly he almost fell on the sidewalk.

The four of you decided to go watch the latest Human Earthworm movie with Yuji who had previously already watched it but decided to relive the experience again.

“I never expected him to fall in love with Greg, the Human Seahorse. Although the way their kids look still haunts me” you narrowed your eyes, maybe if you squinted hard enough you could erase the memory of those gremlins from your brain.

“Yeah honestly, but that’s because they’re half seahorse half worm” Yuji explained like it was basic science “but it goes to show that love knows no boundaries not even in the ocean” he held out a dramatic fist over his chest, clenching it as his eyes twinkled— completely lost in the beauty of his own words.

“I felt like I was on molly the entire time. I don’t think I’ll watch Human Earthworm 5 when it comes out.” You admitted with a shrug. There was a risk that the next movie would be even crazier.

“WHAT!?!?! WHY!!!????” Yuji shrieked. The comment almost made him jump out his own skin.

“It’s too weird” You said flatly. The movie was 5 hours and there was no way you were going to spend another 5 hours in the theatre watching whether or not the Human Earthworm would gain custody of the kids in the next movie.

“Your one to talk” Nobara turned around to say “your favorite movie is Return of the Lesbian Vampires from Outerspace”

“That movie is peak” you declared with confidence, eyes staring off into the distance with a fond smile “the scene where they defeat the evil emperor Zarkon by choking him with a chicken panini will forever go down as the greatest moment in cinematic history”

“I can’t even disagree with you on that. It was insane” Yuji nodded slowly as if he were replaying the scene in his head “the part where they toasted the bread to ensure fatality was genius”

You turn to face Nobara “So what you’re telling me is that you’ll watch Human Earthworm 5 when it comes out?”

“No it’s too weird. I’d rather pluck my eyes out” Nobara replied instantly, a visible shudder running down her spine.

“So no one’s going to watch it with me??!” Yuji’s eyes darted frantically from person to person as he flung his arms out in betrayal.

“Megumi will” you snag the dark fabric of his shirt to keep him from retreating. Leaning in close and tilting your head to catch his gaze before giving him the most doe-eyed look. “Right Megs?”

You watched the way his jaw tightened and could almost calculate the exact moment his resolve was destroyed. You were the undisputed favorite and well aware of the kind of effect you had on him. Even if you were just friends.

Megumi stared at your hand on his arm, then up at your face.

Just say no, he told himself. It’s a ridiculous request. Stand your ground. Have some self-respect.

“… Yeah” he agreed with a shaky breath

It wasn’t like it was his fault, the way you looked at him alone made it hard to even think logically. Especially the voice you used when requesting certain things from him. That was his weakness. Your tone was sweet and honeyed, but most importantly it was something that you only used on him. It belonged to him and as much as it cost him his pride, it was a privilege he wasn’t ready to give up.

A small, triumphant spark flickered in your eyes. You didn't say anything, but the slight twitch at the corner of your mouth gave it away.

“I’ll watch it” he closed his eyes for a moment, mourning his own dignity. It felt like he had aged 10 years.

“Really!!?!?!” Itadori’s eyes shined like pools of diamonds “You’re the best, dude!

“We’re gonna have so much fun! I’ll buy the popcorn you can get the slushies, I’m thinking cherry and cola flavored. Maybe we can sneak in some KFC, the three piece chicken combo would be—“

Yuji was practically vibrating with excitement, his hands gesturing wildly as he planned the ultimate movie night. Megumi, however, looked like a man being led to his execution.

Nobara snorted, rolling her eyes so hard it looked painful. “Ugh, shut up, Itadori!” she groaned, waving a dismissive hand at him.

“He doesn't care about your three-piece combo or your cola-slushie.” She turned her sharp gaze toward Megumi, a grin dancing on her lips as she pointed a finger at him.

“He only said yes because she asked him,” Nobara drawled, her voice dripping with mocking amusement.

“If it were just you, he would’ve told you to drop dead five minutes ago,” she continued, “I’ve seen cursed spirits with more backbone than Fushiguro when you start doing that ‘puppy-dog’ thing. It’s pathetic, really. Have some self-respect, Megumi!”

A slow, triumphant smirk spread across your face as you looked over at Nobara. You weren’t just the favorite; you were a menace, and you both knew it.

“He isn't pathetic, Nobara,” you cooed, your voice dripping with that saccharine sweetness that made Megumi’s stomach do a slow, agonizing flip. “He’s just attentive.” To drive the point home, you released his sleeve only to wrap both of your hands firmly around his bicep, hugging yourself close to his side. You leaned your head against his shoulder, looking up at him with a gaze so shameless it should have been illegal.

“Right, Megumi? You’re just taking care of me.” Megumi’s entire body went rigid. If he had aged ten years before, he had just gained another twenty. He could feel the heat radiating off your skin, the soft weight of you anchoring him in place, and the intimacy of being held like that in front of the others.

“Yeah, yeah, say whatever you want, but you know damn well you got him wrapped around your finger,” Nobara said, crossing her arms with a smug, knowing grin.

She looked at you, then at Megumi’s incandescently flushed cheeks, and just shook her head. “It’s honestly a miracle he hasn’t spontaneously combusted yet.”

“Shut up, Kugisaki,” he muttered, though there was no bite in it. His ears were burning a dull, traitorous red. He knew she was right. He was a total casualty of your whims, but as he felt the soft pressure of your hands still tracing his arm, he realized he didn't actually care.

The group drifted down the sidewalk, the city air cooling Megumi’s still-burning face. As they passed a row of boutique windows, Nobara’s footsteps slowed, her head swiveling toward a display of sleek, designer handbags “That one’s really cool. I lowkey need a new bag.”

“It would go well with the keychains you have. The ones with the beaded flowers” You walked up beside her get a better look at the one she was pointing at.

Nobara turned to look at the bag on your shoulder. The way the polished silver hardware glinted against the sleek black leather was insane. It was impeccably crafted and clearly expensive “Where’d you get that bag? Was it that boutique in Ginza?”

“I actually have no idea where it’s from,” you said, casting a playful, sidelong glance at the boy behind you. “Megumi bought it for me.”

The silence that followed was absolute

Nobara stopped dead in her tracks, her mouth hanging open. Even Yuji, who had been mid-sentence about chicken wings, froze. They both turned to stare at Megumi, who looked like he wanted the sidewalk to open up and swallow him whole. “Fushiguro?” Nobara’s voice was a low, dangerous hiss of pure shock. “You bought her a designer leather bag? You’re kidding me, right? Fushiguro, you won’t even buy me a bag of chips! You’ve been hounding me for those ten dollars I owe you for three days, but for her? You drop a fortune on a luxury item?”

He looked down at you, his eyes pleading for you to stop smiling. He was a total hypocrite and he knew it. He’d charge Nobara interest on a candy bar, but he’d buy you the entire store if you so much as looked at it twice.

“I got tired of her handing me her keys and her phone every five minutes,” he added, his voice dropping into a grumpy, monotone mumble. “I bought her the bag so she’d actually have a place to put her own things for once.”

