Yandere! x Reader

Yandere Sukuna x Reader

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

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

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

ONESHOT

Heian era

The villagers called you a witch.

You had heard every version of your own story.

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

Two of those things were true.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Funny how that worked.

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

Sukuna

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

Animals didn’t lie. People did.

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

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

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

Whatever it had stung didn’t stop walking.

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

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

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

Then your protection ward hit him.

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

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

Interesting.

You

You opened the door before he knocked.

That was the first thing he noticed

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

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

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

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

Sukuna looked at you for a moment.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Sukuna

He didn’t know what made him stay.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You

The first visit you had survived.

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

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

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

The village found out. Of course.

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

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

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

“Does that bother you.”

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

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

Sukuna

Here’s what Sukuna would never tell anyone….

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

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

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

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

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

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

But he started noticing things.

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

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

You

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

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

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

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

He looked at the mob. Looked at you.

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

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

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

“I know,”

“You’ll come with me.”

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

“Take me with you.”

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

The cage

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It started small.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You’ll see him tomorrow.”

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

“Tomorrow.”

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

That was the night you stopped sleeping well.

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

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

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

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

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

Sukuna was standing at the end of it.

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

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

You held your son tighter

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

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

That was five months ago.

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

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

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

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

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

“No,”

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

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

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

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

***

You had survived the stake.

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

You did not survive being loved

A dove caught is still a dove.

But the cage is warm

and the captor is patient

A/n : Your Reblogs and comments are appreciated

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

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

one: ✶ two: ✶ 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

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

The world did not end when you died.

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

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

You were old.

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

Beside you Ryomen Sukuna sat perfectly still.

And unlike you he had not aged.

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

And yet here he was.

Waiting.

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

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

“As people do.”

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

You smiled, tired. “Neither were you.”

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

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

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

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

You exhaled, it was a soft, final sound.

Your pulse slowed beneath his fingers.

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

Loss.

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

He sat there for three days.

Holding your body.

Waiting for you to come back.

—

You were reborn gently.

No cursed womb.

No prophecy.

No clan prayers.

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

You did not remember Sukuna.

Not consciously.

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

Your cursed energy manifested early.

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

Then Satoru Gojo found you.

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

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

You tilted your head. “Is that bad?”

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

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

—

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

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

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

Or

A perfected a domain of memory where nothing could lie.

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

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

—

You met them young.

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

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

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

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

This school and its people became something stable.

—

Satoru didn’t say you were his favorite.

But he let you walk ahead of him on missions.

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

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

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

You didn’t know why that felt so familiar.

—

It was known that nothing could escape Satoru.

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

He also noticed what you didn’t do.

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

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

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

Gojo smiled faintly, his eyes crinkled beneath his blindfold.

“I don’t know yet~”

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

He laughed.

—

Centuries had passed without the king of curses.

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

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

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

But Satoru watched you like you were.

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

Sukuna was watching through his eyes and he saw you.

Standing whole.

And for the first time since the Heian era.

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

—

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

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

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

1. You were important.

2. You were super pretty.

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

You blinked. “Is that bad?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You never bothered to ask why.

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

—

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

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

“You,” he said. “What is your type?”

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

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

Todo froze.

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

“…You are extraordinary.”

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

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

—

They told you Yuji Itadori was dead.

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

Then the Kyoto Goodwill Event began.

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

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

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

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

But something else looked back.

Inside Yuji, Ryomen Sukuna.

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

Alive.

—

Sukuna did not surface immediately.

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

He felt something dangerous coil in his chest.

They love you.

That night, when Yuji was asleep.

Sukuna was left alone with his thoughts.

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

—

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

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

—

Sukuna did not rush you.

He had learned patience beside your deathbed.

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

Because this time, you were not alone.

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

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

Chapter 1

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

WORD COUNT: 7.8K

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

What in the shoujo anime type of shit is this?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He freezes up.

You freeze up.

Crap, you slipped up—

"Hol—hold on a—"

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

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

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

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

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

Well, buddy, neither did I.

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

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

"Then shut up and get off me."

"I won't," he protests.

"Why?"

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

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

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

...

Oh God, please don't—

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Wh—

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

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

Your fingers close around air.

Fuck.

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

And the door snaps shut with his departure.

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

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

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

Sly bastard.

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

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

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

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

"Hm, figured."

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

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

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

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

"Do what for me—"

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

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

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

...

...next time?

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

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

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

Yeah... there's still hope, but—

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

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

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

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

"Holy!—"

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

Huh?

Your eyes widen when comprehension floods in your mind.

"Geto, you—"

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

What is he even talking about?

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

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

"For you? Always."

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

His fingers freeze for just a moment.

"I'm doing just fine."

You bite the inside of your cheek.

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

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

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

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

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

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

The conversation that changed Geto's perspective on everything.

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

You take in a deep breath.

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

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

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

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

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

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

But nice, nonetheless.

"... okay, look. I know I—"

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

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

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

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

All. Of. It.

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

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

Like, really vibrant red.

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

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

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

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

How deep did he dig into your closet?

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

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

Damn him and his stupidly tall height.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Your heart stops beating altogether.

Oh, shit!

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

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

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

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

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

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

"... well, Shoko wears them."

This bit—

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

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

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

Are his cheeks going pink?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Right against him.

Fuck.

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

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

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

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

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

Yet.

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

Fuck, are you really getting scared right now?

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

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

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

What the fuck what the fuck what the fuck—

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

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

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

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

Then, his lips are moving.

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

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

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

Seriously, you deserve some answers.

Because why did he almost forcefully kiss you?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Again.

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

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

Oh jeez, you forgot about—

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

All planned and funded by you, obviously.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Huh—

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

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

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

Which you very clearly are not.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You feel a slight pressure on your cheek.

Then, hear a sound as the pressure fades away.

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

Did he just kiss my cheek?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Okay, that's fucking it—

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

It makes you feel more of an object than human.

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

Something crimson trickles down his palm.

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

Laced with false care and empathy.

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

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

Along with the four crescents dented deep into his palm.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

...

What?

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

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

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

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

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

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

You hold your breath.

"That I'd win."

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

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

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

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

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

You lift a hand to reach out anyways.

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

♡ GN reader

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Relax. It’s just meat.”

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

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

Word Count: 4.0k.

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

Every few days, Satoru clipped your wings.

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

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

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

part three: loss | chapter index

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

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

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

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

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

There was nothing worse than getting what you wanted.

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

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

But even he had consequences.

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

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

A week and a half.

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

𝙶𝚘𝚓𝚘 𝚂𝚊𝚝𝚘𝚛𝚞 𝚡 𝙵𝚎𝚖𝚊𝚕𝚎 𝚁𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚎𝚛 𝚡 𝚂𝚞𝚔𝚞𝚗𝚊 𝚁𝚢𝚘𝚖𝚎𝚗

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

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

!!! 𝙼𝚒𝚗𝚘𝚛𝚜 𝚍𝚘 𝚗𝚘𝚝 𝚒𝚗𝚝𝚎𝚛𝚊𝚌𝚝 !!!

