࣪𖤐 ⋆⑅˚₊ Rin 𖤐 x reader enthusiast 𖤐 mostly fluff 𖤐 came back after a few years of hiatus !! IM SUPERRR NERVOUS but ive been thinking about starting this blog for a few months now hahah. will be editing this soon when i get the hang of tumblr :3
[ SERIES SYNOPSIS ] — it was obvious when this started, it was simply a mutual understanding between two horny college students — with very high libidos, and didn’t want any random stds — that this was purely a sexual relationship only. and yet, both of you are unintentionally toeing the line between that and something else. [ frat!kuna fwb series ]
[ TAGS ] — MDNI. 18+ nsfw. contains explicit sexual themes and content. piv. angst. friends with benefits. toxic frat culture. hazing. fraternity/sororities. hurt/comfort. hurt/no comfort. SLOW BURN. fluff. spit. ráw. rough. heavy spanking. degradation. dacryphilia. slight exhibitionisim. pda. soft sukuna. choso + yuuji r his younger brothers. every position. heavy creampies. violence. depression/anxiety. anger issues. squirting. cockwarming. alcohol. family death. family trauma. reader slightly oc. sukuna is a footballer (soccer) too. HAPPY ENDING. tags will be updated as series continues.
✮ ch 1 || how it all started ✮ ch 2 || miss me already?
✮ ch 3 || call me ✮ ch 4 || two worlds
✮ ch 5 || conditions ✮ ch 6 || cracks
✮ ch 7 || summer break ✮ ch 8 || oasis
✮ ch 9 || tbd ✮ ch 10 || tbd
✮ ch 11 || tbd ✮ ch 12 || tbd
✮ pt 1 — sukuna is starting to toe the line
✮ pt 2 — you’re desperate to prove this is just sex
✮ pt 3 — cockwarming him for the first time
✮ pt 4 — sukuna’s brothers visit unexpectedly
✮ pt 5 — pregnancy scare with sukuna
✮ pt 6 — sukuna has a stash of naked polaroids of you
✮ pt 7 — halloween special: scare actor!sukuna
✮ pt 8 — sukuna’s noticeable bulge at the gym
✮ pt 9 — high stakes no nut november edition
✮ pt 10 — holiday special: grinch!kuna naughty or nice
✮ pt 11 — sukuna leaves his door open when you’re over
✮ pinterest board ✮ ask tag ✮ main masterlist ✮ ao3 ✮
[ INFO ] : the chapters are the actual series. it begins mid-spring semester JUNIOR year. the parts exist in the same story, but as stand alone canon oneshots and will not be mentioned in the chapters (like filler eps). they take place between sept-nov fall semester of their SENIOR year [parts and chps can be read separately]
THERE IS NO SERIES TAGLIST ✦ age should be visible on your blog tho (art: @/xhealer_ tt, dividers: @/lariesographic)
Summary: In the breathtaking, untamed beauty of Pandora, two souls from different worlds find themselves drawn together against all odds. Neteyam, the dutiful future olo'eyktan of the Omaticaya clan, is bound by the expectations of his people and the traditions of his ancestors. She, a human scientist with a love for Pandora’s wonders, sees herself as an outsider, unworthy of the connection she craves.
This is my first fic ever, I am so nervous about it, lol. Please write comment what do you think about it! <3
FOR VALENTINE'S DAY (MONTH LOL) I AM HOSTING A VERY SPECIAL COLLAB EVENT THAT I HOPE YOU GUYS WILL JOIN :3
accepting any kind of oneshots or drabbles featuring jjk men as hybrids! or if you'd prefer, reader as the hybrid (or both!) hehe :p bunnies, cows, cats, fluffy or freaky, even filled with angst, it's your choice! just message me with the character of your choice to be added! name/synopsis are appreciated too, but there won't be a time limit/strict restrictions on what kind of content is included (yandere guys are totally fine) all i ask is to be tagged in the post!
fantastic gojo art is by @keki1205 <333
ᕱ.ᕱ CAT-FISHED! starring cat hybrid!reader x snow leopard hybrid!gojo by me!
after a date gone wrong ends in you getting stuck with a new set of fuzzy ears and an annoying tail, you find yourself getting comforted through your first heat by your cute coworker! there's just one teensy little issue - he's not nearly as experienced as he told you!
ᕱ.ᕱ JUST RIGHT! starring bear hybrid!nanami by @getopilleds
why you thought wandering into the woods with nothing but a deep curiosity was wise is beyond you as you find yourself completely stranded. not all hope is lost, it seems, as you wander into a quiet cabin carefully hidden away within the depths of the forest. you make yourself comfortable only for a grumpy and quite frankly sexy bear hybrid to find you there. He’s annoyed by your flirting and intrusion, but he’s tired of searching for a mate who meets his standards. The more you linger, the more he realizes you might be just right for him.
ᕱ.ᕱ RUFFLED FEATHERS starring swan!gojo x photographer!reader by @interlude-enternude
picture this. It’s golden hour. there’s a couple standing near the dock. the man is about to kneel. the swans are floating in synchronization—an elegant, romantic view—except for a grumpy swan who keeps ruffling his feathers and ruining your perfect shot. but it’s not intentional, is it?
ᕱ.ᕱ MAD AS RABBITS starring bunny hybrid!gojo x sorcerer!reader x bunny hybrid!choso by @madamechrissy
they were on a mission and got turned into bunny hybrids from some curse! so you decide to take them home bc they're adorable even if they're over six foot tall. they start eating everything in your home, stealing your panties and they can't stop wanting to breed you. but they're so precious you can't stay mad - now you have two bunny boyfriends!
ᕱ.ᕱ TO BE NAMED starring hare!gojo x bunny!reader by @sweethearticism
it's been a few months since you bit the carrot and let this dumb rabbit into your heart. he's loud, rowdy, but his big arms give good snuggles and his loud mouth knows how to kiss your knees weak. but when your heat hits and you think it a grand idea to stay in his apartment, swearing up and down that you won't let him touch you— you find yourself more than he is. whatever. it's just a week. who knows what he'd do if you actually let him close to your cotton tail?
ᕱ.ᕱ TO BE NAMED starring wolf!choso x f!reader by @sixxels
when venturing off to stay in a forest cabin you'd rented out for a quiet week away from work, you're met with a particularly clingy wolf hybrid who just can't seem to leave you alone. after spotting you in the quiet of your cabin, choso feels an undeniable connection to the breathtaking human girl who he's yet to meet. after startling you and abruptly introducing himself, he invades your space completely unannounced. attaching himself to your side, stealing your food, and never letting anyone or anything else get too close to you.
ᕱ.ᕱ TO BE NAMED starring wolf!toji x preschool teacher!reader by @s0me1n3w
wolf!toji is struggling with grief after the loss of his first wife, and is navigating life as a single father. megumi's preschool teacher (reader) offers support as romance blossoms.
ᕱ.ᕱ PUT A COLLAR ON ME starring golden british shorthair cat hybrid!nanami x chocolate lab dog!reader by @soupydumplings
at some point, your affection had become a curse you inflicted on yourself. it’s probably time to let things go, especially since your one-sided pining was going nowhere. when you finally decide to move on from your unrequited love on Valentine’s Day, your aloof crush bares his teeth and claws you back from the jaws of another. claiming territory is a part of natural feline behaviour after all.
ᕱ.ᕱ TO BE NAMED starring tiger hybrid!sukuna x lioness hybrid!reader by @5yzygy
a young, clingy lioness hybrid is brought to the facility to help socialize the tiger hybrid with behavioral issues, and soon the pair can’t be separated. years later, the facility is transferred to new management and the life they knew is torn apart.
ᕱ.ᕱ UP CLOSE AND PURRRSONAL starring tiger hybrid!sukuna x f!reader x tiger hybrid!gojo by @tinkspen
already a month into your first official job as an assistant zoologist at a hybrid wildlife sanctuary, and you finally received your first solo assignment. the job? moving in with the two most dangerous hybrids in the sanctuary. what could possibly go wrong?
ᕱ.ᕱ FUZZY FEELINGS starring fox hybrid!sukuna x bunny hybrid!reader by @clementinewishes
being sent on a mission with the ryomen sukuna could be seen as the worse turn of events ever. but hey, you got the job done! find the decline in the predator population…check. report back with results upon evidence…check. help restore peace between the prey and predator hybrids throughout the world…check. help sukuna with his unbearable rut in the middle of it all…check???
ᕱ.ᕱ TO BE NAMED starring wolf hybrid!sukuna x bunny hybrid!reader by @immenselyspicyshrine
ᕱ.ᕱ TO BE NAMED starring wolf!sukuna x lamb!reader x shepherd!nanami by @blitziwitch
your doting and loving shepherd, nanami, had to leave the farm for a few days to tend to some business - and so he decides to lock you, his precious little lamb, in the barn to keep you safe and tucked away from predators and thieves until he is ready to come home! however, after days of trying to get inside the barn, your local menacing wolf and lamb-feaster, sukuna, manages to barge his way into the safety of your warm and cozy barn. sukuna decides that instead of eating you in the way he normally eats lambs, he'd rather taste you in a different, more special way - only for nanami to come home from his trip and catch you in the middle of your waves of ecstacy brought on by the wolf! but why doesn't he look mad at the wolf? why, instead, is he looking at you- just as hard and aroused as the wolf that's ready to bury himself in you and claim you?
ᕱ.ᕱ SLAYERS starring dragon!sukuna x knight!reader by @iamsoclone
walking into a dragons nest was just another quest for you. you'd handle the beast, and retrieve what the king needed. in and out, right? wrong. and now you're stuck with the seven foot tall, four armed, winged and fanged...man? the worst part? you can't kill him. so what should you do? probably not fuck him, right?
ᕱ.ᕱ MEET-A-MATE starring tiger hybrid!sukuna x caracal hybrid!reader by @rambld
ᕱ.ᕱ bull hybrid!sukuna x cow hybrid!reader by @loverstv
ᕱ.ᕱ here kitty, kitty starring cat!gojo x reader by @polymerclay-heart
the same week your beloved cat goes missing, Gojo Satoru enters your life. It’s uncanny how similar this man looks and acts to your cat. It’s almost like…no, that’s impossible…right?
ᕱ.ᕱ sweetpea starring hare!choso x bunny!reader by @amalainse
for better or worse. those were the marriage vows you took. and you're pretty sure that includes being catty to your hare husband's old highschool bullies!
little note: this is open to anyone over eighteen who wants to join, even if we aren't mutuals!! just message me!! (sometimes i do miss some messages, so if i don't get back to you within a day, just send me another one!
you know, i was feeling bummed about my account getting marked as mature but fuck whoever reported me, i refuse to let it stop me from having fun and doing community stuff on here
a collection of my favorite yuki, shoko, utahime, femjo, femguru, femkuna, femtoji (in this order) fics i’ve read over the years that i want to spotlight, with pieces that include fluff, angst, smut, and more. fics are divided by oneshots/drabbles. please heed all warnings & give all included authors their very much deserved flowers! here’s my own yuki, shoko, and femjo fics 😙
i’ve marked superscript next to authors to indicate if they’ve been included multiple times in this post; note that there are inevitably going to be repeats of the same few writers since there’s so little wlw jjk fics! additionally, i wanted to include as little fics involving men as possible, so there’s exactly 3 fics that have three/foursomes with men, no more than that. this will be updated regularly-ish with new recs! and happy pride! <3
oneshots:
your kingdom in flames, your castle in the sea (yuki) on ao3 ; top 10 fics that ruined my life, number one: THIS FIC. reader is gojo’s older sister and yuki’s new interest, and also someone who has a mask that yuki is able to easily sneak past and into reader’s heart. i love the relationship & dynamic here. the affection between them isn’t loud in the verbal/physical sense, but it permeates each of their interactions and its SO good. the “food as a metaphor for love” tag is always one that catches me hook, line, and sinker, and this fic was no exception :3 every word is so carefully chosen and op writes so, so beautifully— every sentence is moving and leaves me in awe of their talent. do note the angst and major character death tags… sly yet sad giggle…
naked in manhattan! (yuki) by @kentwos-archived ; the summary here is simple yet succinct— you're inexperienced but yuki's there to guide you through it all as you start a relationship together— and what a GREAT take on the experienced gf/inexperienced gf trope it is!! yuki is SUCH a sweetheart here; she’s sweet ofc, understanding, and just as patient/accommodating and eager to comfort/guide as i imagine her to be :,) this is an incredibly sweet yet hot read!
kiss my ice (yuki) by @xo2dee ; FIGURE SKATER YUKI OH HOW YOU’VE MOVED ME… rivals to lovers with yuki is a fun trope for her given how easygoing/lax she can be with people, her duties, and her public image. after the kiss reader and yuki share goes viral, the two of them are paired up for future comps as a figure skating duo. their dynamic here is tooooo good and yuki’s dialogue throughout the full fic had me giggling and twirling my hair cos ugh i want her so bad. I too would let yuki be my downfall
(not so) lyrical genius (yuki ft. choso) by @stnexus ; ahh this fic is a long time favorite of mine. i remember reading it years ago and adoring it, so i was beyond elated when my reread proved to be just as enjoyable as my first read of this fic! yuki & choso are bandmates in a poly relationship with you, and when choso struggles with writer’s block, you and yuki know exactly what to do to help him along… 😏😁 i love me some dommy mommy yuki and subby choso RAHHHH
moon bend the knife (shoko) on ao3 ; to this day, this 2023 fic is one of my favorite shoko fics everrrrr. it takes place in canon, following a bad mission that reader went on before returning home to shoko. shoko wishes to care for reader, and they have the most sugary sweet, tender sex ever like omfg. i wanna melt every time i reread this fic cos it’s touched my heart in a way that few fics can… like. words Cannot describe how beautiful and moving this is. genuinely. this is poetry. it really is
lifeline (shoko) on ao3 ; the centric themes of this fic can be easily explained by these few lines in the fic itself: “You think of her and feel hope, then regret. She’ll see you in this state. You hate to do that to her. You care for her. You love her. You hate to hurt her.” ahhhh this hurt/comfort is like crack 🚬 a mission goes terribly wrong and so reader is escorted back to shoko for some healing, and shoko tends to reader so comfortingly and so sweetly 🥺😢 i adore shoko’s characterization here, same with her relationship with reader!
doctors orders (the woes of a pregnant wife) (shoko) by @manonism ² ; SHOKO FLUFFFFFF SHOKO FLUFFFFFF GATHER ROUND FOR SOME GOOD SHOKO FLUFF!!! reader is pregnant with shoko’s baby and shoko makes it her mission to dote on reader, she’s beyond cute and sweet here ^_^ this is a great read and is very funny & comforting!! love it!!
on call (shoko) on ao3 ; secret relationship trope AND shoko’s possessive?? yeah i’d be pussywhipped too! you and shoko both work at a hospital together, and when shoko’s able to score a bit of downtime with you, shoko wants you ALL to herself 😁😁 y’all know i love a good long-ish fic with in-depth smut so this fic is a winna winna in my book!! the push and pull between shoko and reader is just mmm… chef’s kiss
the tartness of nicotine (shoko) on ao3 ; I LOVE MEET CUTES LIKE THIS MORE THAN ANYTHING I SWEAR ☹️ every day that reader takes her bus, she runs into shoko, who she’s dubbed ‘cigarette girl.’ in turn, she calls reader ‘strawberry girl’ given how often she brings strawberries along with her as a snack, which reader always shares with shoko :,) super cute, fluffy, and feels-good!!