Nobara snorted, she could seeing the way he lied through his teeth. “Oh, right. So to solve the ‘inconvenience,’ you bought her a hand-crafted designer piece that costs more than an entire car? You couldn’t have just bought her a five-yen plastic tote?”

You hadn’t even asked him to buy you that bag. Whenever he saw something that reminded him of you—a piece of jewelry that caught the light in your eyes, a pair of shoes that you would like, a snack he knew you always ate— he would just get it for you. He didn't wait for a birthday or a special occasion, it wasn’t necessary. He remembered the day he bought the bag. Megumi had walked into the store and pointed at the display without a second thought. The clerk had started to explain the "heritage" of the piece, but he had already handed over the card.

The price was irrelevant. He’d buy the world for you if it meant you’d give him attention, or better yet, if it prompted you to wrap your arms around him in one of those suffocatingly hugs. Every time you leaned your weight into him as a "thank you," he felt a violent jolt of satisfaction that nothing else could ever provide. In fact, he’d spend every cent Gojo had if it meant he could monopolize your happiness.

Nobara pulled her phone out, her thumbs flying across the screen as she pulled up the brand’s official website. When the page loaded, she let out a sharp, strangled sound that was half-gasp and half-scream. “Fushiguro! This bag is eight hundred thousand yen!” she shrieked, shoving the screen inches from his face. “Eight hundred thousand before tax! That’s not a ‘utility purchase,’ that’s a whole down payment! How can you justify spending that much on a whim?”

Megumi didn’t even glance at the screen. He just kept walking, “Whatever,” he muttered, “It’s just a bag, Kugisaki. Stop being dramatic.”

“Fine, Megs. If you’re suddenly so generous and money means nothing to you, then buy me a new bag. There’s a clutch in that window back there that would look great on me.”

Megumi stopped walking just long enough to look her dead in the eye.

“No.”

“No?!” Nobara echoed, her voice rising to a frantic pitch. “Why not?! You just dropped a fortune on her! Why do I get a ‘no’ before I even finish the sentence?”

“Because,” Megumi responded “I don’t want to.”

Nobara was already at her limit. Her teeth clenching with fury.

“You don’t want to?!?” She rolled up her sleeves ready to shove her fist in Megumi’s pale face “Come here you whipped loser!”

“Yuji stop holding me back!” She yelled as she kicked her feet frantically in the air

“It’s not that serious,” you insisted, your voice airy with a laugh as you tried to catch her wrists.

⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

You guys had made it back to the dorms and miraculously Megumi had made it back alive. “I won’t forget this!” Nobara screeched from down the hallway.

It was just the two of you in the dim light of the common area. Megumi was sitting on the edge of the sofa, his eyes fixed on the blank TV screen, but his posture was far less tense than it had been earlier. You nudged his shoulder as you sat down next to him, a playful smile still tugging at your lips. He didn't look up, but he let out a low, hushed huff of breath.

“You know…” he started, his voice a velvety, private murmur that he only ever used when you were alone. “You’re a menace. You do that on purpose.” He finally turned his head, his dark eyes meeting yours.

“You use that voice and those... eyes,” he gestured vaguely toward your face, “Because you know I can’t say no to you. It’s manipulative.” He paused, his gaze dropping to your lips for a split second before he looked away, a small, reluctant smile finally breaking through his serious mask. He could feel the way you slid closer to him.

“But,” he added, his voice dropping even lower, “if you ever start looking at anyone else like that… I’m going to join a cult. At least they’ll appreciate me.”

“Yeah?” you teased, your voice dropping into that tone that always made his pulse quicken. You leaned in closer, invading his personal space until your shoulders were pressed together again. “Is that jealousy I hear, Megumi? Are you saying you want to keep these ‘manipulative’ eyes all to yourself?”

Megumi stiffened, his gaze locking into yours. “I’m just saying you don’t have to look at others like that. It’s unnecessary…. You already have me anyways”

He looked genuinely disgruntled, his brow furrowed as he contemplated the thought of you acting like that towards anyone else. But then you leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to his cheek.

The impending thought completely vanished, replaced by a flush that crawled up his neck. He reached out, his fingers hesitantly brushing against yours on the sofa.

Once you pulled away he was left blinking rapidly, his face heating up until his ears were practically glowing. He opened his mouth to say something, but only a sharp exhale came out.

“I’m—I’m serious,” he stammered, trying to regain his scowl but failing miserably. “You can’t just... do that when I’m trying to make a point. It’s cheating……. Don’t do it in front of Gojo, I won’t hear the end of it”

“Okay,” you teased, pulling back with an innocent shrug, “I won't do it again.”

Megumi’s eyes widened, “Why?” The question flew out of his mouth before he could stop it—sharper and more desperate than he’d intended.

“I didn’t say I hated it,” he blurted out, his eyes snapping back to yours. He realized how fast he’d spoken and felt his face burn even hotter. “I just said... don't do it in front of the others. Here is... fine. I wasn't... giving you permission to stop.”

“So…. Can I do it again?” you whispered, your face still inches from his.

Megumi’s throat bobbed as he swallowed hard. The grumpy, possessive boy who had just been listing "requirements" was gone, replaced by someone who looked entirely under your spell. He didn't even try to play it cool anymore.

“Yeah,” he breathed out, the word barely a ghost of a sound. He looked almost dazed, “You don’t have to ask. Just do it.”

You giggled at the sheer desperation hiding behind his serious tone and leaned back in. This time, you didn't just brush his skin; you let your lips linger on his cheek for an extra second.

He didn't pull away. In fact, he leaned into it just a fraction, a soft, defeated exhale escaping him. As you pulled back, you saw the tiny, helpless smile he was trying so hard to hide.

Megumi’s fingers slowly intertwined between yours— a wordless surrender that while you might be the one "pulling the strings," he was perfectly happy to be entangled in them.

[sqstorus]

𓏲 𓄲 fratboy!kuna & his girlfriend fear of birds! ˖👙 ࣪ ꪆ

he thought you were kidding at first.

you? scared? of birds?

but after watching you squeal out his name— again— he started to think… maybe this wasn’t a joke.

the two of you were out on a date, nothing special— just some place near campus, loud enough to be annoying, but not enough to make you leave.

you were busy rambling on about something, probably something about getting new clothes. until you suddenly went quiet.

not quiet.

just tense.

“what?” he mutters. brows knitting as he followed your line of sight. a couple of feet away, pecking at the ground like it owned the place. a pigeon.

he gives you a side glance, a annoyed eyebrow raised. “you’re joking.” you don’t answer, not even a usual smart comeback you would give him.

you don’t even look at him, your eyes stay locked on the pigeon like it might suddenly lung at you if you breathe wrong. you both stand in quietness for thirty seconds, until sukuna breaks the silence.

“hey.” his voice dips, a little more serious this time, “that’s what got you acting like this?” he questions. the pigeon flutters its wings, too loud and too sudden.

you couldn’t help yourself from letting out a flinching, letting out a squeal, and grabbing onto him without thinking, fingers curling into his white wife beater like he was something soild to hide behind.

and yeah.

that does it.