𝚆𝚘𝚛𝚍 𝚌𝚘𝚞𝚗𝚝: 𝟷𝟶𝚔

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You: can’t come. Busy with hw. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What are you…doing?” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

You can never tell with him. Afterall, to this day you still don’t understand why someone such as himself hangs around you so much. Or why he constantly bothers you. You hate to admit it, but you still don’t trust him. It doesn’t matter how much guilt randomly stops you when you think about your hidden feelings, you can’t help it. 

Your eyes drift to the side. “Fine,” you grit with an emphasis on the N. 

His face brightens in delight. “Yay!” He celebrates pumping a fist in the air.

Your eye twitches in irritation. “Give me ten minutes, jerk,” you mumble the last part, thinking he doesn’t hear. 

Except he does. “I love you too,” he chirps. 

Pure embarrassment burns on your face. You attempt to yell at him just to further embarrass yourself by tripping over your words. Hearing him laugh harder makes you scramble to your room. The door slams behind you. Pants spill from your mouth as you tremble in anger. 

God, you sometimes hate Gojo Satoru. 

Ten minutes top like you told him, you make an appearance from your room. The kitchen is void of him. Instead you find him on the living room couch. Boredly he scrolls on his phone until he feels your presence in front of him. He stops scrolling and looks up. A simple pair of blue jeans hang loosely on your legs and a faint green hoodie from several washes swallow your torso. You push up your black thick frame glasses sliding down your nose. “I’m ready.” 

“Finally, let’s jet.” He springs off the couch. 

The car ride to Shoko’s shared house isn’t long and is filled with Satoru’s, in your humble opinion, questionable taste in music. Music blares from the car speakers from the moment he drives out the parking lot. 

At Shoko’s place when you guys arrive it’s already a sea of people crowding everywhere. Like in his car music bumps, shaking the floors. Girls, barely wearing any clothes, dance either with their girl friends or random guys they find hot. Dudes pile in corners, their eyes lurking for something pretty to take home or make out with in the upstairs bathroom or guest room. Clouds of weed smoke fog the air and strong smells of liquor reek everywhere you walk. 

It’s a total nightmare for someone like you. At home doing homework was the agenda for tonight, and now you’re stuck here. The only way you’re getting back home is when Satoru takes you back.

As most party hosts do, Shoko hides away in a less crowded area of the house—the kitchen. By default Satoru flocks there and so do you like a lost puppy. 

“Sup, Satoru,” Shoko coolly says. She leans back on the refrigerator, a blunt between her fingers. 

“What’s up, Shoko,” he replies back just as chill. 

In a chair at the table, sits Suguru, another life long friend of Satoru. His moon crescent eyes land on you. “Oh? You brought along Miss little goody two shoes, eh, Satoru?” 

You don’t know why, but you don’t like his tone. It comes off as condescending, but then again, you never enjoyed Geto Suguru even back in high school. He always gossiped behind your back to Satoru to stop bringing you around to hangouts. In his words he claimed you ruined the mood whenever you were dragged along. You suppose you probably did. Sulking in the corner of every hang out or turning into an awkward hot mess whenever someone tried talking to you probably was a vibe killer. 

Oh well. 

Satoru shrugs at him, lifting his eyebrows. He doesn’t care about what Suguru or anyone else thinks about him bringing you. He then peeks over his shoulder at you and winks. A little gesture of reassurance. 

“Long time no see.” Shoko waves in your direction, taking a hit of her blunt. “Been awhile. So, how’ve you been?” 

Suguru scoffs. “Probably cooped in her room with her nose shoved in books just like in high school.” His comment, though not wrong, strikes your nerves. 

“Fuck off, Suguru,” Satoru says. He’s smiling, but the smile doesn’t reach his eyes. 

Shoko joins in. “Yeah, leave the poor girl alone, asshole. So what if she does like reading books, I do too.” 

Suguru throws his hands up in the air at the sides of his head. A slick smile curling his lips and fake voice hides how he truly feels for poking fun at you—embarrassment. Serves him right if anyone asks you.

Satoru is quick to change the subject, asking the whereabouts for any form of liquor. He wants to get wasted tonight. Shoko guides him through a hall to another cooler full of untouched beers and Suguru follows them too. Which leaves you alone in the kitchen. They don’t return for some time. In the time of their lengthy absence a tall blonde stumbles into the kitchen. 

His face is flushed hot pink. He holds onto the wall for dear life as his entire world spins on loop. “F-Fuck, I think I’m gonna be sick,” he groans under his breath.

Then he collapses on the floor near you and it startles you. You don’t understand why, but you rush to his side. Worry coats your voice as you ask if he’s alright, on your knees. 

“N-No. I’m gonna puke…God help me.” 

Another guy comes into the kitchen. His bowl cut hair is an awful mess, and a wet spot stains his shirt. He slurs, “Nanami...” He hiccups, “that’s where you were! Come on, buddy, let's go back to dancing and drinking more shots!”  

Seeing people like these two just further encourages you that parties aren’t worth the rave. In your eyes these two look like a hot mess. You figure once they wake up tomorrow a mean headache and unwanted flashbacks will haunt them for days, especially if they did something embarrassing. 

“I’m not going anywhere!” Nanami shakes his head and regrets doing so. It’s making his head spin worse. 

Right when the bowl cut haired guy opens his mouth to speak, a tall girl, hair similarly white like Satoru’s but silvery pale blue strides into the kitchen. She yanks bowl cut guy and Nanami off the tile floor. “Pathetic, you both are. Couldn’t even handle a little vodka.” 

She doesn’t seem to be drunk herself. Tipsy maybe, but not off her ass wasted.

Nanami gags. He slaps his on his mouth, holding them there firmly, face contorting in misery.

You gasp, pointing at him. “Hey I think he’s gonna throw up!” 

“What?” The girl’s eyes widen with fear and pure disgust. 

You run to his side to give her an extra hand. “I can help you with him…” your voice trails off, “but we gotta move quick or he’s gonna have it everywhere.” 

She simply nods and you guys hurry upstairs to the bathroom. It’s a struggle getting two drunken grown adult men up the stairs but you two make it work. Once you all get to the bathroom, the silvery pale blue head girl stays outside in the hall while you help Nanami. Not like you could get her to come inside anyways, despite him being her friend. 

He hurls his guts out in the toilet bowl as you gently pat his back. You keep him held in place so he doesn’t end up head first in toilet water mixed with vomit. 

“That’s it, you’re doing fine,” you whisper softly. 

He gags and hags, his back heaving and hands shaking uncontrollably gripping the toilet’s edges.

Any other person would probably gag at this unsightly scene. Not you though. This isn’t your first rodeo doing this. So many times during your freshmen year in college, you’d find yourself helping out a wasted Satoru. Oh, how you hated it. It would happen late at night when you least expect it. Heavy eyelids, blurred vision, you’d open your dorm door to a disheveled Satoru. 

He’d collapse on you and his heavy body weight like dead weight pulled you down. You’d both sink to the floor like a ship and after managing to pry off his body, you’d drag him inside. 

Always after a ten to twenty minute mark the vomit would come. And it was horrible. But you learned to get used to it because it became a daily occurrence on weekends, then even on weekdays. 

Having thrown up everything he’s eaten today, Nanami sits across from you. He’s in a daze until there’s a knock at the bathroom door. It cracks open, revealing the girl. She pinches her nose and tosses a water bottle inside before immediately closing the door. 

More time passes by and you've helped him sober up. He’s grateful and thanks you nonstop. 