suguru and the girls who ate him (shoko ft. geto) by @macbethinchains (ao3 link) ; the day that i dont glaze this fic is the day that i DIE brah . phy has such an innate talent for writing and choosing theeee most perfect/beautiful words to describe people, places, emotions, thoughts, etc. in a way that deeply immerses AND captivates you. inspired by jennifer’s body (love this movie sfm), shoko is a succubus who, after turning reader into one as well, guides reader down the path of a succubi— and losing reader’s virginity to geto, another virgin. you can FEEEEEEL shoko’s deep yearning and obsession for reader in each scene, that’s her girl fr :,) the smut is soooo mfing good, and it’s even better knowing how it will inevitably end and anticipating what shoko and reader plan on doing with geto 🤭
sleeping beauty (shoko) by @reignpage ³ ; the things i’d do for roomie shoko 🚬🚬 and if that means waking her up every morning with my mouth on her cooch, I’M IN IT TO WIN IT!!! reader here struggles with waking shoko up every morning to no avail, until accidents happen and they discover that the sure-proof way to rouse shoko is with orgasms 😁 shes so hot and flirty in this fic MEOWWWWW MEOWWWWWWWW
cherry (utahime) on ao3 ; i need to start off with saying UTAHIMES CHARACTERIZATION HERE IS SO MFING GOOD RAHHHHHH!!!!! utahime is fairly experienced and has never really had a good kiss, so reader shows her the ropes ;) utahime is sooo yummy in this i fr wanna DEVOUR her cos of how cute yet hot she is, ughhhtjshejdjw especially when some of her snark/possessiveness leaks outta her 🤭 sosososoooo good i simply cannot praise this fic enough
my rifle, pony and her (fem!gojo) by @liahcharms ; SAVE A HORSE RIDE A MFING OUTTTTTLAWAAAWW!!!!!! liah’s femjo in this fic is getting ridden through the mattress til the bedframe breaks and the floorboards below shatter like glass 🤤😋 reader works at a brothel and her new client is none other than gojo herself, a notorious outlaw. this whole fic is SO descriptively beautiful and each word drips with such gorgeous sensuality, its genuinely tooooo good. FEMJO LETS RIDE OFF INTO THE SUNSET TOGETHA 👅
equal rights, equal fights (fem!gojo) by @reignpage ³ ; gojo gets hit by a gender-bending curse and naturally that means some fun is in store for her and for reader 😇 gojo’s competitiveness that shines while trying to show how many orgasms she can give reader as a woman and as a man is sooooohjtkwhrjaj yes im actively kicking my feet and giggling like a schoolgirl!
in harmony (fem!geto) by @indom-itus ; lets all give nico their 10s cos oh my gawddddd this story is so lovely and god do i love femguru 👩❤️💋👩👩❤️💋👩👩❤️💋👩 ESPECIALLY WHEN SHES A ROCKSTAR! cheeky, cute, smug and flirty sugu with a certified #girlfailure reader is a top tierrrr dynamic, especially with all that pining between them… dreamy sigh. you won’t regret reading this fic fs!!
move on (fem!geto) by @suguruss1ut ; conniving ass femguru is truly my achilles heel cos i’d be tripping over myself tryna get on top of her and that strap jhtjwhrjs. geto and reader are best friends and roomies, so naturally when reader gets cheated on, she turns to geto for comfort… and ohhh does she make you forget about the situation FAST 🤭 and shes sooo mean in the hottest way possible ugh #INEEDDATNEOWWW
STREEEEEETCH YOU OUT (fem!toji) by @uzugeto ; FEMJI SAVE ME FEMJIIII LET ME BOUNCE ON THAT STRAP SLOPPY STYLE!!! after reader gives birth to the zenin heir, her STANK ASS incel husband signs her up for a gym membership, where reader meets her new trainer, toji…. and whewwww is the mental picture of a sweaty, bulked up femji a TREAT. i love jade’s humor that she weaves into her fics alongside very real world insecurities and fears, there’s no dissonance cos of how seamlessly she executes her fics. this whole fic, from the yearning/thirsting stage to the eventual smut, is a certified wlw masterpiece cos WHEWWW
express yourself (yuki, shoko, utahime, fem!gojo, fem!geto, fem!sukuna) by @wiinterz ³ ; based on movies such as secretary and stoker, each smut piece features secretary!reader and a super hot boss. all of them are SO toe-curling and scrumptious that i simply cannot narrow down my favorites LOL. you will enjoy every single one of these, truuuust 🤞🏽
drabbles:
edging yuki (yuki) by @kamitv ; smut
phone sex (yuki) by @fushigur0lover ; smut
milf!yuki repaying her gratitude by eating you out (yuki) by @amortoru ; smut
prey (yuki) by @schilders ; smut
guilty pleasure (yuki) by @indiewritesxoxo ; angst, suggestive
yuki really loves her motorcycle (yuki) by @gyarujo ; fluff
yuki thinks about you when she works out (yuki) by @whosepyramidscheme ; smut
i can’t drown you out (no matter what i do) (shoko) on ao3 ; light angst, smut
your first time (shoko) by @moviecritc ⁴ ; smut
angst & miscommunication sex w/ shoko (shoko) by @ieiripie ³ ; angst, smut
lab rat (shoko) by @sugurusbadhabit ; smut
fingering you in front of a mirror (shoko) by @moviecritc ; smut
shoko loves your nursing boobs (shoko) by @manonism ; smut
nicu nurse reader and ob/gyn hooking up in an on call room (shoko) by @ieiripie ; smut
sex toys (shoko) by @eraserbread ; smut
messy drunk makeout with shoko turns into mutual fingering (shoko) by @gojosconsort ; smut
teeth (shoko) by @mydarlingem ² ; smut
she discovers your breeding kink (shoko) by @moviecritc ; smut
your girlfriend and professor shoko helps you with your homework (shoko) by @requiemdesreves ² ; smut
nine in the afternoon (shoko) by @mydarlingem ; fluff, suggestive
halloween surprise w/ shoko (shoko) by @ieiripie ; smut
granted for patience (shoko) by @kusahigunanas ³ ; smut
SMS (shoko) on ao3 ; smut
nonsexual acts of intimacy: shoulder rubs (shoko) by @kusahigunanas ; fluff
nonsexual acts of intimacy: playing with hair (utahime) by @kusahigunanas ; fluff
scissoring (utahime) by @kunareads ; smut
just like high school (utahime) by @wiinterz ; smut
kiss it better (fem!gojo) by @wiinterz ; smut
swimmer fem!gojo (fem!gojo) by @mirrrrinda ² ; suggestive
my bitch (fem!gojo) by @mirrrrinda ; smut
long distance gf!suguru geto getting you a replica of her cock (fem!geto) by @moviecritc ; smut
homoerotic friendship with femguru (fem!geto) by @getozzn ; suggestive
the squirter (fem!sukuna) by @requiemdesreves ; smut
lactation (fem!sukuna) by @lilacxquartz ; smut
impatient girl (shokohime) by @cuntphoric ; smut
a man’s place (shokohime ft. gojo) by @reignpage ; smut
girls girls girls (yukishokohime) by @mooniewritess ; smut
soooo, i wrote 32k words of sukuna fluff, but tumblr won’t let me post the whole thing 😭 i’m thinking of splitting it into two parts. should i upload both parts at the same time orrrrr????
spoiler alert: it’s an enemy to friends to lovers trope, college au
Choso's obsessed with you riding him · @aliienangel
✦ 𝙏𝙤𝙟𝙞 𝙁𝙪𝙨𝙝𝙞𝙜𝙪𝙧𝙤
Toji gets to fuck sukuna’s girlfriend · @lilithkleia
✦ 𝙍𝙮𝙤𝙢𝙚𝙣 𝙎𝙪𝙠𝙪𝙣𝙖
Toji gets to fuck sukuna’s girlfriend · @lilithkleia
I warm my hands to touch you · @mononijikayu
Sukuna who’s head over heels for you, a low-level sorcerer · @jumpjo
✦ 𝙈𝙚𝙜𝙪𝙢𝙞 𝙁𝙪𝙨𝙝𝙞𝙜𝙪𝙧𝙤
Megumi headcanons as your ‘nonchalant’ bf · @jeerencho
A Home in Alaska · @nanamineedstherapy
✦ 𝙔𝙪𝙠𝙞 𝙏𝙨𝙪𝙠𝙪𝙢𝙤
Guilty pleasure · @indiewritesxoxo
Huge shoutout to these amazing writers for blessing us with their work! Seriously, go drop some love on their blogs and check these out—you won't regret it. ♡
If you have any recs of your own, don’t be shy! Please send them over or tag me directly. I’m literally always hunting for more Geto, Yuji, or girlie-focused fics, so feel free to slide them my way!
Synopsis: You’ve spent years convincing yourself that being Satoru Gojo’s best friend is enough.
Then he gets a girlfriend.
And suddenly, you’re forced to learn the difference between having someone’s heart and simply having a place in it.
Tags: Angst, jealousy, fluff, yearning, emotionally constipated reader, best friend Satoru, friends to lovers, childhood friends, suggestive content, more tags will be added…
JJK men as ancient Gods, Heroes and Warriors x F!Reader for my freaks <3
Pairings: Gojo x Reader, Suguru x Reader, Nanami x Reader, Toji x Reader, Sukuna x Reader, Satosugu
content/warnings: Historical AU, Ancient History, JJK men as historical figures, definitely heavy smut, how to tame a God/Warrior guide heh, I'll try to keep it historically accurate since im a history freak, this is my wet dream about fucking ancient Gods lmao
a/n: Since so many people loved Anubis!Geto, I decided to start a full historical series!
Want to read more historical works?
Check this collection ˗ˏˋ ꒰ ✉︎ ꒱ ˎˊ˗
dividers by @saradika-graphics
༄ Geto Suguru
⋆˙⟡ Anubis, Egyptian God of the Dead ꒰ The desert is cold at night. The West Bank of the Nile deadly silent, with a sand gripping your lifeless body. But you shall not fear death, as your mother would say. You shall not, because he will come and guide you to the afterlife. Anubis, God of the Dead, Lord of the Duat, Protector of the Desert, Jackal-Headed Lord, your – oh ꒱
༄ Gojo Satoru
⋆˙⟡ Roman Tyrant Julius Caesar ꒰ How ruthless a man he was. Rome's greatest general. The man of the hour. Caesar, his battle name was, but Gojo Satoru in heart. A tyrant, a beast, a genius himself, your... only hope. Because how could you get back your title as the Queen of Egypt, by not using the help of the Imperator himself? And how could you not predict for him to drop down to his knees so pitifully? ꒱
༄ Choso Kamo
⋆˙⟡ Hades, Greek God of the Underworld ꒰ How easy was it to have the mightiest, the most frightening and stern God wrapped around your finger? Easy, apparently, because Hades, God of the Underworld, a gloomy, lone figure, so powerful as the oldest one of the three brothers, was nothing but a whimpering mess for his dearest Goddess! ꒱
༄ Ryomen Sukuna
⋆˙⟡ Set, Egyptian God of Wars, Violence and Sands ꒰ How brute of a God he was. A monster, Lord of Upper Egypt, Harbinger of Chaos, God of Wars, tormenting the country with his power. An usurper. So what happens when a sweet girl comes up one day, claiming that she's the one meant to inherit the rule over Egypt? ꒱
༄ Toji Fushiguro
⋆˙⟡ Roman Gladiator ꒰ Every Roman citizen loved gladiatorial fights. Just not you. But when you finally decided to see one in the company of your husband, it turned out that one fighter in particular had set his eye on you. A beast, a brute, a butcher, with strong knees that could bend solely for his lady ꒱
༄ Nanami Kento
⋆˙⟡ Greek Hero Heracles ꒰ What's the easiest way to get rid of a tenacious man who desperately asks for your hand? Give him twelve impossible challenges, of course, in hopes he'll drop out before finishing them all. But... maybe underestimating the Olympian's greatest hero, the strongest demigod alive, Zeus's warrior, wasn't the greatest choice ꒱
༄ Satosugu
⋆˙⟡ Alexander the Great and Hephaestion ꒰ For Macedonian's, he was the King. In Asia, they called him Conqueror. Egyptians bestowed upon him the title of Pharaoh, and Greeks believed he was Zeus's offspring. But for his closest general, companion, lover... he was just Satoru. Suguru's most beloved golden boy ꒱
DO NOT COPY MY WORK, if anyone wants to get inspired please tag me
˗ˏˋ ꒰ ✉︎ ꒱ ˎˊ˗ want to join permanent taglist? sign up here ꨄ︎
JJK men as ancient Gods, Heroes and Warriors x F!Reader for my freaks <3
Pairings: Gojo x Reader, Suguru x Reader, Nanami x Reader, Toji x Reader, Sukuna x Reader, Satosugu
content/warnings: Historical AU, Ancient History, JJK men as historical figures, definitely heavy smut, how to tame a God/Warrior guide heh, I'll try to keep it historically accurate since im a history freak, this is my wet dream about fucking ancient Gods lmao
a/n: Since so many people loved Anubis!Geto, I decided to start a full historical series!
Want to read more historical works?
Check this collection ˗ˏˋ ꒰ ✉︎ ꒱ ˎˊ˗
dividers by @saradika-graphics
༄ Geto Suguru
⋆˙⟡ Anubis, Egyptian God of the Dead ꒰ The desert is cold at night. The West Bank of the Nile deadly silent, with a sand gripping your lifeless body. But you shall not fear death, as your mother would say. You shall not, because he will come and guide you to the afterlife. Anubis, God of the Dead, Lord of the Duat, Protector of the Desert, Jackal-Headed Lord, your – oh ꒱
༄ Gojo Satoru
⋆˙⟡ Roman Tyrant Julius Caesar ꒰ How ruthless a man he was. Rome's greatest general. The man of the hour. Caesar, his battle name was, but Gojo Satoru in heart. A tyrant, a beast, a genius himself, your... only hope. Because how could you get back your title as the Queen of Egypt, by not using the help of the Imperator himself? And how could you not predict for him to drop down to his knees so pitifully? ꒱
༄ Choso Kamo
⋆˙⟡ Hades, Greek God of the Underworld ꒰ How easy was it to have the mightiest, the most frightening and stern God wrapped around your finger? Easy, apparently, because Hades, God of the Underworld, a gloomy, lone figure, so powerful as the oldest one of the three brothers, was nothing but a whimpering mess for his dearest Goddess! ꒱
༄ Ryomen Sukuna
⋆˙⟡ Set, Egyptian God of Wars, Violence and Sands ꒰ How brute of a God he was. A monster, Lord of Upper Egypt, Harbinger of Chaos, God of Wars, tormenting the country with his power. An usurper. So what happens when a sweet girl comes up one day, claiming that she's the one meant to inherit the rule over Egypt? ꒱
༄ Toji Fushiguro
⋆˙⟡ Roman Gladiator ꒰ Every Roman citizen loved gladiatorial fights. Just not you. But when you finally decided to see one in the company of your husband, it turned out that one fighter in particular had set his eye on you. A beast, a brute, a butcher, with strong knees that could bend solely for his lady ꒱
༄ Nanami Kento
⋆˙⟡ Greek Hero Heracles ꒰ What's the easiest way to get rid of a tenacious man who desperately asks for your hand? Give him twelve impossible challenges, of course, in hopes he'll drop out before finishing them all. But... maybe underestimating the Olympian's greatest hero, the strongest demigod alive, Zeus's warrior, wasn't the greatest choice ꒱
༄ Satosugu
⋆˙⟡ Alexander the Great and Hephaestion ꒰ For Macedonian's, he was the King. In Asia, they called him Conqueror. Egyptians bestowed upon him the title of Pharaoh, and Greeks believed he was Zeus's offspring. But for his closest general, companion, lover... he was just Satoru. Suguru's most beloved golden boy ꒱
DO NOT COPY MY WORK, if anyone wants to get inspired please tag me
˗ˏˋ ꒰ ✉︎ ꒱ ˎˊ˗ want to join permanent taglist? sign up here ꨄ︎
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
"Why are you looking at me like that?" You glared at him. You could take his apathy, his indifference, shove it somewhere deep inside and convince yourself that you felt the same.
"Like what?" His eyes burned into yours.
"Like you're jealous or something."