“… you’re actually scared.” not teasing, not laughing. just realization kicking in. the pigeon hop’s closer again, “yeah, no.”

he clicks his tongue, stepping just enough to put himself between you and the bird. “back off.” the bird startles, flapping away with a annoyed coo.

silence.

“you good?” he doesn’t looks at you when he says it, he doesn’t move away either. “im perfectly fine.” you mumbled out.

“oh yeah? let’s ask that bird.” he replies jokingly, which ended with him getting slapped in his back.

. . .

the walk back to campus was normal, you again, were rambling about a class that you both had— just yapping! everything you’ve been saying has been going through one ear and out the other, until you cut yourself off, again.

mid-sentence, again!

he doesn’t even bother looking this time, just sighs deeply. “where is it?”

you follow his gaze this time, confused for a second before pointing at it, a couple of yards ahead. right on the sidewalk. another pigeon.

“kuna.” your voice drops instantly. he clicks his tongue, “you’ve got to be kidding me.”

the bird doesn’t even bother moving, just stands there like a landlord waiting for past-due rent.

you slow down, then stop completely. “im not walking until you move it.” you declared. he sighs deeply for what seems the tenth time, “you can’t go around it? or something?” he asks, he already knows the answer.

“no? what if it flies!?” he pauses, then he turns to fully look at you.

“it’s a fucking bird.” he retorted. you don’t budge to move. he stares at you for a second longer— than exhales, long and annoyed. like this is somehow the most inconvenient situation of his life.

“stay here.” before you can even respond, he steps forward walking straight for it. “hey.”

the pigeon tilts his head, unimpressed. “…don’t piss me off.” he mutters under his breath. he nudges his foot forward, the bird flutters, wings snapping open as it lifts off.

you flinch anyways. “it’s gone.” he calls out to you, you hesitate then carefully walk past the spot it was standing, eyes glued to the ground like it might reappear.

“oh, you’re actually deadass serious.” you glare at him, “i told you.” he huffs out something between a laugh and a scoff, shaking his head.

“next time, im bringing bird repellent. this is insane.” he says half jokingly. you roll your eyes at his attempt to make a joke out of this, “i didn’t find it funny by the way.”

“yeah? i wasn’t trying to be funny, princess.”

© 2026 SQSTORUS ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

[jujutsu-girly]

💙​ Through Your Eyes 💙​

Yandere!Na'vi Gojo X Human!Reader💙​💫​

Also available on AO3, depending on where you prefer to read!

Thanks to @zuunary for letting my use her incredible JJK art! Go check it out, it's awesome!!

Part 2 here! ❣️​

An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works

CW: Yandere!Na'vi Gojo Satoru, Alternate Universe, Alien/Human Relationships, Female Human Reader-Insert, Possessive Behavior, Obsessive Behavior, Forced Proximity, Non-Consensual Touching, Smut to come in part 2, Size Difference, Canon-Typical Violence

You were going to die.

There was no beating around it. Evidence of your impending death laid all around you; in the crashing helicopters outside, the wild battle cries of the Na’vi ringing in the forest surrounding the base, the mangled bodies of your colleagues scattering the floor.

You were curled up against the lab wall, small, trembling, listening in a shocked daze to the sounds of human defeat haunting the Pandoran territory the RDA had chosen as a base. Broken pieces of glass, the only remains of your cherished test tubes, littered the metal floor, glittering under the peaceful sunlight. Your eyes clung to them desperately, as if somehow seeking comfort in a vision that held some kind of familiarity before the battle had erupted.

You had refused to believe it would, at some point. True, the tension in the military quarters had been stifling, faces growing grimmer and more hateful every day, but you had stubbornly stayed focused on the studies of your plants and roots. The world of Pandora was beautiful, that was true, and it was human nature to peek and poke at everything you came across, to better understand, or hurt. However, you were just a scientist, pushed aside to pump out as much info as you could about an environment your superiors considered untamed and savage. Results mattered. Your opinion didn’t. You supposed locking yourself in your own bubble of wonder, out of bitterness, and turning a blind eye to events you knew you didn’t have any power over wasn’t maybe the smartest choice, but it was the only one you could make. Each of the RDA wings in the base seemed to work like that, crafting its own little bubble out of beliefs, others of bullets.

And, as it was bound to happen, the bubble you wanted to ignore the most exploded right in your face.

Now you had no choice but to face the consequences. You were sitting on the floor, arms laced around quivering knees, shoulders hunched, eyes watery, shaky breathing blowing small puffs of white mist against the glass of your exopack mask. You knew you should move, find someone else, anyone else really with a little bit of knowledge on how to fly a helicopter and get the hell out of here. A commandant. A colonel. Anyone. However, that was likely too late for that. The RDA was crumbling. Sending almost all its generals to demonstrate its power against the Omaticaya hadn’t been the smartest choice either. Now the sky was raining with burning war planes, flaming pieces of helicopter rotors, scorching broken rifles. The distinct smell of blood, death and metal had slowly crawled its way inside the lab.  

The war cries grew outside. The screams, too. You guessed the Na’vi would make no distinction between humans, armed or not, innocent or not, guilty or not. It was fair. You probably would have done the same, in their place. You were incapable of moving anyway.

That was when you heard it. Quiet footsteps, gliding effortlessly over the metallic floor.

You looked up and saw what you were sure to be your future executioner. A Na’vi, peeking at you from the door. Wide blue eyes. Surprising snowy hair. Soft white stripes. A face shining with such curiosity he looked almost innocent.

Almost.

You bristled at the sight of his bow, curled comfortably around his shoulder and his quiver, adorned with pearls and feathers, missing many arrows. The glass of your breathing mask fogged up, your shaky breathing turning into panicked pants. Your limbs were frozen, your eyes locked on the curious face staring at you at the other end of the devastated lab.

He smiled.

Your poor breathing hitched. The Na’vi tilted his head at the sight, ears perking up at the sound of your terrified wheezes. The mask beeped softly, sending the first warning about oxygen level going down abnormally fast, but you didn’t hear it.

The Na’vi slid into the room, letting his lean body effortlessly into the lab with long blue limbs clinging around furniture too small, tail brushing against broken equipment. You realized, with a shiver, just how tall he was when he started crawling toward you, with his head slightly bowed, shoulders hunched, the tip of his bow easily brushing the low ceiling. The lab seemed too tight, flooded with white and blue, the space suddenly compressed by this new suffocating presence.

Even though you were racking your brain, trying to remember the various tribes the military team had briefed the staff about, you couldn’t pinpoint any details that would give away the one this Na’vi belonged to. He wore little to no war paint, something you had seldom seen on warriors. A hunter, maybe?