“No worries. I just, that wasn’t my first time helping a person throwing up. Like I’ve done it before too many times to count.” You let out a small laugh.

“Seriously?” He’s appalled. 

“Yeah. Like of course I hated it but I had to do it because who else would, plus it always was at my place.” A giggle escapes you. 

He lets out a breathy chuckle. “Well you’re a lifesaver. It would’ve been pretty bad if I made a mess everywhere in Shoko’s place.” 

“Tell me about it.” 

***

Little do you know, downstairs Satoru searches high and low for you. When he, Shoko and Suguru came back to an empty kitchen, something snapped in him. His first thought was you maybe went out into the party to mingle on your own. As time went on, looking for you, that idea became less and less believable. It was already unbelievable from the jump. 

With more thoughts racing in his mind, he began to blame Suguru. A heated argument erupted among the two. Daggers and low blows were thrown back and forth until Shoko broke it up. 

After checking every possible place, asking people and blowing your phone up, Satoru started to act strange. His hands fidgeted. His eyes wouldn’t stay still. Worst of all he became increasingly oddly agitated with anyone in his path. Even Shoko wasn’t exempt from it. 

“I’m sure she’s somewhere around here, Satoru. Just chill out.” 

“Don’t tell me how to fucking feel, Suguru,” he growls. 

The trio heads up stairs, Satoru leading the way. Shoko presses a hand on his shoulder meant to comfort, only to be shaken off. She draws her hand back to her chest. Hurt contorts her face. She wants to speak, but doesn’t. 

Suguru notices her withdrawal. If he didn’t like you before, now he really doesn’t like you. “Ignore him Shoko. Don’t let him get to you,” he whispers. 

She nods still clearly hurt. 

In the hallway upstairs Satoru spots two familiar faces. “Mei Mei, Haibara!” 

Only Mei Mei responds, looking at him. Her eyes scan up and down his body, and she lets out a snarky giggle. “You look like a madman all huffing and puffing. What’s your deal?” She points out. 

He ignores her taunts. Usually he’d say something back to match her energy, but he doesn’t and it brings her shock. He questions her about you. Mei Mei hesitates to answer because your name doesn’t ring a bell in her mind. 

“What exactly does this girl look like?”

He gives a clear, brief description. 

“Her?” She tilts her head to the side. 

“Where is she?” His voice darkens, almost threatening. 

Mei Mei smiles wickedly and points an index finger to the bathroom. She’s been looking for some fun and drama all night and she’s just found it. “Your little friend is in there with Nanami, Satoru.” 

Satoru's face fades of color, and his eyes grow wide before darkening again. He storms to the bathroom and forces open the door. The handle whams into the wall inside. You and Nanami flinch, entire bodies almost jumping in mid air. 

He marches over to Nanami, a storm brewing behind his blue eyes. “You prick,” he grits. Leaning over, he glares at the blonde. “What the hell are you doing in here with her, huh?”

Nanami’s face twists in confusion. “What?” He utters out, still weak from vomiting. 

You’re also just as dumbfounded as him. You have no idea what Satoru’s talking about and you’re at a loss for words. 

“Don’t play dumb with me Kento, you foureyed freak.” 

You leave your corner of the bathroom and stand at your childhood friend’s side. You tug at his shirt hem. “Satoru, leave him alone.” 

But he ignores you. It’s like he doesn’t hear or see you. 

“I didn’t do anything with her. Why would I when I don’t know her?” Nanami proposes. 

Haibara, who’s crumpled like a paper on the hall floor, adds in his friend’s defense. “It’s true man, she helped him throw up without hurting himself or breaking anything in Shoko’s bathroom.” 

The deathly expression fails to fade until you join in too. “Yeah, I helped him sober up inside here. I didn’t have anything else better to do while you three went off getting beers or whatever.”

Satoru’s face eases up and he backs away from Nanami. Gradually his temperament cools and as it does realization settles in. Back to reality he glances around. Everyone stares at him with fear and concern written in their faces. 

Gojo Satoru losing his temper? They’ve never heard of it. 

Mentally he curses at himself for letting a minor misunderstanding send him into a blind rage. Lighthearted laughter erupts from him. “I think I had too many drinks tonight”, he lies. “We’re gonna head out now, come on.” 

He strides out of the bathroom and you follow when he calls for you to come too. No goodbyes to his friends or apologies are given. 

***

On the ride back home it’s mostly silent. No obnoxious ear bleeding music, no talkative Satoru, no nothing. Just an uneasy tense quiet and the faint hum of heat flowing through the vents. 

You want to talk, and dig answers clean out his mouth. But you don’t. You simply keep your eyes ahead on the dark road lit up by his headlights. You wonder what’s keeping you tongue tied. Could it be the stone cold expression he wears on his features, you wonder? Is it the way he subtly grips the steering wheel, turning his knuckles white? Or how his nostrils flare when he lets out a deep breath? Maybe it’s everything about him as of now. 

God, you don’t know. 

Sooner than later he pulls into your apartment complex parking lot. His car rumbles after coming to a halt by the entrance door. 

“Toru,” you murmur, glancing at him. 

The nickname you rarely ever use softens his stone face. Even his firm hands loosen on the steering wheel. Only his eyes travel over to you for a mere second, then look straight ahead again. He stays quiet. 

Your whole body turns toward him now and you lean in close. A small gap separates your faces. “Toru, please talk to me, you’re worrying me. What’s wrong?” 

A shudder ripples his shoulders. Then Satoru's chest deflates, a sigh escaping his lips.  “I was worried about you.” 

“But, why?” 

He lets out another quick breath of air. “Cause I thought something happened to you.” He stares you directly in the eyes. “Something bad.” 

Your lips form an O shape. More questions flood your brain, but you don’t ask them. Further forcing him to explain isn’t something you want to do right now. You may have an internalized hatred and envy for him, but that doesn’t mean you don’t have any care for him. Because you do care. How could you not care after all these years of him glued to your hip?

You swallow the newly formed lump in your throat. “I see. Well, I’m sorry I caused you to worry about me.” 

He shakes his head. Regret, shame, and guilt, killing his spirit. “No. It’s not your fault. It’s mine. I’m the one who owes Nanami an apology.” 

You don’t deny him that. He’s got a valid point. 

“Okay, well I’ll see you later then. Night.” 

“Night.” 

He watches you, making sure you safely get inside before driving off. 

***

The rest of the weekend you don’t see Satoru or hear from him. For once peace and silence engulfs your apartment. At first it’s strange, foreign, but in the end you learn to appreciate it. Also, you don’t reach out to him either. You figure what’s the harm in giving him his space after Friday night. 

Monday rolls in. You're back in class with all your assignments turned in and ready for the next bundle of workload. Each class sails smoothly and the same as usual. Except for your last class of the day. An unfamiliar face sits in the seat next to yours in the back of the lecture hall. 

Black ink tattoos adorn his handsomely sculpted face and the sides of his neck. Strangely placed they are, it compliments him surprisingly well. Even you can admit that. 