"What if I am?"
synopsis: you weren't looking for a boyfriend - one just found you anyway. but things start looking a little more complicated when the roommate you thought you hated starts cutting himself a bigger slice of your life than you ever meant to let him have.
relationships: Choso x Reader, Nanami x Reader, Gojo x Reader (multiple endings)
content: MDNI !! angst and fluff and smut !! roommates-to-lovers, reader sleeps around, piv sex, fingering, oral (m! + f! receiving), shower + period sex, office sex, semi-public sex, spanking, arguments, breakups/makeups, heavy flirting/tension, threesome, mating press, blindfolds, whipped cream, jealousy, slice of life, domestic fluff, tension and teasing, messy relationships and complicated feelings
౨ৎ experienced!sukuna x virgin f!reader
[adult boutique au] - ongoing series
❝ chasing your dreams isn't all it's cracked up to be. your apartment shakes when the train passes and eating a scoop of peanut butter and calling it girl dinner is getting depressing. when you finally manage to land a job at a store that sells sex toys, it's possibly the biggest relief of your life. there's just one issue:
you're a virgin.
you don't know the first thing about toys and you don't want your cute and flirty white-haired co-worker to know. against your better judgement, you find yourself turning to your other co-worker for lessons and learn the hard way he's just as much of an asshole in bed as he is at work. ❞
౨ৎ cw ; mdni, 18+ only. smut. fwb but you aren't friends. slow burn romance/fast burn smut. sukuna is 23ish, reader is 24/25ish. reader is sexually reserved but confident, nerdy, and a band geek. arrogant!sukuna. dom!sukuna. mild corruption. size difference. piv (protected & unprotected). sex toys. dildos. vibrators. sybians. shibari & bondage. restraint. gags. butt plugs. fingering. cock rings. clit stimulants. g-spot stimulants. nipple clamps. remote controlled vibrator. lubes. sex games. blindfolds. aphrodisiacs. biting. marking. possession. dick piercings & tattoos. established safe word. used safe word. loss of virginity. oral (f! and m!). handjob. dacryphilia. mating press. overstimulation. cum play. manhandling. edging. sensory deprivation. (mutual) masturbation (f! and m!). choking. mild love triangle with gojo.
i aim to spread sex positivity, explore the effects of the stigma around virginity, and educate on safety in exploring kinks :)
౨ৎ wc ; estimated 100k.
౨ৎ a/n ; art by ackshuallyvalerie <3 shoutout to @/yenayaps for sukuna dick piercing brain worms <33
ao3 || wattpad || main masterlist
1 ⊹ ࣪ untouched
2 ⊹ ࣪ coming soon
౨ৎ taglist ; OPEN. age must be visible in bio. 18+ only. permatags will be tagged in chapters.
wish I could see that it feels much better when I'm with you
pairing: ryomen sukuna x fem!reader (university au)
summary: sukuna has a notorious reputation on campus of being terrifying, but it's hard to be too scared of the guy when he shows up to your family’s failing bakery every day to buy strawberry shortbread.
when your life feels like its falling apart you discover just how sweet he can be.
content: 18+ mdni, eventual smut, university au, FLUFF, angst, humor, slow burn, idiots in love, miscommunication, parental illness/death, grief, money issues, stress and overwork, harassment, introverted reader, both reader and sukuna are kinda insecure in their own way, reader's life is falling apart but sukuna is there to make things better
episode 1: going through it
episode 2: under your spell
episode 3: anyone out there?
episode 4: expectations are too high
episode 5: crush
episode 6: I just don't know right now
episode 7: late nights
episode 8: so come a little closer
episode 9: beating like a hammer
episode 10: stop the world I wanna get off (with you)
SYNOPSIS! what do you do when you fall in love with someone the whole world has decided isn't worth loving? if you're the daughter of one of the most powerful men in the province, apparently you do it anyway. it doesn't start with a grand declaration. it starts with pink hair and a game of hide and seek and a twelve year old who decided, completely without permission, that a boy with four eyes and four arms and a permanent scowl was the most beautiful thing she had ever seen. the rest, as they say, is history. messy, complicated, wonderful history.
AUTHOR NOTE! DUN DUN DUNNNN PART 2 has arrived! heres part 1 for new comers, sorry this took so long. i had like planned it all out and then last minuted decided it might be an unpopular ending so i just re-planned and then re wrote what i had. to be honest i feel like i did my thing on this i don't know. i was thinking of maybe doing some minis here and there because i just love them so much (i grew very attached) tell me if that's something you guys would enjoy, anyways ill shut up so you can read in peace. much love! (word count *roughly* 22.6K) shes long oops
~ Now playing: FROM THE START by LAUFEY ~
808 AD, Spring, 9:43 A.M.
Pretty. Really pretty.
At least that's what you thought.
It was the last lesson of the day, poetry. Kiyoshi-sensei was out sick so her class had joined with yours, which meant the room was fuller than usual and Masaru-sensei was in one of his moods about it. The kind of mood where he read aloud from scrolls with the energy of a man who resented every single person in the room including himself.
It was a little misshapen, a bit stained like it was made by dirty hands, the tips bent where it wasn't supposed to, but it had character. It was so…him. So unbelievably and undeniably him.
A dreamy little sigh was pulled from your lips as you fiddled with the origami bunny. "Young miss, put your trash in the bin and focus!" grunted Masaru-sensei, he was standing in front of the class holding up a scroll, pausing his reading aloud to scold you. When you looked up everyone was staring,but that was the last thing on your mind at the moment. How dare he? Does he even know how much this is worth? more than the charm that hung from the cords of his robe life and dank toupee. Reluctantly, you stuff the bunny origami in your robes and join in on the lesson while you thought several things you would never say out loud because you were a well raised young woman.
Lunch was under the matsu tree, same as always.
The air was warm with a breeze moving through it and fat fluffy clouds drifting across the sky above you. Hotaru was already eating, which she had somehow started before anyone else despite being the last to sit down. Masanori was complaining about something. Ume was listening to Masanori complain while also reading, which was a skill you had always admired.
You were holding the origami bunny again.
You hadn't noticed you'd taken it back out.
"Hey." Masanori knocked your knee with his. "You good? You've been all distracted since this morning. you keep touching that horribly done origami."
You looked up slowly, dazed. then down at your hands. Then back up. Horrible? What was with people today.
"Excuse you Masanori, my Pinky—"
"I made it for her." Ume cut in smoothly, not looking up from her book. "craft project."
Masanori squinted at the origami. "It's terrible. Looks like a disfigured duck that got spat out by a pig."
"Thank you." Ume said.
You caught Ume's eye over Masanori's head. She gave you a very specific look. You gave her an apologetic one back. This was the third time this month you had nearly exposed yourself and each time Ume had caught it before it became a problem. You were slacking and you knew it and so did she. She had started calling you 'gooshy' which apparently meant you had no poker face anymore when it came to him. you couldn't even argue. she wasn't wrong.
But she also wasn't there two weeks ago when it happened. So she couldn't fully blame you.
two weeks ago.
Ume had been covering your back since she found out and you had been endlessly grateful. On this particular day she had run interference with the guards while you slipped out during music to go to the food carts near the east road. You were going to get Ryo a new treat, you had been promising yourself the fish skewers and sweet potato dumplings for weeks now and today was the day.
Except when you got there most of the stalls were closed up early and the ones that weren't were packing away fast. The old lady who ran the fish cake cart muttered at you to leave the moment she saw you, "you shouldn't be here girl, a curse has robbed ol' Hikaru, took all his paper and tipped his cart over just for the fun of it. the thing laughed and ran off. A menace i tell you. G+o on now, shoo."
you went.
Pinky Pie what have you gotten yourself into now, was your first thought as you redirected toward the meadow. you had no treats and limited time but at least you could see him.
you were slightly out of breath when you made it through the trees into the meadow and what you found there stopped you mid stride.
tufts of pink hair catching the breeze, eyebrows pinched in concentration, the tip of his tongue just barely visible between his lips, and four arms each holding a different colour of paper. he was sitting cross legged in the grass with the focused energy of someone doing something that required their full attention and had absolutely no idea anyone was watching.
you stood there for a moment and just looked at him.
he had gotten bigger these past few months. taller. something about his arms was different too, like there was actual definition there now, lean muscle that hadn't been there at thirteen. you were trying very hard not to think about this. you were failing to not think about this. the thought had kept you up half of last night, you lying on your futon in the dark staring at the ceiling and then burrying your face in your sleeve and making sounds only a very dramatic fourteen year old makes.
"Ryo." you announced your presence loudly, still breathing a little hard from running. "what are you doing? i heard you robbed an old man."
he turned around immediately, all four arms moving to shield whatever was in his lap from view. "you're not supposed to see yet." he said, scowling. "go away."
ooooh.
a surprise.
how completely, devastatingly adorable.
you sat down in your usual spot right in front of him and stared at his back with a smile on your face. you could see the tips of his ears from here. pink. the tips of his ears were pink. it was not helping your situation.
"okay." you said. "i'll wait. i love surprises."
a grunt. then silence. just the sound of paper folding.
all this focus for you. all of it just for you. you were going to have to lie down when you got home.
"okay." he said eventually, still not turning around. "i...uh." he stopped. there was a pause where you heard him exhale once. "i never made it before. i saw someone doing it at the market."
before you could say a single thing he turned around and shoved something into your hand, and in the same motion his head whipped to the side in the world's least convincing display of nonchalance.
you looked down.
a small origami rabbit sat in your palm. pink paper. he had used pink paper. a bit lopsided, one ear slightly longer than the other, the body a little squished on one side. it looked like someone had cared very much about getting it right and had also been learning how to do it while doing it.
you sat very still for a moment.
"Ryomen." you said.
"it's just paper." he said, to the meadow.
"Ryomen."
"stop saying my name like that."
"it's the most beautiful thing i've ever seen in my entire life." you said, completely sincerely.
the back of his neck went pink to match his ears. "it's lopsided." he said.
"i know." you said. "i love it."
he said nothing. he was very busy looking at a patch of grass to his left. you looked back down at the little rabbit in your palm and felt something so full it almost hurt sitting in the middle of your chest.
you had been carrying it with you every day since.
"spill it." Hotaru's burp, pulling you back to the present.
she wiped her mouth with the back of her hand and looked between you and Ume with the calm directness that was just how Hotaru was, no build up, no softening. "the beans. we want all of them. just because we get lower marks than you two in languages and poetry and art and—" she paused, counting, "yeah, basically everything, doesn't mean we're stupid. we've noticed you two being all secretive for months now. so. spill."
she said the last part with a full mouth of stew.
you and Ume looked at each other.
"i made an origami bunny." Ume tried.
"Ume." Hotaru said flatly.
Masanori was looking between all three of you with the focused suspicion of someone who had been waiting for this conversation and was glad it was finally happening.
you looked at the origami rabbit in your hands.
then you put it carefully back in your robe.
and you folded. completely and immediately. under zero pressure really, you could have lied your way out of this easy, you had been doing it for months. but you were tired. genuinely tired of carrying it in a box and only being able to open the box with Ume. you wanted to put it down somewhere and breathe.
so you told them. all of it. every single bean out of the can. it took up the rest of lunch, your food going cold beside you because you kept forgetting to eat. Ume filled in the parts you forgot, which told you she had been waiting to tell this story for a while and had it memorised.
Masanori went through several visible phases during the telling of it. confusion, then disbelief, then something that looked like he was doing complex maths in his head, then a long moment where he stared at a fixed point on the ground processing that this was all about the ghost boy from the shed at the edge of the meadow, the one the whole town walked around without meaning to, the one whose name the priests didn't say out loud. then something that might have been the very early stages of understanding, not full understanding, just the beginning of it.
Hotaru practically melted. she pressed both hands to her cheeks and made a sound in the back of her throat that was very similar to the sounds you made alone in your room at night. she and Ume immediately began comparing your situation to their favourite romance narratives with the enthusiasm of people who had been waiting for something to apply them to.
you ate your cold food and let it happen.
after a while Masanori looked back at you. he was still a little uncertain, you could see it, the weight of everything the town said and believed sitting somewhere in his face. but he was looking at you, his actual friend, and whatever was in your face when you talked about Ryomen was apparently doing some of the convincing for you.
"okay." he said finally. "okay. so what's the plan."
Ume looked up from her romance comparison. "we were hoping you'd ask that."
the plan was simple enough. Masanori would cover the school gate on days you needed to leave early. Hotaru would handle any curious adults with her very convincing innocent expression. Ume would continue being Ume, which was already more than enough.
what none of them could fix was home.
your father had kept the guards close since the ceremony and that hadn't changed. two of them, always. thorough men. the kind who took their job seriously and didn't leave many gaps. you had gotten creative, Ume's interference, the garden gate, the window in the poetry room, but some days there was no gap and you went home without seeing him and the next day you were tired and distracted and apparently gooshy enough that Masaru-sensei felt the need to comment on it.
the day after the lunch confession you woke up to a quiet house.
your mother was asleep, one of the slower mornings. your father had left for the courts early. the maids were moving through the house doing their work and everything was calm and a little too still in the way it sometimes got when both your parents were unavailable at the same time. you got dressed, ate something small from the kitchen, and took your snacks out to the engawa that looked over the garden.
the garden in spring was genuinely lovely. the plum tree had finished but the wisteria along the far wall was going properly now, purple and heavy, and the grass was the bright green that only happens for a few weeks before summer comes and tires it out. you sat with your legs tucked under you and ate and watched a bird do something complicated on the branch of the garden pine.
the two guards were doing their round on the far side of the garden. you could see them moving at the edge of the path, slow and methodical.
you were thinking about nothing in particular when the air changed.
it wasn't a sound. it was just that shift, the one that had been happening since you were twelve, the one your body had learned to recognise before your brain caught up with it. you looked up from your snacks.
he was sitting on top of the garden wall.
just sitting there, comfortable as anything, one leg hanging over the edge, two arms resting on his knees. his pink hair was doing its usual thing. he was looking at the garden like he was simply taking in the view.
you stared at him.
"how did you get past the outer gate." you said, keeping your voice low so it didn't carry.
"there's a gap in the stone near the east corner." he said, the same volume. "been there for years. your people should fix it."
"i will absolutely not be telling them that." you said.
something moved on his face that was close to amusement. he looked at the wisteria along the far wall. "your garden is too big." he said.
"it really is." you agreed. "we don't use half of it. my mother keeps saying she wants chickens back there but my father says absolutely not."
"chickens." he said.
"she really wants them." you said. "i support her."
he looked at you then. properly looked at you, all four eyes, the direct kind. "how is she." he said. "your mother."
you looked at your snacks for a moment. "slower lately. she's sleeping more than she was a few months ago. the physician came last week and my father went very quiet afterwards which is never a good sign." you paused. "she made a joke at dinner two nights ago that made my father laugh so hard he spilled his tea, so. it's both things at the same time."
Ryomen was quiet, listening the way he listened, actually there.
"some days it's heavy." you said. "i don't really say that to people. but some days it just sits on me and i can't put it down."
"i know." he said. simple. not trying to fix it, just acknowledging it, which was somehow exactly right.
you looked up at him. "do you ever miss them." you said. "your parents. even after everything."
he thought about it for a moment, which you appreciated. he didn't just answer fast to get past the question. "sometimes." he said. "not them exactly. i don't know them well enough to miss them. just the idea of them. what it could have been." he looked at the wall beneath him. "it passes."
you nodded slowly. you sat with that for a moment, both of you quiet, the garden around you doing its gentle spring thing.
"Ryo." you said.
"hm."
"i'm glad you came."
he looked at you again. his jaw did the thing it did when he was carrying something carefully. "i was in the area." he said.
"you're never just in the area." you said. "you know exactly where the gaps in our walls are and you know where the guards are and you came anyway." you weren't saying it to make him uncomfortable, just saying it because it was true and you were done pretending it wasn't. "so i'm glad."
he looked away at the wisteria. the tips of his ears had gone pink. one of his hands, the one closest to you even though you were several feet below him, opened and closed slowly on his knee.
"the guards are about to change direction." he said after a moment.
you looked toward the far path. he was right, you could already see them starting to turn. "same time next week?" you said.
"i make no such agreements." he said, and stood up on top of the wall with an ease that was honestly a little unfair, balanced perfectly, and looked down at you for just a second longer than he needed to.
"eat the rest of your snacks." he said. "you always stop halfway through."
then he dropped down off the other side and was gone.
you sat on the engawa and looked at the wall and ate the rest of your snacks.
best afternoon of the week, easy.
808 AD, Summer, 10:26 A.M.
it started at lunch. again.
Masanori sat down under the matsu tree practically twitching. he had news. how did you know? because Masanori had three tell tale signs when he was carrying something. first came the twitching. then the sweating. then the interrupting everybody mid sentence before he eventually just crumbled and told you anyway. you had known this boy since you were eight years old. you could read him like a book.
exhibit A.
"okay so." he cut Hotaru off mid sentence about something, already leaning in like someone was going to overhear him in an open field. "you know Ryomen right."