Your thoughts were cut short when he stopped just in front of you. A smell of wood and smoke and wind, filtered by your mask, flooded your nostrils. His tail lashed once, twice as he leaned in just inches from your face. Your gaze, frantic, met his own, curious, almost playful. It was unsettling, this childlike wonder you saw etched on every feature of his face; you would have much preferred something recognizable, like hate, anger, or simply coldness. Something that made sense, that aligned with the enraged war cries you had heard earlier.

Instead you got nothing but silence and a small, amused smile.

You waited for a blow. Violent or clean, messy or calculated. You waited for the bite of his remaining arrows in your flesh, of claws sinking in your throat, lacerating through skin.

Nothing came.

Instead the Na’vi stared at you for a few seconds, blue irises roaming all over your face. Then they settled on the panic in your eyes and he scoffed, smile curling into a smirk, obviously amused. You frowned, almost offended. Usually Na’vi warriors had the decency to eliminate their prey quickly; the one in front of you had apparently decided otherwise. He raised a hand slowly and let his fingers trail over the glass very gently, testing the solidity in a movement so careful you could describe it only as loving. You watched him drag his claws against the mask, confused beyond words before he suddenly leaned in again, so close this time that his nose bumped against the glass. You gasped, terrified, and he chuckled, tail lashing again. Your face hardened at the realization he was playing with you. His eyes sparkled mischievously upon seeing the angry scowl forming on your face.

A sudden boom suddenly startled you, rattling the metallic structure. Shelves shook, lightbulbs fell.

The white-haired Na’vi immediately straightened as best as he could in the cramped space, ears perked, eyes wide with alert, one hand flying to his bow. You watched the movement, certain now that the next arrow would be for you. He listened carefully, ears angling to sounds too subtle for you to catch on. He looked back at you, tail flicking from side to side. His expression was calm, searching yours, as if pondering something.

Then he took you in his arms and fled.

You couldn’t even move, too stunned to truly register what was happening. The walls flew in a blur of gray and white. Then the sunlight suddenly hit your eyes, brutal, harsh. You squinted at the invasion of yellowish light flooding your exopack mask, making your eyes water, but the Na’vi didn’t stop, not wavering for a second as he ran with an effortless grace, praised by scientists, despised by military, between clumps of burning ferns and chunks of scorched tanks. You tried to turn, to look around, to get your bearings outside of the base, when you saw it.

“No,” you hissed, squirming desperately at the sight of the ikran crouched low in the grass, waiting patiently. “No! No, wait!”

The white-haired Na’vi simply glanced at you, an infuriating amused smirk pulling at his lips. His grip didn’t falter either when he jumped gracefully next to his ikran. The beast immediately straightened, chirping happily, already stretching his colorful wings wide for his rider. The Na’vi whispered a few words to the cooing beast but you didn’t hear them, too busy twisting your body to escape the iron-clad grip of those blue hands. You barely had time to protest as you were shoved unceremoniously on the leather saddle. The Na’vi hopped on behind you, and the ikran took off.

To say that you screamed would be an understatement. The high-pitched, strangled noise of terror that left your lungs at the sudden howl of the wind around you left your voice breathless and your throat hoarse. You sunk your nails without even thinking in the saddle to the point of paint, flattening yourself, crushing your body as much as you could against the ikran’s twisting, coiling form dancing in the wind. The beast kept brutally lurching there and there, frenetically flapping its winds, avoiding trees and rocks, gaining altitude above the cliffs and the hills you had spent so much time studying and dreaming about. You pressed your head against its lean neck, closing your eyes, feeling nausea creep in your mouth at the shifting sight of whirling trees and sparkling rivers.

Then a blue hand came resting against yours on the saddle, calm, perfectly assured. You glanced up, surprised, to see the white-haired Na’vi lean over you, body poised to merge with the wind and follow the ikran’s movements, eyes locked ahead, the other hand resting against your ribs to steady you. You briefly forgot your fear, awe settling in at the sight of such flawless harmony between the two bodies as they carved their way in the sky together. You had heard about it, of course, and obviously studied it, but to see it in person was definitely another thing than just watching the stolen, recorded movements of warriors and their ikrans plastered on a screen during a safety briefing.

Then the ikran lurched and you screamed again.

There was a slight rumble of laughter above you in the Na’vi’s chest.

“Crybaby,” he huffed.

That was the very first time you had heard him speak, and this was to mock you?

You whirled around to glare at him with all the fury you could muster despite your fear.

“Excuse me?” you hissed, furious, before the wind immediately took your words.

The Na’vi met your eyes, still with that nonchalant, mischievous gaze you were seriously starting to hate. He leaned in, cramming you against the saddle and repeated again, slowly, as if talking to a child:

“Crybaby.”

You opened your mouth to respond. You didn’t have time. The ikran’s body suddenly arched, its head shooting up upward while it executed a flawless looping. For a few seconds all you could see was a sky of lush forests and tall trees and flowing waterfalls. You let out another shrieking sound of absolute terror, barely human when you felt the wind play with wild strands of your hair hanging upside-down. The Na’vi laughed, a pure, crystalline laughter which held such childish joy that you almost forgot it came from a warrior who had kidnapped you in the first place.

You breathed shakily, hands seemingly melted within the saddle, as the ikran settled into a normal flying position. The sky took back its place. The forests and the trees and the waterfalls all came back to the ground. The Na’vi shot you a playful smirk, tail flicking victoriously. You rolled your eyes but didn’t bother to speak. You didn’t trust yourself not to throw up if you opened your mouth.

Your mask beeped, signaling again that your oxygen level was starting to go low, but you didn’t care right now. The Na’vi leaned in at the sound, studying curiously the piece of metal strapped around your head, nose brushing against your temples, to which you responded with a sharp nudge. He hissed softly, surprised and slightly upset, but didn’t press on.

The ikran kept flying. The base was long, long forgotten behind you. You had absolutely no sense of direction left. You tried to picture the 3D maps, the valleys full of strange but beautiful rising hills between sharp cliffs, Hometrees, wide clearings full of ancient trees, but nothing came. You couldn’t pinpoint a single landmark on the landscape below you. The white-haired Na’vi was silent, focused on the flight, and you quietly thanked whatever god had freed you of his previous teasing, but worry still wormed its way inside your belly. You didn’t dare to ask where he was taking you, or why. Where was he taking you, and why had he done so in the first place? Was he going back to his tribe?

Your worry turned into full-blown panic when the ground suddenly faded below shreds of puffy clouds. The ikran gained even more altitude. You suddenly froze when a field of floating islands came into a view, like a string of rocks strewn across the sky.

“Wow…”

The white-haired Na’vi huffed smugly at your breathless awe. The ikran swerved between the sharp rocky edges poking out of the clouds, avoiding the vines creeping up the sharp cliffs like a tapestry of greenery. You shivered when droplets fell on your shoulders, dripping on your mask while it flew below a waterfall which frayed like a ribbon of water falling in misty smoke in the empty sky.