One part of you finds annoyment in the fact he chose a spot coincidentally right next to yours. The other part is drawn in to him and curious as a cat, wondering what he’s like. But, the ruling thought in your mind overrides all others, telling you there’s nothing to know about the new guy. He’s just another dude who probably dropped one class and added this one to his schedule. Irresponsibly. At

You take your seat next to him and once the professor waltzes inside, class begins. Instead of the usual notes taking day, he puts on a movie related to the topics you guys are learning. While watching the film, boredom kills you, but a pair of lurking eyes on your left side watches you. 

At least that’s what you think. One minute goosebumps cover your neck. Sensations of being closely watched creep up the side of your face, burning your skin. But when you peek in the new guy's direction, he’s staring straight ahead. 

Weird. 

The professor dismisses class and everyone bolts out.  Some of them if not all likely have other noon classes to attend. But, since you're done for the day you take your time, gathering your belongings and shoving them into your book bag. 

Finally packed ready to go, you look up to see the new guy talking with the professor. It has nothing to do with you, so you head for the exit only to be stopped in your tracks by the professor. He calls your name loud and clear. 

You turn, looking at him. “Yes?” 

“Sukuna Ryomen is playing the catch up game and needs notes and concepts we’ve long ago explored explained to him. Can you give him a helping hand?” 

Hell no is what you wanna say. “Uhh, I don’t know. It may slow me down in my other classes, sir.” 

He smiles, having a trump card up his sleeve not even you can refuse. “Extra credit if you do me this solid.” 

You freeze for a second in thought. In his class specifically you’re stuck at an irritating ninety percent while in other classes you score one-hundred percent. It’s a shot you can’t throw away. You bite the inside of your lip. “How many points?” 

Knowing he’s got you in his grasp, the professor laughs. “Fifteen points. Sure to boost that A minus to an A plus.” 

No thoughts, you blurt, “deal!” 

“Great.” His smile widens. “You two should get to know each other then. Dismissed.” 

Sukuna lazily strides forward following you out the lecture hall into the long corridor. An awkward silence thickens the air between you two. It makes you wish maybe you hadn’t been so greedy and thirsty for fifteen measly extra credit points. 

“So,” you begin, “why’d you wait so long to switch courses? Isn’t the deadline like… over?” 

“I found my last professor's voice to be insufferable and last week I just couldn’t take it anymore,” he simply states as if that’s not something incredibly odd to admit. Not to mention his stoic demeanor makes it no better. 

You're at a loss for words. 

“That’s new, I’ve never heard that one before.” 

He doesn’t speak and again in mere seconds the silencing vibe from a few minutes ago returns. 

“Well, okay. If you're not busy, meet me at the library tomorrow.” 

“Can’t do that one.” 

You perk up a brow at him. “And why’s that? The library is the perfect place for these kinds of things.” 

Unable to control it, your real personality shines unlike the shy and awkward one reserved for strangers. Only Satoru gets a load of the true authentic you. 

He finally looks at you after all this time, a hint of interest written on his face. “Because it’s closed down for two weeks. Construction reasons.” 

“Oh.” Your face suddenly burns to the touch. “I didn’t know,” you squeak. 

“Clearly.” He grins cockily. 

Tonight you definitely won’t forget this moment for sure. 

He digs out his phone. “Let’s exchange numbers and you can meet me at my place tomorrow night since I’ll only be free then,” he states as matter of fact. 

***

The next day comes quickly and is a blur up until it’s time to meet with Sukuna. Being the introvert you are, his number isn’t saved in your phone. Sitting next to him during lecture hall doesn’t help or make you save it either. So when your phone buzzes in your back pocket, you pause and stare at the unfamiliar digits. 

xxx-xxx-xxx: I’m room 666

You: Who is this? 

xxx-xxx-xxx: u didn’t save my number? That’s cute.

You: What? Who are you? 

xxx-xxx-xxx: Sukuna 

Your phone almost slips your hands. “Oh him.”  You make sure to save his number this time around. 

Stopping home, you freshen up in the shower, chow down a quick snack and put on something more comfy.  Plain sweat pants, a hoodie and sandals. Sukuna lives on campus too, so the walk over is less than ten minutes. 

As you wait for Sukuna to answer the door, something fuzzy rubs against your leg. A stray cat with pure white fur, purrs and meows. The sight of it melts your heart. 

“Aww, well aren’t you the cute little one?” You bend down and pet it. Its eyes are blue and vibrant like the sea and like someone you know. 

Satoru. 

Now that he’s crossing your mind, he still hasn’t reached out to you at all. It was strange at first until it wasn’t and now it’s becoming weird, concerning even. It’s not like him. Satoru isn’t the type who stays away for days. No texts, no funny memes sent or anything. It’s worrying you. 

A wonderful idea pops into your mind. You decided when you're back home you’ll give him a ring. If he doesn’t answer, you stop by his place. Problem solved. 

Apartment door 666 swings open. A shirtless tattooed chest dripping wet, moist salmon pink hair, Sukuna stands in the doorway. He nods, signaling you to come inside and you do. 

Anyone else would be in shock, discomfort or drooling at the nude sight of him. Not you. How could you of all people be? You can’t count on both hands how many occasions you’ve seen a naked Satoru. More than anything, annoyance fills you. You can’t stand guys who shamelessly flaunt themselves off. It’s not impressive or hot, just strictly annoying. 

So, you walk right past him unfazed. 

“So where will we be getting this session started?”

Sukuna, however, is impressed by your resistance. Given his godly good looks, girls drool over him. But nope, not you. You’re different. One of a kind. “My room. It’s on your left straight to the back.”

He closes the door, locking it in one go then follows after you to his bedroom. His bedroom has a common repeating theme—black and blood red. Heavy metal bands posters decorate the walls. Upside down crosses lay scattered on a dresser and red LED lights dimly glow barely lighting up his room. 

“Nice room you got here, buddy,” you say, voice stale and dry..

He chuckles low. “Doesn’t sound like it’s nice to you.” 

“Well, if that’s what you think. Anyways, let's get started on the topic. I’ve gotta be home before seven.” 

“Fair enough.” He pays a trip to the bathroom to get dressed before joining you back in his room. 

Sukuna’s quieter than a forest at night as you explain several complex concepts. He follows along, his eyes closely examining you point at specific written notes in a notebook. You don’t realize him sitting too close to you on his bed, too hyperfixated on the notes. 

There’s others things you also fail to notice from the moment you two met. Compared to you, like Satoru, Sukuna’s height is towering. Every aspect of his body makes yours look like a small fun size thing. At this very moment, he’s hovering over you. His hands, huge and veiny, crease the bedsheets near your thighs. He’s practically got you caged in his arms leaning into you while listening to you speak.

“Do you comprehend everything so far?” You don’t bother looking up, flipping through pages. 

He leans back a little, admiring your face. From the way your big glasses refuse to stay up your nose bridge, the plumpness of your lips, the stern little expression dancing on your features. It’s all so cute to him and he doesn’t know why. You’re nowhere near his type. He’s into flamboyant, hot, mean girls who suddenly become brain dead around him. Bend to his every command. He finds it fun to break them in half. 

He’s never tried with a nerd though because he never wanted to. But, you, he’s debating giving it a go. 

This time you look away from the notes. “Hey, did you hear me? I said do you-”

“Shut up.” 

“What?” 

He leans in closer to you. His fire brown red eyes lock with yours. “Nerdy girls like you are usually not my thing.” His voice drops low to the depths of hell. 