"we know Ryomen." Ume said without looking up from her book.
"there's a new rumour."
you put your rice cake down.
"Kenji Fujimoto." Masanori said. "big house near the west road. anyway Kenji was cutting through the meadow two nights ago after dark, which first of all, stupid, but that's not the point. the point is he ran into Ryomen. and he says when he tried to go around him Ryomen's eyes went completely white and Kenji felt all the warmth leave his body at once." Masanori paused. actually paused for dramatic effect. "and then Ryomen smiled. and apparently when he smiled he had too many teeth. way too many teeth. and then." another pause. "he disappeared into the ground."
Ume choked on her water.
not the polite kind. the full body kind, the kind that had Hotaru abandoning her lunch to pat her back while Ume held up one hand to communicate she was fine while very obviously not being fine yet.
you on the other hand were trying extremely hard not to laugh because you knew, you personally knew, that Ryomen Sukuna did not disappear into the ground. Ryomen Sukuna took night walks because the days belonged to other people and Kenji Fujimoto had probably stumbled into him in the dark, panicked because he had panicked, run home, and let his imagination write the second half of the story.
too many teeth.
into the ground.
you and Ume looked at each other. you both looked away immediately.
"and that's not it." Masanori said, completely unaware of the silent conversation happening across from him. "old man Daichi from the rice stall says last month when he tried to wave Ryomen away from his cart the sky went dark. thirty seconds. just thirty seconds of complete darkness in the middle of the afternoon and then normal again."
"the sky." Hotaru said.
"went dark." Masanori confirmed.
"for thirty seconds." you said.
"thirty seconds." he said.
Hotaru looked at you. quick and quiet, the kind of look only Hotaru did, the one that saw more than it let on. you looked back at your food.
because here was the thing. it was funny. you knew it was funny and Ume knew it was funny and honestly even Hotaru's face was doing something that suggested she found Kenji Fujimoto deeply unreliable as a source. but underneath the funny part was something with edges to it. because Kenji was going to tell that story at his dinner table tonight. and his family was going to tell their friends. and by the end of the week it was going to be bigger and darker and more ridiculous and there was nothing, not a single thing, you could do about it. you couldn't say actually i know him. you couldn't say he made me an origami rabbit. you just had to sit here and eat your rice cake.
you had stopped eating your rice cake.
Hotaru picked it up and put it back in your hand without saying a word. you ate it.
"i mean obviously it's exaggerated." Masanori said, looking at you, because he did know, they all knew. "i'm just saying what's going around."
"i know." you said. "i know you are."
"Kenji Fujimoto." Hotaru said, in the tone of someone delivering a verdict. "once told everyone he saw a river dragon near the east bridge. turned out to be a very large fish."
Ume snorted. Masanori laughed. you smiled, small but real.
it helped. not all the way. but enough to finish lunch.
afternoon lessons were fine. Ume walked with you to the gate after and bumped her shoulder into yours once without saying anything. you bumped back. that was the whole conversation and it covered everything that needed to be said.
the guards took you home.
the house was warm when you got in. you could hear your mother before you saw her, her voice coming from somewhere down the corridor, and the sound of it did what it always did, loosened the thing in your chest that had been tight since lunch.
dinner was all three of you. good dinner. your mother was sharp and funny and picking fights with your father about small things purely for entertainment, which meant she was feeling good, which made everything feel better. your father pretended to lose the arguments while clearly enjoying them. you ate and watched and felt both happy and something unnamed underneath the happy.
and then your father mentioned the east garden.
completely ordinary. something about trees and wall foundations and maintenance. your mother said she had never liked the plum tree on the east side anyway, too messy, she wanted something cleaner.
"what about a sakura?" your father suggested. "something with colour."
your mother made a face. "pink." she said, the way you say the name of a food you have never been particularly fond of. "pink has never been a favourite of mine. too sweet. too much."
the conversation moved on like nothing happened. your father agreed. your mother mentioned some pale purple tree she had seen near the temple road years ago, much more elegant.
you sat there with your chopsticks in your hand and stared at your food.
pink has never been a favourite of mine. too sweet. too much.
they were talking about a tree. you knew that. a perfectly ordinary tree for the perfectly ordinary east garden. this had nothing to do with anything else.
except you were fourteen and you had spent the last two years watching a boy be called too much by an entire town that had never once actually looked at him. and today you had sat under the matsu tree and listened to people add more stories to the pile. and now you were sitting at your own dinner table listening to pink get dismissed like it was nothing and something in you that had been sitting quietly for a very long time just stood all the way up.
"PINK HAS NEVER DONE ANYONE ANY WRONG."
both your parents stopped talking.
you were standing. you had not planned to stand but here you were. chopsticks in hand. voice loud enough that the attendant near the door went very still.
"pink is a good colour." you said, with the total conviction of someone who had been thinking about this for longer than tonight. "it has feelings. it has a heart. it deserves to be appreciated and not written off just because people have decided without looking properly that it's too sweet or too much. maybe the problem is that people don't actually look. and if they did they would see that it is one of the best colours that has ever existed and i am not going to sit here and listen to it be spoken about like it's nothing."
silence.
complete silence.
your mother had both eyebrows somewhere near her hairline. your father had set his chopsticks down carefully. the attendant near the door was staring at a fixed point on the wall.
you set your chopsticks down. bowed slightly. said "excuse me" in a voice doing its best impression of composure and walked out.
you went to your room. sat on your futon. put both hands over your face.
from down the corridor, clear as anything, your mother's voice. "that child has the most passionate relationship with colours i have ever witnessed in my life. she gets her weird from you."
and then your father laughed. the big warm real kind.
you heard both things.
later, lamp low, origami bunny in your hands, you lay on your futon and stared at the ceiling.
your mother thought it was funny. you knew she did. and your father had laughed, which was something.
but you had also seen him set his chopsticks down before you finished. quiet and precise. your father was not a foolish man. you had always known that. smart men noticed things even when they filed them away for later instead of saying them out loud.
pink has never been a favourite of mine.
they were talking about a tree. you knew that.
but the good days, the ones where it felt like the world was just the meadow and the ginkgo tree and nothing else had weight to it, those weren't the whole picture. the whole picture had dinner tables in it. rumours. a town that had already made its decision. a father who loved you in a way that had started to feel like a wall being built around you one careful brick at a time.
you tucked the origami bunny under your pillow.
outside the summer night was warm and loud with insects. somewhere across town he was probably walking. empty streets. no one looking.
you hoped he was eating.
you fell asleep thinking about pink paper.
down the corridor your father sat on the edge of the bed while your mother settled in.
she was talking about something, some small funny observation from dinner, but he was only half listening.
"you've gone quiet." your mother said.
"i'm thinking." he said.
"about the tree?"
"no." he said.
she looked at him with those eyes that had always read him faster than he liked. "she's fourteen." she said. not unkindly. just a fact.
"i know how old she is." he said.
"then you know fourteen year olds have feelings about things." she said. "loud dining room standing up from the table feelings."
"it's not the feelings." he said. "it's what they're about."
your mother was quiet for a moment. "she'll be alright." she said finally. "she's ours."
your father looked at the lamp.
"yes." he said. "i'm going to make sure of it."
809 AD, Late Winter, 13:27 P.M.
talking.
he had never really been a fan.
he was more of a listener. especially when it came to her. she had this way of going on and on and on about the most random things with the energy of someone who had seventeen cups of tea for breakfast. exhausting honestly. where did she find it? he was never quite sure. last tuesday she had shown up with mochi, the strawberry kind, a wisteria flower tucked behind her ear, and had proceeded to talk for two solid hours about something that started as a complaint about her dance instructor and somehow ended up being a full lecture about the migration patterns of birds. he had not said much. he had eaten the mochi and listened and at some point noticed the flower was slightly crooked behind her ear and thought about fixing it for about three seconds.
it was nice though. the flower. pretty almost. on her specifically.
anyway.
unfamiliar footsteps were coming through the meadow.
not her. he knew her footsteps without trying to, the same way he knew the sound the shed door made in wind, just from time and proximity. these were different. lighter. whoever this was led with the wrong foot and swung their arms differently.
this wasn't his—
it wasn't her.
he looked up.
Ume.
she walked up to him with the energy of someone who had somewhere to be and had decided this was it. no hesitation. no checking if it was okay. she dropped down into the grass directly across from him, right in the spot, the specific patch of flattened grass that had been flattened by the same person sitting in it every tuesday for three years.
"that spot's taken." Ryomen said. looking at her with all four eyes. flat.
Ume looked at the spot. then at him. then back at the spot. "what do you— oh." she snickered. "ahhh i see you. your girlfriend sits there."
"she is not my anything." he said. "what do you want, girl."
"Ume." she said, moving to a different patch of grass without any particular hurry about it. "my name is Ume. and i want to talk to you." she settled herself. "so. Ryomen."
"so." he said.
"she talks about you constantly." Ume said. "like genuinely constantly. at lunch, after school, in the middle of conversations about completely unrelated things. last week Masanori was talking about his uncle's farm and somehow within four minutes it was about you. i don't even know how she did it. it was impressive actually."
Ryomen said nothing.
"you don't seem surprised." Ume said.
"i'm not." he said.
"cocky." she said.
"realistic." he said.
Ume looked at him for a second. "okay fair." she said. she picked a blade of grass and turned it over in her fingers. "we never believed it you know. the rumors. me and the others." she said it casually, like she was talking about the weather. "i always thought they were exaggerated. people in this town are dramatic, no offense."
"some taken." he said.
"she thought they were mean and stupid." Ume continued, ignoring him. "from day one. you know what she said when we were twelve and the other kids were going on about the ghost boy in the shed? she said she felt sorry for a lonely child wandering around. that's it. that's all she got from the story." Ume shook her head. "she acts like she's all bubbly and whatever but she's soft. genuinely soft. gushy all the way through." she looked at him directly. "so don't go breaking her heart or i will gut you like a fish."
Ryomen looked at her for a long moment.
"she cried on my shirt for two hours." he said. "under a sakura tree. in winter. i didn't leave."
Ume stared at him.
he looked back at the meadow.
"okay." Ume said quietly. "okay yeah." she filed that away and moved on like a professional. "alright new segment. i have questions."
"i'm not answering questions." he said.
"cool." she said. "what do you actually do all day. like genuinely. what is a typical tuesday for Ryomen Sukuna when she's not here talking your ear off."
he looked at her sideways. "why."
"because i'm doing my due diligence." she said. "she has terrible judgment when it comes to herself. somebody has to check."
"she has fine judgment." he said, slightly faster than he meant to.
Ume's mouth did something. "right." she said. "so. tuesday."
he looked at the sky. "i walk in the mornings. check the shed. get food." he paused. "fix things when they need fixing."
"fix things." Ume said. "like what."
"the roof. the wall on the south side. the well near the east road has a loose stone." he said. "things."
"so you just. wander around fixing things." Ume said.
"yes." he said.
"alone." she said.
"yes." he said.
"hm." she said.
"stop doing that." he said.
"doing what." she said innocently.
"the hm thing." he said. "you do it when you're thinking something you've decided not to say. its annoying."
Ume looked at him with a new expression. something between surprised and impressed. "she said you were perceptive." she said. "i thought she was being biased."
"she's a lot of things." he said. "biased isn't one of them."
"no." Ume agreed. "it really isn't." she looked at him properly then. the full direct look. "okay last question. and i need you to actually answer it."
"i haven't agreed to answer anything." he said.
"why her." Ume said. "out of everyone who could have walked into that shed."
the meadow was quiet for a moment.
"she looked at me." he said finally. "just looked. no verdict in it." he paused. "i didn't know that was unusual until i'd seen enough of the other kind to compare it to."
Ume didn't say anything for a moment. she just sat with that.
then she stood up and smoothed her robes and looked down at him with an expression he couldn't fully read. "you know what." she said. "you're not so bad at this friend thing, kid."
Ryomen looked up at her. "i'm not your kid." he said. "and i don't do the friend thing."
"sure." she said. "see you around Ryomen." and she turned and walked back through the meadow like she'd come, unhurried, done with exactly what she came to do.
he watched her go.
then he looked back at the meadow.
friend thing. he didn't do the friend thing. he had never done the friend thing. he didn't need the friend thing. people were exhausting and complicated and the verdict they carried around with them was more trouble than the company was worth. he had decided this a long time ago and it had served him fine.
he thought about the last hour.
Ume had sat down without asking. had called him kid. had interviewed him like he was applying for something. had threatened to gut him like a fish with a completely straight face. had made him explain himself in full sentences and somehow it had not felt like pulling teeth. she had dry humour and a calm face and she had said we never believed it like it was just a fact she was reporting and moved on without making it a whole thing which was exactly the right way to handle it.
he thought about the old man. blind eyes and patient silence and a straightforward decency that didn't require anything. the only person before her who had just let him exist without making it complicated.
and now there was her. and apparently also her friends who showed up in meadows with dumplings and interrogated him about his tuesdays.
he looked at the flattened patch of grass where she always sat.
i have friends?
the thought arrived with the particular confusion of someone discovering something that had apparently been happening without their knowledge or consent.
he sat with that for a while.
then he ate the rest of the dumplings and did not think about tuesday.
(he thought about tuesday the whole time.)
809 AD, Early Spring 18:51 P.M.
it started as a normal dinner.
that was the thing. it started completely normally. the table was set, the food was good, the lamps were lit warm and low the way they always were in the evening. your mother was having a good day which meant she was at the table and sharp and picking at your father's opinions on small things for entertainment. Ichi was there again, which had become a semi regular thing over the past few months, him showing up for meals and conversations and fitting into the space your father had clearly decided he belonged in with the ease of someone who had been told he was welcome and had believed it.
you had gotten used to Ichi. that was the honest truth of it. he was easy to be around in the way that genuinely decent people are easy to be around. he never said anything cruel. he always included you in the conversation. he had a good sense of humour, dry and quiet, the kind that landed without announcing itself. if you had met him in different circumstances, if he had just been a person and not a person your father had selected and arranged and placed at your dinner table with a specific purpose, you thought you might have actually liked him.
but he was not just a person. he was a plan. and plans made by other people for your life without asking you had stopped sitting quietly in your chest a long time ago.
so you ate your food and you were pleasant and you waited.
you were not sure what you were waiting for. you just knew it was coming.
your father put down his chopsticks.
"i have something i'd like to share with the table." he said.
your mother looked up. something in her face changed, just slightly, a tightening around the eyes, like she had heard this sentence before, or something very like it, and had not enjoyed the way it ended.
"Ichi's family and i have been in discussion." your father said, in his comfortable measured voice, the one he used when he had already decided something and was presenting it as information rather than a decision. "we feel that the time is right to formalise things. Ichi will begin courting formally. with the intention of arrangement by the end of the year."
the table went very quiet.
Ichi sat across from you with his hands folded and his pleasant face doing its best impression of calm. he glanced at you once, brief and genuine, and in that glance was something that looked almost like an apology, like he too had not been given much say in the timing of this.
your mother stood up.
not slowly. not with the elegant measured rise she usually deployed when she wanted to make a point. she stood up fast, her chair scraping back, her composure going somewhere else entirely.
"no." she said.
your father looked at her. "Hana—"
"no." she said again, louder. her voice had an edge to it that you had heard exactly twice in your life and both times it had meant something in the house was about to change. "you told me you were going to speak to her first. you told me that. i sat in that room and i listened to you tell me that you were going to give her time and speak to her and now you're sitting at this table making announcements over dinner like she's not sitting right there—"
"this is not the moment—" your father started.
"THEN WHEN IS THE MOMENT." your mother's voice cracked through the room like something breaking. "when exactly were you planning on giving our daughter a moment? after the arrangement was signed? after the ceremony? when?" she was shaking, you could see it, the particular trembling that happened when she pushed past what her body wanted to give and demanded more of it anyway. "she is fifteen years old. she is our child. not a piece on a board you move around when the timing suits you—"
"i am doing what is best for this family—"
"you are doing what is best for YOU." your mother's finger came down on the table. "what makes YOU feel safe. what makes YOU feel like everything is under control. and you are dressing it up as love because it's easier than admitting you're afraid."
the silence that followed was the loudest thing you had ever heard.
your father's face had gone very still. the kind of still that meant something had landed somewhere real and he was deciding whether to acknowledge it.
your mother looked at him for one long moment. then she picked up the vase from the centre of the table, the small ceramic one with the painted plum blossoms that had sat there for as long as you could remember, and she threw it against the wall.
it shattered.
then she walked out of the room without another word, her footsteps sharp and certain down the corridor, the sound of her getting smaller until it was gone.
nobody moved.