A chorus of offended shrieks greeted you and you looked up to see a bunch of ikrans nestled atop the islands, some scurrying over edges, screeching at this blatant intrusion of their territory. You tensed but the white-haired Na’vi didn’t even look up. His ikran simply kept going, and soon the scandalized squawks faded behind you. That was when the ikran started descending, gently, and you caught sight of a gaping hole in one side of a floating island. It was small, barely visible, its entrance all covered by drooping vines, but definitely there. The Na’vi whispered something to the beast and the ikran crossed the vines without difficulty, landing effortlessly in the cave. You shivered slightly at the sudden, cold air gushing out of the darkness.

What you had thought at first to be an empty cave carved in the rock was in reality a hidden den for flourishing, bioluminescent plants of all kinds. Soft rippling grass welcomed your worn shoes. Your eyes travelled with absolute delight and wonder over the many specimens of plants you had only seen on some occasional outings but mostly hidden in electronic files, plastered on some screen in a study room: sun lilies, spiny whips, healing roses, geodes, binary sunshines, ovumshrooms… You gladly took in the gentle blue and soothing purple pulsing in a network of colorful veins running all along the walls of the cave. Your breathing mask filtered numerous smells, bitter and sweet and fragrant and sour melting together in your nose, mingling with your breath. You let your mind wander over the drooping palms, the thin roots, the spongy moss, the curling ferns heaving together in a shared life of peacefulness.

That was, until you remembered you were not alone.

You whirled around, heart beating wildly, fully expecting to be met with an arrow directly aimed at your head.

Instead the white-haired Na’vi watched you just as curiously as he had done when he had peeked at you through the door, back at the base, tail flicking idly behind him. You stared at him, waiting for him to move, and he stared back, unflinching, patient. A million questions burst in your head but not a single one crossed your lips. Then, finally, the one you were most worried about finally slipped out of your mouth:

“Are you… going to kill me?”

Your own mastery of Na’vi, quite advanced compared to most of your colleagues, was reduced to a blubber of messy sounds when the Na’vi chuckled, a gentle, harmonious sound that curled among the soft humming of the plants.

“No,” he answered, that glimmer of amusement back in his eyes. “No, I’m not going to kill you.”

“But… why not?” Not that you wanted to die, of course, but the images of dead Na’vi bodies crushed under gigantic bulldozers didn’t match his friendly attitude. “Aren’t you angry? Mad? I’m a human. Shouldn’t you, I don’t know… hate me?”

The white-haired warrior scoffed, his tail curling in a way that could only be described as patronizing.

“I don’t hate you.”

In three strides he was in front of you, looking down at you smugly while you craned your neck to meet his gaze. He leaned in and you shrank away, the tip of his white braids brushing against your mask. You shrieked when those two blue arms suddenly shoved you to the ground, your head colliding with the grass-covered rock, and the Na’vi straddled your hips, resting his weight on you. That was it, you were going to die.

“I’ve never seen a human so close before,” he explained casually, manhandling your pathetic, squirmy body without problems, ignoring your squeals of protest as he poked and prodded. “Besides, you’re cute.”

You kept twisting between his blue palms as he stretched your arms, opened your fingers, squeezed your shoulder in absolute wonder, his hands turning you flat on your belly. His tail flicked excitedly behind him while he lifted your shirt, testing the strength of the fabric with a rough tug.

“Cute?” you gasped, arching when he reached a sensitive spot.

“Mhm. Yes, cute. And so fragile,” he whispered in awe, trailing his fingers over your own ribs.

You froze when you felt the smooth pads rest on the bare skin of your exposed back before crawling dangerously upwards, toward your bra clasp. Fortunately, the shriek of panic you let out made him pause briefly. You managed to turn enough, head squished against the grass, to shoot him a deadly glare. He smirked, amused.

“I’m Sa’toru, by the way,” he added, as if the presentation of his name would somehow make the situation acceptable for you.

“Y/N,” you grumbled.

He chuckled and leaned in, ready to continue his thorough inspection again, when the stark beeping of your mask cut through.

“What’s that?” Sa’toru asked, lying curiously over you to check the yellow light flickering on the screen.

“It’s my oxygen level. It means I’m going to die soon,” you muttered, wondering if death wouldn’t be more of a release than a curse at this point.

Sa’toru poked the glass, not at all alarmed by this new fact.

“Really? I thought humans only had one.”

“Nope. Too easy.”

The white-haired Na’vi hummed, and you felt his tail brush against your legs as it slowly swished.

“You’re really weak.”

You didn’t even bother replying. He stayed like this one minute, two, pondering. Then his weight suddenly lifted off your body and you took a deep breath. Sa’toru was already hopping on the saddle of his ikran, settling over the chirping beast.

“Hey, wait!” you shouted, scrambling to get up. “Where are you going? You can’t to leave me here!”

“Of course not,” he happily shouted back. “Can’t let my pet suffocate, can I?”

And with that, he was gone.

You stood, flabbergasted, listening to the distant flaps of the ikran’s wings and the insistent beeping of your mask.

Wait, did he say pet?

________________________________________________________________

“Here it is!”

You stared at the pile of exopack masks Sa’toru dropped on the floor, beaming with pride. Your life expectancy had just turned from a day, maybe two, from weeks. Perhaps a month or two.

“It’s the right stuff?” he asked, his ikran poking one of the devices with its snout.

“Yes, it is,” you answered, feeling slightly awkward at the way he had carried and gathered for you the object defining the entire shape of your life on this oxygen-deprived planet.

_______________________________________________________________

You learned a lot of things about Sa’toru.

Once, you realized very quickly that he liked pretty things. You noticed it on the carefully placed pearls, swinging harmoniously along his snowy braids and the necklaces adorning his slender neck, flowing along his slender but toned chest. You also noticed it on his ikran, which, once completely bare save the colorful swirls of colors painting its back the day he took you, came back full of various trinkets: braids woven along his kuru, feathers sewn into a new saddle, seashells lining its sides. Sometimes it was pearls, sometimes dried flowers. Anything the Na’vi could collect, he would; and according to him, you were the prettiest thing he had come across yet.

That fact continued to stun you over the days you spent in that strange cavern. You were a human. The small size and fragile pink skin of your species, so often criticized and openly disgusted by many tribes according to many reports the military teams always came back with, seemed on the contrary the most pleasing things for Sa’toru to see. Often he would sit behind you, stroking your hair with utmost care, feeling the strands between his fingers, letting it flow in his hands, whispering various praises about its softness or its length. Sometimes he would just lean until his face bumped gently into the mask, his wide eyes staring at you with such ravenous wonder that you couldn’t help but squirm in embarrassment. That was one of the things you knew Sa’toru didn’t like; the glass stopped him from touching your face. Instead he followed the outlines of your human features with his long fingers. You felt his frustration each time he tried to brush a strand of hair behind your ear or when you had to pull off the whole device to eat in quick bites. You had yet to know which tribe he was from, for he never talked about it. You even came to think that he was a loner at some point, an estranged warrior, but his constantly cheerful personality didn’t seem to hide any loneliness a tribeless Na’vi might have been feeling.

Second, you learned that he could be as cruel as he could be kind.