Your brain screams for you to back away, but you don’t. “What are you talking about?”

“I’m saying you’re doing something to me.”

“Huh?” 

“How bout we worry about you catching me up later on and have a little fun?” 

Suddenly his body hovers yours more than it did a few seconds ago, no longer ignorable. You can even feel heat emitting off his body and smell a scent of sharp cinnamon. Probably his body wash.

“W-What type of fun?” 

He slightly tilts his head, pure astonishment on his face. “Ever heard of sex? Or are you really an inexperienced little nerdy girl?” 

Sex? 

Time freezes and your mind goes blank as a white canvas. Sex has never been of interest to you. Why would it be? Or at least that's what you’d ask yourself whenever the topic comes up. Satoru, the fuck boy he is, always has sex. You don’t realize it yourself, but he’s the reason you refuse to do it because of how sinful and shameful he is about it. Not to mention the anxiety and stigma holding you back from doing it. Growing up the nerdy, undesirable girl also stops you. Afterall, who wants the four eyed freak? 

Too blunt for your own good, you squeak, “but I’m a virgin. You can’t possibly have sex me! It won’t work! Plus, it wouldn't be any fun since I’m inexperienced.” 

His smirk deepens, eyes glimmering with more desire and hot lust. “It’s not a problem when you’re with someone like me.” 

He leans down closer, his chest forcing you back on the bed. Your head lands on his soft pillows. The only thing holding up your frame just barely is your elbows. Saliva gathers in your throat before you gulp it down, staring up at him, eyes wide and innocent. Which turns him on even more, especially between his legs. 

“Don’t worry I’ll take good care of you and won’t be too rough. I promise,” he rasps. 

His frame looms over you. At both sides of your head are his hands, his strong arms bulging sculpted muscles. You can even see his pecs begging to burst out his compressed black short sleeve shirt. 

Your lips part to speak, but a swift thought hits you harder than a brick. Maybe losing your virginity isn’t such a horrible idea. Sukuna is hot enough for you or he’s as hot as it gets for the likes of you. This isn’t a chance you’ll probably ever get again. Like a gift presented from the Gods themselves. Afterwards you can cockily brag all about it to Satoru who sometimes teases you about being a prude virgin for covering your eyes during sex scenes in films you watch together. 

“Wait,” you whisper. 

He pauses, his lips ghosting above yours, heart radiating from them. “Hmm?” He hums. 

“Just please be gentle…I hear about how much it hurts and I don’t want it to hurt.” 

He soaks in the view of you for a brief moment. Doe eyes behind thick framed glasses looking up at him. Pouty plump lips begging to be devoured. The way your hands rest on your chest, fidgeting. He licks his lips, a silver piercing showing on his tongue, as he trembles with uncontrollable greed. 

He wants to ruin you and plans to do it. 

He presses a gentle kiss on your forehead. “I promise it won’t hurt.” 

You shyly nod, cheeks flushing warm. 

It happens fast. Your lips are crushed by his. You’ve never kissed anyone before, and don’t know what to do but you try to anyway. He devours your smaller lips to an unspoken rhythm and you try to follow along. It’s messy, hot and wet. Sounds you’ve never made before spill out, filling the room. A whimper or two slips you as you desperately keep up with Sukuna’s lips, pants from the adrenaline coursing through your body. 

When he draws back, freeing your mouth, a long thread of saliva connects both of your lips. “Good job keeping up. It was sloppy, but cute. I’d use my tongue, but it’d be too much for you, wouldn’t it?” 

You stay quiet, looking anywhere else but at his face. You're too scared to look because any false moves will drown you in a world of embarrassment. 

“Hey.” He grips your chin, forcing you to meet his stern gaze. “Eyes on me when I speak to you. Understand?” 

Your heart flutters nonstop. “Mhm.” 

His fingers grip harder on your chin. “Use your words.”

A gasp sneaks past your lips. “O-Okay.” 

“Good girl.” 

Underneath your baggy hoodie, his rough callused hand explores your belly. Electrical sparks ignite everywhere his hand glides along your skin. Soon his hand makes its way under your bra. 

“Soft skin. Just how I like it.” He squeezes your breast before doing the same to your nipple. 

Instead of a little whimper a surprised moan rushes out your mouth. You smack a hand on your lips, disgusted and shocked. You never heard yourself moan before and for some odd reason you absolutely hate how it sounds. 

Sukuna chuckles. “You’ve never even touched yourself before have you?” 

You shake your head no. 

He pinches your nipple again, but this time roughly. It wringes out another sharp moan from you. 

“Words. Use your words.” 

Right, he doesn’t want you to be a mute. “No,” you whine. 

“I can tell. Most girls these days won’t even sweat if I touch their tits. But of course you would.” 

“Don’t mock me, asshole.” 

He pinches it again, but you bite your lips holding back any sound. 

“I’m not and watch your tone.” He warns, voice dangerous and husky. 

He discards your hoodie and sweat pants in some random place on the floor. The only thing left is your pink lacy panties and bra. It’s a matching set you bought not too long ago in an attempt to be more girlier. 

“What a surprise. I expect your underwear to be as plain as you dress.” You cover yourself, but he binds your wrist above your head. “Don’t get shy now, or I’ll tie you to my bed’s rails.” 

Once he frees your wrists, his lips, soft and warm, kiss a line from your neck down to your breasts.

He strokes up and down your slit covered pussy, and gradually traces soft teasing circles on your most sensitive area—your clit. It drives you mad, the pleasure, the kisses and licks on your neck. Then he does the worst thing possible. 

He removes your bra easily, and plays with your breast too. Your body twitches and trembles as Sukuna tongue glides in loops before sucking your bud as his hand lazily stimulates your clit. By now you're a drenching wet mess in your panties, leaving a damp spot.

Then it happens. Your body jolts, back arched, shaking as you let out a loud whiny moan. His mouth frees your nipple with a pop and he leans back. 

You’re a sight to behold and he drinks in every inch of you. From your flushed cheeks, heaving chest, parted plump lips. 

He laughs. “Only took my fingers and mouth, huh. How adorable and pathetic,” he mocks between laughs. 

Far too tired, you can’t speak, trying to catch your breath. He slips a hand past your panties to play in your sensitive wet heat. You flinch at the touch, whining and whimpering. 

“You’re wet enough down here. That was pretty easy.” He inserts one digit, pumping it in and out. His fingers' pace is slow. “Looks like I won’t be needing my fingers after all to stretch you open.” He slides in another finger then another. He thrust them in slowly, gradually swiftly building up speed.  

You cry and writhe under him until he pulls them out, and through hazy vision you watch him lick every bit of slippery slick. 

“D-Don’t do that, it's gross,” You breathe.

In response he shoves all three in his mouth, sucking and licking them clean, eyes still locked with yours. Impatiently he yanks off his shirt, pants and your panties too. Last goes the boxers. His dick is huge, bigger than you anticipated, standing proudly. The tip is an angry red, leaking precum. 

“Let’s fuck raw, I’ll buy you plan B afterwards.” 

You nod not knowing what else to do in a moment like this. Before you can blink your legs are spread wider with him between them, sliding his shaft against your folds. 

The neediness returns, hitting like a truck. “J-Just put in it already! Stop teasing me,” you cry. 