Ichi was looking at a fixed point on the table. you were looking at the pieces of the vase on the floor. the painted plum blossoms in fragments across the wood.
your father cleared his throat.
"i apologise for that." he said to Ichi, with the smooth composed recovery of a man who had spent his whole life knowing how to present himself in rooms. "she has strong feelings."
Ichi nodded. said nothing. he was looking at the floor too.
and then your father went back to talking. just like that. about the arrangement, about the timeline, about the families involved, like the room hadn't just had something shatter in it, like you weren't sitting three feet away completely frozen, like you weren't there at all.
you sat at that table and you went somewhere else.
your brain had left the dinner and was running without you.
this was it. this was the thing. it was happening, the thing you had been feeling approach for months like bad weather you could see on the horizon but couldn't outrun. formal courting. arrangement by the end of the year. you were fifteen. your birthday was in two days. you would be sixteen and arranged and by this time next year you would be—
ichi. you would be Ichi's.
a life you had never wanted laid out in front of you like a table your father had set without asking what you were hungry for. lessons and duties and a husband chosen for his family name and his steady manner and his completely genuine decency and it would be fine. it would probably be fine. it would be the kind of fine that looked like contentment from the outside and felt like a room with no windows from the inside and you would spend the rest of your life being fine in it.
and Ryomen.
the thought of him arrived the way it always did, without asking, right in the centre of everything.
no more tuesday afternoons. no more evening walks or garden walls or mochi on a cloth with the cloth being his but neither of you saying so. no more forty five seconds on the shrine road. no more sitting in the grass until the light went gold and neither of you wanting to be the one to say it was time to go. no more any of it. because a formal arrangement meant guards and attendants and a life that got smaller and more watched and more arranged every day until there was no gap left in it for meadows or ginkgo trees or boys who tucked hair behind your ear and then looked away fast so you couldn't see their face.
you were going to lose him.
not because he left. because they were going to build walls high enough that you couldn't reach him anymore.
okay. okay. you needed a plan. you could fake an illness, you had faked minor ailments before, nothing dramatic, just enough to buy time. or you could— no. or Ume could— no that wouldn't work either. or maybe if you spoke to Ichi directly, explained, he seemed like a reasonable person, he had looked at you like an apology during the announcement, maybe—
"my little blossom."
your father's voice. gentle. warm. the voice he used when he was being your father and not the Dainagon.
you looked up.
he was looking at you with that careful loving face, the one that had been looking at you your whole life, the one that had kissed your forehead before ceremonies and sat beside your futon and told you stories about fireflies.
"are you alright?" he said softly. "would you like some water?"
something snapped.
not loudly. not all at once. just a clean quiet snap, like a thread pulled one too many times.
"no." you said. "i would not like some water."
your father blinked. Ichi went very still across from you.
"i would like." you said, and your voice was doing something you had never heard it do before, steady and sharp and coming from somewhere below your chest, "to have been part of this conversation before it became an announcement at a dinner table."
"we can discuss—" your father started.
"we ARE discussing." you said. "right now. this is the discussion you should have had with me weeks ago." you put your chopsticks down. they made a sound on the table. "you sat in this room and you made a decision about my life. about who i will be and who i will belong to and what the rest of my years are going to look like. and you did it without asking me a single question."
"i am your father." he said. still measured. still the Dainagon voice. "it is my responsibility to—"
"to what?" you said. "to decide? to arrange? to move me around until i end up somewhere that makes you feel better?" you could feel your voice rising and you didn't stop it. "i am not something that needs to be placed, father. i am not a piece on a board. i am a person. i have thoughts and feelings and a whole life happening inside me that you keep making decisions over the top of without ever once asking what's in it."
"i know what's in it." your father said, and something in his voice had shifted, the measured quality cracking just slightly at the edges. "that is exactly why i am doing this."
"you don't know." you said. "you think you do. you have decided you do. there is a difference."
"i know that you are fifteen years old." he said, and now the crack was more visible, something harder underneath the warmth. "i know that you are headstrong and brilliant and you have your mother's eyes and her way of seeing things and i love every part of that but i also know that you are fifteen and the world is not the meadow, do you understand me? the world is not whatever happens in that meadow!"
the room went still.
you looked at him.
he looked back at you.
he had said it. not directly. not with a name. but he had said it and you both knew what he had said and the space between you felt suddenly enormous.
"the meadow." you said quietly.
your father said nothing.
"you know about the meadow." you said.
"i know a great deal more than you have given me credit for." he said. low now. careful again, but differently careful, the careful of someone who had been carrying something heavy for a long time and was finally putting it down. "i have known for a long time. i have waited. i have been patient. i have tried to give you time and space to come to the right decision on your own because i did not want to force your hand." he leaned forward. "but you have not come to it. and i will not watch you walk off a cliff because i was too gentle to tell you it was there."
"he is not a cliff." you said.
"he is not safe." your father said. "he is not—"
"he is the best person i know." you said, and your voice broke on the last word, just slightly, just enough. "he is the most honest and real person i have ever met in my entire life and you have never once looked at him. you have looked at what the town says about him. you have looked at what he is not, what he does not have, where he does not come from. you have never looked at who he actually is."
"i don't need to look at who he is." your father said, and his voice cracked too now, properly, the warmth and the hardness breaking against each other. "i need to look at what he is to you. and what you are to him. and what this town will do to both of you if this continues. i need to look at that because you won't." his jaw was tight. his eyes were bright in a way you had never seen them. "i need to protect you. that is my job. it has always been my job. from the moment you were born it has been the only thing i have cared about getting right."
"then GET IT RIGHT." you stood up. your chair scraped back the same way your mother's had. "getting it right means asking me. it means trusting me. it means believing that maybe, maybe i am capable of knowing what is good for me and what isn't." your voice was shaking now and you didn't care. "you gave me a necklace. you told me it was a birthday gift and the whole time it was a weapon. you put it around my neck with your own hands and told me to wear it always and it was a weapon, father. against someone you had already decided to hate before you ever met him."
your father flinched.
it was small. barely visible. but you had been reading his face your whole life and you saw it.
"i took it off." you said. "the same day. i took it off and i put it at the bottom of my chest and i have not worn it since and i am not going to wear it. not for you. not for anyone." you looked at him across the table, across all the years of firefly stories and forehead kisses and warm laughs at dinner and the slow quiet growing distance of the last two years. "i love you." your voice broke again, worse this time. "i love you so much and i know you love me and i know you think you are doing the right thing. but you are not. you are doing the frightened thing. and i need you to know the difference."
the room was completely silent.
Ichi had not moved. had barely breathed.
your father sat at the head of the table and looked at you with an expression you had never seen on his face before. not anger. not the Dainagon. just a man. just your father. looking at his daughter across a table covered in the remains of a conversation that could not be untaken.
you picked up your robes.
"excuse me." you said.
and you walked out.
you made it to your room before you fell apart properly.
you sat on the floor with your back against the futon and your knees pulled up to your chest and you pressed your face into your arms and you cried, the ugly shaking kind, the kind that had been building for months and months and had finally found its way out.
after a long time you heard footsteps in the corridor.
they stopped outside your door.
they didn't come in.
after a moment they went away again.
you sat on the floor for a long time after that.
then you reached under your pillow and found the origami bunny and held it in both hands in the dark and breathed
809 AD, Spring — 810 AD, Summer
somewhere between the dinner table fight and the first day of summer, the house changed.
not all at once. not dramatically. just the way houses change when something important has been said out loud and nobody quite knows what to do with it yet. it settled into the walls and the corridors and the careful way everyone moved through the rooms, like the air itself had been rearranged and everyone was still figuring out where things were now.
your father was not cold. that would have been easier in some ways, cold you could push back against, cold had edges you could find. he was still warm. still your father. still the man who asked if you had eaten and noticed when you were tired and remembered small things you had mentioned in passing weeks ago. but there was a distance in it now that hadn't been there before, a careful measured space between the warmth and whatever was underneath it, and you both maintained that space with the unspoken agreement of people who had said too much and were not ready to say more.
he didn't mention Ryomen again.
you didn't either.
the guards however.
the guards were a whole new situation.
they had gotten serious.
you didn't know what your father had said to them after the dinner table incident but whatever it was had produced two completely different men. these were not the guards who lost you in crowds and let you slip through garden gates. these were focused, attentive, communicating with each other in small signals you couldn't decode, rotating in patterns you had spent three weeks trying to map and couldn't. Ume had tried twice to run her usual interference and both times it hadn't worked and she had come back to you with the expression of someone who had met a worthy opponent and was annoyed about it.
the window in the poetry room had been nailed shut. you didn't know how your father had found out about the window. you had your suspicions, which lived in the general direction of a household staff that had been with your family for decades and were loyal in ways that ran deeper than you had accounted for.
the garden gate had a new lock.
you stood in front of it one afternoon and looked at it for a long time.
then you went back inside.
your mother had a bad week in the middle of summer.
three physicians in five days, which was new, which meant something had changed in the way her body was doing what it was doing and the people who understood these things were trying to figure out what. your father barely slept. you could see it in him, the particular thinning that happened when he was running on worry instead of rest, and underneath all the distance and the careful space and the guards and the locked gate he was just a man who was terrified of losing his wife and you were just a girl who was terrified of the same thing.
you sat with her one afternoon when the physicians had gone. she was having a slow day, the slow kind, the kind where even talking took more than she had. you didn't talk. you just sat with her the way your father sat with her, just being there, because sometimes that was the whole thing.
she reached out at some point and took your hand.
you held on.
neither of you said anything.
you thought about how unfair it was that the world kept asking you to choose. between your family and your freedom. between your father's love and your own life. between staying in this house that was yours and had always been yours and running toward the person who had become as much yours as any of it. you thought about how you shouldn't have to choose. how nobody should have to choose. how the fact that you were being asked to was not something you had caused or deserved.
you held your mother's hand and looked at the garden through the screen door and didn't say any of it.
late summer
he came to the garden wall on a tuesday evening.
you didn't know he was going to. you were on the engawa eating something small you had taken from the kitchen, the guards were doing their far round, the evening was warm and going gold, and then the air changed and you looked up and there he was.
he looked different.
not dramatically. just. more. like the months since you had properly seen him had done something to the lines of him, filled things in, made him more present somehow. he sat on the wall with his usual impossible ease and looked at the garden and did not explain how he had gotten past the new outer gate which had a lock that had defeated you completely.
"how." you said.
"the lock is cheap." he said. "your father should spend more."
you looked at him. he looked at the wisteria. it had gone leggy in the heat, sprawling further along the wall than it was supposed to, purple and insistent.
"i've missed you." you said. you were done being careful about saying things.
he was quiet for a moment. "i know." he said.
"that's not the same as saying it back." you said.
another moment. longer. "i know that too." he said. and then, to the wisteria, to the garden, to somewhere just slightly away from you, "it's been too quiet."
you looked at him.
"the meadow." he said. "it's been too quiet."
you understood what he was saying. you had always understood what he was saying even when he said it sideways.
"i'm working on it." you said.
"i know." he said.
you sat in the warm evening and talked, quieter than usual, both of you aware of the guards in a way you hadn't had to be in the early days. shorter sentences. longer silences. but the silences were the good kind, full rather than empty, the kind you had built together over four years of tuesday afternoons.
he left before the guards came back.
you sat on the engawa after and held the warmth of it carefully, the way you held all of it now, more carefully than before because there was less of it and what there was mattered more.
autumn
the visits were short. sometimes very short. ten minutes at the wall, twenty if the guards were slow on their round. once he managed to stay for almost an hour and you talked until the dark came properly and you could barely see his face and neither of you wanted to be the one to say it was time.
he was different in these visits. you noticed it gradually, the way you noticed things about him, which was slowly and then all at once. he was more open. not dramatically, not in a way he would probably acknowledge if you pointed it out, but you had four years of comparison to measure against and the difference was visible. he asked you things. real questions, not just responses to what you said, actual questions about what you thought and how you were and what was happening inside the house that he couldn't see from the wall.
he asked about your mother a lot.
he asked about your father once, carefully, and you had told him the truth which was that your father was exhausted and frightened and doing everything wrong for all the right reasons and you still loved him and it was still complicated and Ryomen had listened and said nothing and that had been exactly right.
one evening in autumn he had arrived at the wall with something wrapped in cloth and dropped it over the side into the garden without comment. you had found it after he left. persimmons, the good sweet kind that only came for a few weeks in autumn. your favourite. you had eaten one sitting on the engawa in the dark and thought about how he had remembered that, filed it away somewhere in that head of his that noticed everything and said nothing, and gone out of his way to bring them.
you had cried a little. just a little.
winter into spring
the physicians came more regularly.
your father started leaving earlier and coming home later and when he was home he was present in that way that meant he was physically there and mentally somewhere else entirely, doing the maths on something that didn't have a good answer. you had stopped trying to breach the distance between you. not because you had given up but because you understood, in the way you understood most things about people you loved, that he needed to come to it himself. pushing wouldn't get you there. you had pushed at the dinner table and it had cost both of you something that was still healing.
so you waited.
you helped with your mother when you could. you sat with her in the afternoons. you learned which days were which kind and adjusted accordingly and you tried not to think too hard about the fact that the physician's face had been doing something different lately when he came out of her room.
the guard situation did not improve.
Ume had essentially given up on interference and moved to a support role which mostly consisted of her showing up at school with snacks and updates about Masanori and Hotaru and making you laugh on the days when laughing felt difficult. Masanori had started leaving food at the school gate on days he knew you couldn't get out which had made you cry in a completely different way, the warm kind, the kind that came from being known by people who showed up for you.
Ryomen came to the wall when he could.
sometimes that was once a week. sometimes it was less. sometimes you sat on the engawa and the air didn't change and you went back inside and tried not to let the missing of it sit too heavy.
but when he came he stayed as long as he could. and every time he came he was a little more there, a little less armoured, a little more willing to sit in the space between you without filling it with distance. one evening in late winter he had sat on the wall and talked for almost two hours, not about anything in particular, just talking, the way you had always talked at the ginkgo tree except now it went both ways, him saying things without waiting to be asked, offering pieces of himself like he had decided you had earned them and was settling a debt.
you hadn't said anything about it.
butterfly rule.
even now. even after everything. some things you still had to pretend not to see or they'd fly away.
and then it was spring.
your birthday soon.
the house was warm with it, your mother had insisted on plans despite the physician's opinions, your father had arranged things with the particular focused energy of a man who needed something to go right. there would be food and music and people and your mother in her best robes doing what she always did in public which was making everyone in the room stand up a little straighter without knowing why.
it should have felt like something to look forward to.
you sat on the engawa on the evening before the evening before your birthday and looked at the garden wall and thought about how much had changed since you were twelve years old and the world was just a game of hide and seek and a shed at the edge of a meadow and a boy with pink hair who had never expected anyone to follow him out of it.
the air changed.
you looked up.
he was on the wall.
he looked at you and you looked at him and neither of you said anything for a moment.
"three days." you said.
"i know." he said.
"are you going to wish me a happy birthday." you said.
he looked at the garden. "probably not." he said.
"typical." you said.
something moved on his face. the soft fast thing. except lately it was staying a little longer before he covered it. like the covering was getting harder. like something in him had decided the covering was less important than it used to be.
"i'll bring you something." he said. to the wisteria.
"you don't have to—" you started.
"i know i don't have to." he said. and he looked at you when he said it, all four eyes, direct and steady. "that's kind of my whole thing with you."
your own words. from years ago. sitting in the frost. back in his voice now like he had been holding them somewhere and had decided tonight was when they came back.
you looked at him.
he looked at you.
the garden sat between you, warm and spring green, the wisteria starting its thing again along the wall, purple and insistent and completely unbothered.
"same time tuesday." you said softly.
he looked away.
"i make no such agreements." he said.
you smiled.
the guards were coming back around. you could hear them. he heard them too, you knew because he shifted slightly on the wall, preparing to go.
"Ryomen." you said.
he looked at you one more time.