You weren’t afraid of Sa’toru. Sure, you dreaded his overly playful teasing, which could be clumsy given your size difference, but he had never acted outright hostile toward you. He might be strange and you still didn’t really get while he would bother to keep a human just because they were “pretty,” but he had never acted as your enemy. The cave he had put you in felt more like a temporary inconvenience than a real prison. You had enough trust in yourself to eventually talk the Na’vi out of his weird whim, even though you had very little hope about finding an operational base left intact after the battle. However, you soon discovered that it wouldn’t be very likely to happen.

_______________________________________________________________

“What do you mean, out?”

You were sitting in the cave, critically examining one light green curling vine to determine its species when Sa’toru had announced you would get to go out today.

He smiled, puffing out his chest proudly.

“In the forest. You’ll get to see how I hunt.”

“I hope it’s not one of those disgusting insects you brought me last time.”

Sa’toru rolled his eyes, a gesture so commonly shared by humans and Na’vi alike that it earned a little smile from you.

“It’s not my fault if you’re picky. Now come on. We must go while it’s still daylight.”

You stood up and followed him, stopping hesitantly in front of the ikran. The beast’s six eyes locked on you and you took a small step back, remembering the unpleasant howling of the wind hissing against your mask during your last flight. Sa’toru noticed your uneasiness and his expression softened.

“Come on. I promise it’ll be nice.”

You mounted the ikran, hands clutching uneasily at its scales, then at the saddle. The ikran remained perfectly unperturbed, having long been used to your presence. Then Sa’toru mounted behind you, one hand on the saddle, the other caging your hip, and the ikran took off.

Thanks to Sa’toru’s quiet orders passing through tsaheylu, the flight was peaceful, even gentle. The ikran took care not to swerve, its wings cutting with precision into the gusts and breezes, slicing through the clouds, until the forest came into view.

It was going well, at first. The forest was as beautiful as ever, oversized leaves swaying gently above your head, Sa’toru’s ikran scrambling after some fish in a clear, singing stream. The ferns brushed against your shirt, the bushes rustled with hidden life. You felt wonder flowing over your entire self, the exact same wonder which had come each time you had been allowed on the field to study the massive trunks and take samples of the secrets running in their roots. However, this time, there were no grim-looking soldiers posted all around you, ready to shoot whatever insect flew too close. Here there was only nature, Pandora, Sa’toru and you.

The white-haired Na’vi was the definition of stealth as he moved effortlessly through the Pandora undergrowth. You had a hard time keeping track of his white-dotted skin and his blue tail disappearing among ferns but you followed nonetheless, trudging much less gracefully after him. He turned once, only once, to give you one order:

“Don’t wander off.”

You nodded. Seemed simple enough. You kept up the pace, wondering once again which tribe Sa’toru could possibly be a part of. There was a calm confidence, an assured, proud claiming of the space in the way he moved, quiet but efficient, weaving between ferns, that you hadn’t seen in the videos of Omaticaya hunting warriors. His posture, though slightly hunched, spoke of a fearlessness of predators, a silent challenge to any other creature that might be competition in the patch of jungle he had selected as his own hunting ground. You followed him carefully when he crouched, tail stilling, ears flicking, with the tip of his bow brushing over the moss.

You watched him shoot the first arrow in an unsuspecting direhorse drinking in the river. The kill was flawless and quick as the creature fell with a strangled moan to the ground, slumping its heavy body in the clear, small rapids. Sa’toru bounded lightly over to the dying beast, tail lashing out triumphantly, before turning over to you. You recognized his expression, cheerful but definitely expectant of your praise.

“Nice shot,” you said, joining him with more difficulty.

The Na’vi’s chest puffed out, obviously preening at the complement. You smiled, still amused at the way such a tall warrior, twice your size, could act just as desperate for attention as a human teenager.

The rest of the hunt should have gone just as well as Sa’toru’s first kill. You didn’t really notice it at first. You were too busy admiring Sa’toru’s hunting techniques, the blue feathers woven in his bow, the Na’vi names carved in the curve of the wood. Then it hit you when Sa’toru slaughtered approximately his seventh prey. His pleased smile had turned into a toothy, feral grin, with lips pulled back over sharp canines as his eyes locked onto another prey. He moved silently but ruthlessly, as swiftly as his own arrows, crawling under the cover of ferns, tail lashing wildly. What had started as a simple hunt turned into a growing bloodlust, fueled by the thud of fallen prey hitting the earth. Each corpse gave him an opportunity to be rewarded by one of your smiles, no matter how uneasy or awkward. Each agonizing animal was a chance to show off his incredible, deadly hunting skills. The childish pride he had shown you his first kill with had soured into pure arrogance. Sa’toru left behind you another corpse, leaving its exposed flesh to rot in the sun. You followed more uncertainly as time went by, wondering again and again if you should speak out, but the excited gleam in Sa’toru’s dilated pupils told you otherwise.

“Sa’toru…” you finally managed to say after gathering your courage.

“Hmm?”

“Maybe we could go back now… You’re a great hunter, but isn’t this enough?” you asked, hoping throwing a praise in would appease his murderous urges.

“Enough?”

Sa’toru flashed you a grin full of eager teeth.

“We haven’t even started, Y/N. Come on, keep going.”

Fear twisted in your gut at the sight of those canines cutting over his lip. That was a side of the Na’vi you had never even supposed could exist. Na’vi had a profound respect for nature, and yet each prey left behind, though an offence to Eywa, didn’t seem to bother Sa’toru in the slightest. Who knew what else he was capable of? You kept musing over this while the sun moved slowly in the sky. The forest had grown quieter around you. Sa’toru didn’t notice, too busy inspecting a trail of huge prints left in the mud. That was when you decided it was time to escape. Yes, wandering alone in a forest too eager to swallow humans would probably mean death. Yes, RDA structures had probably been almost all destroyed at that point, but you couldn’t get the sight of those peeking canines out of your head. The illusion of safety you had deluded yourself into had finally dissolved, torn apart by those white fangs and the pile of corpses Sa’toru left in his wake. You understood with a shudder that you had simply been lucky up until now. The truth was that you had been kidnapped by an apparently unstable warrior, with no mention of a tribe.

________________________________________________________________

You thought you had managed to make it far, you honestly did. That was your first mistake. Time and distance were all blurred to you, lost in a world too big for your small human feet. You dipped and ducked under leaves full of dew. You tripped over gnarled roots, splashed in muddy puddles. You crouched under oversized mushrooms and leapt over rotting stumps. You marveled at fan lizards and listened to the bright, singing shrieks of faraway ikrans. You stopped and listened for thanators. You climbed over boulders and cut yourself over stony shards. Then you realized you were lost.

It wasn’t surprising, really. It was bound to happen at some point. However, you hadn’t expected him to catch up so quickly to you. The blow in your ribs sent you wheezing in pain to the mossy ground, arms flying to protect your already bruising side. Tears welled up in your eyes as the pain spread in your lungs, hot and sharp, and you rolled on your back, muddy water seeping into your clothes. A luxurious canopy of intricate leaves and an angry snarl of fangs greeted your sight. Sa’toru loomed over you, bristling with restrained fury.