“So needy and impatient, aren’t you?” He drawls, lining himself up with your hole and thrust in. Your walls separate, hugging his dick tightly. 

You throw your head back on the pillow unconsciously, whining. “O-Ow. Ow! It hurts! Why does it hurt, Sukuna?” Fresh tears pool in your eyes.

He leans in close and is careful to not move too quickly, avoiding adding on to your suffering. His hands rest above your head, balling the sheets in his hands as he holds back not to move deeper inside your walls. 

“You forget yourself. A virgin is always gonna be in pain at first…Fuck…” he hisses, bitting his lip, feeling your walls tighten around him.

Overwhelmed, more tears stream down your cheeks. “You liar! You promised it wouldn’t hurt.” 

“I didn’t lie. It won’t hurt, but I have to move,” he shakily groans. 

“No, pull it out. I don’t want it anymore.” 

Hot irritation spikes in him and, he suddenly remembers why he doesn’t fuck virgins. The idea of ruining them is always a fun fantasy, but actually dealing with one is a major pain in his ass. Of course he doesn’t want to pull out. You got to cum and he wants to as well. It’s only fair.

“Baby, hey, listen to me. Look at me, please?” His rough, grumpy voice ceases, replaced by a softer one. 

It works on you too. You do as he says, pouting. 

“I promise it’s going to feel good. So fucking good. I just have to start moving or else it’ll never feel good, okay?” 

And when you only offer an obedient nod, he doesn’t bother making you be verbal. He buries his head in your neck, slowly rolling his hips. It’s hard, but he manages to control his overwhelming thirst and greed to slam his hips in you unapologetically. Not yet. He reminds all good things come with patience. 

He liters the crook of your neck in wet sloppy kisses before sucking, leaving colorful hickies, 

Small, quiet breathy moans begin filling the bedroom paired by the sound of your wet pussy being stretched by his dick. One moment your hands awkwardly scrunch the bed sheets in fists, but slowly find themselves around Sukuna’s neck. 

The longer he thrusts at a slow past, deep and steady, your pussy produces more slick. It makes it easier to slide in and out. Soon delicious pleasure takes over your mind and body. 

You officially lose yourself in it, drowning to the very bottom. 

“Kuna, m-more. I want more,” you pant, holding on tight to him for dear life, tits bouncing. 

“Finally.” He lets loose and gives you what you want. 

His hips slam hard and rough, knocking a loud moan out of you. Again and again, he repeats. He ends up taking off your glasses and dips in to steal your parted swollen lips. The bed creaks and bumps against the wall. 

The neighbors are probably confused, wondering what’s that noise. But, Sukuna doesn’t give a fuck. It’s not like they haven’t heard a similar noise coming from his apartment. He’s pounded more girls into his sheets worse than how he’s fucking you. And they were louder, very loud. 

You don’t think, only feel. But, if your brain, empty as it is, does manage to conjure up a thought or two, you think of how Satoru isn’t as wrong as you thought. You see why he likes having sex. It feels amazing and it’s like your nerves are stimulated on some sort of happy drug. 

Sukuna devours every moan, whimper and cry as he sloppily kisses you. Somewhere on the bed, your phone buzzes drawing in his attention. He pulls back still rocking his hips in a newly adjusted position, holding both your thighs pressed down against your chest, earning deeper access. 

“Your phone’s going off, baby.” 

“Huh?” Stars float in your hazy vision. 

He looks closer again, and recognizes the contact on the screen. Mischievous excitement courses through his veins. “Wanna answer?” I  think it’s an important call,” he drawls, voice deep and rich. 

You nod, too drunken from pleasure in the new position he’s folded you in, abusing your velvety walls. 

Sukuna’s quick to grab the phone, answering on speaker.

 “Hello?” The voice says.

“Hey,” he answers for you instead. 

“The fuck? Who is this?” 

“Aww, fuck I’ma little  hurt. You don’t recognize my voice?” 

There’s a long pause on the other line. Sukuna’s smirk widens into a devilish grin. 

“Sukuna…what the fuck are you doing with her phone? Where is she?” The voice becomes loudly aggressive. 

“FaceTime and find out.”  Sukuna hits the hang up button, his dick hardening even more. 

At the speed of light the phone rings again.

“K-Kuna? Who was it?” You manage to mumble. 

He ignores you, answering the FaceTime call and pushes deeper. He goes so deep his dick kisses your cervix, making you whine the loudest you’ve been tonight.

“Where the fuck is she?” The voice booms. 

Sukuna smirks in the camera. “Are you so sure you wanna know?” 

“Where. The. Fuck. Is. She?” 

No words spoken, he flips the camera on you. In the camera frame everything is seen crystal clear. The drool dripping down your chin. Your teary eyes, begging for more. Your exposed tits bouncing from every rough thrust he gives you. Your flushing cheeks and pouty lips. Everything. 

Sukuna stops moving fast. Instead, he slides in and out deliberately and slowly .

As he expects, you whine, “please don’t. Fast, I want it faster please, Kuna!” Your body squirms against his strong hand holding your legs in place against your chest.

“Come on, baby. Say it again. I can’t hear you.”

“Please give me more. More. I promise I’ll be a good girl, so please.” 

On the other line the camera view crashes to a pavement sidewalk before the screen goes black and hangs up. 

***

You wake up curled on something warm and firm. Feels like skin on your fingertips. As your eyelids flutter, open, you realize it’s a man’s chest. You flinch at the sight and sit up. Your head spins from the fast movement before going away. The hand hooked around your waist pulls you closer and locks tighter. 

You look to your right to find a sleeping Sukuna. Every memory from yesterday comes flying back one by one. Each one is a slap in the face, leaving you in shock. 

Then the worst one of all hits you. You search the bed for your phone and break loose from his hold. 

“Shit. Shit. Shit.” 

“Aye, cut it out,” he groans, voice raspy and groggy. 

You freeze, your eyes gliding over to him. 

“All that moving is disturbing my peace.” He peeks open an eye, reaches for his own phone on his nightstand dresser. “It’s only ten in the morning, go back to sleep.” 

You frantically shake your head. “I have to go.” 

You jump out of the bed. Cold air hits your skin, making you whimper and shiver while searching for your clothes lost on the floor. “Where’s my phone?” 

“Hell if I know.”

Any other time a response like that would’ve hit a nerve, but you’re far too nervous to care. 

“Please, Sukuna, where is it?”

“Why should I tell you? You’ll just leave me anyway.” 

Is he pouting? The guy who exudes so much dominance, who made you cry like a baby while pounding you into his mattress is pouting over you leaving? That’s rich. 

“I-I promise I’ll come back! Plus I have to anyway cause our session was interrupted.” 

“Fine.” He fishes underneath the he’s laying on and pulls out your phone.

“Thanks.” 

But when he hands it to you it’s dead. 

“Shit,” you sigh. 

***

Back home in your apartment you ache and limp. Every inch of your body aches like hell. If you knew the aftermath of sex leaves you limping you wouldn’t have done it. 

After a long shower your phone is half way charged and glowing in the darkness of your room. You unlock it and immediately race to the call logs. Immediately your heart sinks upon seeing who called last night.

“Satoru called?” Uncontrollably your hands shake, nearly dropping the phone. You instantly hit his contact. The phone doesn’t ring, instantly sent to voicemail. 