"it's going to be okay." you said. you weren't sure you believed it completely. but you said it the way you said most things you needed to be true, with the particular conviction of someone who had decided to believe it until it was.
he looked at you for a long moment.
"yeah." he said quietly. like he was deciding to believe it too.
then he dropped off the wall and was gone.
you sat on the engawa until the guards came back and then you went inside and went to bed and lay in the dark holding the origami bunny and thinking about tomorrow and the day after and everything that came after that.
three days until your birthday.
three days.
810 AD, Spring, 10:09 A.M. PRESENT DAY
Sixteen, furious at the world and absolutely no one's sweetheart- Sukuna was, to put it plainly, a bear waiting to be poked. The abandonment issues and the judgment he caught for the way he looked didn't help matters either.
That's exactly why your father never understood your obsession with the little freak. The boy was poor and- well. four eyes. four arms. your father shuddered just thinking about it. no daughter of a Dainagon would so much as glance at something like that, let alone lose sleep over it.
So, what does any loving and overprotective father do? He gets his men to discreetly execute the boy. obviously.
One cool night when the sun had long set and moon sat high and mighty- your father, an elegant noble man who loved you very dearly, picked up his pen and jotted instructions down on a paper.
He'd keep you safe. he always has, your pretty little head was too full of butterflies and fuji petals to know any better.
In two days, my daughter's birthday will be held. You, my most trusted soldiers, will go and capture Ryomen Sukuna. Do not return without success.
dispose of the body properly and quietly.
Spread believable rumors to justify the boy's disappearance.
destroy the shed in the meadow.
he read it over once. folded it with the precise unhurried movements of a man who had made his decision and was done deliberating. he stood, dusted his robes, and handed it to his head attendant with a single nod.
the attendant bowed and left.
your father stood in his office alone for a moment. looked at his desk. at the lamp that had burned low while he wrote. at the window where the spring morning was doing its cheerful unbothered thing outside.
then he straightened his collar and went to start his day.
the consultation had started at nine.
you were standing in the middle of your room in your under robes while Miu, the seamstress your father had been using since before you were born, circled you slowly with fabric swatches and the focused expression of a woman who took her work very seriously. she had been talking for the better part of an hour about silhouettes and seasonal colours and what was appropriate for a sixteen year old birthday celebration versus what was appropriate for the formal events that would follow, and you had been nodding at all the right moments while hearing approximately none of it.
the ache behind your ribs had been there since you woke up. not a new ache. a familiar one, the kind that had moved in sometime around last autumn and had been paying very consistent rent ever since. it sat there while Miu talked about sleeve lengths and it sat there while you looked at the fabric swatches and it sat there while you tried to remember the last time you had looked forward to something like this, a new robe, a celebration, the whole event of being dressed and admired and presented, and couldn't.
you used to love these. you remembered loving these. standing here while Miu talked and the colours were spread out and the whole thing felt like something exciting was coming. that version of you felt very far away this morning.
"the deep plum would complement your colouring beautifully." Miu was saying, holding a swatch up near your face. "or if you wanted something softer for the occasion, the blush—"
the door creaked.
you looked up.
Ichi stood in the doorway. he had that look on his face, the uncomfortable apologetic one he got when he knew he was somewhere that was going to be received badly and had come anyway because he didn't have a choice. Miu froze mid sentence. you looked at him with the particular expression you had developed over the past several months for his appearances, pleasant on the surface, pointed underneath.
"what a surprise." you said. "i wasn't aware this was a shared appointment."
Ichi opened his mouth. closed it. opened it again.
and then, for the first time in all the months of him being quietly decent and endlessly patient in rooms where he was not entirely welcome, something shifted in his face.
"your father requested i attend." he said. not apologetic this time. direct. clipped. the words of someone who had been holding something for a long time and had decided to put it down. "i didn't get a choice in any of this either." he said. "you're not the only one losing someone because our fathers think we are chess pieces."
the room was very quiet.
Miu had gone completely still, a swatch of blush fabric suspended in one hand, eyes moving between the two of you with the careful expression of a professional who had witnessed family drama before and knew better than to engage with it.
Ichi took a breath. pressed his lips together. composed himself back into the person he usually was, measured and pleasant, like he had opened a door and then thought better of it and closed it again. he sat down in the chair near the window without waiting to be invited and looked at Miu. "i apologise for interrupting." he said. "please continue."
Miu continued. less enthusiastically now.
you stood in the middle of the room and let her drape fabric against your shoulder and thought about what Ichi had just said. losing someone. he had said losing someone. which meant there was someone. which meant Ichi, who you had spent months resenting as a symbol of everything your father was doing to your life, was also a person with a life your fathers had been rearranging without consulting him. which meant he had been sitting at your dinner table all these months being decent and genuine and quietly patient while also carrying something you hadn't once thought to ask about.
you looked at him sideways.
he was looking out the window. his jaw was set. his hands were folded in his lap with the careful stillness of someone keeping themselves composed by choice.
you thought about all the things you had said in rooms with him. all the pointed pleasantries. all the times you had made it clear without saying it directly that his presence was an inconvenience. you had never been cruel. you had been too well raised for cruel. but you had not been kind either.
you were still thinking about this when the sound came from the corridor.
a wretching cough. then a pause. then your mother's voice, low and steady, saying your name through the door.
your mother was already walking away from the door when you came out. you followed her down the corridor to her room, the one that had started smelling permanently of the physician's medicines and the particular incense the attendants burned to cover it. she moved slowly today. not the slow of a bad day, the slow of someone who had something to say and was choosing the right moment for it.
she sat on the edge of her futon and patted the space beside her.
you sat.
she reached under the low table beside her and produced a box. lacquered wood, old, the kind of old that meant it had been somewhere for a long time. she set it on your lap and looked at you.
"your father." she said, "is a hypocrite. a stupid, handsome, strong willed hypocrite."
you giggled despite yourself. the giggle came out of nowhere and surprised you both.
your mother looked satisfied. she reached over and opened the box.
inside, packed carefully, were dried flowers. hundreds of them, small and aromatic, their colour faded to a soft brown gold but their scent still present, something warm and green underneath the dryness. you looked at them and then at your mother.
"do you know what these are?" she said.
"flowers." you said. "old ones."
your mother nodded. she scooped a handful up slowly, careful with them, and brought them to her face and breathed them in. the spring light was coming through the screen behind her and it caught her in that particular way it sometimes did, making her look less like someone who had physicians visiting three times a week and more like herself, the version of herself that had always seemed to take up more space than her body should allow.
"the first gift i ever got from a boy." she said.
you stared at her. "father?"
"your father." she confirmed. a small smile, private, not for you exactly, more like a thing she was remembering that you were being allowed to see. "my best friend was with his friend. we used to all go to the stream together. when those two would wander off on their own your father would carry me on his back and walk along the flower bushes at the edge of the water." she looked at the flowers in her palm. "i would pick the blossoms and set them in his hair before we moved on to the next bush. he never once told me to stop."
"mother." you said.
"hm."
"that is the most romantic thing i have ever heard in my entire life."
she laughed. a real one, the kind that came from somewhere light. and you laughed too and for a moment it was just the two of you on the futon being ridiculous about dried flowers and a boy who had let someone put blossoms in his hair because he was in love and didn't know what else to do about it.
and then the ache came back.
worse than usual. like the laughing had moved something and now the thing that had been sitting quietly had shifted and was pressing against places it hadn't reached before. you looked at the flowers in the box in your lap and felt it rising and couldn't stop it.
"why is he doing this to me." your voice came out smaller than you meant it to. "why can't he be like that. like he was then. you chose each other. nobody arranged you. nobody put you at a dinner table and made an announcement." you looked up at her. "i want a choice too. i just want a choice."
your mother looked at you.
then she opened her arms.
you folded into them before you finished deciding to, your face going into her shoulder, her arms coming around you, and you cried. the full kind. the kind that had your shoulders shaking and your breath going uneven and all the months of it coming out at once, the guards and the locked gate and the short visits and the distance at the dinner table and Ichi at the window saying you're not the only one and Ryomen on the wall saying it's going to be okay in a voice that was trying to believe it.
your mother held you and didn't tell you to stop and didn't say it was fine when it wasn't.
after a while, when the worst of it had passed and you were just sitting in the aftermath of it, she spoke.
"i am very sick." she said. simply. directly. the way she said things she had decided to stop softening. "sicker than we have been telling you. the treatments have been doing very little for a long time now."
you went still in her arms.
"two weeks ago the physician told us there is a cure." she said. "a real one. but it would require more money and more time than we have easily available. your father is working on it." a pause. "he is terrified. not just of losing me. of losing you too. he feels everything slipping and he is grabbing at things and not all of the things he is grabbing at are the right ones." she smoothed your hair back from your face, slow and gentle, the way she always had. "i have tried to talk to him. i keep trying. but he is deep in it right now and the fear is louder than the sense." she looked at you, direct and clear. "so if you want your freedom. if you want him to see you properly. then it is in your hands to make him."
you sat with all of it.
the sickness, worse than you knew, the physicians three times a week suddenly making a different kind of sense. the cure, existing, real, possible but not certain. your father grabbing at things, at you, at arrangements and guards and letters written in the middle of the night, trying to hold on to everything at once with hands that weren't big enough for all of it.
you thought about a man carrying a girl on his back along flower bushes at the edge of a stream. letting her put blossoms in his hair. becoming, somehow, the man who had sat in his office last night and written something down on a piece of paper with careful measured brushstrokes.
you thought about how much distance there was between those two people. how much fear it took to travel that far from yourself.
you looked at the dried flowers in the box.
"okay." you said quietly. "okay."
your mother looked at you.
"i'm going to figure it out." you said. you weren't sure exactly what that meant yet. but you said it the way you said things you needed to be true, with the particular conviction of someone who had decided to believe it until it was.
your mother looked at you for a long moment. then she did something she hadn't done in a while. she smiled. not the small private one from the flowers. the full one, the one that had always made rooms stand up straighter without knowing why.
"i know you will." she said. "you are mine after all."
you sat with her for a long time after that.
the spring morning continued outside, warm and bright and completely unbothered, the way spring mornings always are.
810 AD, Spring, 12:34 A.M.
kaze ni chiru, hana no yume...
he stopped dead.
stood completely frozen in the middle of the meadow with his arrow half drawn and his mouth still open from the last note like an absolute fool.
he had been singing. OUT LOUD. to nobody. to the trees. to the bird he was supposed to be hunting who was now staring at him from the base of the cedar with what felt like judgment.
he stood there for one long humiliating moment.
she had been humming that stupid song two weeks ago on the garden wall. just humming it softly to herself like she wasn't in the process of completely rewiring his brain without his knowledge or consent, and now apparently it lived in his head permanently, taking up space alongside everything else she had installed there without asking, coming out of his mouth in the middle of meadows when he was supposed to be concentrating.
he was going to have some very serious words with her about this.
he reset. found the bird again, small and brown and magnificently unaware of how close it was to becoming lunch. he steadied his breathing. drew the arrow back. fixed his eye right on it—
and then something felt wrong.
not a sound. nothing he could see or point to or explain. just a shift in the air, the cold certain kind that skipped his brain entirely and went straight to his gut and screamed at him to MOVE—
he dropped.
all four arms hit the ground at once and the spear buried itself into the cedar tree so hard the bark split and exploded outward and rained down across the back of his skull and somewhere above him the bird lost its entire mind and shot into the sky screaming.
Ryomen rolled. came up onto his feet with his dagger already drawn.
five of them.
good gear. really good gear. not the rattling cheap equipment of the town watch, this was proper armour, the expensive kind, the kind that said someone with serious money had given very specific instructions to very serious people. they spread out around him immediately, smooth and coordinated and utterly silent, the practiced formation of men who had worked together before and had been briefed on exactly what they were dealing with.
they looked at him.
he looked back.
sixteen years old. no training to speak of. and absolutely no intention of dying in his own meadow today.
he pulled his dagger and the first one came.
fast! really fast! Ryomen let him come, waited until the absolute last second, stepped inside the reach and used two arms to knock the blade wide and two to drive the man into the ground with everything he had. the impact rattled up through his bones and the man stayed down, which was good, because the second and third were already moving and they had clearly taken notes on what just happened to their friend, splitting wide to come from different angles at the same time—
and it worked.
he caught the second one across the jaw with an elbow, felt the crack of it land satisfyingly, but the third came through his guard completely and the blade caught him across the ribs and the burn was immediate and vicious and mean and he hissed through his teeth and spun away and caught a fist across his cheekbone from the fourth man that he did not see coming at all and the world went white and sideways and loud for one very bad second.
he hit the ground.
hard.
the grass rushed up and he tasted copper and everything spun and for one genuinely horrible moment his body was asking him very sincerely if maybe they should just stay down here for a bit. and then the fifth man was coming and Ryomen shoved himself up off the ground through what could only be described as pure unadulterated spite and got his feet under him and kept going.
it was not clean. there was nothing impressive or controlled about any of it. it was loud and desperate and ugly, grunting and scrambling and hitting the ground twice more and getting up twice more because the alternative was considerably worse than the pain of getting up. his side was bleeding properly now, soaking warm and dark through his robe. his shoulder had been wrenched in a direction it was never designed to go and was filing a formal complaint about it. there was a ringing in his left ear from the fist to his cheek that suggested it had done more damage than just sting.
but he was Ryomen Sukuna.
and Ryomen Sukuna had been surviving things that should have finished him since he was six years old standing next to a blind old man watching his parents' cart disappear down a road. he had four arms and sixteen years of stubborn that had nothing to do with training and everything to do with never once having had the option of giving up.
when it was finally, messily, exhaustingly over, he put his back against the cedar tree and let himself slide all the way down it until he was sitting in the grass.
he sat there and breathed. great heaving lungfuls of spring air that tasted like blood and dirt and the very specific relief of still being alive to complain about it.
his side throbbed. his shoulder screamed. his cheek was already swelling like it had opinions about what had just happened and wanted to make them known. his hands were shaking slightly which he noticed and filed away to think about never.
he looked at his meadow.
his shed with the crooked door and the twice patched roof. his ginkgo tree. the fire pit he had built himself. the flattened patch of grass in front of it where someone had been sitting across from him every tuesday for four years without ever once being asked to.
someone had sent those men here.
someone with money and specific instructions and the particular kind of desperation that makes people do things that can't be taken back.
and she didn't know.
he was certain she didn't know because if she knew she would have come running in her house robes in the dark before any of this happened, doing something completely unhinged that would have made everything infinitely more complicated, and he would have been furious about it. but she wasn't here. which meant she was somewhere in that house right now, totally unaware, probably talking someone's ear off about something completely unrelated to the fact that her world had just changed this morning without her permission.
he needed to get to her.
a thought arrived. warm and wanting, the kind he didn't usually let get far enough to look at properly.
they could go. just leave. pack nothing, or nearly nothing, and disappear somewhere no one knew either of their names. he knew how to survive on very little. had been doing exactly that his whole life. and she was so much tougher than anyone who looked at her would ever guess. he had four years of very specific evidence to support that.
he sat with it.
then he thought about her mother. the slow mornings and the physicians with their careful faces coming and going. he thought about Ume showing up in his meadow with dumplings and the most unbothered gaze he had ever seen. he thought about food left quietly at school gates. he thought about her, specifically, in rooms full of people who loved her, laughing at something her parents had said, sitting with her mother on slow afternoons just being there because being there was the whole thing.
and then he thought about the shelter he would build. badly. because he had never built one in his life. and the winter that would follow. and her, who had been raised in a house with actual physicians and seamstresses and a father who imported things from distant villages, trying to eat whatever scraggly thing he managed to catch.
he looked at where the bird had been.
still there. same spot. same patch of ground. pecking away completely unbothered by the entire last twenty minutes as if none of it had happened.
he wanted to give her better than a badly built shelter and a hungry winter. he wanted to give her the best thing he could figure out how to build. he didn't know exactly what that looked like yet or how long it was going to take him. but he knew he wanted to try and he knew he couldn't do it from somewhere else.
he pressed one hand against his bleeding side. picked his dagger up off the grass with another. looked at the bird.
reset his stance. drew the arrow back.
i wonder if she likes bird.
the thought arrived completely soft and unguarded, slipping through every single one of his filters without asking, and he let it sit there for exactly one warm second.