“Didn’t I tell you not to wander off?!” he hissed in your face.

Your breathing quickened in panic and the glass fogged up, blurring Sa’toru’s angry scowl. You didn’t even try to speak. You couldn’t anyway. Then you saw it. The realization dawning in the Na’vi’s eyes. Your escape, not accidental, but entirely made of your own choice. A conscious decision to leave him. A spark of something flashed very quickly across his face. Then his features hardened, anger draining away only to leave a cold, calculated disdain.

You shrieked when his hand closed over the glass. You screamed when he ripped it off your face. The straps were torn under the pressure. The glass cracked. Sa’toru held it high above you, watching as your face was left completely exposed and undefended from the toxic air swirling all around you. Pandora air rushed in your nostrils, ran down your esophagus, and finally reached your unprepared human lungs. Each whiff of air was like swallowing a bunch of knives scraping and tumbling down your writhing body, easily tearing through your burning lungs. Your throat quickly became sore, flesh irritated by a violent, repeated cough. Your voice turned hoarse under strangled shrieks of terror. You choked, back arching, organs begging for some natural, good old-fashioned Earthly oxygen. Spit trickled down your chin and you watched it stain the muddy earth next to the Na’vi.

And to top it all, Sa’toru watched.

He had leaned over you and was now staring at you, fingers curled tightly around the mask. You tried to speak, to articulate some form of apology. Only garbled syllables came out. Sa’toru’s tail twitched. Then his face slowly changed. The thin line of his lips curled up into the playful smirk you had come to know, except this time it was tainted with cruelty. His ears angled toward your broken, wheezing plea for help. His eyes sparkled with mischief as he brought the mask to your face and pulled it back when you weakly tried to reach for it. There was a quiet thinking behind his eyes, an understanding you failed to grasp while you fought uselessly for your life against an air filling you with death. Finally, the tall white-haired Na’vi leaned over you, gently, slowly, his big hands splayed on either side of your face, until blue and white filled your entire vision. His braids brushed softly, snowy locks melting within your own, caked stains. He teasingly brushed his flat nose against yours in a barely existent caress, letting his white locks tingle the skin of your forehead. Then his lips closed over your mouth, stealing what little breath you had left. You gasped in surprise and his tongue slipped eagerly between your parted lips, forcing a kiss on your choking body. You didn’t have the strength to push him over. You didn’t even think about it. It was simply another layer of sensation among the pulsing pain cutting through your weakening lungs. Your hand crawled in the mud, reaching for the abandoned mask, but he pushed it away with a simple shove, cupping your face to redirect your attention. His lips moved against yours, loving and calm, but firm. His tongue filled your mouth, exploring it curiously, licking at your teeth, your gums, curling around yours. You twitched, brought your hand to his face to push. He stayed. You understood, through the firm bite he gave your cracked lips, the quiet but unmistakable claim he was setting over you.

His. His human. His pet. He had always seen you as this, something you had failed to comprehend from the start, something he was now trying to communicate to you in a language he supposed humans understood better. Humans always seemed to understand actions over words. Sa’toru had been a witness to that during the battle. Wounds over negotiation, death over peace. It was as if words could never get past that barrier Sky People had locked themselves in. You were a small, fragile thing. One of their scientists, curled up, left to die in a crumbling base. Sa’toru had thought you were different, but he guessed it must be a part of human nature so he used that physical language, imposing his body on yours, his world on yours, highlighting your weakness and his strength. Whatever control you had in that tiny, sealed up metallic world of yours, safely locked away from the forest, the dangers, Pandoran life, was gone. You needed to understand that.

 You were close to passing out when Sa’toru’s lips finally left yours. The mask came back on your face, its comforting weight secured around your head, ensuring your survival. Oxygen was pumped in you with a hiss and you took greedy gulps of it, again and again, savoring the taste of safety. You heaved once, twice, the scratching of knives dulling down in your body, fading away to a soothing nothingness. You looked up, vision still slightly blurry from the previous lack of oxygen. Sa’toru was smiling at you, benevolent, satisfaction glinting in his eyes. He bent, slinging his arms under your exhausted form and lifted you up, cradling you against his chest. He looked up and uttered a single, wordless cry. Soon after you heard a rustle in the branches above and six eyes met your own, still filled with dried tears.

Sa’toru looked back at you and pressed a kiss to your head.

“Come on. We’re going home.”

_______________________________________________________________

A/N: So next part will have little to not plot and a lot, if not only, smut. I had to it, I just had to! I'll make other fics based of zuunari's art of Mangkwan!Sukuna and Recombinant!Toji

Thanks for reading!

So next part will have little to not plot and a lot, if not only, smut. I had to do it, I just had to! I'll make other fics based of zuunari's art of Mangkwan!Sukuna and Recombinant!Toji!

💙​ Masterlist here💙​

[starchaser4l]

bickering with toru s.g

tags: jjk fluff, fem!reader, satoru gojo fluff, husband satoru, arguing like an old married couple in your late twenties, except it’s not really an argument

“move. you’re on my side of the couch.” it was early in the morning, and you were already pissed off by the fact there was no medicine for your headache.

“what?!? you’re not serious.” your husband exclaims, clasping a hand over his chest as if he was suffering heart failure at the ripe age of 27.

“i said move, toru.” you pout, squeezing your way beside him to which he pulls you into his lap. “you’re annoying.” you whine, even as he tries to kiss away your grumpiness.

“my grumpy baby! oh, my poor darling!” he cooed, pressing messy kisses to the side of your face. you only frown more.

“i have a headache, husband. i will pass on the morrow.” you say like a victorian wife who caught scarlett fever.

“no!” he cries dramatically, pressing his lips to your hand. “our love is everlasting. it heals all!”

you roll your eyes. “ehhh, an ibruprofen would do just fine.” you replied, to which he snorted and kissed your forehead.

“whatever my darling wife wants, she gets.” he grinned, grabbing his keys.

safe to say he came back with medicine and snacks.

yanna speaks ౨ৎ

sighhhhhhhh i need him expeditiously (not my best work but deal w it)

[honeyoftheisle]

To Arms! To Arms!

Knight!Gojo x Lady Wife!Reader

King!Geto x Knight!Gojo x Lady Wife!Reader Angst

Medieval Au

Tw/Cw~ Some nsfw is hinted at. Religion mentioned.

Synopsis~ Alone in the castle, how can you not dowel on the rumours about your lord husband. For Sir Gojo does not belong to you, he is the vessel of his liege lord - the king.

Author's Note~ This was born of listening to Choosin' Texas bardcore version by Hildegard Von Blingin on repeat and reading Kristin Lavransdatter 1: The Wreath.

Divider by @/saradika-graphics

 It is the duty of a wife to serve her husband, to see naught but good in him. But how were you to serve him if he was never there? You sighed, setting the household accounts aside. You had done what you could with them tonight. Tomorrow you would see if you could haggle a lower ale and wine price and perhaps get the north tower’s roof repaired. But until tomorrow, you are done. You have no husband to please, so you are left to your own pleasures. 