“Leave a message! I’m not by my phone!”

You try again, again and again, but nothing changes each time. Just Satoru’s old automated voicemail from freshman year in university.

You don’t know why, but an unsettling wave of anxiety hits you. It makes your knees knock together and hands jitter. First he goes ghost for a couple of days then randomly calls while you’re losing your virginity. Now he isn’t picking up for you. 

What the hell? 

You try to shake the feeling but you can’t. It won’t stop. Then you realize you missed two classes and have three more to go. Classes you can’t afford being absent in or you’ll be dropped. And one of those classes has Sukuna in it.

Great, him again. You hope he doesn’t show today. 

You rush out the apartment with your bag halfway zipped up, glasses missing, and sneaker laces sloppily tied. It takes ten minutes to get to class and on top of that you’re tardy. You suppose it’s better than being absent then dropped. 

Class goes by fast and then it’s your lecture hall class up next. Sukuna in fact does show and he’s looking hotter than usual. You plop down next to him and instantly his attention is focused on you. 

“Hey,” he purrs, sharp canine teeth you never noticed before, showing. 

“Hi,” you mutter, looking straight ahead. The chair he’s in scrapes loud as he scoots closer. 

“You get everything sorted out at home?”

Your head whips around at him. “What?” Your brows furrow. 

He likes it, the way your face looks, trying to be intimidating or firm. It’s cute. There’s only one thing you're missing. He pulls out your glasses from his bag. 

“Missing these?” He changes the subject with ease. 

“Ah, oh!” You reach for them and put them on. “Yeah, I was wondering why I couldn’t see.” 

He huffs out a laugh. “So cute.” 

“Stop that. It’s not true anyways. I’m not cute.” 

He keeps his gaze on you, laying his head down in his folded arms. “Don’t know. You’re pretty cute to me. Especially when you begged for more, saying a little nickname no girl’s ever called me during sex,” he drawls. Greed and lust brews behind his reddish brown eyes. 

Heat rises in your face. You look around to see if anyone heard him. Then whisper yell, “shut up! Someone will hear.” 

He chuckles, enjoying your torment. “No one in here heard me. But, I’m sure my neighbors heard you last night.” 

“Cut it out!” You blurt, voice echoing off the walls. 

The thing you tried so hard to stop happening happens. Eyes from every corner in the room stares. Some judgemental, others curious. The professor, however, shoots a scornful glare your way. 

“Is there a problem?” He lifts an eyebrow, mentioning your last name. 

“No, sir.” You look down at your desk, avoiding their eyes. 

He clears his throat loudly. “As I was stating, class.” 

For the remainder of class Sukuna doesn’t mess with you. Afterall, he’s the reason you were embarrassed by the professor. 

Dismissed from class, he walks with you down the corridor, around campus and to your apartment unit. It’s not until you unlock your door, you realize he’s still sticking around.

“Ugh, why are you here? I’ve got plans, shoo!” 

“Can’t a guy be a gentleman? I can’t make sure you get home?” 

Your heart stutters, shock freezes you whole. But you’re fast to bounce back to normal. “Huh? There’s no reason for that! I’m not your girlfriend.” 

He leans down, towering over you. “And who says you can’t be? Maybe I want you to be?” 

Again you’re whiplashed by his shamelessness, drowning in pure confidence. 

You sigh. All your life long insecurities come flooding in like tsunami waves. “Why would a guy like you want me? There’s nothing special about me.” 

He leans in closer, grabs your chin and looks you dead in the eyes. “Stop talking lowly of yourself. It’s fucking annoying. If you were this ugly piece of shit, don’t you think I wouldn’t be standing right here right now?” 

His words are harsh, cruel, but ring with undeniable truth. To hear such a thing come out of someone's mouth like his sounds too good to be true when all your life you’ve been a nobody nerdy girl. A total loser compared to other girls. Never chosen, always last, or overlooked. 

“R-Really?” Your voice cracks, still in denial. 

“Aww don’t cry.” 

It’s too late. Tears are already filling your eyes and falling. The pad of his thumb gingerly wipes them away. An unknown softness rules over his face for once unlike usual. 

“You’re beautiful to me. I wanna get to know you more.” He blows out a breath, somewhat embarrassed being all mushy. “Take you out on some dates, buy you gifts. You know romantic things guys do before making it official.”

Your heart swells with warmth. It’s a feeling you’ve never known before, especially coming from another person that’s a male. 

“You’d like that?” A tint of blush clouds his tattooed cheeks. 

You nod, smiling through tears. “I-I would.” 

He grins softly. “Okay, text me. Let me know when you’re free and let’s make it happen. Now get inside,” he commands. 

“Okay.” You sniffle. 

Once inside you slide down the locked door and do something foreign you’ve only ever seen in movies—you squeal like a teenage high school girl. You got a date and he’s actually hot. 

You gleefully skip around your apartment, Satoru no longer plaguing your mind, forgotten. For once in your life you decide to kick back and relax. You change into comfy pjs, pop some popcorn and drink a can of soda while watching one of your favorite shows. Two hours pass on and the sun no longer beams in the sky. The living room is one big shadow illuminated by the flat screen TV. 

Your doorbell rings. But, you don’t hear it due to the loudness of the show. It rings again and again. Still you don’t hear it. Then three booming knocks fill your entire apartment. You jolt, sitting up from your slouched position on the couch. With the remote you pause the show and slowly walk over to the door. 

Through the peep hole is Satoru, standing. You gasp, eyes growing big. You can’t believe you forgot all about him so easily. One last time looking through the tiny hole, you get a good glimpse of him. He stands there in all black from top to bottom and a hood over his head. He’s even wearing a black mask as oddly as it sounds. Usually he wears clothes that match his unmatched flamboyant personality. 

You unlock the door and open it. “Satoru! I-I’m so sorry about yesterday. Y-You didn’t see or hear anything weird on the phone right cause I-” 

He bumps past you, coming inside and shuts the door hard, shaking the walls. 

Uhh, okay? 

He pulls down the mask and takes off the hood. His hair is a mess of uncombed white strands. Dark bags are underneath his eyes and his skin is paler than usual. In his eyes there’s a frenzied look to them you’ve never seen before. The night at Shoko’s party you recall seeing a glimmer similar to it, but this is way worse. Scary even. 

“Hey, uh, you okay?”

He leans back on the wall, dropping his head into his palm. His chest heaves as he pants uncontrollably. “What the hell were you doing with Sukuna Ryomen yesterday?”

You go stiff. “You know him?”

His head snaps up, darkened eyes glaring daggers at you. “Do I know him?” Satoru hisses through gritted teeth. “Of course I fucking know him!” He spits.

Embarrassment rises in you and suddenly you wish the floorboards would just gobble you up. “Okay, besides the point. You didn’t answer my question.”

He laughs manically, looking around in astonishment. “Do you really wanna know?”

“God, stop playing around and answer the question!” 

He springs off the wall, each step stomping over to you. You can’t help but to walk backwards until your back hits the wall and he’s cornering you. His body towers yours, casting a long shadow across your face as you stare up at him. More than ever you’re confused and somewhat anxious. The way he’s acting isn’t normally like him. 