then he let the arrow
your father was directing the servants on the birthday decorations.
he moved through the main hall with the focused energy of a man who had found a task and was going to do it correctly, pointing and adjusting and redirecting, a lantern two feet to the left, a knot retied, a table repositioned three inches. the servants moved around him efficiently and you sat on the step at the edge of the hall and watched him and tried to get inside his head.
what was he thinking right now? what was his next move? what would it actually take to make him see you, not the version of you he had constructed and arranged and decided on, but the actual you, the one sitting on this step watching him and trying to figure out how to reach him?
you had been trying to figure that out for two years and you were running out of time.
one of the servants caught the edge of a hanging decoration on his sleeve while climbing down from a stool and the whole thing came down on top of him in an enormous cascade of fabric and a sound like a small indoor disaster. the man stood in the middle of the wreckage looking mortified and your father—
your father clapped both hands over his mouth.
his whole face changed! the Dainagon face, the careful controlled composed one he wore like a second skin, cracked completely open, and underneath it was something younger, his shoulders shaking with the effort of not laughing, eyes bright and wet with it, the laugh coming through anyway muffled and helpless and completely real. he waved at the poor man frantically to say it was fine, it was fine, he wasn't in trouble, while clearly barely holding himself together.
you stared at him.
you thought about dried flowers in a lacquered box. a young man carrying a girl on his back along the edge of a stream, letting her put blossoms in his hair because he was young and in love and didn't know what else to do about it. your mother's voice. he is scared. he is getting desperate. if you want your freedom it is in your hands to make him see.
he had to meet Ryomen.
that was it! that was the whole plan! simple, clean, obvious. not through guards and gates and letters written at night. actually meet him. look at him. talk to him. see the real one, the one who made origami rabbits out of pink paper and noticed when you stopped eating halfway through your snacks and came to garden walls in the evening because the meadow was too quiet.
the only hard parts were finding a way to get to Ryomen, convincing Ryomen to agree, and then getting both of them in a room together without anyone dying.
so basically. everything was the hard part.
you looked at the guards. both of them had been sent on errands over an hour ago and hadn't come back.
you looked at your father, still occupied and cheerfully embarrassed about it, helping the servant gather the fallen decoration with a composure he was clearly struggling to maintain.
you stood up from the step very quietly.
you walked out of the hall.
and then once you were outside and around the corner and out of anyone's sightline you ran.
the meadow was warm and bright and smelled like spring and Ryomen was crouched by the fire pit with two rocks in his hands, and on a rack above the unlit wood was a plucked bird that you were making a very active and sincere effort not to look at directly.
he looked up when he heard you coming, slightly out of breath from running across town in your house robes, and you dropped down in front of him and looked at him. something was different about the way he was sitting but you couldn't quite— actually never mind, you had something important to say.
"Pinky." you said. "i need your help."
he looked at you. blinked once. went back to the rocks. "okay." he said. "what do i need to do."
you paused. "that's it?? you're not even going to ask what kind of help first?"
"i'll ask while you talk." sparks off the rocks. small and determined. "what do i need to do."
"i want you to meet my father." you said.
the rocks stopped.
he looked up at you very slowly with the expression of someone checking if they had heard correctly and hoping they hadn't.
"your father." he said.
"yes." you said. "i know, i know how it sounds, just listen. he doesn't know you! he knows the version of you the town invented and the version he built on top of that out of fear and rumors and none of it is actually you. but if he just met you, actually met you, talked to you, i really genuinely believe—"
"how." he said. "how would i even get close enough to the man to have a conversation? your house has guards and a gate and a lock your father specifically paid money for." he tilted his head at you. "did you think this through, woman."
"i think through things constantly." you said.
"how long this time." he said.
you paused. "twenty minutes."
he stared at you.
"it's a really solid twenty minutes!" you said. "listen. the guards are both gone right now, my father is busy with the decorations, if we move fast—"
"sneak me in." he said slowly. "into your father's house. the man who has spent two years trying to keep me away from you."
"he just needs to see that he's wrong about you." you said. "and the only way that happens is if he actually sees you. not the ghost boy. not whatever the town has been saying. you. and i know it's a risk, i know it's probably the most terrifying thing i've ever asked—"
"i'm not terrified." he said immediately.
"i know." you said. "wrong word. i know. what i'm saying is i know it's a lot to ask. but Ryomen." you looked at him steadily. "if we don't do something nothing changes. ever. the guards don't go away. the distance between me and my father doesn't go away. Ichi doesn't go away. nothing changes unless we change it." you paused. "and i think you're the thing that could change it. i think if he met you he would understand. i think he's not a bad man, he's just a scared one, and scared men can still change their minds if you give them something real to look at."
Ryomen looked at you for a long moment. the sparks from the rocks had landed in the wood and the fire was catching now, small and orange and spreading carefully through the kindling, crackling to life in the spring morning air.
you scooted back from the heat instinctively and looked up at him.
"and if he doesn't." Ryomen said. "change his mind."
"then we tried." you said. "and we figure out what's next from there. but i need to try. i can't keep doing this." you said it quietly. all the performance gone out of it. just the truth. "i can't keep living in two halves. half here and half there and never fully in either place. i'm so tired Ryomen."
he held your gaze.
then he looked at the fire.
"fine." he said.
"really?!" you said.
"you said trust you." flat. simple. completely certain. "i trust you." he set the rocks down. "give me a minute." he stood. "wait here."
he turned and jogged toward the tree line and disappeared between the cedars.
you sat by the fire and waited.
you were trying very hard not to look at the bird on the rack.
(you stared at it the entire time)
after a while his footsteps came back through the grass and you looked up and—
he was holding flowers.
a bouquet. or the closest approximation of a bouquet that could be assembled by someone who had been in a significant hurry and had also never made a bouquet before in their entire life. the stems were all wildly different lengths. several of the outer leaves were bruised and bent from being grabbed too fast. one of them was facing the completely wrong direction and didn't seem to know it.
but the flowers themselves were something else entirely! a lily shape, gorgeous and unusual, blue at the outer petals fading to a soft pink at the centre, a silky almost luminous texture that caught the spring light and held it. they were extraordinary. they looked like something out of a dream or a painting or a story someone was trying to tell you.
you stared at them.
"for your mother." he said, not quite meeting your eyes. "i was out this morning and i saw them near the tree line and something just— i don't know. they caught my eye and they made me think of her for some reason." he held them out with the slightly awkward energy of someone who had decided to do something and was following through on it regardless of how it felt to stand there doing it. "i thought she might like them."
you looked at the flowers.
then at him.
then at the flowers again.
the tears came without any warning whatsoever.
"Ryomen." your voice was completely wrecked.
"don't." he said immediately.
"i'm not doing anything—"
"your face is doing something." he said. "stop."
you launched yourself at him.
arms around his waist, face directly into his chest, the flowers getting significantly squashed in the collision and neither of you addressing that. he made a sound that was not entirely prepared for the impact and then all four of his arms came around you and he held on properly, all of him, and you stood in the spring meadow in the warm morning air and just breathed.
"thank you." you said into his chest. muffled. genuine. completely meant. "for the flowers. and for trusting me. and for just. being you. specifically you."
he said nothing. but his arms got tighter.
after a moment he said "we should go before someone notices you're gone."
"yes." you agreed, and neither of you moved for another few seconds.
then you did.
the outer gate Ryomen opened in approximately three seconds using nothing but his hands and what appeared to be an insultingly casual assessment of the lock, and you decided firmly that you were not going to ask about that.
getting over the inner garden wall was considerably less elegant. he made a step with two of his hands and boosted you up and you discovered that the top of the wall was significantly less comfortable than it had always looked from below.
"my guards have been gone all morning." you said, hauling yourself over with what little dignity remained. "both of them at the same time. that never happens. it's strange."
Ryomen made a sound below you. not quite a response. not quite not a response either.
"do you think my father sent them somewhere specific?" you said.
"probably." he said. and then he was up and over the wall in one single fluid motion that made your entire effort look considerably worse than it had already looked.
you grabbed the old blanket from the engawa, the one that had lived there through every season for as long as you could remember, and wrapped it around his shoulders and pulled it up as far as it would go. he stood there and submitted to this process with the expression of someone enduring something they have agreed to and are committed to seeing through.
"this is humiliating." he said.
"you look like a very tall servant!" you said encouragingly.
"i look like a person inside a blanket." he said.
"walk like you belong here." you said. "confident. purposeful."
"i am always confident and purposeful." he said.
"then this should be completely easy." you said. "come on. eyes forward. don't make eye contact with anyone."
you moved through the garden, into the back corridor, past the kitchen where someone was making noise and not looking, around the corner, heading toward the main hall—
"dear."
you stopped so fast you almost fell over.
your mother was standing in the corridor in her day robes with a cup of something warm between her hands, looking at you with the mild curious expression of someone who has not yet decided what they are looking at. her eyes moved from your face to the large blanket wrapped shape standing directly beside you.
"who is that." she said. "you know you're not supposed to hug the servants."
from somewhere inside the blanket came a sound. a short, choked, completely involuntary sound. the sound of someone finding something extremely funny against their absolute will.
you elbowed him as hard as you could.
your mother stepped forward and grabbed the blanket and pulled it off. "you are not allowed in our qua—"
she stumbled backwards.
her hand flew up to cover her mouth as she found herself face to face with four scarlet eyes, dark lashed and vivid, set in a face framed by pink hair that was doing its usual gravity defying thing, four arms now visible in the spring light, and the particular weight in the air around him that you had learned to recognise when you were twelve years old in a shed.
"is that." she said. her voice had gone very strange. "is that an angel?!" her hand pressed harder over her mouth. "oh my gosh. am i. this cannot be— i thought i had so much more time—"
"mother." you said, extremely confused on multiple levels, firstly how did she not sense his energy, secondly why is she calling him an angle, weird.... "how are you not— this is Ryomen. Ryomen Sukuna. mother. this is him."
your mother blinked. stared. took one long slow assessing look at the boy in front of her from top to bottom and back again with the thoroughness of a woman who had been reading rooms her entire life. then she let out a very slow breath. "phew." she said quietly. barely audible. "so it's not my time yet."
she collected herself with impressive speed. the composure came back like a curtain being drawn. she straightened up and took one step forward and then another and looked at Ryomen the way she looked at things she was making up her mind about. which was completely and without apology.
"so." she said. "this is the boy."
Ryomen cleared his throat. he reached behind his back and produced the flowers, slightly rearranged from the earlier collision but still luminous and extraordinary, and held them out toward her with a bow that was a little shaky and a lot genuine. "it is a pleasure to meet you ma'am." he said carefully. "these are for you."
your mother's eyes dropped to the flowers.
they went very wide.
something moved across her face. deep and sudden and old, the kind of recognition that lives in the body before the mind catches up to it. she reached out slowly and ran her finger over the pettle and released a shaky exhale, her lips parted and she lifted her eyes back to Ryomen's face and opened her mouth to say something—
"YOU BROUGHT THAT DEMON INTO MY HOUSE! NEAR MY WIFE?"
the voice came from the end of the corridor like a thunderclap and everyone in the hallway went completely still.
you moved first. "father—"
but he was already coming, long fast strides, the controlled fury of a man who had reached the absolute limit of his patience, and before you could get yourself between them his hand was on Ryomen's shoulder and he was wrenching him around.
"Sanetomo." your mother's voice came out sharp and clear and carrying every ounce of the authority she had been deploying her entire life. "stop. look at what he is holding. look at what he brought for me." she held the flowers up between all of them. "let go of that boy. and thank him."
your father's grip didn't release. but it stopped tightening.
his eyes went to the flowers.
the fury on his face did something complicated. shifted. moved sideways to make room for something else. confusion first, sharp and genuine. then something underneath the confusion that was harder to name. his eyes moved from the flowers to Ryomen's face and back to the flowers and the grip on Ryomen's shoulder loosened without him seeming to make the decision to loosen it.
"you." he said. all the thunder had gone out of his voice completely. "where did you get those."
"the meadow." Ryomen said. steady. unhurried. "near the tree line. i found them this morning. i don't know why but they made me think of her." a brief glance at your mother. "i thought she would want them."
your father stared at the flowers for a long moment.
then he grabbed Ryomen by the shoulder again. differently this time. and started moving.
"FATHER!" you stepped forward fast.
your mother's arm came around you. gentle. completely immovable.
"mother let me—"
"no." she said softly.
"he's going to—"
"no." softer still. and she pulled you back against her chest.
you watched your father march Ryomen down the corridor and around the corner and out of sight. you stood in your mother's arms with your heart doing something absolutely terrible in your chest and your eyes already burning.
"mother." your voice cracked right down the middle.
"i know." she said. her arms tightened around you. "i know."
the room smelled sterile and clean the way rooms smell when their purpose is serious. a mahogany desk dominated the centre of it, tools and instruments arranged on shelves with the precision of someone who valued order above most things, a narrow bed pushed against the far wall, a lamp burning in the corner despite the morning light coming through the screen.
an old man sat behind the desk who looked up when the door opened and went completely still when he saw what came through it.
your father pushed Ryomen into the chair across from the desk and looked at the physician. "is that the—" the old man started, eyes already going wide.
"yes." your father said. then to Ryomen, "hold up your hands,boy. show him what you have ."
Ryomen held up his hands. all four of them.
the physician stood so fast his chair scraped back and came around the desk and leaned in close, eyes moving over Ryomen's hands with the intense scrutiny of a man who did not believe what he was seeing
your father let him look for exactly long enough.
then he stepped forward and brought his fist down on the desk so hard everything on it jumped.
the old man stumbled back against the wall.
"you told me." your father's voice was dangerously controlled. the kind of controlled that meant the control was working very hard. "that these flowers were only found near Mount Asama. you told me local sourcing was completely impossible. you told me that was the reason for the cost." he took one step closer and the physician pressed himself further back against the shelves. "you lied to me. you took my money. you sat in this room and you told me there was nothing closer while my wife got sicker and your pockets got heavier." his jaw was so tight it looked painful. "i trusted you with her life."
the physician was stammering. actually trembling, words dissolving before they formed into anything coherent, hands up in a gesture that was half explanation and half protection. hid eyes darted to the bouqet and the boy holding it and a cold shiver ran down his old man spine.
Ryomen was smiling.
not a small smile. not a polite one. a full wide open ear to ear smile, the kind you had genuinely never seen on his face in four years of knowing him, watching your father take the physician apart with the focused satisfaction of someone watching something be done exactly right.
"there are more patches." he said, into the middle of everything, completely calm. "in the meadow. along the whole tree line. i walked past them this morning when i got firewood. there are more than you could possibly need."
the room went absolutely silent.
your father turned from the physician and looked at Ryomen.
Ryomen looked back at him.
the physician made a very small sound in the corner.
your father turned back to him.
what followed did not need to be described in detail except to say that it was not brief and it was not quiet and when it was finally over, when the gurgled whimpers and gasps for air ceased, your father straightened up, picked up a cloth from the desk, and began wiping his knuckles with measured unhurried calm.
he looked over at Ryomen.
Ryomen was studying the physician's swollen face with the focused interest of a scholar examining something genuinely fascinating. then his eyes moved, all four of them, slowly, deliberately, up to your father's face.
"will you do that to me now?" he said. quiet. direct. not afraid. just asking.
the room held its breath.
something happened to Sanetomo's face.
it moved through him slowly, whatever it was, arriving in waves. the fury had burned itself completely out and what was underneath it was something older and more tired and more human than anything he had shown in this room today. he looked at the boy in the chair. this boy. pink hair and four eyes and arms built from years of surviving alone and a face that was so young it knocked something loose in his chest.
he thought about what he would do if someone had done this to his daughter. grabbed her. dragged her. raised a fist in front of her eyes. what he would do to that person.
he knew exactly what he would do.
his eyes were wet. that surprised him. he honestly couldn't remember the last time.
his body moved before his mind gave it permission. down, slowly, until his knees hit the floor in front of the chair. in front of this boy. he reached over and took the flowers gently from Ryomen's hands and set them on the desk. then he took those hands, the two closest to him, both of them, into his own.
Ryomen went completely still.
the only person who had ever held his hands was her. this was different in every way and also, unexpectedly, warm. and the hands holding his were smooth and soft in the way that hands are when they have been cared for, and they smelled like agarwood, rich and grounding. he sat with it and let it be what it was.