  “Lady Gojo,” your husband’s steward greets you. 

“What brings you Rodrick?” You ask, pushing the parchment aside. He stands awkwardly, putting his weight on one foot and then the other. “Sir Gojo writes to say that he will not return until the harvest feast. The King needs him in an affair involving a castle being seized by the crown.” Ah, that was it. You hadn’t seen your husband since last autumn, he had ridden off before the winter rains came. Both the winter and spring rains had kept him from returning. And even now, at summer's peak, he had yet to return.  

“Very well, Rodrick.” You said.

Rodrick furrowed his brow. “Do you have anything I should write to tell my Lord?” 

You paused. “No, there is nothing I have for him.” You nodded to Rodrick and swept from the room. 

When noon turns into evening, you sit at your bedchamber’s window. Your hair hangs out the window, drying in the sunlight and evening breeze, just as your mother and mother before her had done before her. Light peaks in through the branches of the tree that stands just outside your window. You did not mind the dim light, you had candles lit, besides you did not like being seen while you sat at your window. You closed your eyes, remembering the day before you were wed. Your sisters had washed your hair with extra lye to make it shine, they had scented it, and oiled it, and braided it. Even Eline had come from her convent to tend to you before your vows. It had tasted  sweet to laugh and behave like silly maidens even though most of your sisters were wed and Eline was the bride of Christ. Even though you could not claim the title maiden after those stolen moments in the wood. 

The cold metal of the chain around your neck brings you back to the earthly realm. The key on it is to the box where you lock your jewels and all the other keys of the Castle.

Voices rise up to you from below your window. “Our Lord is not to return till the moon rises for the harvest feast.” The voice belongs to Ingrid, a serving maiden.

“Alfred says the king has called him to arms.” That is Stephanie, your handmaiden. 

“To arms or his arms,” that is Gunnar, another one of your handmaidens. The girls laugh as the move passed your window. You lean your head against the window frame. You should have known. You should have always known. What kind of man seduces the daughter of the man who has offered him a roof? Shared his cup and a place at his table? 

Had you been seduced? No, you had known what it meant when he hurried you to an abandoned gallery while the other men were away on a hunt. He had begged off, claiming an injury to his knee.  You had understood when his kisses grew fervent, when he looked at you like pagan goddess, instead of a virtuous maid. You had understood when he came upon you in the woods. You had understood when he took and claimed you. He would marry you, he had panted into your ear, before kissing it. He would take you back across the channel and to his keep. You would be his pretty bride and he would be your protector. 

   But that had been five springs ago. You had lingered in this castle for four years. Wed to a man who sits at the right and of the King, and more. A smile tightens your face. You would have never met Sir Gojo if King Suguru hadn’t exiled him. Sir Gojo, for you could never think of him as your husband, even alone, had told you almost laughingly that they had quarreled. “Suguru will forget about it in a few months and call me back,” he had said. You should have known. But you had been doe eyed at the champion, even a famed figure in your own land. Your heart had been tender as the first shoots of grass in early spring. 

 You stood. One by one you blew out the candles, except for the one on your nightstand. You carefully braid your hair and bind it with ribbons before sitting on the edge of your bed. Forgotten in a castle. You watch the flame flicker back and forth. Your father would welcome you back, he had Margot after her husband had risen in rebellion and tried to abduct King Kento. Your husband has done no such thing, you think. But technically your homeland was at war with Sir Gojo’s. Surely, your father would welcome you, your mother would and then he would have to. If he didn’t you could go to Eline’s convent. Perhaps being the bride of Christ would be a warmer lighter bed than the one you slept in now. The flame flickers as a breeze blows through your bedchamber. 

   The idea has already been formed in your mind; your fingers have run over it in the years since your marriage, smoothing over the rough edges. But even still, you know the price of leaving one’s lawfully wedded husband is a high cost. Your own aunt, your father’s sister, had left her lord husband for a knight without lands or title. He had coaxed her with promises and embraces. You had no doubt he promised her dimpled babes, sweet scented nights, and passion. Instead she had been exiled from kin and kith. You hoped that she had had a happy fate. That her knight had won fame and land and she had her sweet smelling dimpled babes. But perhaps you will find peace in your father’s halls, or with Eline, or perhaps one of your other sisters. You would not mind taking care of their children. Your husband’s absence had denied you the children that used to haunt your dreams. 

The flame is burning bright, despite most of the candle being melted away. You stare into it. Willing it to give you an answer. But you are alone. And only you can make this decision. 

You will go. You will return to your father’s house and entreat him for mercy for his foolish ill wed daughter.  The pit in your stomach gapes. You squeeze your eyes shut. You remember when your sister Matilda had taken the fancy of a lord your father disapproved of. The lord had abducted Matilda while she was out maying. Your father had been furious and weeks of bloodshed had followed. Now years later, your father treated the lord like a son, despite the blood that had marked your sister’s nuptials.  

You doubt blood would follow you to the shores of your homeland. The man you wed cares naught for you. But what of honour? What would happen to Sir Gojo’s pride after his wife fled to her father’s house?

   As you enter the haziness of half slumber, you remember when he asked for your hand. The day had been cool. Rain had been falling for two days now, and the entire castle was growing antsy from being trapped inside. But not you, you loved the cool stone hall and the warm fires lit. But your Knight did not. You could see by the way his fingers strained as he looked out the turrets, the way his eyes never fully looked at you, the way he read and read again the letter from the court of his king. 

It had scared you, if you were being truthful. That day, all he had done was pace back and forth. You had watched him in between stitches of your embroidery. He had spun to face you, his eyes bright. In seconds he crossed the room and seized your hands. 

“Sir!” You exclaimed as he tugged you. “Where are we going?” You asked, as he pulled you from the turret. 

“Your father, I’m going to ask for your hand.” He said laughing sharply, but you hadn’t noticed, and if you did you had tucked it away. 

He would be your husband! You knew knights kept their word, Eline said only holy men kept their word and regular men were not to be trusted. But your Knight was brave and true. They called him ‘The Honoured One’ in songs, and his feats were told in song and at table. You knew to believe him. 

He led you to your father’s study. He knocked. When your father called for him to come in, he turned to you. “Wait here, when I return we will have a date for our wedding.” He grins at you. Your heart tinges, he doesn’t look like a man in love. But he had a week ago, when he kissed and took again what he claimed was his right. 

You wait. The minutes pass by slowly. 

Finally, the door to your father’s study opens and closes. Sir Satoru Gojo stands in all his glory before you. 

He embraces you. His mouth finds your own, hot and craving, he kisses you. When you part, he pulls back, hands on your shoulders. He smiles at you like he won. 

You will not know what he won, until you put the pieces together. One of them being the letter, detailing King Geto’s favor of one his men-at-arms. You had been wed in spite.  He had never been your knight, and he never really had been your husband.