His palms slam above your head. You squeak and flinch like a horrified mouse before daring to look up to his irate gaze. “I saw. I saw it all,” he growls, his jaw tightening. 

Too many emotions at once are twirling within you out of control. Your cheeks burn hot, tears of humiliation glisten in your eyes, your body trembles on edge not knowing what Satoru’s going to do next. “T-That wasn’t supposed to happen,” your voice comes out barely above a pathetic whisper.

“It shouldn’t have happened at all. You shouldn’t be fucking losers like Sukuna!”

“That’s not fair! You have sex all the time with girls. But I can’t do it with one person?”

He bends down to your level, making sure his wide eyes lock with yours. “He’s fucking dangerous. Do you understand? He doesn’t fucking like you. Why would he like you? Look at you!”

You gasp. His words cut deep. Deeper than imaginable. He’s never insulted you before. Ever. 

“G-Get out.”

He pulls away, realizing what slipped from his mouth. He opens his mouth to speak, but nothing comes out for a while as he thinks of the right thing to say. 

“I said get out,” You utter.

“I-I didn’t mean that. Please, I’m sorry. I’m just worried for you. He’s really not a good guy. Sukuna runs around with gangs, sells drugs, and commits crimes. He doesn’t care about anyone but himself. There’s blood on his hands and I don’t want you in the middle of it all,” he rambles, voice shaky.

You yell, “get the hell out! I don’t care! Get out! Get out!”

For the first time in his life of being around you, his heart wavers in pain. Of all the things you’ve said and called him, this hurts worse. Or maybe it’s because of your broken voice, teary red face and look of betrayal. 

Then he makes the worst mistake possible, inching close again in a desperate attempt to comfort you. 

“D-Don’t fucking touch me,” you wail, jerking away from his reach.

He calls out your name softly, but it doesn’t reach you nor your shattered heart. 

“Please leave me alone. Go away, Toru.”

Then using his nickname only you ever use. His heart throbs, cracking into pieces. 

“I’m sorry,” he rasps. 

Then he’s gone. You're left on the hallway floor, drowning in your own tears. 

Sukuna x reader

Themes: Obsessive love, redemption, death, memory, fate, reincarnations

Synopsis:

Once, he called her forgettable and she died whispering his name, cursing to haunt him for the rest of his days.

In another lifetime, she’s just a tired barista who dreams of palaces and snow. While he’s a cold-eyed CEO who remembers everything. She's forgotten the moonlight that watched her die. He never escaped the haunting of her soul.

Now she brews his coffee, and he looks at her like she’s a ghost he’s been chasing for centuries. A love that was too late once and a promise that refused to die. Haunted dreams, second chances, and the cruel mercy of fate.

“If I find you again,” he once vowed, “I won’t let you go.”

The tragedy was never that they died, it’s that he remembers.

Part One: The Emperor's Loathed Concubine

Chapter 1: The Flower That Withered Unseen

Chapter 2:

Chapter 3:

Chapter 4:

Chapter 5:

Chapter 6:

Part Two: Two Souls Reborn

Chapter 7:

Chapter 8:

Chapter 9:

Chapter 10:

Chapter 11:

Chapter 12:

Chapter 13:

Part Three: The Weight of Sorrows and Fear

Chapter 14:

Chapter 15:

Chapter 16:

Chapter 17:

Epilogue: Two Souls and The Moon's Blessing

***Actively Updating

  Your monotonous life was ruined when you were once again drafted into another pointless war. After the brutal defeat of your fellow countrymen in battle, you were claimed as a prize by the enemy. Now you must adapt to survive. Yet you can’t help but wonder, who’s side are you actually on? 

Extras: Pronunciation Guide,  Protective 

Chapters:

Prologue 

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10 

Pairing: Vander, Silco x Fem!Reader

Tags: nsfw, smut, established relationship, creampie, size difference, breeding kink, mentioned future pregnancy, on the bar, desk sex

Ko-Fi | Rules | Fandoms and Characters

A/N: I saw them in that flashback and haven't had time to get them out of my mind sense. They were all so hot, we lost so much!

Vander was usually careful when having sex, at least when it came to pulling out on time

Lately he's been actively pushing you against his cock to make sure his cum goes inside you, not out

Will put you in a headlock while he breeds you

If he notices you teasing him through the day he will wipe the bar down at the end of the night and fuck you on top of it, not even caring to carry you to the bedroom

Already has a list of names in his head

Uses his fingers to push his cum back into your pussy while holding you up with his other hand, those fingers dancing along your spine

Gets pussydrunk very easily when you say how much you want him to make you pregnant, how good of a dad you know he'll be

Could go all night if he thinks it would increase the chances of your pregnancy

Raises your ass when he fucks you from behind, his strong thighs smacking against your cheeks hard, the bed protesting under you both

Eats his cum from your pussy if it leaks out, at least then it won't fully go to waste

Silco never thought he'd want to become a dad but now it's all he can think about, all day, every day

Cockwarming was always one of his favorite things, one of the best ways to pass the time while he works but now there's an added bonus to it of him keeping your pussy nice and full

Bends you over the desk almost immediately after you enter his office and actually enjoys seeing his cum drip down your thighs

Has so much more cum to give you so it's no issue

Never masturbates, not until you get pregnant anyway, because he wants to make sure that as much of his seed ends up in your womb as possible

Knows that pregnancy will be hard, and raising the kid even harder, he is ready to be there every single step of the way, especially when all the hormones kick in

Folds you into a mating press, the slight curve of his cock hitting your sweet spot and making your pussy squeeze so hard you milk the cum right out of his balls

If he really gets into it it's debatable if he would stop fucking you if someone were to walk in

Every time he imagines how beautiful you'd look pregnant his cock stirs in his pants, it's a problem if he's at work during that time

Yandere! Heian Sukuna x Fem! Reader

tags: @a-tiny-teez @kazusan7yanderekun @eleventhdoctorsangel @sircatchungus

reposted: Diary Entry 01, Beginnings

warnings: yandere, “slow burn”, violence, death and torture, slavery

Previous Part / Next Part

There’s this theory going on that the Fourth Sister is supposed to marry the Destined One (?), and I got inspired to write smth about it (except she’s more of a girl’s girl here bc x reader ykyk).

“Do you like him?”

There was a slight regret that came from your stupid decision to find some fresh air, even if you were just literally standing right outside of the abandoned shack your monkey friend had searched for a night rest. But it was mostly confusion, because why would this yaoguai ask about your feelings for the Destined One?

Or maybe she was testing you so she’d have the justification to attack you? Quite a convoluted way, you must admit, but it just meant she was more strategic in her way. And, thus, more dangerous.

pairing ; god of war!Sukuna x goddess of love!reader

tw ; suggestive, possessive, mentions of blood, Sukuna himself is a trigger warning.

first art credit to ryoza on X, third unfortunately i don’t know, i just took it from pinterest, if u know the artist let me know.

the world outside your temple is dying.

you feel every heartbeat snuffed out like a candle in the wind, every soul extinguished under the weight of Sukuna’s brutal assault. the prayers of your people grow weaker with each passing moment, their pleas mixing with the acrid smoke rising from your city. a city, your sacred haven, you swore to protect, everything has fallen. as the goddess of Love you can do nothing but listen as your people are slaughtered by the god of War, Sukuna, and his vicious army.