"i hate you." your father said. his voice was low and unsteady in a way it almost never allowed itself to be. "i want you to know that. i have hated the idea of you for two years. every single time i thought about you i felt something i am not proud of at all." he looked at their joined hands. "but i hate myself more right now. i sent men to that meadow. i wrote it down and sealed it and i told myself i was protecting her and somewhere underneath all of that i knew. i knew it wasn't only that."
he stopped. breathed.
"she was my baby girl." he said. "she used to chase fireflies for an entire hour and come running to find me just to show me before she let them go. i don't know when she stopped coming to find me. i think i stopped being someone she could come to. and i watched it happen and i didn't know how to stop it and i made it worse instead."
a drop of water landed on their joined hands.
Ryomen looked up.
he had never seen a man cry before. not like this. not a man like this, a man whose presence filled every room he entered, sitting on the floor in front of him with wet eyes and a face that had come completely undone.
"she doesn't hate you." Ryomen said.
your father looked at him.
"she talks about you." Ryomen said. "even when she's angry at you she talks about you. she told me about the fireflies." a pause. "she still lets ladybugs crawl up her fingers. i've seen her do it."
your father closed his eyes for a moment. just a moment.
"i don't think it will go back to the way it was." he said quietly. "and i feel this ache. every time i breathe it feels like something tearing slowly. and all i can think is i'm sorry. i know it isn't enough. this morning i wanted you dead and now i'm on my knees saying sorry like a child and i don't know what to do with that."
Ryomen sat with this for a moment.
then he slipped one hand free.
he reached over, slowly, and patted your father's shoulder. once. twice. the most genuinely awkward pat in the history of human comfort, the pat of someone who had never done this before in their life and was doing it anyway because it seemed like the right thing and he had decided to do the right thing.
your father looked at him.
Ryomen looked at the floor. "you look like her." he said. "your eyebrows. the shape of your eyes. the curve of your cheekbones." a pause. "you also talk a lot."
your father made a sound. startled and wet and completely undignified. an actual laugh.
"her mother says the exact same thing." he said, wiping his face with the back of his hand. "she says we have a talent for going on and on about things." a small pause. "i think being able to put words to what you feel is one of the greatest gifts a person can have. not everyone can."
Ryomen looked up at that.
something moved carefully across his face. wanting and cautious and trying not to show either.
"could you teach me." he said.
your father blinked. "i beg your pardon?"
"could you teach me." Ryomen said again, steadier this time. and then, before the silence could stretch long enough for the answer to become no, "why did you react like that about the flowers? your wife also looked shocked when i gave them to her. i thought flowers were just gifts."
your father looked at him for a moment. something that was almost amusement moved through the exhaustion on his face. "you walked into my house." he said carefully. "and gave my wife flowers."
"yes." Ryomen said.
"boy." your father said. "are you trying to court my wife?"
Ryomen stared at him with all four eyes.
"i'm joking." your father said. and then, quieter, the amusement fading into something more serious and more tired, "those flowers. i used to find them for her when we were very young. before everything. before this house and this title and all of it." he looked at the bouquet on the desk. "i have been trying to find them for two years. the physician told me they could only be sourced from very far away and that the cost was the cost because of how rare they were locally." he looked at Ryomen steadily. "my wife is very sick. there is a cure. but the ingredient has been, apparently, impossible to get hold of nearby." his jaw tightened slightly. "so i have been working myself into the ground trying to pay for something that has been growing in my meadow this whole time. and the man sitting in that corner has known it."
Ryomen was quiet.
"every late night." your father said. "every argument. every decision i have made this past year and the year before that that i am not proud of. i made all of it from a place of absolute terror. i felt like i was losing everything at the same time and i was grabbing at whatever i could reach and not thinking clearly about what i was reaching for or whether i had any right to it." he paused. "i grabbed at her. i put her in a smaller and smaller space because i thought if i could just control the variables i could keep her safe. and all i did was push her further away and make everything worse and i could see it happening and i could not stop myself."
he looked at the flowers on the desk for a long moment.
"and then you walked in." he said quietly. "with those. from my meadow. all this time."
the room was very still.
Ryomen looked at the floor. then at the flowers. then back at your father.
"could you still teach me." he said. "even after all of it."
your father looked at him for a long moment. at this boy. this sixteen year old boy with calloused hands and pink hair and four eyes that were looking at him with something in them that was not fear and not anger and not any of the things he had expected.
"yes." he said. like the word had surprised him by coming out. "i think i could."
✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ
the knock at the door was soft but urgent.
"come in." Sanetomo said, not looking up from where he was still sitting on the floor, which in retrospect was probably something he should have done something about before saying that.
the attendant who came through the door took one look at the state of the room, at the physician in the corner and the boy with four eyes sitting in the chair and the Dainagon on the floor, and to his enormous credit did not say a single word about any of it. he bowed, deeply, and when he straightened his face was the colour of old ash.
"my lord." he said. "i apologise for the interruption. it's the meadow. the one at the edge of town." he paused. "it's on fire, my lord. the council is convening. they're asking for you."
Sanetomo's head came up.
"what?!" he was on his feet before the word finished leaving his mouth. "the meadow— how, when did—" and then he stopped.
his eyes found the flowers on the desk.
he stared at them for exactly one second.
and then he ran.
not walked. not moved briskly. ran, out of the room, past the attendant, down the corridor, his robes flying behind him, the sound of his footsteps disappearing fast down the hall and out toward the garden.
Ryomen sat in the chair and watched him go.
then something arrived in his chest like a stone dropping into still water.
the fire.
he had left the fire going. small and careful and orange in the spring morning air, crackling under the rack with the bird on it, completely unattended. and the spring grass around the meadow was dry from the last weeks of warm weather and the wind had been coming in from the east all morning and he had been so focused on getting to her that he hadn't—
oh no.
oh no no no.
he was out of the chair and through the door before the thought finished forming.
you had been sitting against the corridor wall outside the physician's office for what felt like a very long time, your knees pulled up, your face doing the things your face did after it had been crying for a while and hadn't quite stopped yet, when the door burst open and Ryomen came through it at speed.
you scrambled to your feet. "Ryo! you're alive, oh thank—"
"the meadow's on fire." he said, already moving past you.
you stared at his back. "what?!"
but he was already at the end of the corridor, already at the garden, already gone.
you stood there for exactly one second watching the space where he had been.
then you watched him clear the garden wall in one single motion that was almost too fast to follow properly, and then he was over and gone and the wall was just a wall again and the spring evening was just a spring evening and somewhere across town a meadow was burning.
the smoke reached him before the fire did.
thick and grey and wrong, rising above the rooftops in a column that he could see from three streets away, and he ran faster, pushing through the early evening foot traffic that was starting to fill the roads, past stalls and carts and people stopping to point and stare, past the shrine gate and down toward the edge of town where the houses got sparse and the road gave way to the path through the grass—
or what had been grass.
he stopped at the edge of the meadow and looked at it.
a good chunk of it was already gone. the fire had moved fast with the wind behind it, eating through the dry spring grass in sweeping orange lines, and the smoke was thick and low and the air tasted like ash and heat. there was already a crowd gathered at the edge, townspeople standing and watching with their hands over their mouths, and pushing through the middle of them, shoving past people who were twice his size without appearing to notice or care, was Sanetomo.
Ryomen watched him push through the crowd.
for a nobleman. for a Dainagon. for a man whose entire existence was built around composure and position and the careful maintenance of dignity in all circumstances. he was shoving through a crowd of commoners in the middle of a burning meadow and he was not stopping for anyone.
he didn't hesitate at the edge of the fire either.
he went straight in through the burning bushes, smoke swirling around him, and dropped to his knees in a patch of grass near the tree line and started pulling.
Ryomen watched him for a moment.
then he went in after him.
the heat was significant up close, the kind that pressed against your face and made your eyes water immediately. the grass crackled and hissed around them and somewhere to the left a branch came down in a shower of sparks. Sanetomo was pulling flowers out of the ground with both hands, frantic, thorough, getting the roots and the dirt with them, his chest heaving from the smoke and the effort, face red, eyes streaming.
"you need to get out of here!" Ryomen called over the noise of the fire. "the trees are going to come down soon!"
Sanetomo did not look up.
continued pulling.
Ryomen looked at the treeline. at the shed, which was fully alight now, the old wood going fast and bright, the flames licking up the crooked door and the twice patched roof and all of it. the ginkgo tree had caught too, the one he had leaned against for four years while someone sat in the flattened grass in front of it and talked and talked and talked. it was burning orange and gold against the blue spring sky and the sight of it did something strange in his chest that he stood with for a moment.
why wasn't he sad?
he waited for it. the devastation. the desperate need to run in and save it the way Sanetomo was trying to save the flowers. this had been his home for ten years. every memory he had of not being completely alone had happened in this meadow. the old man had lived and died here. she had sat in that grass every tuesday and Thursday for four years and left rice cakes between them and refused to leave no matter how many times he hadn't asked her to stay.
he watched the shed burn.
and felt something that was closer to relief than grief. like watching something that had been heavy for a very long time finally being put down.
would the old man enjoy watching it go? he thought he might. the old man had been practical about most things.
a sharp cracking sound came from somewhere above and to the left.
"we have to go!" Ryomen grabbed Sanetomo's arm with two hands. "now! come on—"
Sanetomo fought him. actually fought him, trying to pull his arm back, still reaching for the flowers with his free hand, and Ryomen had to use two more arms to get a proper grip and haul, and then the cracking sound came again, louder and final, and the tree trunk came down directly in front of them in an explosion of sparks and burning wood and Sanetomo lurched forward toward it—
Ryomen pulled him back hard.
they stumbled away from the heat together and Sanetomo immediately tried to go back. tried to push Ryomen's arms off him, tried to get back to the flowers on the other side of the fallen trunk, scrabbling and desperate in a way that had completely abandoned all composure.
"there are more!" Ryomen said, pulling him back again. "i promise you there are more patches, i'll find them, but you are going to get yourself killed and they still need you! she still needs you! come on!"
Sanetomo stopped fighting.
not all at once. in stages, like something going out. the frantic energy leaving him slowly until he was just a man being hauled through a burning meadow, still clutching a handful of damaged flowers in one hand, coughing hard into the smoke. Ryomen got him moving and kept him moving, away from the fire and toward the tree line where the air was cleaner, and Sanetomo let himself be moved, and somewhere in the noise of the burning Ryomen heard him crying. not quietly. the kind that comes from somewhere deep and has nothing left to hide.
great. two of them now.
✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ
you came running across the meadow at a speed rivaling Usain Bolts.
you saw the smoke first. then the fire. then the crowd at the edge of it. then, through the crowd, two figures coming out of the burning grass toward the tree line, one of them being hauled by four arms and stumbling and not walking straight, and the other one—
"FATHER!" you pushed through the crowd without caring who you were pushing. "RYO!"
you crashed down onto the grass next to your father before you'd finished deciding to, both arms around him, face into his shoulder. he was coughing and his robes were singed at the edges and his face was streaked with smoke and he was still holding, somehow, a handful of flowers in one hand that were damaged but intact.
you held on and cried and he held on back and you could feel him shaking slightly.
"mother told me." you said into his shoulder. "she told me everything. daddy i'm sorry. i should have known. i should have been there to help more. there has to be more of those flowers, Ryo said there are more patches, we can—"
your father's hand came up and smoothed your hair back. slow and careful, the way he had since you were three years old.
"i have so much to say to you." he said. his voice was wrecked and quiet and more honest than you had heard it in two years. "so much to apologise for. and some of it i can never make up for and i know that." a pause. just breathing. "you are my whole heart. and your mother is my very soul. my baby. my little girl." another pause. "i should have never doubted your ability. never. and this boy—" he stopped. "he saved my life today. in more ways than either of us know yet."
you pulled back and looked at him. then you looked at Ryomen.
who turned and walked away into the dark of the tree line without a word.
you watched him go. the smoke and the dark swallowing him up until he was gone. you didn't call after him. somehow you knew not to.
"his name is Ryomen." you said quietly, still watching the tree line. "Ryomen Sukuna." a pause. "i knew if you met him, you'd love him like i do."
✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ
the forest was dark and quiet away from the fire.
he moved through it by instinct more than sight, the smoke thinner here, the air cleaner, his lungs grateful for it. behind him the orange glow of the burning meadow flickered between the trunks and the cracking of it carried through the trees but it was distant now, manageable.
he slowed.
stopped.
stood still in the dark forest and let something move through him that he didn't have a name for yet. the shed was gone. the ginkgo tree was gone. ten years of the only home he had ever had, burning down to nothing behind him while a man he had met this morning wept over it in the grass.
her father. who had wanted him dead at breakfast. who had sat on the floor of a physician's office and held his hands and cried and said i hate you and i hate myself more in the same breath. who had run into a burning meadow for flowers because the woman he loved was dying and he would burn with everything else before he let that happen.
Ryomen stood in the dark forest and thought about that.
then something pulled.
not a sound. not a sight. just that feeling, the same one from this morning when he had spotted the flowers by the tree line before his brain had finished telling him to look, like a compass needle finding north and the rest of him just following.
he moved toward it.
there. blue in the dark, catching what little light came through the canopy, a whole patch of them growing undisturbed between the roots of two old cedars, petals like silk, blue fading to pink at the centre.
he knelt down.
pulled them out carefully this time. roots and dirt and everything, the way you pull something you intend to keep. one by one, all four hands working, filling up with them until he couldn't hold any more.
i saved someone...curses dont save people
the thought arrived quietly and he sat with it in the dark for a moment.
then he got up and ran back.
Sanetomo was sitting up by the time Ryomen came back through the tree line, the coughing better, some composure returning in patches, the fire at the edge of the meadow still going but slower now, running out of things to eat. you were beside him, and when Ryomen dropped down and spread the flowers out between all of them you made a sound that was somewhere between a laugh and a sob and it was the best sound he had heard all day.
the fire crept closer by degrees and eventually the three of you got up and moved, back through the thinning crowd, back through the streets of the town in the dimming golden light light, smoke still rising behind you, and somewhere on the way back through the market district Ryomen stopped at an unattended cart and took a basket off it.
"Ryo!" you said immediately.
"if they didn't want their things taken they shouldn't leave their cart unattended." he said, already setting the flowers down into the basket one by one with more care than was strictly necessary for someone who was simultaneously justifying theft.
your father made a sound. tired and cracked and genuine. a laugh.
he put his hand on your shoulder. then he looked at both of you, his daughter and the boy with the pink hair and the stolen basket with flowers inside, standing in the middle of a market street in the spring evening with smoke still in their hair and absolutely nowhere else to be.
"come on then, kiddos." he said. "let's go home."
ugh they are literally my babies.
can you keep a secret? i wasnt gonna tell, but like oh what the heck, the original ending was the father dying and then like reader is devastated obvi and she cant bare the very thought of Sukuna and that's when he gets all evil and there was this whole long part where hes a yearner and searching for her and he burns the villages he doesnt find her in and then one day he goes to sit under a sukura tree after destroying lives and what not and he sees a tomb stone. readers name is on it. buried under a sukura tree and he just knows its you. and hes falling to his knees when he notices a tomb stone next to yours with Ichi's name on it. and you can put two and two together. but i thought let me be happy and kind so here we are. but i do feel that it was the right choice cause i was crying just thinking about writing all that
you have one rule. never get attached. so how come you're torn between five guys you fucked...and the one man who doesn't want you?
synopsis: men are easy. they only ever wanted to get their dick wet anyway. so what's wrong with you beating them at their game? making pretty promises and turning into a phantom the second things looked like they might get serious? it had never been a problem before. until you meet the one guy on campus who doesn't want to play.
pairing: multiple jjk!men x bimbo!reader (choso-centric)
content: mdni, smut + angst, occasional fluff, COLLEGE AU, slower build, lots of piv sex, condoms and creampies (but reader's on birth control), fingering, oral sex, messy relationships, ghosting, reader sleeping around, denying feelings, crushes, pining, reader's roster will include gojo, geto, sukuna, toji + nanami), reader is lowk a villain lol, more tags to be found in individual chaps
a/n: the voices won lol first chap should be out in january btw also the art is by @1amglow
